There is still time left in the season to say, "Merry Christmas!" In just a few short hours, the long anticipated day will come and go, and the opportunity to greet people with these two words will settle down for an eleven month long nap.
A few years ago, I began to challenge people to say, "Merry Christmas." I had done some anecdotal analysis, and come to the conclusion that the words were losing their popularity even among Christians. They had been pushed off the scene by generic substitutes, "Happy Holidays!", "Season's Greetings!", and the like. I don't think the atheists in this part of the country are ever going to win the battle for the use of "Winter Solstice." Who can spell it?
Another personal discovery that I found interesting was the benign backlash that this greeting seemed to produce. Upon hearing, "Merry Christmas" people often responded with a mealy mouthed, and modestly mediocre, "You too!" It was a one-sided greeting to be sure. Such tepid response revealed that my effort in introducing Christ back into Christmas stirred more confusion than conviction.
Again, most of my experience for the past 35 years has been in the local church. This is a place where cradles, cantatas, candlelight carols, and crashing camels still reign supreme at this time of year. Alot of effort goes into these pageants, and programs to make sure the message is loud and clear, "Jesus is the reason for the season." Hopefully, the people they influence will get out from under the camel, go out of the auditorium with an understanding and an appreciation for what God did when He sent His Son into the world to be a Savior that could cleanse people from their sin. What a waste of time if it does not create a warm hearted desire to wish God's best on someone else this time of year with a gentle, and simple, "Merry Christmas!"
I am on my annual Christmas Crusade to challenge Christians to add two words to their vocabulary this year, and to get rid of two more. You may have already guessed what the first two words are. That's right. I encourage Christ followers to say, "Merry Christmas!" The other two words I encourage them to refrain from using are, "You too!" To say that this is an unacceptable response from someone who has been blessed may be an understatement. It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, "It is the least we can do."
Now, don't get me wrong. The spirit of this greeting is the key to its impact on the intended receiver. It is not enough to shout it out like a battle cry of defiance in the face of those who we hate for not using it. When people use it as a shout out to atheists to bully them to get with the program, it just sounds like, "Go to hell." In other words, it loses alot in the translation.
I believe the purpose of celebrating Christmas and Easter are very close to the purpose of salt and light, characteristics of the kind of followers that please Jesus so much. For people who have never had a taste of salt, a little dab with do you. For those who have been in the dark, a bright light is more blinding than illuminating. Let your greeting to those who may not share your passion be firm, and unapologetic. Let it also be graced with the reminder that, except for the grace of God you would be sitting in the dark with a bland taste in your mouth.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.
GMillerlight4U
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
THE YEAR OF TRANSITION
In the spring of 1977 my parents, Don and Libby Miller, resigned from their 11 year pastorate on Long Island, New York and moved to Fort Worth, Texas. They believed they were being led of God to begin a prayer ministry at a time when Deeper Life Conferences, Bible Conferences, Revivals and Crusades were all the rage. I remember hearing a seasoned veteran of the Texas church scene chide Dad, and tell him that he was crazy to try and conduct four day prayer conferences. He told him to stick with revivals because no one in Texas was doing prayer conferences. Dad's response was, "That is why I am going to start doing them." To Dad it seemed perfectly logical to step out on faith to do what God had called him to do.
After 34 years, and over 1000 prayer conferences, Dad's faith in God then has proven to be a safe bet today. He was a wise man to listen to the voice of God, and not the conventional wisdom of his day. You would be hard pressed to find someone in Texas who is making a difference, or making a living conducting four day revival meetings. Makes you wonder if there had been more emphasis on prayer if we might be experiencing more revival. But I digress.
During the last three and one-half decades, Mom and Dad have travelled to 48 states. The two Dakotas were the only holdouts. Still, they have crossed the borders to Canada, Mexico, Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia, the Middle East, India, South America conducting what he called Bible Based Ministries Prayer Seminar. To most people it was known as the "Don Miller Prayer Conference." He virtually gave away his little green and gold notebook on prayer, and spread it like seed corn all over the world awaiting a harvest of a new generation of prayer warriors.
Mom and Dad have ministered to missionaries, Mayans, Minnesotans, mainstream and no name churches all over the world. They have paid their own way when a church could not afford the travel expenses, and they have returned the love offering when they saw that the church needed it more than they did. Their selfless devotion to their passion for prayer has been a catalyst in the lives of many preacher boys who today are leading their churches to be a House of Prayer. What the world sees today as a revival of prayer is in no small measure a product of the prayerful perspiration of two people who have lived and developed a ministry from a small office in a 1400 sq. ft. home on the east side of Fort Worth for the past 33 years.
I will never forget staying in their home while they were on the road. When the phone would ring, it would always hold a lesson in geography. One day I handled calls from Australia, Hong Kong, England, Scotland, and a half dozen states. I often thought that in another dimension spiritual forces were at work all around that small home. It must have been a message center for angels coming to and fro carrying urgent requests for a movement of God. No wonder the word of God warns us to never despise the day of small things.
There are people who have made prayer a science and others who seem to have cornered the publishing market on the subject. Dad always kept it simple. "Prayer is the intimate communication between the Heavenly Father and His child." To him that meant that prayer was something that a person was meant to do. It was not a subject to be taught, a book to be bought, but an intimacy to be sought.
This meant that over the years Dad has been an early riser. He would begin his day sitting in his "Prayer Arbor." It was a swing, supported by a wooden frame, and topped with a fiberglass, corrugated roof. Nothing fancy. It was where he met God every morning spending the hours of 4-7 AM listening to Him, and conversing with Him. Rain or shine, cold or hot Dad was in his Prayer Arbor keeping his most important appointment for the day. He practiced what he preached and what he preached rang with the authenticity of a genuine walk with God. This was his secret. There have been those over the years who have wanted to teach his stuff, but did not have the right stuff when it came to prayerful preparation. When Dad prays it is not a performance, but a continuation of a conversation that began early in the day. When he teaches on prayer, he does not approach it as a subject but a reconnection with someone he longs to be with.
Last month, Dad met with his board of directors of Bible Based Ministries. At his request, they voted to close down their organization. It was a bittersweet moment. After 34 years of ministry a transition was going to have to take place. Don't get me wrong. Dad is still able to preach and teach, but the wear and tear of traveling has become more and more difficult for them. They have enjoyed preaching for pastors in the area who have arranged to pick them up and bring them to their church to preach. This has been a blessing for the church and for my parents.
