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Arrows (Part 2 of 2)

09 Sunday Jun 2024

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During the summer of 2015, when Klarissa was beginning high school, my dad Larry fell and broke his neck. He suffered from Parkinson’s and due to complications of this disease, his bones had become brittle. After eight years of battling Parkinson’s, his current medication caused paranoia and nightmares. During one of his vivid nightmares, he fell out of bed hitting his head on a side table causing him to break his C4-C7 vertebrates paralyzing him from the neck down. My dad lived for a week after his fall, and he bravely made the choice to be removed from life support, not wanting our family to suffer through long-term care. I will always be grateful that our family had the gift of being able to say “goodbye” and be with our dad for his last breath. 

I will always be grateful that our family had the gift of being able to say “goodbye” and be with our dad for his last breath. 


Klarissa, age 10, and Poppi (my dad) devouring ribs on the 4th of July

As I mentioned earlier, my dad was an alum of PLNU, class of 1970, and the year of his death would have been his 45th college reunion. It broke our hearts to think that he would not be able to attend. As the time came for the reunion, my mom wanted to participate -but not alone, so I offered to escort her. The reunion was held in mid-November and in attendance were some incredible colleagues that my dad had gone to school with. One was my Uncle Jan along with a few others who I had met before. A certain alum that I spent the afternoon chatting with was Jim Johnson who happened to be my sister’s father-in-law. He was known for being a devoted psychology professor at PLNU who really saw his students and championed them into what was next. 

The reunion took place in a newer building we had never been in before. My mom and I were amused to discover that it was built on what had been the grassy lawn where my sister’s wedding reception was held, circa 1999. None of this seemed to matter at the time, but unbeknownst to me, it was a step toward what God had for our family. As I was leaving, Jim expressed how much he enjoyed conversing with me during the luncheon, and with a kind twinkle in his eye asked, “How can we have conversations like this more often?” and I quipped, “Sir, I need to get a job here.” He looked at me and said emphatically, “Ok, let’s work on that!”

Pictured from left to Right: Group Photo- class of 1970, my mom and I on the balcony of Draper Hall.

The following January, my best friend Molly and I were having lunch with a shared acquaintance to finalize plans for a women’s event for the church we all attended. She seemed a bit fidgety during our planning session and at the end, looked at us sheepishly and said, “I am not going to be able to help you with the actual event. My husband and I are moving to LA, and I’m quitting my job.” Her job was currently the Campus Visit Assistant in the Office of Admissions at… you guessed it… PLNU!! My immediate thought was, “I want her job!” I called Dr. Johnson later that day, told him the news, and asked if he could help me navigate this opportunity. He coached me on how to go about an interview. The job hadn’t even been posted yet, so all I could do was watch and wait. 

The position was posted, and I quickly applied. I later learned that my friend Molly, the Director of Housing at PLNU, along with Dr. Johnson, would drop by weekly to ask the Admissions leadership, “Have you hired Kelly yet?” I was slightly mortified but also flattered. At the end of February, I finally got an interview. I was so nervous since this was my first interview since college. My recent job was acquired because the current preschool director knew me, knew my credentials, and offered the job pending I complete an Infant Certification. The preschool position was a great transition into full-time work, but after six months, I realized I didn’t enjoy the long days in the preschool setting, working from 7:30 am until 6 pm. However, the newPLNU job offered flexibility, paid time off, and the possibility of substantial discounts on my children’s education at a school costing over $60,000 a year! “No pressure,” I thought. 

When the day of my interview came, I spent a few hours on the phone with Jim, who coached me on how to present myself in the best light since I needed to gain administration skills. I did have some background knowledge of customer service from working at the Ritz Carlton during college and my salon experience along with time as a multi-level marketer. My lineage of PLNU alumnus was a definite bonus, but I was uncertain how far that would get me. My husband coached me and taught me how to navigate some of the computer skills I would need, but he assured me that all of that could be taught and to “woo them with my personality.” 

he assured me that all of that could be taught and to “woo them with my personality.” 

