Traveling the Rock Road

Time to introduce you to another of my “Hero Travelers of the Rock Road.” Meet Great Aunt Lilly, youngest daughter to John Wesley and Emazetta Marshall. She was one of the five eldest members of my relation who were the pillars that seemed to hold us all together as a family. Sweet Lilly was the last of the “Old Guard” (as I lovingly refer to them) to pass away. If she were with us today, she’d be a young 96 years old. Outside of my kinfolk, I would doubt if there were 50 to 100 other people that even knew of her existence. Lilly never married and the times she left her mountain home to visit other regions could be count on both hands with fingers left over. She once held a civil service job, along with her sister Pearl, which took her to the Chesapeake Bay region for a short time. Her mother, Emazetta, was living with another sister, Virgie (Don’t you just love those names?!!) and was in poor health, so Lilly returned to West Virginia to help care for her and then for Virgie’s husband when he became ill. Except for a few short trips with family she never ventured away again and spent the majority of her life caring for others. I would call it a safe guess that if you accumulated all of Lilly’s wages over her lifetime, it probably would not amount to one year’s earned capital for the average middleclass family. Not what you call a fascinating life, huh? Sounds like a pretty boring existence, right? Sit back with your coffee friend and keep reading.

As a boy visiting the booming metropolis of Rock, West Virginia, I was always excited to see family again. I knew when we got the house the first one out the door to greet us with a big smile and loving hug would be Aunt Lilly. She had the most natural beam of delight to her face that I have known with only a few others. Hers was a laugh that filled a room and echoed pleasantly above others. Whenever company came, you would find her busy looking after whatever needed to be done, not because she had to, but because she wanted to. Tending to the needs of others brought her sheer delight. She was a sweet soul, so gentle she wouldn’t have known how to be mean or say a cross word. That was proven in a small way the time she captured a mouse in the kitchen. Gently picking the tiny rodent up by the tail, she took it to the backdoor and carefully sat it outside with no thought that it probably would find its way back in the house again!

Where Lilly lived with her sister, Virgie was just up the hill from their brother, Sam. Between the 2 houses was a huge yard where all we kids would play. The adults would visit on the front porch and shout out warnings about not getting too rambunctious, but not dear old Lilly. I noticed whenever she took a moment to sit and watch, it was done with a smile across her face and softness in her eyes that left me to wonder if maybe she was remembering a time of youthful revelry with her own siblings. One of the most interesting traits about Great Aunt Lilly is what I refer to as HHIS (High Hidden Intellectual Syndrome). Like many from her era, she did not finish a formal education, but her understanding and comprehensive abilities were uncanny. She had the ability to read a book, newspaper or article, watch something on television or listen to a radio program, and then relate all she had learned back, verbatim. A friend of mine came along for a visit once and I found him into a rather deep conversation on a subject they had both read about in the media. When we left I jokingly rebuked my friend accusing him of trying to bulldoze my Lilly with his knowledge. “Are you kidding,” he said, “She stayed step for step with me knowing all the same issues I had read, she missed her calling for higher education in my opinion.” Dr. Great Aunt Lilly, I like the sound of that. :o) All kidding aside, it is my belief that Lilly would have passed up full-ride scholarships to the most prestigious universities in the country had they been offered if it meant giving up what she did best, what she love best, caring for others.

When I was quite young, I was playing in the gulley just below the house there in Rock. Something scared me and I turned to run only to fall hard into some thorny bushes. It was Aunt Lilly to rescue! She parted the bush with her bare hands, snatched me up and carried me back to the house where she treated my wounds with medicine and my fears with long loving hugs. Moving forward some 25 years, I was back in West Virginia for the funeral of her sister and my Great Aunt Pearl, the closest person to me in the world at that time. Here I was, almost 30 years old, and all I wanted to do was cry. The only person that could bring comfort to the man-child was Lilly. There were no great words of encouragement like so many offered that helped my sadness. It was the warm, comforting embrace of love and caring that only she could offer that consoled and began the healing process in me. It was there that God knew I needed to be, in the arms of the Marshall Family Angel.

When Lilly passed away, I remember a story Pearl told me. They had been together up in Maryland when the call came for Lilly to go home. As much as Pearl did not want to see her go, she knew she had to; she was needed, so she boarded the train for home. I am of the opinion that a time came when Lilly’s work was finally done here; she had served others, and she had served her Lord with a smile on her face and a laugh that still echo through the halls of my memory as well as others I’m sure. We wanted to keep her here, but it was time for her to board the train, it was time for Lilly to go Home!

How many of you have a Lilly, or an angel in your life, aren’t they awesome?!! How many of you have been called to serve? You’re a hero to someone you know? :o) In my world and belief, its looked at as pure joy and the highest of callings; Romans 12:10-13.

They wear so many faces

Show up in so many strange places

Grace us with their mercy

In our time of need

Oh, yes I believe there was an angel among us,

Sent down to us from heaven up above.

She came to you and me in our darkest hours

She showed us how to live

She taught us how to give

And she guided us with her love.

          Wow, what a weekend! It was the type memories are made of.  Along with some friends, I participated in what’s called in these parts the Polar Bear Plunge event.  I’m sure you know what I’m talking about; take a cold winter day, a frozen lake, punch a hole in the ice big enough for about a hundred people to go running into 35 degree water and you’ve got the makings of the craziest party you’ll ever see! Now I’ve had many friends and family members who have been questioning my mental stability of late for doing such a stunt. My 1^st thought is if it’s taken them this long to wonder whether I’m a little nutty or not then I’ve done a pretty good job of hiding it all these years. ;o)  All kidding aside it was an incredible experience and I’m glad I was able to do it, kinda one of those scratch another item off the bucket list moments. One thing though, that wasn’t the 1^st time I found myself in icy water.

