Tag Archives: authentic living

Nashville Part 4: Homecoming

06 Wednesday Jul 2022

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This is the conclusion of my 4-part post. I am grateful to those of you who tracked this story from day one.

My return home continued with a bit more travel drama with flights delayed and in turn, had me flying to Detroit where I spent 8 hours in the Detroit airport before flying directly to San Diego. The time in the airport allowed me to begin writing this blog and flush out my thoughts on the adventures I recently experienced. That Sunday night I arrived home just in time for my sweet family to whisk me off to our favorite pizza joint, “Pizza Port,” for dinner and let me share all the detail of the last 24 hours. 

These two were all ears!
The man who says “yes” to my crazy

In the immediate hours following this experience, the hardest part was sitting in the reality that not everyone responded emphatically. Upon returning home I had the opportunity to explain in more detail to my friends but only one sent me money. I was surprised at how even my closest friends or colleagues weren’t affected and seemed to only take it as a good story. I was so grateful to my sisters and mother-in-law who helped me recoup the remaining amount of what I had committed to cover but it saddened me how many people said they couldn’t help. Not $10 or $5. Nothing. Some never even replied. There were a few valid reasons not to reply, for example, a colleague was getting married that afternoon which I kind of forgot about. However, it was surprising to me that more said, “no” than “yes.”

I posed this dilemma to Pastor Rich Villodas from New Life Church in Queens during a book-launch Zoom and he responded with the sobering reminder that as a pastor he deals with it all the time. People do not give or volunteer or see the needs of their church and their community on a regular basis. It was a reality check that people are not always going to be where I am in my faith journey of seeking Jesus and each journey looks different for each of us. As I continue to mull over all that transpired; from the moment I decided to book my trip to Nashville to the moment I returned home,

I thought about the fact that if I had flown home Saturday afternoon I would not have encountered Kevin in Nashville.

I would not have seen what Jesus could do when I really seek what he is after; loving people even when it feels uncomfortable and seeing God provide even when I may not have asked him to. 

A few days after arriving back in San Diego and getting into the rhythm of life my husband asked me to stop at our local grocery store and immediately the face of the homeless man I saw weekly came to mind. I wondered if I would see him and if I did, should I approach him. When I walked up to the storefront I was happy to see that he was there sitting on the stoop in the shade.

I walked up to him and said, “Hi, what’s your name?” He replied, “Dwight.”

I promptly sat down and began to chat a bit about where he was from he asked me what I was cooking for dinner that night and while I was talking a kind lady handed Dwight $8 in cash. I asked if I could get him something to eat when I went shopping and he was honest and said he needed cash for a place to stay. I told him I would see what I could do and at that moment my daughter walked up after introducing her to Dwight, she and I went into the store to grab what we needed for the evening meal. Upon checking out I got $10 cash back and gave it to Dwight on my way out. I shared with my daughter that I cannot do that every time, I know, but I believe I have to when I can, and today I could. 

Since my trip to Nashville, I have been in contact with Kevin. The money that I gave him got him through to almost the last week of June when his weekly rental was shut down by police due to too much illegal activity. That same day he suffered another heat stroke which put him in the ER. The nurses there encouraged him to fill out his social security information to begin receiving his social security check. He was elated to discover that at his age he could receive 70% on a weekly basis and 100% when he turns 72. This income would allow him to work indoors with a part-time job and not work a laborious job at the age of 66. I was able to get Kevin a modest hotel room that night and after a good night’s rest, he informed me he was off to see a pastor in the city who would help him fill out paperwork to receive Social Security and find a place to stay. As of today, he is living in a, “cool, cool, cool air-conditioned trailer,” and is opening a bank account so he can get his check faster rather than having it delivered to a local church.

If you’re like me you can feel jaded by all of the scams in this world or people who take advantage of kindness. For me, I asked Jesus to help me see people and he came through. Not only the homeless man or woman on the corner but my co-worker who sometimes causes me angst yet still needs my kindness or current needs in my community in a way that only Jesus can reveal. This is where I am at today and for some of us, time is easy to give, and for some money is easy to give.

My heart has been tugged and opened in a new way and I cannot go back. I will continue to seek who Jesus is and not only answer the question, “What can I do for you?” but ask the same of those around me and I encourage you to do the same.

