Ashlie Miller

By Ashlie Miller

One evening this week, amid a gentle rain shower, I stretched out on the couch on our porch and drifted off to sleep to the steady lullaby. My weary body and spirit craved the refreshment of the rain. Earlier that morning, I had walked in the humidity, noticing water running off lawns into the storm drains. What a waste! Yet, the parched ground is thirsty for water, and sprinklers will have to suffice in the absence of precipitation.

The earth knows what it is like to be thirsty. But do we? Physically, I wonder. I laugh at myself upon recovering from the sounds of thermal double-wall bottles clanging with a heart-stopping shatter to the floor. I am amused and confounded by the status symbol, even among tween girls, over having multiple Stanley cups. If ever a generation lacked the sensation of physical thirst, it would be the age and culture in which we live. 

However, can you go back in time with me to a more dehydrated generation? Remember running through the oscillating sprinklers and then panting to grab a hosepipe? What about enduring PE laps or the long class that seemed it would never dismiss and gathering in front of the water fountain for your turn for a drink? We can remember being thirsty and longing for that moment around the shiny silver bowl. If you had access to a water cooler with individual cups, you were in heaven!

When was the last time you were spiritually thirsty? You woke up in the morning desperate for answers or the presence of a God. Perhaps sleep alluded you as you wrestled through the night until you flicked on a low-watt light to read a few passages from a large, well-worn book to speak peace and comfort. You set your calendar by what was happening at church. You longed for fellowship with your brothers and sisters – to worship, share hope, and hear the truth. Maybe you have never experienced the latter but long for some community and being known.

But things have changed. Life is so busy. Like grabbing the Sundrop, the extra tall latte, or a canned energy drink, you have filled your life with other things to quench your thirst and keep you moving. Self-care can mask deep hurts and spiritual thirst. Focusing on our emotional and psychological selves and taking ownership of our identity can even get in the way of quenching our souls. The mesmerizing LED screen is not filling it, nor is the constant stream of activity, workouts, or other substances. Even an educated listening ear can only sometimes get to the bottom of it or offer what will truly satisfy.

Like David in Psalms 63, let us be seekers, realizing our thirst can only be quenched in God through His Son Jesus because His “steadfast love is better than life.” What a statement! David likely wrote it in the wilderness when being hunted down mercilessly. Yet, he knew what could quench his thirst.

I still say there’s nothing quite like a gulp of cool water from a hosepipe after a strenuous activity, and there is nothing as refreshing as Jesus in my life. When have you last experienced something sustaining that is “better than life”?

Ashlie Miller and her husband, Chad, are recipients and givers of grace among their church family at Mission Bible Church in Charlotte.

By Ashlie Miller

Like many NC walkers in the summer, I try to get my steps in early – and it seems that “early” gets earlier each day with the increased humidity. Inevitably, I stop in my tracks at least a few times a week because something, usually minuscule, is stuck in my socks. There is probably a seed of some sort that I have not yet recognized, but without fail, there it is, poking through my sock onto my ankle. It is not quite the “thorn in the flesh” that the apostle Paul describes, yet it does leave me pondering.

Naturally, I pause to remove this tiny sliver and carry on so that I may enjoy—or, lately, endure—my walk. Although I almost anticipate this regular occurrence, I often attempt to press on, assuring myself that I can get accustomed to it. Perhaps I could, but I am certain that allowing it to remain will, at best, mess with my thoughts as I try to have a peaceful walk or, at worst, actually cause a scratch that I would later have to tend to.

I notice that I am prone to pick up and carry other things with me unnecessarily on my journey – worries, concerns, and anxieties. I am not always as prompt in removing them from my focus or redirecting my gaze. They begin to wear at my spirit and emotions from time to time. They can even wear on my mind, causing me to make irrational judgments or decisions if I am not careful. Does that ever happen to you? What little things seek to take over your focus, emotions, or spiritual direction? Are you pressing on, assuming you will get accustomed to these nagging worries?

Just like this little sliver slips into my socks on my walks, so do cares and worries creep into my thoughts even while listening to uplifting music and looking at the flowers that adorn my walk. The physical irritation has become a prompt for me to cast my cares on Jesus daily.

