Traveling the Rock Road

“Aging is a question of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter!”  Satchel Page

I took this picture the day down by one of our lake where I found a couple of teenagers swinging away and having a high old time to boot.  Striking up a conversation I asked if they came there a lot to swing. The one answered, “No, neither one of us have done this for a long t50e, but this week we graduate from high-school, and we just wanted one more moment of remembering how it felt to be young before we go out into the world and get jobs and all that grown-up stuff.”  I had to chuckle a little, “You almost make it sound like a death sentence” I told him.  My young friend responded, “Well my dad always tells me I’ve had it too easy and now I was finally going to get a taste of what the real world is like.”  I’ve thought about that conversation many times over the last several weeks, especially since this month marks 39 years from the day I “left my childhood behind” as this lad’s dad would put it.  And from his reaction, I got the impression he fully believed the best days of his life were now behind him.

I’m on a tight schedule today, so I don’t have time for a long drawn out investigation into this mind set. Truthfully though, I feel I could wrap it with a one-word rebuttal–BULL!

Listen carefully, everyday of your life you are given the opportunity to be young.  Whenever you laugh, whenever you share yourself with someone else, whenever you start the day thankful for all you have, or maybe don’t have, you are staying young.  Satchel Page was one of the 1^st black baseball players to make it into the major leagues and only got the chance to pitch in one game.  He had spent many years in the Negro Baseball League, but no one ever knew exactly how old he was.  He approached life in the same manner as his quote I used.  He also had another gem I liked, “How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?” A number meant nothing to Mr. Page, it was what was in his heart everyday he woke up and every time he stepped on a ball field no matter where it was; he was there to give his best and have the time of his life!

How many of us can remember moments or recite words that were passed on to us by our parents, grandparents or someone that was much older than we were at the time, but in certain ways really didn’t seem that old.  I can remember occasions being outside playing and a voice would call from the front porch, “Johnny, our program is on.”  That would be my Great Aunt Pearl calling me for her and me to watch the Beatles on television together!

Look, we all have matters in our life that try us to the limit, that put years on us in some form or another, I know this.  Possibly the direction you thought you were heading in life took a wild detour to a place you never intended or wanted to me, but that sure doesn’t mean give up and just roll along until your days here on earth have ended.  The child in each of us still lives; you just have to seek him out at times, and don’t be afraid to do so.  No matter what is going on in your life, there is still room to enjoy each day–laughing, sharing, giving, maybe forgiving.  Studies have shown that unforgiveness is a major stagnation that hamper happiness in people’s lives; just a thought.

Like I said, I’m on a short time table this week so I’m gong to leave you with 2 verses that add to what I’m saying. One comes from James1:2 and Matthew19:14.

Got to get to the airport to pick some people up and the day really takes off.  But before it’s over, I think I’d like to get my Lady, my Girlfriend, by the hand, take a walk and perhaps stop at a park and do some swinging.  How many of you kids are with me?!! 🙂

I guessed his age to be somewhere in the mid 70s at least, thin built and maybe 5’5” in height at best. He was struggling for all he was worth with the task in front of him; unfortunately, it was obvious to everyone that passed it was more than he was capable of, obvious to everyone except him that is. I was in the front seat of my car for several minutes as he struggled to change the flat tire on his vehicle. On two different occasions people stopped to offer a hand, offers he declined adamantly. He even swung the tire iron in the air in a threatening motion to one fellow when the guy didn’t take the hint to leave him alone; didn’t take the hint that is, up that point. I watched for another minute or so and then headed into the grocery store. My mind was telling me, “He’s stubborn as a mule, but determined, he’ll get it done without any help sooner of later.” My mind might have been saying that, but my heart was overruling that thought. I knew he would still be at it, making no progress when I went back out. Sure enough there he was, still putting up a fight with the flat. Placing my groceries in the car, I scanned the area for the best course to walk up behind him without being seen; I had no intentions of being shooed away like the others. When I was within reach I took the tire iron from his hand, which was easy to do by then since most of his strength was exhausted from his efforts. “Darn lug nut won’t break huh? Here friend, let me take a whack at it.” As I bent down to take that whack he decided to do the same, right across my shoulder; Bam! There wasn’t a whole lot of power behind his shot (thank goodness!) so I just said, “That’s okay, I think I can get it myself.” The next action I was not prepared for in the least when he broke into a loud sob and ran around the other side of the car and got in. I’ll admit, I was just a little anxious, not knowing why he did that, or what he might be getting out of the car. I worked quickly to finish the job, one eye on my work and one on my not so vivacious friend, just in case. He exited the car as I finished putting on the spare and placing everything else in the trunk. In his hand were two pieces of paper, one was a note and the other a twenty dollar bill. The note told me a good bit of what I already knew; “I had a stroke a year ago and lost the use of my right arm and can no longer talk. I’m not used to anybody helping me but thank you, here is $20 for your trouble.” I placed the note in my shirt pocket and then stuck the $20 in his. “No need to pay me friend, we all can use a hand sometime or other, just glad I was here to help out.” That response, unfortunately, only brought another round of loud wailing.

This gentleman I speak of is not a rare bird at all, is he? I’m sure each of you can think of someone this reminds you of, someone who has always done for themselves, never asking for any help, and for the most part, never needing any. Perhaps this describes one of your parents, a friend, relative; maybe you? Actually, all of us have some degree of that attitude in us; the proper name we give it is called independence and most don’t wish to cede even an inch of it and will fight with everything in them not to. But the cold truth is if we live long enough, we come to the point where we cannot do totally for ourselves anymore and need the help of others; friends and family, that’s not being a charity case, that’s just life.

My Lady and I have tried to live our lives in way that allows us to be there for others when a need arises and that can take on many descriptions. In some cases it results in something physical such as a helping hand or supplying a needed item. Sometimes it’s just stopping to see or check on someone, maybe just being there to be a listening ear when no one else is. It’s not a big deal to us and doesn’t make us special. We call ourselves Christians and one of the main focuses of the Christian life is to practice charity, and in the Biblical sense all charity is just another way of saying, love.

I challenge everyone to look for ways to help others whether you agree with my position of faith or not. There’s a saying I like that goes like this; “The only time you should be looking down on someone is when you’re offering a hand to help them up.” Amen?

That’s all good and the way things should be, but what about when it’s your turn to be or need help, will you be ready to except and allow it in your life? I’m pushing up toward 60 in the not to far off future, good Lord’s will and the creek don’t rise. And I consider myself in pretty good condition, but already I find there are things I used to do with ease that I no longer have the energy or strength to fulfill. I will be the 1st to confess it took a lot of swallowing of pride, on my part, to ask for help, even from ones that I know would be more than happy to do so. I’ve had to learn it’s not a sign of weakness, but of strength. There are things I still want to do that the only way for me to accomplish some of them is to enlist the aide of others willing to come along side and be the added strength that’s needed for the task. You want to know the really neat thing about that? There are tons of folks willing and happy to be that added power to get you over the hump, sometimes friends and family, sometimes a stranger with a willing heart waiting for the chance to reach out to someone.

