Traveling the Rock Road

I don’t believe there was ever a time that offered more confusion, sadness, fear and bitterness as my grade school years

back in the early to mid 60s.  The moments were few where I didn’t experience one or more of these emotions back then.  I had heard of children back in the last century who were forced to go to work instead of having the opportunity to achieve an education, and as crazy as it sounds many times I wished I had lived back then to go into the mines and factories with them.  I felt it had to be better than what I was experiencing in school!  Sounds pretty glum, huh?  Okay, it’s taken a long time but now, looking back some 50 years ago I’m willing to say it wasn’t all bad; but it was a long way from being good!  Many times I would do anything I could to keep from going to school which included proclaiming sickness, sometime faked to stay home, but often truthfully physical illness brought on, I’m sure, by thoughts of what lay head that day.  Two of the most frightening worries I carried with me constantly were being called on in class to answer a question or knowing that there would be some kind of test.  True to my fears, if called on to answer a question; I usually gave the wrong answer if I gave one at all or I would bomb the test that day big time.  As some would put it, I fell deeply into the category of “dumb!”  Harsh word I know and in this day and age you wouldn’t dare classify a child as such, but back then that’s how many of us were looked at; we didn’t get it, we didn’t possess the ability to understand or (the big one) we were just too lazy to apply ourselves.  

Now before you get the idea I’ve come today to trash educators from my early days; that is totally incorrect.  Grade school was a wonderful time for many back then and I am quite happy for the ones who had that experience.  But the negative mindset I’ve described was just as prevalent, this I know from extensive research and interviews I’ve done on the subject.  And no, I’m not saying teachers were hired on merits such as how mean you can be to the “dumb” kid.  I feel it was more of a belief back then if a child wasn’t learning these were the reasons, thus you had to be tougher on them.  So often when I couldn’t answer a question it was met with a not so nice attitude.  Sometimes angry words, sometimes being punished by staying in from recess or staying after school to do work I still wasn’t understanding.  A certain teacher hit the nail on the head one day of why I didn’t comprehend and didn’t even realize it.  “Johnny, read the 1^st paragraph on the page and tell me what the answer is.”  A lot of uhs, ers, and hesitations mixed in with a few words brought an antagonistic remark from my exasperated instructor.  “What is the matter, can’t you read?!”  BINGO!  Here I was, five years into my educational journey and the fact of the matter was with the exception of words I had memorized, I could not comprehend written vocabulary.  The two biggest influences in my life, my mother and my Great Aunt Pearl were of little help since their reading abilities weren’t much better.  They could tell me what a word said but couldn’t help me understand how to put the letters together and sound them out to make words.  So as time went on I developed this attitude about myself that all the negatives were true, I was dumb, I couldn’t understand it, but at least I’d keep trying until one day a year later.  

Back then I’m not sure why but when the end of the school would come I’d find myself promoted (maybe assigned) to the next grade no matter how badly I did.  I figured no one wanted to be saddled with me twice so they would just ship me off to the next grade and teacher. But at the end of my 5^th grade year something different happened.  I not only moved up, but so did the teacher to be a 6^th grade teacher now and I ended up in her class again.  Nothing changed; I didn’t do any better in class, still not understanding, still no comprehending.  That fateful day came when we had a test and I blew it big time.  When the teacher handed back the papers the next day she gave out everyone’s except mine. “Johnny did such exceptional work on this last test I’ve decided to hang it here on the bulletin board for all to see.”  With that she pinned my paper up so everyone could see all the red marks, all the mis-spelled words, all the wrong answers but mostly, the biggest letter “F” probably ever written on a paper.  The laughter from the class was deafening, at recess and lunch I had to endure every type of ugly remark on my stupidity there was. The tears burned as they ran down my face when walking home later.  I didn’t even tell my family what had happened.  What hurt the most was I really liked this teacher no matter what, up till then.  She was very popular with everyone, which made it hard to understand how she could do such a thing and feel justified in doing it.  

But something happened after that day, I made a decision I wouldn’t be hurt like that again.  The next day the paper still hung where she placed, kids still made comments but I refused to say a thing.  Later in the day she called on me and I just sat there without replying, that got me a detention.  After everyone went home she gave me her reason for what she did.  I don’t remember what she had to say because now I was doing everything in my power to shut her out.  She finally went over took the paper laid it on my desk and said I could leave.  I did but I left the paper right where she laid it.  That’s how we finished out the last two months of the school year, she never called on me in class and I never spoke to her again.  I was held back that year, but something special came out of it. A classmate’s mother who happened to be a teacher took an interest in me and spent the next year tutoring me in reading.  I know I’ve mentioned this in a prior writing, but it’s worth saying again; it was like the whole world opened up to me, as if a large heavy door that I couldn’t budge now flung open and I discovered a priceless treasure on the other side.  No more was I left with the feeling that I couldn’t understand because of being too dumb.  The ability was always there, someone saw it and took time and effort to unlock the door, it was a feeling beyond awesome to finally understand!

Now I have two points I’m hoping to drive home tonight.  No matter who you are, what you’ve been through, what others may think of you.  “YOU” are an incredible, specially gifted and brilliant individual.  “Now Miller, how can you say that about me when you don’t even know me, know my situation?”  You’re right, I don’t know; but I’ve got a God who does and He tells me that about you.  You don’t believe me, look up and read Psalm 139 (Come on, open that Bible up and take a look.  I promise it won’t take you long and it won’t hurt you a bit to read what the Creator of the universe thinks about you!)

I learned from others and from the one I call Savior long ago now that I have a purpose, I have worth, and I, as well as you was made special.  I’ve dedicated my life to tell ones who were just like me that very message, it’s up to you to believe it, I pray to our Lord that you will.

The second point goes back to my teacher friend, what do I do about her, how she treated me, what she thought of me.  Another quick (I hope) story.

Some 4 years after grade school I was downtown standing on a corner with some fiends talking, laughing and having a smoke when I heard a familiar voice; “Hello Johnny, How are you?”  There she was, first time I had seen her since I left her class.  I had made a promise to myself that someday I would really let her have it for the way she treated me and now here she was and I had my chance to embarrass her in front of others just as she had done me.  But something came over me that I couldn’t explain then.  I quickly put out the cigarette, smiled at her and said “I’m fine, it’s very nice to see you,” and walked off.  As much as I had wanted to really tell her off I just couldn’t get the words and attitude to come.  Years later I attributed that moment of stillness on my part to the Holy Spirit teaching me something.  The easiest thing that any of us can do when attacked is to attack back.  I know many who pride themselves at the art of telling others off.  But as a Believer (and remember when I speak I do on my behalf, on what has worked for me that I now pass on to you) I’ve learned that “Forgiveness and Kindness” lead to more peace and happiness than anything I’ve ever tried.

Max Lucado says, “I choose kindness; I will be kind to the poor, for they are alone.  Kind to the rich, for they are afraid.  And kind to the unkind, for such is how God has treated me.”

Another old boy who had quite the proper name but told folks “Just call me Paul,” said it this way, “Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers.”

