Traveling the Rock Road

I’ve been asked a question on several occasions about my Great Aunt Pearl, the woman who helped raise me and taught me so much about life and God, and her marriage to the man everyone knew as Price, someone who spewed hate and anger with almost every breath he took. So the question is this; how in the world could two people be so different and stay together like they did? That was one that certainly had me scratching my head on more than one occasion, I sure didn’t get it. He needed her tons more than she needed him, what kept her from not walking away and being happier without him? It was several years later with my Pearly Mae and I sitting at the kitchen table she explained to me the whys of her actions. But first I have to back up a bit, catch some of you up that don’t know the story.

Pearl and Price met in 1936 and shortly thereafter married. She was a beautiful dreamer with a radiant smile from West Virginia and he was a tall, handsome and rugged Kentucky man with stories of conquest and adventure that captivated my Great Aunt so that she felt and knew this was the man she wanted to spend her life with, to share in great quest with him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long after they married that a new version of who this man was came forth. Price wasn’t good at holding jobs because of issues of anger and then later health problems; he was a serious diabetic and had to give up working altogether which meant Pearl was now the bread winner of the two. Time passed and her older sister died of cancer leaving three kids. The oldest joined the Marines and went to fight in WW2. The youngest went to live with another family member, this left only a girl who had physical and emotional issues, my mom, who Pearl took in and raised as her own. To cut to the chase some years passed and yours truly arrived on the scene. So the dreamer who visualized seeing the world and exploring new heights was now saddled with three people to care for.

If Price ever showed Pearl tenderness, it must have been before I came along; if he spoke soft, it was small talk subjects. The majority of the time he could be as hateful to her as he was mom and me. He was never physically abusive to her, but if he got mad (which was often) he would speak to her in such a hateful way I didn’t know how or why she put up with it. She would busy herself I think to keep from saying something back. I’d be mad at the way he talked to her, but Pearl would get me off in another room and say “Johnny, he’s only talking that way because he doesn’t feel good, he really doesn’t mean it.” I couldn’t figure that excuse out, but I wouldn’t argue; and I knew if I said something to him I’d get it twice as bad.

As time went on Price’s health started to diminish rapidly, to the point he could no longer get out of bed. His legs no longer could hold him up and he had to have constant bed care given to him by Pearl and my mom. I kept a distance from his room because even though his body was weakening his mouth and the venom he poured out still worked just as well, perhaps even better. Several days before he died, I had to go in and see him where he threatened me to grow to be a good man or else; I just turned around and walked out without ever saying a word. That would be the last I’d ever see of the man called Price.

So now we’re back to where I brought you into this story, Pearl and I sitting at the kitchen table several years after Price was gone. I brought up how I reacted to him on his last days and was feeling a little remorse from my hard heartedness. Pearl began staring out the kitchen door like she was concentrating on something off in the distance. There was a noticeable time of silence between us, but then she began. “His last words to me were the gentlest and sweetest I had heard in years. “I want you to know that I love you and always have,” he said. I thought that must have been a great moment between the two of them, but then she went on. “I couldn’t say anything at first, but then I told him the way I’ve stayed and taken of you should tell you how I feel about you.” Another pause, “I just couldn’t bring myself to say I loved him.” Wow, and I thought my reaction to old Price was bad! Here his wife of 30 plus years was telling him she might have taken care of him, but it sure didn’t mean she loved him–or did it?

I read these words not too long ago: “Love is not an affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person’s ultimate good as it can be obtained”

As the years went on, Pearl told me stories of Price I had never heard that brought a smile to her face as she recounted them. She told of when his health turned to where he couldn’t work anymore, he was the one that connected her to the civil service where the two of them traveled across the country working different jobs for the war effort, and her finally getting to see sights and places she had only dreamed of. Price and that experience taught her how to use a hammer, a saw, and even a welder. She told how he and those experiences taught her about being self-sufficient and self sacrificing in preparation of a better tomorrow. She also talked how she never really loved nature and the outdoors until she met Price, the one place he was happiest and most content; and how after that she couldn’t get enough of it. In those last years she wore herself out working and taking care of Price, often going on just a few hours sleep before starting a new day. She’d look at me with some mischief and determination in her eyes and say, “That’s what made me so strong!”

When my beloved Aunt Pearl retired and moved back home to West Virginia, she rededicated her life to Christ and set forth to be one of the best hostesses the area had. She loved to surround herself with laughter and happiness as often as she could, something else she attributed to her man, for he did enjoy having folks over.

G.K. Chesterton said this; “To love means loving the unlovable. To forgive means pardoning the unpardonable. Faith means believing the unbelievable. Hope means hoping when everything seems hopeless.”

Price was a harsh man who treated his family with cruelty, including the one he called his wife. When his days were closing out, that wife couldn’t bring herself to say she loved him, so does mean she didn’t? There was a time I would have said yes; but that was before I knew my Pearl’s heart and her ways. She taught me love wasn’t summed up in a few words, it was lived out day by day in your heart and your attitude, something I believe she learned from the one she called Lord (Check out John 3:16 and John 15:13)

In 1984 we lost Pearl in a tragic car accident, her Travels on the Rock Road were now over; but two things happened. Pearly Mae Marshall Price came into the presence of her Savior, Jesus Christ happy to be with her eternal love. The second, what remained behind was laid to rest on a hillside in Princeton, West Virginia next to her earthly “Love,” Arthur Chester Price.

See you next time!

Phone rings, “Johnny this is Ray, it’s so hot out Linda and I have decided to go to the beach to cool off; can you tell us which one would be best for being close to the water?”

Or “Johnny, if a man becomes a father at 20 when his son turns 10 the boy will be 1/3 the age of his dad. Ten years later when the father is 40 and the boy is 20 he’ll be ½ his dad’s age. When they’re 50 and 30, he’ll now be 2/3 as old as his dad.” “Okay Ray, I see that; your point is what?” “Well at this rate there’s a time coming when the boy is going to pass his dad up and be older!? Then another one of his gems was, “Johnny, if a man suffering from multiple personalities threatened to kills himself, would that be considered a hostage situation?” So it was with my beloved Cousin Ray Marshall, a man with a comical wit faster than a gun slinger’s draw. You never knew what he was going to say, but if it was something filled with levity and lightheartedness; he’d grin the broadest grin and fill the room with laughter more than anyone else could.

