Rachel Miller's Blog, page 5

Heroes Worth Having

I’ve been working on a special project for a few weeks now, trying to get it just right before I shared it with the rest of the world. But, then something happened that made me stop and think. In fact, two somethings happened.

Not long ago, I had a conversation with a child about heroes. I don’t remember for sure what started the conversation, but somehow that’s where we ended up. When I asked who this child’s hero was the answer was telling. Not about the child per se but rather about our society.

When I was growing up, heroes were people who accomplished great feats. Men and women who explored new frontiers. Inventors were heroes. Scientists, authors, missionaries, doctors, nurses, soldiers, firemen, policemen, teachers, astronauts, moms and dads—all heroes.

But things have changed. As I listened to this child’s description of their hero, I was saddened. I had never heard of this hero before. As far as I could tell, their greatest achievement was scoring 25 bazillion YouTube subscribers. I failed to see any cause for awe or inspiration in that achievement (maybe I’m just getting old), so I asked, “What is it about them that makes you look up to them?”

“Well,” the child faltered, “um, I guess they worked hard and were successful because of it. I guess.”

I am all for hard work, and I’ve made enough YouTube videos in my time to know that no small amount of work goes into it. But, what is being produced in this particular case isn’t hero material.

I had to ask myself, “How did we get to this point?”

* * *

Sunday morning, right in the middle of Sunday School class, my niece blurted out, “Well, that’s a strange name for a book, Aunt Rachel.”

Completely taken off guard, I stared at her for a moment. Then I said, “What book are you talking about?”

“That one. A Chance to Die. Right there.” She got up and came around the corner of the table, pointing at a book on the bottom shelf of my bookcase.

“Oh, that is a very good book!” The lesson came to a screeching halt as I stepped over to the bookcase and pulled the book out of its place. “This is a good book, it isn’t easy to read, but it is a good book.”

I turned the book so that everyone could see the picture of the woman on the cover. “This is the story of a woman named Amy Carmichael. She was a missionary.” I told them about Amy’s life, the children she helped, the daring things she had done, the difference she had made for Christ. By the time I was done, I was ready to read the book again.

“You know,” I told them, “when I was about your age, I read a children’s book about her. I still have it. If you ever want to read it, you can. She has been one of my heroes ever since.”

I thought about those two conversations off and on all afternoon, and I realized it was time to move ahead with my project whether it was perfect or not. Why? Because we need heroes—real heroes. The kind that inspire us to do more than we ever thought imaginable.

As I was writing this, I realized something about the people we held as heroes when I was a kid. They all have one thing in common. Every one of them was either willing to risk their own life or driven to save and shape the lives of others or both. Their career paths weren’t based on what they wanted for themselves. They weren’t about fame and popularity. The path they followed was a chance to make a difference, even if it meant their lives. They understood that some things are just as worth dying for as they are worth living for. They understood that comfort and security weren’t everything in life, and that without taking risks we never get very far.

These people weren’t superhuman. They were everyday, ordinary people just like us, but they were willing to lay down the things that most of us are not willing to give up. They went looking for a chance to die, so the rest of us could live.

So, what’s my project? I love to read about men and women like Amy Carmichael, whom God has used to accomplish great exploits. I’m often discouraged when I walk through Christian bookstores and can’t find a single biography on men and women of the past. For a very long time, I’ve wanted to host an online bookstore that would pull these great stories together to inspire us all to live a life that counts. Now, I’ve found a way.

The Fruitful Gardens Shop is an Amazon Associates store, which links to this blog. It pulls some of the best biographies, devotionals, inspirational writings, and even fiction all together in one place. (And, yes, you can find both “A Chance to Die” and the children’s book “With Daring Faith” there.) It is my hope that this shop will be a helpful resource and a source of encouragement and inspiration to you. I am still adding products and would love to hear your thoughts and suggestions. I hope it will help us to seek out better heroes, and inspire us to become like them.

Who is your hero and what is your favorite biography? Please share in the comments below.

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Thank You!

I’m headed out of town for a few days, but before I go, I wanted to say thanks. Thank you to all of you who have taken the time to read the few posts I’ve managed to put up since beginning this blog a couple of months ago. Thank you for your feedback and your encouragement. And, thank you for your friendship. It has been a blessing to meet new people and to strengthen old friendships through this blog. I’m looking forward to spending more time here with you!

I pray that each of you will have a wonderful Thanksgiving, and that it will truly be that—a time of giving thanks. May the Lord richly bless you as you serve Him!

In Everything Give Thanks!

Everything He gives us is a token of His love. Don’t forget His care—Give Thanks!

The Gift of Loneliness

3:45 a.m.

I slipped from beneath the heavy blankets, dressed in my warmest clothing, and quietly stole through the halls and staircases of the orphanage. A blast of cold air drove any remaining sleepiness away as I stepped into the dimly lit courtyard. I began walking, once around the large courtyard, twice, three times… For years this had been my favorite place and time for prayer. It was quiet, almost eerily so. The wind swayed the tops of the giant poplars that grew up between the buildings; but on the street level it was calm, sheltered from whatever storm was brewing.