I have been reading Psalms this summer with some of my neighbors. There are several songs of ascent, which were often shared while pilgrims traveled up to Jerusalem. So many times, these Psalms point us to look up and redirect our gaze despite the obstacles along our path. On my walks, with this sliver in my shoe, with Psalms echoing into my heart both as I ponder readings and listen to Psalms set to music, I am given regular opportunities to look up to heaven and cast my cares and worries to the One who perfectly made me and perfectly cares. He can hold these for me, mold them, and remake them into trust and peace.

Have you been on any walks lately? How is the journey going? What slivers might affect your pace or focus?

Ashlie Miller walks her nearby neighborhoods in Concord, NC, usually by herself, but sometimes accompanied by her husband or one of their five children.

By Ashlie Miller

When did the idea of dependency become a weakness? Having several dependents looks good on tax forms. Having multiple children in public will get you lots of looks. But being dependent marks you as “weak.”

Besides, who can you depend on today anymore? Aren’t most of us self-obsessed, entitled consumers anyway? I am of a jaded generation with many cynical observations. 

It is easy to slip into that mindset. Many churches sit empty or near decline because of this perception. We assume that churches are filled with hypocrites that are self-centered. And some are. Some. But there is also a community unmatched by anything outside of Christ. 

I am regularly astounded upon meeting other Christians while on vacation or connecting with neighbors who are also like-minded and our ability to communicate on a level that is unlike any other relationship. We sense that we are more than passing strangers. There is a bond that connects us that is unexplainable and deeply relatable. 

My husband and pastor often says as he looks out on the church congregation, “The answer to your prayers may be sitting in the seat next to you.” I bear witness to it on many occasions. Ladies in my discipleship groups needing direction, a job, or answers for their health share their concerns. God answers their prayers through the counsel of those around them, sometimes with actual provisions. The family suffering grief, job loss, or prolonged illness and disease sees the church family rally around them with prayers, encouragement, and offers of tangible help.

It can be hard for me to admit when I need to depend on someone – trust issues, past hurts, and pride. Yet, when I share my needs, concerns, and doubts with those in the faith, I am blown away by how God meets me there. It may be with a young lady who has yet to experience anything on the path I have walked down, sitting across from me with wide eyes filled with hope, listening with empathy, and ready to remind me with verses she has read and fills her with promise. Sometimes, an older lady senses the season I am in, perhaps recalling her own time in that season, and gives me that knowing look, a hug, and a whisper. Other times, a text appears on my phone: “I am sending you a meal this week. I heard your hubby is traveling, and the week is pretty overwhelming.” Very often, the words from my pastor behind the pulpit, whom I have seen preach to himself or live the message in our home, encourage me. 

Friend, lay aside your preconceived notions that you must independently figure it all out. Even with Jesus as your guide, He regularly uses others to provide our needs materially and emotionally. And He wants to use you to help provide the needs of others. We were not meant to be an island, maybe more like an isthmus.

Ashlie Miller and her husband, Chad, are recipients and givers of grace among their church family at Mission Bible Church in Charlotte.

By Ashlie Miller

Children rarely realize the freedom and beauty of being a child until it’s too late. They are grown, adulting, and burdened with decisions and bills before they remember the joy of childhood. Do you ever relish memories of not having to decide multiple times a day what you will eat, how much sleep you should get (taking naps!), having events and experiences planned out for you, and not having to pack for them yourself? Oh, the bliss of those evenings we would arrive home late, and after having fallen asleep in the car, Mom would carry me into the house, place me on the bed, change my clothes for me, and tuck me in. She knew just what I needed. I rested in the care of her love, utterly dependent on her attending to my needs. 

This week, I reflect on my dependence upon God.

“Christianity is a crutch.” I have heard that one before; maybe you have, too. Perhaps you have even said it, boasting that you are strong enough to live without Christianity. You’ve made it this far after all, haven’t you? Then, why does anyone need Jesus?

One summer long ago, I realized how dependent I truly was and how I needed Jesus. Perhaps one could call that my “Dependence Day” – my day of salvation from myself and my sins. Resting in the arms of the One who created, saved, and sustains me enables me to trust God fully as He directs my path, making even the most crooked journey lead straight to His plan for my good and His glory (Proverbs 3:5-6). I can attest to times when my path did not look perfectly straight and neatly laid out before me, but He placed me where I needed to be in the season.