This has been a year of transition for them, and it has become one for Dana and myself. After 20 years of praying about following this direction of our lives, we have stepped out on faith. Dana believed God was leading us in this direction over a year ago. It has taken me longer to get used to the idea of releasing the pastorate as my expression of ministry, but the time was right in July of this year. The past five months have provided me a growing sense of freedom and purpose about what is ahead. We have a growing confidence that God has called us to take up this mantle of prayer, and continue what Mom and Dad have begun. It will take on a different expression, but it will still have the main focus. We will continue to share with people that prayer is the intimate communication between the Heavenly Father and His child.
When we shared this new sense of direction with Dad, we were not surprised that he said he had felt this same leading from God for some time. When I hesitated in resigning and moving ahead with the leap of faith, he said quietly, "If God has called you to do this, you might want to think about being obedient." I'll let him share with you the commissioning that he gave us as we began this journey.
"What I have had in my heart, I have placed in your mind, and I have called on God to let it come forth from your mouth. This will mean that my ministry continues through you. There have been those who have wanted me to pass this mantle to them. They may have never asked for it directly, but I knew what they were seeking me to do. I have felt for some time that it would be you who would take on this ministry.
Since you were a child, I know God has been up to something in your life. Your mother and I were impressed to include my name in yours, Gary Don Miller. This may have been more prophetic then than we knew. It means something. It is more than a coincidence that this ministry is taken on by you, and that my name is carried on by you.
It is also interesting that you were born on a Sunday morning right after I preached, and after you were born that day I was able to return in time to preach that night. I was able to share the news with the congregation at the evening service that God had given us a son. Your ministry logo may carry a new name, but the message will be the same. The definition of prayer will always be 'intimate communication between the Heavenly Father and His child.' " Don Miller
After meeting with Dad's board, and our lawyer, Dana and I were impressed to commission this new ministry, "The Whitefield Project." God used this 18th Century preacher, 1714-1770, as a spark to ignite The First Great Awakening in America. We are praying for God to do something through us that only He will get credit for. The prayer journals of George Whitefield often called people to prayer with the reminder "Man's extremity is God's opportunity." George Whitefield
We are excited to be a part of what God is up to in the world today. Thank you Dad and Mom for believing in us, and passing this baton to us. Thank you dear friends for praying for all four of us during these days of transition. Mom and Dad will continue to preach and pray in churches that open their doors to them. Dana and I are going to spend the rest of our lives equipping couples, parents, and people of all ages and stages of life to utilize prayer as the foundation for family worship. The hope of our churches can only be built on the firm foundation of praying people who live out what they believe among those that know them best, and know them at their worst.
"The Whitefield Project" is a non-profit organization with a board of directors recognized by the State of Texas. Tax exempt status has been applied for with the Internal Revenue Service, therefore year end gifts and contributions to The Whitefield Project will be recognized as tax deductible.
If you need more information on how to schedule a "Pray2Gether" Prayer Conference, contact us at the following address or phone number. If you are interested in acquiring a DVD set of the Don Miller "Bible Based Prayer Conference" let us know. We have a limited number available for the low cost of $50.00 (price includes shipping).
Dr. Gary and Dana L. Miller
The Whitefield Project
3717 Mossbrook Drive
Fort Worth, Texas 76244
gmillerlight@gmail.com
817-975-5054
After 34 years, and over 1000 prayer conferences, Dad's faith in God then has proven to be a safe bet today. He was a wise man to listen to the voice of God, and not the conventional wisdom of his day. You would be hard pressed to find someone in Texas who is making a difference, or making a living conducting four day revival meetings. Makes you wonder if there had been more emphasis on prayer if we might be experiencing more revival. But I digress.
During the last three and one-half decades, Mom and Dad have travelled to 48 states. The two Dakotas were the only holdouts. Still, they have crossed the borders to Canada, Mexico, Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia, the Middle East, India, South America conducting what he called Bible Based Ministries Prayer Seminar. To most people it was known as the "Don Miller Prayer Conference." He virtually gave away his little green and gold notebook on prayer, and spread it like seed corn all over the world awaiting a harvest of a new generation of prayer warriors.
Mom and Dad have ministered to missionaries, Mayans, Minnesotans, mainstream and no name churches all over the world. They have paid their own way when a church could not afford the travel expenses, and they have returned the love offering when they saw that the church needed it more than they did. Their selfless devotion to their passion for prayer has been a catalyst in the lives of many preacher boys who today are leading their churches to be a House of Prayer. What the world sees today as a revival of prayer is in no small measure a product of the prayerful perspiration of two people who have lived and developed a ministry from a small office in a 1400 sq. ft. home on the east side of Fort Worth for the past 33 years.
I will never forget staying in their home while they were on the road. When the phone would ring, it would always hold a lesson in geography. One day I handled calls from Australia, Hong Kong, England, Scotland, and a half dozen states. I often thought that in another dimension spiritual forces were at work all around that small home. It must have been a message center for angels coming to and fro carrying urgent requests for a movement of God. No wonder the word of God warns us to never despise the day of small things.
There are people who have made prayer a science and others who seem to have cornered the publishing market on the subject. Dad always kept it simple. "Prayer is the intimate communication between the Heavenly Father and His child." To him that meant that prayer was something that a person was meant to do. It was not a subject to be taught, a book to be bought, but an intimacy to be sought.
This meant that over the years Dad has been an early riser. He would begin his day sitting in his "Prayer Arbor." It was a swing, supported by a wooden frame, and topped with a fiberglass, corrugated roof. Nothing fancy. It was where he met God every morning spending the hours of 4-7 AM listening to Him, and conversing with Him. Rain or shine, cold or hot Dad was in his Prayer Arbor keeping his most important appointment for the day. He practiced what he preached and what he preached rang with the authenticity of a genuine walk with God. This was his secret. There have been those over the years who have wanted to teach his stuff, but did not have the right stuff when it came to prayerful preparation. When Dad prays it is not a performance, but a continuation of a conversation that began early in the day. When he teaches on prayer, he does not approach it as a subject but a reconnection with someone he longs to be with.
Last month, Dad met with his board of directors of Bible Based Ministries. At his request, they voted to close down their organization. It was a bittersweet moment. After 34 years of ministry a transition was going to have to take place. Don't get me wrong. Dad is still able to preach and teach, but the wear and tear of traveling has become more and more difficult for them. They have enjoyed preaching for pastors in the area who have arranged to pick them up and bring them to their church to preach. This has been a blessing for the church and for my parents.
