Author Archives: Kelly Miller

A Legacy

22 Monday Feb 2016

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Today I attended a dear friend father’s funeral, Pastor Charles Zwicker.  His death came just  7 months after my own father’s passing. During the drive another friend texted me asking for advice as she is soon facing her father’s impending death. I looked out the window as I said to myself and my husband who was driving, “This is how it goes I guess. We’re all getting older.”

We arrived at the funeral 20 minutes later and I began to brace myself for what lay ahead. I’ve never been to a truly sorrowful funeral. All the family members or friends I have lost have been believers in Jesus Christ and though we are sad we have a hope that doesn’t allow the grief to sit heavy on our souls. Today’s memorial was very much the same way. The family was smiling and hugging through their tears. They were so touched by the effort of those who came near and far. The tiny little church was packed to the gills of friends, family and members of the community that had come to pay their respects.

I was able to listen to the stories of faith and gratitude of a man who served in ministry for over 25 years. He and his wife raised 4 beautiful children who love Jesus. His impact on the community was such that the city of 29 Palms sent an ambassador to honor him as an exemplary citizen who had given back in a magnificent way. He organized food drives, clothes drives, helped the poor and widowed through his ministry and reached out to the transient military community.  As I was listening to all of these accolades being given, I began to think about the word, LEGACY.

My father’s legacy was shown to us by the many people who shared with us stories of  feeling loved and cherished. During his own ministry he gave the people of his community hope and peace. This man as well, who had little wealth to speak of, had riches that none of us could monetarily count. No one ever mentions how many houses one has acquired in life. It’s always about people, connections and how we were affected by those who have gone before us. This may all seem cliche to you and I know I’m not the first to write about it, however, I can’t shake the question. “What would be my legacy?”

At this moment in life I am overwhelmed with the mundane. The “daily grind” if you will. I don’t love my job, my eldest will be driving in 6 months, our finances can be a major cause of stress, friends disappoint me, my husband and children frustrate me, I want to be 15 pounds skinnier, I really want a 4 bedroom house, and the engine light on our car won’t turn off no matter what we do… That’s just the thoughts I’ve wrestled with today! When I was sitting in that church pew listening to the words spoken in the memorial service not one of those thoughts came to mind. What came to mind was, “Do people see Jesus in me? Does my family know I love them?”

As depressing as this topic may seem, I think it’s important we explore these questions. For myself, I will use these moments to help me slow down and focus on what is important. Not only loving my family and making sure they know how much I care about them but strengthening my relationship with Jesus. Along with finding ways to give back to my community I will try to refrain from allowing the rat race of life to drag me down. My heart goes out to the family of Pastor Zwicker as they discover what their “new normal” is. For anyone who has lost a parent, a spouse, a child, a friend, or a sibling; I pray these words encourage you to see a way to take death and focus it on making the world they left behind a better place.

Like Mother Like Daughter

02 Wednesday Dec 2015

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Tonight my 14 year old daughter and I got into it for the umpteenth time this month. She is slacking in her school work and I’m beside myself frustrated with the level of effort she puts into it, or lack thereof. If only she put as much effort into her school work as she does her socializing I found myself thinking. Then I heard my mother’s voice echo in my ears. Did I really just say what I know my mom said more than a dozen times? How is it that we can be so utterly shocked when our kids push back, lie, be lazy, disrespect us, find ways to get around the rules, when less then 2 decades ago we were doing the same exact thing???

Earlier this evening that same daughter was confiding in me that her friend, who is 4 years older than her is most likely pregnant. She told me before beginning, to relax, “she’s a good person and I’m not being influenced by her,” she assured me. This young lady was heading into the military come graduation and now pregnancy may derail those dreams. While cooking dinner, I listened to my daughter share with me her friend’s fears and worries. She relayed to me how she told this girl, “Now see, I told you that guy was nothing but trouble. Mom, this is exactly why I will not have sex before marriage. I am not going to live my life as The Secret Life of an American Teenager.” “Plus,” she says, “I told her she could come talk to you because you would be concerned for her and feel sorry for her situation.” At the time I laughed and chided her a bit for being harsh with her friend. She assured me she was kind in her approach. She told this young lady that she could come over and that I would help her figure out what to do. THEN she said, “And I told my friend, she HAD to tell her parents the truth immediately!” Yeah, 2 hours later I find my daughter “forgot” to tell me about a Spanish test tomorrow. What was that about having to be truthful with your parents, daughter of mine??