Besides his humorous wit he was the king of practical jokes. Once when we were leaving a parking lot, he rolled down his window and yelled to a man, “Hi Hank, how you doing? You sure look better than the last time I saw you. Alright, see you at the card game,” and we drove away quickly with the man standing there completely puzzled but gingerly waving us goodbye. I said to Ray, “You know that man?” “Nope, never saw him before in my life,” and once again the laughter rolled! Probably my favorite was a story he told during his coal mining days. He had come up to a friend who was working a jackhammer, placed a hand on his shoulder, said a few words and then walked off. It took a minute before the unsuspecting victim realized my cousin had walked off, because he still felt the weight of Ray’s hand on his shoulder. It actually was Ray’s hand, a weighted artificial one he bought at a magician’s shop. Ray said when his friend saw him standing at a distance and then saw the lone hand on his shoulder; you could hear him scream from one end of the mine to the other! As I sit here gazing at a picture of this jester of a man more and more stories like these flood my memory, enough that I could easily sit and write of his escapades all night long. But if I did that, I would be cheating you of getting to know who this person is, and why he’s loved by so many.

When I speak of Ray’s humor, smile and laughter, I speak of a portion of his personality and ways. I don’t believe this man ever met a stranger; he had a way of making anyone and everyone feel comfortable, especially in his home. If there wasn’t room for one more person to sit, or to share a meal Ray would find a way. He loved to learn from others anything he could, and learn he did well. If he was ever told something it stayed with him from that point on; his ability to remember details that others couldn’t was beyond amazing. Ray was as comfortable holding conversations with intellectuals he met at the college his daughter taught at, to sitting at break on large stones with a group of fellow coalminers two miles beneath the surface of the earth and to endless silly talk with his grandchildren he loved dearly. Ray’s daughter, a professor at small university once told me she loved for people in her academic world to meet her dad, not just to see how wonderful of a man he was, but to show him off, to say, “Look how wonderful I have it to have this man as my dad!” All three of Ray’s children will attest to these same bragging rights, they know they were blessed with someone different from other dads and those differences were what made him special.

Scholastically, Ray never achieved above a high school education, marrying his beloved Linda and childhood sweetheart he set out make a living anyway possible to support his family. But as I mentioned he learned from talking to others, plus reading and later gathering information via the internet. With that he often challenged what the norm was especially in politics and government. His was not a desire to argue as much as it was to hold accountable the people elected to represent us in government. And Ray could do this with a combination of down-home easy going character as well as cite laws and court decisions like a Supreme Court justice, except maybe with a joke thrown in here and there!

I once spent time in D.C. with a lobbying group; during that stay I had wished Ray could have been with us. Instead of being treated in a patronizing manner by certain senators and representatives, I pictured a couple turning to aids and saying, “Call security and see if you can get this guy out of here! Then cancel the rest of my appointments for the day, I’m taking a sedative and going to bed!” Of course if my dear cousin saw something like this he’d be saying, “Hey, can I do anything to make you feel better, get you a glass of water or something?” (Could you imagine what we could do if we had about 100 Rays to turn loose on Washington; Awesome!)

Probably the biggest impact Ray had on me in my younger years was his ability with the guitar. Before the Beatles or even Elvis, this man’s talent on a six string could keep me mesmerized for hours. If he had more opportunity, I believe he could have been one of the top guitarists in the early county music or bluegrass field. He not only drew enjoyment from playing music (and this next is one that probably only other musicians will under stand), he became a part of the music, in his heart and soul; that was evident to all who heard him perform. Because of that passion I knew one day I would play and live music just like my cousin and now my children who come after me. When I got older I loved playing along with Ray and he and my wife sang “Almost Heaven West Virginia.”

Well what can I say? Thoughts and memories are coming so fast they’re running together and I have to walk away and regroup. Perhaps some wouldn’t see what is so special about this man anyway, just a West Virginia coal miner, common folk like most of us. But anyone that pays attention to my writings knows people like Ray are the ones I like to talk about, unsung heroes of everyday life that we never hear about. So who exactly was this man you’ve written about, John; what more could you have to say? Well allow me to fully introduce this “Traveler of the Rock Road.”

Ray Marshall, man of some sorrows but more of joy? Yes. Ray Marshall, jokester extraordinaire and musician? Yes. Ray Marshall, devotee, student and even teacher of life? Yes. Ray Marshall, lover of his family, from his beloved Linda of 57 years, to his children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, sisters and their families and friends that he treated like family? Yes! And Ray Marshall, believer and follower of his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, YES!

To the shock and sorrow of all of us who knew and loved this man, Ray was suddenly called Home to be with the Lord on Oct. 30. No one was ready for this departure. I suppose many of us feel cheated that he’s no longer here for us in that way only he could, somewhere just to talk like we’ve done for so many years. Even with the knowledge that Ray is in Heaven, happy as can be, the selfish side of human life wants him back here with all of us again. Since we know that can’t happen, we have one precious item to hold him with us, and that’s our memory of how he blessed so many.

“After you are gone the assessment of how you enriched others is not by what you have lined their pockets with, but what you have written on their hearts. Therein lies the true inheritance.” J David Miller

Today scores of us are much richer because of what Ray Edmer Marshall wrote on our hearts, a message of love, happiness, joy, and most of all, Hope. Ray, my cousin, friend and Brother knew where his Hope lay at the end of his “Travels on the Rock Road.” His hope was in Jesus as Lord and Savior, now he’s Home and looking forward to all of us joining him someday.

John 5:24, Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life. He does not come into judgment, but has passed from death to life.

Looking forward to making music with you again, Cuz, in God’s Resurrection Band! Save me a spot next to you because it will no longer be Almost Heaven, it will be the real thing for eternity. But I better not be finding a fake hand resting on my shoulder!!

Thanks for putting up with the Gray One’s ramblings, see you again soon!!!