This has been a year of transition for them, and it has become one for Dana and myself. After 20 years of praying about following this direction of our lives, we have stepped out on faith. Dana believed God was leading us in this direction over a year ago. It has taken me longer to get used to the idea of releasing the pastorate as my expression of ministry, but the time was right in July of this year. The past five months have provided me a growing sense of freedom and purpose about what is ahead. We have a growing confidence that God has called us to take up this mantle of prayer, and continue what Mom and Dad have begun. It will take on a different expression, but it will still have the main focus. We will continue to share with people that prayer is the intimate communication between the Heavenly Father and His child.
When we shared this new sense of direction with Dad, we were not surprised that he said he had felt this same leading from God for some time. When I hesitated in resigning and moving ahead with the leap of faith, he said quietly, "If God has called you to do this, you might want to think about being obedient." I'll let him share with you the commissioning that he gave us as we began this journey.
"What I have had in my heart, I have placed in your mind, and I have called on God to let it come forth from your mouth. This will mean that my ministry continues through you. There have been those who have wanted me to pass this mantle to them. They may have never asked for it directly, but I knew what they were seeking me to do. I have felt for some time that it would be you who would take on this ministry.
Since you were a child, I know God has been up to something in your life. Your mother and I were impressed to include my name in yours, Gary Don Miller. This may have been more prophetic then than we knew. It means something. It is more than a coincidence that this ministry is taken on by you, and that my name is carried on by you.
It is also interesting that you were born on a Sunday morning right after I preached, and after you were born that day I was able to return in time to preach that night. I was able to share the news with the congregation at the evening service that God had given us a son. Your ministry logo may carry a new name, but the message will be the same. The definition of prayer will always be 'intimate communication between the Heavenly Father and His child.' " Don Miller
After meeting with Dad's board, and our lawyer, Dana and I were impressed to commission this new ministry, "The Whitefield Project." God used this 18th Century preacher, 1714-1770, as a spark to ignite The First Great Awakening in America. We are praying for God to do something through us that only He will get credit for. The prayer journals of George Whitefield often called people to prayer with the reminder "Man's extremity is God's opportunity." George Whitefield
We are excited to be a part of what God is up to in the world today. Thank you Dad and Mom for believing in us, and passing this baton to us. Thank you dear friends for praying for all four of us during these days of transition. Mom and Dad will continue to preach and pray in churches that open their doors to them. Dana and I are going to spend the rest of our lives equipping couples, parents, and people of all ages and stages of life to utilize prayer as the foundation for family worship. The hope of our churches can only be built on the firm foundation of praying people who live out what they believe among those that know them best, and know them at their worst.
"The Whitefield Project" is a non-profit organization with a board of directors recognized by the State of Texas. Tax exempt status has been applied for with the Internal Revenue Service, therefore year end gifts and contributions to The Whitefield Project will be recognized as tax deductible.
If you need more information on how to schedule a "Pray2Gether" Prayer Conference, contact us at the following address or phone number. If you are interested in acquiring a DVD set of the Don Miller "Bible Based Prayer Conference" let us know. We have a limited number available for the low cost of $50.00 (price includes shipping).
Dr. Gary and Dana L. Miller
The Whitefield Project
3717 Mossbrook Drive
Fort Worth, Texas 76244
gmillerlight@gmail.com
817-975-5054
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Happy Birthday MOM
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! 90 YEARS OLD TODAY! Thank you for letting us share this great day with you. This is a huge celebration for you and your entire family and we are grateful that we get to share it with you!
Dana and I wanted to share some things about you that have had a great impact on us. We are grateful for...
Dana and I wanted to share some things about you that have had a great impact on us. We are grateful for...
- Your courage to face the unknown with a look to the future that God has in store for you.
(One of my favorite stories about you is the train trip you made by yourself from Monroe, Louisiana to Orlando, Florida. You left your mom and dad at home, and you boarded a troop train loaded with rowdy soldiers right in the middle of WW II. You traveled to another state, planned a wedding and married your fiancee without a parent to stand with you on the special day. You and Dad have always made a great team, and the 66 years of marriage that you have shared is a treasure to us all.)
- Your support that you have shown to your husband. You have been an example to us of a wife who knows what it means to love in sickness and in health.
(I will never forget the way you ministered to Dad during his two year battle for life after his emergency surgery in 1975. You endured the relentless round of surgeries, and prolonged recovery with a gentle grace under fire. Since 1997 you have been the tireless care giver who organizes the endless doctor visits and keeps him on track with the right medications. You are an inspiration to us at this time in our lives. )
- Your extended family that you have shared with us.
(You have so many sons and daughters in the ministry, and we have always been proud to introduce our friends and church families to you. They all end up calling you Momma. I'm not sure I am in the will, but I am confident that a few of them are. This might be an awkward time to mention it, but we need to talk about that power of attorney thing later today.)
- Your love that you have expressed to your children that has allowed God to take them on different paths, but has always provided an open door that has let them come back home.
(I know you have said over the years that you loved us all the same, but I still think that you loved Joy the best. I can't help but bring up that painful issue about moving Joy to Baylor. You influenced our workaholic Dad to make a two week trip out of it. He loaded the VW van, and pulled a U-Haul trailer filled with girly type stuff to Waco. For days you set up her room on the sixth floor of Collins Hall with carpet, curtains and comforter. It was a revelation to me that the love for a daughter was different than a mother's love for a son. Three years earlier, I had left New York in my 1966 Renault to head to Waco. I remember you waving from the porch as I pulled out the driveway. The pain still lingers, but even my therapist says I have to move on.)
- Your gift of writing.
(Mom, you may not believe this but you are a great communicator, and your letters are a treasure. I always loved getting a letter from you. Whether I was at college, overseas or on assignment in a faraway state, your letters were always a tremendous encouragement. You have the ability to make great scriptural application, and current events read like an action novel. Thank you for shedding the light when we were in some pretty dark places.)
- Your adventurous spirit.
(I remember driving you and Dad across the Serengeti plains in a Land Rover. There were no roads that we could recognize and the terrain had been torn up by migrating herds of antelope. It was rough! I found out later that you had undergone gall bladder surgery just a few days before you left the States. That was when surgery was done with a knife and not a scope. You were determined to go to East Africa, and not let a "little" pain get in your way. When the dictionary prints the term "steel magnolia" your picture is right by the definition.)