As we journey on as Travelers on the Rock Road, we have no guarantee what life will bring or how fair it will be.  The only promise I see is God’s everlasting love for us no matter what the world throws at us, and through that love we have the knowledge that we are special, that we do have abilities, purpose, and most importantly hope.

Through my Lord I see it now!  Thanks for reading!!

There are two lessons in life I’ve heard since I was young, the first is parents will do everything possible to see that their children do not repeat the same mistakes they did; and the second, more than likely they’re going to end up doing it anyway.  So it was in the case of Patricia and her daughter Mary.

Patricia was a fine woman who worked hard to raise her girl and make a living to support them. As a young woman, she excelled academically in school so well that upon finishing high-school, Pat was awarded a scholarship to a state university.  During her freshman year in college, she met an upper classman who swept her off her feet. That 1^st year would be all the farther she would achieve in higher education; Patricia became pregnant and left school forever. The white knight didn’t meet with the news that he was going to be a father with the best attitude he could have.  All he saw were his plans for a future being ruined and he let Patricia know it was all her fault.  Still, he did the “noble” thing and married Pat. Leaving school, he took up a job that paid well but it still didn’t curb his temper and attitude toward his newly made family.  He was constantly berating Patricia as if she was not good enough and that he did a favor by marrying her. Mary, I guess you could say, was spared any ridicule from her father, seeing he seldom even acknowledged her existence.  This went on for several years until one day he announced he was leaving to be with the true love of his life.  (I don’t want to spend to much time on this sorry you know what, but just an update; that true love didn’t last as long as he and Pat, nor did the one after that.)  

Patricia and Mary moved in with her parents until they could get on their feet and get a place of their own.  Unfortunately this wasn’t met with the greatest of support by her parents, they were older and weren’t ready to have anyone, especially a rambunctious toddler, move in on them.  It caused for some tense moments, but everyone made the best of it until Pat finally landed a decent job and she and Mary were able to live on their own. After nearly ten years, Pat and Mary had stability in life; they had a home, car, way of life but most of all, they had each other.  And that was good enough for Pat.

As Mary grew, the two of them became closer, doing many things not only a mother and daughter would do, but also what two friends would do together–shopping, travel, even concerts.  When Mary became a teenager, they would laugh, tell stories to each other and treat the other as if they were more than mother and daughter, but best friends. They were admired and even envied by others because of the closeness they shared. Life was good for Pat and Mary and it appeared nothing could damage what they had between them.  But somewhere around Mary’s junior year, she began to change.  She no longer wanted to hang out with her mom the most; she had made a new circle of friends whose company she preferred.  Pat, being a realist, knew this moment would sooner or later come; all kids go through a phase where they wish to spread their wings without mom or dad along for the ride.  Sure, she could accept the new friends in Mary’s life, but what she was having the hardest time with is that Mary seldom talked to her like she once did; she seemed secretive in what she was doing and would even become angry if Patricia pried too hard.  It was a hard pill for Pat to swallow, but swallow she did and gave Mary all the freedom she wanted; until one day.  Mary announced to her mom she was quitting school to move in with her boyfriend who was in his mid 20s.  Now the last straw had been added and the battle lines were drawn.  “Mary, you are 17 and there is no way I’m going to allow you throw your life away like this!”  Mary’s response?  “It’s my life and you have no right interfering!”  Pat shot back, “As long as you’re under my care and my rules, I do have that right, stop being so STUPID and wake up to what you’re doing!”

That would be the last they would talk for a long time.  Mary would stay gone as often as she could, avoiding her mother until her 18^th birthday.  Pat came home to find the note from Mary stating now that she was 18; she had quit school and moved into an apartment with her boyfriend.  “I’ll contact you later,” is how the note ended.  Pat took the note, threw it in the trash and said out loud, “Don’t bother.”  When Mary came back to retrieve the rest of her belongings, she found the locks had been changed.  She tried to call her mom at work, but as soon as Pat heard her voice she hung up the phone. The wedge had fallen heavily between the two and now Pat was making it clear Mary chose the direction she wanted to go, so now she was on her own.  The next year would be a hard one on Patricia, but she was determined not to let people know unhappy she was and how much she missed her precious daughter.  Then came the word through a friend, Mary gave birth to a baby boy.  She had gotten pregnant before she left her mom’s home, but kept it a secret.  This news made Pat even more angry.  How could she allow such a thing to happen and not ever tell her?  That was it, if this is how Mary wanted to live her life, knowing everything her mom went through, fine; she was done with her.

Mary did make attempts for her mother to see the baby, but Pat refused.  Mary made a decision without the advice of her mother and now she just lived her life anyway she wanted.  A couple of friends did what they could to let Pat know how Mary was getting along whether she wanted to hear it or not.  Then came the news that the boyfriend, just like Mary’s husband, decided he didn’t want to be weighed down with a family and he took off without a word.  Mary and her baby son went to live at a shelter for unwed mothers.  Again her friend admonished Pat, “You’ve got to go see Mary and your grandson; they need you!”  “I don’t know,” Pat answered.  “We’ve both said a lot of terrible things, I’m not sure it would do any good.”  Pat then realized she didn’t even know the baby’s name.  “His name is James,” her friend told her.  “James!”  That had been the name of Patricia’s brother who died at the age of two and who she told Mary about many times.  She named her son James.  

Pat didn’t know what she was getting into, but finally relenting she made her way to the shelter.  There a staff member immediately took her to Mary and James’ room.  Their eyes met, but there wasn’t much talk at first. James, who now was 6 months old was playing on the floor.  “Mom, would you watch James while I go to the bathroom please, I’ll only be a minute.”  Patricia now found herself alone, looking down on the little tyke as he looked up at her.  There was still anger and sadness in Pat’s heart and she felt incredibly distant from her only daughter, but then in happened, the bridge, the healing bridge that had been so long in coming was now there waiting for her to cross.  It came in the form of two little arms thrusting straight up toward Pat to have her pick him up. Choking back tears, Grandma Pat gently knelt down and lifted little James into her arms where he then put his head against her shoulder.  Mary reentered the room to see the picture of the two of them together and that’s all it took.  In a rush, Mary ran across to join them, tears flowing uncontrollably from both women.  James, not understanding what was happening decided to join in on the wailing, which made both gals break into laughter.  After a thousand sorrys from both of them and that many I love you’s, the two sat and talked for an hour mostly about the beautiful blond haired, blue-eyed bundle of energy sitting on grandma’s lap.  There was no need to hash out words and decisions that had caused the split, they weren’t even a thought.  The healing bridge had covered them. It’s been said; Forgiveness is the remission of sins.  For it is by this that what has been lost, and was found, is saved from being lost again.  When Pat and Mary got past the problem that separated them, healing began.  It came in the form of a child.

When man turned his back on God, there was the need for healing, a Healing Bridge to reconnect us with God the Father who loves us so much He wanted our sins covered, that came in the form of a Child also; Jesus.  (John 3, it won’t take you long, read it.)