I was instructed to make my way to Draper Hall and proceed downstairs where I would meet Wyatt, my potential supervisor. The university was a 35-minute drive from my house, without traffic. I took advantage of the car ride to pray and gather my thoughts with ample time to risk sweating in my blouse from sheer terror that I had no idea what I was doing. As I walked inside Draper Hall, I stopped dead in my tracks. It dawned on me that this was the very building where my dad’s reunion was held and, 10 feet from where I stood, was the very spot where Jim had stated he would help me find a job. A supernatural peace washed over my body, and I said to myself, “Holy crap, this is my job!” 

A supernatural peace washed over my body, and I said to myself, “Holy crap, this is my job!” 

With this knowledge, I floated downstairs to a small conference room where I met six-foot-four-inch Wyatt. He was 12 years my junior with experience as a student ambassador and now, having obtained a college degree, was thirsty to show the next campus visit assistant the ropes of admissions. His boss, Shannon, sat next to him. She had a dry sense of humor but was warm, and neither one made me feel too nervous. They began to ask me questions that I cannot recall except for one. Wyatt asked, “I am curious if you struggle saying no?” Apparently, it was a common pain point for Wyatt and his “people-pleasing” ways. I smiled and without hesitation said, “No. I have become very comfortable with saying no.” (I have three kids, remember.) I felt he was happy with my answer. Wyatt later shared with me that I had been very animated, and I might have even cried while talking about my dad, which was quite embarrassing. I waited a brutal 6 weeks for the call to come offering me the position of Campus Visit Coordinator. They had changed the position from assistant to coordinator because I would be taking a bit off of Wyatt’s plate. 

To say that my start in Admissions was smooth sailing would be a total lie. My commute was over an hour each way. I was terrified of being late, so I made sure to take my eldest daughter to school at 6:45 am then jet off to Point Loma to arrive at 8 am. If either of us were late it set off a trajectory of tardiness that neither could afford. Concerning my admin skills, I was only proficient in Facebook, Google Chrome, and email. I found a typing test widget on Google and spent time at the front desk testing my typing skills. They were atrocious. 

One time Wyatt asked me to dictate something while he was standing behind me. Let’s just say any headway I gained with my typing skills turned to mush with someone breathing down my neck. He told me a few years later that he had to go through every single Google calendar event I had created because I had capitalized the first two letters of every word. I still struggle with that!  But his question to me, “Can you say no?” definitely has proved to be one of my strengths. PLNU is very popular with visits and sometimes we are full or a parent asks “for the moon” with only a 24-hour notice and the answer has to be “no.” Even with these hiccups and setbacks, eventually, Wyatt and I got our groove. 

Wyatt and I with our first ambassador end-of-year party, Wyatt and I at our first CIVSA Conference.

However, my daughter wasn’t quite catching her stride. She struggled with math, and her grades tanked the minute she got overwhelmed. If she was behind in a class it would cause her to freeze and not ask for help. One day, I was frustrated with it all and upon recollection of my high school era, had committed to myself I would never take away a school activity as punishment from my kids. Theater and social activities were what motivated Klarissa out of bed every morning, and I never wanted to take away her “why.” So, I decided to take makeup away from her. Jon and I told her that not until her grades were back up and late work turned in could she have her makeup back. Well, that did it. She began to dig in again but not after putting on mascara which she found under the car seat or maybe lip gloss borrowed from a friend at school. Soon her grades were on the incline. As a parent, it can be delightful to discover when a discipline truly resonates with your child.