- Your sanctified sanity that keeps a gentle rein on the divine designs of the men of this family.
(Mom, you have always buzzed around a conversation between Dad and I and acted like you weren't eavesdropping. The worst kept secret in our family is the fact that you can hear a mouse burp in the next room. Nothing ever gets by you. I remember Dad and I talking one day about getting a piece of land on a mountain in Vermont, and either building a cabin or refurbishing an older home. We thought it would make a great home place for the family. You were doing what you always do in the kitchen while we were talking at the table, kinda moving around. In one smooth move you glided by the table and injected these words of wisdom with your soft Mississippi drawl, "God called me this far north, and I was obedient to His call. He never said anything about wintering in Vermont. This is as far north as I go unless God speaks to me about it." I don't think Dad and I have used the word Vermont in a sentence in 35 years. The older I get the happier I am that we are wintering in Fort Worth this year. Thanks Mom!)
- Your refusal to yield to the temptation to retire.
(You and Dad keep reinventing yourselves by reinvesting in people. I am so grateful for the example that you have given us that a genuine a ministry is focused on the love of God, and it will always express itself in a love for people. This kind of ministry does not have an expiration date on it, and is not carried out by clock watchers. You have a way of finding people who are in need of a dose of Jesus, and you always carry in your bag just what the doctor ordered.)
Dana and I love you so much, and are so happy to be able to wish you a very Happy Birthday. We are bringing our fire department gear to the lighting of the candles. Let's Party!
Love,
From your Favorite Son and the Wife He didn't deserve,
Gary and Dana
Friday, December 10, 2010
"A Half Marathon" - Part III
December 6th is Ashley's birthday. This forever changed how Dana and I looked at Christmas. We always enjoyed the Christmas Season, but having a child of our own made it so much more meaningful. Dana always has the house decorated before Ashley's birthday and the celebration of birthday and Christmas keep us very busy the whole month long. Dana loves it. She is the Czarina of Christmas and decorates our home with a personal touch that always changes a little bit from year to year, but has her look all over it.
This year, my daughters added another tradition to our Christmas celebration. Ashley and Allyson wanted me to run the White Rock Half Marathon with them. It sounded like a great idea in July, but the night before the race, I was beginning to wonder what I had gotten myself into. I have to admit that where my daughters are concerned, I am one walking "YES" and I wouldn't have thought about letting them down. They had both trained so hard, and they were up for the challenge.
I had run "The Rock" back in 1995. That year I ran the full marathon, 26.2 miles. I had trained for five months, and logged over 500 miles, and competed in several serious preliminary races to condition my body for the event. Nothing prepared me for the 17 degree weather that greeted us that morning in Downtown Dallas. It warmed up to 19 degrees by the time we hit the run around White Rock Lake, but by that time the core of my body was feeling the chill. When I hit the wall, it was really an iceberg. I finished the race with the help of Dana. She met me at different intervals, and ran close to seven miles with me. She filled in for my training partner, Steve Simpson. Just before race day Steve developed kidney stones and could not run the marathon. He was courageous enough to start it with me, but after a mile or two I was alone with my thoughts for most of the day. Thank God for Phil Whittington who met me a few yards short of "The Wall" or 20 mile mark. He talked me through the final 6.2 miles to the finish line. Steve Simpson slipped in and ran the last few yards with me. We had been through too much together to miss out on the final steps of the race as partners. It was a great day, but it took its toll on me. The cold lingered in my body, and I couldn't get warm. I had to lead out in a Christmas service that night, and when I saw pictures I didn't recognize myself. It caused me to often say, I ran two marathons in one day...my first and my last!
With this experience under my belt, I knew what I was up against, and knew most of it was mental. I asked God to allow me to finish this race in good enough shape to continue my journey to health and fitness. I have lost 70 plus pounds since February, but I was still not pleased with my conditioning. I just did not want to fail to finish and end up with an injury that would impede my fitness regimen for the new year. It was a tall order, but God answered my prayer.
Dana and I picked up our daughters at 6:30 AM Sunday morning and drove to Fair Park in Dallas, Texas. We drove past a long line of motorists trying to get to the Fairgrounds. Traffic was backed up on I-30 for miles. I was fortunate to have been raised just a block from the State Fair of Texas. I knew back streets and access that got us ahead of the crowd, and Dana had talked her way into a VIP parking pass. By 7:30 PM we were in position, and ready for the 8 AM start. With over 22,000 runners, the staggered starts began closer to 8:10 AM but my heat did not get going until 8:45 AM. Unfortunately the girls were in a different starting group, so I was on my own again. This was fortunate for them, and not so bad for me.
I ran through areas of Dallas that marked the earliest stages of my life. The course took me past Gaston Avenue Baptist Church and Craig's Chapel. This is where I attended the Dallas Pastor's Conference with my father when he was President of that great group of men. He introduced me to the pastors that day, and Dr. W.A. Criswell took the time to give me a personal word of encouragement. I went by Baylor Hospital where I was born, and through Turtle Creek where my father took me to fish. I passed by old churches that I recognized by their names that I had seen on fast pitch softball teams I had competed against as a teenager.
In this day of perpetual and inescapable communication, we were able to find out that Jeff Sadler crossed the finish line in 1 hr and 9 minutes. I was at mile marker #5 when he did it. I was pleased to learn he was a Senior at Baylor University and a member of the Cross Country and Track and Field Team. Since the race, we have become friends on Facebook and reconnected with his college coach, Danny Brabham. He was my roommate at Baylor when we were both on the track team and living in Martin Hall. Danny was an All American at Baylor. My own athletic career reads more like a Greek tragedy.
I was feeling no pain until mile nine, and then I realized that I had been separated from the food supply that Dana had prepared for me. My quads (upper legs) were on fire and threatening to cramp up. When that happens the race is over no matter how much energy and wind I have left. I saw a little bakery up ahead, and ran in and took my place in line. I was a little conspicuous, but I was able buy a banana and apple and get back on the road without too much delay. As soon as I wolfed these down, and swallowed the rest of my liquid B-12, I was good to go.
