Traveling the Rock Road

“I have learned that sometimes “sorry” is not enough. Sometimes you actually have to change.”

The rumble that came from the Harley that came pulling up in my driveway alerted me that I was about to be visited by someone outside my usual sphere of friends and acquaintances.  When I opened the front door, there stood a man, tall, a tad overweight, in cycle leathers, dark sunglasses and wild blond hair that was obviously wind whipped from riding without a helmet.  This figure of a man didn’t seem familiar to me; that is, till he spoke.  “John John, you haven’t gotten any prettier over the years, give me a hug you crazy maniac you!”  Oh good grief, it’s Harry!  Totally recognizing who this was I did give my old friend a hug, but at the same time there was this little voice calling to me in the back of my mind saying, “Quick, slam the door, you don’t know if the statue of limitations has run out from the last time you saw this guy and what he got you into!” Good Old Harry, probably the best front man and singer I ever worked with in a rock band.  I don’t care who or what the crowd’s mood was, if you didn’t have a good time when Harry was out front entertaining, that meant you went home early.  My man Harry had a way with people, you could come into the club where we were playing in the worst of moods and end up feeling like you had been with one of your best and funniest friends; give Harry the mike and it was Showtime for Dr. Feelgood!  Yes sir, everyone wanted to be around this guy, to be able to say they saw him or earn bragging rights that you were not just a fan, you were a friend.  Those are the things I remembered about Harry that I liked; besides that he was kind of a big brother to me.  The other side of the coin of “Good Time Harry” well, that left a little to be desired.  He was a good egg; always nice to everyone he met, unless he had over indulged in Mr. Jack Daniel’s well known elixir.  Usually at that point, the mouth would override the brain and he’d end up squaring off against somebody, generally with a resemblance to the Incredible Hulk!  (The end result was seldom pretty!)  That was one of Harry’s downsides; the other was his attraction to the opposite sex, and vice versa.  Harry had the looks, the moves and the grooves and all that made him quite popular with the ladies.  I expressed my concern over his lifestyle to him on a couple of occasions.  “John John, you’re only young once, if you don’t make the best of it now you’ll regret it later.”  I understood being young and enjoying the revelry of it, but that wasn’t my issue; it was a dark haired, brown eyed gal he shared an apartment with back in his hometown by the name of Lana. 

She never came on the road when we were playing, Harry didn’t want her to, for good reason, so that gave him ample room to enjoy the company of other pretty faced young ladies, shall we say.   Because of the closeness of Lana and Harry, she knew a side of him that no one else did.  On several occasions she confronted him about his escapades with other girls.  Harry always handled it the same way, complete denial and a fierce anger that she would even accuse him of such a thing.  And it worked the way he orchestrated; she would back off in fear of his temper and also of losing him. When leaving his place after one of his rants to Lana who stayed behind in complete tears, Harry smile grinned at me and said, “Works every time!”  That was some 30 years ago, the band dispersed and I never saw Harry again until he showed up on my doorstep.

