Ashlie Miller

By Ashlie Miller

Where do you get the best tomatoes, perfectly ripened for a good ‘mater sandwich? Some grocery stores rank higher than others, perhaps. I do like a good farm-fresh market or road stand, though I confess I do not make enough time to stop by those. If I grew them myself, that would be a sweet reward, but alas, my gardening efforts always suffer (I have tried more than once). I suppose I’m more suited for other things.

But if I had to say for certain where I get the best tomatoes, it would be from a neighbor who just knows I’m the only one in a house of seven who enjoys a raw tomato and rarely buys them for myself. They seem to have a sweeter taste than any other tomato. I love the way they adorn a plate of meat and side veggies at supper (that’s “dinner,” for those who have transplanted from other regions). These tomatoes level up a BLT so much better than the store-bought variety. What else would I put on a white bread and Duke’s sandwich? (Who said, “Hellman’s”?) Ok, I do sometimes sub tomato for canned sliced pineapples. Is that weird? I grew up on those. Anyone else?

I’ve enjoyed other produce and herbs lately – namely squash, cucumbers, and basil. There have been some years I think my husband, the pastor of our church, is the minister on The Little House on the Prairie, receiving the bounty of a summer harvest from congregants.

It’s a lot like a simple sandwich made by the loving hands of a mother or friend, tasting so much sweeter. I know that when I receive a tomato or a handful of seeds, there was a lot of selfless work and even toil involved. Planning, planting, weeding, watering, protecting. Blessings birthed from such effort are precious gifts.

I have always been a saver of most things that I wanted to savor later.  I remember as a little girl when Oreo did not make 100+ varieties of cookies, but they would make a fudge-dipped Oreo in a special sleeve. I would get a pack for myself (quite a splurge!) and hide it in my sock drawer. I would savor what I saved for weeks. Today, I may still do the same thing with the single tomato given by a friend, using a couple of slices for a sandwich and saving a slice or two to go with supper or even my over-medium eggs the next day.

The gifts the ground produces with the help of my friend and the hand of a Sustaining Creator bring a smile to my face and make me grateful to be content with simple things shared in love. I’m grateful for those who share their bounty with those not quite as adept at growing a garden or perhaps who cannot make the time in different seasons of life. Who has shared with you lately? Who have you been able to bless with something you may think is just a small thing?

Ashlie Miller almost kept a mint plant alive and thriving for all of three months. You can send her your gardening or other advice to mrs.ashliemiller@gmail.com.

By Ashlie Miller

Christmas in July is something I have shared previously. It served to boost my family’s morale in the midst of a very rough year. Turns out, it is not a newer tradition – a recent issue of the magazine Our State shared a piece of the possible origins at Keystone Camp in Brevard, NC, during the 1930s.

Yes, thoughts of cooler seasons in the midst of too many days in the 90-degree weather is a welcome embrace. Enjoying treats, Christmas movies (or even an entire channel dedicated to the genre), and summer-equivalent tradeoffs for Christmas bucket-list activities brings a smile to many faces. Pass the red and green watermelon, a snow cone, and maybe some lemon-iced sugar cookies.

But why stop there?

Each year, I am blessed to receive emails, books, pamphlets, and more with advent reading plans, devotions dedicated to the season, and suggestions for acts of kindness to perform with the family. Just last week, in a Little Free Library at the local park, I picked up a book titled “How Far to Bethlehem” by Norah Lofts, who wrote many historical fiction titles. Sadly, there is not enough time in December to relish these thoughtful liturgies.

Our church is in the midst of a daily Bible-reading plan this year. We transition this weekend from the Old Testament and its prophecies to the arrival of Christ in human flesh in the New Testament. What timing! It really can be a Christmas in July celebration in our spirit. How refreshing!

I plan to read through some of the gift books we have received over the years for Christmas while on the porch, perhaps sipping some ice-cold sweet tea. These longer nights with the twinkle of lightning bugs and the hanging strand of lights in the backyard are the perfect backdrop for a birth that was likely not in a bleak midwinter we like to imagine. Instead of carols, wind chimes, birds chirping, crickets, cicada, and toads are the soundtrack.