Every year that passed in high school was filled with tears and joy, especially with Kaiya and Jackson entering on her heels. Klarissa was a part of AVID, which helped her with organization skills, and we worked with the school to offer her learning assistance after discovering she had testing anxiety and issues with spatial relations. For example, if you gave her a math question she had just solved, she could not solve it again if it was presented differently. It was frustrating for her and us. She took on swimming alongside Kaiya, then pivoted to singing in the choir after a scary bout with pneumonia. She performed in school plays and was given the iconic role of Katherine from the Broadway version of Newsies with Jackson performing alongside his sister as Crutchie. As the senior year approached, we made incredible strides. She would graduate with a 3.2 GPA from her high school. The minimum for PLNU was 2.8 and the average was 3.9. She was thriving in theater and showcasing her vocals in musical theater. She applied, and I honestly felt like I couldn’t breathe until we knew what her fate would be. 

Klarissa as Katherine in “Newsies” This role would give her the drive to seek the Broadway stage.

On a Friday afternoon in December, my boss gathered the admissions staff together and presented me with Klarissa’s decision letter. When I opened it and learned the relieving news that she was accepted, everyone began cheering and popping poppers in celebration with me. I was so bewildered by the love and support everyone had shown our family. Jon and I decided to give the Acceptance Packet to Klarissa as an early Christmas present. With her siblings on the couch next to her, she opened the envelope, nearly holding her breath and reading the letter to herself. She looked up at us, tears glistening in her eyes exclaiming over and over, “I got accepted? I got accepted?!?!” Her little sister squeezed her hard knowing what a feat it had been to get in. 

She looked up at us, tears glistening in her eyes exclaiming over and over, “I got accepted? I got accepted?!?!”

Klarissa didn’t stop there. She knew that Broadway was her end goal and learned the music department offered generous scholarships with the prospect of covering her room and board. We reached out to a friend of the family who was a skilled vocal coach and PLNU alum to help her prepare for the vocal audition. A few weeks later we received news that she received a scholarship covering two-thirds of her room and board. It was truly a dream come true. 

Clockwise left to right: Graduation day, AVID pinning ceremony, Orientation at PLNU.

Klarissa graduated in 2019, so as you may guess, some of her college experience and acting opportunities were interrupted during COVID-19. However, she persevered and found ways to be creative by auditioning for film projects with current students and students of nearby universities. She became a tutor for a program called LEAP, an incredible program created for students who need assistance transitioning from high school to college. Klarissa had been a member of this program upon entering her college freshman year. It gave her the confidence she needed to complete that year with a 3.6 GPA!!  And people say college is harder than high school?!

Reflecting on the tears and joys of Klarissa’s high school journey and her acceptance into college, I am in awe that this chapter of her life has come to an end. This season allowed me and her weekly lunch dates, with Kaiya joining the following year. They invited me to dorm hangouts and more lunch dates. In Klarissa’s Junior year of college, Jackson joined and, like his sister, received a generous music scholarship for drums that assisted with his room and board. Klarissa and her little brother sang in the same choir, and he played the Bodhran drum in her senior recital. Despite her theater opportunities dwindling, Klarissa had a wealth of experiences as a member of the 50-voice choir called the Concert Choir. They traveled to places like Hawaii and Europe, with the European tour allowing her to visit over seven countries. After finishing the choir tour in Rome, she met up with Kaiya, and together they continued their adventure in Greece. Wow, it’s kind of ridiculous!

Klarissa’s Senior recital, she had to perform arias in French, Italian, and German. Jackson joined her on the Irish Bodhran drum as she sang Gaelic songs to celebrate her Irish heritage.

I could go on and on and on with stories of God’s goodness that showed up these past 8 years, but I could also list for you many frustrations and heartaches that occurred. Like the time Klarissa had to work a closing shift her freshman year at Chick-fil-A causing her to miss a school dance. Thinking there would be many college dances, no one could have foreseen COVID-19 would make one’s social life come to a screeching halt. Even her theater career came to a temporary end. That same year Klarissa struggled with depression, which led her to miss several Spanish classes. Her professor, showing little empathy, dropped her from the course, forcing her to repeat it. When life returned to some normalcy in her Senior year of college, she started working early morning shifts at Starbucks, causing her to again give up opportunities in theater productions since her shifts began at 4 a.m. It also took her five years to graduate for various reasons, testing her patience as she neared the end of her college journey but she didn’t give up. 