That’s exactly how I see our Lord. He’s willing to let us go with our own freewill, not interfering, but still there waiting to hear us say, “Lord, I need your help.” He’s there to be the help we need, to be the guide we need in this life. Psalm54:4 – Surely God is my help; the Lord is the one who sustained me.

I got to see my friend once again, but this time it was in the store and in the company of two beautiful ladies, one looked to be about 30, and other, maybe 5. As I watched them I wondered if he had given thought to his situation and finally asked for help; or maybe someone saw a need and filled it. Either way the older gal was pushing a shopping cart asking my friend if needs this or that as they made their way down the aisle. The younger one’s job was to hold on to his one good hand. When they came to the end of the aisle he obviously took a wrong turn. I say obvious because the little girl tugged on his arm and said “No, Grandpa, this way!” He got this look on his face that for a minute I thought a little of the demeanor I experienced was about to rise. And it did, ever so lightly, with him sticking out his tongue and his little guide squealing in laughter and delight, while the mother pronounced on them, “Oh you two!” How’s that for a team, huh? I’d say pretty Awesome!

“Do the right thing.  Why?…..Because it’s the right thing.” U.S. Marines

I’d like to tell you about a couple of heroes I know, one who is quite close to me and the other is someone I met once and most likely will never see again. These two heroes have some commonality between them, but far more differences.  They both held the same job for a time, only 50 years apart, other than that not a whole lot of similarities between them, but lets take a closer look at these two and see what else there is they might share, shall we.

The 1^st is my mother’s older brother, my Uncle Carl.  He’s now in his 80s, but most of his life he worked for the government in one capacity or another, mostly in other countries. He now lives in Las Vegas since that was closest to the last place he worked before retirement.  A few years ago we went out to visit him and his wife and he took us around to see the sights.  One of the places we went was famous Fremont Street, the original location of the Vegas Strip.  While taking in the sights and sounds of the area we became separated from Carl.  When we found him he was surrounded by a small group of people who were taking turns shaking his hand, thanking him and yes, calling him a hero.  We stood at a short distance till the group moved on and we had him all to ourselves again. When he saw us standing there, he chuckled a bit, shook his head, pointed to his hat and said “I gotta get rid of this thing; that happens too often.”  The hat had writing that identified my Uncle Carl as WW2 U.S. Marines Veteran.  Not only that but it also let people know that he was a survivor of the Battle of Iwo Jimo, the bloodiest conflict fought in the South Pacific during the war.  When the smoke cleared from that fight 18,000 American troops would be wounded, nearly 7,000 paid the ultimate price with their lives, and the Japanese suffered loses of nearly 22,000 men.  I told Carl, “That’s really an honor that people see what you did and want to thank you.”  His answer, there were a lot of us that had to fight that damn war, I was one of the lucky ones that made it home, other that that, no big deal.”  If you have a relative that fought in that war you understand where my Uncle is coming from.  The majority saw more fighting, bloodshed, and death than most of us can even imagine.  They came home to a hero’s welcome and years later still are seen in that light.

Moving forward in time, it was a year ago I was going into one of the local supermarkets. A young man looking to be in his 20s was going in at the same time.  Shorter than me but with muscled-bound arms bigger around than my head, brown skin, a nearly shaved head, sleeveless tee-shirt, khakis, and dark sunglasses.  He slowed his pace to speak in Spanish to someone he evidently knew, who was coming out of the store.  It was then I drew close enough to see two distinguishable traits that set him apart from others more than his attire.  The first was a tattoo of an emblem I’d seen and known what it stood for all my life, the same logo my Uncle had on some of his possessions.  The second, a rather large scar on his right shoulder blade, the type of injury I had seen only one other time on a friend who served in Viet Nam; that had to be an injury sustained from exploding shrapnel.  Once we were both inside the store I decided to take a shot, “Marine!” I said in a solid voice.  The young man stopped, wheeled around, took off his glasses and said “Yes sir.”  Walking up to within a couple of paces I told him, “Young man, thank you for your willing service and sacrifice, I thank God for warriors such as yourself.”  A relaxed look came across his face as he stuck out his hand and said, “No sir, thank you. I chose to go and serve because I felt it was the right thing to do; it’s rare, but still nice when someone acknowledges that I made the right choice.”

“A true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.” G.K. Chesterton

Two men, two warriors, two wars over a half century apart.  One was drafted into a fight he wanted no part of, but did it anyway because there was a madness threatening the entire world and the people he knew and loved.  He did what he had to do and when it was over, he came home a hero.  The other volunteered to go for the same reason some fifty years later, to do his part to stop tyranny, oppression and evil.  He also did what he had to do, and when it was over, he came home, no fanfare, no celebrations except from the family who prayed for him every day.

On this Memorial holiday, may we “truly” take a moment to pause and remember these two heroes along with every man and woman that did their part to ensure our way of life and our freedoms.  Thank God today and everyday for that matter, for those who gave some, and as the saying goes, and for those that gave all.  Don’t be afraid to go up to someone that can be recognized as a person who served in the armed forces and say thank you.  That just could be the bright spot in the day that they need.  I know of one person that whenever he spots a recognizable veteran or enlisted person, he always takes a moment to stop at their table and express his gratitude and then works it out to quietly pay for their meal, and leaves without saying another word.  (Give that a whirl sometime!)

On behalf of the residents here at the Miller Manor, may each and everyone have a great Memorial Day, and may we never lose sight of why and for whom we celebrate this day.

Thank you Warriors, God Bless Each and Everyone of You!

I was recently accused of something that I should take as a compliment, and for the most part do.  But I also have some underlying feelings that recant that statement as not always being the case.  “Miller, you’re always happy, singing, whistling, acting goofy (Act?) Every day it’s the same thing with you, nobody can be that happy all the time!”  My friend, though a little on the dramatic side, is right, no one person can be up and chipper constantly, totally impossible.  But I do make a conscious effort to start every day on the right note by not leaving the house or associate with others unless I have a positive word or attitude to pass on.  It’s not always easy, especially if I didn’t get much sleep the night before and I wake up running late for work.  Then needing to get out the door, I can’t find my car keys, my wallet, my left shoe.  Yeah, those are the things that can set you on edge in hurry.  But I’m determined that little irritants like those will not create the tempo of my day.  That’s life, things happen and there’s nothing you can do about it, so get over it, push on and enjoy the day God has created for you, no matter what comes! I guess that’s pretty easy to say when you’re reflecting on small trials and tribulations, but what about when the situation is not a small matter, but devastating, possibly life changing; what do you do then?  

It is my belief that, during my youthful days, when I didn’t learn to handle the small things in the right manner, they became the catalyst to the depression I suffered years later when a major setback occurred in my life.  How long did it last?  Seven years.