If this story has tugged at your heart, I humbly ask you to help Kevin continue to turn his life around and build up some savings. You can send a gift through Venmo @Kelly-RossMiller and I will get it to Kevin. I thank you greatly in advance.

I believe GB&K helped shape my thinking recently so I have to give a shout-out. If you wish to check it out it will be released on July 12th wherever you buy books.
All gifts will go to Kevin.

Table

07 Tuesday Jun 2022

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There was a thud and in the corner of my eye, I saw my son lunge for a bottle that I immediately knew was Nail Polish Remover. I lept from my couch in a sudden panic knowing that my beautiful, two-month-old dining room table was at the mercy of what just occurred. As my son grabbed a paper towel I recalled my 8-year-old self mopping up the spilled nail polish from my mom’s brand-new coffee table. A vision of my sister and I smearing dish towel fuzz into the melting varnish of the coffee table was vivid in my mind. In those milliseconds of thought, I wondered if I could change history and try what I proposed would be a better solution, a cup of water. I asked myself as I quickly filled a cup with sink water, “If I pour the chemical off the table there will be less chance of it being ruined, right?” I aggressively shoved the chairs away from the table so as not to get them wet and poured the water over the stain while my son came behind me to sop it up. My husband had moved into action as he realized the tragedy that was occurring. The water did nothing but waterfall to the floor and the table where the remover had made contact was bubbling and beginning to eat away at the beautiful dark stain. My knees buckled under me and a sudden feeling of nausea followed by uncontrollable tears overtook me. I gasped and ran down the hall to my bedroom away from the chaos and fell to my knees on my bed smooshing my face into my quilted bedspread and wept. 

I was angry. Angry I let this happen. Just ten minutes before my three children were laughing and excitedly chatting about the best way to get my eldest daughter’s shoes clean as she was preparing to leave for three weeks in Europe. I was angry that it didn’t occur to me that when they landed on a solution to clean the shoes with a wet cloth and nail polish remover I didn’t say to my son, “Maybe you should take that project into the bathroom?” Even though I knew the risk my brain at the time of the exchange was mush. It had been a long day that began at 6:00 am and I had not sat down much due to the busyness of the day. It was past 7:00 pm and we had not even had dinner yet.

The plan was that after a busy morning serving at the church where I lead worship, I would assist my daughter in packing for her trip. I helped her select her outfits for the adventures she would be embarking on and made sure she had all the necessities she would need for such a long time away from home. She and I had been working tirelessly all afternoon. I hoped that once the packing was complete all five of us would sit down at the table with a nice dinner to send her off before she began a ten-day Mediterranean cruise followed by country hopping and visiting seven different countries. My brain and body were slowing down so I informed my daughter that while we waited for the last load of laundry to dry I was going to go recline in the living room and ask her brother to help with cleaning her tennis shoes. 

At this time our middle daughter and son had returned home from their earlier activities meanwhile my husband was in the kitchen preparing a delicious meal that involved coconut-crusted cod. All three kids were gathered in our living/dining room discussing the best techniques to quickly shine up the white New Balance sneakers without putting them in the washing machine. If you didn’t know, it is all the rage that your white sneakers be worn completely free of dirt and scuffs. My son gathered all the items needed for his task; nail polish remover, cotton balls, and a damp cloth and proceeded to bring them to the dining room table. As he was working he was careful to turn away from the table over our tile floor as he wiped the remover-soaked cotton ball across the leather removing the grime. On the last turn, he set the bottle down, and as he did, it tipped over, thus beginning the succession of the events we began with. 

Now, you may think when I started this story I was being a bit melodramatic…Knees buckling? Nauseous? “Are you for real?” you may ask, but let me take you through my thought process a bit. Right now, my kid’s ages range from 18 to 21 years old. Before they were born we had bought a gorgeous table that sat six people with a leaf that allowed seating for up to ten people and if you put a few kids on a bench or on the corners you could squeeze in twelve. This table was our first adult purchase as a married couple. A year after we were married we walked into a store called  “Z-Gallery” and fell in love with a minimalistic style table with a deep ebony stain. It came with six matching chairs and seats covered in a lovely cream fabric.