There are many of us “Travelers of the Rock Road” that carry a heavier burden than we need to.  That burden just may be unforgiveness.  Maybe by uttering a few precious words like, “I was wrong, I’m sorry” that heavy burden will be lifted.  In a relationship with the Creator of the stars, the Creator of you and me, it’s the same burden.  And all you have to do is say “I was wrong, I’m sorry, Jesus, be that Healing Bridge in my life.” Ask Pat and Mary, they’ll tell you how great it is having not one but two Healing Bridges, one for now, and one for eternity, Awesome!!!

It was evening, February of 1985 when I received the call from a relative down in my birth-state of West Virginia telling me of the accident.  There had been a serious car crash and the greatest influence of my childhood, next to my mother, lay in a hospital clinging to life.  My Great-Aunt Pearl had been in the passenger seat when the car she was riding in collided with another causing her side to take the full impact.  

There was little time to prepare, call work and tell them I’m heading out of town, throw some things in a suitcase, head over to Ohio to pick up my mother and then it was down the highway toward Southern West Virginia at a average speed of 100 mph.  The Lord must have known I needed to be slowed up or I was going to end up in the same shape as Pearl. Somewhere south of Akron, OH my serpentine belt broke. We ended up getting a few hours rest until I could get another one the next day.  

Back on the road, we found ourselves some 5 hours later pulling into the parking lot of the hospital in Bluefield, W.Va., where one hour after that one of the greatest heroes of this man’s life stepped out of this life and into eternity.  Now I skipped many details to get to this point because it would have been way too wordy for where I’m going.  The main thing I wish to emphasize is that a great tragedy struck my personal life suddenly which left me in the saddest depression I had ever experienced.  When the word came that my Pearly Mae was gone everything went into slow motion like something out of a movie.  Relatives all around me crying uncontrollably at this tragic news; and as I looked around I became lost in the moment, as if this can’t really be happening; but the cold hard truth–it was real and it was happening. Other than a couple of crying spells for the rest of that day, I pretty much stayed in my numbed state of mind.  The next day the pain came like a storm, and as the reality of what happened sank in, the depression engulfed every fiber of my existence.  I would go through the next several days operating in auto pilot so to speak where obligations dictated that I must be in control.  Otherwise, I found myself falling apart at any given moment often without warning.  As the situation worsened with each day, friends and relatives would do all they could to encourage and lift my spirits.  It was obvious that everyone meant well and only wanted to be a help to my sadness, but sometimes the last thing a person needs is someone else trying to brighten their day when truth is you just prefer they didn’t!  There comes a time when words, no matter how heart felt they are, ring empty in the ears of someone who is hurting, maybe sometime later they’ll be appreciated, but for the tragic moment in question I think a person would just be happier with solitude.  That where I was, these people that I had known my entire life meant well, no doubt.  But in the state of mind I held right then, they were actually getting on my very last nerve.

The day of the funeral came and I confess I was at my lowest point.  I could hardly function.  I’m sure the service was very nice; my Pearl was loved by many.  But I couldn’t tell you a thing that went on, I spent the entire time crying my eyes out like a little child but not caring.  I was at the saddest point of my life and I wasn’t going to try to hide it.

When the service ended, once again people gathered to me trying to lift my spirits, and once again I really didn’t want to hear it.  There wasn’t anything anyone was going to say to make the hurt go away so the best thing they could do for me was for them to go away.  Finally I asked to left alone in the chapel there at the cemetery for just some alone time.  As people filed out, I continued my crying fit with my head buried in one hand and with the other resting at the arm of the chair I was sitting in.  And then, it happened.  It wasn’t anything earth moving, I didn’t hear angels singing, and no bright light flooded my heart to search out and ease the pain; it was a touch.  As I sat there with head down, I felt a hand go on top of mine.  I first looked at the hand, petite and soft; then my eyes followed up her arm to the beautiful soft smiling face of a young distant cousin of mine.  This was a gal I had spoken to few times over the years since she was much younger than me.  But how close she and I were didn’t matter at that moment.  She saw that I was hurting; grieving the loss of this woman I loved so much and she came and did the only thing she could, sit there with me and hold my hand quietly and just allow me to grieve.  Without a word she told me, “I care and I’m here.” That little cutie, 30 years ago, did more to lift me than everyone combined!

As I’ve grown older I’ve become more convinced that we have better opportunity hearing the voice of God than many sermons combined.  In Silence He knows He has your attention and that you can hear what He’s saying to you.  In silence the heart can be heard beating, letting you know you’re alive, and important.  And in silence you don’t have to hear someone say they care, you can see it in their face, their eyes, that’s where it really says, ‘I care, I love you.’  I often think of the Bible verse “Be still and know I am God.”

In other words, “Be still and know I’m here for you.”  “Be still and know I will always be here.”  “Be still and know that I feel your hurt.”  “Be still, and know my love for you is never ending.”

My little cousin gave me a gift when I was hurting the most, the gift and a hand and a warm smile that told me she was there for me.  Thank you, Little Donna.

My God tells me the same thing in His Word and in His Way, “I’m here, and I will never forsake you.”  Now isn’t it awesome to have that ringing in your ears?!!!

I’m sure I’ve said it before, but for this story it bears repeating; 35 years ago if someone had told my wife and I that you could raise kids with the same parents, in the same house with the same rules and have them all turn out completely different from each other, we might have argued that your position on the subject of child rearing was inadequate.  Boy, were we ever green!!

The truth was we had little if any knowledge of multiple child-rearing since Cathy and I were both raised in single children homes.  Now sure, you can learn some from others on what it’s like to have several children to care for, but if you haven’t ever experienced it, it can definitely rock your world.  But through the good and the bad, the highs and the lows, the smelly diaper stage, the terrible twos, the million questions on subjects you know nothing about, the tattling on each other 6,000 times a day, the disrespectful teenage years, and then finally the moment everyone leaves the nest; well, I hope I can say we made it with few dents and bruises.  However, over the course of that time period there are certain things you like about the child and then there are those other issues that just get under your skin as a parent.  The things they do to get on your very last nerve and at times make you wonder how long it would take before anyone missed one of them, or noticed something that looked like a grave in the backyard!  (Just kidding!)  Seriously though, there were times I felt one child or another was brought into the world just to drive me completely crazy by the trouble they could get into or the disobedience they could display.  I was discussing this with a coworker one day back when all three of my kids were teenagers, relating to him how frustrated I felt and wasn’t sure what I should do next.  “Well John,” my friend started, “I had the same problem and I handled it by putting all my time and effort into my favorite kid and just left the others to do whatever they wanted.”  He knew he had my attention with that comment; “What the heck are you saying, I should just let the problems go and concentrate on whoever doesn’t cause me grief?!!”  “Yeah, I guess I am,” he said being totally honest. “If they haven’t straightened and flown right by the time they’re teenagers they never will. Why torture yourself, put your time with the one who appreciates it.  Maybe the other will see that and get their act together; if not they have to answer for their mistakes, not you.” My “friend’s” words stuck with me the rest of that day and into the next; “Put your time and effort into the favored child.”  His words rang for a long time in my ears and until finally one day I realized, he was right!  Life is too short, why should I be miserable.  I would do just exactly what he recommended to get past any crisis and bring me happiness.  I know what you’re wondering, you have three kids, so which one is it?  Okay, I’ll tell you, but what I’m going to do is group all three together first and give you an overview of how I came to my decision.