“So, what are you up to these days Harry, still in music,” I asked over some coffee.  “Oh, a little, nothing serious, never could find another wild, crashing drummer to hang out with that would put up with me,” he joked.  “I work a factory job now over in Illinois, got married and have five kids.”  “Five!  Harry, you?  All from the same woman?” I asked in total disbelief.  “Yep, found a good one, kinda like Lana.” “So you two didn’t marry?” I questioned.  “No she ended up marring Jimmy (one of the guys from the band) and they still live around Lima; that’s what brings me here.  I was just over seeing them and thought I’d stop and say hello before heading home.”  Again I questioned, “So you guys stayed close over the years!”  “Hardly,” he shot back. “Her and I had a pretty messy breakup, you know, the way I treated her and everything.” “Okay,” I started, “Then what was the visit?”  It took Harry a moment as he looked down at his coffee cup before speaking. “Well John John, you might find this hard to believe, but I became a Christian a year ago.” Well, that brought a smile to my face, but then he went on.  “During this time I’ve been learning and trying to do right by God, my family and others.  For a long time now I’ve had Lana on my mind, and I knew what I had to do.  I told my wife what my intentions were and she gave me her full support.  So I drove back home and looked the two of them up.  I didn’t know exactly where to begin, but I knew what I had to do so I prayed God would lead me to them.  I stopped at the shopping center when I got to town (now his eyes got wide) and who walks out of the store I parked in front of?  Lana!  I could tell she was surprised to see me and even a little nervous.  I asked her if she would go back in the store, sit down over a cup a coffee, like we’re doing, ‘cause I needed to tell her something.” “So did she do it?” I pondered.  “I didn’t think she was going to, but then she said okay.”  “Well that’s awesome Harry, now you going to get around to telling what it was all about?”  A grin and sip of coffee before saying, “Patience John John, I’m getting there.”  Looking past me more than at me, like he was seeing something from afar he said, “Back when Lana and I were together, I treated her bad, terrible, in a way no one should ever be treated.  For the longest time it didn’t matter how I treated her, she was willing to put up with all of it, she loved me, but I was too blind to recognize what love really was.  With the help of God and the wonderful woman I married I came to see how little I actually knew about love, and the more I thought about Lana, the sicker I became.”  Now he turned his attention to me and the story he began. “When we sat down I didn’t waste anytime, I had to tell her. Lana, I was so wrong in our relationship.  I took for granted your love and gave none in return; you did nothing to deserve the way I treated you and I am so sorry.  I pray one day you might be able to forgive me.”  Wow, I was quite taken back by what I just heard and with a tear in my eye (because there were tears in Harry’s) I asked, “And did she forgive you?”  Head went back down to the coffee cup for just a second and then, “I don’t know, not real sure and I can’t blame if she doesn’t” I shrugged, “Sorry the trip didn’t go the way you had hoped Harry.”  “Oh but it did!” he instantly shot back.  “Yes, it would have been great to hear those words, I forgive you, but that wasn’t the point of the visit.  It wasn’t about what I expected to get from her, it was all about what she needed to get from me, a true, heartfelt admission of my ill treatment of her, and then to hear those words, I’m sorry.  I probably won’t ever see her again so I won’t know if she ever forgave me, but I will know in my heart that I finally set right a wrong I committed against another person.  That, I can live with for the rest of my days.”

“True Strength cannot be measured in what a man achieves in life.  It can only be measured by how much of his strengths he passes to other not just in action but in word, such as I love you, I forgive you, and the big one, I’m sorry.”  J. David Miller

As I watched Harry rumple down the road on his Harley when he left my house I tried to bring up the image of the man I once knew, but it just would come.  After our visit I saw there was a new one where the old once stood.  No longer “Good Time Harry.”  I suppose some would now call him “Got Religion Harry,” but I don’t think that says it either.  I think “Heart Giver Harry” would fit best.  It sounds a little corny, but it appears to me Harry discovered someone loved him so much that He gave His heart, His life for him. When that occurred, Harry found out that he had a heart of his own, and from that point forward has been sharing it with others.  When we’re young we have a tendency to not recognize that our actions and words can sometimes bring hurt to others.  In some cases that hurt has been known to follow some all their lives thereafter.  I know this to be true because I’ve been on both ends.  For me, healing came when I could finally “forgive” ones who harmed me, some I’m sure probably don’t even realize any wrong was done. That was a part, but just like Harry I found another healing not just for the recipient but for the giver.  It may not be the complete remedy, but it sure can take away a lot of pain.  I know this from people who have told me it would have made all the difference in the world in their lives to have heard certain words.

Perhaps we all have at least one case where we need to say those certain words to someone else.  I know, it’s not easy; but with God’s help and a little strength conditioning we all can do it.

Hey, I’m a person for fitness so what say we all work together now, okay?

Okay, Ready, and one;

I’m sorry.

And two,

Please forgive me.

AWESOME!!!

“Being Brother and Sister means being there for each other”

This is a picture of my Grandson Blaine and his sister and my Granddaughter Hailey Jo.  These two can fight like cats and dogs, aggravating the fire out of each other, one minute, and then the next be each other’s biggest fan.  There was a time I would have branded this type of behavior strange; perhaps abnormal would be a better descriptive.  But after seeing the relationship my kids had with each other (and lived to tell about it!), I’ve come to realize this is just part of growing up.  You see, my Lady and I have the rare distinction of both being only children and based on that premise, we had little understanding on the interaction of siblings.  It’s like anything else in life, you can get a glimpse of what goes on, but unless you’re apart of it you really can’t grasp the whole reality of the situation, which brings me to my story.