Yes, the lazy, dog-days of summer may be just what my mind and spirit need before life cranks back up with school, schedule changes, and too many plans stacking up at the end of the year like a multi-car pileup.

Reminders of the first advent resonate with our heart’s longing for a second advent of Christ – and the December calendar does not have to have the market on stirring our hearts towards that story.

Do you have a favorite Christmas book or devotional? I’d love for you to share it with me.

Ashlie Miller lives in Concord, NC. You can email her at mrs.ashliemiller@gmail.com

By Ashlie Miller

One of my earliest memories as a young girl is being outside with my mother and baby brother. I had a bright yellow balloon in hand from my dentist visit, but whether it slipped from my wrist or I accidentally released it, the yellow orb drifted away. It felt like a slow-motion view of something happening quickly. I remember asking my mom if she could reach it for me. She was realistic but kind with her reply. I then thought that perhaps she could get a ladder to grab it. Still, the answer was no.

They say our earliest memories are pretty foundational to how we see things. I guess I have always been looking for yellow balloons. They are the cheeriest of colors, radiating with sunshine and joy. I am pretty serious; some may even call me intense when they first meet me. Introverted and painfully shy as a child, I was slow to warm up and willing to sit in the wings and wait my turn, unless a bright, bubbly thing noticed me and invited me into the excitement.

I call these people my “yellow balloons.” They are the ones who are usually very optimistic, exuberant, joy-filled dreamers, hope-filled encouragers, often spontaneous, entering a room with a bright smile, never meeting a stranger, sometimes with a healthy dose of FOMO (fear of missing out) – much to my opposite.

They have helped me through life. Several have seen something in me that could handle a job or opportunity I would not have sought. Others have pushed me toward fun or challenges I would have let pass. They make me belly laugh at their silliness and fearless approach to humor, even in public. Their optimism and hopefulness of the future challenge me to be the same.

But, they need me, too. What am I? I affectionally call myself the balloon weight that keeps the balloon grounded at the party. I have my own pizzaz – or rather, interest. I help keep my balloons in place so they don’t drift off into ways beyond reality. I bring my own flavor of encouragement when windy and cloudy days come, reminding them of seasons and the beauty in each and the promise of their end. I stick to plans and goals, find connections, and help them to figure out how to make dreams come true. I remind them of truth when emotions blow them into storms. I am slower and more deliberate at times, helping them slow down, enjoy Sabbath, and notice small wonders in life.

We need each other for balance. Sometimes it looks like a true marriage of opposites – a covenant recognizing the need for dependence on another for a lifetime. At other times, it is a held-fast friendship. The dynamic can even show up in mentoring, coaching, and teaching relationships. Both gain wisdom and encouragement from the other.

If we are surrounded only by those like us (all balloons or all balloon weights), it becomes a silly mess. We were not made to drift about or be inflexible. Are you a yellow balloon with your head in the clouds? Call your steady balloon weight and thank them for keeping you grounded. Are you the steady weight in a relationship? Text or send a note to your yellow balloon and thank them for stretching you a little and helping you dream.

Ashlie Miller lives with a few of her favorite yellow balloons in Concord, NC. You can email her at mrs.ashliemiller@gmail.com.

By Ashlie Miller

If you have a toddler in your life, you know they can become obsessed with almost anything. For many, it’s choo-choo trains, earth movers, cartoon characters, dinosaurs, and rocket ships, but there are plenty who have very specific fascinations with unique objects.  Just this week, I saw a video of a tiny toddler who puts his hand over his heart anytime he sees an American flag – on boxes, packages, canned items, and more (hooray for goods still made in the U.S.A.).

As a mom of five, I have ridden the waves of multiple obsessions. One of my favorites was my oldest’s discovery of cuckoo clocks. Back in the day of dial-up modems, we would often take a few minutes a day to find videos of a German clock-maker’s collection sale. My son was entranced and could identify all the parts of these clocks when he was 2 years old and didn’t mind sharing his knowledge with anyone who would listen.

He carried that obsession for several years. At one point, he started praying that God would give him one. As a one-income family keeping track of every dollar we needed, we did not seriously consider the luxury of such a clock.