Snow and ice crunched beneath my feet as I made my circuits. I prayed up and down both sides of a 3×5 card, prayed for each of the people still sleeping behind the dark windows above me, prayed for my family, for friends I hadn’t seen for years, for things in our ministry that were especially on my heart. As I finished and slipped the card into my coat pocket, a light came on above me. The world was beginning to stir.

As the trees creaked and groaned in the breeze, heaviness crept into my spirit. I reached into my pocket again, this time pulling out a set of 3×5 cards, laminated with packing tape to keep them from being ruined by the chaos of the day. I studied them for a moment, got my starting point, and quietly began quoting the verses I had been memorizing. The words came in rhythm to my steps, but my mind wasn’t on them. I heard a door open at the far end of the courtyard and turned to see a group of our staff headed out for their morning jog. I watched them disappear into the darkness beyond the front gate. I completed my circle around the courtyard, making one more attempt at the verses; but it was no use. I couldn’t focus on memorization with such a burning question in my heart.

“Lord,” the whispered word escaped as a vapor, rising through the cold air toward Heaven, “why is this school year so lonely? You warned me that last year was going to be lonely, but this year there was no warning…Knowing was much easier.”

The previous year had been difficult. The area of ministry that I had been involved in had taken me out of the normal circle of staff and friends that I had worked closely with in the past, but it had also been filled with joys and victories and approached with a heart prepared to endure the lonely hours.

This year was different. I was surrounded by people all the time, and yet I found myself deep in an incredible loneliness. Everyone was busy, having little time for real conversation. Those who did come to talk poured out their hearts but rarely asked about my own. It was the way it was. I was still content to be where I was, still happy in what the Lord had given me to do. I was just lonely—painfully lonely.

I don’t suppose I expected an immediate answer to my question, but it came. It was very simple, but so powerful it took my breath away. God said,

“Because I love you enough to want to walk alone with you.”

My eyes filled with tears as the meaning of the simple words sank into the crevices of my heart. God loved me. I knew that. But this was a new thought: He loved me enough to want to be alone with me. I had known He wasn’t allowing loneliness in order to make me miserable. I had also known that those lonely moments were opportunities to spend more time with Him. But I had never considered that He had allowed that loneliness specifically because He wanted to spend time with me. He wanted these early morning hours together as much as I did. He wanted the quiet moments as midnight approached and papers still had to be graded. He wanted the moments walking to widows’ houses with no one to accompany me. He wanted the lonely moments to Himself—because He loved me.

We all attempt to avoid loneliness. Even God said it wasn’t good for a man to be alone. That’s why He created Eve and established the institution of marriage—the supposed loneliness fix-all. Then sin came into the world, and that perfect union was no longer perfect. Loneliness found its way back in.

For some loneliness is rare, for others it may be almost constant. We try to push it away, but is it holding a gift we’ve been missing?

We each want someone who will love us enough to seek out opportunities to be alone with us. In those alone moments, we come to know one another. We don’t just learn one another’s habits or preferences—we come to know each other by heart.

That cold morning I realized that, even though loneliness was hard, God had given me a gift. He was setting aside time to be with me—because He loved me.

In Psalm 73:25,26 the psalmist says,

“Whom have I in heaven but thee? And there is none upon the earth that I desire beside thee. My flesh and my heart faileth, but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever.”

He had learned the beauty of walking with the Lord. He had realized that only God fills the empty space in our hearts. He knew that God was the only inheritance (portion) he needed.

Jesus frequently went out into the mountains or wilderness to be alone and to pray. His alone time was spent in the presence of God.

“And when he had sent the multitudes away, he went up into a mountain apart to pray: and when the evening was come, he was there alone.” Matthew 14:23

We live in a world of constant activity. Sometimes our society makes us feel guilty if we aren’t perpetually on the go, performing great feats, conquering worlds, and establishing kingdoms. But God said, “Be still, and know that I am God…” [Psalm 46:10]

The book of Hosea tells the story of Israel and her idolatry, but it does it through the story of Hosea and his wife Gomer. Gomer was constantly running around seeking satisfaction in the arms of men other than her husband. Hosea was constantly taking her back. Their story pictured the relational situation between God and Israel at that time. Israel was constantly running off to other gods, forgetting that it was their God who, as a husband, had cared and provided for them for so many years. All the while, God was pleading with them to come back.

In Hosea 2:14 God sets out a beautiful, tender plan to draw Israel back. He said, “Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak comfortably unto her.” He tells of the hope and the song that He is going to restore to her. And that instead of calling Him lord she will begin to call Him husband. But to get her to that point, He plans to draw her to a place with no distractions where no one will pull her attention away from Him. He is going to take her to a place where they can be alone.

Does loneliness indicate that we have been pursuing false gods? Sometimes, but it is also part of our design. God allows us to experience the emotion of loneliness, so that we will realize how much we need both Him and those around us. Sometimes that aching in our hearts is just a goad. It is God’s way of pressing us closer to Himself. The wildernesses are the places in which He wants to speak comfortably, tenderly, to us. The lonely path is where God speaks to our hearts.