The pain in my legs went away, but I was soon nagged by a blister on my right foot. This small irritation felt like a hot poker, and was starting to bother me. It played with my mind until I heard, a loud, "Slap!...Slap!...Slap!...Slap!" coming from over my left shoulder. I soon saw a young lady running with a dog on a leash. She had one good leg, and a metal prosthesis on the other. She was running faster than me! She had to stop occasionally to adjust the attachment to her leg, but she was motoring.
That along with plenty of other visible examples of inspirational people overcoming their own challenges pretty much ended any whining I had intended to replay to myself over the blister issue. I decided to focus on getting to the finish line, and enjoying what was left of the race.
I started noticing the signs people were holding, and the songs that the bands were playing.
A few of my favorite signs were...
This year, my daughters added another tradition to our Christmas celebration. Ashley and Allyson wanted me to run the White Rock Half Marathon with them. It sounded like a great idea in July, but the night before the race, I was beginning to wonder what I had gotten myself into. I have to admit that where my daughters are concerned, I am one walking "YES" and I wouldn't have thought about letting them down. They had both trained so hard, and they were up for the challenge.
I had run "The Rock" back in 1995. That year I ran the full marathon, 26.2 miles. I had trained for five months, and logged over 500 miles, and competed in several serious preliminary races to condition my body for the event. Nothing prepared me for the 17 degree weather that greeted us that morning in Downtown Dallas. It warmed up to 19 degrees by the time we hit the run around White Rock Lake, but by that time the core of my body was feeling the chill. When I hit the wall, it was really an iceberg. I finished the race with the help of Dana. She met me at different intervals, and ran close to seven miles with me. She filled in for my training partner, Steve Simpson. Just before race day Steve developed kidney stones and could not run the marathon. He was courageous enough to start it with me, but after a mile or two I was alone with my thoughts for most of the day. Thank God for Phil Whittington who met me a few yards short of "The Wall" or 20 mile mark. He talked me through the final 6.2 miles to the finish line. Steve Simpson slipped in and ran the last few yards with me. We had been through too much together to miss out on the final steps of the race as partners. It was a great day, but it took its toll on me. The cold lingered in my body, and I couldn't get warm. I had to lead out in a Christmas service that night, and when I saw pictures I didn't recognize myself. It caused me to often say, I ran two marathons in one day...my first and my last!
With this experience under my belt, I knew what I was up against, and knew most of it was mental. I asked God to allow me to finish this race in good enough shape to continue my journey to health and fitness. I have lost 70 plus pounds since February, but I was still not pleased with my conditioning. I just did not want to fail to finish and end up with an injury that would impede my fitness regimen for the new year. It was a tall order, but God answered my prayer.
Dana and I picked up our daughters at 6:30 AM Sunday morning and drove to Fair Park in Dallas, Texas. We drove past a long line of motorists trying to get to the Fairgrounds. Traffic was backed up on I-30 for miles. I was fortunate to have been raised just a block from the State Fair of Texas. I knew back streets and access that got us ahead of the crowd, and Dana had talked her way into a VIP parking pass. By 7:30 PM we were in position, and ready for the 8 AM start. With over 22,000 runners, the staggered starts began closer to 8:10 AM but my heat did not get going until 8:45 AM. Unfortunately the girls were in a different starting group, so I was on my own again. This was fortunate for them, and not so bad for me.
I ran through areas of Dallas that marked the earliest stages of my life. The course took me past Gaston Avenue Baptist Church and Craig's Chapel. This is where I attended the Dallas Pastor's Conference with my father when he was President of that great group of men. He introduced me to the pastors that day, and Dr. W.A. Criswell took the time to give me a personal word of encouragement. I went by Baylor Hospital where I was born, and through Turtle Creek where my father took me to fish. I passed by old churches that I recognized by their names that I had seen on fast pitch softball teams I had competed against as a teenager.
In this day of perpetual and inescapable communication, we were able to find out that Jeff Sadler crossed the finish line in 1 hr and 9 minutes. I was at mile marker #5 when he did it. I was pleased to learn he was a Senior at Baylor University and a member of the Cross Country and Track and Field Team. Since the race, we have become friends on Facebook and reconnected with his college coach, Danny Brabham. He was my roommate at Baylor when we were both on the track team and living in Martin Hall. Danny was an All American at Baylor. My own athletic career reads more like a Greek tragedy.
I was feeling no pain until mile nine, and then I realized that I had been separated from the food supply that Dana had prepared for me. My quads (upper legs) were on fire and threatening to cramp up. When that happens the race is over no matter how much energy and wind I have left. I saw a little bakery up ahead, and ran in and took my place in line. I was a little conspicuous, but I was able buy a banana and apple and get back on the road without too much delay. As soon as I wolfed these down, and swallowed the rest of my liquid B-12, I was good to go.
The pain in my legs went away, but I was soon nagged by a blister on my right foot. This small irritation felt like a hot poker, and was starting to bother me. It played with my mind until I heard, a loud, "Slap!...Slap!...Slap!...Slap!" coming from over my left shoulder. I soon saw a young lady running with a dog on a leash. She had one good leg, and a metal prosthesis on the other. She was running faster than me! She had to stop occasionally to adjust the attachment to her leg, but she was motoring.
That along with plenty of other visible examples of inspirational people overcoming their own challenges pretty much ended any whining I had intended to replay to myself over the blister issue. I decided to focus on getting to the finish line, and enjoying what was left of the race.
I started noticing the signs people were holding, and the songs that the bands were playing.
A few of my favorite signs were...
- "Run like you stole it!"
- "Run On Complete Stranger!"
- "I Love Holding Signs!"
- "Pain is just the feeling of weakness escaping!"
I ran over to the guy holding the "Complete Stranger" sign and said, "I have been looking for you the whole race, we need to meet!" He was really surprised, and acted like he was glad to meet me.
The race finally ended, and it did not bother me that I was way behind my awesome daughters. They did so well. I was so proud of them, and not just a little pleased with myself. I didn't finish last, and I was passing people at the end. I was able to recover from my soreness and begin running again by Wednesday. I reached my personal goals, finishing the race, avoiding injury and sharing a great experience with my daughters on a beautiful day. We are already planning to enter another half marathon in March.
What a difference a year makes. A year ago Dana and I were in Fayetteville, Arkansas and she was recovering from her final surgery for breast cancer. 2010 has been a year of recovering our health and repositioning ourselves for ministry. We are grateful to be closer to our daughters, our parents, and our friends who have prayed for us for years. We look forward to 2011 with an expectation that God is up to something great in this world, and we are privileged to play a small part in it.