I could go on and on and on with stories of God’s goodness that showed up these past 8 years

I share this story as a reminder to myself and my beautiful daughter that we can carry a dream to fruition, but we can never predict the journey we’ll take to reach the finish line. I grew up around Christians who, when offering advice or seeking direction in their life, said things like, “I’m praying for God’s will,” “I’m waiting to hear God’s direction for my life,” or “I will pray that you hear God’s voice in this process.” None of these are particularly wrong to say, but after reflecting on almost a decade’s journey of seeking a path for my kids to attend and graduate college, and after lots of prayers sent up, there was no flashing billboard sign from God that said, “Go this way!” Looking back now, I see a pattern that Emily P. Freeman states best. “We don’t need to look for answers but look for the arrows.” If one can identify the “arrows” that point them toward the next step and muster the courage to follow them it can make decisions a little less stressful.

If one can identify the “arrows” that point them toward the next step and muster the courage to follow them it can make decisions a little less stressful.

Jon and I leaned into those arrows together. We leaned into arrows that I wholeheartedly believe God placed for us. God used people, connections, friendships, stories of legacy, and even grief to guide us. I have never been a fan of “Let go and let God” when it’s used just to wait for things to happen. I think one of our greatest gifts as humans is intuition and free will. Instead, use the statement to resist manipulating and muscling a situation and follow the arrows. I kind of imagine it like an animation: imagine there are pavers on a walking path leading you forward in life. When you step on the correct paver, it lights up, but if you step in the wrong direction it stays dull. Your instincts become quicker and better each time you step the “right way.” The good news? If you choose a dull paver, the world will not fall apart, it just may mean it will take you a little longer to get where you are going.

Being on the other side of this story I can look at the unpredictability of the journey and see the people and moments that shaped us, for better or for worse. I’m proud of our creativity as parents to help each kid graduate high school, and how we didn’t let working full-time disrupt our close-knit family dynamic. We made weeknight meals a priority and kept our Friday-Night-Family-Movie-Night tradition when possible. That period taught our kids independence since the new “world of mom working” didn’t allow me to drop what I was doing and bring them their lunch or forgotten homework. 

Through it all, I am forever grateful for how this journey allowed me wonderful opportunities: the opportunity to learn skills in leadership and ways to use my gift of hospitality and entrepreneurship; the opportunity to interact with my kids more in the season of college than in high school and the ultimate gift of seeing my daughter walk across the stage to receive her college diploma. I reveled in seeing Klarissa showcase her grit as she took each obstacle and jumped over it or busted through it. After all of this, we both now know to trust that God will place arrows in our path. It’s up to us to follow the arrows and see where the next adventures take us.

Left to right: Professional grad photo, shaking PLNU President Dr. Brower’s hand, the grandparents and our family

She did it! Graduation Day, May 4th, 2024

In dedication to my dad; Larry, aka Poppi. You would be so proud of your Klaire. Thank you for instilling in us a love for Jesus, a love for others around us, and above all, a love for your beloved PLNU.

Arrows (Part 1 of 2)

02 Sunday Jun 2024

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Recently, I experienced a full-circle moment that has stayed with me. Just a few weeks ago, my eldest daughter, Klarissa, graduated from her dream college, Point Loma Nazarene University (PLNU). Located in sunny San Diego, just 25 miles from our home, PLNU is a private, faith-based institution that holds great significance for our family.

When Klarissa was in 7th grade, she excitedly proclaimed her hope of attending PLNU. This dream was deeply meaningful, as my dad, Larry, attended PLNU on a track scholarship, recruited by my mom’s brothers who also went there. After graduating, my dad became a Nazarene minister and spent his life encouraging the youth in his church to attend his alma mater. All four of his children attended PLNU with 3 out of the 4 meeting their spouse there. My husband, Jon, also attended PLNU in anticipation of my attendance.

My parents, my siblings, all of our spouses, and our children.