As a child, life was not always easy, few reading and comprehension skills until about age 12,  a feeling of being different and insufficient from everybody else, plus, living with a great-uncle who was both physically and emotionally abusive didn’t help much either.  My two main sources for comfort and understanding back then were my mother and my Great-Aunt Pearl.  I loved my mother dearly, but she had issues of her own so Pearl became my very 1^st hero.  She was always there with the right words or attitude to get me over whatever hurdle I was facing at that time.  I could be upset and have my nose twisted out of shape over something, but good old Pearl would be there to help me over it, most of the time with a kind word, but sometimes with sternness.  Kinda like the old saying of hitting a stubborn mule between the eyes to get his attention; sometimes that’s what it would take when dealing with this obstinate one.  Yes sir, no matter what was going on in my life, no matter the highs, the lows; I knew I could count on this dear lady to be there for me in my corner, nary a thought that it would ever be any different; until a telephone call came, Feb. 2, 1984.  “Johnny, there’s been an accident and Pearl is in the hospital; it doesn’t look good, you need to come.”  A 2-hour drive to Ohio (which generally takes 3) to pick up my mother and then down the highway at about 90 mph.  I think God knew I needed to be slowed down and get some rest somewhere.  It was in Akron, Ohio the serpentine belt broke and couldn’t get another till morning.  I laid in bed at the hotel thinking how just the night before we were talking on the phone, making plans to come visit so she could see my newest son.  When I woke the next day my mind was trying to convince me it was all a bad dream, everything would be okay; but it wasn’t.  We arrived in Bluefield, West Virginia and went straight to the hospital.  One hour later the greatest hero of my life was gone. 

For the next seven years life was lived in a fog and a dismal one at that.  It seemed what ever I attempted came to ruin.  I had a series of ventures that led to lawsuits and near bankruptcy; finances became so minimal at times that we nearly lost our home on more than one occasion.  The closest person to a father figure to me, Cathy’s dad, passed away from cancer during this time and finally during a road trip I nearly lost the four people most important to me (Cathy and the kids) when I ran through a stop sign and (you ready for this?) hit a “drunk” driver.  (Try to accomplish that will ya!)   I went on and did all the motions that emulate a life that was under control, but it was just an act.  No one (and that included God) could possibly understand what I was going through was my thinking and a life of any happiness could only be sparse at best; this is how it is and nothing was going to change that.  Ever heard those words coming out of your own mouth?  Let’s turn a page shall we?

Waiting for the Lord in a season of darkness should not be a time of inactivity. We should do what we can.  And “doing” is often God’s appointed remedy for despair.  John Piper

He took me by both shoulders, looked me in eyes intently and said, “You take those precious memories you have of your Pearl and hold them close and dearly, for those are the treasure she left you, an inheritance of joy, smiles, laughter and love.  Don’t squander them in pity for that’s not why she blessed you with them.  If she could see you now she wouldn’t want to see you in this state.  She’d want you to honor her memory by passing that gift to others, that’s what she’d want to see in you, that’s what would tell her if she touched your life in a good way not bad.”  Who was this person that said those things to me?  Well, that’s for another story sometime, perhaps.  But this was someone like me and many others that had lost someone dear to him.  He tells how he had his season of grieving, like anyone would, but then got busy to the business of being a cheer, an inspiration to others.  Several months after he lost the love of his life, a person asked him how he could be such a happy soul.  His answer, “How could I not be?!!  For 35 years God blessed me by having me share my life with the most incredible person in the world. How could I not laugh and smile when I remember her, I am such a blessed man!!!”  How can you argue with that outlook?

I will never pretend I have all the answers to everybody’s problems, all I try to do is pass on what I’ve learned.  Its then up to each person to decide what they want to do with what I have to offer, and that’s okay.  But these things I believe with all my heart, no one who loves you ever wants to see you in pain and sorrow, that wouldn’t be love.  The ones who have touched your life truly leave you an inheritance, a treasure; take it, share it with the world to let them know just how special that someone was and how blessed you are to have had them in you life.  You know God (now you know I was going to get around to this!) loves you the same way, but even more and He wants the best for you.  I’m not talking worldly, fragile things that don’t last, I’m talking an everlasting love that brings a smile to my face when I think and read about it, just like that special lady who touched my life.  God loves you and wants the best for you. “Please,” read Philippians 4:4-7 and John 3:16 and then try to tell me He doesn’t care for you.

I used to see the loss of my Pearl as a deep scar on my existence.  Now I see her as what she was meant to be, a blessing, a smile, a hug and an encouraging word when I needed one.  Oh what a great inheritance she’s left the Gray One.  Do I honor her memory by being a legacy of who she was?  I don’t know, but I thank God for each day I have to give it a try!

Hey, I gotta tell you sometime how Pearl placed herself between me and a copperhead snake to protect me; only to realize the dang thing was already dead!  We laughed for an hour after that!  Oh my, I am so blessed!

Friends and neighbors, I come before you today proclaiming the undeniable fact that I am privileged to hail from the most excellent, most preeminent community set forth on this continent and I am sure, without argument, the planet! What?!!  You don’t believe me?!  Okay, then I’ll just have to prove this fact so that we all might be unified in the truth of what I am stating!