We don’t generally relish the lonely moments. We don’t usually pine for them or pray, “Oh, Lord, I would just really like to be lonely today, to have that deep aching feeling of being absolutely and completely alone, to hurt with the desire for just one friend.” We just don’t do that. But the lonely moments are places of learning if we allow God to turn them into such places.

Back in Psalm 73, the psalmist went on to say, “But it is good for me to draw near to God: I have put my trust in the Lord God, that I may declare all thy works.” (vs. 28) So often the lonely moments produce amazing fruit when we allow God to work through them. Have you ever thought of the grain of wheat Jesus spoke of, the one that must die to produce fruit? How dark and lonely in those moments before death! How quiet and still in those moments before new life and abundant fruit springs forth!

What of the loneliness for Moses or Elijah as they waited for God to pass by, to speak? Elijah had been so lonely and discouraged that he told God to just let him die. (I Kings 19:4) But then God fed him with a meal that lasted forty days and led him to an isolated cave. A wind so strong it broke the rocks came, then an earthquake, and then a fire; but God did not come in these. Instead, He came in a still small voice. It was then that Elijah wrapped his mantle about his face and went to the mouth of the cave. In that quiet solitude, he drew near to God. Just as God promised He would do with Israel in the book of Hosea, God came tenderly to Elijah. There God told him what he was to do next and revealed He had 7,000 other men in Israel who had not bowed their knees to false gods. Elijah wasn’t as alone as he thought. From that point, he went out and finished his ministry.

James 4:8 promises “draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you.” What better time to draw close to Him, than in those lonely moments, but how do we do it? From this passage we see the first step is repentance and submission to God. If we have never come to Him seeking salvation we cannot draw nigh to Him. Our sin separates us. Only the blood of Jesus Christ can cover that sin. And only calling on Him in faith and repentance will bring the salvation that will restore our relationship with Him for all eternity.

If we have already come to Him for salvation, then we must ask ourselves a very serious question:

Have I been resisting the loneliness God has given me?

Loneliness is a hard gift to accept. As I have written this over the last few days, God has shown me struggles in my life and ministry that were a form of loneliness I had never seen before. Frustrations were shadows and rejections faint reminders. Decisions were burdens. The void of companionless ministry became obvious when I spent a few wonderful moments with a friend whose joyful spirit used to be a daily encouragement. I had to ask myself, “Has God been offering me a loneliness that I have been rejecting at the expense of quiet, wonder-revealing moments with Him? Have I rushed around looking for answers and solutions, not realizing that He just wanted me to sit down and rest in Him?” While I can’t answer that fully, I know there have been moments of filling the gap with effort instead of quiet prayer. God’s desire is for us, like the psalmist, to find our portion in Him. How grateful I am that James 4:10 says, “Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and he shall lift you up.”

Loneliness isn’t a one-time test that we pass or fail. It walks a step or two behind us most of our lives, rushing forward at the most inconvenient and undesirable moments. If we let it drag us into self-pity, it will destroy us. If we let it press us closer to Christ, it is a gift.

Has God allowed lonely times in your life to show you His special love for you? What has He taught you in those lonely places?

Faith in the Forest

Last week I spent three days at a carefully chosen little campground near Laramie, WY. It was supposed to be a working vacation, but a bazillion things, expectations that I’d had of the place didn’t come true. It wasn’t a quiet spot. In fact, it was practically in the I-80 barrow pits. Every time the wind blew, which was constantly, the swing on the front porch of the cabin swung back and forth, causing the ceiling timbers to click rhythmically. It was like being imprisoned with an overactive clock. The internet was sporadic, the water pump didn’t work, the list goes on…

My first task was to write a letter. Sounds easy enough, right? I mean, on the average day I put out between 1,000 and 4,000 words. What’s a letter? But it just wasn’t that easy. I prayed over it, wrote it, read it, and moaned. I prayed some more, rewrote it, read it, and moaned again.

After more than three hours spent with non-cooperative words and sentence structures and that constant clicking overhead, I needed a break. I knew the weather forecast for the rest of the week was bad. They were even calling for snow on Friday, so I decided if I was going to see any of the countryside, this was the time to do it. The fresh air would help clear my mind. I could pray over the project and ask the Lord for clear direction—I had no idea how literal that prayer would become.

I headed out to a recreational area in the Medicine Bow National Forest. Once there, I parked my car and set out to find a good hiking trail. The first one came to an abrupt end after about ½ a mile. So, I went back through the parking area to a trailhead someone had mentioned along the way. The trail was beautiful: Groves of Aspen, thick underbrush, fall colors sneaking in among lush greens.

Turtle Rock Trail West

I saw a little sign that read “Campground gates close at 8pm.” It was 2:15. I wasn’t worried about the closing time anyway. I had promised myself  I would only hike 2 hours from the time I arrived at the recreational area. I would be done by 3:40. I passed through a gate a few steps further and assumed this was the trail leading to the campground. The campground seemed like a good target. I’d hike to the camp, turn around, and hike back.