We invited friends over for our first Thanksgiving meal and somehow managed not to give everyone food poisoning when the gravy “smelled off.” Apparently, we hadn’t learned yet that you defrost the turkey in the fridge, not in the sink. When we began having children we moved into a tiny two-bedroom apartment with a dining room that was not large enough for this size of a table so my in-laws graciously babysat it for five years until we bought a three-bedroom condominium. When we got that table back it became the hub of our home where we served up daily meals to our children and invited their school-age friends over for Springtime Tea parties complete with tea sandwiches and frosted cookies along with many birthday parties and sleepovers with pancakes for breakfast. My husband, the kids, and I would dress up and pretend we were eating at a fancy Italian restaurant where we served squid ink pasta and practice our “fancy manners”. Science projects and 4th-grade dioramas were created at that table. Our firstborn decided that for her Senior Prom she and her friends would dine at our home since her dad was such an amazing home cook. We served filet mignon aside roasted asparagus while they enjoyed the fare in their formal attire before setting off for an evening to remember. 

As the years went on that table became a landing pad for all the stuff from book bags, to computers, and thrifting hauls. The sheer size of it as our kids grew made our small dining room feel even more cramped especially since there were not as many family meals shared there. Our kids became busy with sports, jobs, and then soon off to college. The table was taking up room and I dreamt of having a smaller, more intimate table. I envisioned having a countertop height table with lovely bar stools that allowed us to entertain a few friends or to be used as an extension of our kitchen countertops to make homemade pasta or biscuit dough.

After watching one too many home renovation shows we decided to put our words into action and took the large table and chairs to my mom’s Airbnb in Indio, CA to make room for a new table. The hope was that it would fit into her updated dining room replacing her 1970s oak table and adding a modern vibe to her newly renovated slate floors. In order to ready the table for my mom, I gave it a thorough scrubbing to remove years of sticky soda and ice cream sundae drips from the nooks and crannies reminding me that fifteen years with this table had taken its toll. For Thanksgiving, my four siblings traveled to Indio for the first time in over two years following my dad’s passing seven years ago. It doesn’t help that we are all scattered between three different states and it is becoming more and more challenging with each passing year for all four of us including our children to be under one roof together. That year, we were to gather with my mom and her new husband around that table. Little did we know this would be the last time we would spend a holiday together in the Indio house; the home my mother and father had bought sixteen years prior together. Recently, the market took a positive turn, allowing my mom the opportunity to sell her home quickly. Without knowing what the future held over the course of that week we sat around that table many times together making memories as we served good food, made crafts, played games, and filled the space with loads of laughter; just enjoying the simplicity and joy of being together. All of us under one roof. 

Before my family headed back to San Diego I wanted to see if we could find our dream table since Palm Springs is known for their great furniture stores. The year prior I discovered a Scandinavian design counter-top height table in the area thus beginning my obsession with this type of furniture piece. We went back to the same store and even though we liked the table I had selected the chair selection was slim. We wandered across the way to a popular furniture store chain and found THEE table. It was a lovely square countertop height table that seats four people and had a leaf that extends to seat six. It’s stain was a dark walnut with hints of amber throughout with a unique grain with a rustic, yet sophisticated look while the finish had a luxurious sheen. The style had a weight to it that looked really expensive but without being pretentious. And the chairs…we found upholstered charcoal gray swivel chairs that matched perfectly. We knew this was the table and made the purchase but before we completed the transaction our sales rep informed us that we would have to wait about 3-4 months for delivery since there was a supply shortage of furniture due to the pandemic. We had heard rumors and anticipated this news. It did not deter us and we headed home elated that we had found the right table with a few months to think about it before truly committing to the purchase.

When we got home I got busy looking for a stand-in table since we no longer had one of any kind. I purchased a counter-top height folding table to get us by and was pleasantly surprised to find two beautiful countertop height folding chairs that would match. Christmas was approaching and we needed somewhere to serve food or a place to land our groceries after shopping. Traditionally for Christmas dinner, my husband serves duck and we dine on his grandmother’s China so even though this year we didn’t have the ideal arrangement we made do by setting the food on our industrial folding table while dining on her China lounging at the coffee table. 