Imperfect as I am, I make mistakes, and sometimes, my journey meets trials and obstacles. But I rest assured that when my footing slips, God’s unfailing love supports me (Psalm 94:18). Wow! My Creator did not just stop with creating me and leaving me to figure it all out. He supports me lovingly. When cares of life threaten to drown me in despair, I can cast (or violently throw) them on the Lord because He cares for me (1 Peter 5:7). When I meet an onslaught of opposition, feel weak, and can’t see in the apparent darkness engulfing me, I sense my Father strengthening my heart (Psalm 73:26), fighting while I stand still (Exodus 14:14), turning darkness into light (Psalm 18:28), delivering me (Psalm 3:7), and providing a safe refuge (Psalm 16:1 – for one of MANY examples). God is also a comfort in grief, a friend in my loneliness, a good Father when I feel orphaned, a good Shepherd, a teacher, forgiving, compassionate, just, and righteous.

Having to define myself by the current culture’s values does not sustain nor fulfill me, for that is ever-changing. I am weak, and I am utterly dependent. But I rest securely dependent on Jesus. 

Have you had a “Dependence Day”? If not, how is independence going for you? It sounds like a lot of hard work. If you do have a declared day of dependence, share your journey with someone soon. Help them see the freedom in dependence!

Ashlie Miller and her husband, Chad, utterly depend on God as they raise their five children in Concord, NC.

By Ashlie Miller

Sleep away summer camp has been a rite of passage for generations now. Some of my best summer memories are from one particular camp, Ambassador Camp on Lake Waccamaw. I only had the opportunity to go 2 or 3 times, but the stays there filled my childhood with memories that have endured. Counselors like “Cousin Pamela” or “Cousin Paula” felt like aunts caring for me those weeks. The founder was affectionately called “Aunt Sara.” The cabins felt like “adventure sleeping” (Andy Griffith fans will remember Opie using that phrase) – rustic enough not to feel like home but good enough to get rest during a busy week. 

My children know silly songs I learned around the dining hall tables – “Fried ham, fried ham, cheese, and bologna…” I share stories of the themes from each week, how I learned to swim in a lake, and being awoken one night to come outside to watch fireworks. Then, there was the kangaroo court with silly judgments from made-up misdemeanors. Inevitably, one counselor would receive the penalty of a dreaded homemade shampoo of cracked eggs and other goop. 

At the time, I assumed we were remotely nestled away from civilization, with a field on the back side of the property. Stories of missionaries, like Amy Carmichael, and being caught up in island themes swept me away! Activities reserved only for camp weeks made this seem like a land of structured independence and fun. 

Last year, on a trip to the beach with a few of my children, we again drove by the Lake Waccamaw area – passed many times over the years. Not being in a rush to reach our destination, I decided THIS would be the time to stop to see if the camp still looked the same. After driving by several lake properties and homes, I missed the location entirely at first. When I pulled up to the camp, which was not in session, I could quickly recognize a few of the cabins and buildings. There was little change overall, especially in the size. But – as many recollections of the past now seem – the place seemed smaller than I somehow remembered, and it was not in a remote location but nestled among a lovely lake community.

Have you had moments like that – revisiting the old neighborhood where you rode your bike freely for seemingly endless miles only to realize it was not that big after all? But that freedom made it feel tremendous!

I find that, as an adult, my perception of things today is still that of a child. Trials find their way into my life and seem devastatingly big. Instead of fun and freeing childlike experiences, they are scary and paralyzing. Stepping back – or rather forward – I can see that they are not as big as they seemed to me at the moment. It can be embarrassing to ask others to pray for trials, especially when we compare them to what others are going through. It can feel like an insignificant request or lament to present to the Creator God. 

But nothing is too small for a big but personal God. Sure, down the road on the journey, a look in the rearview mirror may reveal that the ordeal was not larger than life. At the moment, however, it was very real and looming, yet that Big Creator met you there personally and calmed troubled waters. 

I hope this summer provides you opportunities to revisit and reminisce with fondness over simpler times and encourage you for the big, small things today. 

Ashlie Miller is mom to five children – one serving at camp all summer, three going to a camp soon, and another waiting for his turn.