One Tuesday morning at a midweek ladies’ Bible study, we were discussing prayer. I must have used this childlike prayer as an illustration of some prayers receiving a “no” for an answer. About two weeks later, a lady from that group came up to me at church saying with a knowing grin, “I have something for you. Actually, it’s for your son.” Without any sense of decorum whatsoever, I blurted, “I think I know what it is!” I am not sure why such boldness exploded from me at that moment, but she laughed and said, “I have had this cuckoo clock for years in a closet, unopened. I would like for him to have it.”

Surprised, delighted, amazed – these reactions were shared among our small family. The story is part of our family folklore – stories demonstrating God’s care and concern for the things that delight us. Since that time, our family has seen many more answers to prayer. Some have been big and others, seemingly trivial, but not to the one asking.

When was the last time you asked God for something that others would deem as trivial? If you’re above the age of 13, it may have been a long, long time. It seems we stop asking in childlike faith far too soon in life, before we even understand the beauty of the relationship with a Heavenly Father.

Life’s circumstances and troubles often leave us jaded; the world we live in may leave us pessimistic and disillusioned. Yet, if we know God as our redeeming Father, He is still there, waiting to be asked, waiting to experience the playful relationship and the childlike faith and trust that come with asking. Pray for the big things, but pray for the simpler things, too.

By Ashlie Miller

I struggled to write this piece, if I am honest. Although I just squeaked in for the bicentennial year, it is not as likely that I’ll be around to see the tricentennial in 50 more years. (Wow, 50 years certainly went by faster than I thought possible. Our country really is still so young and new.)

Thinking about a piece to write for the semiquincentennial (that’s a five-dollar word) carries certain weight. How does one capture such a milestone adequately in a compressed space? Do I approach things with grimaced reflection of the many woes, ills, and discontent reflected by much of the media and society at large? Does one make amends for ancestors’ mistakes or reflect with a glorified nostalgia? There are dangers in any way one would approach it.

So, I approach it the only way I know how – with personal, honest, unapologetic reflection on how some of the Four Freedoms have affected me over the 50 years since the bicentennial.

I am thankful to have been born to parents who had the freedom to choose or not choose the religious experience that they desired. In my case, it led to a sense of peace and contentment just before a terminal illness journey that would alter what family would look like.

I’m thankful that although my father suffered delayed consequences from service to his country in a war he probably did not want to fight, he still had access to medical care. The result may not have been a cure for him but led to hopeful interventions decades later for others. My mother received provision to care for two children after he was gone. It was not luxury, but it did provide for many necessities. My mother was able to graduate from college and work, further enabling provisions that her peers in many other countries could not have enjoyed.

I had the freedom to learn in a variety of schools and be taught in ways my parents thought best. Social Security enabled my mother to make some choices about our education. I may not have had the same clothes as my schoolmates, but I had access to opportunities because of how she prioritized the money she received. Furthermore, I could learn from a Christian worldview and still worship with friends from public school thanks to many other freedoms.

I’ve traveled abroad for leisure, ministry, and to learn because I can freely visit many places domestically without having to notify a local leader or request permission. I get to enjoy the beauty of many preserved natural spaces or learn about both the good and the ugly of our nation’s past at memorials and museums. I can even learn about discoveries and artistic achievements of other countries at exhibits in our museums.

I am free to read or write almost anything I want. I have the right to praise and regard what I please or criticize and complain to my heart’s desire.

As I reflect on the past and present, I’m truly thankful.  I don’t have to let others tell me how I’m supposed to feel or think – that’s one of the freedoms I’m grateful for.  I hope you take advantage of that freedom to celebrate all that is good in this beautiful land that we call home.

Ashlie Miller, a true Tar Heel, has family roots in North Carolina dating at least as early as the 1790s. You can email her at mrs.ashliemiller@gmail.com.

By Ashlie Miller

It’s a common mistake, one you have likely experienced yourself: accidentally leaving an item you purchased at the checkout or in the buggy at the store. Usually, you can retrieve it without issue, and a sympathetic employee assures you that it happens often. Imagine my surprise recently at one of those not-really-a-dollar stores when I was met with a third degree and doubt about my story over a $1.50 item that had been left behind. Thankfully, the manager remedied the situation. Even though I was not to blame and my reputation matters little at a store where customers are no longer remembered by name, it still bothered me for several hours that my words were not believed.  It reminded me of an episode that occurred several years ago.