Fremont, Ohiois my hometown and it is rich in its heritage and its place in American History.  One of the greatest battles of War of 1812 was fought there where a division of American soldiers stationed at Fort Stephenson fought off an assault of British soldiers and Indians whose numbers were overwhelming compared to the Americans troops, and did it using only one cannon.  A song was written about that battle and sang by one time “Superstar Performer” Burl Ives; how bout that?!!!  Okay, that’s just the tip of the iceberg, did you know that Fremontwas the home to Rutherford B. Hayes, 19^th president of the United States and the 1^st elected to the office of president after losing the popularity vote in the election, but capturing the majority of the electoral votes.  (And here I bet many of you thought that George Bush held that title!)  We have two men who were awarded the highest honor given in the U.S., the Medal of Honor.  One of them, Roger Young, even has a park (a place as a youth I spent many summers going to the swimming pool and dances in the parking lot) named after him there in Fremont.  Adding to the “Who’s Who” list of notables from Fair, Fabulous, Fremont there’s Walter Nickel, a pioneer in the field of dermatopathology (How’s that for an 8 cylinder word?!), Paul Dietzel, noted college coach during the 50s, 60s, and 70s, three notables played professional football, Rob Lytle, Bob Brudzinski and Charles Woodson, who also won the coveted Heisman Trophy during his college days.  I’m blowing you away with all this incredible info, right?  No?!  Then I’ll keep going.  How many own a Gazelle?  I’m not talking about the animal (which if you do have one that’s pretty cool!); I’m talking about the fitness machine developed and marketed my that blond haired, muscle bound overly loud and excitable Tony Little.  Guess what?   Another Fremont boy.  There’s a gal known to the world as Cindy Jackson who had a dream that took her to England where she sought a way to enhance and preserve beauty.  Today she is not only incredibly beautiful, she’s seen as one of the world leaders in the understanding and application of cosmetic surgery.  You got it, another Fremonter!  And where would the world be today in the arena of Ultimate Fighting if it wasn’t for the contribution of the very 1^st world heavyweight champion, mixed martial artist Mark Coleman.  Let’s hear it for another one of Fremont’s Finest?!  There are still a good number of others who have experienced their “15 Minutes of Fame” as Andy Warhol referred to it, (I’d like to be counted in this group, but I still got 13 minutes and 45 seconds to go!) that I haven’t mentioned, but I think I’ve made my point that’s there’s no place above Fremont. “WHAT DA YA MEAN NO?!!!!”  Alright, stand back, I’m bringing out the heavy artillery! Did you know that in the spring you’ll find no better walleye and white bass fishing than right there inFremont on theSanduskyRiver, and if that’s not enough, you’re less than 10 miles fromLake Erie, theCaribbean of theGreat Lakes.  One of the best dirt race tracks inOhio is right there inFremont that attracts top names in “Outlaw” racing.  One of the finest county fairs is right there featuring top name performers in country or rock playing in the grandstands each year. If you’re one of those types that yearn for the feel of a large city occasionally, have no fear;Toledo,Cleveland andDetroit are within shouting distance.  For dining out, you’ll find no better selections of restaurants anywhere.  Why in their day, places like Behrens store, where you could get the best homemade ice-cream ever, or Rudy’s, known for its famous burgers were synonymous as great dining delicacies.  If you’re looking for some place warm and cozy, hey, gotta be Whitey’s!  Something to do all the time, incredible place, incredible people!  Now then, without any further ado, can we finally agree that I have made my case, solidly, that there is no better place to live or to be from thanFremont?  Wow, sure is quiet out there.  I’m sensing that there are ones that don’t share my belief in the #1 ranking I’ve given my hometown.  Could this be cynicism, possibly a rejection of all the facts presented; or is this just an overwhelming outpouring of common sense that can be summed up, “Miller, your home sounds nice and all, but get real; it’s no different than 10,000 other small towns across the country!”  Is that what you’re thinking? Well, Guess WHAT?!!! You’re right.  🙂   

“When you finally go back to your hometown, you find it wasn’t the old home you missed, but your childhood.”

The house I grew up in is now run down.  Behren’s Store and Rudy’s Restaurant have been gone for years, as well as many other establishments I remembered as a kid.  If I wanted to move back there, I wouldn’t know where to find a job. Like so many other towns,Fremonthas lost its share of industry and work.  My Lady and I have no family there anymore so whenever we visit we stay in a hotel.  With the exception of a few friends that still reside there; I actually have no attachment there at all.  So why bother going back there, or even talking about how special a place it is?  One reason; its home.

I wasn’t born in Fremont, but the majority of my early childhood memories encompass this, not so special place to most of the world.  Sure, the old town has changed, but I think change can be a matter of perspective or what you see. Whenever I go home I take time to just drive around, look, and listen.  I see the old neighborhood with all the kids that were my 1^st friends.  I hear the laughter and yelling, sometimes in joy, sometimes not; but always back the next day to resume play.  I see the old East Side Fire Station and the playground next to it where a million hours were spent during my youth in revelry and fun.  I pass the parking lot where one boy is teaching another how to ride a bike because he never had anyone show him; and then a year later also teaches him to ride a unicycle (BTW, I was the student in both those episodes.)  I see Tony’s Bakery where my mom worked and she would come out on the loading docks on her break and I would ride my bike over to see her.  There’s Union Carbide; my Great-Aunt Pearl is leaning out an upstairs window to wave hello to me.  Why over there is the fairgrounds where we would go to dances held in one of the large buildings. When the fair came to town there was a place covered by weeds and trees that made it easy to climb the fence and sneak in (Ripped more that one pair of jeans doing that!).  I see a young junior-high couple and the place where a boy received his 1^st kiss, and also the place where that same lad kissed his last girlfriend, for she would become Mrs. Miller.  Then there are the schools, where every emotion in the body would be tested to the fullest.  Fear, anxiety, confusion, anger, jealousy, a sense of loss; also, there was joy, comfort, happiness, a sense of accomplishment and belonging.  They all raised their head at one point or another for each and every one of us.  The drive-in, one of my 1^st jobs, is gone now but there I am, making popcorn as fast as I can before intermission; afterwards its cleanup the snack bar and then out to hang with friends till dawn.  Of course, no memory is complete without all the garage bands I played in, each with a dream of stardom; and if not that, at least playing gigs playing at the Y or CYO to make a few bucks.  Listen carefully and you can hear the roar from the crowd at the football game, or the revving of high performance motors at the dirt track.  Driving east on State Street, we turn around at A&W Root Beer Stand, back across town, like the old cruising days, and passing where West End Root Beer Stand used to be; finally closing the book on this chapter of reliving “Memory Lane,” and heading to where now, home is.  Someone just said, “Yep, that’s oldFremont,” or maybe “Hey, that’s my hometown he’s talking about!”

When I leftFremontit was, truly, the best thing I could do.  I needed to make a fresh start, somewhere to grow mentally, emotionally, and in my case, spiritually away from the “MotherLand” so to speak.  July will mark 38 years since we left our past behind and ventured out to a new home, a new life, with no regrets for it was the best thing for us to do.  But in recent years I’ve given thought to my early days, how I looked at life then, how I see it now.  Matter of fact, I had lots of help with this story from other former Fremonters.  I posted on Facebook, on a blog reserved for people from the old hometown, posing several questions pertaining to matters of when someone might have leftFremont, did they stay gone or did they return, and was it a good move for them.  I was pleasantly surprised to see how many folks responded with most of the answers being quite diverse but enjoyable to read.  One of the most interesting facts that came out of this was not even posed as a question, it was a common thread the majority chose to attest to without any urging; “No matter where I am, no matter how long I’ve been gone, Fremont, will always be home.”  Each one of our hometowns is just that, home, base, that starting point that stays with us all our lives.  It helps define us, gives us a place to draw upon stories and experiences that often shaped some of the ways we approach situations in today’s world.  It’s where we first understood the meaning of friends, family, belonging; some of us having large quantities of people and memories to draw from, while others less, but still, each and everyone of us has something, somebody, from the old homestead that brings a smile to our face, perhaps even a tear as they drift back and ponder that precious moment, that precious person, from home.  That’s happening to me right now as I pound out these words.  To mom,Pearl, Dot, Billy, David, Lynn, Debbie,Lena, Pam, Gary, Karen, a whole host of others, and of course, the Chapel Gang!!!  My my, what special people you were, and are, to the Gray One!  🙂

This is your home, these are your memories; if there are some bad ones, take and use them as learning tools.  As for the good ones, cherish them deeply, I have no doubt someone is cherishing a memory of home, with you in the picture.