            It was sometime back during my grade school days and I was part of a Cub Scout troop.  My “Den Mothe,r” as the leaders were called, would pick up me and several boys after school once a week for meetings.  These meetings would be at her house for an hour or so where we would do crafts, play some games and have a snack before heading home. All the other boys in my troop would have their parents pick them up after the meeting, but my family didn’t have a car so I’d have to walk the mile or so home.  It wasn’t bad and I enjoyed the free time to myself taking an easy stroll home.  On this one winter day I left my den mother’s place and headed directly across the street from her house where a small creek ran.  The creek was frozen hard so I got out on the ice deciding to walk this frozen path out of the addition.  The addition opened up onto State Street, the main thoroughfare in Fremont, my home town.  I should have come up off the creek bed when I reached the street but I noticed this stream continued on under the road with traffic flowing above on a bridge.  The roar of the cars passing over echoed inside the opening and I decided to I would continue to walk on the ice till I reached the other side of the road.  Okay, here’s a little lesson maybe some of you already know but if not, trust me, its worth knowing.  Out in the open space the ice on a creek will freeze firm and solid, but place it under a bridge and you have a weak surface.  I was about ½ ways across the road when I heard sounds under my feet that told me I was in trouble.  Before I could think about what to do the ice gave way underneath me and I fell through up to my neck. Instinctively my arms shot straight out from my body keeping me from going all the way under.  I could touch the bottom with my feet, but there was a current that kept pulling at me.  I tried desperately to pull myself up on the ice to no avail; it would just give way under the weigh of my body.  But that also allowed me to break a path back the way I came till I was finally at ice firm enough to hold me and belly crawl to ground.  Finally able to walk, I made my way up out of the creek bed and on to the side walk on State Street.  I know I looked a mess, soaking wet, plain dirty and smelly like I’d been playing in a sewer.  Making my way home now, I noticed a lot of people staring at me as they drove by as if to say “now what in the world do you think that boy has been into?”  It put visions in my head of me jumping up and down, waving and yelling, “Hi, I just fell through the ice back there and nearly died and no one else on the face of the earth knows about it; have a nice day!”

           It was years later when I read about someone else who had fallen through the ice, but not surviving, that I examined that moment in my life where it might easily have been the final chapter of my life.  But for whatever reason my Lord has preserved me from harm (and personal idiocy) on a number of occasions over the years.  Got this feeling I’ve had a guardian angel that might be up for a long vacation when my days are up, for all I’ve put him through!  It comes down to this, friends and neighbors, none of us know how many days we have and as I’ve aged the thought has come to me that’s not the important issue anyway, not how long we live but how we live.  Someone once said; “The purpose of life is not to be happy – but to matter, to be productive, to be useful, to have it make some difference that you have lived at all.”  Interesting comment, but I also see all the items that the writer quotes can bring happiness in one’s existence.  I am at a level of immense joy whenever I can be placed in positions to be a help or make a difference, especially in someone else’s life.  God gives us that chance, I believe, every day of our lives.  The determining factor comes down to what are you going to do when the opportunity arises to make a difference. 

         You are special, because you are loved!  Loved by a Creator so captivated with you that He sent his Son to make a way for your path to joy, happiness, life.

         We don’t know what tomorrow will bring so what say we fill it with joy today?  If you don’t know where to start, try Proverbs 3: 23, 24 or 18:10.  For this man it gives him strength to face each day with joy and hope and the try to pass it on to others.  In the meantime I’ll just work at living each day to the fullest (with a little common sense of course) and look for opportunities to check more items off my bucket list of accomplishments.

So, who out there knows anything about being a rodeo clown?!! :o)

The righteous man walks in his integrity; his children are blessed after him. Proverbs 20:7

Most days around the old Miller Manor are quiet. With the exception of the kids coming home, a few friends dropping by or the grandchildren staying overnight; it’s generally my Lady and me and a little furry pooch to make three.  But there was a time our little abode was teeming with life and overflowing with young people.  Granted, we only had three kids (a daughter and two sons), but many days, if you didn’t know who we were, you would have been hard pressed to figure out how many kids actually lived here.  On more occasions than I can remember we had a house full bedded down anywhere and everywhere they cold find room to lie.  The next morning would find me in the kitchen making more food for breakfast than what you’d see on an army base, especially when Justin, our youngest had all his football buddies (a group we lovingly named, the Buffalos!) stay over.  I’d keep cooking just to see how much it took to fill those guys; whoa!

Those were some interesting days, at times they drove me nuts, at times it drove me to side splitting laughter and there were even times it drove me to tears; and I wouldn’t have missed a minute of it for the world.  Now I know there are a lot of homes that opened their doors like we did to young people, but for me, who wasn’t even sure he wanted kids, well it’s saying a little I believe on how God changed my heart.  There were two stumbling blocks in my way to whether or not I wanted the responsibility of fatherhood.  The 1^st was my dream to be a full time musician and I just didn’t see that life style conducive to bringing up children.  The 2^nd was the hard, cold fact that since I never had a father I couldn’t fathom any thoughts of what I might have to offer a child.  (I thank God that fatherhood is not based on how well you’re equipped, but how willing you are to fill the position.)  Anyway, I’m thankful God had a better plan for this man that he could see.  Even during the times that, shall we say, added the most gray to my dome. 

