A Precious Moment

It was a familiar feeling the day we got the notice in the mail concerning Marcus's cap and gown...apprehension. It was the first outside reminder to me that Marcus would soon graduate from Ashley Ridge High School. The little invoice for these customary tokens didn't cause me to reflect on the passing of time, or even impart to me an impression of Marcus's achievement. No, The first thought in my mind was of Marcus pulling at his gown, dropping his hat to the floor and rising up with anxiety written all over his face midway through the ceremony wishing nothing more than to be in his van and on the way home. Those of you who know me, also know of my son's, Marcus's, autism. He is on the severe end of the spectrum, and has never spoken a word in all of his 21 years. He now lives in a group home, and is a sweet and happy hand full for his caregivers.

When we arrived at the school just this evening, we saw someone quickly exiting the front of the school. He was in cap and gown and the wind was blowing his cap back as he quickly darted toward the parking lot. It was Marcus. Close behind him was a caregiver frantically trying to catch him before he darted into harms way. We couldn't help but chuckle at recognition of him. This was so like him. Ready to leave even before the families and guests had arrived. We tried to sneak into the buliding knowing that the sight of us would only add to his anxiety and confusion. We picked out the back corner of the auditorium, but some of the other special education graduates started to gather near where we were seated, so we moved in closer to the stage hoping to blend in with the crowd. Soon after, Marcus's teacher approached us a little anxiously, and we both knew there was a problem. Just as I had first thought, Marcus didn't understand why he was brought to the school during non-school hours. This disruption to his routine meant only stress to him. He was not happy with his outfit, and just wanted to go back home. His teacher asked us if it would be okay if they brought Marcus up before the the ceremony to walk the stage out of sequence. We said that would be fine. Soon after, we saw Marcus enter the auditorium wearing his cap and gown walking with his teacher. They made an announcement that Marcus would receive his certificate before the ceremony. They announced that the first graduate of the evening was Marcus Hamilton Miller. They walked him across the stage to much applause which pleased me, but probably confused him. I tried to get a photo, but everything happened so quickly that I didn't have a chance to steady and focus. He was off the stage and gone as quick as that. They then announced that the ceremony would commence in 2 minutes.

We stayed and watched the other students graduate. A couple of fellows came up and gave their very best effort in leading the pledge of allegiance. There was something sweet about it, and I felt a tear form in the corner of my eye. Isn't it funny how certain little moments so hard to predict or define can evoke such sudden emotion? One of the boys stood up and walked toward the stage making what I can only describe as happy sounds. Another fellow smiled and pumped his fist as he walked with help across the stage...again I felt that little tugging at my heart. It was a short but truly touching ceremony. Marcus didn't understand the meaning of the event, and was much happier to sit it out; still, my eyes couldn't help but wander to the empty seat on the stage where my big boy was supposed to sit.

After the ceremony, there was cake and punch in the hall. We walked out, and I looked around hoping to see where they had taken Marcus. It was now safe to see him after the ceremony and give him a congratulatory hug even if he didn't know why, but he was no where to be found. I returned to the auditorium and asked his teacher where I could find him. She apologized and said they had taken him back home. I walked back out to the foyer holding my punch but walking alone. I told Bobbi and my parents that 'Marcus had left the building.' Just my attempt to distract with funny little words that embarrassing little moisture forming in the corners of my eyes.

Marcus was a handsome boy tonight in his cap and gown. Congratulations, son.

Be Thou My Vision

On March 1st, 2010, I officially released my latest instrumental guitar project, Be Thou My Vision. It was such a treat to see the boxes arrive containing 1000 copies. I quickly opened the first box and looked over the finally finished product. Within 10 minutes, Kristin informs me that I have the word "skillful" in my thank yous mis-spelled. Come to think of it, to mis-spell a word that means full of skill is kind of ironic, isn't it? It's one of those things that can just toss a wet blanket on one's joy if permitted. I was tempted, but threw the wet blanket aside and just enjoyed the finished product.