I was amazed at how much distance I was covering, even stopping to take pictures from time to time. By the time I reached the halfway mark in my time, however, I still hadn’t reached a campground. I knew the first short hike had taken about 30 minutes, so I figured I could do about fifteen more before I needed to turn around.

But it was in those fifteen minutes that the trail started going places I hadn’t expected.  It started going up, then down, through boulders and around the banks of beautiful little ponds. I thought that was a little strange, but I had a good idea of where I was and wasn’t too concerned about it.

One of the most beautiful spots along the trail.

By the time the fifteen minutes were up, I had gone so far around the rock that I realized I wasn’t on a trail to a campground. I was on the trail that circles the “rock”. I decided I might as well just go on around; it would probably be shorter that way.

Turtle Rock – That’s one big turtle!

But before long, I started having doubts. The trail went higher and higher. Sometimes it would disappear for ten or twenty feet, but I always seemed to find it again. I knew where the sun was and had a good idea of the direction I was headed. I knew I was going the right way, but I couldn’t figure out how the trail leading up the mountain, was going to get me back to my car 8,500 ft. below.

I walked on, and as I did the song the pastor had chosen for the prelude on Sunday floated through my mind:

“Be Thou Exalted forever and ever,

“God of Eternity, the Ancient of Days!

“Wondrous in wisdom, majestic in glory,

“Humbly we come to Thee our homage to bring.”*

I hummed it. I whistled it. I sang.

On and on the trail went, always bending just enough in the right direction to encourage me, but never quite convincing me it was going where I was going. Finally, I came to a fork in the path. It was a pretty spot. A small waterfall cascaded into a little pool of water that spilled into a creek, which tumbled down the hillside. Here, after nearly two hours of walking, was the first trail marker I had seen on the entire trek. But it was pointing in the direction from which I had come. I looked at it from several different angles, trying to decide which trail was supposed to be seeing it. It seemed like you should see it coming from the falls, but I didn’t see a path there. On the other hand, a very clear path came up behind it. So, deciding this was a switchback in the trail, I followed that clear path.

In just a few minutes, I began to feel relief. I was going down! I rounded a corner and found myself at a small dam. I crossed the dam and instantly realized I was not on the trail. I was on a service road. At first, this fact encouraged me. I might meet up with other travelers on this road. But the further I went, the more I came to realize that the road had been abandoned. Grass, horsebrush, and sage were thick between the tire ruts. The bushes along the road showed no evidence of having been snagged by a vehicle. I tried to convince myself that one bush had lost the leaves on the tips of the branches hanging out over the road, but—it’s October. I walked on, still singing:

“Be Thou exalted by seraphs and angels,

“Be Thou exalted with harp and with song;

“Saints in their anthems of rapture adore Thee,

“Thine be the glory forever, Amen.”

The road opened out onto a large, spreading meadow. As I jumped over a small stream I looked ahead. I could see the dirt road following the eastern most edge of the meadow and then curving around to go full west on the other side. By now, I was convinced I was not where I was supposed to be. It was well past the time I’d allotted myself. I had work to finish up and I HAD to get to my car before 8pm. I didn’t want to sleep in my car in a campground that I had yet to find. I looked at the meadow and made the decision any person who knows the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, would have made—I cut across the field.

The place where I had crossed the stream was its regathering point. Upstream the creek had spread itself across the full width of the lowest part of the meadow. The part I was crossing. Soon I was ankle deep in cold, mountain spring water.

Even though I came out wet, when I looked back across the meadow, I realized that, just like many of life’s trials, it was one of the most beautiful places I had seen.

Soon enough, I slogged back up onto the road and trod on, my feet sopping. After about ten minutes, I came to another fork in the road. Here, there was a sign. It had numbers on it: numbers that wouldn’t have helped me even if I had brought along the rather useless map provided at the park entrance.

I continued west, knowing that was the direction I needed to go. About ¾ of a mile and one very long hill later, I saw a gate, a parking lot, and a black truck…

Just beyond the parking lot was another crossroad. Again, I continued west, praying, “Lord, please help me to know which way to go. Help me to see familiar rock formations or landmarks.” I came through a shallow valley with several roads and paths leading off of it. I ducked down a short trail to see if I could see anything from the top of the ridge, but all I could see was trees. Wasting no time, I hurried back to the road and resumed my original direction.

By this point, I was seriously beginning to think I would be spending the night at the recreational area. I knew enough to understand that the service road had brought me much too far east to be anywhere close to where I had parked my car. I had followed it for close to two miles. I had no idea how far off the actual trail I had been when I had started down the road. I knew I had probably averaged a 22 or 23-minute mile pace. Which put me about 6 miles from my starting point. I guessed that I was probably about 3 miles east of where I was supposed to be. The road was good, but the climbs were steep. I guessed that I had a minimum of two hours back to the point where I was hoping the road would come out. By then it would be nearly seven and I would have just shy of a mile to walk to my car. I could still make it by eight…There was just one other thing…it would be dark long before eight o’clock.