The year was 1996, our daughter Jamie was a sophomore in high-school, Jeremy, our oldest son was in the 8^th grade and Justin Michael was a 7^th grader.  The Miller household had come to that terrifying moment in history, three teenagers under the same roof!  When they weren’t adding gray hairs to my scalp, they were attacking each other with some sort of taunt or cutting remark.  I expressed to a friend my concern for their relationship to each other and my thankfulness I didn’t keep firearms in the house, sometimes fearing how high the hostility could escalate.  My friend, knowing my ignorance of “normal” family settings and sibling rivalry assured me that I had nothing to worry about.  I’d like to send my kids over to see how well yours get along.  Compared to our house this is Happy Acres!  “But I know mine will be alright just like I know yours will.  They may not always agree now and for the rest of their lives, but they will be each others biggest fan, you watch and see.”  Several nights later I got a glimpse of what he was talking about.  Coming home one evening from being gone, I passed a group of teens in a parking lot in what seemed to be a heated exchange, with at least a couple of them.  It didn’t register at first but then it hit me, two of those teens were mine.  Exercising my “parental prerogative to snoop,” I circled back at the next block and came up the back way to the parking lot.  What was being played out was Jeremy was out with a couple of his buddies when these four, older teens, accosted them.  One of the older teens has some beef with Jer’s friend and just like typical “bullies” these four older and bigger boys were planning on cleaning up the parking lot with my son and his pals.  Just one set back for the fearsome foursome they hadn’t planned on.  “It’s a bird!  It’s a Plane!  Nope, it’s one big sister seeing her little brother (who by that time in life was a good 4’ inches taller than her) and she was hacked!  Jane Dandy to the rescue Jack!  Now try to vision what’s being played out at that moment, you’ve got 4 boys, average age 16, facing off with my 100 lb soaking wet daughter.  Behind her stands the other three boys who’s ages were 14, not saying a thing and I believe doing a little praying that their very excited and loud heroine was going to defuse this situation, and nearly all of them were taller that Jamie Melissa! The confrontation went on for some time with Jamie and one of the older boys doing all the yelling while the remaining six chose to keep quiet.  He was telling her what he planned to do and my dynamite charged daughter assuring him that wasn’t going to happen in this life time!  Maybe the proper parental thing I should have done was come out of my secluded spot and break up this melee.  If the fur started flying I could get there pretty quick, but for now all I could do was sit with a grin on my face, listening to Jamie out shout this guy and thinking to myself, “You four tough guys might want to consider getting some more help!”

“To the outside world, we all grow old.  But not to brothers and sisters.  We know each other as we always were.  We know each other’s hearts.  We share private family jokes.  We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys.  We live outside the touch of time.” And out of all of that grows an incredible love; Awesome!!

My children are no longer children, two are in their 30s and the last is just a step away.  They have gone separate ways, each to his or her life’s direction, with each being different from the others, just like when they were kids.  Still today, they may not always agree with each other or like the same things, but they have that one common thread running in them, they are family and nothing or no one will ever take that from them.  They are each others strongest critic, and they are each others biggest fan. It is because they know each other so well that these attributes exist, yet it is because of this knowledge, this understanding that no one else possesses the way they do, the way only a brother or sister can possess that their love is without conditions and endless.

That’s what I’ve found so appealing about the Christian life; I have a family that cares for me.  There are ones who know in a very special way, all the good, the bad and the ugly; yet love and care for me, as I do them.  It’s unfortunate that I say not all in my belief system extend charity (love) as what is handed down in the Word of God.  I can’t speak for them, I can only talk about the ones who do pursue the act of love, the act of family set forth in the Bible, and oh my, there are many!  I know they love me, not by word, but by action.  They stand in the gap as my Jamie Melissa did for her brother, only they do it with continued prayer.  Show me someone who is praying for me and I’ll show you someone who cares for me, loves me–family!

Here are some verses I hope you’ll take a moment to read this week that give a picture of what I’m saying:  Philippians2:1-4, Romans 12:10, and of course 1^st Corinthians 13:1-13.