This is longer than I usually post so let me close with this thought.  It is this man’s opinion your home, your identity to a place, a people, is valued and important; but there will come a moment in time when a new home will be looming on the horizon, that home will be for eternity.  Please give thought to a place that is offered free to all who will enter.  Guarantee it will be the best Hometown ever!  John 14:1-3

I love where I’m from!  I love where I’m at!  I “LOVE” where I’m headed next!!! 🙂

“A good teacher is like a candle – it consumes itself to light the way for others.”

“Welcome to Creative Writing Class, and now, write!  Don’t ask questions, pick what ever comes to mind first and don’t allow your pencil to stop writing until I tell you so.”

That was my 1^st introduction to Mrs. Viola Deppen, English and Creative Writing teacher at my former high school.  I chose her class, not so much out of a love for writing, at that time, but because I needed an English class to fulfill my requirements to graduate.  It was my senior year and I had returned to my alma mater after being at a vocational school for a year.  I quickly got the impression that my arrival back was not being heralded, by some, as a happy moment.  To begin with, I was informed that since I was reentering school as an adult (that meant 18 or older), I would not be allowed to attend any extra curricular activities such as dances, pep rallies and the like (Weird!).  That was okay with me though and I even worked it out to go to school three classes a semester, which was all I needed to graduate, that way I could work a full-time job and play music on the side. “And Miller,” the man across the desk said to me, “since you’re an independent student (A buddy and I had our own apartment) if you miss school, as long as you call in we have to count it excused, bet you like that.”  I did, no doubt, but his next words are the ones that bothered me just a mite.  We had been together for an hour or so and now he was leaning back in his chair staring at me which made me quite uncomfortable.  Then finally, “Miller, I’ll just be honest with you, I don’t see why you’re even here with what you tell me your future plans are, you can do those things without a diploma” (Hmm, interesting approach to “guidance counseling”).  I was just about convinced he was right and walked out the door.  It actually sounded tempting, but something was tugging at me not to quit, not without at least trying.  If it didn’t work out I could take him at his advice later and leave whenever I wanted to. 

So here I am in Mrs. Deppen’s class and she’s telling to me, ready, set.  Write!  And it went something like this; “I don’t know what I’m doing here, what purpose it will serve or why I should be wasting your time when someone more deserving could have taken my place.  Maybe it’s because I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing, maybe it’s out of a sense of needing to belong somewhere, all I know is I’m here and I promise I’ll do my best not to cause too many problems.”  Five minutes elapsed and she called time, gathered up the papers from everyone and then commenced with fundamental applications to writing.  Several weeks and several writing assignments later she asked one day, after class, if there was a time the two of us could talk.  I left school each day after my three classes, to head home and then off to work, but I agreed to meet with her for an hour before I did.  I had met some teachers before that I liked, but Mrs. Deppen was totally different.  She didn’t want to sit around a desk, we walked the halls while we talked and she thoughtfully listened to every word I said, that was nice.  She spoke to me about my writings and was complimentary of what I handed in.  “John, have you ever considered writing as a vocation once you’re done with school?  I believe you could do it.”  Whoa!  Now there’s a switch, the only two people connected to the school system I talked to has one seeing me as a writer and the other dropping hints maybe it would be best to derail my education early.  I really liked Mrs. Deppen and was flattered by the light she saw me in, even if it wasn’t a true one.  I had to be honest with her; I wasn’t the person she mistook me for.  “I’m not that sharp; I know this and others do too.  What others?” she questioned not only in words and tone, but with the expression on her face.   Okay, here goes; and I told her about my earlier conversation with my adviser.  There was silence, a far away look in her eyes, and then an ever so slight smile as if something came to her; but no words were uttered on the subject.  Then, “John, would you be willing to meet with me again say, this time next week?”  “Sure,” a very nice and popular teacher taking an interest in me, “You bet!”  The next morning when I arrived at school a certain person was in the front corridor waiting for me, “Miller, get in my office now (Okay, this ought to be fun!).  “Now I don’t know where in the world you got the idea I was encouraging you to drop out (Uh, maybe it was something that was wedged between your teeth and you spit out, like the words!)  I would never tell any student to do that.   I hope this misunderstanding is cleared up, and would you please let Mrs. Deppen know we had this talk?”  Ding Ding Ding!!!  Lights and bells just came on; the ole gal must have a feisty side to her.  Always trying to be the good sport, I left it that I must have “misinterpreted” what he was saying, but I bet he made doubly sure never to have a “misconstrued” episode with anyone again.  I Love It!

The appointed time and day arrived to meet with Mrs. Deppen and when I did she had several form papers she handed me.  Three of them were national writing contests for high-schoolers, all offering scholarship money as top prizes.  The rest was an information packet and entrance application to the University of Iowa, seen as the top creative writing school in the country.  She could see I was a little confused with all this material so she commented, “John, I’d like you to think about entering some of your stories to these contests.  There’s no guarantee you’ll win anything, but there is no guarantee that you won’t either.  Iowa has a wonderful writing department that I believe could enhance your abilities to the fullest.”  Such a sweet, sweet lady to think I had it in me to even consider what she was proposing, but come on, that wasn’t this guy.  Thanking her, I took all the papers home and laid them on my dresser, where they stayed until I finally threw them out.

It was now 2^nd semester and I was no longer in Mrs. Deppen’s class and I rarely saw her around the school, which was by design mostly; just couldn’t bring myself to tell her what I did with the material she gave me.  Did well at avoiding, until the day she ambushed me as I was leaving.  “John, have you submitted any stories or looked into the University of Iowa like I encouraged you to?”  “Well, er, uh, I, uh.” There wasn’t any reason to say another word (or uh for that matter), I could tell she was proficient in translating awkward mumbles; and I could also tell there was some disappointment in my decision making, or lack of.   “John, two things.  I see a talent that you have to bring to life and images to written words, that truly is a gift.  The 2^nd is those entry and registration forms were my gift to you, to show you the way to enhance and perfect your writing.  I can believe you have the talent all I want, but if you don’t, then it really means nothing.  The gift I gave to you I was happy to do and would do it again, but the decision to accept the gift is entirely in your hands.”  With the warm smile I had come to know and a soft hand on my shoulder it was, “Good luck in whatever direction life leads you,” and she quickly turned and headed down the hallway.  That was the last time I would ever see her.  Our paths never crossed again the rest of the semester, nor the rest of our lives, I would read just a few short years later of her passing from cancer. 

“The dream begins with a teacher who believes in you, who tugs and pushes and leads you to the next plateau, sometimes poking you with a sharp stick called “truth.” 

