Ashlie Miller

By Ashlie Miller

Photos and videos of families dropping off children at college have filled my social media feed in August. Family and friends made treks to colleges near and far, tools in hand, supplies being stocked, beds and desks being assembled. There are smiles and hugs but also tears.

While releasing our children can bring bittersweet tears, tears are not necessarily the only measure of love. The heartache of this moment does not look the same for each family.

Some families rejoice in new chapters as they see their children spread their wings, while also mourning their empty nest. Perhaps the child contributed joyfully to the environment of the home. Their absence in the daily routine will be greatly felt.

Other families are almost paralyzed without their children at home. Sometimes a parent’s identity is wrapped in parenting for 18 years. While children are finding themselves at college, parents are wondering if they have to start all over, finding themselves as well.

Still, for other families, the feelings may be things they do not want to say out loud. There is a sense of guilt in being glad at the release. Maybe, like some birds that leave the nest, they dirty the nest in the months and weeks leading up to departure. “Why has she or he been acting so distant? Why is our relationship strained when it wasn’t before?” Some argue that this is a defense mechanism as these young spirits are anticipating change that they may not even be fully ready for. Others have been dirtying the nest for years – rebellion, loss of love, confusion. Many things can put a strain on relationships despite a parent’s best efforts to provide a loving environment.

Wherever you find yourself in these scenarios, here is some encouragement:

* Your child does not have to navigate this new season alone. The children of Israel were encouraged that their God would go before them as they entered the Promised Land, facing insurmountable odds. He would not leave or forsake them (see Deuteronomy 31:8). God cares for your child (and you!) as well. We can entrust our children to their Creator’s care for their physical and spiritual well-being.

* If you’re uncertain (like many parents) that you did enough to prepare them for all that is ahead of them, recall how God was faithful to His people in the Old Testament during their distressing time of exile. Through raging waters and fiery trials, He was with them (see Isaiah 43:2). We, too, are often unprepared for hard times. We can pray our students will lean into the One who loves them and can protect and direct them. (See Psalm 121 for more encouragement.)

* For those whose goodbyes were marred by a dirty-nest departure, you do not have to feel guilty about feeling peace when your child is gone for a season. Just as Jesus left His disciples with a declaration of leaving His peace with them upon His departure, He can do the same for you, even in the midst of strained relationships. He can even do the same for your child. Pray that they will know that Peace is a Person.

By Ashlie Miller

Summer may be for leisure, but this summer I did a lot of learning in the form of a small teacher – my elementary-aged daughter. It was a summer of indirectly teaching and inspiring others by just being herself.

The first observation came at the end of a vacation Bible school (VBS). As a homeschooler, she has learned to express gratitude to other teachers leading various events and learning opportunities. During a VBS at a friend’s church, she wanted to make a thank-you for volunteers who led her group. Her friend caught the excitement, and together they managed to get all the children in their group to sign a card the two of them made. Shared gratitude is a thing of beauty.

Later in the summer, she attended a week-long Christian camp that encourages memorizing several Bible verses, ready to recite on the first day of camp. They are rewarded with fun prizes and points for their teams. Needless to say, it can spur a little bit of competition for those who choose to participate. Last year, she became both the youngest and the first camper that week to complete the challenge. This year, we learned that other young girls were inspired by her determination to try, and they, too, worked hard over the summer to complete their challenges.

Even her use of idle time became fruitful inspiration. While at camp, she learned to make a simple craft using yarn and pony beads. They made so many fun creations, and upon returning home, her first request was for more supplies to make them. She spent an entire waking day making numerous creatures that she later shared with friends at the park. One of those friends had just moved back to the area, her home still filled with many unpacked boxes. Her mother sent me a text later that day with photos of beaded yarn creatures she had made after scouring the moving boxes for her craft supplies.

Nothing she has done has really been extraordinary. They are just things that have been noticed. They have been noticed because of in-person relationships, conversations, and presence. She is not worried about a social media image or branding herself. She is inspiring simply by sharing good things with people she already knows.

What are people learning from me as I live and share my life with them in person? I wonder if I have ever told those friends who have indirectly taught me just how they have impacted my thoughts and behaviors, the way I express gratitude, or even challenged me towards being artistic or productive with my idle time. Today may be a good day to let a friend know just how they have impacted you and your way of living and enjoying life.

By Ashlie Miller

Many children (and some adults) gravitate towards collecting something, particularly things found outdoors. Our cabinet of curiosities is a veritable natural history museum, housing glass containers with various seeds, nuts, feathers, butterfly wings, snake skins, old nests, and seashells. Small tubes hold sharks’ teeth or tiny gemstones sifted from buckets of dirt. There are books with pressed leaves. Then, there in the corner are the current favorite walking sticks. Each of my children has gravitated towards certain textures or specific finds, but my youngest, whose name happens to be Shepherd, loves a good walking stick. How appropriate. This love was magnified when his grandpa found a small shepherd’s crook on a mountainside and gave it to him.

Sticks are humble extensions of something grand, often victims of a storm or a rotting tree, and then released to a forest floor. While that sounds like the end of a story, the more observant and thoughtful admirers of nature see great potential.

A sturdy walking stick provides support when we are weak. On an unpaved road, knee scooters will not serve you very well. And while one can acquire telescoping aluminum poles for two-handed use on a hike, a long walking stick can still provide great assistance. On a steep hill, a stick may keep you from falling and help you steady your steps. It may even serve to help someone else by pulling them up from behind you – an extra-long arm, if you will.

Sticks are good for clearing, poking, and stoking. Clear a path ahead to avoid thorns and briars. Poke the stick down into the ground to determine whether the covered terrain is unsteady or stable. Help a fire continue to provide warmth and light by stoking it to provide more fuel and oxygen. When things are just out of reach, a good stick will knock it into place, out of the way, or sometimes get into the right position to be grasped by a hand.

Others see even more grandeur in a humble stick, envisioning clever art to whittle into the head or staff of a rod. Why have a simple walking stick when you can have a conversation piece?

It reminds me of the shepherd’s staff in Psalm 23: “Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” A rod and staff in the hand of a good shepherd is not merely a weapon or a tool of discipline, although guidance for dumb animals like sheep is a necessity to keep them safe. The staff gives support and help to needy creatures. It may clear out danger ahead or provide a sense of stability when crossing uneven terrain. Perhaps a fallen sheep can be scooped up by the crook of the staff and comforted by a warm fire tended to by his loving shepherd.

I have a Good Shepherd who serves me daily through His Holy Spirit and His Word. These helps are more than just a crutch, though those poor in spirit enough to recognize their weakness and need are indeed blessed (see the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5 in the Bible). They are my constant comforts and companions.

Do you have a good walking stick?

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.