I wanted to blog right away about the finished CD, but I wasn't really sure what to write about. I thought of recounting the joy of the process from picking out the songs to arranging and recording, but I couldn't really nail down a main point, so I waited. I'm glad I did. As an artist, a sub-creator of sorts, there is the natural tendency to question the impact of a work and maybe even harbor expectations. What will folks think of the work? Will people hear the imperfections I hear? I'm not above such thoughts, but I sort of knew they were coming, and I determined in advance that to dwell on such thoughts would undermine my heartfelt intention to glorify God alone. At first, it was a daily task to put aside those subtle little, self-centered thoughts... the nagging, persistent desire and almost need for the approval of others. As the first round of feedback returned, I fought the urge to be affected outside of due gratitude for words of encouragement. Some days I succeed better than others, but one thought has become a focal point...Be Thou My Vision. The title track, and the thought it expresses is proving a centering theme for me. If Jesus is to be my vision, then He must be my desire, my ambition, and my only hope for satisfaction. As the words of the hymn express, "naught be all else to me save that Thou art." In other words, nothing else can matter but Him. After all, it is He alone that can choose whether or not to bless and multiply.

I'm so thankful to have a product to share with folks. I'm so grateful to all the people who have encouraged me and worked with me to get something recorded, duplicated and shared. But mostly, I'm thankful that I have something akin to a few fish and a couple of loaves to give to Jesus. To be as that boy who offered his meager gift, seeing it blessed and multiplied to the glory of God, is what I desire most for this CD and for all the efforts of my life.

I'll end with the lyrics, because they say it far better than I could ever express:

Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart;

Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.

Thou my best thought, by day or by night,

Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

Be Thou my Wisdom, Thou my true Word;

I ever with Thee, Thou with me, Lord;

Thou my great Father, I thy true son;

Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.

Be Thou my battle-shield, sword for my fight,

Be Thou my dignity, Thou my delight.

Thou my soul's shelter, Thou my high tower.

Raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.

Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise,

Thou mine inheritance, now and always:

Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,

High King of heaven, my Treasure Thou art.

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High King of heaven, my victory won,

May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heav'ns Son!

Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,

Still be my vision, O ruler of all.

A Note From The Year of Our Lord, 2070

I recently read an essay that a friend wrote while she was back in high school entitled "My Life in 37 years." The point of the exercise was to imagine what her life would be like in 37 years, and write a letter in that fictional present tense describing how things had turned out. I loved the idea and the essay, and it got me to thinking what would my life be like in 37 years. Well, being 43 years old, I thought I'd stretch that date out to 60 years from now just to add a touch of certitude. The following is a note written in what shall have been the earth year 2070.

Hello friends, and past self. What a privilege and unique opportunity is for me to reach back 60 years from today and speak to you from what you might imagine to be the year of our Lord, 2070. I have one word for you: JESUS. I know you think you know the Name, but you simply cannot imagine. I'm a relative newcomer to this Kingdom. I would name some of the souls I shared company with just earlier this day, but I don't want to accidentally impress you or give you the impression that any other name even compares to the one name: JESUS.

It is hard for me to imagine the word regret from this place where I stand today, but for your benefit, I will try with HIS help. Stay with me, this is on point I assure you. One dear brother here loves me so much. In 2010, I really didn't know him, but soon after I entered this Kingdom, he came up to me and told me that it was that year when he heard me play a hymn at a restaurant one night. He was enjoying dinner with his wife, and he heard "What a Friend We Have in JESUS." He looked at me, and I didn't even know it, and he said he saw sincerity in my eyes, and somehow sensed I wasn't playing for the crowd, but to Someone else. He hadn't heard the song in years, but upon hearing it that night, something stirred within him. He didn't sleep well that night, and thought about his younger days in church while he tossed and turned. He explained to me how God's own sweet Holy Spirit called out to him over the next few weeks, and led him down a path to repentance and belief in that one name: JESUS. There are a few others here that have such a special love for me, but here is the rare moment of regret that I've asked for in order to share with you something I know to be very important. Knowing HIM like I do now, I wish for a moment I was with you in 2010 again. You see, I know HIM, and I know when and where HE's at work. There were so many chances that I did not choose to take up the cross beside HIM. Oh, if I would've only shared with them this gift, imploring with them with every breath I had to trust in the one name: JESUS. Believe me, the fear and anxiety, apathy and meaningless distractions, the potential social consequences I dreaded that kept me too often silent...I can't imagine why I ever let such vain insecurities, such foolishness come between me and what mattered most to HIM. I can't adequately express the depth of this error, but it is like choosing death over beauty, sickness over strength, cold, silent emptiness over the indescribable warmth of HIS smile. To me, the latter comes the closest to the real choice I faced.