As a young adult, I was once falsely accused and chased down with accusations. (Trust me, it sounds more dramatic than it was.) One evening, I went to visit a slightly older friend with young children, who would often let me hang out and either help with the kids or chat with her. I thrived in a setting that also gave me some mentoring. I offered to pick up anything she needed on my way. Young moms often find that a blessing! My friend lived in Rockwell on a stretch of road with nothing more than a one-stop gas station. She needed bread, likely for some essential PB&Js for the boys. I may not have had much as a college student, but picking up gas station bread, I could do. I went in, picked up a loaf, and made my way past a couple of old-timers talking about the weather before paying the cashier. I departed a couple of miles down the road to my friend’s, blissfully unaware that I was being hunted like a felon.

As I pulled in, I heard a rumble on the gravel road as a woman yelled, “Did you forget something?” I recognized her as the clerk behind the counter. I held up my bread, wondering, “Is she making sure I got my bread with a tone that doesn’t match her concern?” I was bewildered. “The gas you forgot to pay for!” she retorted. I tilted my head quizzically. “But I didn’t even pull up to a pump? I came for bread.” Among the commotion, my friend hastened outside to defend my character. However, the woman assured me that a couple of witnesses (those old-timers) saw me pull off with the gas. I asked her how much I was accused of stealing. I wasn’t quite ready to show her my hand – a newer compact car with a gas gauge indicating less than a quarter-tank. These were the days when gas may have been cheap, but working college students could live off a quarter tank until absolutely necessary to fill up. She said it was a full tank’s worth, but when I offered to let her see my gas gauge, she declined and, without so much as an apology for the chase and false accusation, sped off.

To say my adrenaline was lit is an understatement. Do I call the police for that? Surely not. Do I need to clear my reputation at a place where I did nothing wrong and didn’t usually frequent for gas anyway? Ah, the truth revealed, and the slice of humble pie for the employee would have to be enough. Even though it was inconsequential, it still felt pretty horrible! Why do false accusations, even over small things, bother us so badly? Could it be that deep down we were designed to long for truth and justice?

I am grateful, though, for experiences like those that have helped me pray for others and think about judging those in much more dire situations. I can slowly and deliberately consider:  Was I there? Even if I was, could I have been distracted and not truly present? Is the information factual or colored with emotions and clickbait? Was I having a bad day when I thought I witnessed something? Were they? Am I quick to lean into gossip cloaked in a “this just in” post?

Lord, help me to slow my roll, my scroll, and my hasty judgments! Help me to remember truth wrapped in mercy and grace!

By Ashlie Miller

While Mother’s Day is responsible for catapulting card and flower sales, Father’s Day has been reduced evidently to beer paraphernalia, novelty office games, or grilling supplies that are more ornamental than useful. Dads, do you really want any of that stuff? The clearance tables, weeks later, would have me believe the answer is “no.”

Television and movies succumb to the common tropes of the befuddled father often surrendering to his inadequacies as a household manager or the overconfident but not taken seriously professional or blue-collar worker. Why would anyone want to spend a Sunday celebrating someone like that?

Fathers are often absent from the nuclear family or, at best, disengaged. Then there are families who have lost fathers due to tragic situations, abandonment, or terminal illness. My childhood was not unscathed either.

Fortunately, I was blessed with precious father figures for different seasons of life. My Daddy, the definer of what I would think “Father” would be – tall, handsome, a Marine. Oorah! I saw him as strong, although I did not know he was living with cancer. My maternal granddaddy along with my grandmother, stepped in during difficult years to love and to care for me.  Later, God provided a stepfather and another grandfather to share love and care as well.

Then there is my my husband, with little expectation growing up of having a large family of his own, who has proven to be an exemplary father. He displays love, intentionality, and engagement with each of his children. The moments, memories, and milestones I missed by not having a bond with my own Daddy in my developmental years, I partake through his relationship with our children. I’m a big believer in God’s redemptive story. Seeing a loving earthly father imperfectly but  beautifully echo the Heavenly Father is something to celebrate!