In the weeks leading up to the arrival of our table, I painted the dining room and kitchen walls with a fresh coat of paint. We hired a company to steam clean the tile floor while my husband and I installed gorgeous reclaimed wood shelves to complete the space. All we needed was our table. The date of delivery was scheduled for February 15th yet the day came and went with no table. March 15th, no table. The company notified me after some harassment on my end only to find out that the chairs were back ordered while the table sat in a warehouse waiting to be delivered to its forever home. I was losing my patience as we rescheduled two dinner parties with the news of its later arrival.

Finally, after much anticipation, the text came that they would be delivering the table and chairs the first week of April. I was giddy!! The truck arrived as I pulled into my parking space after work on a sweltering Tuesday afternoon. I walked right up to the delivery man and excitedly asked, “Hi! Is this my table?!” He smiled, confirmed my name was “Kelly” and then nodded for me to lead the way. I apologized that we were on the second floor, he smiled sheepishly and said, “It’s ok,” even though he was already perspiring. The two gentlemen worked quickly unwrapping the styrofoam protectors and the many layers of cellophane. As they unwrapped and connected each piece together I could hardly contain my excitement. It was prettier than I remembered and the shelves I had purchased to go on the wall above the table were proving to coordinate with it so well. After almost an hour they announced they were done and asked me to look it over before signing the delivery confirmation. I walked around the table, tracing my hand over the gorgeous dark wood, and sat in each chair to be sure they swiveled as they should. I smiled at my husband and said, “It’s perfect!” Over the next two months, we sat at our table as much as possible and even for the ordinary Monday night meal. Our dear friends came over for smoked turkey legs and said, “ooh” and “aah” at our purchase. On weeknights, while my husband prepared dinner I would sit at the swivel chair chatting with him, tracking his movement as he bustled around preparing the meal. Our eldest daughter even came home from college on a Saturday night just to have dad’s stroganoff at the new table.

 As I think more about my reaction to this accident I come back to the topic of my children’s ages. Many of us know that when kids are toddlers nice things don’t stand a chance. From permanent marker stains on the couch to throwing up in the crevice of the car seats or dishes breaking. Parents around the world know that if dishes are not plastic they don’t stand a chance. Even though in the middle school and high school years we lost more bowls and glasses than I can count when our children unloaded and loaded the dishwasher or made their own breakfast, I have been under some delusion that now that they are adults then maybe now we can have nice things. But as I thought about it more examples of how untrue that is comes to mind.

For example, when I was 36 years old I totaled our min-van in my first freeway accident. At age 40 my brother broke an expensive Nikon camera while taking photos one afternoon with our family. I recall many years ago my mom broke her niece’s special wedding glasses while drying them after a dinner party. And don’t get me started on the bumps and scrapes our cars have suffered while my kids all learned to drive. Things break. There is no safeguard from damage, loss, or even theft. I think it might be one of the many reasons that Jesus said in Matthew not to store up treasures on earth but to store up our treasures in heaven. We all know the material things of this earth will not last. This table may be something we paid good, hard-earned money for and there is a very high chance it can be fixed. Yet, I am reminded though that no table, car, camera, and especially glasses are more important than the humans who use them to live life and make memories. If you were in a car accident what is the first thing that people say? It’s not, “Wow, I hope your car’s okay!” No, they ask with deep concern, “Are you okay?” Rarely does anyone pay attention to the now heap of metal that once was a vehicle? They are typically more concerned with the well-being of the person or persons involved.

As I look back at the memories we made at our old table I remember that it’s not the table I miss. It’s the little chubby hands that would reach up to my face with sticky syrup on them to kiss my cheek in gratitude for the pancakes I made that morning. The fondue dinner with grandma and grandpa or the times when our children would excitedly talk so fast about the newest movie that none of us could understand them. I celebrate that my kids would ask me questions about their faith at that table or while having a snack share with me their pain when they experienced heartache. No Thing should be more important than our relationships with one another. Even now as I share this story I hope that despite my dramatic response my son will remember my unconditional love for him and forgiveness for making a mistake. May we all remember that the relationships we have are irreplaceable and may we be sure to tell those in our lives how much they mean to us. For me, the memories made at that first dining room table will forever be in the snapshots of my mind and today our family will continue to make new ones at our new table. Excuse me though, while I go get that table cloth first.

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.

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

Posted by in Authentic Living, Family and parenting

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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