I imagine you're curious about the place where I now live. I can't explain it in terms you'd understand, but I'll try to give you something to imagine. On earth you breathe air. Here, you are filled with the glory of HIS presence fresher than the purest air you can imagine. You're so completely filled you don't even need to breathe in to feel satisfied. He satisfies your every breath. On earth you are soothed by the sound of the ocean. Here, HIS voice is like many waters, the clearest, most beautiful music you've never heard before. On earth you think that a field of lavender or a mountainside at full autumn peak is a sight to behold. Here, the glorious light that is HIM is every moment the most beautiful sight you've never even imagined. You will not take your eyes off of HIS glory for even a moment but to serve HIS purposes, and you will return to HIM as soon as HE is pleased with your work. You probably cannot understand this, but HE is definitive beauty. You'll never again long for another sight. There is so much more, but I can no more explain them to you than you can explain colors to eyes that cannot see. Trust me, the Best is yet to come, even for me everytime I see HIM again.

I'll leave you with this. You have such a brief, yet precious, gift. You can please HIM with your faith...please, please, please do this, and do this now. Once you've seen, you can never please through faith again. The opportunity to exercise faith through the works that are pleasing to HIM is such a blessing...you cannot imagine how precious it is, and how many souls will love you deeply for it. With the time you have left on that side, seek after, love and serve what matters most to HIM with all that you are. Harvest while there is still light to work. And finally, prepare yourself...for in a moment you will all be changed. See you very soon. :)

A Dream Come True

Last Friday, I left for Nashville and met Kristin at the Hard Rock Cafe in Atlanta for dinner. I arrived at my hotel within a stone's throw of the Grand Ole Opry around midnight. I was pretty excited about my recording session, so I did find it a little difficult to get to sleep. This was my fourth trip up to Nashville to work on my 10 song, hymn CD, Be Thou My Vision. You'd think after 3 times before in the studio, that the gold records on my producer, Dave Pomeroy's wall for his work with Keith Whitley, Alison Krauss and Trisha Yearwood would be old hat, but they impress me anew everytime. Dave is a remarkable bassist with the type of personality that makes you forget he's shared the stage with Steve Winwood, Don Williams, The Chieftains and a host of other musicians of great renown and great talent. On Saturday, his attention was on li'l ol' me and my hymn project. We spent about an hour getting set up and waiting for a session musician to arrive. Around 10:00am or so, Andy Leftwich came in wearing a ballcap and carrying a fiddle and a mandolin case by his sides. Anyone who has ever listened to Ricky Skaggs' band, Kentucky Thunder has heard Andy. Ricky is one of the most respected musicians in the world for his genre of music, so the fact that Ricky, a remarkable fiddle and mandolin player in his own right, would select Andy to play fiddle and mandolin with him on the road and in the studio really says it all. In fact I've been listening to Andy for years and didn't even know it until reading the liner notes in retrospect. Andy and Dave caught up discussing a recent show that he played on the Opry stage, and talking about a recording they were working on with their all-star Nashville group, Three Ring Circle. Andy gave a listen to my title track, Be Thou My Vision, and went into the booth without a note one for reference. His tune up alone was beautiful, so I suggested he do a solo intro for my song. With almost no hesitation he nailed the concept nearly on the first run through. Dave had recorded a bass line on an earlier session, so the tune was already "complete" or so I thought. After hearing what Andy put down, I don't think I can imagine it without his fiddle...absolutely beautiful. As soon as he started, it was over and down for the record.

I thought about Dave's and Andy's talents, and about my own gift as a musician. I couldn't help but recognize the parallel between music and the Body of Christ. We're each given our own special part to contribute. Too often we don't realize our gift, our part, and too often when we do, we let it stand alone. What we have to offer may be fine by itself, but when we work within the Body, sharing our gift with the gift of others, there is a magnifying effect completing the composition in a way that lies just beyond our own vision. Together we are an orchestra, and God is our Maestro. I thank Him for conducting Be Thou My Vision last Saturday, and for allowing me to have a part in His orchestra. It is indeed a dream come true.