With our daughter Jamie (Sunshine) she was always bringing strays home; not animals, but people! I lost count of all the ones she brought to us who didn’t have a place to stay.  Some of those situations worked out well where a few that spent time here still refer to us as mom and dad.  Then there’s a few others that were good to some extent that I’m sure we’ll hear from again someday (that is, when they’re sure the statue of limitations has run out on what they ripped from off us).  Still gotta love ‘em!  Then there’s our middle child, Jeremy (Scoot).  He was the one gifted with the highest level of sensitivity of the group (probably contributed to him becoming a musician and writer.)  But he was also the one who would surprise us constantly with, well, style changes like dying his hair every color of the rainbow.  (I think my favorite was the bright blue!)  Then there was the baby, Justin (Boo).  Most kids 1^st words are “mama” of “dada.”  Justin’s was “NO!” Justin Michael did not learn to walk as a toddler, he went straight to running, usually trying to get away from his latest misadventure like the time he started a fire — in his trashcan — in his room.  One of the most memorable acts that involved me in my son’s antics was the time we invested in a soda can crusher.  It was connected to a post in the garage and it had a handle.  The objective was to place the can on the crusher, then bare down on the handle with a quick force. The container was smashed to a height of about ½ an inch.  The kids loved to bring me cans and watch how quickly I could crush them.  Jamie would be 1^st placing the can in the crusher; Bang! Instant metal pancake.  Then Jeremy would take his turn; Bang! Flatten like a stone!  One day Justin took his turn with a big smile saying, “Here dad, crush this one.”  Loving to show off for the kids I pressed down with all my might; on a can that was still half full of pop!  You got it, Splash! I was instantly baptized in RC Cola!  (Took me 3 blocks to catch him that day!)  These are some of the small, insignificant moments, but I confess there were times I was tried to the point that I didn’t know if  could go on in this role I found myself in; that I questioned whether or not I was truly called to be a father, a dad;  that all changed one fateful night. 

The call came and Cathy and I found ourselves at the hospital in the middle of the night.  Justin was lying on a gurney, covered head to toe with blood, cuts and bruises.  He and four other young people were in a car accident where Justin was thrown through the windshield; one boy died instantly.  If there’s ever a moment you’re questioning whether you should be a parent, it’s not at a moment such as that.  Your only thought is “God, please take care of my child or take me instead him!”

“Making the decision to have a child is momentous.  It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

We all make mistakes along the road of parenting, but there’s no mistake in whether or not you were called to be one if you look at it in the proper light.  For parenting is one of the greatest privileges God bestows on us, entrusting us with the gift of children, the opportunity to train up the next generation in the way they should go.  The decision then becomes how precious you see and treat the gift bestowed on you.  For this man and his Lady, well it has given a couple of only children a legacy two more generations deep now and growing.  That’s some of the best fruit of children I love so deeply, grandchildren!

Justin called the other day from Indy, totally frustrated. “Dad, I can’t seem to keep Mae happy!  All she wants to do is scream, about to pull my hair out!”  With a gentle smile on my face I assured him everything is going to be okay, but on the inside, I was thinking a commercial I’ve seen on TV. “Payback, this time it’s for real!” ;o)

“God sees us with the eyes of a Father. He sees our defects, errors and blemishes. But He also sees our value.” ― Max Lucado
Isn’t that an awesome picture?! This is Tahquamenon Falls in the U.P. of Michigan, one of the most spectacular falls in the eastern United States. My Lady and I were up there biking and hiking a few years back and had the opportunity to take it in its breathtaking view. With all the miles we have bicycled and hiked I never tire of discovering new sights across this beautiful land called America!
What? Smudge, what smudge? Hey, you’re right, smack dab right in the middle of the picture! Now what kind of dirty dog would do such a thing to a stunning image such as this? Okay, okay; Arf Arf!! Truth is I marked it up like to stress a point. (Don’t worry, this is a copy of the original; I wish to make a point but I’m not crazy; at least I hope!) This is a visual I’ve used many times over to explain my main point. Usually, I start with a clean picture of beauty such as this one, asking the individual admiring it to take it the full magnificence of what they are seeing. While their gaze is fixed intently on the vision before them I’ll pull out a marker and quickly place a mar on the picture. Of course there is startled surprise at what just happened, but something else happens, each and every time. No longer are the eyes drawn to the beauty that fills the depiction before them; their gaze is magnetically pulled to the tarnish on the illustration. No matter how large the splendor of the picture remains or how small the blemish is, the fact remains that the eye goes first to the fault, the imperfection. Okay, has everyone figured out where the Gray One is headed? If so I guess I can stop right here; Nah!!!
In every single person’s life there is a blemish, a mar, an imperfection. For some it’s a matter that they’ve dealt with for their entire existence; for others its something that’s happened to them later on in years that’s brought the proverbial dent to the side of their mental, physical, or emotional being. I remember a time I had played the largest musical gig of my life with the biggest name that I came to know personally in the industry. This man was living on Cloud 9 and had never felt such jubilation about my craft; I just knew I was on the way to living my musical dream. Two weeks later I was replaced by another drummer. The reason given was, “You’re just not good enough for what we need, kid–maybe later.” That comment was enough for me to take a knife and slash all the heads on my drum kit, then throw them in the closet and not look at them for a long time. I was not good enough (truthfully) for what they needed in that band; but that didn’t mean I wasn’t good enough for music and the beauty and happiness it brought and continues to do so.
The amount of folks I’ve encountered over the years who find so little happiness from being blinded by the “blotch” is staggering, but I could also go on forever giving examples of unpleasant situations and the people I know who overcame the “blotch” and have learned to bask in the beauty around them, to discover what Max Lucado puts this way when expressing how God see us; “Remember, you are special because I made you. And I don’t make mistakes.”
Today, if you cannot erase that blotch you live with then, at least, make the effort not to let it cover of the full picture of splendor around you and in you. You are such an awesome, special person!!
“And when it rains on your parade, look up rather than look down. Without the rain, there would be no rainbow.” ― G.K. Chesterton

What an amazing year! I experienced the thrill of riding the bike trails of Wisconsin with my Lady 140 mile of some the most beautiful scenic landscape the region had to offer, all the way to and across the mighty Mississippi. We hiked an incredible gorge in southeast Kentucky, and then the back country of the Smokey Mountain National Park to one of the most breath-taking waterfalls located in the east. At the tender young age of 57, I competed in my 1^st triathlon (and didn’t drown!) with my 2 sons, something that will stay with me for the rest of my life. It had such an affect on Cathy she trained and did 2 more with me, finishing 2^nd in her category at the last one. Cathy discovered something she never realized, she was a natural runner and her times just keep getting better. It also aided in her losing nearly 50 lbs. this year. (Hubba Hubba!) She is now training for a half marathon with our Daughter-in-law Tracie; just Awesome! Oh yeah, almost forgot, I found my degree from Purdue that was lost! I know that doesn’t sound like much, but it was something I earned late in life that stands as an affirmation that a certain individual was wrong about what I could or could not accomplish; and that individual was me.