Three kids, one’s first word was Dada, one was Mama, and one was NO!  Three kids, when one got in trouble they would fess up immediately.  The second would just stare at you not wanting to answer and the third, when they knew the gig was up, they took the most obvious course to them, Run!  (If I could keep them corralled in the house I had a chance to catch’ em, but once out the front the door the chase was on; Whoa!!)

Three kids, being a musician there’s always been instruments at the house, many over the years; and someday I hope one of them will tell me what happened to some of them!!!

Three kids, two I’ve had to retrieve from a police station, the 3^rd was probably a little bit smarter not to get caught in some dumb shenanigan!  Three kids, all three when they became teenagers and learned to drive each cracked up cars, especially Cathy’s.  (One blew four separate tires in four separate incidents, I’m still trying to figure that one out!) Three kids, over those early years I heard disrespect, angry and hatful words and from time to time, lies that all drove me over the edge.  So are you getting a picture of which one is the favored child?  No?  Okay, let’s take it another direction maybe that will help.

Three kids, each I’ve either been called by them or someone else telling me of a traumatic situation they were involved in, that once I got off the phone found myself crying uncontrollably, thanking God they were alive.  Three kids, some parents have to put up with their children bringing home stray animals that needed my home.  Mine did that also but more, they brought home people, that needed a place to stay, or a bed, maybe advice, or just really in need of a hug and a prayer to let them know someone cared.  Three kids, never saw a group fight amongst themselves like these guys, but then come to talk to mom and dad secretly when they worried about each other.  Three kids, all so incredibly gifted in different ways while all being the same in their passion for helping hurting people, all three wonderful with children, and all three compassionate and caring to ones with special needs.  And, oh yeah, three kids who know the love of their Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  Maybe not always the image of what people think of as Christians, but still devoted to their Lord while planting seeds in others about the love of Jesus.  Three kids who have gone on not to always do what mom and dad would prefer for their lives, but also never, never given us any reason to question their love for us. There’s that question again; “So which of the Miller Mob is your favorite?!!”  I’m getting there.

I said that I came to realize one day my “friend” was right, there is a favored child.  What I didn’t say was God spoke to my heart on exactly what He gave me, what He entrusted me with.  When a child or children are brought into the world, there is no promise what their future will be.  Yes, we can guide and instruct, we can lead and direct and we can pour everything we have into them, but still no guarantee they will turn out the way we want them to.  I came to realize that day that no matter what, children are a gift of God.

Also part of being a gift is each one is different; God made all of us that way to be special. The Bible teaches that, “Children are a heritage from the Lord, children a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are sons born in one’s youth.  Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.  They will not be put to shame when they contend with their enemies in the gate.”  Psalm 127:3-5  

The realization came to me that my children are not perfect (The greatest proof of that is my DNA in their veins!) perfect or nor these are the ones God chose to make the “Miller Mob” on Vandeveer St., Warsaw, IN.  He equipped each with some special gift.  From that day on I no longed dwelled the faults they had, even though some stuck out more than others.  I now clearly saw all the wonderful things that made them who they are, who God meant them to be and when I counted all that they were and all they were becoming, I realized I had something incredibly special; “Dear Lord how you have blessed me so richly with these awesome children.” So are they perfect?  Nope, still have to get on them occasionally, that’s all part of package of being a parent.  But who they are and knowing each loves me as much as I love them has made Traveling the Rock Road a better place.  

One writer said, “As parents, you may confidently rear your children according to God’s Word.  While bringing up your children, you are to remember that your children are not your “possessions” but instead are the Lord’s gift to you.  You are to exercise faithful stewardship in their lives.”  My prayer is one day they can look back and maybe see I did make an attempt to do just that!

I have three kids; one is a homemaker and creator of beautiful crafts, one a teacher and carpenter, one a musician and entrepreneur.  (All three are musicians, only one gets paid for it.)  All three have taken their turn turning my hair gray and fraying my nerves and all three have showed me and their mother love, in word and in action. 

So, which one is the Favored Child?

YOU’RE DARN RIGHT THEY ARE!!!!!!!!!!!

As for my friend and his advice, well, looking back, all I can say is, he was an idiot!
Hope he got passed that attitude; otherwise he may have missed the joy of a lifetime!

He looked to be in his 60s, not a very large man, probably somewhere around 5 feet 7 inches in height and I doubt he weighed much more that 125 lbs.  His clothes were always the same, sleeveless tee shirts, white baggy pants, black shoes, a chain with a cross around his neck, and his ever present Navy cap.  As a kid I used to think it was glued to his head, it never seemed to move no matter what he was doing.  I was shocked when I finally did see him without it at the local barbershop.  It didn’t even look like him as he sat there getting a tight cut flattop; but the moment the cut was finished the barber handed him the cap that he adjusted properly while looking in the mirror. The only time his attire changed was in the winter when he would don a dark blue double breasted coat to combat the cold weather.  Still, the ever present white cap perched on his head no matter what the temperature was or the elements that fell.

When my family knew him, he was living in a small apartment down the alley from our house.  It wasn’t a very nice place, one room and a bath, but probably all he could afford living on a small fixed income.  He was known for being a handyman, doing yard work, cleaning up buildings and any chore that would put a few extra bucks in his pocket.  I never saw it, but was told that when he wasn’t working you could find him at the neighborhood tavern down by the river, which may be another reason he couldn’t afford to live in a better place.  On occasion he would drop by our house and sit on the back porch talking to my Uncle Price.  They seemed to be jollyful talking and laughing about many subjects.  I was allowed to sit out there with them, but at a certain point they would both get quiet for a moment; then Price would tell me, “Johnny, you need to go into the house and let us talk in private.”  As always I’d obey, but I knew what was going on. From inside I could see through the window Price get his wallet out and hand the old sailor some money, a few more words and then their business would be over.  (People stopping by our backdoor asking for a little help wasn’t that uncommon, but that’s another story.)  The only time I ever saw anything change about him was the day he got a new cap.  His old one was quite worn and dingy looking.  This one was a bright, almost gleaming white from its newness.  At first it looked strange propped on top of his noggin so new looking, but I knew as time went on it would end up like the old one, well worn and dingy; like I said he wore it all the time.