Here’s where I am at in this moment. I am in awe at the mother daughter relationship. How it can be all hugs and cuddles to practically a cat fight the next. How my daughter wants to emulate me in every way, but can’t stand any critique or advice I may give. How my daughter can hug me one minute and have nothing to do with me the next. How she can find the ability to confide in me with the heavy things life throws at her, but afraid to ask my permission might I say no. I know its hormones and the struggles of growing up, but I also know it’s a reflection of how I treat her. In those cat fight moments I find myself speaking down to her and mad at her lack of work ethic or drive. Yet, I am in awe at her ability to stick up for herself, to live life with such zest and tenacity and to love so fiercely. In the aftermath of our tiff over homework and upon hearing my mothers’ voice echo in my ears, I realize now, more than ever how much she is watching. I think even more so than when she was 3 and wanted to try on my high heels.

She is watching how I respond after I argue with her or her father and how we make up. She is watching what I post on social media and if I call in “sick” to work or not.  She is watching how I treat our crazy neighbors or if I pick up our dog poop when no one is watching. I forget how much she is watching and learning and trying to find out what works for her and what doesn’t. I am glad she doesn’t want have sex before she is married, but will she be able to resist when the man of her dreams is whispering how much he loves her and cherishes her? Will she tell the truth even when no one will know the difference? Will she study hard for that test not because her mother is screaming at her to, but because she wants to succeed? I don’t know. All I know is, every day I want to give up. I literally want to throw my hands up and say, “You win and I’m out!” Then I see that girl turning into a women and I look in the mirror of that girl who turned into a woman. I survived the trials and I learned from my mistakes and eventually began to listen to my mother. I persevered because my own mother never gave up. So, I too won’t give up. I will start again tomorrow with a hug and a kiss and some cuddles; if, she lets me.

In My Line: May I see your ID?

12 Thursday Nov 2015

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It’s been over six weeks since I quit working as a cashier at Sprouts Farmers Market. I had some amazing experiences with seeing humanity at its best while I worked there. I shared two other stories in my previous posts and this is the third and final blog on my short but fantastic time working at Sprouts.

I was getting much better and faster at my job as a cashier. It was getting easier to converse with the customers and scan their items quickly. On this particular day, my supervisor asked all of us cashiers to card every single patron who purchased alcohol that day. We were told it did not matter if they looked 50, we still had to card them. I enjoy carding people. The fun part of asking, “May I see your ID?” is they tend to be flattered that there is a question they may be 21. I had one gentleman who was celebrating his 60th birthday that day and I was able to enthusiastically wish him a happy birthday. He loved it. Another patron was a lady who seemed to have spent a lot of money looking younger than she was but was quite annoyed that she had to get her ID out. It was quite funny and I thought a bit ironic.

The night was beginning to wind down and a young man came through my line who was clearly less than 25 purchasing a six pack of beer. I asked for his ID and upon seeing it noticed I it was not a California ID. He began to explain to me that he was a military brat from Michigan but here in San Diego on duty in the Navy.  The military was something he had known his entire life. He had recently come back from a ship deployment in Japan. He was so full of energy, excitement and pride for his job. There was an older gentleman in line behind him listening to our conversation as we talked. This man tapped the young guy on his shoulder and said, “Son, if you’re in the military there is someone here you’ve got to meet!” By this time I was done ringing up the young private’s groceries. Everyone in line seemed intrigued as to who this young man should meet. The older gentleman called out to an athletic looking man in his mid-fifties. He said, “Son, this is Michael, an officer in the Navy.” The officer smiled and reached across his friend to the young man. Their hands clasped right in front of me and I felt the energy between them. The officer leaned in and said with great intensity and reverence I did not expect, “Son, thank you for your service. What you do is hard and not many know what we go through. I know and I thank you.” The young man from Michigan kept eye contact the entire time with his superior and took the compliment graciously. He responded with, “Thank you sir. I appreciate that immensely.” As they shook hands one more time I realized I had tears in my eyes. The young man gathered his belongings, paused to smile at me and then thanked the two men he had just met for the introduction. Everyone in my line seemed to feel the incredible respect and magnitude of the moment. The line began to go back to the usual chatter as I rang up the remaining customers. I hoped everyone felt the same as me, that we had just been given a small gift.

I write this today, on Veterans Day. My Grandpa, whom we affectionately called “Pa” was part of the last horse infantry in World War II. My father-in-law served the Navy for 25 years and retired as a Petty Chief Officer and my own father was in the Air Force at the end of Vietnam. I have always been grateful for our men and women in service, but to see such an exchange of respect and gratitude was an incredible reminder of the sacrifice they endure. I may never truly get it, but I am thankful for these men and women and all they do for the American people. Happy Veterans Day to those serving and thank you for the sacrifice of those who served before them.