GMillerLight4U
A Heroine: Part II
I know some of my more conservative friends may have to leave the room as I write this, but I have to say that I am moved by the passing of Elizabeth Edwards. Her life was cut short by breast cancer, a disease that hit very close to our home in March 2008.
It is amazing how breast cancer can create an affinity and an appreciation for someone that you have never met. I have been aware of this monster for some time, but until Dana was diagnosed with it, it seemed more like a scary ghost story than a raging beast screaming in your face. Watching the daily reminders of her six year struggle with breast cancer is like ice water in the face. It is a wake up call not to take any day we share together for granted.
In April of 2008 my daughters, Ashley and Allyson, invited us to see them run in a Race for the Cure being held in Downtown Fort Worth. Ashley's company, "InProv of Southlake" had volunteered to run as a team in honor of Dana. We were the one's who were honored. We went to the race to thank them for their encouragement. When we arrived we were stunned by the thousands of people who were running or observing this race. It was a huge snapshot of what is happening to people all over the world, but especially in the United States. It is still a revelation to me how invasive this disease has been to so many people, and the fraternity/sorority atmosphere that exists between complete strangers who are connected by only the joint experience of the fight.
Elizabeth Edwards and I probably would not have a great deal in common if it were not for the trauma and the drama of breast cancer. That is just the point of my reference to her today. I was impressed by her courage and calm in the face of the circus that surrounded her contest with cancer. Her life had been marked by great achievement and staggering losses. The death of her son left a hole in her heart, and a scar on the soul of her husband. It is very likely that this was something that neither she or her husband ever fully overcame.
Then in the middle of her battle with breast cancer, her husband fathers a child out of wedlock. This kind of heartless, faithlessness is an anathema to the sanctity of marriage at any time, but it took on an even more brutal callousness when it was done to a woman who needed a husband to stand with her. At one of the most vulnerable times of her life, he chose to focus on his own needs and satisfy his own ego inviting another woman to take the place of his wife.
Crisis reveals character. It does not create character, it just peels away the thin gauze of pretense and exposes what has been there all the time. This is what makes the silo system of leadership analysis so bankrupt. For far too long the mantra has been, "A person's private life should not disqualify them from public service." Apparently we are meant to believe that the silo that is empty of character in one's private life stands alone, and does not impact the conduct of business in one's public life. Are you kidding me? We are who we are when we think no one is watching.
Public men are constantly being exposed for hiding shabby private lives. Preachers, politicians, priests, and pagans all have been outed, but nothing seems to ever change. Revealing them for the cheating scoundrels that they are may scare another man's pants on him for a while, but the question can always be asked, "Who's next?" They are already lining up for their 15 minutes of infamy. I saw another one on TV last night. The script is always the same. I was weak. I'm only human. I blame myself. I accept responsibility, but I still want to keep my job, position, pastorate, TV show, or whatever. My bad. No harm no foul. Consenting adults. Nobody's perfect. Gotta move on. Love ya, see ya, bye ya.
If character and conduct do not matter, then what is the big deal? Why is scandal and infidelity still news? Why does the National Inquirer chase down John Edwards at a hotel as he was trying to meet with the mother of his child. It is closer to the truth to say that lack of character does matter a great deal when there is a news cycle to meet.
Back to the story of "A Heroine." Elizabeth Edwards remains a heroine in my eyes for her six year fight against breast cancer, and the dignified way she tried to keep things as normal as possible for her children in the face of enormous obstacles. Her unfaithful husband showed up at her death bed as she took her last breath on this earth. He doesn't deserve a medal for doing so. He showed up for his wife's surrender, but he was AWOL in the middle of the fight of her life. If he had been a private in the Army, he would have been put in the stockade or military prison for treason. As it stands, he thought of himself as worthy of being the future Commander in Chief of a nation even when he was a genuine coward at home.
Stress is a powerful fuel for cancer cells. Elizabeth Edwards had plenty of it in her last days. Most of it was inflicted by those closest to her. For whatever additional stress this man put on his wife while she was struggling against a powerful enemy, he remains accountable to God. He took vows to honor and to protect his wife in 1977. The calendar and cancer had transformed Elizabeth from a beautiful young lady to a battle scarred warrior. What should have inspired him turned him to the arms of another person who promised to meet his needs. His focus of his life had always been on himself, and when the prolonged battle with cancer took its toll on the one he had pledged to stand by in sickness and in health, he did not rise to meet the challenge. Promises are always harder to keep than they are to make. That is why politicians are better at making them than keeping them. It takes character to do the right thing when there is nothing in it for you.
As Dana and I complete the third year of our fight against breast cancer, I am more appreciative of those who are veterans in this unending war. Elizabeth Edwards deserved better than she received from her husband. She is a heroine who has overcome the worst life brought her way, and faced death with a calm and peace that held no fear for her. I want to make sure that I learn from her husband's failure and take my game to the next level to be the support and the pillar my wife needs. To every husband out there, regardless of the situation you may find yourselves, do you really need a better reason to be a better man. Man up. You promised her you would!
GMillerLight4U
It is amazing how breast cancer can create an affinity and an appreciation for someone that you have never met. I have been aware of this monster for some time, but until Dana was diagnosed with it, it seemed more like a scary ghost story than a raging beast screaming in your face. Watching the daily reminders of her six year struggle with breast cancer is like ice water in the face. It is a wake up call not to take any day we share together for granted.
In April of 2008 my daughters, Ashley and Allyson, invited us to see them run in a Race for the Cure being held in Downtown Fort Worth. Ashley's company, "InProv of Southlake" had volunteered to run as a team in honor of Dana. We were the one's who were honored. We went to the race to thank them for their encouragement. When we arrived we were stunned by the thousands of people who were running or observing this race. It was a huge snapshot of what is happening to people all over the world, but especially in the United States. It is still a revelation to me how invasive this disease has been to so many people, and the fraternity/sorority atmosphere that exists between complete strangers who are connected by only the joint experience of the fight.
Elizabeth Edwards and I probably would not have a great deal in common if it were not for the trauma and the drama of breast cancer. That is just the point of my reference to her today. I was impressed by her courage and calm in the face of the circus that surrounded her contest with cancer. Her life had been marked by great achievement and staggering losses. The death of her son left a hole in her heart, and a scar on the soul of her husband. It is very likely that this was something that neither she or her husband ever fully overcame.