Remembering Scout Camp

I can't recall how many summers my old scout troop spent summer camp week atop the Windy Hill campsite at Camp Old Indian. Just thinking about the old place brings back a flood of memories. I can smell the Off insect repellent. I can see the wooden plank floors, and iron bunk beds of our adirondack in my mind's eye. Each day was spent walking up and down the paths of that Blue Ridge Mountains foothills campsite. The most pervasive memory is the dining hall. We met as a troop there only 3 times a day, but it seemed like we were always at the table together. We shared chants, yells, songs, prayers and scrambled eggs. Flag ceremonies were also important. After the bugle sounded, we called out our daily report with a smart three-fingered, boy scout salute, "Sir, Troop 102 all present and accounted for!" And we honored the flag. Then, there were the campfires and indian dancers. One of the camp staff members, Brad, I think was his name, played guitar and sang Bye Bye Miss American Pie and Cats in the Cradle. I barely remember the merit badge classes other than Andy McGaha's Wilderness Survival course, even though some might argue that working on scout skills and earning badges is the focus of scout camp. For me, it was just the event; making life-long memories with friends. Wrestling with Victor Robinson, getting "tapped out" in a ceremony for the Order of the Arrow with my life-long friend, Danny, knot tying races, and thunderstorms all are lasting memories scattered in my mind without regard to any chronological sequence. Weeks go by all through our lives, and I'm saddened a little at just how few can be recalled to memory, but then, that makes memorable times stand out. We file them under "never forget," and our minds obey.

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Last week, I added a new week to the file. Two-hundred miles south east of Camp Old Indian on Wadmalaw Island lies Camp Ho Non Wah. This was Nathan's first scout camp week, and my first as a scoutmaster. We walked trails together, made ourselves look silly with our dining hall chants, yells and songs. We weathered a fierce thunderstorm walking back to our campsite after dark in water knee deep at some points. We did the wave, and hit the beach ball at the campfires. I paddled a canoe with my hands in a leader's canoe race, and gave Nathan a little coaching with his basketry merit badge projects. Nathan earned almost 5 merit badges, but I bet he'll better remember feeding the millipede to that HUGE spider outside the scoutmasters' lounge. He'll recall the mosquito net over his bed, and the late night talkative cabin mates in his adirondack. I bet he'll better remember walking behind his scoutmaster Dad on those shaded lowcountry paths toward all those enduring adventures of scout camp life. As for me, I too will file the week under "never forget."

Memorial Day

I want to say a word of thanks to all those brave men and women who've lost life or limb giving freedom to a nation that rarely counts the costs. Their sacrifice cannot be overstated. They are the true heroes of America, and in many cases, the free world.
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This month marks the two year anniversary of my retirement from the United States Air Force where I was honored to serve for just over 20 years. On a few occasions I've had folks come up to me and thank me for my service. One morning a fellow bought me a hot tea at a Starbucks in Alexandria, VA just because I was in uniform. Another time a lady came up to me in the grocery store to thank me. The pastor of my church routinely singles out past and present military members for recognition, and I'm always proud to stand along side the others who've served. But truth be known, I've always received more from my service than I had occasion to give. Because of the US Air Force, I was able to receive an education I could not, otherwise, afford. Because of the Air Force, I've seen frost on Nebraska cornfields, the sunrise over Mt Etna in Sicily, and the sunset against the walls of the Alhambra in Spain. I've seen castles on the Rhine, fields of gold in France, and harvest moons over a southwestern desert. Because of the Air Force, I've marched before sunrise on the echoing streets of Lackland, I've trained on the friendly fields of strife at Maxwell, and I've briefed generals and sergeants in makeshift offices during time of war. I've seen a C-17 on an overseas tarmac bearing a flag draped coffin, and I taught a cadet who would join those who paid the ultimate price for our freedom. All of this, and I was able to be counted among the names of those who've served this country, and humbly have association with those who gave their life for it. Yes, I received far more than, by the grace of God, I ever had to give. .
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For those who gave more than they received, I say thanks and I remember.

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Keith H. Miller, Major, USAF (retired)

Out Like a Lamb

Okay, it's 11:24 pm on the 31st, and I'm just about out of time to post a note for March, so here it is. This month definately came in with winter's last gasp, but hopefully I'll be posting some photos of the azaleas soon. Charleston is simply at its best right now. The pear trees were snowing little white flowers all week. I have dozens of goldfinches in my backyard competing for 10 perches on two thistle feeders. The picture shows a red bellied woodpecker on my seed feeder just last week. The azaleas and wisteria are building to a crescendo, and this weekend and next week should be amazing. There are so many things going on in the world lately that give good cause for one to be very anxious, yet, God is in control. He reveals Himself to His creation, through His creation, and for the ability to see Him in these simple, beautiful ways, I am thankful.