As I neared the top of a long grade, I thought over the options. I had prayed everything I could think to pray, except for one thing.

“Lord,” I said out loud, “I really need a Forest Service truck.”

I walked on, but then, about 30 seconds later, I heard something. At first, I thought I was just imagining it, but then I heard it again. It was the distant rumble of tires on gravel. My first thought was the black truck in the parking lot. But then I remembered what I had just prayed. I heard the vehicle round the bend behind me, stepped off the road, and turned to look. It was a beautiful, white, Forest Service pickup…and they had an extra seat.

My estimate was about right. It was close to three miles to the place where the gravel road met the pavement at the gate to the recreational area. The FS crew dropped me off there, and I walked back to my car. It was 4:40. All that, and I was only an hour later than I had planned.

As I thought through the day, I realized a few things. That little adventure, was very similar to many moments in life. We step onto a path, knowing God is leading in that direction. The signs are very clear. But as we continue on, we realize that we don’t know exactly where it’s going. Sometimes we lose sight of it, and we wonder if we have missed it, but then He makes it clear again.

Sometimes we get bogged down in the mire of muddy meadows, we get caught in a tangle of trees, we come to a fork and have to pray long and hard before choosing which way to go; and yet, because we let Him lead us, in the depths of our heart we know we’re going in the right direction. God’s provision to get us to the end of that path, is always just on time. And in that moment of provision, we see we did not sing in vain. In that moment, the prayer, “Be Thou Exalted” is answered.

Are you on a path that seems to be leading in a direction you didn’t expect? Is it the way God led you? If so, just keep trusting. Keep following through the mud, the trees, the steep inclines—He never fails.

What’s your story? I’d love to hear how God is leading you.

*Be Thou Exalted – by Fanny Crosby

Open Letter to the World – My Response

I am participating in the Open Letter Challenge writing contest organized by Josh Irby. I’ve never done anything like this before, but as I read the letter and thought about all that crosses my path from day to day, I felt I had to respond. The following letter is my response to An Open Letter to You from the Rest of the World.”

Dear World,

Thank you for your recent letter. I’m a bit slow in getting it answered, but that always seems to be the case. Projects and people, and needs, and well, you, are always calling. It’s hard to find a moment to sit and just think.

Please know you are never forgotten. I wake to the silent cries of forgotten children, the little ones eking out survival in the shadows of your darkest city streets. I walk through the day with the knowledge of your affliction, of oppression, of hopelessness. I go to bed wondering, “Was it enough? Could I have done more?”

My letter to you will be short, but from the heart.

I commit to do my best to give as my Savior has given. One thing I ask in return: Do not look only to others for the solutions the world needs. Do not wait for someone to make a difference. Do not resign yourself to mediocrity. The letter you sent to me is just as pertinent to you.

Choose to be relevant.

Look around you.

See a need.

Pray.

Take a Step.

Your action will bolster those who are already striving, exhausting themselves in the fight. The more of us working together, the greater the difference we’ll make.

Make wise decisions. Live for God and others before living for yourself. If but a few of us are giving and most are taking, the resources will quickly end. But if most of us are giving and few are taking, our joy will overflow.

You may ask yourself, “What can I possibly give?”

Consider your letter, the things you ask of me. I am not rich, yet I give what I have. I have no more time than the man next door, yet it is yours. You have asked me to hold nothing back, so I ask you to do the same:

Give yourself.

As I press on, I hope you will join me

One choice,

One day,

One LIFE at a time.

Some Gifts Just Keep Giving

Reblogged from Forbidthemnot's Blog:

I promised quite a long time ago to share this story, so here it finally is. The following was adapted from a newsletter written in January, 2004. Hope you enjoy it!

Some gifts just keep giving. They make memories and they liven up both your life and your home. In December of 2003, I was given such a gift.

A dear Russian…

Read more… 2,274 more words

Shared this on my ministry blog today and thought I'd post it here as well. It's just for fun. Hope you enjoy it!

The Garage Is Not The Goal

For as long as I can remember my dad has been a motorsports fan. Growing up, I didn’t get it at all. Driving didn’t interest me. I got my license at seventeen because I didn’t want my younger sister to get hers first. (I might have been a little competitive.) Even before I had my license, my sisters called me “granny”. They joked that the only time I went fast was when I noticed a spider on the accelerator and stomped on it. Our family drove an enormous conversion van, which my mom lovingly referred to as a “hog on ice”. When the day came to take the driving test, our Montana winter provided a beautiful world of packed snow and ice for the occasion. But it wasn’t the ice that got me, it was that crazy pole in the drive-up at the bank. Not the little ones that stand around the teller machines, the big one—the one that supports the roof—the one that removed the driver’s side mirror.

After high school, I started working with a small church 40 miles from my hometown. At the time, the “speed limit” in Montana was “reasonable and prudent.” I miss that… but that’s beside the point. Driving those 40 miles between services, on a road with little traffic, and no set speed limit changed my driving style…until we discovered the hole I’d put in the oil pan by hitting a nice, new frost heave at 80 mph.