Rick was a well-liked man by the fellow employees at the firm where he worked, although sometimes he was a little over the top with his insistence of tight security and preparation just in case something did happen. Evacuation drills were performed often with Rick at the helm shouting orders from his megaphone making sure everyone heard and obeyed his commands. Like I said, Rick was sometime seen as obsessed with making sure everything and everybody was prepared in case of an emergency and when that fateful day came, Rick Rescorla was seen as a prophet and is remembered as a hero. Rick was a former military man and now head of security at Morgan Stanley located at the World Trade Center. After the first attack on this building back in 1993, Rick sensed this would not be the last and warned everyone who would listen. He then set his well thought out evacuation plan into action with many drills and when the planes hit the Twin Towers all the Morgan Stanley employees were ready as Rick led them down and out of the South Tower to safety. Many lives were saved, but unfortunately when he returned to the building to see if anyone was left; when it collapsed, Rick Rescorla was lost.

As I read this remarkable man’s story I was touched at his dedication not so much to the job but to the people he cared for and gave his life to protect. We can readily say he went above and beyond; that’s the stuff heroes are made of. Not to take anything away from this remarkable man, but I would venture to say I’ve read many stories of heroes like Rick Rescorla over the course of my life, more than I could ever write about or even mention. We have been blessed with many that history tells us about. I guess what really stands out about this man is that he knew in his heart that the attack that occurred on 9/11 was imminent; it wasn’t a question to him as to will it happen, as much as it was when will it happen. This knowledge wasn’t just a gut feeling for Rick; having served in the armed forces both in Britain and the United States a good portion of his life, he understood the enemy and what they would do to achieve their goal. Armed with this information, Rick went to several government agencies warning them of the danger he saw coming. Unfortunately, like so much in life, without hard facts no one takes you seriously and his warnings went unheeded. After reading this, I had wondered what kept Rick there in the face of an impending threat of destruction and even death? Maybe someone else might have said, “If on one wants to listen to what I’m saying, fine; I’m out of here!” Then after the attack hit all the media outlets, tell the story of how they tried to warn everyone; maybe even write a book and go on a speaking tour. (I mention this because I saw a couple of people who did just that; think that’s all I’ll say on that subject.) Still, wouldn’t that be better than possibly losing your life based on a hunch you had that came true? Evidently our man Rick didn’t see it that way; it appears he saw something he considered more important than his own life, which were the lives of others. No matter whether anyone else believed his theory, Rick felt so strongly about it that he determined he would stay and do everything in his power to saves lives whatever the cost to him; in the end that’s exactly what he did.

There’s an old English Proverb that says, “A hero is a man who is afraid to run away.” Perhaps that’s was the driving force of Rick Rescorla, he was afraid, afraid of what could happen to people he cared for if he turned his back and walked away. Oh my, what an awesome hero, warrior, and friend this man was to so many.

I would have loved to have known this fellow “Traveler of the Rock Road,” to have had opportunity to talk and even more, listen to all he had to say out of caring and love for others, I just have a feeling I might get to someday.  If you haven’t seen it coming I’ll just come right out and say it; Rick’s sacrifice reminds me of one that did this for all of us some 2,000 years ago. A Hero that touched my life so fully with His sacrifice that to this day I as well as others still give honor for His saving grace.  In John 15:13, He tell us; Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. Thank you Jesus!

The Gray One will be gone next week celebrating 41 years of marriage to my Lady Cathy and thanking God for everyday of each year.

Looking forward to us coming back together in two weeks.

Never forget how special you are to me, and to God!!

I must had been about 10 years old when I met him for the first time. He was sitting in a rocking chair on his front porch, but it was obvious he was a tall man like all the males on my mother’s side of the family. I walked up on the porch with my Uncle Clyde and he introduced the two of us; “Dad, this is Myrtle’s boy Johnny, Johnny this is your Grandfather.” I’m not sure if he ever looked at me and I just stood frozen there in my tracks. I had heard so little about this man it was a surprise to find he still existed,and the hard look on his face did not make me want to get any closer. He must have felt the same way I guess because he never acknowledged that I was even there.

Back in 1942 John Thomas Laxton had lost his wife, Cosby, my grandmother to cancer. Of his three children the oldest had joined the Marines and fought in WW2. The two remaining had physical problems, the youngest son was crippled in one leg with polio, and his daughter, my mother, suffered from severe hearing loss. There are differing stories as to the whys, but after the death of Cosby, my uncle and mom were sent to live with relatives on my grandmother’s side of the family. My guess is Tom (as everyone knew him) felt he couldn’t take care of them the way they needed and believed this was best.

My mother became bitter to fact she was sent away from the only home she ever knew and it would be well over 30 years before the two would ever see each other again. During that time she seldom spoke of Tom and if she did it was never in love. Because of the ill feelings mom held on to, I never got to meet him until this day I found myself frozen in place there on his front porch. As I said, he didn’t acknowledge me anymore than I did him; perhaps neither of us knew exactly how to reach out to the other, I don’t know. It wasn’t long until the visit was over and we all piled back into the car and left, and as we drove away I tried to figure what just happened and why. Was that big man really my grandfather, and besides that, who was he exactly, what made him Tom Laxton? It just seemed weird to know so little about someone that I was a part of.

A number of years would pass before mom opened up and started talking about her dad. I came to find out he had a love for being outdoors, living off the land and even domesticating wild animals like woodchucks and raccoons as pets. Mom told me he loved to go off into the mountains by himself, just to think and be at peace with the serenity of the wilderness. “He did that because his grandmother was a Cherokee Indian and he had the same ways as they,” she would tell me. (I’ve thought about this often during the times I would go off and away from civilization like old Tom did.) As my beloved mother slowly opened up about her father, I believe a healing began to take place; she would smile as she remembered little things that made him special to her when she was young. One evening she told of a deep heartache, but not hers, her father’s. Tom had known confusion and rejection early in life also when he and his brother were sent to live with his uncle; as mom told it this was a wound he would carry in his heart for years. The more she spoke of Tom, the more I could see forgiveness was occurring in her, so much that she finally went to visit just a year later. It would be the last time they would ever be together, but still, it was good. As for me, well I was glad the two made peace, but I was at a place in life that I didn’t see a reason for me ever to seek the man out again; after all we may share the same bloodline, but were complete strangers otherwise.