In My Line- I’ll Pay

28 Monday Sep 2015

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It was a very busy day in the local grocery store I work at. Customers were bustling about and gathering their purchases for the week. Every cashier line was at least 5 people deep and it didn’t seem to stop for a few hours. Even though the store was busy, everything was running smoothly. I, however, had a very annoying credit card machine. Sometimes it would take a card very simply and then it would decide to be stubborn and make a customer swipe 3 or 4 times. Everyone was being patient in the midst of it. I felt like my nerves were a bit on edge due to the constant flow and the annoying credit card machine. To add to the frustration, our communication lines went down. None of the patrons were able to charge more than a $100 on a credit purchase and the EBT cards were unusable. One of my customers in line at that moment had an EBT card. She was a middle aged woman who had seen many hard years in her life. Her shirt was a little worn on the sleeves and her skin was a bit too leathery for her age. She was sharing with me her exciting find at Goodwill prior to coming into our store. She had found a brand new pair of jeans for $4! She was talking very excitedly and her voice was surely carrying to the back of the line. I finished scanning her items and announced her total of $12.82. She swiped her card and it was declined. We tried and tried to no avail. I had not been informed at this time of our lines being down. I asked her if she had any other means to pay. She replied with slight panic in her voice, “No, the only other money I have on me is my bus fare.” I felt awful and just as helpless. I had no way to help her since my purse was stowed away in my locker. The gentleman behind her was silently watching and listening to the exchange between us. She finally said, “Oh well, I guess I’ll have to come back tomorrow.” The man next to her caught my eye and mouthed the words, “I’ll pay.” I smiled and said, “Thank you!” then I turned to the gal and explained to her that this man was willing to pay her bill. She beamed from ear to ear and said, “Really?” He just smiled and nodded as he handed me a $20 bill. She grabbed her bag and began excitedly talking about how great this day was and how thankful she was for him and coming to her rescue. She practically skipped as she exited the store. Everyone in my line was smiling as well as they watched her leave. The gentleman who paid did not say anymore on the matter and simply paid for and gathered his own items before heading out the door.

A few hours later the store was still a constant buzz and the communication lines were thankfully back up and running. A young dad came through my line purchasing baby food and other essentials for the upcoming week. His total came out to roughly $79. He swiped his card and it was declined. I explained that my machine had been touchy all day and to try it again. This time a message came up on my screen stating “Insufficient Funds.” I quietly conveyed to him the message I received. His face fell and he looked very puzzled. He looked at me, then his items, then back at me. His items were already bagged up and ready to go, his embarrassment began to show on his face. He then said, “Can you suspend the transaction while I make a phone call?” I told him of course I could do that. I moved him and his items to an empty register next to me while he proceeded to make his phone call. I began to tend to my other customers. Out of the corner of my eye, customer after customer, I could see that he was still trying to get to the bottom of why his card was declined. A young lady, close to the age of the frustrated gentle men, had been in my line long enough to pick up on the fact that this man was unable to pay for his groceries. I could feel her energy as she looked at him and then me, debating whether or not to step in. As she moved closer to the front of the line she couldn’t help but hear his conversation and the anxiety and worry in his voice. When her grocery bill was tallied and I began bagging her groceries she looked at me and quietly said, “I will pay his bill.” I replied, worried that she didn’t know what she was agreeing to, “Are you sure, it is $79?” She smiled and without hesitating gave me her credit card. I scanned his receipt which brought up his transaction and charged her card the amount. She asked that I wait to tell him after she left. I told her thank you so much and that I would be sure to wait. A few moments after she left I went over to the gentleman and told him that his grocery bill was paid for. His eyes grew wide and he threw his head back and laughed while still holding the phone next to his ear. He put the phone aside and said to me, “Really? Who?” I told him a young lady did but wanted to remain anonymous. By this time everyone in my line was listening and smiling at his gracious reaction. He thanked me, grabbed his groceries and seemed to glide out of the store.

My line died down soon after and I was able to reflect and marvel at the events of the day. It had been a busy and somewhat chaotic day, but twice I got to see humanity at its best. I think we all can see humanity at its best if we look for it. Sometimes though, the world seems so dark and dismal that it makes moments like these stand out even more.

In My Line- Meet Katherine

23 Wednesday Sep 2015

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I’ve had the privilege of working as a cashier at my local grocery store just blocks from my house the past 3 months. It was a job I took on as my first step to heading back into the work force after solely being a stay at home mom for 13 years. Just recently, I accepted an Infant/Toddler preschool position. I am very much looking forward to holding babies every day, especially since my “baby” is 2 months shy of 12. Even though my job is changing; I will say I thoroughly enjoyed my short time as a cashier.

While I was working as a cashier I marveled at the interaction I had with people. It was a unique view of the people in my community. Some were bustling home from work just trying to get dinner on the table. For some, it was their outing and social event of the day. For others, it was a post workout stop to grab a treat and a protein drink. I would see exasperated moms with toddlers having a meltdown or couples in love getting a post-date bottle of wine. The interactions I had with customers, while in my line, were sometimes negative or even odd. For the most part, it was always a brief, yet positive interaction with people from all walks of life. I had a few encounters that stuck out to me as amazing and I wanted to share them with you.