When Klarissa announced her plans, it caught us off guard. Jon was bitter about the debt from his degree, and tuition had more than doubled since the early 2000s. For me, it stirred pangs of regret, as I never finished college. I vividly remembered my 21-year-old self sitting on a sidewalk stoop, my heart sinking as I read a letter from PLNU.

It was the summer of my Junior year, and we were coming up on our first wedding anniversary. The campus was quiet as all the students had gone home. We lived on campus thanks to the university’s marital housing that allowed married students to live there year-round. Sitting on the curb with the San Diego sun shining down on me, I opened an official envelope from the Records office with some trepidation. The letter stated, in so many words, that I wasn’t allowed to return in the fall due to failing grades. I wasn’t totally surprised, but a rush of shame swept over me anyway. I had no “why” to be there except that our student status allowed me and Jon affordable student housing. 

I had never wanted to attend college. I had dreamt of being a cosmetologist, but my parents insisted college followed high school. Neither of our parents was in the place to help us financially, so despite the letter, it was an easy decision for me to quit school and get a job to support Jon in his business/computer software degree. This proved to be the right move because he was able to acquire a job with a start-up company called Innfinity Hospitality Solutions before he even graduated. 10 years later, he became part owner. 

Once we made that decision, I began working full-time in the salon industry as a salon coordinator allowing this trend-obsessed girl to get her hair done for free and make a wage that gave us the ability to purchase a new car and pay for Jon’s school and rent. We lived meagerly, but we had all we needed. However, within a few months of starting my position, we learned I was pregnant with our first child. We were ecstatic and terrified. 

We lived meagerly, but we had all we needed.

Jon would enter his senior year of college with the anticipation of becoming a dad. Jon worked hard: going to work at 5:30 am and putting in his intern hours with the small start-up. From 8:30 am to 2:30 pm, he would attend classes, then quickly jump on his motorcycle and ride a short 10 minutes to work a hotel desk shift on Shelter Island. He would study during slow moments at the front desk, and I would read his literature assignments – summarizing the plot just before class, so he could pass his lit quizzes. 

I went into labor with Klarissa on a Friday morning in 2001 while Jon was in class. The contractions began to “get real” at about 9 am. One of our closest college buddy’s dad was the head of security, and he told us that when I went into labor to “call him” – that he would personally get Jon out of class. (This is before cell phones mind you.) I called Archie in Public Safety, and he hopped in his vehicle to Bony Hall where Jon was blissfully unaware in Statistics class that his wife was in the beginning stages of labor. Archie tapped Jon on the shoulder and said, “It’s time!” I don’t recall the moment Jon walked in the door, but I do know that I had been laboring for over an hour and had been able to take a shower, get myself dressed, and pack for the hospital. Almost exactly 12 hours later, our beautiful baby girl was in our arms weighing a hefty 8 lbs 8 oz. 

Suddenly, we blinked, and there we were, standing in the kitchen with our middle schooler already contemplating college. When we decided to have kids (which happened much faster than we anticipated), we knew that one of us would stay home with them. Obviously, with how the college scene went, that person was me. I worked part-time while taking care of Klarissa, and we were able to stay in student housing for 2 more years. Four months after Klarissa was born, we conceived our 2nd child. Again, we were ecstatic but a bit terrified since we did not anticipate this so soon. A friend offered to help care for Klarissa, so I could work full-time again to bring in extra money. Just two weeks into my full-time status, the salon I had worked at for 2 years abruptly closed. The entire San Diego chain went bankrupt and left hundreds of stylists out of a job. 

Suddenly, we blinked, and there we were, standing in the kitchen with our middle schooler already contemplating college.

That tragedy turned into an opportunity because I could gather unemployment with my full-time status. Two months after the salon closed, we were due to have our second daughter, Kaiya. My doctor informed me that I was eligible to receive maternity leave for 8 weeks. It was an answer to prayer as we continued to navigate this adult life as young new parents. In the spring of 2002, the days were full of joy since we brought 9lb 6oz Kaiya into the world. She was afraid of new people and wouldn’t let me put her down for a second during the first 3 months of her life. I had to learn how to vacuum with Kaiya in a sling and Klarissa on my hip since it frightened them both. I am glad to report that they are not so skittish about people or the vacuum anymore.