One year my Aunt Pearl had put out a garden that yielded many vegetables, so much that she gave a lot of produce to the neighbors.  She called me to the kitchen one day to help her carry several bags of food down to the sailor’s apartment; she also included a quilt that she had made.  (That was my Pealy Mae, always doing for others.)  When we reached his place he immediately invited us.  The room was dimly lit, one lamp over in the corner by a twin bed and a single light bulb hanging down on a power cord from the ceiling in the middle of the room.  His residence was meager in furnishing, the bed, a chest of drawers, an old chest, table with two chairs, radio on the counter, stove and refrigerator and that was about it.  The only thing that brought attention to his abode was one wall.  There he had displayed a large American flag with pictures surrounding it.  Some of the pictures were ones that had been taken by someone, others seemed to be cut from magazines, but all had the same theme; Navy emblems, Navy ships, and Navy sailors, everything was Navy.  As he and my Aunt talked, I examined the photos, some didn’t have frames, but wrapped in cellophane to protect them.  He walked over and pointed to one picture of a group of sailors, “See that guy there?”  I looked closely at the man he pointed at, a swab with his shirt off displaying his bulging muscles.  “Yeah,” I said, “Who is he, a friend of yours?”  “Well I guess you can say that,” he answered with a smile, “That’s me.”   I took another quick look and then back at the man standing before me.  No way I thought, but I wasn’t going to say it out loud, there wasn’t anything I could see that resembled the  neighborhood sailor.  Each one in the photograph were men he served with on a battleship during WW2.  Pointing to each person individually he told me their names and what they did on the ship.  Walking over to the chest of drawers to pick up an old worn Bible, he opened it to where he kept one picture of he and two other sailors standing together on a beach.  “These were my two best friends when I was in the Navy; we went through basic training together and were assigned to the same ship.”  “Where are they now?”  I asked, “Do you ever see them anymore?”  He looked hard at the picture before placing it back in the Bible; “No, I don’t,” he spoke quietly.  “They and most of the men you see in the other picture died in a battle during the war.  Over half the men on my ship lost their lives that day.”  I don’t know if he read a confused look on my face or if he just waned to tell me but his next words were, “Those were the best days of my life, and the closest friends I ever had.  I’ve never forgotten them or what we went through together.  That’s why I keep all these things, so I remember them always. Closing the Bible around the picture he kept there, he gave it a pat before placing it back on the dresser and then said, “I keep this picture here to remind me that one day I’ll see my friends again.” Looking me in the eye he continued; “I said the three of us did everything together, that included going to church before we shipped out.  I know we will be mates again.”

“Never forget what Jesus did for you. Never take lightly what it cost Him.  And never assume that if it cost Him His very life, that it won’t also cost you yours.”  (Rich Mullins)

I never saw the sailor again.  While I was gone once, something happened and he was taken away in an ambulance.  I believe he was stricken with a stroke and heard he lived out his days in some military nursing home in Sandusky, Ohio.  I can’t tell you what battle he took part in, perhaps Guam or maybe Pearl Harbor, really I guess it doesn’t matter, never heard any soldier talk about a battle as a fun moment.  And I won’t pretend to understand what it’s like to be in combat fighting with everything you have, not knowing if your life or that of the fellow warrior fighting just a hard next to you will end any second.  But I do understand what I have gained by the sacrifice of others and for that I say, “Thank you and God Bless You!”  Thinking back on my old sailor friend I now realize he wasn’t some senile character holding on to the past.  When putting the whole picture together, everything about him made sense, from his sailor’s cap, to the cross around his neck.  He was a warrior with no wars left to fight, waiting for the day he’s called to “Ship Out” again; but this time on an eternal voyage with his shipmates under the command and protection of the Captain of Heaven and Earth.  Awesome!!!  I’m one of these people that believe he’ll someday see friends and loved ones in Heaven.  I think I’m going make a little time to look up an old salt from the neighborhood.  He shouldn’t be hard to find; I mean how many in Heaven am I going to run into wearing an old sailor’s cap!

For this reason I also suffer these things; nevertheless I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able to keep what I have committed to Him until that Day. 2 Timothy 1:12.

 As many know my Lady and I attended my 40^th high-school reunion a couple of weeks ago, and as stated previously it was just an awesome time!  From the pre get-together at a local tavern the night before that we all used to frequent (the drinking age in Ohio back in the 70s was 18) to a golf scramble Saturday morning where about 30 alumnus participated, to finally the reunion itself held on a beautiful beach and located on Lake Erie was nothing less than fun-filled and wonderful.  The number of graduates who came was large (as you can see from the picture) as they poured in from all over the country. Everyone had such a great time being together there’s already talk of doing something next year and so on each year after, which isn’t completely out of the ordinary for this group since we met twice in between the last two 5-year reunions.  Yep, here’s a group of folks that just seem to love reconnecting.  When I returned to my Indiana home, I related the whole experience to some friends there who were impressed on how many attended. One person said, “We’re lucky to get a handful at our reunion and I’ve only been out of school 20 years.”  Another, “We can’t get anyone who’s willing to put it together in my class.”  Still another, “I went to one and the same snobs that I remembered from school were there and I never went back!”  Another friend questioned me, “Didn’t you tell me that you were hardly involved with high-school your last two years and didn’t even know that many back then?  Now you’re telling me how great of a time you had; what changed?”  Good question.  That was a true statement, I didn’t have a lot to do with school and the kids of my class back then.  And some of the earlier reunions were okay, but nothing that could be categorized as memorable.  So what changed not only in me, but in others?  This, for some, was the 1^st they had attended since high-school with ones that I at least spoke with saying they would come back for other reunions now.  Can we really say this was something special, or would it be more truthful that this was no more than a good party that just happened to have a lot of attendees? From my personal standpoint, I believe it was the first reason and here’s my argument.

On a warm afternoon and evening in June, some 180 people came together on a beach from all over the country.  Some had found great success in some arena of life and career, others settled into everyday jobs and way of life, while others were blighted with something that did not allow them to work.  There were some who looked just a fit as their youthful days of high-school, while others, yours truly included, showed the telltale signs of folks approaching what some call the “golden years” of life; while still a few have been saddled with debilitating illnesses that have robbed them of a fuller life.  Some have enjoyed the success of long marriages, while others find themselves alone for a number of reasons with the hardest, in this man’s opinion, from being widowed all too soon.  And then, of course, most have children, grandchildren, and even a few with great-grandchildren.  In a group that big there has to be much pride and joy for many for their offspring, while still for some, sadness due to a situation only known to them.  The comment will come, “Miller, all you’ve done is describe modern, everyday life for any group from school association, to workplace, to even each and every neighborhood in the U.S.; we all have situations like these in our lives and that doesn’t make you or the rest of those over-aged teenagers special.”  True enough, but humor me and stay with me just a little bit longer, okay?

Be it taking part in a sporting event, going to a concert or maybe a movie, all are involved at least until the event is over and you depart from all the strangers that you shared that moment with.  In the case of a reunion, at least this one, you find yourself not with strangers, but with acquaintances, people you shared an equal bond with during another time, friends, and for some, family.  For one evening a large group of people were magically transported back to a time centered around the years from approximately 1971 to 1973 where, yes, once again they were teenagers.  Where for that moment, all the things that describe everyday life are null and void, where the most important matter at hand is having fun and being happy, not in the company of strangers like a concert or a movie, but with ones who share a part of you in the same way you share a part of them.  People who have not seen each other for years were taking up where they left off, happy to be together. Some of the most exciting moments for me were seeing an old friend from the east side, where I grew up back home, my very 1^st bass player and dear friend from a band I had in junior-high, and then a couple of gals and guys I had known and remembered since grade school days.  Others I’ve become acquainted and reacquainted with when I joined Facebook, the joy was overwhelming when I could physically see and hug these dear people who mean so much to me.  A thread, a commonality runs through a group like this that says, ‘We have something special here, let’s never let it die!’

Chuck Swindoll says “I cannot even imagine where I would be today were it not for that handful of friends who have given me a heart full of joy.  Let’s face it; friends make life a lot more fun.”