For whatever reason Viola Deppen saw something in me that I didn’t see myself, and not just me; I have heard from a number of former classmates of just how special this dear lady was to them and how she touched their lives also.  But not only did she see something, she also made a valid point; if the other person doesn’t see it or refuses to, then there is no real meaning in what talent an individual might possess.  It’s up to them to, then, to pursue that talent and not allow it to decay in the arena of indifference.  She also made another point that I didn’t consider back then like I do today; “a gift given, only has meaning, if the recipient chooses to receive it.”  I’m sure I hurt her feelings some when I took the material she gathered together for me and discarded without even a thought of what went into putting it together, of what someone saw in me that made them want to do something special for me.  I’ve seen that scenario played out in many (including myself) over the years.  During the time I used to work in juvenile programs, I would witness many a young person given a break, a gift, by a police officer, a judge, a teacher, only to waste or discard it and end up in a worse situation than their previous problems.  When someone special (and it’s easy to spot who they are) comes along side of you, sees something in you that perhaps you or nobody else at that time can see, with an offer of help, with a gift that could make a difference, don’t hesitate, no balk, don’t discard it.  It just might be the most instrumental moment in your life to setting a course at accomplishing a higher goal than you ever imagined possible; but again, you must believe it, and you must accept the gift when offered.

In my personal life I came to realize I did have a gift, and yes writing is that gift.  I may never be a Hemmingway, but God has given me opportunities to grow in it, to learn more from it, and to hopefully pass something on to other people in a positive way; I can only hope.

In my Spiritual life, I had to realize there was something special about me that Someone else saw; Psalm 139:17.18, and I had to come to the understanding that a Gift was being presented as a help, to lead and guide; and that it was presented in complete love; Romans 6:23.  It is my hope and prayer that all who read this will give consideration to the greatest “Gift” ever given, and also to the “Giver!” 🙂

Viola, you dear woman you, on behalf of all the lives you enhanced with your gift, the gift of yourself to each of us, we say thank you.  Some accepted early, some late, like yours truly, but still, it was because of the acceptance of your gift, of your wonderful influence in our lives that each of us (and I’m not talking money) are a little richer.  Awesome!!!!

Let me ask you something, has it become apparent to you that I just love to boast? Yeah, that’s what I thought, pretty obvious.  But if I’ve left the impression with most that my favorite subject of bragging is me, whelp, then probably the best thing for me to do is shut down this blog and get a part-time job cleaning out chicken coops!  I will have, therefore, failed at my endeavor and purpose of why I write which, is the telling of the story of the many heroes who have ventured down the Rock Road and have made a difference in my outlook and perspective; those who have touched my life, as well as others people’s lives, in a special way, in a positive way.  Another reason I write is to tell my own story, and how if anything good has come from what I categorize, my accomplishments, it is because of one reason only, God’s guiding hand and strong arm for this man to lean on and draw strength from.

That being said have I ever told you about the incredible woman I’ve known for over 40 years, who has shared, in most of those 40 years, my name, my children, my path and direction; my life? ,Gave it away, didn’t I?!!  Of course I’m talking about the Lady God knew I was going to need to be my helpmeet, partner, lover and friend, Cathy.  I’ve been tooting her horn since Saturday when she ran in the Indy Mini Marathon in Indianapolis, the largest 13.1 mile race in the country with over 35,000 participants from all over the country as well as the world.  Competing in an event such as this is not so extraordinary in itself; like I said, there was 35,000 others running also.  But consideration that she never ran anything until her mid 50s and this was the longest distance she ever ran, and that she finished in the top 44%, now you’ve got a reason to say wow!  To tell the whole truth I think it was a shock to her that she did it (She cried when she finished, but don’t tell her I told you!).  Possibly as much of a surprise as it was to her it wasn’t to the Gray One here or the people who know her best, namely our children.

We’ve seen her superhuman abilities first hand for years.  We witnessed her tirelessly be the glue to hold the family together.  When work was slow and money was short, she found ways to stretch a dollar like no one could.  She could serve up meals little resources to pull from, sew clothes that looked as good, if not better, than store bought and made sure every bill was paid.  She was there for each ache and pain and miraculously turn them into joy and laughter.  She was the 1^st up everyday and usually the last to bed. Hey, know what?  Not only have I described one superwoman that me and my family know well, but also the millions of others who hold the title wife and mom!!!  Remember that husbands and children when her special day rolls around here soon.  Shoot, you don’t need to wait for a special day, to let her know you love her (she never had to have one for you) tell her now, she’s your hero and deserves to be treated that way!  🙂

If you were to ask my Lady about the direction of her life she would tell you, without hesitation, she feels blessed that she’s been able to do the things she wanted to do.  She could have easily taken a different course in her world without question.  When Cathy graduated from high-school there were over 500 in her class.  She graduated 4^th and had college scholarship opportunities that she chose not to take advantage of.  It wasn’t what she wanted to do nor the direction she felt God wanted her to go, her calling was to be a wife and stay at home mother.  That didn’t mean life was always easy by sticking to her convictions, to the contrary, there were times the struggles outweighed the rewards. But still she continued on in the direction she felt was right, she felt was God’s will in her life, never giving way to thoughts of changing course.  There are 4 of us in the Miller Clan that are thankful for her convictions and her example!  When Cathy finally reentered the work force, our youngest had started high-school and she able to get a job that allowed her liberties to still fulfill the role she felt was her 1^st calling.

I think I’ve used this quote before but it’s a good one and I feel it worth repeating:

“Our talents are the gifts that God gives to us.  What we make of our talents is our gift back to God.”

Now I don’t want to give anyone the idea that I feel if a woman had to or chose to work outside the home it lessened who they were.  To the contrary, my mother had to work a job to support us, and she did it willingly and happily; it was her talent, it was her gift to God, and to me.  Cathy used her talents to raise a family that love her and they continues to add to her legacy.  Once a little orphan girl who in the beginning seemed to have no one, now God has honored her devotion with a family that adores their wife, mother, grandmother; “Hero!”  Check out Proverbs 31.

As for my Lady, giving her things like a college scholarship; well, the company she went to work for saw what we already knew around Miller Manor, that here was a special person and they paid for her to get that college degree.  She now holds a very good position in the company.  She’s discovered something else, all the things she didn’t get a chance to do in her younger life, it’s never too late to get started; hence the awesome running she does now.  You have a gift, you have a calling.  Is it glamorous or something the world would stand in awe of?  WHO CARES!!!!!!!!!  Use it to the best of your ability and never say what if.  Say I can, I will, and I thank God for bestowing it on me.  I guarantee there will be others who will thank Him, and you, for using and sharing that gift in their lives.

You, are just so incredibly talented!  AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!!!