When I got old enough to drive and had transportation, I started taking trips down to West Virginia from Ohio to visit family I was acquainted with and enjoy the beauty of the mountains. Before one of those times, mom told me Tom, who was now well up in years, was in a nursing home in a town that I passed through on the way to my usual destination. When I passed through the area, I thought of the man, but still didn’t see a reason to stop and drove on. A few days later when I started back north I passed through the town again and the thought came, “What the heck!” Veering off at the first exit ramp, I turned around and headed back with the idea that I would spend a half hour looking for the place he’s suppose to be at and if I don’t find it, I’d head home. It might have been one of the easiest places I ever located, I simply turned on one road and there it was, the nursing that housed my granddaddy! Soon I was sitting in a room waiting as they had taken Tom for some testing. When they wheeled he and his bed back into the room he gave a glance my way, but nothing more in the way of acknowledgement. “Here we go again!” I thought, “This is going to be waste of time, but I’m here so I’ll give it my best shot.” After the attendants left the room I walked over to his bed and said, “Hi, I’m Johnny, your grandson, Myrtle’s boy.” This time was different than the first; he really was looking at me. “I can see that in your face, you favor her,” he replied. I wanted to do a cartwheel right there, this man, my grandfather was saying he knew who I was. Awesome!! I don’t remember what we talked about that day, mostly small talk I’m guessing, but it kept me smiling all the way back to Ohio.

On my next visit, I stopped to see him first before driving to where I usually went. Again I walked up and said, “I’m Johnny, your grandson.” He looked over at me and then straight up at the ceiling; “You’re not going to say that every time you come here are you? I know who you are.” That was like music to my ears! There was only one more visit and that time I took the gal who would become my wife to meet him also; he seemed to enjoy that. I had hoped that sometime we could have a really good talk and finally get to know each other, but that wasn’t to be; Tom passed away shortly after that last visit.

For some time I felt cheated, I guess, that I never got to know my grandfather like I wanted to, like others know theirs. I loved learning from others, especially ones I used to refer to as the “Old Guard,” people from my granddad’s era that had experienced so much and had incredible stories to tell. Fortunately, a few other family members filled in gaps to give me a better view of just who John Thomas Laxton was. Still something was missing, what is it that I can say I learned from this man? Then one night it hit me, we did have a connection, maybe not the best in the world’s eyes, but something that we shared and I could learn from. Tom was robbed of a father’s love because of some circumstance, just like his daughter was and just like me. I pondered that fact for a time and then I received a picture of him in his early days and he was smiling. Gramps had happiness that he just didn’t get the chance to share with a lot of people. I took all the knowledge I now had and used it as part of the way I wanted to be seen as a father and now grandfather. Not the negative, but the good, the happiness I could share with my children, grandchildren and family. With God’s help and the beautiful Lady He brought to share in my life, I determined I would always be there for my family and that they would always know how much I truly loved them. Here’s my one main point I want to get across, so pay attention; by God’s help, if I can break the mold that haunts or tears a family or individual down, anybody can! Get it? Great, let’s wrap it up now.

My Grandfather, another “Traveler of the Rock Road” had a lot to offer; I just don’t think he got the chance to share it during his lifetime. But I believe God still had a plan, that one day Tom’s legacy would be passed on in a more positive way than he could have ever imigined, I hope I’ve been a part of that.

This week my grandson played his last Pee-Wee football game. When it was over, I took his entire team to the concession stand and bought them candy bars. One boy who didn’t know asked, “Who’s paying for this?” My Blaine told him “My Grandpa.” “Wow, you’re lucky!” the boy responded. I smiled when I heard this, “Darn right, he’s lucky, he’s learning a great heritage to pass along, for he is the Great Great Grandson of John Thomas Laxton!”

Thank you Lord, and thank you Grandpa, this boy loves you!

See you again!

She stood on a small stage talking through a mic and giving directions to some several hundred that had come there to work. As you can see from the picture this young gal who came up to my shoulders would have barely been seen had she not been up higher than that rest of us. But what she might lack in physical size she more than made up for with conviction, determination and drive.

Ursula, my newest Hero, works in the field as a coordinator for “Feed My Starving Children,” a work dedicated to fighting hunger in many places. Founded in 1987 this non-profit organization is dedicated to raising money to put together hand-packed meals specifically formulated for malnourished children, and then ships these meals to nearly 70 countries around the world, and this is all done without the help of government dollars.

People in a local community will spearhead getting donations for the food needed to put together what is called “Manna Packs.” Then volunteers must be rounded up to put together the meals. In our little town of Warsaw, Indiana enough money was given to process and over one million meals, which were put together by some 4,000 folks ranging in age from 6 to 86.

Coordinating something like this becomes a massive undertaking, that’s were Ursula and other staffers like her come in. They travel all over the country pulling everything and everyone together from location to location. They direct all the work and workers into a coordinated effort that is accomplished in two-hour shifts before the next group of volunteers comes in to take over. During my time, I was a runner bringing boxes of soy, rice, vitamin and vegetable powder to the assemblers at their assigned stations. When the task was completed Warsaw had packed enough food to feed 2,700 children for a year. Awesome!

So getting back to my newest hero, Ursula, what made this gal have such an impact on this man to categorize her as someone special, even above and beyond special? Some would ask, was it her ability as a coordinator? Well of course you’d expect someone of that caliber at the forefront of such a project. Perhaps it was her ability as a motivational speaker, to stir folks in a way that they were going to give their best to the task at hand. Some would say, “Well sure, you always need a good cheerleader to get people moving.” True, but I sensed there was something more to this sweetheart with the big smile other than the attributes mentioned. What made her want to take on this mission in the first place? Was it money she was paid? From all I’ve gathered, working for an organization like this will not bring you large pay checks and early retirement somewhere in the Tropics. Okay, then maybe it’s the travel, seeing all the sights in America for free. Well, as you can see Ursula isn’t dressed like a rock star on tour, she dons work clothes, and the sights are pretty but nothing to rave about. (The location here was a school surrounded by cornfields.)

So what drives Ursula, Super Ursula, to give her all to such an occupation and endeavor?

I think I can answer that with one word. Heart! You see she made two points clear above and beyond the task of putting meals together, Feed my Starving Children was a Christian based organization, and she was a follower of the One she called Lord, Jesus Christ. She brought that point home to every person in the room, that this was more than feeding hungry bodies, this was helping starving souls. As a matter of fact the mission statement is “Feeding God’s Starving Children Hungry in Body and Spirit.” And as this young lady spoke, one came to realize she just wasn’t there on behalf of a group of “do-gooders” as some would call them. She was representing a mission, hers and others like her mission, to fulfill the calling God had set forth for each who calls themselves Believers.