Thank God for friends that knows us, care for us and love us despite ourselves.  One of the greatest joys I have is lifting all of them in prayer regularly, for me it’s a way of keeping them close always.  You see, I learned that from the greatest FRIEND whoever came into my life. In the book of John he says: No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you “FRIENDS,” for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you.  He goes even further by saying Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his “FRIENDS.”

Lord, thank you for friends that never forget us and are there for us.  And Jesus, thank you for a friendship that is everlasting, eternal; Awesome!!

Good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, I look forward to seeing old friends that I share something special with again at other reunions.  I also will look forward to watching others reunite and for a time forget life around them, and be 18 again, hugging, laughing and just enjoying being with ones who have Traveled a bit of the same Rock Road with them, for that makes them special, that makes them Family!

Perhaps say in 25 more years, I may be honored to do the opening prayer for the reunion as I’ve been so blessed to do in the past.  Maybe after the “amen” I could grab my electric axe and go into a rendition Smoke on the Water!  Get your butts out of those wheelchairs 73ers, its time to ROCK!!!!

My Lady and I attended my 40^th class reunion this past weekend. This was very exciting for both us to see old friends from our youthful days, some I haven’t seen since I left high-school and Ohio.  This would be the 8^th gathering of this group since reunions for our class happen every five years. And generally, as a rule, the alumni crowd for these event get smaller as the years grow on, or so I’ve been told.  But there was something special about this time that brought us and many other people together. One gal from the class had a vision of making this the most exciting one yet.

Laura is a sweet lady I’ve known since junior-high days and then later church and we shared in the same music group for a time.  Always looking to be involved in some project, always busy, always chatty, and always smiling.  She’s the kind of gal that doesn’t know a stranger, always quick to make someone comfortable around her.  And if there was a project out there that needed an extra hand, my friend was on it.  So when the challenge came forth to make this reunion something special, good ole Laura was on it.

With the aide of fellow members of the reunion class, she rolled up her sleeves and got down to business working countless hours planning, organizing, calling people and getting everything lined up in hopes that this gala affair would be memorable.  Cutting to the chase I can boldly testify that Laura’s dream for the reunion came true!  People came in from all over the country, some making this the 1^st one that they every attended. Except for a very brief moment of rain, the night went off spectacularly.  The setting on the beach along Lake Erie where this was held was beautiful, the food and entertainment were great and the owner of the facility (who happens to also be an alumnus) was beyond gracious and generous.  Everyone got along great and the night was all Laura had dreamed of–wonderfully memorable now and probably for years to come!

Okay, that’s the great news of the reunion and the weekend.  The downside though, unfortunately, Lady Laura could not be there to enjoy one minute of it; as I write this she is hooked to many lifesaving machines and medicines in a hospital in Toledo.  You see Laura is another Traveler of the Rock Road, she has experienced many trials in her life, the hardest to date, a heart that only works at about 15%.  Over the course of time that precious muscle inside her chest has weakened to where even the simplest tasks could seem like a tremendous workout.  One week before the reunion Laura couldn’t go any farther and found herself being transported by helicopter to where she lies now, in a hospital bed unconscious.

I know what some are thinking; “Now what the heck is someone in that state of condition doing taking on all she did?  She just needed to sit back, let others do and worry about things and stay as quiet as possible in hopes of extending her health.”  All I can say is friend, you don’t know Laura!!  This lady is a doer, especially when it comes to making others happy be it family or friends that she loves so dearly.  I have no doubt if she could, right now my gal pal would tell you that to sit back and humanly stagnate would be worse than anything she could ever think of.  Laura is a doer, not because she has something to prove, but because it brings that one item we all want in life, happiness! Had she been with us this weekend the most she probably would have done was sit, watch others have a good time, and grin from ear to ear.  

There’s also one more matter about Laura that pushes her along when staying idle might have been the wiser for her physical body, she knows her spiritual body is strong and that part of her has a yearning for “Home.”  She told my Cathy and me that last time we spoke, as she told her nurse at the hospital, with her signature grin, “I’m ready to go Home.”  Laura is like myself and many others who have trusted in salvation through Jesus Christ, not a religion, not a philosophy, theory or concept, but a genuine love and trust for the One who tells us He loves us more than we can imagine and has something special waiting ahead; not death, but Life; awesome!

There’s an old hymn that has this chorus; “But I know Whom I have believèd,

And am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I’ve committed Unto Him against that day.”  Friends and Neighbors, that is Lady Laura.  She has chosen to live life to the fullest she can because she’s convinced the next chapter just gets better and better–Wow!!

The way Laura lives her life also reminds me of a C.S. Lewis saying that I believe describes this precious child; I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.

A finally verses I know she knows all too well and cherishes; “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God believe also in me.  My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you?  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.  You know the way to the place where I am going.” John 14:1-4

Yes, she prepared a party she couldn’t attend, but some 150 plus had an awesome time; that I know would bring out that grin of hers in a heartbeat.  I don’t know what tomorrow brings for Laura, I like so many others want to see her well again and leave that hospital bed once more, but if that is not to be this warrior is prepared, not for an end, but for a new beginning that starts with the most kickin “Welcome Home Laura Party” that you could every imagine.  She’ll be dressed and ready to ROCK!  How ‘bout that, no matter what happens, she wins!!!!

Love You, Lady Laura!!!!!!!!

Welcome to the Miller Manor, built and established September 1983, same year our youngest, Justin Michael was born and also when I planted that giant maple tree, then barely a twig.  Back then the house didn’t have garage, only an open carport.  There were concrete steps leading up to the front and back doors. Just a typical 3 bedroom, one bath ranch style home sitting on an unfinished basement.  The basement couldn’t be sunk in the ground to the normal depth since unbeknown to us we had bought a lot that had a high water table.  It had to be poured 3 feet higher than usual making our house sit higher than anyone else’s in the neighborhood.  So it wouldn’t look so obvious, we simply added brick and siding to cover the concrete walls so they wouldn’t be seen.  So there you have the start of the first owned residence of John, Cathy, Jamie, Jeremy, and Justin. And start was really the only purpose of this house on Vandeveer St., Warsaw IN.  I liked this little abode, but I only saw it as a short term investment, a stepping stone to bigger and better houses down the road.  Well as anyone can tell you, the best laid plans of mice and men don’t always develop as hoped.  A business venture that I sunk a lot of hope and money into ended up flopping and nearly destroyed our family economically.  Instead of surging ahead financially, we lost nearly everything we had and I was forced to do anything I could to bring in money including working 2 full time jobs at a time.  Besides my regular job, I taught music as well as played music, I did maintenance work at a hotel, I was a bouncer (that’s a story in itself) and finally a fate that was nearly worse than life itself, I was a softball umpire; Whoa!!  