But, hands down, the greatest moment this year came Oct. 12, with the birth of little Miss Mae Nicole Miller, daughter to our youngest son and his wife Tracie. Isn’t she beautiful?!! At certain times while holding her, questions come to mind that I think I ask mentally for each of my grandchildren and children also. What will the world be like for you when you reach my age? Will you find it to be a friendly place to live? Will you find the people you share your world with special, and will they see you in the same light?  There’s no chance I’ll be around to find out the answers to little Mae’s life journey in 57 years; but as a grandfather I can only hope and pray each day I’m here for her and her future. But one of the lessons I’ve learned over the course of time is that it doesn’t truly matter what a person is surrounded by, be it happiness and love, or pain and suffering. Of course, as a rule, the 1^st option seems to yield more positive fruit in a person’s life. But the bottom line does not lie within an individual’s surroundings when it comes to happiness; it lies from with the individual themselves. People who know me best can attest that I am not a religion man, but a man of faith. That faith is based on the guidelines and principles I learn from the Bible. One of those principles teaches me I need to love my neighbor as myself, I have no problem with the main emphasis of the verse, but the question is raised, what if you don’t love yourself? I’m not talking about an egotistical self attitude; I’m referring to ones who do not see that they are special; at one time that included yours truly.

I spent 30 years working with children and young people through different organizations and some were on the wrong side of the law at a young age.  In nearly every single case where I dealt with a trouble filled individual the root problem was not the person was bad, it was they had little or no self esteem; they did not see themselves as good as people around them. Okay then, now that I’ve said all that, if you have never heard these words before let me be the 2^nd to say it to you; you are an incredible, wonderful, special person!  I said I was the 2^nd to tell you that; then who is the 1^st? Three Guesses? ;0) Here’s a hint; “What is the price of 5 sparrows – 2 copper coins? Yet God does not forget a single one of them. And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid. .. you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows.” (Luke 12:6)  “God created human beings in His own image. In the image of God, He created them. Because you are made in God’s image, you are a reflection of His glory and valuable. God loves you and made you to be like Him. (Genesis 1:27)

We’re in a new year, friends and neighbors–2012!  For the ones of us who’ve been around, just saying the date almost sounds like something from a Sci-Fi movie! I’m going to go out on a limb here and also say if you’re preparing yourself for the end of the world in the next 12 months don’t go blow your life’s saving on something you’ll regret later; because it just ain’t a gonna happen!  If I’m wrong, which I doubt, hey my bad and who’s gonna really care anyway. But if I’m right just remember where you heard it 1^st. (actually 2^nd again but that would be too long to go into ;0)

Instead, dedicate this year to you, to learning how special you are to yourself, to others, to the Lord. Get up, get out, and get moving!  Do something you’ve never done before.  It doesn’t have to be earth shattering.  It just has to be something that reaffirms all I’ve said. One young lady who discovered how special she was said it this way; “One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar, When we do the best that we can, we never know what miracle is wrought in our life, or in the life of another.” Helen Keller.

My prayer, in Jesus name, will be that each that reads this will realize they are special; and made to SOAR! Happy New Year!

Another great Christmas has come and gone. Wonderful time with the family and friends, sharing happiness, songs, gifts and food; oh my, the food!  I will be “rolling” into the gym for the next 6 months or so!  But last night after all the family festivities had finished I went out by myself for a while as I do every year, just for a little quiet time and reflection. I like to scour the radio stations in the car to see how many are still playing Christmas music and how many have returned to their regular venue. There’s this large convenience store that I go to where many people stop.  I just like to listen.  What are people talking about and how are they responding to each other now that we’ve put Christmas behind us?  But mostly, I think about this man and what he did or said.  You see I realize I live in a world and time that celebrates the holiday in different ways and for different reasons and I don’t look down on anyone for that.  At the same time, I do not apologize for my reason, for my faith.  To me this is a representation of one of the most important moments in history, when God in the form of a baby came to earth amongst us to love us and then to one day die so that I might have a fuller life eternal.  Not only did He die, but he broke the bonds of death and rose again for me and for you.  As I make my trek through the quiet night I reflect back to how many times that thought stayed with me over the last few weeks, but even more, how many times will it stay with me through the year.  So many thoughts, so many questions I don’t have answers to–still, never a wavering of what and in whom I place my faith.  I came across a piece by one of my favorite authors, Max Lucado, who poses an illustration of words and questions he has for someone that sets the tempo better of what I’m trying to get across.  So here are the thoughts and questions Max hopes to someday pose, over a mocha in a heavenly coffee shop to Joseph.  Me, think I’ll just say what I have been saying for weeks now, “Blessed Christmas to you all, now, and all through the year.” :o)

Did you and Jesus arm wrestle?  Did he ever let you win?

Did you ever look up from your prayers and see Jesus listening?

How do you say “Jesus” in Egyptian?

What ever happened to the wise men?

What ever happened to you?

We don’t know what happened to Joseph. His role in Act I is so crucial that we expect to see him the rest of the drama—but with the exception of a short scene with twelve-year old Jesus in Jerusalem, he never reappears.  The rest of his life is left to speculation, and we are left with our questions.  But of all my questions, my first would be about Bethlehem.  I’d like to know about the night in the stable.   I can picture Joseph there.   Moonlit pastures.   Stars twinkle above.   Bethlehem sparkles in the distance.  There he is, pacing outside the stable.  What was he thinking while Jesus was being born? What was on his mind while Mary was giving birth?