Meet Katherine. An elderly woman buying her weekly groceries with beautiful silver hair and a sweet smile. I didn’t know her name just yet. She was just another person buying her groceries. We started to talk of the stormy weather we had been having and she mentioned that her sister in Germany was experiencing the awful heat wave they were having. When she spoke I noticed she had a thick European accent. She informed me that the people of Germany were not used to 98 degrees or more and people were becoming ill or dying without simple air conditioning. I asked her if she was from Germany and she said, “No, but I was in a Nazi concentration camp just before the war ended.” I just stopped scanning her items and looked at her with my mouth gaping open I’m sure, and said, “Oh my, I’m so sorry. How old were you?” She replied, “12.” I can’t do math quickly without distraction, so there was no way I was going to guess her age while trying to scan items, take money and converse with her. I later put together that she is now 83, give or take a year. She went on to say, “It was awful. They did horrible things to people.” She stopped talking, looked me right in the face with her piercing blue eyes and said, “We must never forget what happened.” I nodded and concurred. All this time I was scanning and bagging her purchases. She pulled out her debit card to pay and began to grab her bags to go. Before she left I said, “What is your name?” She replied, “Katherine,” with a delicate roll of her “R”.  I grabbed her hand and looked her in the eye and said, “Katherine, it was so nice to meet you. Thank you for sharing your story with me.” We smiled at each other and I went back to scanning items for the other customers in my line.

Later I wished I had asked for her phone number. Oh how I would love to sit down to coffee with her and ask her so many questions about that time. “Did her family survive? Did she have nightmares after? Did she get to go home, or was her home no longer existing? How did she come to America…?” It was such a special moment for me and I am so grateful for the opportunity to meet Katherine. Not only was she my first encounter with a living WWII concentration camp survivor but a moment in time I won’t soon forget.

No Greater Love

08 Tuesday Sep 2015

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This weekend feels like a final step in the grieving process of my dad’s death. It has only been two months since my dad broke his vertebrae and chose to be taken off his ventilator causing him to take his final breath in the wee hours of the morning on July 4th. At the same time it feels like six months has gone by. We’ve buried my father, we’ve journeyed home, we’ve emptied his house of his belongings and distributed to each other the things that help hold onto his memory. The journey of grieving has just begun I know.

My siblings and I spent the weekend getting my mom settled into her home as a widow and to help her celebrate what would have been their 46th wedding anniversary. We had a great time working together on projects and even playing together. Sometimes we would stop dead in our tracks to just weep or laugh at a particular memory that an item or topic triggered. My parents weaved a beautiful tapestry of a life together through their ministry, children, grandchildren, and beautiful abode. My dad’s absence has left a gaping hole I never could have imagined. I had no idea I would miss my dad this much. His smell, his laugh, his 6 foot 2 presence in a room… Now that he is gone we are now having to stitch that hole together with memories and new traditions.

One thing I have learned in this process is that grief can be beautiful. The more you love someone the harder it is to move on. However there is beauty in the precious gifts that are left behind. My dad left behind a legacy to “do all things through Christ who gives me strength.” Through his example I can learn to push through things I wouldn’t normally think that I could. My dad always gave his best and pushed through the hard times and it was never his own strength, but Christ’s.  He gave us an example of discipline. Whether it was in regards to exercise, his job, or marriage; he showed us what commitment looked like. In my father’s last moments he gave us an example of sacrificial love.  My sister-in-law equated it to Christ’s sacrificial love for the church.  Christ did not want to be on the cross or stand in our place, but he went through it knowing what we would gain. My father did not want to be paralyzed from the neck down nor did he want to leave this earth. His love for us was greater than the love he had for himself. You could ask the question, which is more selfless; for my dad to stay on this earth with us and need 24 hour care, or to leave this earth and say goodbye? I think his bravery to say goodbye is right up there with Christ’s sacrificial love. That’s how well my dad knew Jesus. In those last moments he knew what to do. He knew that the pain to leave would be great but the reward would be greater.

John 15 :13 No one has greater love than this: that someone lay down his life for his friends.

Eulogy for Larry Ross aka My Dad

19 Sunday Jul 2015

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I had the incredible honor of writing my dad’s eulogy for his memorial service last Saturday, July 11th, 2015. I am still in shock that this is my reality. He loved my writing and it was our number one way to communicate with each other. If I was upset with him or needed to express myself, I would put pen to paper. So, here is my written expression of my beautiful dad’s life.