Matthew 25:35-40 – For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’ “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

With each word, each slide she presented, and each step she took it was easy to see that she wasn’t working a job to please an employer, she was on mission, for her King, and overwhelmingly happy in doing so, even in the not so good times. I say that because the last place she was at was a disappointment on how many meals they packed. But her words with a smile were, “God was telling me, don’t worry, don’t fret, I’m still here.” In that moment you could tell you were seeing more than just a organizational coordinator and motivator, you were seeing the Heart of a Warrior, another “Traveler of the Rock Road,” that knows where she stands. Thank you, Ursula for being my newest hero!

Before I close I’d like you all to take just a moment to look at this video that gives a good image of what “Feed my Hungry Children” is all about. The song was written by a 17-year-old and even though the style is not particularly what I generally listen to, he drives home the mission in a really awesome way (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gaULZrMHxBg).  Hope you’ll take a moment to listen, watch, and maybe ask God, “is this something for me?” Here’s hoping the answer is yes!
See ya again soon, Friends and Family!!!

I’m a firm believer that every state of affairs we find ourselves in as we travel though this life can be a learning experience. Unfortunately, that education didn’t come to roost in me until years after certain episodes had become history. One such moment in time was the three years Cathy and I lived in a trailer park.

This was no regular Trailer park, it was near the college I was attending at that time and nearly all the residents were married students working on undergraduate or graduate degrees. Most of the trailers were old which made them affordable, something we all were looking for back then, especially those with families. As expensive as education was, finding cheap housing was a plus. The park was owned and operated by the Uphouse’s, on older couple who were also professors at the school. They had an old home there with a barn that housed tools and an old tractor that you would see Dr. Uphouse, (who I found to be cranky most of the time) making the rounds adding stones here or clearing something there.

I really wasn’t happy the time we spent there, there was no such thing as privacy as anyone knows who’s ever lived in a park. Plus our trailer was old and small; it was like living in an overgrown shoe box that was in need of constant repair. On two different occasions our furnace went out, once in the middle of a night where the temperature had fallen to below zero. Try waking up and crawling out of a warm bed to that sometime; Whoa!

Since I chose not to attend college until after I got married we were the only ones in our section of the park that weren’t working on a master’s program, which meant when we got together with the others in a group setting, conversations would be well over our heads as they discussed their thesis or a dissertation and other 20 gauge words that were foreign to me at that time. On one occasion I was in need of a helping hand with a stuck vehicle and went to several of my neighbors for assistance. My reaction was not a good one when every person I asked was too busy heading to class or working on a paper to give a couple of minutes of their time. One stopped by later to tell me why he couldn’t help me out, I listened carefully for a moment, just before I went off loud enough to be heard from one end of the park to the other. (Did I mention all these guys were studying for the ministry? Actually that whole affair had a pretty funny ending, but that’s another story!)

So after three years of living in a place I didn’t want to be, with people I didn’t want to be around, we finally moved out and got a house of our own, and so began a dark time in my life. School didn’t work out the way I had hoped and I was bitter from the entire experience of living at Uphouse’s; there was nothing positive about the whole ordeal! Oh my my my, sometimes the ignorance of my youth overwhelms me, just glad God never gave up driving into my hard head things He wanted me to learn.

Okay, let’s start with “cranky” Dr. Uphouse. Here was a man who taught all day, then ran back to the park to fix many things that were falling apart; by doing the work himself he was able to keep the lot rents to a minimum, $15 a month when other places were charging $50 or more back then. This wasn’t a money making proposition for he and his wife, it was a ministry to help others as they prepared to go into the world for whatever God might have in store for them. And if someone came to him and said they didn’t have the money for the rent, he would put them to work to pay it off. School all day, park all evening and weekends, plus different functions he did for other organizations, and somewhere in between try to get some sleep; yeah I think we can give a little room for his mood, don’t you?

Then we have the trailer, oh that rotten rundown trailer! That trailer that allowed us to buy an affordable home to live in instead of paying much larger money out for rent somewhere; matter of fact when we sold it, we got the same money we paid for it. The young couple that bought it saw it as beautiful and an answer to prayer. “BAM! Go ahead God, just slap me up side of the head for not being more grateful, okay?!!!

Finally we come to my theological studying neighbors, what about them, the snooty pompous so and so’s! Well unfortunately, there were ones who didn’t make it through school or didn’t last long in the ministry for numerous reasons; finances, grades, and yes, even wrong attitudes for being there in the first place. But then the others, well I know of at least two that are pastors and have been at the same church for 30 years, something rare in this day and age. Then there’s one who went to Japan, several to Africa, and to China, Turkey and places in Europe to do the work of God no matter what it called for, no matter what the cost. Even know a couple of those farts that now teach in Christian colleges.

Back then I saw only what my needs and concerns were, not what these people were going through to prepare to be used by God anywhere or anyhow He called them. I later learned it was quite a struggle for some, trying to work to support a family while studying every waking hour available, sometimes not having enough money to make ends meet. (Once again, Doc Uphouse to the rescue!!)

“The unthankful heart discovers no mercies; but let the thankful heart sweep through the day and as the magnet finds the iron, so it will find, in every hour, some heavenly blessings!” Henry Ward Beecher

It took me a while to discover that there’s a purpose for everything that happens especially for followers of Christ. The real lesson to be learned is not just this, but learning to trust that God cares for you enough in all circumstances and never leaves you no matter what. Still the biggest part, to be “Thankful” in all matters, this is maturity; this is understanding God’s purpose for you.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

The Uphouse’s no longer own the trailer park and Doc went home to the Lord years ago. I recently drove through for the 1^st time probably in 20 years, and the place is in a lot rougher shape than it was when Cath and I lived there. But as I drove around I could envision the people back then that I got to know, not realizing some of these “Travelers of the Rock Road” would have a much harder way to go than I, but thankful for every mile of the trek. As for me, my road didn’t take shape the way I envisioned, that’s for sure. But God had a direction, a task for this man, after he learned some hard, but blessed lessons. Three of those years of learning were spent in a little cracker box of a trailer in a park, a community known lovingly to many as “Uphouses’s.” Awesome!!
Blessings to you and your loved ones.