He’d done all he could do—heated the water, prepared a place for Mary to lie.  He’d made Mary as comfortable as she could be in a barn and then he stepped out.   She’d asked to be alone, and Joseph has never felt more so.   In that eternity between his wife’s dismissal and Jesus’ arrival, what was he thinking?  He walked into the night and looked into the stars.  Did he pray?  For some reason, I don’t see him silent; I see Joseph animated, pacing.  Head shaking one minute, fist shaking the next.  This isn’t what he had in mind.  I wonder what he said …This isn’t the way I planned it, God.  Not at all.  My child being born in a stable?  This isn’t the way I thought it would be.  A cave with sheep and donkeys, hay and straw?  My wife giving birth with only the stars to hear her pain?

This isn’t at all what I imagined.  No, I imagined family.  I imagined grandmothers.  I imagined neighbors clustered outside the door and friends standing at my side.  I imagined the house erupting with the first cry of the infant.  Slaps on the back.  Loud laughter.  Jubilation.  That’s how I thought it would be.  The midwife would hand me my child and all the people would applaud.  Mary would rest and we would celebrate.  All of Nazareth would celebrate.  But now.  Now look.  Nazareth is five days’ journey away.  And here we are in a … in a sheep pasture.  Who will celebrate with us?  The sheep? The shepherds?  The stars?  This doesn’t seem right.  What kind of husband am I?  I provide no midwife to aid my wife.  No bed to rest her back.  Her pillow is a blanket from my donkey.  My house for her is a shed of hay and straw.  The smell is bad, the animals are loud.  Why, I even smell like a shepherd myself.  Did I miss something?  Did I, God?  When you sent the angel and spoke of the son being born—this isn’t what I pictured.  I envisioned Jerusalem, the temple, the priests, and the people gathered to watch.  A pageant perhaps.  A parade.  A banquet at least.  I mean, this is the Messiah!  Or, if not born in Jerusalem, how about Nazareth?  Wouldn’t Nazareth have been better?  At least there I have my house and my business.  Out here, what do I have?  A weary mule, a stack of firewood, and a pot of warm water.  This is not the way I wanted it to be!  This is not the way I wanted my son.  Oh my, I did it again.  I did it again didn’t I, Father?  I don’t mean to do that; it’s just that I forget.  He’s not my son … he’s yours.  The child is yours.  The plan is yours.  The idea is yours.  And forgive me for asking but … is this how God enters the world?  The coming of the angel, I’ve accepted.  The questions people asked about the pregnancy, I can tolerate.  The trip to Bethlehem, fine.  But why a birth in a stable, God?

Any minute now Mary will give birth.  Not to a child, but to the Messiah.  Not to an infant, but to God. T hat’s what the angel said.  That’s what Mary believes.  And, God, my God, that’s what I want to believe.  But surely you can understand; it’s not easy. It seems so … so … so … bizarre.  I’m unaccustomed to such strangeness, God.  I’m a carpenter.  I make things fit.  I square off the edges.  I follow the plumb line.  I measure twice before I cut once.  Surprises are not the friend of a builder.  I like to know the plan.  I like to see the plan before I begin.  But this time I’m not the builder, am I?  This time I’m a tool.  A hammer in your grip.  A nail between your fingers.  A chisel in your hands.  This project is yours, not mine.  I guess it’s foolish of me to question you.  Forgive my struggling.  Trust doesn’t come easy to me, God.  But you never said it would be easy, did you?

One final thing, Father.  The angel you sent?  Any chance you could send another?  If not an angel, maybe a person?  I don’t know anyone around here and some company would be nice.  Maybe the innkeeper or a traveler?  Even a shepherd would do.  I wonder.  Did Joseph ever pray such a prayer?  Perhaps he did. Perhaps he didn’t.

But you probably have.  You’ve stood where Joseph stood.  Caught between what God says and what makes sense.  You’ve done what he told you to do only to wonder if it was him speaking in the first place. You’ve stared into a sky blackened with doubt.  And you’ve asked what Joseph asked.  You’ve asked if you’re still on the right road.  You’ve asked if you were supposed to turn left when you turned right.  And you’ve asked if there is a plan behind this scheme.  Things haven’t turned out like you thought they would.

Each of us knows what it’s like to search the night for light.  Not outside a stable, but perhaps outside an emergency room.  On the gravel of a roadside.  On the manicured grass of a cemetery.  We’ve asked our questions.  We questioned God’s plan.  And we’ve wondered why God does what he does.  The Bethlehem sky is not the first to hear the pleadings of a confused pilgrim.  If you are asking what Joseph asked, let me urge you to do what Joseph did.  Obey.  That’s what he did.  He obeyed.  He obeyed when the angel called. He obeyed when Mary explained.  He obeyed when God sent.  He was obedient to God.  He was obedient when the sky was bright.  He was obedient when the sky was dark.  He didn’t let his confusion disrupt his obedience.  He didn’t know everything.  But he did what he knew.  He shut down his business, packed up his family, and went to another country.  Why?  Because that’s what God said to do.

What about you?  Just like Joseph, you can’t see the whole picture.  Just like Joseph your task is to see that Jesus is brought into your part of your world.  And just like Joseph you have a choice: to obey or disobey.  Because Joseph obeyed, God used him to change the world.  Can he do the same with you?  God still looks for Josephs today.  Men and women who believe that God is not through with this world.  Common people who serve an uncommon God.  Will you be that kind of person?  Will you serve … even when you don’t understand?  No, the Bethlehem sky is not the first to hear the pleadings of an honest heart, nor the last.  And perhaps God didn’t answer every question for Joseph. But he answered the most important one. “Are you still with me, God?”  And through the first cries of the God-child the answer came. “Yes. Yes, Joseph. I’m with you.”