Larry Gene Ross was born into a humble beginning on November 17, 1947 in Lubbock, Texas. He was loved to pieces by his mother, Marie Ross, and was shown what hard work looked like from his father Marvel Ross. His older sister Myra Gresham doted on him and influenced his sense of style as he became a young man. Larry’s childhood on the farm gave him an appreciation for nature and a green thumb that he would use to grow the most beautiful roses one day. Larry loved to bring home stray animals and nurse them back to health. His sister remembers him bringing home a litter of skunks that were abandoned by their mother. He fed them with an eye dropper until they were healthy enough to be set free. That same nurturing Larry would someday tend to the stray, lost, and broken people of his community.

At 14, Larry’s parents decided to move from Texas to Crawford, CO. He had severe hay fever and the doctor urged his father to move his son elsewhere. Larry was able to witness first hand his father’s love and sacrifice for his family. That move caused him to attend Paonia High School where he would fall in love with running. He was quite the track star and excelled in the men’s 800 meter. He held the record of 2 minutes and 8 seconds for 40 years, from 1966-2006. When he entered his junior year of high school he fell head over heels for a strawberry-blonde, beauty queen, by the name of Sandra Tuin. Larry escorted Sandee to the homecoming court where she was crowned queen. From that day on he called Sandee her his princess. The two of them married on September 7, 1969 in Delta, Co. A year later, Larry graduated from Pasadena College majoring in Literature and Communicative Arts with a minor in Physical Education. Immediately following college he signed up for the Air force and served 3 years. During that time he and Sandee brought into the world 2 beautiful children, Kevin and Kimberly. In 1974 Larry exited the Air force and became a P.E. teacher while volunteering as a youth minister alongside Sandee. The two of them found their niche sharing Jesus with the youth and conducting youth choirs. They recorded several albums with their youth choir during their early years of ministry.

In 1977, Larry was called into full-time ministry and began his lifelong passion. He began this journey in Prescott, AZ as a youth pastor where his daughter Kelly was born. Soon after, he and Sandee found themselves in Bend, OR where Larry served as an associate pastor. Larry and Sandee welcomed their 4th child, a son named Kasey, thus completing the Ross’s. Larry had a zest for life, a vision to share Jesus, and a wandering heart. This took him and his family to Arizona where he was able to take on his first head pastor-ship, then residing in Indio, CA where Larry held a pastorate at Las Palmas Church of the Nazarene for 15 years.

In 2007 Larry received a strong nudge from God that it was time to move on to a new adventure. He called the District Superintendent at that time and asked him where in the High Desert he could be sent. The superintendent said, “Well, I have this church in Phelan, but it’s almost dead.” Larry asked, “Are there youth there?” he said “Yes.” Larry replied excitedly, “Great, I will go!” 2 years after accepting that call Larry was diagnosed with early onset Parkinson’s disease. Over the next 6 years Larry and Sandee faced some of their toughest years. Sandee kept her job in Indio, CA and the two of them commuted back and forth. God provided them with a beautiful house in Phelan and the little, almost dead, church of 22 began to breathe New Life. He gave this little church confidence and taught it what it truly meant to be the feet and hands of Jesus.

Larry was an amazingly devoted husband, father, and grandfather. He prayed over his family daily. He always sent his kids out the door praying “May the peace that passes all understanding guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” He daily sent texts of affirmation when life seemed daunting. I could spend hours sharing stories and memories of Dad and Poppi, but I wanted to try and give you a glimpse of his character and the memory of who he was.

Dad always took the time to make his daughters feel special. He would take them on dates such as trips to Baskin Robbins ice cream and shopping for a special outfit. He would take his boys, Kevin and Kasey, on excursions where he would teach them to fish and set up camp. As they married he accepted their spouses as his own. As Dad and Poppi he made sure he was at every child and grandchild’s milestones; such as birth, special sport events, graduations, and baptisms. He loved to invest in his kids’ lives by coaching little league, basketball, and track. Dad was an avid runner, disciplined athlete, and sports enthusiast. He desperately loved cheering on his beloved Broncos. He used many illustrations at the pulpit in relation to football and sports. His second love in life to sports was music. He grew up listening to the Gaither Vocal band. When he met mom he fit right in to her own musical family which in turn allowed them to create 4 children who all could sing. Our family spent most of our childhood traveling the western United States singing and sharing the Love of Jesus. Mom and Dad spent their entire marriage and ministry cultivating a love for music in every youth they met. Through the years Dad found that he enjoyed gift giving. It was his love language. He would shower Mom with spontaneous packages or poems. He would bring us home stuffed animals for Easter or birthdays. As he became a grandpa, aka Poppi, he turned his attention to loving on his grandkids. Dad had what my brother Kevin calls, “Santa Claus Syndrome.” Every Christmas he gave above and beyond what Mom would deem sane. He would anticipate Christmas morning and shower us with gifts. He also exemplified compassion and generosity to us by adopting a family in need and allowing the entire family to participate in giving gifts. He always tried to plan a special outing whether it be taking the family skiing, a trip to the tram or horseback riding at a nearby neighboring stable. Dad went to great lengths to be sure our family and those around him knew he loved them. He would always hug you, tell you “you are special,” and take the time to listen to the need you had. He was a man who sought after God’s own heart and believed wholeheartedly that God was in control of our circumstances.