See Ya Next Time!

Hi Guys, hope everyone had a great and blessed weekend, here in “Hoosier-Land” the weather has been perfect for being out and just enjoying life and creation.

I’m not writing my regular blog entry this week, the majority of my time right now is being spent working on my manuscript so if you would, say an extra prayer for the Gray One as I plan to spend a lot of time hidden away working on this; thanks.

It was this time of season about ten years ago my Lady and I were driving and sightseeing on the Blueridge Parkway; beautiful time of year to be there as the colors in the mountains were breathtaking. One early morning we had started our journey of discovering all this region had to offer, when we came across a man playing bagpipes while standing on the side of a mountain ledge. We sat there listening to this incredible tune as it rang all through the area, across to the mountains on the other side and down into the deep valley below. The sound was haunting and majestic at the same moment. Of all the times I had heard this song played and sang I never heard it more beautiful than I was at that moment. “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.” How many times have I sang those words and not taken in their full meaning? I had dabbled in religion most of my life, but they didn’t do a whole lot for me, as they haven’t for many people. So I’ve never considered myself a religious person, for that matter never want to either. But it was when it finally hit me who this Jesus is and what He was all about, that I found something I saw as real, as substance, as life.

One writer said this, “The greater perfection a soul aspires after, the more dependent it is upon divine grace.”

Charles Spurgeon, “The bridge of grace will bear your weight, brother. Thousands of big sinners have gone across that bridge, yea, tens of thousands have gone over it. Some have been the chief of sinners and some have come at the very last of their days, but the arch has never yielded beneath their weight. I will go with them trusting to the same support. It will bear me over as it has for them.”

And then from the Book itself, Ephesians 2:8-9, “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith–and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God, not by works, so that no one can boast.”

It was on an October evening back in 1972 that all this became real to this man; that my relationship with God had nothing to do with how good or bad I was, it had everything to do with how much my God loves me, so much that He offered me eternal life as a gift, “A Gift”!!!” to me, as He does to each and everyone of you.

Okay, this Traveler of the Rock Road is no different than any of you; fact is I’m really not anything special, just a normal person with my own battles in life. But the point I wish to get across now and always is that I’ve found help, support and answers to life, in Christ Jesus. I will never think less of anyone who does not feel the same way I do, you are all special to me. And because you so special to me, and God, I will continue to tell you of the Gift I received, that you can also.

I’m gonna close now, but take a moment to listen to this angel sing Amazing Grace in a way that gave me awesome chills like I experienced that morning on the Blueridge. Also take in to account where she’s singing, and why.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kd_uEXyufGM

May the Creator of all send many Blessings your way until the next time we “Travel the Rock Road” together.

Saturday my Lady and I had the grandchildren over to spend the night which is always a little, well, let’s say louder and higher energy than our norm these days. While dining out at the one local fast food refectory (You like that word?) things got a little wound up, and by the time we got back to the car it was a case of full throttle goofiness! Heading home we were rockin and rollin down the road, and that’s without the radio; laughter, funny sounds, the kids picking at each other, and more laughter. I let this go on for some time, but then in a serious voice I said, “I need all three of you to hold as still as you can and not make one more noise.” Probably thinking Grandpa was getting upset, I received full compliance to my order. Then as soon as I pulled into our addition I stopped the car and called out, “Seatbelts off.” No time at all I heard the “click” “click” “click” of their restraints, but still they remained quiet, that is until I called out, “Every Man for Himself!” And it was on, a big time wrestling melee in the back seat of the car as I drove a blistering 5mph down our quiet street and up into the driveway. Okay, okay, so I’m a little goofy myself for letting them go crazy like that, I know; but did you pay heed to the word I used twice to describe what was occurring? Laughter, it filled the air, and to me that’s like music! I never tire of the sounds of happy children. One of the reasons, as I have stated in the past was because there was a time in my life when foolishness and childlike joy was not allowed and I would be severely punished for displaying such ways. I hated that strict attitude and the person who forced it on me. But then one day, a reality check came to roost, and I realized I was doing the same thing to my children.

Cathy and I were six years into our marriage when our daughter was born to us, followed by her two brothers, each 20 months apart. We realized we were quite green going into this parenting thing, especially me under my circumstances and not having a real father figure in my life. But we did know this we wanted to raise our kids in a Christian environment with Christian morals and standards permeating their lives. So we started by taking our cues from some already established Christian families that we came in contact with, and the rules began. “Don’t do that, don’t say this, don’t listen or watch that, don’t act in such away, especially in public, and foremost stay tightly within the lines of the rules that have been set up for you so that the world can see you’re being raised in a Godly home, Or Else!!” Even though I was no where near as bad as the person who abused me, still, for a time I made my kids lives a little miserable. If you were doodling or talking when you weren’t supposed to, you were in trouble. If you appeared not to be giving your hardest and best effort, you were in trouble. If you question my authority, disobeyed a rule or sassed, you were in trouble. And if you were fooling around and worse, “laughing” when you shouldn’t, you were in trouble! Now go and have fun!! In other words I was saying “I love you, but do as I say or “Feel my Wrath!!” Isn’t that a wonderful stone to hang around a kid’s neck, not to mention giving them a false idea of what Christianity and Christ really is. I’m happy to say (and the kids are too) that we didn’t stay in “Camp Legalism” through their entire childhood, to say the least it was too harsh. Not only does that philosophy make the kids miserable, it causes heartache to the parent who thinks they’re failing if a child doesn’t turn out the way they think they should.

Okay, quickly now, here are the remedies as I see them, actually they’re no brainers.

1: Yes, I did apologize to my children for this attitude in me and for being so stupid, and if you don’t remember I’ll say it again, I was wrong and I’m sorry, I love you. (That last part I know you’ve heard because I never get tired of saying it!)

2: Kids will make mistakes, adults make mistakes; everyone makes mistakes, Big Deal! It doesn’t mean the end of life as we know it; it means we’re all human. To learn from mistakes, yes. To teach one how not to make mistakes, yes. To initiate consequences for mistakes in a way that can be deemed mental, physical or emotional abuse, well as some of my people say from my birth-state; “Hell No!” (Can you tell I’m getting a little fired up?!!