There are many questions about the Bible that we won’t be able to answer until we get home.  Many notholes and snapshots.  Many times we will muse, “I wonder …”  But in our wonderings, there is one question we never need to ask.  Does God care?  Do we matter to God?  Does he still love his children?  Through the small face of the stable-born baby, he says yes.  Yes, your sins are forgiven.  Yes, your name is written in heaven.  Yes, death has been defeated.  And yes, God has entered your world.  Immanuel. God is with us.

“No one has ever become poor by giving.”

It was about 12 years ago, I believe, that this picture was taken.  And if you grew up in the Miller home, there was no better gift to give or receive than the gift of music.  Also, part of growing up here is not just celebrating Christmas once a year; it was creating a memory, especially when there’s a wacky dad like me, with even wackier ideas, leading this clan.

All three of my kids were exposed to music at an early age and amongst them they now have proficiencies in several instruments.  But the Christmas displayed in the snapshot was the 1^st time they would receive serious instrument all at same time.  It took a little extra for their mother and me to come up with the funds that year for the gifts particularly with the country in one of it’s recessions at that time and my work was minimal. But like my opening sentence, it didn’t put us on the poverty line and we weathered the economic storm by the Grace of God.  Honestly, for this man, I never look at myself as anything special, but I’ve always felt so rich and honored whenever I’m able to give.

Like I said, giving of gifts is one thing, a moment when an object is new and shiny and beautiful for the receiver to behold.  But like any object, as time passes it wears out and often loses the luster it had in the beginning.  But give a gift in a way that creates a memory and you have something that stays with you forever.

I sent Cathy, Jamie, Jeremy, and Justin away for a while on Christmas because I had work to do and didn’t need them in the way.  When they returned it was obvious to all the something was very different throughout the house.  Ribbon was stretched everywhere, in every room.  Of course curiosity of what that was all about ruled from that point on. Ignoring all questions with the simple explanation that they would know in due time what it was about, we proceeded with our Christmas which always starts with the reading of God’s gift to us in Luke 2.  As was taught to me I never have wanted my kids to lose sight of why and what we celebrate during this time of year.  From there we passed out the gifts for all to open, which was a little tricky since I made it clear no one was to do anything to mess up the ribbons that ran across the floor. As each of the kids opened a present and enjoyed it for just a slight moment, they would pass it off to their mother who would place them out of harm’s way on the dining table and I would retrieve the paper in a large plastic bag.  Now it was ribbon time!  Reaching behind the couch I unpinned the end of three different ribbons, handed one to each of my kids, with the instruction they would have to follow the ribbon to find their last gift.  The trek was on, around, over and under furniture in every room, down to the basement, around everything there including washer, dryer, and furnace back out of the basement and into the garage, around the house and shed, back into the house and another route through every room again.  I hope you’re getting a mental picture of three young people following an endless trail of red ribbon, winding it up as they journeyed in search of the mysterious gift at the other end. At completion of the task they had ran into each other several times in their pursuit and ended up with a small sphere of ribbon the size of a softball; and three new guitars!  Now how’s that for creating a memory, huh? ;o)

I don’t have a lot more to add, that’s the story, a memory I enjoy and wanted to share with you wonderful friends and family and hope you enjoyed.  I think I’ll just close this morning with a prayer for each of you this season.

“Dear Lord, thank you for sending your Son to be the greatest gift to mankind some 2000 years ago.  Thank you for the knowledge we can never repay the gift of love You gave us, but really, that’s not what you want anyway for all you ask is that we accept the gift you give freely out of your love for us; Awesome!  Please be with all these wonderful people you have blessed me and my Lady with by placing them in our path as we travel the Rock Road.  Bring joy, laughter, blessings and happiness to each, in a way that this Christmas may be more memorable than the last; and that the memory might last all year long and that they might live the true meaning of the season in their heart and pass that joy, that gift to others all year long.  In Jesus name I pray, Amen.

“What we are is God’s gift to us.  What we become is our gift to God.”

A very Merry and Blessed Christmas to all!!

“You grow up the day you have your first real laugh—at yourself!”

I think anyone who really knows me, knows that I enjoy making people laugh, hence some of the pics I’ve posted.  But if someone had said those words to me some 40 plus years ago, there’s a chance I might have countered with, “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I’ve had to go through all my life.”  Now I’m not saying I had a bad attitude and couldn’t get along with others.  To the contrary, I’ve enjoyed being with people and having friends. But if someone teased or laughed at me in a way I didn’t like, or said something about me that was derogatory, they instantly became people that were nothing more than purely mean natured on my list.  That all stemmed from early years of lack of self confidence.  As stated in previous stories, I did not learn to read until later in life.  To be called on as a child to answer a question or read out loud was pure torture.  On more than one occasion, my response (or lack of) in class to the teacher’s inquiry would bring thunderous roars of laughter that caused me great embarrassment.  Most often it continued when I went out for recess or after school, and yes, quite regularly that would lead to a fight.  But also I have related to you good people that with the help of a Saint of a woman I overcame illiteracy which was an incredible boost toward self-belief.  But still when it came to teasing, laughing at me and such, the damage was done.  It was hard for me to take even “no harm intended, just kidding with you” remarks.  I may not say anything or even kid back some, but inside I was deeply hurt.  It truly bothered me and I wondered at times if I could ever get past this dark spot in my life and then along came Everett.

Back in the 70s I ventured down to Southern Florida to check out a college that had caught mine and my Lady’s eye.  For a reasonable price you could come there in the summer for a week and look around, talk to teachers, see the school, and sit in class type discussions to get a feel for the school.  It also came with room and meals which made for a nice sunny vacation by the ocean.  Everyday we would head into the cafeteria for our three meals that were prepared at designated times.  On the first day as we walked down the hall with everyone else, I could hear someone farther up standing by the entrance to the dining hall.  As each person entered, he would stand there and say, “Hi!” or “Hello!”  But it wouldn’t be just a nice greeting; this man would make different faces and use several voices as he addressed each and every person.  Many would laugh and even greet him back in the same way.  There were a few that had comments about whether he was playing with a full deck.  No matter what was the reaction this chap, Everett, would not be deterred from delivering his light-hearted salutation every day and at every meal.