My dad was only 67 years old when he fell and broke his vertebrae causing him to be completely paralyzed. As a pastor and son of parents having been in convalescent care, he witnessed firsthand the pain, sorrow, and financial stress of a family member in long term care. When Dad was faced with living on a breathing and feeding tube forever, he chose Jesus. We are still in awe at his bravery to say goodbye and in his last hour he told us he was sad to leave us, but we know that one day we will all meet again. He will be greatly missed, but never forgotten.

Love Keeps No Record Of Wrongs

13 Saturday Jun 2015

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Love Keeps No Record of Wrongs

At our wedding our friend, and youth pastor at the time, Darren Bartholomew officiated our vows. He is a fun guy with a dry sense of humor.  During the ceremony he began to share with us from 1 Corinthians 13. The phrase that reads, “love keeps no record of wrongs,” he said then repeated it, then repeated it a 3rd time. This time slowing down with an emphasis on each word which caused a chuckle throughout the room. It was cute and funny and we all could tell he was trying to get a point across to this very young couple in front of him embarking on one of life’s biggest challenges, marriage. Today we celebrate our 16th wedding anniversary. I am still in awe that I could love someone more today than I did the day I said “I do.”

However, it has not been an easy path. It never is. Darren’s voice as he repeated the phrase “Love keeps no record of wrongs” has echoed in my ears many times over the years. So many times I have wanted to make a list of the ways my husband has screwed up or annoyed me. Some of them have been extremely minute and silly. Some have seemed huge and some were monetarily costly mistakes. The moment I begin to “stamp collect” those wrongs is when resentment starts to build in my heart. Soon everything becomes annoying; the things he says, the way he parents, how he leaves his socks on the floor at night or seems to never put his dirty shirts IN the hamper. I suddenly find myself becoming blind to all the good that he does. I don’t see that he cooks for me when I’m exhausted or encourages my passions in life and my girls’ nights out. That he fixes my computer EVERY single time I ask him without complaint or listens to me unload the happenings of my day after his own long day in the office. When I stop keeping record of how he frustrates me and look at how he loves me in his own special way it makes my heart soften towards him. I can have empathy and extend grace when he gets a $200 traffic ticket or takes both car keys on accident and leaves me stranded at home. We all make mistakes in our marriage and relationships and we have no right to hold the other person to a higher standard than we require ourselves. I am so glad that in those moments I hear Darren’s comical way of reminding me that “Love is patient, Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs, it keeps no record of wrongs, LOVE KEEPS. NO RECORD. OF WRONGS. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes and always perseveres. Love never fails.” What would our marriages, parent-child relationships or friendships look like if we all could remember that love Facebook-20150613-104503Facebook-20150613-104450keeps no record of wrongs?

Giving in Faith

21 Thursday May 2015

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I would like to share a story with you. It’s a story I love to share, but do not always get the opportunity. You can believe it, disbelieve it, discard it, or let it speak to you. As you read it, know this; it is my story that I know to have truly happened and I believe that others can experience the same truth and reality.

When I was a teenager and upon getting my first job my dad sat me down with a roll of Lifesavers and said, “Kelly, as you embark on becoming a working girl you need to know the responsibility that comes with it. God has given you this job and the means to earn the money that will be coming to you. He asks that we give 10% of what we have back to Him.” Then my dad proceeded to give me ten Lifesavers and took one of them away saying, “God does not ask for much. You get to keep nine of the Lifesavers, but he asks you give him this one” I remember thinking, as most 15 1/2 year olds would, “Yeah, yeah. Good to know.” From that moment on my dad spoke to me every now and then of the miracles he experienced when he “gave in faith” back to God. He said that numerous times when he and my mom didn’t have the money in the bank to write their tithe check, they did anyway. Over and over God proved faithful and the amount was covered. They were always logical and practical ways for the money to come in. Sometimes it was an over-pay refund from an insurance company, the IRS or an anonymous gift to them from a parishioner of my parent’s church. It was not a common practice for my parents to “test” God in any way shape or form. I am not recommending people go around writing fraudulent checks hoping God will bail them out. My dad was and is always trying to convey to me that God will take care of me if I put him first.