In our humanness, we thought we would take a two-year break from having kids and have two more down the road. However, we managed to get pregnant again just 10 months later. (Yes, we know how this works, and yes, we did use contraception.) Our son was conceived two months before Kaiya’s first birthday. My body didn’t even know what not being pregnant felt like anymore. By this time, we had moved east from San Diego proper into a two-bedroom apartment and honestly asked ourselves, “Where are we going to put it?” Despite our fear and worry, we welcomed a sweet, 7lb 11oz, bouncing baby boy in December 2003. Our son, Jackson, is funny and smart and, as an infant, was a perfect mix of his sisters. He was truly the perfect end cap for our little family. 

He was truly the perfect end cap for our little family. 

We raised our kids on a “shoestring budget” in a home that loved Jesus and served our small church community faithfully. We made it possible for me to stay home for 14 years by owning one vehicle for seven of those years, carpooling my husband to work, and enrolling the kids in a school near his office. To save on gas, I would pack snacks and homework supplies so that we could go to the park or library and stay until “Daddy” got off work. In the summer, Jon would take the car unless we had plans for the beach or pool, and in these instances, he would carpool with a co-worker. I did multi-level marketing businesses for play money and “Oh crap the car needs tires!” money. 

Over the years, Jon began to earn more, and I took on more side gigs to make ends meet. We prayed sincerely for God to allow us the opportunity to own property, and eight years into our marriage, the timing came for us to own a condominium in El Cajon, a suburb of San Diego County. Again, there were scary and hard days as we found ways to cut back on frivolous expenses like cable and eating out to pay a mortgage. We purchased in the downslope of the market height, but sadly just before the major 2008 crash. Despite the unforeseen challenges, our new home felt like a castle!! 

It was a 3-bedroom condo on the top floor with a south-facing balcony, which we learned quickly is ideal in the 108-degree summers. Even though the girls shared a room, it felt huge not having their little brother’s crib and toys in there. Jackson, at 4 years old, had known nothing but sharing a room with his sisters. He was excited to decorate his room with Thomas the Train, but even that couldn’t keep him from climbing into bed with a family member, namely his sister Klarissa, early in the morning. Once we got him a “big-boy bed”, his habit of sleeping in other people’s rooms soon subsided.

I thrived as a stay-at-home mom, taking the kids to school, teaching a women’s bible study, working out at our local gym, and being a classroom mom throughout their elementary years. Jon traveled extensively for work in those days. During his traveling stints, the kids and I would pack up and go to Grandma’s house in Palm Springs to keep me from losing my marbles. It was a trying season but full of love, visits to grandma’s house, trips to the zoo, and lots of little snuggles at bedtime.  It was a chaotic season filled with baseball games, birthday parties, theater rehearsals, Sundays at church, and daily swim practice. However chaotic, it was a sweet time as a family. 

Clockwise left to right: Ice-Skating for Jackson’s 6th birthday; a pic of kids at 6 months, 2 years, and 3 years old; Easter in 2010

A few months after Klarissa decided her college plans involved attending a private institution that costs over $60,000 per year, my husband started paying attention to ways to make college for her a reality. We had many friends who had attended the same school and many who worked for this institution. We had heard rumors that kids of staff and faculty could receive free tuition! One morning at a friend’s brunch, a few of the ladies in attendance were wives of current staff members. I asked one of them if the “tuition remission” was true. She said, “Oh yes, however, the tuition discount is now 95% and your kid has to get in on their merit.” As soon as I returned home I told Jon. 