One evening I was invited my a fellow who was a student there at the college to come up to his room and listen to a special speaker along with about 6 others.  “John, this guy has made quite a difference in my outlook on people and myself, I think you’ll enjoy him.”  Wanna guess who the speaker was?  You got it!  Imagine the look on all our faces when Everett, the lunchroom greeter came in the room.  I thought to myself, “This should be interesting.”  It wasn’t, it was awesome! Everett had been born without a pallet, or roof of the mouth.  He could not form words like other people and had to have many operations to correct the problem.  Multiple layers of skin were grafted from different areas of his body into the top of his mouth.  Over time this corrected the problem, but brought on a new one.  Where they had taken the skin layers from his body and placed in his mouth where regions that grew hair, like his arms and legs. Until that problem was alleviated he constantly had to pull this unwanted fur from his mouth.  To cut to the chase, the teasing and being laughed at that I met up with as a child was nothing compared to what Everett had to endure every day of his life.  He told a story of how he came to the point that he didn’t want to be around anyone.  If he could spend his life in solitude, Everett was sure that would take care of all the hurt and pain.  There was one person Everett didn’t feel this way about, an old retired priest who lived just a few doors down from him in New Jersey.  Often his mother would send him to check on this elderly man to make sure he was okay or to see if he needed anything.  Everett got to the point where he would stay a while and talk.  He felt he could be himself around the priest and they enjoyed many hours of conversation together.  One of Everett’s favorite things to do was to try and make his friend laugh by his actions and words.  And laugh he did, sometimes uncontrollably.  It was during one of the visit that Everett confided in him his desire to be alone because of all the things he had gone through.  “Everett, do you really believe God has brought you this far and gifted you so highly just for you to hide it away for the rest of your life?”  “Gift?  What Gift?”  Everett demanded.  “Why you have the gift of making people happy, of making them smile, making them laugh, and that in itself is more valuable than gold.”  That moment changed Everett forever.  He became known for his outgoing ways and making people feel good by his very presence.  Even ones who had been mean to him in the past, he went out of his way to try and bring a smile to their faces.  Everett told us that night, “The doctors healed his physical afflictions.  God healed his emotional ones with laughter and forgiveness.”

Someone said, “When we begin to take our failures and shortcoming non-seriously, it means we are ceasing to be afraid of them.  It is of immense importance to learn to laugh at ourselves!”

A lunchroom greeter taught me that a healthy heart is a forgiving heart filled with joy and laughter.  May the heart God gave you grow stronger in those aspects today.  By the way, that’s what the picture is for–just to give you a little jump start!  ;o)

The item you’re seeing is one of my most prized possessions. I keep it in a spot where I look at it often and remember a time, and a man, without him in my life I wouldn’t be here to tell you his story, one of my heroes.  This is a toolbox that is over 100 years old and it was given to me by a neighbor when I was a child.  Ward was his name and he owned the house next to the one we bought back in Fremont when we moved there from West Virginia.  He and his wife, Florence had no children and I used to go over and visit them often.Florence would sit and talk to me, but often Ward would make himself scarce; which was okay because I could usually track him down.  I knew he liked me from the gentle way he’d speak to me and all the wonderful gifts he bestowed on me (such as the tool box), but it was usually given with the words, “Now Johnny, why don’t you take this home and play with it!”  I guess I wore ole Ward down some with my visits for you see, back then, I could be quite the pest. (For any of you who knew me back then and just yelled “Amen,” I heard that!)

Now the house we lived in was an old rundown 3-unit apartment house that my Aunt Pearl was able to buy for a good price, but it needed a lot of work.  It didn’t have a furnace like most houses.  Many of the rooms were equipped with open flame gas stoves. The stoves were fed by a gas line that started outside and ran into and through the house inside pipes that were connected along the floorboard.  Most of the gas pipes were rotted and had to be replaced, which was done by my Aunt Pearl and her husband Price.  The cold weather set in and it was time to light the stoves.  I remember sitting by the one in our dining room, just watching the flickering of the flames; it was almost hypnotic gazing at the fiery dance before me.  But then, I remember feeling very sleepy.  I wanted to stand up, but for some reason I couldn’t so I laid my head down on the floor.  Pearl was resting on a couch nearby.  I tried to call to her, but the words wouldn’t come.  Suddenly, there was a loud crash!  I maneuvered my head around to see Price lying on the floor.  Being a man of about 300 pounds; when he passed out, he hit the floor with a bang.  As most of you have already figured out when the lines were open and the stoves lit there was a leak allowing the house to fill quickly with gas.  I can’t tell you much more 1^st hand of what happened after that.  All I was aware of was floating through the house and then lying under a tree in our front yard until being placed on a gurney and into the back of an ambulance.  As I’m told,Pearl was able to gather enough strength and wits about her to get out of the house, falling several times, until she got up the steps and onto the porch of Ward and Florence’s house.  When Ward realized what was happening he told Florence to call for help and then it was “Jim Dandy to the rescue, Jack!”  Years after Ward had passed away, Florence told me she had never seen him move so fast.  He then ran into the house, scooped me up, took me outside and placed me under the tree.  He went back in and was doing everything he could to drag Price out, which was quite a task seeing he was twice as big as Ward.  Luckily some other neighbor men showed up and were able to get him outside.

Well, it’s obvious I survived as well as Pearl and Price also, but that’s kind of trivial, in a manner of speaking, as compared to my hero Ward. You see I forgot to mention he was well up in years at the time of this accident and could only get around with the aid of a cane.  “Ward, what on earth were you thinking when you ran over there like that,” his Florence would ask him the next day.  These are the words I’m told he said. “You know how Johnny gets on my nerves so easily especially with that singing he’s always doing” (it was very loud and off key!); “The thought came that I was never going to hear that singing again; and that was more than I could bear.  I wasn’t about to let that happen.”  I didn’t find out until years later of Ward’s heroic act that rescued me that day, performing a feat that could have easily brought him harm, or worse.