By Ashlie Miller

As mentioned last week, we can sometimes overlook beautiful things around us – like the plums we did not notice growing on a tree in our yard. However, we can sometimes overlook and neglect things that do not bring beauty or no longer contribute to our lives – things that may keep us from growth, harmony, and peace. 

One of my older sons, JT, has been making the most of having a room to himself while his older brother is serving at a camp this summer. He is good at keeping his space well-organized. Still, he is also a teenager, and like many his age, his space can get cluttered with trash, things that need to be returned to their proper place, or items that no longer contribute to this stage of his life (does a 16-year-old still want the toy or shirt from 6 years ago?). While cleaning, he had an epiphany. While discussing our day during our family devotional bedtime routine, he mentioned his hard work and frustration at himself for the things that kept his room messy. He spoke of how it gave him time to ponder how little things add up and get in the way of a peaceful atmosphere. “I wonder what things I have let clutter my heart?” he commented. 

It is challenging to live a truly carefree life and not have some order, isn’t it? Sure, the idea of a carefree life may sound like living unencumbered by rules, order, limits, and responsibility, but living this way is chaotic, without peace, harmony, or true beauty. Perhaps some of the beauty in our lives is obscured by this chaos and figurative trash of worthless pursuits or past passions. We may label them as petty or trivial – “It’s just an old habit, part of my personality label, part of my past that I cling to, it has become my identity.”

What then? Well, in my son’s case, it is time to do deep cleaning, literally moving objects to discover trash and dispose of it properly. In doing so, we find treasures and delights, perhaps. But even if not, cleaning and resetting the environment makes for a new sense of purpose and restart. In the case of our heart, it can mean pruning things back, much like a plant, so that fruit can flourish or crushing besetting sins so that we can run the race unfettered by weights that pull us down (see Hebrews 12:1).

We can take a practical look at our daily surroundings to live more simply and more fully, whether it is taking out garbage or donating things that are no longer of help to us – as long as it would not be a vice for the next person. We can ask of our hearts: What do I cherish and cling to that has not been healthy for me spiritually? Is this thing drawing me closer to God and His will for me or closer to my inward self – the person I want to cultivate of my own will? In one case, we will freely rid ourselves of the vice, though it will likely be painful initially. In the other case, we will justify and reason our keeping of the clutter, which may move us towards where we think we want to go but ultimately keep us from where God wants us to be.

Are you up for the challenge? 

Ashlie Miller is busy decluttering cabinets and those “it’s never gonna happen” projects this summer. You can email her at mrs.ashliemiller@gmail.com.

By Ashlie Miller

Those who walk our neighborhood will see a nook with a red plum tree, lenten roses, a small rose bush, and butterfly bushes. It is a sweet habitat for small-winged creatures. Several years ago, a friend planted the red plum tree. Very fragile and needing support at first to protect it from wind and kids playing in the cul-de-sac, it has now grown sturdy enough for a 6-year-old boy to climb its low branches and observe from his perch. On his latest climb, he scurried down with jubilant news, “I found a berry, or a cherry, or something!” He often calls out something of noteworthy excitement to his older brothers, whose affection and approval he desperately seeks. As older brothers frequently do, they ignored his pronouncement, likely in disbelief. I walked over to see his discovery and boost his confidence. Sure enough, a cherry-sized plum hidden deep in leaves of the same hue hung from a branch. My son found one on the ground, which we dissected for closer inspection and confirmation. 

Perhaps the biggest surprise wasn’t just the bitter/tart taste but the fact that in having this tree for over six years, none of us had noticed this was a fruit-producing tree, assuming it was like a Bradford pear. Although the fruit is more for the birds than humans, we still have overlooked it. Has it been bearing fruit for a few years? Have birds been feasting before we could ever behold the plums? Or have we just not been as careful to delight in what has been there all this time? Perhaps I should ask Darrell Blackwelder, the actual plant expert around here, these questions, and maybe even then, I would be embarrassed by the answer to the latter question. 

I wonder what other delights in my everyday environment have become so familiar that I miss savoring, observing, and enjoying them. What about those birds who likely feed on those not-quite-right-for-human-consumption plums? How beautiful that their Creator supplies a fruit safely camouflaged from other creatures, namely us – a special grace for the smallest winged creatures. How much more our Creator has special grace and provisions for us! Both sinner and saint alike can enjoy much, thanks to common grace, but much sweeter nectar awaits those who make the Creator their Lord. 