Although I didn’t drive during my ten years in Moscow, my driving philosophy changed drastically. One day, I heard myself saying, “Just drive on the sidewalk.”

After I’d been back in the States for nearly two years, I finally got my first car. As soon as I saw the car at the dealership, I knew it was the car for me. It was the right color, had low mileage, and was in excellent condition. There was just one problem—it was a stick. The only other time I’d driven a standard had been in a Subaru with a busted seat. In order to reach the clutch, I’d had to pull myself forward and hang onto the steering column with my left hand, while attempting to shift and steer with my right. It was, as they say, an epic failure.

My dad test-drove the car. It handled well, even in 12 inches of snow. After some haggling and God’s intervention, I walked out of the dealership with a knot in the pit of my stomach. I had three weeks to learn how to drive that car before going off to college. It was a long three weeks.

The new NASCAR season had just started when I came home for spring break. Out of desperation, I started paying close attention. I watched intently, hoping for even the tiniest clue that might help improve my pathetic shifting skills. My perspective on motorsports began to change. I realized early on that it wasn’t just a sport. NASCAR drivers took a real-life skill and honed it down to perfection. It was science driven by competition.

Pretty soon I had a favorite driver, then a whole list of favorites. I couldn’t cheer for just one when I knew the stories of perseverance behind the others. I also began to see that racing was packed full of spiritual applications, some of which have made an enormous difference in my approach to life. I was hooked.

My dad and I became NASCAR buddies. The races often take place while we are in church or involved in other ministry, so we record them, don’t let each other look at the Internet, and wait until we can watch them together when everything else is done. Somewhere along the line, my mom joined us. I will never forget how shocked I was to receive a text from her while I was in Kenya in 2010. It read, “Junior won the race!”

This weekend I was reminded again of why racing is my sport of choice.

I had scheduled a special event to be held at my church Saturday morning. I’d invested a good bit of time and money into inviting people from several local churches to offer their input on how churches can better serve single parents. I arrived at the church, got out the sweet rolls I’d bought for the occasion, pulled out all of the materials for the day, and waited. But no one came. I sat in the fellowship hall of our church, I swept the kitchen floor, I straightened our clothing exchange room, and I waited. I pulled out my list of churches and prayed over it, asking the Lord what I should do. Obviously, my approach hadn’t worked. I put the sweet rolls away, cleaned up the materials, locked up the church, and went to the river.

After 2 miles of hiking, my emotions finally settled enough to say once more, “Okay, Lord, what do I do? What is the next step? I really felt this was the direction you were leading, and it completely flopped. Now what?”

God didn’t answer with a new plan. He answered with peace. He still had things under control. I just needed to keep following His lead.

A beautiful new spot I found along the river.

In June, I gave my dad a Father’s Day IOU, promising a night at the local dirt track. We looked over the schedule and chose the one we thought would be the most enjoyable. Saturday was the day.

Unfortunately, the Little Silver Bullet didn’t make it into my photos.

The sprint cars were running their warm-up laps, dirt filled the air, the engines sang; it was beautiful. Then I heard a horrible sound. I turned and saw a little silver bullet on the front stretch. It sounded like an out-of-sync industrial sewing machine—the kind you can’t use in high-ceilinged apartments for fear of breaking the city’s noise ordinances. The driver pushed the car hard into turn one and went on around the track, but as he reached the backstretch I could still hear that horrid groaning and sputtering. He was in trouble, and the race hadn’t even begun. He came on around the track, went straight through turn one, down over the hill, and into the pits. My heart sank for that driver and team. I knew they were done before they’d even started.

A few minutes later, the little silver car returned to the track just in time to start the race. He drove for all he was worth. He pushed the car and got as much out of it as he could, which wasn’t much. Soon he’d been lapped not once, not twice, but three times. Still he drove on. The race leaders tore up the track around him, while he managed to turn laps and stay out of their way. Of the cars that finished the race, he finished last, but he finished.

Later, as I was thinking back over the day, I couldn’t help remembering him. His day wasn’t that much different than mine had been. All that preparation, all that work into getting ready for the event—and then you’re done before you even get started. But he didn’t quit. He could have stayed in the pits and not come back to race. He could have avoided the humiliation of getting lapped, of being the slow car, of having to stay out of the way rather than setting the pace. But he didn’t. He went out, and he did it anyway.

Ministry isn’t easy. Sometimes the engine just doesn’t seem to fire right. We plan things and no one comes. We invest in people’s lives and they turn on us. We pour out hours of our lives, and find we were the only ones who cared. But that doesn’t mean we should quit. Sometimes we have to go back and fix things, but the garage is not the goal.

Week after week, guys like Blake Koch and Michael McDowell get in their cars, knowing they probably aren’t going to win, knowing they’ll be lucky to make it to the halfway point. But they do it anyway. And they don’t complain. They get out of their cars and they thank God for the opportunity to run in the race. They take every opportunity to share Christ, even though they aren’t winning. Do they get discouraged? Sure they do, but they still keep going.

