I hadn’t considered myself among “the least of these” until starting over at 51 as an ex-felon working a $9/hour church janitor job and obviously exceeding the qualifications.

But the surprise of a fifty dollar bill tucked in my back pocket by a passing stranger at Christmastime was eclipsed only by the words accompanying the gesture.

“You’re making more of a difference than you know, young man.”

I’m not sure if I was more shocked being addressed as a young man or by the unexpected generosity of his acknowledgement of a stranger working a lowly invisible job during the busiest time of the church calendar.

I’d just returned from plunging a TeenTime toilet full of poop and was en route across the courtyard to a hazardous cleanup in KidKare made by two siblings who’d had bad blueberries and Alpha Bits for breakfast.

I’d like to report our encounter was an interaction but his swift disappearance into the festive crowd of evening Christmas servicegoers was as angelic as his act of kindness.

By the time I put my mop and pail to the ground and wiped my hand on my shirt to shake his hand, he was gone.

I reached into my back pocket to find the gift he’d bestowed and while $50 was a helpful blessing this time of year, his words had been of much greater value.

Invisible people are all around us.

Janitors, cashiers, clerks and other such name tags we rarely if ever read or better yet, take notice.

Doing so need not cost 50 dollars or 50 cents, but only to know the words to their song on a not so silent night that hoped someone might care enough to notice and at the very least, tell them that in this world, they’re making more of a difference than they know.

I live and will die by a list.

Being retired doesn’t reduce the length, just the content.

Now without pressures of a taskmaster or rigid deadlines I get to pick and choose how to spend the remainder of my days.

And as all the business left unfinished at the end meets with the giant eraser in the sky, I will finally be free, untethered to everything I thought ever mattered.

I set my tolerance bar high on purpose believing I might somehow convince people otherwise and that they’d eventually come around.

It’s taken way too long for me to accept the fact that it’s not my job.

In faith, culture, and politics, some folks are steadfast to fight and die for their convictions in the name of progress which I consider irrational reasons.

But they’re impervious to arguments for change.

I suppose they believe the same of mine and they would also be correct.

The difference is mine are held with vision for conserving what’s proven good for humanity, believing that history is still the wisest teacher in the room and change is only good when subject to history’s lessons.

People are different but finally realizing and accepting that harsh truth still remains sadly dissatisfying.

It’s not my job anymore.
Lesson learned.

Thoughts and prayers.

Drug dreams.

15 years clean I’m still waking up skittish and chaotic from the consequences of meth.

However rare these days, the dreams now empathize with perspectives of family members and institutions I wronged and betrayed during my decade of active addiction.

How crazy I made them all think and feel wondering what the hell was going on with me.

So I wake up, shake it off, and pray away a bad start to my day and thank God for the experience but not its effects.

No longer—by the literal grace of God—persecuted by it but thanking him for the different points of view.

More than awake,I’m awakened.
Let’s call that a blessing.

Seven months retired and I’ve never slept so much or so often in my life.

I’m re-tired at least 3 times a day and my body is taking full advantage.

I’m not traveling to exotic ports of call.

I’m not volunteering or sharing old man wisdom with disadvantaged youth.

I can’t even stay awake long enough to spend my kids’ inheritance.

I nap.
And I’m having a wonderful time.

Wish you were here.

I’ve always had a thing about the need for prayer and a responsive God, until I realized that I believe that same God became man, died for my sin, and came back to life.

Believing in the latter requires lots more faith than the former.

In the latter instance, God knew what I needed long before I did and provided the perfect solution without my request.

So to call on me to pray without knowing if it will “work” is by far more of an exercise of faith and even moreso an act of submission.

Prayer doesn’t have to “work” according to my definition but creates the climate for him to make necessary changes within me.

For years, so many people and products have promised to change my life, by now I should be the perfect shell of the man I once was.

However, the only thing I’ve found to be 100% effective in creating lasting change is free, comes with a five star rating and billions of evidence-based reviews: the life in Christ for which I’ve since become an enthusiastic ambassador.

If you want real and lasting change, settle for nothing less.

The Original Donald Stewart Miller was my own grampa who passed long before I could meet him.

Not just my namesake, OG father of Clan Miller, and originator of all nefarious Miller men’s secrets, I’m told he was an all around great guy.

So for this Father’s Day, I went up the chain a couple generations and honor the Donald Stewart Miller I never knew but who once made me a junior 65 years ago.

HappyFathersDay

“Return home and tell how much God has done for you.” So the man went away and told all over town how much Jesus had done for him.
‭‭Luke‬ ‭8‬:‭39‬ ‭NIV‬‬

It’s up to each of us to share our own personal witness how Jesus changed our life and set us free.

We are not responsible for closing the deal on someone’s salvation.

Present your personal testimony as an act of obedience and allow it to be a yeast in the transformation of another.