Your news from Christian author Stephen M. Miller - Newsletter of Christian author Stephen M. Miller - Steve writes books about the Bible. No preaching. for Tuesday, 30 June 2015
Miller headlines 2015, so far
Grandpa Miller
New dates for weekday blog articles
Steve at work: What I do when I finish a book
#1 Bible handbook: Complete Guide to the Bible
Coming in August: A Complete Guided Tour Through the Bible
Video break to cool off: Winter snow
2 most-read blog articles in 2015
2 hardest blogs to write in 2015, so far
5 random book winners
I BUY A HAT LIKE MY GRANDPA MILLER WORE. A few weeks later, my daughter and son-in-law tell me I'm going to be Grandpa Miller. So it's true: you should dress for what you want to be.
Gonna be a grandpa
I PUSHED THE BUTTON ON MY PHONE to answer the call, and suddenly I see my daughter and son-in-law right there on the screen. And they see me.
It occurred to me in that instant that there are probably times I should not answer the phone since the phone automatically lets the caller see where I am and what I'm up to.
In this case, I was in my office working. But I made a mental note for the future. One should not answer the phone in the shower, in bed, or while voting Democrat in Kansas.
My daughter, Becca, stood in the foreground of the screen. Her husband, Jon, lurked in the background. He was wearing his Kansas City Royals hat, backward as I recall.
I said, "Hi Bec. Hey Jon."
Jon said, "I'm just lurking in the background."
Becca said, "You're going to be a grandpa."
I think I said, "Way to go Jon."
Whatever I said, Jon flexed a bicep in response.
I've waited a long time to be a grandpa. That's because my wife and I waited several years to have kids. Then Becca waited to have kids until she finished her graduate program as a nurse practitioner.
I think I'm ready for this. Time will tell. Grandbaby is due around year's end, possibly just past the cutoff for a tax deduction.
"HEY GUYS, I'M GONNA BE A GRANDPA."I WAS DOG-SITTING my son's black lab Mosby and his Siberian husky Juneau when I got the secret news I was going to be a grandpa. So I told Man's Best Friends my secret.
Their reaction surprised me.
I captured the moment on my phone's video. Consider this the premier: "In a world where dogs understand their masters..."
AN APPLE A DAY. I've spent my winter, spring, and summer with Adam and Eve, and all the other players in the Bible book of Genesis. There's an illustrated book in the making. Photo by Nuremberg / Wikimedia / CC3.
Steve at work
I'VE SEEN MOVIES ABOUT WRITERS finishing a book and then taking time off to celebrate. A long summer in Paris, for example.
I should try that. I like Paris. It has the Louvre Museum.
But that has not been my pattern.
As I approach the end of a book...which is what I'm doing right now...I usually have another book under contract that's waiting in line to get written. If not, I have proposals in mind that I want to create so my agent, Steve Laube, can pitch them to our favorite publishers.
I don't take long stretches off. I take vacations. But then I get back to work.
Right now I'm wrapping up an illustrated book about Genesis. It's like a chapter-by-chapter commentary, but written in magazine style...with some humor that I hope gets past the editors. They've had a good sense of humor in the recent past. But some other editors are easily offended, and it seemed to bother them when I told them so.
I'm projecting about 150 images in this book, if the designer approves. And I've got a lot of gorgeous 3D-style maps based on NASA's elevation data.
Actually, at the moment I'm waiting for the release of the most detailed elevation data yet for the Middle East. It's due in August. The National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency (NGA) has released the data for most of the rest of the world, but they've delayed release of data for the Middle East. I'm guessing the delay may have something to do with battles being fought there. And, frankly, I could see how better mapping could help the bad guys. It should help the good guys, too.
I'm hoping I'll be able to use the new data to create some close-up maps of the Holy Land that are better than anything I've done before.
New dates for blog articles
TODAY IS THE FIRST DAY of a marketing test.
We're trying to figure out what days folks are most likely to find time to read the blog articles I write.
We've been releasing articles on Mon/Wed/Fri, with the Bible Trivia feature on Saturday(previously on Sunday).