Our walk as Christians should be the same. We aren’t always going to “win”, not the way we usually think of winning anyway. It may appear that everyone around us has rejected us, that no one cares, that we don’t have anyone in our corner pulling for us, but none of that is true. God is still on our side. What we see as our failure, He can turn into success. His strength is made perfect in our weakness.

No one ever said racing was easy. The truth is that whether you’re on a bike, in a car, or on your own two feet racing is a lot of work…

My shifting skills have improved. In fact, things have gone in the opposite direction. I now feel like an idiot every time I get into an automatic. My left foot and right hand just don’t know what to do with themselves. But I strongly doubt that it’s because of watching NASCAR.  It comes with practice and perseverance. Just like our Christian walk. Sometimes we fall flat on our faces, but God has promised to pick us up. We don’t always see the “success” that we think we should see, but what an opportunity! We get to run for Christ!

I still don’t know what the next step is in my little dilemma, but I know God has a plan, and I’m willing to wait and trust Him to work it out. In the meantime, I’m just going to keep turning laps.

What has God been teaching you about perseverance?

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By the way, if you’re a single parent and would like to share how a church has helped you, or ways that churches could better minister to families like yours, please drop me an email at rmiller(at)gracewritingservice(dot)com I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Cherries, Sprint Cars, and Geysers

I woke up this morning feeling exhausted and a deep need to know God’s love in a very tender and personal way. As I lay in bed praying, I told Him of my weariness and asked Him to somehow help me to feel His embrace. When I finally got up, I went to the kitchen to put on the teapot and my dad, who was in the living room, said, “Look at your place at the table.”

This is what I saw:

Beautiful Rainier Cherries!

Monday night a friend called, and, as is my habit, I wandered out to the front room to check out the sunset while I was talking to her. It was beautiful. So I grabbed my camera and went outside to snap a few pics while we were talking.

Beautiful Montana Sky

In the process I noticed that, once again, our neighbor’s irrigation system had a problem. Since nightfall was coming quickly, my friend and I agreed that I should get off the phone and give him a call, which I did. The conversation wasn’t long, it was just enough for me to tell him that Old Faithful had moved into his field. A few minutes later I saw the headlights of his pickup lighting up the geyser. The system went off, and then it was back on again and all was well.

The new Old Faithful

But this morning when my dad went outside to check on something, he found that our neighbor had left a bag of cherries sitting on the car.

No one knew what I had prayed, but God had answered. I knew the cherries were from the Lord just as much as they were from our neighbor.

I finished making my tea and went to the porch swing for my quiet time. I opened my Bible to Psalm 28 and began to read:

“Unto thee will I cry, O Lord my rock; be not silent to me: lest, if thou be silent to me, I become like them that go down into the pits.”

I had to laugh when I read that verse. First of all, it summed up exactly what I had done this morning. Secondly, I spent a large amount of time yesterday working on a blog post, which I may never post, about a sprint car driver who had to pit before the race even started! Even though I know these pits are two very different kinds, I couldn’t help but see the connection. You see if a driver goes to the pits and stays there, he is done. The race is over for him. Here David is asking the Lord to speak to him, lest he end up in the same state as that driver. He’s asking for the strength to keep running the race.

Verse two says:

“Hear the voice of my supplications, when I cry unto thee, when I lift my hands toward thy holy oracle.”

Again I smiled. I knew the Lord had done for me exactly what David had requested for himself, but the Lord went on to confirm it further in verses 6-8.

I have been trying to create and post a new meme for “The King’s Daughter” each week over the past couple of weeks. They are composed of pictures that I have taken and quotes from the book. Last week, I found the quote that I wanted to use, but didn’t have a chance to look for a picture. I was a little disappointed, but now I see that maybe it was because God wanted all of this to happen first. So here it is:

This morning I awoke knowing that I was safe in my King, but needing the comfort of His presence. As I stepped into that presence through prayer and His Word, I was blessed with joy such as only He can give. The songwriter said, “Are you weary, are you heavy-hearted? Tell it to Jesus.” Jesus is waiting. Walk in His presence, you will never regret it!

How has God been showing you His presence in your life?

Devotional Journaling Tips – Part II

Well, here it is at last! The second installment of our Devotional Journaling Tips series.

Today’s topic is “What Does Today’s Passage Teach Me About God’s Ways.” I hope it’s a blessing!

Next Up: What Does Today’s Passage Teach Me About How God Wants Me To Interact With Others.

Valleys, Holding Patterns and The In-Between

Several years ago, I boarded a flight bound for Russia. It wasn’t the first, and it wouldn’t be the last; but our approach to the airport in Shannon, Ireland makes it stand out from all the others. As usual the seatbelt light came on, the pilot told us we were beginning our descent, the flight attendants prepared for landing . . . but then something changed. The plane leveled off, and we began a new course. For an hour and a half, we circled Shannon, waiting for the fog to lift so we could land. Our constant change in direction could be seen in the sunlight coming through the windows: First from one side of the fuselage, then from the other. We were in a holding pattern, and all we could do was trust our pilot to get us there.