We began to research jobs offered and while I applied to ones that pertained to me, all I could think about was the 21-year-old girl on the side of a curb and the words, “You are not allowed back here.” How on earth could I get a job at the same school I didn’t even finish? Who would hire a stay-at-home mom who had zero administration skills? I mean, I could “sell ice to an Eskimo” as my sister would say, but a desk job? No, not me. I began applying to jobs that I believed I had no right to apply for and would hear nothing back. All I could hear was my self-doubt practically yelling at this point, “This is futile Kelly. You don’t have a degree, you can’t type, and if they knew your college GPA, they would laugh you right out of there!” 

From the time I learned of PLNU’s tuition remission, we had been seeking for me to return to the workforce. It felt like the time was right since our eldest was entering high school in the coming fall. The director of a preschool affiliated with our home church reached out and offered me a job in the infant room. I was unsure about leaving my stay-at-home life, but it was time for me to get back into the arena of working full-time and babies… I knew. I had two years of Child Development classes under my belt, CPR certification, and 14 years of mothering on my resume. This! This made sense. I put PLNU aside and put my energy into those sweet babies.

Continue to Part 2 and find out what the arrows are and where they lead us?

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.

New Beginngings

03 Tuesday Jan 2017

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Here we are, it’s 2017. I rang in my New Year over my mother-in-laws guest toilet due to the case of a stomach bug. It was so not fun. The good news is, as my sister in law put it, we can only go up from here. As I laid my head down in hopes of sleeping off the nausea I smiled as I read the many tweets and the well wishes of the upcoming new year. However, as I woke to the morning feed of Facebook posts and tweets to how everyone’s NYE had gone, I was saddened at what I read. Sarcastic memes and tweets of Mariah Carey having crashed and burned the night before. Since I had not seen the event for myself, I of course had to follow the links to see what had gone down in the wee hours of the morning.

I watched a painful 2 minute video showing Mariah Carey struggling to hear her track while trying to keep up with her dancers. You could clearly tell she was trying to come in when she could, but just could not hear what was happening. It was personally breaking my heart. I was waiting for an awful note like last year’s Idna Menzela’s performance of “Let It Go”. So painful. Or a moment where maybe Mariah sang a completely different song to what was being played, but lo and behold it was nothing but sheer uncomfortable agony of someone clearly struggling to hear. Yet, what was America’s reaction? “Your career is over Mariah.”

First of all, let’s not be dramatic. Mariah honestly held her own and behaved like a professional and tried to make the best of a crappy situation. Second, how will we ever rise out of 2016 if our knee jerk reaction is to shame someone for experiencing a very publicly embarrassing moment? This may seem like a trivial thing to write about but it seems to show the core of who we have come to be. Instead maybe we could have tweeted and posted, “Oh wow, poor Mariah. I am so sorry you couldn’t hear your track” “Mariah, way to recover and chat your way through such an embarrassing mishap” or even better yet, blame the sound engineer who played the wrong track in the first place! (sorry to my husband and fellow sound people)

But no, we point and laugh and make fun of someone’s misery and puff up our chests as if we can do better. It bleeds into how we respond to the tragedies of this country when black men are shot by cops then in turn cops murdered in broad daylight. Even more tragically when an innocent toddler is eaten by an alligator many showed no empathy or heartfelt sorrow for the family suffering. Just judgement, hatred or disgust.

As we move into 2017; can each of us make a vow to daily strive to respond to life and media, both locally and globally, with compassion, empathy, sorrow and even joy if necessary?  May I be so bold as to suggest that we welcome this new president and lift him, our local and global leaders alike, in prayer and have empathy for the hard decisions they must make everyday? If we don’t like them or their decisions, may we take to the productive methods of change instead of tweeting our frustrations to each other?

I write this from a platform of a mom, a working woman in America and someone who has many times been up on the stage bearing my soul to my own little world. I hope you will not make fun or jeer at what you disagree with but take heart in the notion that we need to begin anew.

Happy New Year 2017!