Then in the middle of her battle with breast cancer, her husband fathers a child out of wedlock. This kind of heartless, faithlessness is an anathema to the sanctity of marriage at any time, but it took on an even more brutal callousness when it was done to a woman who needed a husband to stand with her. At one of the most vulnerable times of her life, he chose to focus on his own needs and satisfy his own ego inviting another woman to take the place of his wife.
Crisis reveals character. It does not create character, it just peels away the thin gauze of pretense and exposes what has been there all the time. This is what makes the silo system of leadership analysis so bankrupt. For far too long the mantra has been, "A person's private life should not disqualify them from public service." Apparently we are meant to believe that the silo that is empty of character in one's private life stands alone, and does not impact the conduct of business in one's public life. Are you kidding me? We are who we are when we think no one is watching.
Public men are constantly being exposed for hiding shabby private lives. Preachers, politicians, priests, and pagans all have been outed, but nothing seems to ever change. Revealing them for the cheating scoundrels that they are may scare another man's pants on him for a while, but the question can always be asked, "Who's next?" They are already lining up for their 15 minutes of infamy. I saw another one on TV last night. The script is always the same. I was weak. I'm only human. I blame myself. I accept responsibility, but I still want to keep my job, position, pastorate, TV show, or whatever. My bad. No harm no foul. Consenting adults. Nobody's perfect. Gotta move on. Love ya, see ya, bye ya.
If character and conduct do not matter, then what is the big deal? Why is scandal and infidelity still news? Why does the National Inquirer chase down John Edwards at a hotel as he was trying to meet with the mother of his child. It is closer to the truth to say that lack of character does matter a great deal when there is a news cycle to meet.
Back to the story of "A Heroine." Elizabeth Edwards remains a heroine in my eyes for her six year fight against breast cancer, and the dignified way she tried to keep things as normal as possible for her children in the face of enormous obstacles. Her unfaithful husband showed up at her death bed as she took her last breath on this earth. He doesn't deserve a medal for doing so. He showed up for his wife's surrender, but he was AWOL in the middle of the fight of her life. If he had been a private in the Army, he would have been put in the stockade or military prison for treason. As it stands, he thought of himself as worthy of being the future Commander in Chief of a nation even when he was a genuine coward at home.
Stress is a powerful fuel for cancer cells. Elizabeth Edwards had plenty of it in her last days. Most of it was inflicted by those closest to her. For whatever additional stress this man put on his wife while she was struggling against a powerful enemy, he remains accountable to God. He took vows to honor and to protect his wife in 1977. The calendar and cancer had transformed Elizabeth from a beautiful young lady to a battle scarred warrior. What should have inspired him turned him to the arms of another person who promised to meet his needs. His focus of his life had always been on himself, and when the prolonged battle with cancer took its toll on the one he had pledged to stand by in sickness and in health, he did not rise to meet the challenge. Promises are always harder to keep than they are to make. That is why politicians are better at making them than keeping them. It takes character to do the right thing when there is nothing in it for you.
As Dana and I complete the third year of our fight against breast cancer, I am more appreciative of those who are veterans in this unending war. Elizabeth Edwards deserved better than she received from her husband. She is a heroine who has overcome the worst life brought her way, and faced death with a calm and peace that held no fear for her. I want to make sure that I learn from her husband's failure and take my game to the next level to be the support and the pillar my wife needs. To every husband out there, regardless of the situation you may find yourselves, do you really need a better reason to be a better man. Man up. You promised her you would!
GMillerLight4U
A Hero, A Heroine and a Half Marathon: Part I
A short time ago, I had a blast from the past posted on my Facebook page. Deanna asked if it would be possible for Dana and I to meet her and her parents for a cup of coffee. I knew this young lady when she was an MK (Missionary Kid) in East Africa. I was privileged to serve with her family on the Tukuyu Station nestled in the rain forest of the Southern Highlands of Tanzania. Her parents, Eucled and Janelle, were a great encouragement to me, and I shared many meals with them in their home before they moved their family to the Baptist Seminary in Arusha. I jumped at the chance to reconnect with one of my heroes. There is always a Starbucks close enough to meet up with old friends.
Eucled Moore was a great missionary. He applied himself to learn the language, and became one of the premier communicators of the Baptist Mission of East Africa. He served as a field evangelist, a Bible School Principal, and a professor at the Baptist Seminary. His last assignment was that of director of the language school for new missionaries. He was highly respected by his peers and the people of East Africa. These two achievements are not mutually exclusive, but were no easy accomplishment. Missionary relationships are often afflicted with the "too many chiefs and not enough Indians" mind set, and the local people you are serving are expecting you to work yourself out of a job, and leave your nice house to them. It is a challenging work environment to say the least.
I remember Eucled as a crack shot, and I enjoyed hunting with him on the flats outside of Rungwe District. I was with him when he brought down an Eland. I soon discovered that the thrill of the hunt passes very quickly, and that it takes days to carve a carcass the size of a Brahma bull into freezer sized packages of meat. It almost turned me into a vegetarian. I think it took me a week before I could even look at a piece of meat. I recall on another occasion hanging two Zebras from his carport and butchering them with a kitchen knife. I had a whole new respect for the guy behind the meat section of the Piggly Wiggly.
Eucled was a master carpenter and a wizard on a lathe. He would often work with the exotic, unnamed woods the rain forest supplied and turn out beautiful furniture, dominoes and chess pieces. One of my prized possessions is a gavel that came out of his wood shop in Tukuyu.
What I remember best about Eucled is his listening ear. I was new to the journey, and I was finding my way into the Presence of God, as I responded to the calling that He had given me. I had alot of questions, made alot of mistakes, but could always count on Eucled to provide a listening ear, and wise counsel. He had a quick wit, a musical talent, and a great family that he shared with me while I was a single guy fresh out of college. I will never forget the hospitality that he and his family offered to me. I was treated like one of the family. To this day we can pick up where we left off in a conversation, even if years have interrupted the opportunity for continuous communication.