We're going to try just two articles a week, on Tues/Thur, with the Bible Trivia continuing on Saturday. We've discovered that Tuesday and Thursday have been working best for many other bloggers. So under the guidance of my son, who works as an online marketing manager, we're doing this bit of testing.
My son is a good boy. He wouldn't steer me wrong.
Amazon's #1 Bible handbook is 8 years old
COMPLETE GUIDE TO THE BIBLE
I NOTICED IT LAST FALL.
I sent a note to the marketing director at the publisher's office, telling her that Amazon has listed The Complete Guide to the Bible as the #1 Christian Bible handbook.
She said it must be because of seasonal Christmas sales.
The correct response from her would have been, "Well why not. It's a masterpiece."
Regardless, it looks as though she's wrong.
This book, published in 2007, keeps battling for the top position, alongside two other titles. One day my book might be #2. The next day it's #1. At the moment, it's #1. And I'm happy about that.
Deluxe edition with new maps
The publisher released a leather-bound edition a few months ago. Amazon counts those sales separately instead of combining them with sales of the paperback.
I've got to tell you that when you spend a full year of your life writing a book, as I did this one, it's nice to know the work sticks around for a while. Sad to say, I know what it's like to see a book die the very year it's born.
Coming in August
The publisher released a leather-bound edition a few months ago. Amazon counts those sales separately instead of combining them with sales of the paperback.
I've got to tell you that when you spend a full year of your life writing a book, as I did this one, it's nice to know the work sticks around for a while. Sad to say, I know what it's like to see a book die the very year it's born.
Coming in August
A QUICK GUIDED TOUR THROUGH THE BIBLE
A BIBLE ATLAS IN DISGUISE. That's how I thought of this book as I was writing it and filling it with more than 300 color pictures and more than 100 illustrated maps.
As usual, I've written in a fast-paced, magazine style.
I've written Bible handbooks before. But none with this many maps, which are 3D-style, to give you the lay of the land.
This is a new and fresh way of exploring the Bible’s headliner stories, including…
Finding Rebekah: Long Walk for a Good Wife
Moses Takes the Scenic Route
Ahab's Family War Machine
Preorders, sneak peek at Amazon.
Video break
Cool off with a winter music video to remind you that Christmas is coming.
Bible reference videos don't usually get a lot of attention. But Marriage by Rape is getting a bit more than normal, at least compared to others I've done. I'm a rookie at making videos like these, but it's a visual age...and besides, I think it's fun creating these things. They're like books, in video.
Two most-read blog articles
I'M ALWAYS CURIOUS about which blog articles folks seem to read most. So far this year:
The letter I wrote my daughter when she graduated from high school
What Romans said about crucifixion (I think I'll create a video about this) I'll post new articles every Tuesday and Thursday. The subscription is free: Sign me up. All you need is a name and an email address.
Goodbye letter to my high school grad
GOODBYE HIGH. It’s the moment you and your kid have been slaving over for 18 years. High school graduation. When it comes time to send her on her way, what do you say? Photo by Lcrward.
Dearest Rebecca:
Wasn’t it only a minute ago that your mom and I drove you to kindergarten, while you bubbled with excitement in the back seat and Mom cried in the front seat? Seems like it.
Your mother and I would like to thank you for something, Rebecca. We’d like to thank you for the music and the joy you brought into our lives. Since you were a little girl, you’ve been singing, dancing, and playing the piano for us. Many times I’ve stood behind a nearby doorway or on the stairs, secretly listening to you sing—the way Nanny used to do with me back when I wrote songs and played the guitar.
You’ve been a good daughter to us. I hope you feel that we’ve been good parents to you. I confess, I’ve been wondering lately if we’ve taught you enough—about life, about love, about God. There are things we’ve missed, I fear. Like teaching you to change a car tire. Do you still...
Read more.Goodbye letter to my high school grad by Stephen M. Miller
GOODBYE HIGH. It’s the moment you and your kid have been slaving over for 18 years. High school graduation. When it comes time to send her on her way, what do you say? Photo by Lcrward.
FRIENDS OF MINE hosted a high school graduation party at their home last weekend for their only child, a daughter.