I see a lot of my kids in my grandchildren; one generation, with the way they fought and turned my hair gray, while the next is making it fall out with their bickering and fighting.  It’s like repeating history all over again; Oh MAN, I sure hope so!!! :o)

“If you judge people, you have no time to love them.” Mother Teresa

Old Ernie, now there was a character once you met you never forgot, most likely because you wanted to remember him well enough to avoid at all cost after that! Ernie was an old crotchety chap that lived next door to some friends of mine in Michigan, just across the Indiana border. I found him to be a tall individual in his 60s the 1st time we met, very little hair, and what he did have was completely gray. I would see him as he arrived home from the workday. The soiled work uniform told me he had put in a hard day; his large calloused hands emphasized that he had been doing it for years. For a gentleman who obviously toiled hard for a living, I couldn’t help notice his posture straight and his pace quick and punctual, like a trained military man. My friends knew very little about him since they had moved to the neighbor just short of a year ago. What they did know did not sit well with them. My friend Frank told me, “Yeah, in the time we’ve lived here, I’ve had three conversations with Ernie and I can remember all three. One was my lawn was too long and I needed to cut it. The next, I didn’t get my trash cans put away fast enough one week and they were partially blocking the sidewalk. And the last was when the dog got out and left a pile on his yard. He told me in no certain terms the ramification that would follow if it ever happened again. He hit the wrong nerve finally and I really told him off and we’ve never spoken since!” Frank also told how he knew a couple of guys that worked with Ernie and how nobody liked him there. “He’s real picky, you don’t leave anything in his work area that’s not his, not even a cigarette butt; if you do, he goes ballistic! He even jumped a few guys one day who weren’t doing anything, just standing around talking and drinking coffee. Gave them a bunch of guff how they ought to be working and not acting stupid, like it’s any of his business what someone else does! Other than a couple of older guys like him, his machine helper and the boss, everyone just stays clear of the jerk! He’s supposed to retire in a couple more years and nobody there will miss him, but then I’ll have him home, next door all the time. I’ll have to sell and get out of here before that happens, I won’t be able to take it!”

I got a small taste of the Ernie described to me on my next visit. He pulled up and got out of his car like he always did at the same time, every day after work and was into his military strut when I called out from Frank’s front yard, “Good afternoon, good day at work?” Ernie immediately came to halt and stared directly at me, which caused my blood to run a little cold. Strolling over to the edge of this yard he inquired who I was and what I was doing there, which I told him his neighbor was a good friend of mine. Without missing a beat Ernie came back with, “Not very picky who you hang out with, are you? Tell your “friend” one more loud party and I’ll call the police.” And turning on his heals he headed into his house. I chose not to deliver the message to Frank, figured it would be like throwing gas on an already blazing fire. Now I won’t portray myself as an expert on knowing people and what makes them tick, but something told me there was more than what meets the eye with old Ernie. Not only that but years earlier I made the mistake of casting a dark shadow on how I saw someone who’s attitude was a lot like this man’s. Later learned what fueled that attitude and that there actually was a lot more good in them than I saw or gave credit to. Something told me that was the case with Ernie also; it would be almost a year before Frank and I made the discovery of who this ill-tempered Ernie really was.

It was summer and I had made a trip up to see my friend Frank. A silent, invisible wall had gone up between his house and his surly neighbor’s, which is just another way of saying things hadn’t gotten any worse but they hadn’t improved either. A unspoken covenant was etched that said you leave me alone and I’ll do the same with you and we’ll both get along just fine. This was a little strange to me considering how well I knew my friend. He wasn’t the type to hold grudges or not get along with someone. He did his best to live by the words “live at peace with all men.” I surmised he had finally met his Waterloo in Ernie and resolved to live with this barrier between the two as long as they were neighbors. But something else was going on that Frank hadn’t revealed to me, yet. Saturday morning at his house, he woke me up early to say we were going out for breakfast. A short time later we were sitting, drinking coffee at a diner. “I’m expecting someone to join us so we won’t order yet,” Frank told me with a small tone of secrecy in his voice. Fifteen minutes passed and a young man looking to be no older than 20 strolled in the front door. “There he is,” Frank said while standing up and motioning him over to our table. We made small talk with this young man over breakfast with Frank and him throwing friendly, but funny barbs at each other. “Well, you two have hit it off well,” I spoke, “Where did you guys meet?” There was grin between them before Frank spoke. “We met right next door to each other; Jimmy here is Ernie’s son.” Okay, they had my attention, let’s hear the story.