Realistically, not everyone has the same redemptive stories in their lives. There may be generations of absent, disengaged, or abusive fathers. It can leave a person jaded from clearly observing the good in another father figure, even the Heavenly Father, yet He is the perfect Father. Maybe a good scavenger hunt through the Bible will set things right:

If you have been rejected or dealt with harshly by an uncaring father, God is tender and compassionate to those who fear him (Psalm 103:13).

Do you see yourself as fatherless? He inclines Himself to the fatherless and the widows and places the lonely and deserted into families and homes (Psalm 68:5-6).

Did your father fail to be the provider he was supposed to be? God the Father knows your needs before you ask (Matthew 6:8), sees your worth (Matthew 6:26), and not only rewards us based on His all-seeing presence (Matthew 6:4) but also gives good gifts for the asking (Matthew 7:11, James 1:17).

Whether or not you have had a loving example of fatherhood, Father’s Day can be happy if you get to know the Heavenly Father this weekend.

By Ashlie Miller

“Have a great summer!” If you dig up an old school yearbook, someone at some point likely wrote that in the front or end pages of yours. Although it’s in the middle of the year, summer comes at a closure and seasonal “goodbye” for many people. We wish a “great summer” in a way that we do not proclaim any other season, except perhaps the Christmas holiday. While each season has its gift, does any season provide as much time for recreation, leisure, and renewal?

Swimming, running, and pickleball, hiking and camping in the great outdoors, attending games, outdoor concerts, movies in the park, grilling at the neighbor’s (Northern or Cali transplants, do not call this a barbecue, please), block parties, summer-themed festivals, and even the quieter hobbies of bird watching and gardening all bid us outside. Or maybe you escape the humidity and enjoy the air conditioning by catching up on puzzles, watching Christmas movies in July, completing the work-in-progress hobby or task, or reading.

Many also find a fire reignited, not just by sitting around a campfire and sharing stories and thoughts, but perhaps as students attending a camp or children at a Vacation Bible School. I remember the days of hot camp meetings as choirs joined together and preachers preached under a large tent over a sawdust-laden ground. 

Attendees of VBS, youth camps, and seasonal church meetings often leave with a sense of renewal, rededication, or recommitment to what (or Who) matters most. 

Even work can seem less like the exhausting tedium of toil in this season for some (with apologies to landscapers and road-workers). Extended hours of daylight can provide more opportunities for recreation after hours. 

The season can be a life-giving recharge before schedules for many resume or take an upswing in September. Recreation lives up to the name of RE-creating life and vibrancy within us.

Summer often takes us back to the memory of Eden – the garden of the dawn of the ages that held such promise, but was spoiled by mankind’s will, desire, and lack of contentment, trust, and obedience. The place of walking in intimate communion with God. 

We look to re-create such things through moments of leisure. Maybe if we spend enough time appreciating nature, we will learn something about ourselves or something greater beyond ourselves, if such things exist. Perhaps if we make time to connect with our neighbors, friends, or community, a hole of deep communion will be filled. If we are lucky, maybe some focused solitude on a worthwhile project will make work feel purposeful, beautiful, and enjoyable for once. But summer will end, and there may still be desires unsatisfied. C.S. Lewis famously wrote, “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”

Let’s not pretend that we can recreate Eden or heaven on earth through our recreation this summer, but if such pleasures and pauses bring a greater awareness of creation, our Creator, and a need to return to such things, we truly can “have a great summer!”

By Ashlie Miller

Recently, our 18-year-old son graduated from high school. While he was but a newborn, an event nearby rocked the community – what became known as the “Sun Drop Murders” (whose victims were Donna Barnhardt and Darrell Noles). Our family would often pass by the area on the way to my in-laws, the kids’ grandparents.

At our son’s graduation, I reminisced on the passage of time – a time that went by too quickly. I recall the early years of struggling with language arts in particular, and then seeing him later thrive and enjoy those subjects. Likewise, it seemed like yesterday that he was struggling to breathe when many colds would affect his little body and turn into infections. The sweet times when I was his world, and he was mine, transformed into launching into independence. Eighteen years flew by too quickly. Some days were long, but the years really were short, like the saying goes.

