By Norris Burkes May 25 2025
I often felt that if I hadn’t become a chaplain, I’d have become a safety officer.
For example, whenever I volunteer with Chispa Project in Honduras, I’m the guy who steadies the ladder, double checks that the lunch produce is washed correctly and then I police the perimeter for bad guys. (Bad guys don’t mess with Chaplain Safety Officer.)
The irony is that my interest in this subject comes from the tragedies I’ve witnessed in my chaplain career. In death’s aftermath I’ve offered comfort to those whose loved ones were accidentally struck, shot, suffocated, burned, poisoned, fallen or electrocuted.
From those tragic encounters, I’ve developed a preoccupation with safety that my children say has cost them some of their freedoms. I’ve always made them wear hats in the sun, helmets on the bike trail and seat belts in the car. For safety’s sake, I’ve made them chew slowly, run quickly and sleep adequately.
They learned pretty well, but never did I realize just how much their training might come back to benefit me.
In 2011, when my daughter Sara was living in Denver, my wife and I flew there for a weekend visit. We had no agenda. Just a little rest and relaxation.
Following our late-night arrival, we were ushered into our accommodations, a garage conversion with an open-flame furnace. Playing the fastidious safety inspector, I checked to make sure that Sara had vented the heater properly through a nearby window. She had. Then, I tested the smoke and CO2 detector. Everything worked properly.
Becky and I said our good nights and settled in for a cozy winter sleep, snug under blankets, basking in a glowing heat.
About 2 a.m., we were jolted from bliss with a high-pitched alarm. I saw no smoke, so I focused my squinting eyes on the CO2 detector. Carbon monoxide levels were pushing high enough to send us singing in the celestial choir with Jesus himself.
We immediately turned off the heater, opened all the windows, and retreated to the living room, shutting the garage door behind us. After 20 minutes, levels returned to normal, and we re-retired to bed with a double scoop of blankets — sans heater.
If you’re anticipating my point here, you’re probably looking for me to quote the Christian Scripture, “It is appointed unto a man once to die and after that the judgment.”
Those familiar with this Scripture often use stories such as these to admonish people to live full throttle, seize the day and live every day as if it were their last.
There is some wisdom in those truisms, but honestly, I don’t want to live every day like it’s my last.
I also need some days to be “regular.” I need days that start with a decent breakfast, some time in my Nevada City pastor’s office and a drive home with takeout pizza to watch “Amazing Race” with my amazing wife.
Nothing wrong with that. We all need some routine days where we hold those whom we love, exhale gratitude for the life we are granted and refuel our needs for the next day.
Perhaps today wasn’t your best day. If today was only average, then I say, be content that you had no close calls with death that threw you into an existential funk. You don’t need to always be prompting yourself with the morbid thought that this day might be your last.
But more than anything, I say, “For safety’s sake, live your life. There will likely be a tomorrow.”
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As you read this, your “safety officer” is staying home while Chispa Volunteers prepare to fly into San Pedro Sula, Honduras where they will help Chispa Project start a new elementary school library. Please pray for their safety and success as you also consider volunteering or how you might contribute. Read more at https://www.chispaproject.org/volunteer.
Norris is pastor at Community Church in Nevada City. 300 Main St. Contact him at [email protected] or 10566 Combie Road, Suite 6643, Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail 843-608-9715. All his books can be purchased on Amazon or on his website, WWW.thechaplain.net