One of the hazards of my work in East Africa was the constant threat of malaria. Working in the high altitudes of the Rungwe and Njombe mountains of Tanzania kept it at bay most of the time. However, when I had to travel to the Lake Nyasa region to check on one of the churches I was building, I became a victim. My first experience with this disease was pretty frightening. I lived alone, and for two days, I was trapped in my bed racked with raging fever, and freezing spasms. The yo-yo effect of the ebb and flow of fever and shakes left me too weak to get up and to go get help. I heard Eucled's voice outside my small living quarters calling my name. At first I thought I was hallucinating, but the sound grew louder and more persistent. Eventually he broke into my house and found me. It was not a pretty sight. He didn't panic. He looked at me with his best "42 Face."
For the uniformed, "42" is a domino game that makes Texas Hold Em poker look like "Go Fish" when it is played by rabid missionaries plowing their way through a tournament. One of the marks of passage in my life was being selected by Eucled to be his partner. This meant he placed great confidence in your ability to play the game, or it meant the person next to you was worse than you were. I always liked to think that I had measured up a little bit in his eyes.
With a matter of fact voice, Eucled said, "You've got it now. Makes you feel like you are going to have to die to get better doesn't it?" His calm in the midst of my storm gave me the courage to believe I was going to be OK. He made sure I had what I needed, and I was taken to his home to recover.
This man is one of my heroes. He served faithfully in one of the most challenging places of the world, and returned to Texas and started a great church in New Braunfels. His effort became such a success that he was asked to write a "How To" booklet to tell men how to start a church the right way. He paused to think about it, but came to the conclusion that God had more to do with it than he did, and all he would say was, "I was just there." That is what I like to remember the most about Eucled. He always worked hard at the task he was given, but gave God the elbow room to get it done and made sure God got all the credit for what happened. Eucled Moore did not strive to make a name for himself, but he has made a difference in my life.
The short time Dana and I were able to spend with the Moores unleashed a flood of memories. I was grateful to Deanna for making this reunion possible. Eucled is fighting a courageous battle against Parkinsons, and recent heart surgery has complicated this, but he is still the man of God that I remember in East Africa. He remains my hero because he is still running the race, and his stamina gives me the courage to continue my journey of service that I began 38 years ago. Eucled, thanks for being my mentor, a listening ear, a hunting partner, and a crisis care giver. I still want to be like you when I grow up. In my eyes you are still, Bwana Mkubwa! The great man!
GMillerLight4U
Eucled Moore was a great missionary. He applied himself to learn the language, and became one of the premier communicators of the Baptist Mission of East Africa. He served as a field evangelist, a Bible School Principal, and a professor at the Baptist Seminary. His last assignment was that of director of the language school for new missionaries. He was highly respected by his peers and the people of East Africa. These two achievements are not mutually exclusive, but were no easy accomplishment. Missionary relationships are often afflicted with the "too many chiefs and not enough Indians" mind set, and the local people you are serving are expecting you to work yourself out of a job, and leave your nice house to them. It is a challenging work environment to say the least.
I remember Eucled as a crack shot, and I enjoyed hunting with him on the flats outside of Rungwe District. I was with him when he brought down an Eland. I soon discovered that the thrill of the hunt passes very quickly, and that it takes days to carve a carcass the size of a Brahma bull into freezer sized packages of meat. It almost turned me into a vegetarian. I think it took me a week before I could even look at a piece of meat. I recall on another occasion hanging two Zebras from his carport and butchering them with a kitchen knife. I had a whole new respect for the guy behind the meat section of the Piggly Wiggly.
Eucled was a master carpenter and a wizard on a lathe. He would often work with the exotic, unnamed woods the rain forest supplied and turn out beautiful furniture, dominoes and chess pieces. One of my prized possessions is a gavel that came out of his wood shop in Tukuyu.
What I remember best about Eucled is his listening ear. I was new to the journey, and I was finding my way into the Presence of God, as I responded to the calling that He had given me. I had alot of questions, made alot of mistakes, but could always count on Eucled to provide a listening ear, and wise counsel. He had a quick wit, a musical talent, and a great family that he shared with me while I was a single guy fresh out of college. I will never forget the hospitality that he and his family offered to me. I was treated like one of the family. To this day we can pick up where we left off in a conversation, even if years have interrupted the opportunity for continuous communication.
One of the hazards of my work in East Africa was the constant threat of malaria. Working in the high altitudes of the Rungwe and Njombe mountains of Tanzania kept it at bay most of the time. However, when I had to travel to the Lake Nyasa region to check on one of the churches I was building, I became a victim. My first experience with this disease was pretty frightening. I lived alone, and for two days, I was trapped in my bed racked with raging fever, and freezing spasms. The yo-yo effect of the ebb and flow of fever and shakes left me too weak to get up and to go get help. I heard Eucled's voice outside my small living quarters calling my name. At first I thought I was hallucinating, but the sound grew louder and more persistent. Eventually he broke into my house and found me. It was not a pretty sight. He didn't panic. He looked at me with his best "42 Face."
For the uniformed, "42" is a domino game that makes Texas Hold Em poker look like "Go Fish" when it is played by rabid missionaries plowing their way through a tournament. One of the marks of passage in my life was being selected by Eucled to be his partner. This meant he placed great confidence in your ability to play the game, or it meant the person next to you was worse than you were. I always liked to think that I had measured up a little bit in his eyes.
With a matter of fact voice, Eucled said, "You've got it now. Makes you feel like you are going to have to die to get better doesn't it?" His calm in the midst of my storm gave me the courage to believe I was going to be OK. He made sure I had what I needed, and I was taken to his home to recover.
This man is one of my heroes. He served faithfully in one of the most challenging places of the world, and returned to Texas and started a great church in New Braunfels. His effort became such a success that he was asked to write a "How To" booklet to tell men how to start a church the right way. He paused to think about it, but came to the conclusion that God had more to do with it than he did, and all he would say was, "I was just there." That is what I like to remember the most about Eucled. He always worked hard at the task he was given, but gave God the elbow room to get it done and made sure God got all the credit for what happened. Eucled Moore did not strive to make a name for himself, but he has made a difference in my life.
The short time Dana and I were able to spend with the Moores unleashed a flood of memories. I was grateful to Deanna for making this reunion possible. Eucled is fighting a courageous battle against Parkinsons, and recent heart surgery has complicated this, but he is still the man of God that I remember in East Africa. He remains my hero because he is still running the race, and his stamina gives me the courage to continue my journey of service that I began 38 years ago. Eucled, thanks for being my mentor, a listening ear, a hunting partner, and a crisis care giver. I still want to be like you when I grow up. In my eyes you are still, Bwana Mkubwa! The great man!
GMillerLight4U
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