Furniture wore down to nothing and for awhile we were keeping our clothes in boxes and the kids were sleeping on mattresses on the floor. A car loan was out of the question, so I would scour the trade papers to find the best automobile that a few hundred dollars would buy.  I remember one old clunker we had that if I had to pick my daughter up from school; she would wait until everyone else left, then make a mad dash to the car, dive onto the floor in the backseat and stay there until we got home!  To this day I thank God for the Lady He brought into my life, for of all the many talents she has been blessed with stretching a dollar was undoubtedly her strongest suit.  The magic she performed to make meals for a family of five with so little money available was incredible.  She kept all the bills juggled and paid which was a feat in itself considering many times our outgoing was higher than our income. The kids were great also.  They had to be brought into the scope of our situation and made to understand that for a while what many other children were getting or doing they would not.  Never once did any of them ever complain about a thing; I do thank God for the Miller Mob with which He blessed this man.  All energy and resources were used to pay off our indebtedness and to hold on to the one thing we all wanted to save; the house.  Over the course of time we worked our way out of the giant hole of debt that was created and life hasn’t been too bad since those dark days.

About ten years ago now, I had opportunity to pursue my 1^st desire of moving up to a larger and nicer home.  The time was right and the money was available.  The kids were grown and gone but still, I thought they’d back the idea of mom and I moving on up; boy, did I ever get a wake up call.  Two of the kids didn’t say much about the idea of selling the house, but it was obvious they weren’t overly excited about the idea either.  It was our middle child Jeremy who put feelings into words. “Geesh dad, if that’s what you want to do, okay.  It’s just that when ever I come back I feel like I’m coming home; now it’ll just be coming to your house.” Wow, I wasn’t expecting that!  Then a girl out in California whose sisters and her use to spend the summer with us called, “You can’t sell, yours is the only house from my childhood I could close my eyes and walk into every room!”

After these conversations I remember sitting quietly in my chair in my small living room and listening.  I could here the voices and laughter of children, many children.  The amount of kids that came though our doors is almost overwhelming.  All the kids in the neighborhood, all of my children’s friends, Cathy doing Bible club in the summers, for a while we babysat many kids.  As the kids grew older and bigger so did their friends.  With our youngest, Justin, it was football players (Try to fill up a half dozen of those walking buffalos on a Saturday morning breakfast!).  With Jeremy it was musicians and artists.  (We even had a concert in our basement that nearly a hundred kids showed up for!)  Then there was our daughter, Jamie Melissa.  With some kids, they’re bringing home stray cats or dogs; with Jamie it was kids that needed a roof over their head, a meal in their stomach, and kindness when none could be found anywhere else.  (All these years later that’s still one of her biggest hobbies!)  I can’t count the number of times I’d wake up in the morning not knowing how many young people were bedded down in the house. As I mentioned, we had 4 girls that stayed with us a lot from California who became so close we intermingled their name (Kizer) and ours to become the Milzers!  Thinking about all these, plus the people that Cathy and I had over, I made an attempt to count up the many conversations we had in the very room I was now sitting, laughing, crying, and almost always praying with; well, it was more than I could wrap my mind around.  Then there was the important nucleus of this residence, the five Millers ourselves.  This is where we became a family, the only home the kids could remember, the place where loved, fought, grew and learned from each other; I guess I always knew it but on that evening, sitting in my favorite chair in my little front room I put it to words. “This isn’t a house, this is an institution of love; this HOME.”

It was once said “Strength of character may be learned at work, but beauty of character is learned at home.”  I’ll never say my kids are perfect (They have my DNA after all!), but I couldn’t be prouder of how they’ve turned out, guess that all started with a couple of green parents, a loving God we devoted them to and a place they have and can always call home.

Proverbs 24:3-4  By wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established; by knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches.  God has made me a rich man in my little house; our home.

Over the course of time we’ve made improvement here, built a garage, added decks front and back, remodeled the basement and so on.  Yep, it may not be much to someone else, but to me and my family it’s the greatest home on earth.

Have no plans on going anywhere. Then again, when I retire in a few years (Good Lord’s will and the creek don’t rise) if someone out there has several acres in eastern Tennessee they might want to swap me even up; let’s say we have lunch!
Enjoy the life God gave you! 🙂

I was reminded of two different episodes of my life this week that happened some years back.  Different, yes, but in how they turned out were striking in similarity, so much that I decided to combine them in this week’s blog.

The 1^st story involves my conversion to Christianity.  When I began to seek understanding on what it was I now believed, there was a discovery that a main premise to calling yourself a follower of Christ Jesus was forgiveness.  The Bible tells us we need to forgive each other just as God had forgiven us.  That part wasn’t too hard for me seeing I never liked carrying a grudge toward anyone for any reason.  But what about people that I needed to get right with for the way I treated them; Whoa, there’s a whole different subject!  I’ll be first to confess I haven’t always treated people the right way, sometimes out of something as simple as a misunderstanding, but sometimes out of my own arrogance and self-fulfillment.  This weighed heavily on me, professing to be a new person, a new creature in Christ but having one who held grudges against me just didn’t sit right.  After talking to my Lady, some wonderful Christian friends, and a whole lot of prayer; I realized there was only one resort, seek out as many of the folks that I wronged and ask for their forgiveness. Some, it was easy for they were still a part of my life in some aspect.  I could just say to them, “Look, I just want you to know that I now realize how I hurt you, I am so sorry and hope you can forgive me.”  It was remarkable to me the effect it had on those people, healing was not only happening for me, it was happening for them as well to hear the words I had to say.  Some were harder to track down and in many cases I ended up sending a letter telling why I was contacting them.  Again, many wonderful responses came back.  I just knew I was doing what God wanted me to and as long as I did that, everything would great. “TILT!”

I remember the day I walked up to an old friend’s front door and knocked on it; this was someone I had brought great emotional pain to years earlier.  The man who answered had aged since the last time we were together, but still I recognized him as he did me.  “What do you want here?” were the first words out of his mouth.  “Dude, I’m here to tell you I was wrong, it was selfish on my part and hurtful to you.  I just want to tell you how sorry I am for what I’ve done and hope you can find it in your heart to forgive.”  Well, my old buddy didn’t waste time or words; “I don’t want your apology; no, I don’t forgive you; no, I don’t believe you’ve changed; I don’t trust you now and I never will; now get off my property and don’t ever come back here!”  SLAM!!!  The air thrust from him closing the door made my hair blow back, and it also made me angry.  I stood there for a moment giving thought to putting my foot through the door, marching right in, grabbing him by collar and saying, “You stubborn jackass, can’t you see I’ve changed!  Now you forgive me or I’ll knock you into next week!”  I’m totally sold out that there’s something to the Holy Spirit and even angels directing a person’s life.  My face was flushed with anger, but I could hear a small still voice saying to me, “You’ve done all you could, it’s time to leave now, let’s go.”  As I drove away I could hear another voice, not so quiet, not so still saying, “You Failed!  And you call yourself a Christian!”