A few years later, my mom stood in our kitchen and made the frustrated declaration, “I feel like your life has been in a holding pattern for ten years!”

She was wrong…It had been thirteen years.

Just before I turned twenty, I went to Russia to spend a school year working in an orphanage. I fell in love with Russia and her people and decided to stay through the next school year as well. The following spring, I went home to Montana with plans to return to Russia in the fall.

My plans fell by the wayside when the unexpected happened. Over the next ten months, I helped my mother care for my grandfather. In those months, I came to know more about the man I’d always admired. We shared mutual interests and could sit and talk for hours. I often thought back to my childhood. I remembered arriving at his Indiana farm and rushing into the kitchen with its glaring, single light bulb dispelling the shadows of late evening. I remembered him stooping down with arms spread wide and then scooping me up into an enormous flannel-wrapped bear hug. I could still feel his end-of-the-day whiskers rub against my neck as he said, “OH, that’s a good one!”  But in those days, in-between trips to Russia, I came to know more than Grandpa’s smile and embrace; I came to know him.

In February, after Grandpa had gone to Heaven, I returned to Russia to finish out the school year. When I returned to the States three months later, I faced questions. What was God’s next step for my life? I waited and prayed and waited. I worked at Taco Bell. I took a training course. I waited. Then a phone call came, and I was headed back to Russia.

This process, sans Taco Bell, repeated itself time after time, each spring bringing new decisions. Would I stay? Would I go home? Would I come back? With each decision came times of prayer, times of waiting; times of trusting, learning, and growing.

One spring, I made the decision to go home for six months, the longest furlough since that first ten-month trip eight years earlier. I needed to go, to rest… but I didn’t know that I wouldn’t be coming back, not like I had before.

After 6 weeks at home, my “flight pattern” changed. It went into a much longer holding pattern than ever before. My grandparents needed someone to care for them. While my heart ached to be back in Russia, I was keenly aware that where I was, was special. In the months ahead, I would come to know my grandparents as never before. We would eat together, laugh together, cry over Hallmark movies together, struggle through falls and doctor’s appointments together. My heart would be pushed to new extremes of love, anger, hurt and compassion. And through it all, it would grow.

Fifteen months later, I moved back to Montana. I enrolled in a Bible college and hurried through a two-year course in sixteen months. Almost immediately, I headed back to Moscow to survey several ministries. I was sure by the end of the trip I would know exactly where God wanted me—but I didn’t.

I came home discouraged. I remember going to a conference and kneeling at the front of the church, weeping and asking God what I had missed, what I was supposed to do, what was wrong with me. I spent hours praying, searching the Scriptures, journaling and praying some more.

Days and weeks turned into months. I got a job. I started an editing business. I continued to wait, to learn, and to grow, taking little steps along the way as God directed.

Nine months after I had returned home, we launched the website for “Forbid Them Not” and a new ministry had begun—something I had never anticipated. What has followed was worth all the moments of living in-between “not knowing” and “knowing”.

Waiting can be hard, but in the waiting we grow.

I once stood at the edge of a wide mountain meadow. The grass was short. The flowers were delicate and grew close to the ground. Looking out from that vantage point I realized something—things don’t grow well on the mountaintop. If you want to find growth, you have to go to the valley.

We tend to dislike the valley experiences; they are darker, you can’t see as far. But the growth that takes place in the valley gives us the strength to make the climb to the peaks.

Last week, I was blessed with the chance to read an advanced copy of “The In-Between: Embracing the Tension between Now and the Next Big Thing” by Jeff Goins. It has been a gentle reminder—Don’t forget to live “the in-between”. Live. Wait. Grow.

Three thoughts from Jeff’s book caught my attention:

“If you and I aren’t paying attention to our lives—if we don’t possess the patience to examine our gifts and talents—then we just might miss what we were made to do.” (pg. 93)

“The word “disappointment” comes from the idea of literally missing an appointment. It originally was used in the context of meetings and gatherings. If you disappointed someone, it meant you told someone you were going to do something and then didn’t keep your word. So what does it mean if we are disappointed with life? Did life make a promise to us that it didn’t keep? Did she promise to always meet our expectations or to keep us comfortable? Can we really be angry with God that things don’t turn out exactly the way we thought?” (pg. 129)

“Our problem, then, is not one of impatience, but entitlement.” (pg. 157)

Somehow, we seem to think we’re entitled to having what we want, when we want it. But that isn’t how God’s plan works. Like any other fruit, the fruit He wants to see in our lives must first bud, grow, and ripen before it is fully mature.

Don’t rush through the valleys, the holding patterns, the “in-between”. God has a purpose for you there. It may be simple “in-between” moments with family. Or, it may allow you to hear God’s still, small voice moving you toward the very thing for which He has prepared you—whatever the case, it is a gift.

Jeff’s Goins new book releases tomorrow, August 1, 2013! You can go here to FIND OUT MORE or GO STRAIGHT TO AMAZON.