Somewhere along the way as I became an adult the message I heard got a little skewed. I had this small fear in the back of my mind that if I didn’t tithe, something bad would happen to me. I honestly don’t know where that lie stemmed from, but by the time I got married at 21, it was a pretty big fear. My husband and I both grew up in the church, but he has always pushed and questioned Christianity. At first it scared the living daylights out of me. I would ask him all the time, “Are you sure you have Jesus in your heart?” It’s funny to us now, but at the time I didn’t know how to deal with it. As we settled into married life and began to figure out whose role was whose, the topic of tithing came up. I tried to explain to him why it was so important but all I could say was, “We have to tithe. We just have to.” I’ve never been good at pleading an argument and I had no reasoning behind it anymore, except for “we have to or God will be angry.” He told me that we weren’t going to tithe until I could tithe out of reverence and not out of irrational fear. It was a weird time for me as a Christian. Here I was newly married and the only pastor I had known was my father. Now I was having to do life, marriage and faith on my own. It was a topic of frustration for quite a few months. After a while though, I let it go and allowed it to settle onto the back burner of my life. Every now and then the thought creeped back in but I did not want to deal with the topic.

6 years later my husband and I were now parents to 3 beautiful children living in a 2 bedroom apartment. At the time they were 4, 3 and 1 years old. We were blessed with 3 children but we will admit our youngest was completely unexpected and unplanned. We were young, broke and making painful sacrifices to live on one income so I could be at home with those beautiful children. We were heavily involved in an awesome startup church. I was singing in the worship band, running the Women’s ministry, and leading a bible study. Jon was running sound, involved with the men’s ministry and we helped setup almost every Sunday, but we didn’t tithe. During that time I read a series by Francine Rivers called A Lineage of Grace. It is the story of 5 women of the bible who were in Christ’s lineage. It’s an amazing series. As I was reading the story of Ruth, the part about Ruth’s father-in-law stuck out to me. In River’s depiction of Ruth’s father-in-law; he would not allow the poor to glean from his fields. It was custom in that time, a way of tithing, to allow the poor and widowed to follow behind the harvesters and pick up the wheat that would fall. It was a beautiful cultural cycle that God put in place among the Israelite’s that allowed those unfortunate not to starve and yet have dignity. Ruth’s father-in-law, Elimelech, did not allow people to do this. God was angry at him for it and caused him to get sick and die. (That is probably where the fear idea for me came from. lol) This in turn began Ruth’s journey to Bethlehem and how she married Boaz causing her to become a part of Christ’s lineage. It’s an amazing story when you have the time.

Now, back to my humble story. Here I was a 26 year old mom and I felt like I was reading this story for the first time, or truly hearing it. I went to the bible and read the story of Ruth for myself and instead of seeing God as really harsh, I saw it as him wanting me to know that this was how God was. This was the God of the Old Testament. Now, because of Jesus, we have a new relationship with God. I know, this may seem so contradictory, but stick with me. After I read this book, I shared with Jon how I was feeling. I told him I really felt we needed to start tithing. I believed God was wanting to show me how to tithe out of love and that the fear factor was not a part of the relationship anymore.

A few days after my husband and I had that conversation an incredible thing occurred. Really late one night, there was a knock at our door. I got out of bed to go and answer it. When I opened the door no one was there. On our door step was an anonymous envelope addressed to us. It had $374 of cash in it. The note read something like, “We are so proud of you and the sacrifices you make for your little family. We felt God telling us to give this amount to you. We love you.” There was a verse included and I believe the verse was Ephesians 5:20 “Always give thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” Now get this, that dollar amount was the EXACT amount we should have been tithing. Do you get that? The EXACT amount in cash!!! Yeah I know, do the math. We were broke but God showed up in our life and said, “Hey, I want you to trust me that I will provide for you and give to me what is mine.” We started tithing consistently. It was not easy. There were times I wrote that check and I wasn’t sure if we would make it. It was a true step in faith. I remember one time writing the check and having a school loan bill due. My head told me to write the school loan bill, then if we had enough at the end of the pay period, I would write the tithe check. However, my heart, or the Holy Spirit told me to write the tithe check first. I did. I actually mailed both checks. The next day my husband came home with a commission check from a contract position he was doing that was not a consistent gig. I wanted to laugh and cry in relief. 2 years from that season of our life my husband got a raise that was almost double. We were able to buy a home that had 3 bedrooms. Here in Southern California, on one income, that is a feat. I wish I could say we have not faltered since. We have many times been caught up in life, or fear of the future and not tithed. God has not struck us down when we failed, but he does show us favor when we trust Him and put Him first. Sadly, we forget very quickly those moments that He showed up which is why I am writing this down. I never want to forget that when I asked the question, God showed me the answer.