The Social Playground

22 Tuesday Mar 2016

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Recently I read a blog called 6 Ways You Are Making Life Harder Than It Has To Be in the online magazine, Relevant. It had some great points on how to let go of unnecessary emotional baggage and to change our mindset to be more productive. There are a great many blogs out there on this topic. What I noticed about this particular blog was the way in which it spoke about Social Media.  The author said we are making life harder by being on social media way too much; which I know is no surprise nor a point to disagree with. He then went on to say, ” People used to go to their 10-year reunion and have to make it appear for one night that their life was amazing beyond belief. Now we’re trying to pull that appearance off every second of every day. It is an impossible crazy-making endeavor.”

I completely agree that social media can be addicting or a “life sucker”. It can even be a space where people bully each other or flat out lie about themselves. I myself am a facebook addict and I am not necessarily ashamed of it. Let me explain to you a few reasons why I disagree with the above quote.  I have lived 80% of my life without social media. So I know what life was like before Twitter, Instagram, Facebook and all the likes that came into play. No, I was never on MySpace, sorry. I am also a very social person. One of my Strengths according to the  Gallup Strengths Finder Test is Woo. It actually says, “People strong in the Woo theme love the challenge of meeting new people and winning them over. They derive satisfaction from breaking the ice and making a connection with another person.” I personally don’t take it quite that far, but let me just say that Facebook, Instagram and SnapChat are my playgrounds. I love staying connected to people from all aspects of my life and making new friends along the way.

When you take Facebook at face value and focus on the part about showing up to your 10-year reunion has become our everyday practice, I get it. It poses a problem. Let me share with you another side of the coin. Since Facebook came into existence I have thoroughly enjoyed staying connected to people in all the seasons of my life. It had always just been a fun sidebar to life, until this past summer. Last July my father fell and broke his vertebrae. During the initial fall and the life-threatening reality of his injury, we began a FB page for prayer and keeping people in the loop. My dad was a well known minister in the Nazarene denomination and many people were concerned for him and my family’s well being. Over a thousand people joined the page. Many offered hotel stay for my mom, monetary gifts for food, and even communicated they were in the area and wanted to stop by. When the unthinkable occurred and my dad passed away just 7 days later; a gofundme account was created to help my mom, my siblings and all our children make the 2000 mile trek to Colorado, to my dad’s home town of Delta, to bury him. The morning following his death, family from near and far came to support us in our overwhelming grief. I remember distinctly that we didn’t have to spend a minute catching up with small talk or explain how it happened. We were able to talk and be in the present. It was beautiful and allowed us to truly be together.

3 years ago I joined a movement that a college friend started called, 30 Days of Real. For 30 days we were challenged to be authentic on Facebook or Instagram and hash tag our posts, #30daysofreal. For those 30 days my posts were as trite as “I hate homework more than my kids do.” to sharing openly about my struggle with rage. During that time people did not move away from me but drew towards me. From the mom in the PTA who saw me every day but never talked to me, to the fellow parent on the swim team, to having much more authentic friendships in my daily life. People were getting to know the real me and seeing things they struggled with themselves. They would cheer me on when I was feeling down and laugh at the craziness of life while raising 3 young children. It was an absolutely incredible and fulfilling experience. So much so, that I always strive to be positive and real in my posts to this day.

I guess you could say I am tired of people bashing social media or being made to feel guilty for being on it. Raise your hand if you give it up for lent every year. It’s hard when we see the crazies out there making a mess of it. I try to look at it and use it in a positive way and I encourage you to do the same. Even when it comes to my kids, I use it as a way to connect with them. Right now, my daughters are SnapChatting their trip to N.Y.C. and I get to follow along. I do understand in seasons of social unrest or the election, it can get a little crazy and make us all feel uncomfortable. Yet, each one of us can be the example on how to have a civilized conversation about hot topics. I was involved in one the other day and all parties walked away with a different perspective and didn’t lose respect for one another.  Let’s put it this way, it’s a lot like many other vices. Too much is not good for you and someone is always going to find a negative use for it. As for me, I’m going to try and use it for good and rejoice that this social butterfly has a place to land.

 

 

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.

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

Posted by in Authentic Living

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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.