But 18 years can also drag on senselessly, sometimes seemingly without hope. While we cannot speak on behalf of the victims’ families, most of us know some measure of prolonged waiting, though many of us may not relate to a sense of delayed justice. In this case, and in my comparison, those years of waiting really have been a lifetime.

Perhaps you resonate with excruciating years of waiting for something or someone. We resonate with the Psalmist who said, “How long, O Lord?” (Psalm 13:1). Tragedy, estrangement, betrayal, despair, and scarcity can feel more tangible than the resolution our soul longs for.

Though these murders may have been unsolved, they were never fully closed. The Concord investigators pursued justice, and the case was never forgotten, either by the families or law enforcement, thankfully.

In our own lives, we can also trust that God sees all wrongs that need to be made right, keeps record of our tears, and never forgets. But when we cannot see Him working, or things are not resolved in our way and understanding, we might doubt Him or our faith. Yet, He is still working. The recent arrest can remind us that secrets have an expiration date. Yes, sometimes humans can uncover them. But our Sovereign God sees when things happen and will, in His way and time, either now or in eternity, execute perfect justice.

Do you feel unsettled when stories seem unfinished? For years, I remember seeing the banner outside the Sun Drop Bottling Company with requests for information on the horrendous acts against the sanctity of two lives. Eventually, though there was no resolution or answers, the banner eventually came down. It still felt unsettling when I would drive down Old Concord-Salisbury Road. We all still longed for answers, none more so than their families. Many people chimed in on social media when the case broke in May. So many exclamations of justice served and resolution, because deep down, each of us knows that evil should not have the last word. Is that evidence that we were created by a just Judge?

Stories like these give us cause to celebrate our local law enforcement. But it does not have to end there. We can reflect on God’s sovereignty, that He never forgets, that true justice (His justice) will prevail, and our longing for it is evidence of His design in us (whether we believe in Him or not).

By Ashlie Miller

“Where are you going to college?” That was the default question for my generation and maybe yours upon high school graduation. The follow-up question naturally assumed you had some idea about your life – “What do you plan to study?” Such weighty questions for mere 18-year-olds upon graduating high school.

Over time, with respect given to those entering the trades (I see you, Mike Rowe) or wanting to avoid huge debt, the question has transformed into, “What are your plans after graduation?” and acknowledges other options including community college, the trades, a gap year (or years), the military, and many other once-in-a-lifetime opportunities to do while you’re young.

But everyone, regardless of their chosen vehicle, is still trying to arrive at their destination, even if they are not yet certain where that is. So how can a graduate – or anyone for that matter – be certain they will reach their destination? My oldest son carries a keychain that says, “A man who follows God always gets to where he is going.” Is that an exclusive and perhaps naïve thought?

First, one has to consider the age-old perplexing question of, “What is my purpose?” Devoid of Christ, who can say? Who could define purpose and humanity’s end goal?

With Christ, many know that our chief end (as the catechism states) is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever. In that understanding, God “make[s] known to me the path of life; in Your presence there is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore (Psalm 16:11). That is a promise of fulfillment regardless of a gap year or earning a Master’s.

But there are so many ways to go. How can anyone discern the perfect path? Reading God’s Word regularly as a Holy Spirit-indwelt Christian will light our path, even as we walk by faith (see Psalm 119:105). But even with a well-lit path, there are many distractions. How can we find and use wisdom? James 1:5 tells us that God is waiting to generously give us wisdom if we will simply ask.

Why wouldn’t we ask? Because we prefer to handle most things ourselves. Yet Proverbs 3:5-6 (perhaps one of the more familiar Proverbs) tells us to trust in and acknowledge the Lord alone, wholeheartedly, and not rely on our own understanding. The result? God will straighten out our paths. A straight path is much smoother than detours and dubious shortcuts.

Even with all these Divine helps, we are still prone to question our decisions. That is when we can rest in promises found in Psalm 32:23-34 and Proverbs 16:9, which both tell us that though we may make plans for our lives, if we delight in God’s ways, He promises to establish our steps.

These are truths worth remembering ourselves as we journey through life. If you have young family or friends in the class of 2026, perhaps you could share these with them to encourage them as they enter the big, wide unknown.

Ashlie Miller just celebrated the graduation of one of her sons. You can email her at mrs.ashliemiller@gmail.com.