I did a little research on tithing in America. I was happy to find out that according to a 2014 survey by the Giving USA Foundation that 95.4% of Americans give to charity. However, I was sad to discover that the average middle class only gives 3.6% of their income to charity and religious groups. Incomes over $200,000 give 2.6% according to the Nonprofit Almanac. No wonder we are a country that is anemic in philanthropy. If you are not a Christian and have stuck with me this far let me tell you this. Whether you believe in fate, karma or a deity you should try to be diligent in giving. Even from a financial angle, I remember hearing Suze Orman say on Oprah years ago, that it is a great discipline when managing your money to give to a nonprofit organization. Not only is it a tax write off but Dave Ramsey always says, “Tell your money where to go, or the lack of it will always manage you.” When my husband and I don’t tithe, it’s only because we allowed life to get too busy and we stopped managing our money closely. It’s literally the one bill we don’t have to pay.  Tithing or giving 10% of your income helps instill in people a discipline. I guarantee you, many people who don’t tithe have no idea where that money went to. For us it’s quite a chunk now, but if you start when you are making a small amount it becomes habit. Then when you have a lot, it is second nature. Not only that, but it helps make the world go around. If the average giving is 3.6%, what would our world look like if we all gave that extra 6.4%? If 3.6% reflects $174.5 billion dollars given in 2011, can you imagine what over $350 billion could do? I could go on and on. I feel so passionate about not only taking control of your finances, but I strongly believe that tithing or charitable giving is important. I am so grateful that God showed up to my husband and me all those years ago. I wish I knew who it was that dropped that money off (I have an inkling) and could give them a huge hug for listening to God’s prompting. I highly recommend that you seek out in your own life what giving looks like to you. One avenue you can do that is by finding a Dave Ramsey Financial Peace class near you. I hope my story gives you hope wherever you are and that you caught a glimpse of the God I know.

Here are a few charities that I recommend giving to outside of your own church, school or university:

Beauty for Ashes Fund at Point Loma Nazarene University: A scholarship fund established to support the education of survivors of human trafficking, launch many young people into meaningful careers that tackle modern slavery and strengthen the university’s infrastructure to support this level of mentoring.

Preemptive Love Coalition: They offer many lifesaving services but I was drawn to their program for an Irag Crisis Response called Love First. “Preemptive Love is on the ground in Iraq, serving those who suffer and saving lives. With your help, we are uniquely positioned to meet needs of those attacked by ISIS through job creation and lifesaving surgeries.”

New Life Church of the Nazarene in Phelan,CA: Phelan New Life is a church committed to their community and gives the little they have in large ways. It is a church immersed in the drug and poverty stricken community of the High Desert. This church ministers to men who attend Awakening Ranch, a ministry that helps men conquer substance abuse and in some cases once released from prison. They give food to the needy within their community along with feminine products and clothes to a local women shelter affected by substance abuse and poverty.

A great tool to check out reputable charities to give to go to Charities.org

A Final Chapter/New Beginning

22 Wednesday Apr 2015

Posted by in Authentic Living

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I just finished The Gifts Of Imperfection by Brene Brown for the fourth time. This time I had the privilege of sharing it with 11 other women for 10 weeks in a book club setting. These women chose to be vulnerable with me and each other. I am so humbled to have been able to facilitate this journey and I learned so much from them. I was able to stretch myself spiritually, mentally and emotionally. I’m daily choosing that I am enough. That where I am in life is enough. That the size of my house, the car I drive, and the clothes I wear are enough. I’m done hustling for “worthiness” as Brene calls it. The last few chapters talk about; what we want to do, does not have to be put on the back burner. It’s ok to claim two professions or hobbies. We can say we are a Real Estate agent/painter or a doctor/gardener. Just because if what we are passionate about doesn’t make us a living doesn’t mean we should not do it or not be able to claim that it is who we are or what we love. For a long time I’ve said, “I’m a Stay At Home Mom,” and that’s it. Yes, I’ve been a wife and a mom for almost half of my life but I honestly still haven’t decided what I want to be when I grow up. For a long time I have let society and myself tell me that unless I have a BA or am making $$$$$$$ a year then what I do doesn’t hold much value. I’m just a mom.

 

After reading Guidepost 9 tonight I can say I’m an Entrepreneur/3 time surrogate/worship leader/writer/blogger/student/amateur chef (our Chipotle salmon dish with black bean succotash that I made up tonight was delish!). I’m now a Lunch Lady/referee/and many a days a Taxi driver. She helped me realize that no matter what we “do for a living” we need to make sure we are finding time to do what we love and are passionate about it. The best part is, when we do what we love our life becomes meaningful. I don’t write to become famous, I write because I love it. I can’t move on in life until I have put my thoughts to paper sometimes. I don’t sing in church because I’m supposed to. I sing and attempt to lead people in worship because it moves me and draws me closer to God more than anything else I’ve ever experienced. Some days I believe I’m at the brink of finding what I ‘m supposed to do with myself now that my 3 kids do not need me 24/7. Until then I’m going to live my life with meaning, use my God given talents and do the fun and mundane to the Glory of God.