Jimmy was going to college out of state so he and Frank had never met until he came for summer break. It was apparent that he was closer to the age of being Ernie’s grandson than his son. Jimmy was a late-life child from Ernie’s second marriage. His first ended years ago when his wife then left him for another. He had two children from that marriage, but they had little to do with him which broke his heart. “So all these years he has worked hard at the factory and became bitter because of his 1st wife and what she did to him, right?” I asked. “Oh no, “Jimmy responded, he has only worked there since I was a little boy.” “Dad used to own a company that was in direct competition to where he works now. The bottom fell out and he had to close the doors. When he went to work for the place he’s at now, they were more than happy to give him a job. Dad thought they would give him a spot in management, but they got their jollies by humiliating him with a menial job on the floor, something he never got over.” I also learned that the military strut in his walk was no accident. “Before dad started his company he was a major in the Air Force and commander of a unit of bombers during WW2.” Jimmy proceeded to name off medals and commendations that Ernie had been awarded that was lengthier than this post. “I guess that’s why he has no patience for some of the guys he works with,” Jimmy told me. All those years in the military left him with the mind set if you have a job to do, don’t fool around, do it! “Yeah, dad is set in his ways but he’s really a great guy with a sense of humor like mine.” That statement made Frank and I both push back in our seats. Ernie with a sense of humor, you could sell tickets to people to see that. Frank now was looking at me. “I don’t know when I’ve been so miserable living somewhere, knowing I had a neighbor I couldn’t get along with. I prayed often for God to open some door where he and I could come together and become friends, I believe that door is Jimmy.” Jimmy sat there chowing down on his pancakes, all the time wearing a silly smile that said, “Yep that’s right.” Frank was correct, the relation he was building was Jimmy could be a big help to winning Ernie over, but there was something else.

It’s been said over and over through the years, each of us have a story to tell, some good, others not so good, at least in certain areas. I hold to the belief that nearly all of us start life happy. Where will you find a happier setting than a baby with their mom and dad, or a group of kindergartners learning to play and sing together? Somewhere after that point we start to develop our own traits, usually influenced by sources and situations around us. For some the road of life is a smooth one, while for others, not so. Those who land on a hard road generally become hardened themselves and possibly even recluse because they don’t want others to know what they’ve had to go through, such as our man Ernie. So the question comes down to, how do we approach people such as the Ernies of the world. Unfortunately, in today’s society the easy way is usually the norm, ignore them and maybe they’ll go away taking their attitude with them. But, can we agree that the most rewarding is making a friend where there wasn’t one? And taking an interest in another the way you wish people would do for you? That’s what Frank did with Ernie. To judge or to learn? To wound or to heal? To be part of the problem or part of the solution? Guess its best said in a pop song I once heard, when it comes to judging others, I’m stating with the man in the mirror, “We can never judge the lives of others, because each person knows only their own pain and renunciation.”

Another book I like to quote says it this way, “Stop judging others, and you will not be judged. For others will treat you as you treat them. Whatever measure you use in judging others, it will be used to measure how you are judged. And why worry about a speck in your friend’s eye when you have a log in your own? How can you think of saying, `Friend, let me help you get rid of that speck in your eye,’ when you can’t see past the log in your own eye? Hypocrite! First get rid of the log from your own eye, then perhaps you will see well enough to deal with the speck in your friend’s eye.” (Matthew 7:1-5 )

Just a thought on the subject. 😮

On another one of my visits to see Frank, I found him in the backyard with Ernie and Jimmy, all three gazing up into the sky at a plane flying across the sky. “Dad’s teaching Frank how to judge the altitude and speed a plane is going using a counting method,” Jimmy explained. Ernie looked over at me, threw his hands up and shook his head, “Oh its hopeless, Frank does okay counting unless it goes past ten, then he needs to sit down on the ground, take off his shoes and socks to count his toes. By then the darn plane’s out of sight!” Frank looked over at me now and said, “I’ll translate what he just said, I speak fluent Ernie. ‘Hello John, it’s nice to meet you. I’m just out here talking to my friend and neighbor Frank.’” A smile from Ernie and then the words that says it all, “Close enough! 

“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!!!!!!!!!!!!