My son was in a divine moment and likely will not fully appreciate it for years. Still, I could see it captivating his spirit as he shared the news of his discovery and rushed to capture the moment not with an iPhone but slowly with a drawing while sitting beneath a tree. 

Lord, may I slow down and take time to soak in the divine lessons among the seemingly common. 

Ashlie Miller can get lost for hours watching her children play outside and delight in their discoveries. You may share your discoveries with her at mrs.ashliemiller@gmail.com.

By Ashlie Miller

The frequent reader may recall my beach entries from last summer and know I relish combing the beach for all sorts of treasures. I have stories for many of them. My brother and I often send each other photos of the most significant or rarest shark tooth one of us has found. He has an excellent display of them in his home. Jars of shells, sea glass, and shark teeth adorn my bathroom counters, porch tables, and various shelves. My children have also picked up the hobby. At the end of a day on the beach, they spread out their findings and share how they discovered them. 

Earlier this year, our super middle son (the one smack in the middle of our five) revealed a seashell he had found. At first glance, I was confused about why my teen thought a broken shell with no remarkable features was worth saving. There was nothing noteworthy in the coloring or size. The shell itself was mostly broken, the sort you usually toss back upon realizing it is incomplete. Sensing my perplexity, he flipped over to the underside of the shell. Written all across the shell was a Bible verse. Though part of the verse was missing – a casualty of the sea – years of memorizing scripture brought the entire verse to mind: “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such there is no law. – Galatians 5:22-23.”

Unfortunately, the shell broke further in transport on our trip home. A little glue and thoughtfulness enabled my son to put the pieces back together. I think about that shell – the brokenness of it, yet the words allowing us to put it back together. The words “joy, kindness, gentleness, self-control” look up at us as a testimony to its journey.

Our lives can be that way, too. Some of the most beautiful people I know are more than merely resilient under challenging seasons. When storms arise, and the breakers almost shatter them, joy, kindness, peace, and more are present. Is this a natural response because of their personality? Does it just come with age, maturity, and weathering many storms? A closer look on the flip side reveals a relationship with God and an indwelling of the Holy Spirit.

The fruit of the Spirit is quite different from our natural inclinations. In Galatians 5 (verses 19-21), we see works (or evidence) of the flesh. Left to our own devices, that is what naturally displays in forms of self-obsession or self-preservation. These are the common reactions we see among most people under the stress of life. 

When I am under stress, and those breakers crash me into the rock, do I see it as a time to fall apart and lean into myself and my flesh, or does the strength of the Holy Spirit lift me from drowning in the depths of despair, rising above the waves with a message of hope? As others walk by and catch a glimpse of our real lives, recognizing there is more to it than they see on the surface, can they see a supernatural response emanating?

I am thankful for the many examples I have witnessed -the ones who never catch a break, for whom trials come in threes (or more!), yet display remarkable character and fruit.

Ashlie Miller, her husband, and their five children, look forward to days at the coast this summer to hunt for more treasures. You may contact her at mrs.ashliemiller@gmail.com.

By Ashlie Miller

Summer colors of red, white, and blue will begin to unfurl in some yards this weekend. The air will smell more deliciously charred as burgers or steaks sizzle on the grill. Many will welcome summer with Memorial Day weekend. After a grueling school year or a midyear break in work, vacation days await us just around the corner. 

Yet, Memorial Day sits there on the calendar like the stony monuments and grave markers associated with it. It is easy to carry on without a cursory glance or mention. Those who mean well but still miss the day’s significance will no doubt thank veterans – who should be thanked regularly – but fail to remember what this day means. So, the reminder that this is a day to recount significant, costly, life-ending devotion to freedom is necessary. 

In the ultimate act of selfless sacrifice, many men and women succumbed to their last battle on earth, more than figuratively. We pause to remember those whose lives were cut short on the battlefield or perhaps years after their time of sacrificial service from wounds and illnesses acquired because of duty. I think of soldiers like my father, who, after serving in the 1970s, developed fatal brain tumors, possibly as a result of deadly chemical exposure. His life was cut short – at age 33. Others have dealt with prolonged injuries leading to a slow, agonizing death.