3: Never tell a child (and don’t get within arms reach of me!) that you’re doing these adverse practices so that they may learn to be like Jesus. I’ve heard that once and all I can say is what a bunch of bu—-, okay never mind that.

When Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these,” I’m sure His words to them weren’t “Now listen carefully, here are the rules, obey them or I’ll hit you with a lighting bolt leaving nothing but a pile of dust and eyeballs!” That’s not the Jesus I find in scripture, the one I see isn’t asking the children to heed rules, He’s telling the adults to learn from these children, love, innocence, trust and I’m guessing happiness and laughter. I wouldn’t be surprised if he grabbed up a handful of pebbles and turned them into candy for the kids. I can’t prove it, but in my thinking, if he turned water into wine to make a bunch partygoers happy He surely did something pretty awesome for the little ones He called to Himself. I call that the Miller Method of Translating, deal with it!!

In my 60 years of “Traveling the Rock Road” I have seen a lot, met many people, learned much and worn many different hats of life. The greatest one I ever wore came with the title “Dad.” My biggest regret is by the time I figured everything out my children were grown and gone from home. I thank God my mistakes didn’t deter any of them from expressing their love, to this day, for their mother and me. And I thank Him for the next hat He fitted me with, Grandpa. Awesome!!

I never raise my voice to my grandchildren, never threaten if they misbehave, but they know there are rules when they come to Grandma and Grandpa’s, and they follow them without one problem. And best of all, they all know and love Jesus.  I never tire of holding, loving, and making happy with these dear ones.

As the saying goes “To hear the laughter of a child, and to know God has placed them on this earth for you, you are truly blessed!”

So let the party and the joy and the laughter of children flow, but if you decide to do it in a car for Pete sake’s do it on a deserted strip of road at a very slow pace!
See ya again!!

I recently received a phone call from my little boy. He was feeling sentimental on this certain day, so with a little quiver in his voice he said to me, “Dad, I just want you to know how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me and my brother and sister over the years; I love you very much.” There was a hesitation on my end of the call for an instant, because after hearing his words there was more than a quiver in my voice, not to mention the tears in my eyes. Yes, of course this was a special moment, but truthfully not as rare as one might suspect. You see I raised my kids to never be afraid to express their emotions, never let anyone or anything stop them from saying what’s on their heart; just like my little, 6’3” 33-year-old son did on this occasion. I myself have never tired of telling my children just how important they are to me and how much I love them. This is a practice I began when they were little and have followed though with them ever since. At times when I start thinking about them and how blessed they’ve made my life, I’ll take a moment and text each of them to say those exact words; and always it’s met with positive responses like, “Thanks dad, love you too.”

Now before someone gets the wrong idea let me just say, no, I don’t see my kids as perfect and “NO”! my words don’t mean we’ve never battled using angry words and sometimes having heartache; from my standpoint that’s all being part of a family especially during the adolescent years. (Who hasn’t experienced some emotional train wrecks during that phase of life?!!) But if turmoil comes, it doesn’t have to be a reflection of how you truly feel about each other; through the chaos and not so nice words at heated moments, it’s still important, in my thinking, to never stop letting the other know you still love them. Probably more than once during a verbal melee did I tell one of my kids, “Your mama may have brought you into this world, but I’ll take ya out!” Only to go to them later to say, “No matter what, never forget how much I love you.” That’s the “Miller Method” and whether or not you agree, that’s fine. My feeling is if you’ve got a better way of expressing your emotions run with it! If not, give it a go, you’ve got nothing to lose and possibly more to gain than ever imagined, just sayin. I’d like to say I was raised that way, but it wouldn’t be the total truth.

As mentioned in past writings, I was abused as a child at the hands of my great-uncle who put every ounce of negativity he had in me, guess he thought it would make me tough and like him. (I thank God it didn’t!) For this man that would be expected once you that’s how he was raised. But there was another person who although they didn’t express a whole lot of negativity, they also didn’t do a lot to shower me with warm emotions, such as hugs and affectionate words; and that my friends, was my very own beloved mother.

My mom was a wonderful person that many liked, always smiling, cracking some silly joke and what not. But when it came to expressing loving emotions she fell a little short. That’s not to say she didn’t love me, she did with all fiber of life I believe! But certain things kept her bottled up from expressing how she really felt. Some attributes of course were losing her mother at a young age, and having a father who sent her to live a stringent existence with other relatives. On top of that was even a heavier burden she carried; mom suffered from emotional and mental disabilities. Once again, let me set it straight, I am not throwing off on this person I loved so dearly, only being honest about her situation. I also believe there are others out there who grew up with somewhat similar circumstances, if what I share here can be a help to someone else then I feel I’ve accomplished what God wants from me and this blog.

Anyway ma (which is actually what I called her) was loving in her own way, but still kind of standoffish. As a young boy I didn’t think much about how she was or acted, but as I grew older the realization came to roost that there was something very different about her compared to my friends’ mothers, something that was looked on as different, strange, even juvenile for her age. And as I realized more, an animosity began to cultivate in me that grew so strong we seldom even spoke anymore until I finally moved out the first time at 16 just to get away from her. At the age of 20 I married and moved out of state and seldom came home to see her, when I did it was mostly a cordial, shallow visit just for her to see me and my family. In 1987, Ma retired from her job and informed she was going to move to where I lived to be close. The years and God had softened my heart toward her eccentric ways so I did all that was possible to make her welcome, still I knew it wasn’t going to be easy for any of us. For a good number of years it wasn’t terrible, mainly because she kept her own place and if things got to “out there” I could just go home and see her at a later date, sometimes over a week. Then the time came when Ma’s physical and mental health could no longer allow to live alone. Now suffering from Dementia she lived with us for three years, until her condition worsened to the point we had to place her in a nursing care facility, this would be Ma’s final earthly home.