“All the world is full of suffering. It is also full of overcoming.” Helen Keller

We were down in Indy last weekend visiting our youngest son Justin, his lovely wife Tracie, and the apple of their eye (Grandpa and Grandma’s too) Mae Nicole.  Always great to visit the kids, but the main reason for this trip was a triathlon that Justin and I competed in that Sunday.  We trained hard for this 1^st of several tri-events we’ll do this summer and it paid off as each of us bettered our last performance.  I particularly showed improvement in the swim while my baby boy did great in all three events.  Without a doubt there’s something to be said about the age factor.  I was sore from nose to toes for several days after the competition.  Justin Michael on the other hand, well he was a little sore but not enough to miss a flag football game, and then a doubleheader softball game that night before ever going to bed.  Had I attempted to do all that in a single day I wouldn’t be in a slumber that evening, I’d have been in a coma! But that’s great, I’m proud of him as I am all my kids.  The following day I checked on line what my placing in the event had been and was happy to see I finished in front of a good number of racers.  That’s the good news; the other side of the coin is there was a “whole” lot more that placed above the Gray One. With over 700 competitors the race is ran in waves, with the fastest starting 1^st and then everyone else ranked by age or past qualifying times going next.  Because of these factors I’m usually close to the end of the pack.  Some of these great competitors will actually swim, bike and run before I ever get out of the water.  Now I don’t know how you view this scenario, but I thing it’s pretty cool.  To think, an old ex-smoker like myself, who couldn’t beat his 8 year old grandson in the foot race, battling in a contest with some of the best tri-athletes in the country, well personally; I find that pretty awesome, not just on my account but for the millions of others out there doing their very best, knowing they won’t win, but still giving it all they have!  There was a time in my life I wouldn’t have given a thought to trying something like this, especially when individuals of high capability are involved also; much more intimidation than I was able to handle.

You see, as a boy I had been classified as a “slow learner.”  Personally, I believe the label that was pinned on me was incorrect, one more suited would be “not taught yet.”   I was raised without a father figure, and my mother and great-aunt who were there for me, and who I loved dearly, held little formal education or knowledge of activities a young lad would involve himself in.  Teachers back then, did the best they could, but there were few special programs to help struggling students and the majority of the time a child was passed on to the next grade whether they deserved to or not.  Individuals like me would be at a disadvantage not because we couldn’t perform and comprehend, but rather due to lack of proper knowledge and understanding on how or what to do.  Now, please, don’t take the idea I’m singing that old refrain “poor, poor pitiful me.”  I’m not into what I refer to as “crutch support.”  In other words, we an all agree that it is a true statement to say each and every one of us has had situations or moments where we have felt inferior to a task or other people around us. I don’t like to criticize, but truth of the matter is some use those experiences as a “crutch” for the reason they won’t try some thing ever again.  Truly, I understand their pain and fear, but I also know they have more ability than they give themselves credit for possessing.  Had I believed the words of a few, shall we say “narrow minded people,” or the studies done by psychologists, on folks such as myself, who’s formative years were below what society brands as the norm, I might have been a high-school dropout working a dead-end job whose only social activity would be watching television and eating junk food.  AGAIN! Please, let me emphasize, I’m not looking down on others or blowing my horn.  I’m making the point that if I, a person who is not really anything special, (from a worldly standpoint) can overcome the odds anyone, everyone, YOU, can also!

One writer says it this way; “Any fact facing us is not as important as our attitude toward it, for that determines our success or failure.  The way you think about a fact may defeat you before you ever do anything about it.  You are overcome by the fact because you think you are.”

When I became a Christian, I was overjoyed with all the promises that the Creator of the universe bestowed on me.  But there was something more to it than what I was receiving, there was a reality that became present of exactly who I was and how special I was to God.  I may not become some great leader, teacher, athlete, or whatever, but my Lord has a purpose for my life that means I am worth something to Him, to others, to me.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11.  And “If God is for us, who can be against us?” Romans8:31

It doesn’t matter what others think or what some study may surmise; what matters is how God sees me and you, special, winners! 

I plan on doing at least 4 more triathlons this season and next year, good Lord’s will and the creek don’t rise, an Ironman event.  That’s a 2 ¼ mile swim, 110 mile bike, and 26 mile run.  If the moment comes where I get the opportunity to challenge this next endeavor, make or break, my prize will be the same as always; give God the praise for His grace and mercy in my life and making me, in His eyes, a winner! Philippines 4:13. 🙂

“My home is in Heaven. I’m just traveling through this world.”

We just returned yesterday from a short trip to one of my favorite places,Chicago, where we visited with our oldest son, Jeremy, and his beautiful wife Bekah. Even though I’d spent the majority of my life residing in different regions of ‘Small TownAmerica,” I have a certain affection for major cities.  I love seeing the different architectural designs that define each building and its history.  You can eat in a different restaurant every week for years and never repeat the same cuisine twice.  Museums, parks, music, sports all characterize the urban experience and lifestyle.  But I believe my favorite thing about the city is the people.  If you’ve ever had a desire to travel abroad and meet different nations of people but could not, all is not lost.  Take an excursion to Chicago, New York, Boston, Washington D.C., Atlanta, Los Angeles, Seattle and or any number of other metropolitan hubs and you will be overwhelmed by allthe diverse cultures you’ll find living there. Take a walk through the downtown district and on an average day you’ll hear scores of varied dialects being carried on.  No wonderAmericawas nicknamed “The Melting Pot,” such an awesome experience!  Now that I’ve told you all that, here’s a story of a man I met who did not speak with a foreign inflection to his voice, but I still found him to be a rare species to his surroundings.

Sometime back in the 1990s, I was inChicagowith a friend going to see his brother who lived on the north side of the city.  We stopped at a gas station just off the interstate and I went in the store to buy a pack of cigarettes (Heavy smoker back then, smoke free 7½ years now)!  When I came out, there was an elderly man sitting in a lawn chair in front of the station.  “Excuse me friend,” he started, “but could I get a smoke from you?  The station folk know my doctor don’t want me a smokin so they won’t sell me any, could you spare me one, please?”  I gave him a cigarette, lit it and began studying this man carefully; something very familiar in his voice, in his accent.  “Where’s home friend?” I asked him.  “Oh I live just down the block in an apartment there,” he explained motioning with his arm in the direction he spoke of. “No friend,” I said with a slight smile; “I’m meanin’, where’s, Home?”  Now I had his full attention with him looking up at me for the first time.  “Eastern Kentucky.”  I knew it!  Being born inWest Virginia, I can tune in an Appalachian accent in a crowded room.  Sitting down in the chair next to him, I struck up a fuller conversation.  “Now what in the world is aKentuckyboy doing here inChicago?”  Now he was smiling back at me; “I’ll tell ya, but it’ll cost ya another smoke.”  I pulled out a cig, lit it and took the rest of the pack and stuffed it in his shirt pocket; “You have my attention.”  “Well, I came up here in 19 and 46, after the war, looking for work cause there weren’t any work down home and got a job here in a steel mill.”  Fell in love with area and decided to stay, huh?”  “Hell No!” he shot back at my question.  I never been any place like here and didn’t like it one bit!” My plan was to work a year or two, save some money and start some kind of business of my own back home.”  I’d go back every chance I could, had a girl and we wanted to get married, but I didn’t want to bring her back here, was sure she wouldn’t like it in this place.”  A small grin returned to his face; “I showed up at her home one day, she had 2 suitcases packed and sitting in the front room.”  “She looked me square in the eye and said now we can go see the justice of the peace on our way out of town or if you want to save time we’ll just get on the road now, but ya ain’t going back without me, hear?!!  Still smiling he said, “I thought I had a pretty good argument up till then.  Well I made her and myself a promise we would someday go back to the hills, but she passed ‘fore I could keep it. Still, we had a good life together here; raised two children that meant the world to her.”  Again I questioned, “So you never did make it back toKentuckythen?”  “Oh no” he exclaimed, I moved back shortly after I retired a number of years back, bought a small house there in my hometown and made plans to finish out my days there.”  Okay, now I’m a bit baffled.  “But you told me you lived just down the street here.” “Yep, it took me a few short months to realize I made the biggest mistake of my life!  Anywhere I needed to go I had to rely on someone else to get me there, nothing was nearby like here.  Gave my old landlord a call and he said I had a feeling I’d be hearing from you, I still got your apartment, it’s ready for you to move back into.  Here, I’m walking distance to the store, the pharmacy, my doctor, restaurants and most of my friends are here, not back there.  I have good memories ofKentuckyand maybe if I never left it would be different, but that’s not home anymore, this is.  I think the Good Lord put me exactly where He wants me to be and that’s just fine and dandy.”  Looking at me again now, “I suppose you want your smokes back after hearing all the hubbub?”  Laughing out loud I said, “No friend, your story was a worth a carton, but I don’t want to get you or me in trouble, you keep them, and thank you for sharing.”