These soldiers and military leaders counted the cost of their duty, but enrolling at such young ages, I wonder how many truly realized what they were in for. So young, many of them were still teenagers. Still, they pressed on. They served. They fought valiantly. What a privilege to recall their heroism annually on Memorial Day. 

In the book of Deuteronomy in the Bible, as Moses prepares the Israelites to enter their promised land, he recounts the journeys and battles, the losses, victories, and failures of the parents of the generation about to enter. If you are not aware or need a refresher, those entering the promised land were the children and grandchildren of those rescued from bondage in Egypt. Their ancestors were prohibited from entering because of their hardened rebellion, resulting from their disbelief in God as protector and provider.

Moses wanted the people to be keenly aware of their failures as much as their victories. After all, we each wear more battle scars than medals. Moses did not want them to forget God’s faithfulness or their own wandering heart so they would not slip into sinfulness, rebellion, and, more importantly, be far from the One Who loved them and wanted to give them the best – yes, a promised land, but also an eternal dwelling with Him. 

Remembering the heroes of the past is vital to preserving the value of what it means to be American today, not just to recall past victories and defeats as though they are myths and legends. Remembering the presence of God in our past battles – whether we won or walked away with battle scars – is crucial to our faithfulness to God. In both cases, reflecting and sharing these stories can give us courage, confidence, and hope for the next step in our journey or for those walking near us.

How will you share stories of courage and faithfulness this weekend – patriotically and spiritually?

Ashlie Miller and her husband Chad are parents to five children in Concord, NC. You may contact her a mrs.ashliemiller@gmail.com.

By Ashlie Miller

Do you have a bluebird box? I received one a few years ago. I needed to research the best place to put it, so I just set it on the back of the mailbox post, and for the last few years, it has remained there. We have witnessed several visitors over the last three years.

Sometimes, a cautious peek reveals nothing more than a nest. At other times, there is a clutch of three turquoise eggs. Sadly, some have not made it to hatchlings. Perhaps another creature preyed upon them. But there are glorious times when little chirps reveal success, and we anxiously await the weeks leading to their departure. 

This year, my watchful youngest two and I were honored to observe the stages of parents and their brood. After weaving the nest, the parents perched in the nearby crepe myrtle with anticipation. Another peek inside the nesting box revealed tightly closed eyes and mouths opened wide, hoping for a bite that mom or dad had foraged and later gray, downy babies sitting contentedly inside, getting plumper. 

Two weeks ago, as my youngest two and I made our way to the minivan, low-flying bluebirds swooped down upon us like fighter jets. We ducked for cover and ran for the van. How odd! We thought. We knew this was uncommon, so we sat and watched. Ah, the treasures that await the patient observer!

For the next 10 minutes, we witnessed parent birds encouraging the babies to launch from the nest. Leading by example, they would go through the quarter-sized hole, give a chattering pep talk, and then fly back out of their box. At other moments, perched on our house, they watched for the potential threat of the humans and predators –  darting close to the classic gold Honda Odyssey, keeping us at bay.

Finally, one little fellow found his wings. Clumsily, down onto the ground, he fell. But Mama and Papa bird chirped either encouragement or warning – which, I am not sure. Within seconds, little Junior was fluttering in the air. Success!

It could be because I have my first high school (and homeschool) graduate, but this lesson was timely. Mama and Papa prepared cautiously for our eldest’s arrival. Immature, still learning as parents, much less adults, we tried our best to provide and nurture him while he was young, to keep him fed through his teen years, and to comfort him in tumultuous times of misunderstandings, grief, broken relationships, and hard lessons. As he has finished his final homeschooling days, we must rest in our efforts to give him both caution and encouragement, probably leaning too much on caution at times because of dangers we see, have experienced personally, or allow to rule unnecessarily. We will have to continue to push him positively when things look too scary for him to face, sharing how we have done it and pointing out potential obstacles while reminding him that this great big world is awaiting his impact and contributions.

Thank you, Lord, for providing care for the little bluebirds. You see each one that falls. How much more do You love those You made in Your image? Help us to trust Your care and direction for our little fledglings. 

Now, pardon me, there appears to be another brood awaiting their turn growing up and preparing to leave the nest!

Ashlie Miller and her husband parent five in Concord, NC. You may contact her at mrs.ashliemiller@gmail.com.