The 2^nd story is about a young man I got to know shortly after moving to Indiana.  I had become a volunteer with the local youth probation office working with kids with troubled pasts.  Over the course of nearly 40 years, I have worked with literally thousands of young people in many different settings, but few have stayed with me like the memory of a boy we’ll call Tommy.  Tommy came from a home where his father was a hard core alcoholic.  He had been removed from the home on several occasions, living in youth shelters and foster homes, but always returning to his place of origin and always in trouble with the law or at school.  Over a 2-year course, we had Tommy in our lives often, getting him out of trouble at someplace or with someone, receiving a call and going to pick him up somewhere when he was too drunk or stoned to get home, doing everything possible to help in school and finally allowing him to move in with us when he had no where else to go.  During that period Cathy and I felt we were in a living hell so to speak.  He disrespected us at every turn, disobeying any and all rules we put before him. Try as I might and praying so hard and so long for that boy that my knees were growing calluses, we could not get him to straighten up.  It became so bad I finally had to ask him to leave.  And I heard that voice again, “And you call yourself a Christian!” Some fifteen years later I get a call from a familiar voice, it was Tommy.  He had moved around the country and was back in the area looking for a place to stay.  “John, I’ve never forgotten you and all that you did for me, you were one of the greatest people in my life and I love you!”

Sounds good doesn’t it?  I agreed to meet with Tommy, but first contacted a police friend of mine to see if he could get me any background on what he’s been doing.  Seems Tommy had learned how to work the system has he grew older.  He bounced from California, Texas and Florida, then home to Indiana for a while before starting his hobo existence all over again.  “Yep, our boy Tommy has become quite the conman, moving from place to place, taking people for money or possessions, getting into trouble and then moving on knowing whatever he did wouldn’t be enough for the authorities in each state to come looking for him.”  I met with Tommy after that for lunch and listened to his story of how he’s now a changed man and just wanted a fresh start and knew he could get that here living with me and my Lady again.  But now I had 3 young impressionable children of my own and there was just no way I could let him anywhere near them.  The words came easy, “No, Tommy, I can’t have you in my home.”  Hearing those words threw him into a fit, the real Tommy was now on display.  And for the 1^st time I was hearing those words coming from a human being. “AND YOU CALL YOURSELF A CHRISTAN!”  I paid the lunch bill, laid some extra money on the table for him and said, “Yes, yes indeed I do; but more than that, my Savior calls me that also.”

Here’s a quote I keep in my desk at work;

“The longer I love, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life.  Attitude, to me, is more important than facts.  It is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures, than successes, than what other people think or say or do.  It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill.  It will make or break a company…a church….a home.  The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day.  We cannot change our past…we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way.  We cannot change the inevitable.  The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude…I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it. And so it is with you…we are in charge of our attitudes.” Charles R. Swindoll

I was not drawn to Christianity because it was a nice religion or that it would make me a nicer person that everyone could see and love.  What hooked me was learning about a God whose love for me was so great He was willing to except me just the way I was and make me a new creature in Him.  Does that mean perfect, never doing anything wrong, loved by all?  Heck No!!!  What it means is this, “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God, not by works, so that no one can boast.” Ephesians 2:8-9

I’m never going to be able to control how people look at me; I can only hope my words and actions are doing the name of my Lord worthy.  But no matter what anyone else believes, I have assurance that God knows the real me and loves me all the more anyway.

Awesome!!!

Mother’s Day was nice this year, got to spend a little time with my three favorite moms to date, my Lady Cathy, my daughter Jamie Melissa, and my daughter-in-law Tracie.  But it was also a time of reflection on others who once held this precious and hallowed title, in particular the two in the picture, my mother as a child with her mother.  I never knew Grandma since she died in 1942 from cancer, but I learned a lot about her from my mom, family members and my own personal investigation.  Cosby Jane Marshall Laxton was the oldest of her siblings and the 1^st to be married off to John Thomas Laxton, my grandfather.  It’s hard to narrow in on knowing someone who passed away 12 years before you were ever born, but as I mentioned, through the help I already cited, I’ve been able to get somewhat of a picture of who Cosby Jane was.  For example, from all accounts, she was quite an intelligent woman most likely possessing a high IQ.  This is easy to believe based on her two sons who were of the same category along with at least one of her sisters.  It would do a lot for my ego to say a certain grandson of hers also carried the same attributes, but, let’s not go there!  That’s a bragging point of dear old grandma, but like anyone, there’s always another side, hers was a constant battle with Depression.  For whatever the reason, be it biological, or possibly self-induced, Cosby would battle that great demon all of her short life.  This condition would be the major factor of a strained relationship she had with my mom leaving her with a very confused childhood.  When my mother reached adulthood, she would often look back at her early days, at times with anger, and wonder what it was that made her mom act the way she did, for you see Depression as a sickness was not understood then the way it is now.  This would be something my mother would struggle with to understand for years to come, just as her only son would in his minute knowledge of this difficulty as he was witnessing it; you see my mother suffered from Depression most likely the same way her mother did.

So therefore, as many who have had family members or close friends afflicted with this dreaded sickness can attest, life can become hard and confusing, not only for those suffering, but for the ones closest to the individual.  I have no doubt that is what sparked the Dementia in Mom’s life in her later years.

Alright, no doubt there’s ones sayings, “Geez Miller, I thought you’d have more positive things to say on the subject of mothers seeing yesterday was when we honor them, instead you’re raining all over their parade!”  Point well taken, but stay with me just a little bit longer, okay?

Ma lived independently until the last three years of her life when we had to move her in with us.  That move made for some interesting times in the Miller home to say the least, but even with the dramatic ups and downs that came often, we got through them okay.  It was during these times that I saw a woman emerge far different than the one I knew all my life.  There were times she would sit in her rocker with a far away look in her eyes but, also contentment in her demeanor, far different from what had become her norm. And at these times she would begin to speak of her mother, but not in the manner I’d grown accustomed to, but she told me stories of Grandma I never heard; stories of warmth and even her humor she had never expressed of the woman before, and they were fun to listen to.  She was finally realizing that those strange ways of her mother were something she had no control of; when that reality set in it cleared all the negatives she had held for so many years and now was finally able to see Cosby Jane in a new light, a loving mother who battled afflictions all her life, but still was the mother she loved with all her heart.  This new revelation had quite an effect on mom because it triggered several other ill memories she had to make right.  One involved a 500-mile road trip her and I made so she could make a situation right that had gone very wrong years prior.  When Ma left this world, she left it harboring no ill feelings to anyone and most of all, at peace with herself.

Mom settled a lot before she died, so much it made a huge impression on her little boy who had such a hard time dealing with her as she was that he left home at 16.  Now he (I) was seeing her the way he did when he had the innocence of youth, that wonderful mother God had blessed him with that he wouldn’t trade for anything.  My, oh my, what a precious gift a mother is to each of us!

Cosby and Catherine shared a bloodline, they also shared an illness.  But more, so very much more they shared a love that only a mother and child could have.  Maybe it wasn’t the most noticeable at times, but believe me, it was there, and it was real, just like I’m sure you have with the person you call mother, with the person you call child.  If there’s something in the way that causing a stumbling block of realizing that love, how bout starting here to find it again;

“Love is patient; love is kind.  Love is not jealous; is not proud; is not conceited; does not act foolishly; is not selfish; is not easily provoked to anger; keeps no record of wrongs; takes no pleasure in unrighteousness, but rejoices in the truth; love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.” ~I Corinthians 13:4-7

Remember, “The loveliest masterpiece of the heart of God is the love of a Mother.”

AWESOME!!!