My Lady and I had every intention of moving back toOhioafter I finished my education inIndiana, we just didn’t realize it was going to take 25 years to accomplish!  But like my friend, as time moved on so did our priorities, what we considered important, and where we were called home.  God had a better plan, a special plan totally contrary to what we thought we would be doing and where we would be doing it; and we thank God for that plan we allowed Him to carry out in us everyday of our lives!  Did our hometown change?  Yes, all places do as time marches on.  But the bigger change, I believe, came in us learning to be happy where we were planted so to speak; home did change but so did we.

C.S. Lewis explains it this way:

“Imagine yourself as a living house.  God comes in to rebuild that house.  At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing.  He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised.  But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense.  What on earth is He up to?  The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of – throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards.  You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace.  He intends to come and live in it Himself.”

For this man and many others, we have learned contentment and happiness where we have found ourselves in life, it’s home, at least for now.  I love where I am and all that’s around me, but there’s a time coming I’ll be making a another move.  Will I miss my old home that means so much to me?  I don’t think so, I’ve got a promise of a place yet to come that the LandLORD has already prepared just for me, and you, Home forever!  (John 14:2-3)

“The Holy Scriptures are our letters from home,” Augustine

Blessed week to all. 🙂

When my Lady was 3 years old, she left the only home she ever knew and became the daughter of Clyde and Bette Lenhart.  That home was an orphanage in Tiffin, Ohio where she had resided since shortly after her birth.  Very few objects came with Cathy when she was placed in the Lenhart home; a stuffed teddy bear and kitty, a baby ring and locket that given to by her birth mother (who was only 13 when became pregnant with Cathy, hence, why she was placed in an orphanage for adoption) and the dress you see in the picture. Not a lot in the way of worldly possessions, but still important all the same, especially the dress.

I’m sure Clyde and Bette probably had to make a quick stop at a store before they ever got their treasured daughter home to pick up some essentials and extra clothes seeing there were none sent with Cathy.  My guess is probably in the atmosphere of an orphanage most clothes are treated as communal and had to be left for other children.  That didn’t matter to the Lenharts, they would have taken her home in a paper sack if they had to! You can be assured that Little Cathy didn’t need any sacks, being the first, and only child of Clyde and Bette; she had more than enough outfits to fill dressers and closets.  The clothes weren’t always new items; Bette was an expert at shopping the 2^nd hand stores for the best she could get for her money.  What she couldn’t buy she would sew, making many beautiful dresses for Cathy.  These are a couple of traits I’m glad Bette passed on to Cathy, who posses the same ability to stretch a dollar, which kept our family afloat quite often.  This attribute also ensure that Cathy would own more clothes than a small department store back then, as well as now.  (Hey, show me a gal who doesn’t have a wardrobe like that and I will show you a rare species! 🙂

Like anyone, as times come and go, so do clothing attire either because you’ve grown out of them or styles and you change.  I could not begin to imagine how many dresses, skirts, pants, shoes and tops my Lady has passed on to others.  Hundreds of items, I’m sure, have circulated in and out of her life over the years, with the exception of one.  This one item, we simply refer to as, “the dress,” has been kept and preserved in such a fashion that it looks the same today as it did when a 3 year old orphan was introduced to her new mom and dad.  The blue and white pattern of this delicate dress are just as beautiful as the day it fit Cathy, but that’s not the reason it’s still with her.  It’s a representation of something special, of a moment in time that was special. When God brought together, a couple who desired to have a child so deeply, and a little girl who was much in need of someone to love her forever, in this writer’s view, this “was” a match made in Heaven!

Over the years, Cathy would pull out the dress and look at it occasionally, perhaps remembering the time her mother talked about seeing her in it, but mostly, wanting and waiting on our very own daughter to whom she could pass this heritage, this representation of love.  You see, we were over 6 years before having our first child, and wondered often if would be in the same plight as the Lenharts, not able to have our own.  We even began to look into adoption ourselves, but God had other plans that came in a 6 lb, 4 oz. package on Dec. 31, 1979; Jamie Melissa, the next wearer of the dress of love.  In the 55 years since the dress came to be seen as a symbol of something important, a symbol of family it has now made its way to the next generation, having 2 grand-daughters who have grown into it and at least one more waiting in the wings for her turn.

Our family

is a circle of

strength and love.

With every birth

and every union

the circle grows.

Every joy shared

adds more love.

Every crisis faced

together makes the

circle stronger.

Family is very important to Cathy and me like most everyone, but with both of us being only children and both with dark holes in our past to where some of our heritage connections are; having kids, and kids now having kids, has been one of the most incredible blessings God has given us.

The dress is a symbol of a starting point of God’s love and family love coming together.  Whatever generations of Millers don this delicate blue and white representation of something special that began in the 50s, may they understand they are part of a legacy that God established, for love and out of love for a couple who wanted someone to call their own, and a 3 year old who needed the same.  I’ve got some things put away for the guy counterparts of the Miller Heritage, but that’s another story! 🙂

Hey, don’t you just love the beauty of this delicate blue and white dress? Why it’s a custom design, made specifically for 5 beautiful gifts of God, and counting!  It was designed by an incredible Creator of the fashion of love bearing the designer brand; Agape!  It’s described in His famous Catalog (Bible) 1^st Corinthians 13.

Blessings to you and your loved ones!!! 😉