Seven months passed and I still remember the day I received the call at work, “Mr. Miller, your mother is starting to go fast, if you wish to see her you should come immediately. The caller’s prognosis was a little premature. I arrived at the facility about 2 in the afternoon and sat by her bed as she lay in a sleeping state for the next 16 hours. And as I sat there next to her bed through the night, I concluded that God delayed Ma’s release from this life not so much for her, but for me. As the hours rolled on so did many memories of my childhood, of a woman with many peculiarities who knew me longer than any other person on the face of the earth. That this person stood by me with encouragement and a strong willingness to stand in my corner when at times there were few who would. That this one here gave me life and in the process nearly lost her own; that this person that sometimes felt like a stranger to me was something else that no one could be, she was my mother and I loved her because of that. “Dear God,” I prayed, “Why didn’t I tell her that enough, is it really too late now?” The next morning Ma came to and saw me sitting by her bed, and she smiled like only a mother could. Not wasting any time I took her by the hand, looked her in the eye, and told her things that I should have years ago, the biggest being “I love you more than words can tell Ma!” At that point Ma could no longer speak and she had always had a severe hearing loss. I was told that due to her condition she was now completely deaf and would not be able to hear me. BULL! You believe what you want, but as for me, well I think God opened those ears for just a short time so that a little boy could speak to his mom one more time. What’s my proof you ask? Nothing more than her moist eyes and the way she would grip my hand tighter when I said certain words. If that doesn’t say something, I don’t know what would. A couple more hours passed with us still holding hands, looking at pictures of her newest Great-Grandchild, and watching Andy Griffith on the TV. Then she laid her head back down, sank into a deep sleep, and several hours later her “Travels on the Rock Road” came to an end, for she was now walking on streets of gold!

First Corinthians 12:4-8 “Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things”

Friend, you have an opportunity, today, right now, to tell someone something that maybe they’ve haven’t heard from you in a long time, maybe never. Don’t let it become too late to let someone know that no matter what, you love them. After all, isn’t that what God did for all of us? Don’t believe me? Check out Romans 5:8!

That’s all I got. Whoa looks like a whole lot! That’s me, running at the mouth, but in Jesus name.

See ya next week, hopefully!!

“Hey, Miller,” “What Sid?” I read where one of the “Christian groups protested another soldier’s funeral, holding signs and shouting all kinds of hateful things to anyone whose attention they could get.” Then staring me straight in the face he blurted those two words, “Damn Christians!” Well I sure couldn’t let that go unanswered. “Hey, Sid!” “What?” I was reading this biography on the Rolling Stones where at one of their concerts they hired the Hell’s Angels to be security and those guys got so crazy they started beating up anyone close to them and even killed one guy.” Now it was my turn, “Damn Bikers!” And with just a few words I described the relationship between me and my buddy Sid, well kind of.

Sid is a tough as nails Harley rider from Toledo, Ohio that I exchanged barbs with whenever we would meet up. He did two tours of duty in Viet Nam during the 60s, says that what made him a biker. “When I got back from all the action in Nam I found life at home too slow for me to cope with, so I bought my first Harley and started chewing up the road!” Chewing up the road was one of his pastimes, the others were getting in more fights than he could remember, drinking beyond limits regularly and paying support to a couple of ex-wives and ex-girlfriends for children he seldom got to see. By the time our paths crossed most of his wild life was behind him, he was living in Holland, Michigan near a son and his grandchildren who were now the focus of his life, and they in turn loved their “Grandpa Patches” (his bike club name). He still rides a lot, only now, in his words, “Riding sober is great, I can clearly see where I’m going and remember the next day where I’ve been!” Of all the different things Sid was now doing one of the proudest activities was his involvement with an organization known as the Patriot Guard, a group of bikers that attend the funerals of fallen soldiers, firemen and police officers to aid in making sure the event is done in total respect. Without a doubt I liked old Sid the moment we met, that was easy to do with his big smile, laughter and sense of humor. The interesting part is the fact that the man liked me, which actually was quite a feat in itself. For you see, I represented a group of people that the big guy didn’t particularly care for–Christians.

As a young person he had attended church, but something happened that soured him and he stopped going. When he first came back from the service, he went to another church with his first wife but that didn’t fair much better. “All that preacher wanted to do was talk down on everything and everybody that didn’t agree with him. If they looked or acted a certain way, they were no good. Well a lot of those people he was condemning were my friends, he had no right to judge them. So I told him if that’s the way it was, he knew what he could do with his Bible and church and I never went back!” “Sid, all can I tell you is that isn’t what the bible says about telling people about Jesus and His love for them, and many Christians aren’t like that, just look at me.” “I know Miller, you’re a weird bird, different from any Christian I’ve ever met, I can’t even make you mad,” then leaning close to me, “You sure you’re a Christian?!!!” I know this old leatherneck was trying to tug at my crawl, but there are a few Christians in the category Sid met that ask me that same question; oh well.

I heard from Sid’s son who told me his daughter had picked up some strange virus and she was now in an induced coma clinging to life in a hospital in Grand Rapids. I assured him we would be praying and asked him how his dad was doing. “He’s tore up as much as we are and spends most of his time at her bedside or walking the halls there at the hospital.” “Let him know we’ll be praying for all you guys and him as well.” A slight pause and then, “He knows that, John, it was his idea to call you.” (How bout that?!!)

My Man C.S. Lewis said this, “I didn’t go to religion to make me happy. I always knew a bottle of Port would do that. If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity.”

Friends, it is my belief to call yourself a Christian means that you have discovered something so wonderful you have to share it with the entire world no matter what they look or act like. I have found that the vast majority of true believers hold to this position, but unfortunately it only takes a few (people as one friend of mine calls them members of the First Church of the “Chosen Frozen”) to give us all a black eye and cover the true meaning and message of Christ so that others will miss what He offers freely to all who come and believe on His name.

Here’s another Lewis quote that I’ve used often which clearly tells how we should presents ourselves, as Christians, to others: “To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you.” Says it all doesn’t it?

To my hard as nails fellow “Traveler of the Rock Road,” thanks for keeping my head on straight, Sid, helping me remember saying I’m a Christian is not just a title, it’s who I am and what I do, for His name sake.
Sid’s grand-daughter made a full recovery, I ran into him in a crowed restaurant and he told me all about it. “That’s great Sid, we never stopped praying for her and for you too you old fart!” Yeah Miller, I know, you’re rotten like that!” A shrug of his shoulders and then, “I don’t know, we’ll see, maybe there’s something to what you’re peddling.”

I turned to leave and got almost to the door when I heard this booming voice from across the restaurant that brought the entire room to silence, “Damn Christian!” I turned to see Sid sitting at his table smiling at me over his cup of coffee. Only one thing left to say,

“Damn Biker!!” Dang, do I love this man!!!!

See ya next week.