There’s an old saying that goes “God places the heaviest burden on those who can carry its weight.”  A small framed, weak, elderly man for an instance, became a man of strength and valor, out of concern, caring, and love that I didn’t know existed.

I wonder at times how often God puts earthy angels, heroes, in our path that we don’t realize how much we mean to them and how they would be willing to sacrifice it all for us.  I met someone else like that years ago who cares for me and you to even a higher sacrifice of love.  His story goes like this: “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.”

I’m told my tool box might be worth a considerable amount of money, but the memory that it brings of someone who was willing to sacrifice it all for me, no matter how crazy I made them with my singing; well, I think you know the word I’m thinking of; starts with a P! ;0)

The year was 1968, Viet Nam was in full swing, Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King were both assassinated, and riots were taking place in many major cities here in the US. The USSR had invaded and taken over Czechoslovakia and the summer Olympics were getting under way in Mexico City.  Even this great event was not without turmoil as just weeks before the games were to get under way, Mexican military surrounded student protesters and opened fire, killing nearly 300.  

The Olympics though were a welcome distraction, if only temporarily, to world problems as the spotlight now shined on world athletics who had come together to compete for medals of  bronze, silver, and the coveted gold.  The United States team has more that their shares of superstars as they would go on to win the most metals of the games. We would come to know new names for outstanding performances on this prolific sports stage like Bob Beamon for his world record long jump and Dick Fosbury with his unique approach to winning the high jump, which the world came to know as the “Fosbury Flop.”  Then there was, of course, one of the most controversial moments of any Olympics of which generations hence have seen pictures.  Tommie Smith and John Carlos while standing on the victory platform after winning medals in the 200-meter race raised clenched fists (a sign that was prominent during that era) in a black power salute during the playing of the Star Spangled Banner.

Yes, folks, many new stars and celebrities were introduced to the world via the Olympics, which brings us to my hero of the games, and the effect he had on me and probably many others who saw his performance that hot afternoon in Mexico City.  I had been watching the running of the marathon, one of my favorite events.  I find it thrilling to watch the fortitude of these athletics as they give all they have in the most enduring race of them all. Mile after mile they relentlessly run fighting off the pain and fatigue that comes from competing in this grueling event.  I love watching them enter the arena for one lap as the indicator of the last leg of the race.  Screaming and adoring fans have waited here to watch and to wave their country’s flag for their conqueror of this mighty contest as they finally reach the finish line; thrilling indeed!  After many contestants had finished the race, the network carrying the television coverage cut away to another event and I turned the TV off and left to go and do something else.  

When I returned some hours later, I switched the set back on to see what might be taking place.  I can’t tell you anymore what event was being aired at that instant; only that a commentator was talking about it when he was interrupted by a voice belonging to someone I couldn’t see telling him they were going to switch back to the arena for a very dramatic episode being played out.  There, a young, tall, slender black man was coming down the street toward the arena. It was evident there were abrasions and bruises on his arms, legs and face. You could also see a mixture of blood and dirt that stained his running clothes. He had come toMexico Cityas a competitor from a small African nation that was ruled, at that time, by a monarchy.  The TV commentator told a story of how this man was the only one to make the trip from his country. At the opening day ceremonies, most countries marched with a complete team. But this young soul and proud figure of a man marched into the arena alone carrying his country’s flag; he had come to represent his country and people and do that he would, in a way he never imagined. The day of the race had come and early in the competition our young warrior took a hard fall on the hot asphalt that baked under the Mexican sun.  This left some deep gashes in several places over his body.  Picking himself up, he continued on only to fall again and roll down a small embankment.  Many runners on this day did not finish the race out of pure exhaustion brought on my the  grueling heat of the Mexican Sun; but our gallant soul continued on. Bruised and battered, physically spent and dehydrated, he would finish the race for himself, his people, and his king! 

Now, here he was close to the end of his challenge, battered and scared from the conflict, the only runner left from a race that had ended hours before.  Yet he pushed on sometimes walking and sometimes gently running until he finally entered the arena.  Other competitions were going on now, but the track quickly was cleared to allow for his entry. There was a notable soft murmur from the crowd, not understanding exactly what was happening—until they saw him; my newest hero enter to make his final lap.  At first, the applause was no more than cordial.  But as people saw the clear determination of this wounded warrior to finish, the accolades rose too a fever pitch with most fans now standing to their feet to encourage him on. At that moment there was no division of team or countries, everyone was a true champion, and they honored him! As the cheering increased, so did his pace until he was into a steady and strong stride in this last leg.  And as he crossed a quickly put together finish line, the whole place exploded as though cheering a gold medalist or one who had set a new world record!  Even though the runner had finished dead last, the resounding ovation was for one who had, amidst the worst of obstacles, refused to give up the race. 

I Corinthians 9:24-26 (The Message Bible):  “You’ve all been to the stadium and seen the athletes race.  Everyone runs; one wins.  Run to win.  All good athletes train hard.  They do it for a gold medal that tarnishes and fades.  You’re after one that’s gold eternally.  I don’t know about you, but I’m running hard for the finish line.  I’m giving it everything I’ve got.”

This hero, this champion, this conqueror had come toMexico Cityto give his best effort to win the prize.  When the gold medal was obviously forever out of reach, this did not deter him from the gallant campaign of finishing the race with pride and dignity for he came and gave his all for his king.  Each of us runs a race in life every day.  The determining factor on how you compete, train and accomplish the task before you is shaped by the goal you reach for.  For the Christian, there is no guarantee that life will be painless with smooth roads and easy travel in obtaining that goal.  The secret lies in keeping your focus on why and who you are running for. The ultimate reward at the finish line will be when we hear our King say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” 

May your goals be attainable, your training be diligent and your focus be on the eternal prize.