Sweet, intelligent, sensitive soul.
I’ve watched her grow up over the past several years. I’ve watched her parents, too. They’re in my Bible study group. This is one tight-knit trio, not counting their dogs.
I was talking with the mom on Sunday about the day they drop their daughter off at college this summer.
“You know you’re gonna cry, right?”
“She’s not going to be too far away.”
Two hours west.
“You know you’re gonna cry, right?”
“Yes, a lot.”
When my first child graduated from high school, my wife built her a scrapbook of memories.
Pictures, mostly. And letters. From family, friends, and teachers.
Some years during graduation season when friends of mine are getting ready to send a child off to college, I reread the letter I wrote my daughter.
It reminds me of feelings I don’t want to forget.
Dearest Rebecca:
Wasn’t it only a minute ago that your mom and I drove you to kindergarten, while you bubbled with excitement in the back seat and Mom cried in the front seat? Seems like it.
Your mother and I would like to thank you for something, Rebecca. We’d like to thank you for the music and the joy you brought into our lives. Since you were a little girl, you’ve been singing, dancing, and playing the piano for us. Many times I’ve stood behind a nearby doorway or on the stairs, secretly listening to you sing—the way Nanny used to do with me back when I wrote songs and played the guitar.
You’ve been a good daughter to us. I hope you feel that we’ve been good parents to you. I confess, I’ve been wondering lately if we’ve taught you enough—about life, about love, about God. There are things we’ve missed, I fear. Like teaching you to change a car tire. Do you still remember how? Maybe you’ll have time for a refresher course this summer.
More importantly, though, I hope you’ve learned from us to trust in God and to accept his forgiveness when you make mistakes. I know you’ve seen us make mistakes. And I hope you’ve figured out that the reason we still claim our faith isn’t because we’re hypocrites who only pretend to follow Jesus. It’s because he forgives us when he knows we’re doing the best we can to follow his example. So our Christian faith isn’t based on the fact that we’re good. It’s based on the fact that he’s good. When that lesson sinks in, it protects you from a lot of needless pressure and destructive guilt.
There’s one piece of advice your mom and I have for you. If you learn only one thing from us, learn this: love God, and treat other people the way you want them to treat you. I know it’s a cliché. But the older I get, the more I understand how important this Golden Rule really is. So build your life on love—love of God and love of others. And stay close to those who love you most and who need you to love them without conditions. Your family. Your friends.
And Sweetie, don’t ever lose track of your brother Bradley. He has been a part of your daily life for as long as you can remember. But that precious time is almost over now. When Mom and I are off the planet, you two need to be there for each other. So keep nourishing your relationship by talking often and spending time together. Honor your mother and me by loving each other—no matter what.
As you go off to college, you’ll have to make a lot of important decisions that will affect you for the rest of your life. You’ll face unwholesome pressures and desires. You’ll be tempted by sex, money, and pride. Bec, you’ll make some mistakes. Maybe some big ones. But through it all, God will love you. And your mom and I will love you. And Brad will love you. It’s not only in the familyjob description, it’s programmed by God into our very spirit. Love comes naturally.
Try not to do anything dumb. But if you do, you can come home.
Wherever Mom and I live, this is your home whenever you want it or need it. You know how comfortable I feel at Nanny’s home, where I grew up. It’s almost as though it’s still my home. I want you to feel that way about our home here—or wherever we find ourselves in the years ahead.
Rebecca, we’re so glad God loaned you to us for these almost 18 years—it seems like 18 seconds. God in Heaven, it has gone too fast.
When Mom and I dedicated you, we symbolically placed you in God’s hands, though you were still in our care. Now we face the real thing. Today, we again place you in God’s hands, because too soon you will be out of our reach.
You are a kind soul, a hard-worker, a quick study, and a child of God. We are so proud of you. What a bright future you have, Rebecca.
Go now, and shine.
Love,
Dad and Mom
“I will never leave you. I will never forsake you.”[God from (Hebrews 13:5)]
What Romans said about crucifixion
DEATH IN SLOW MOTION. It could take a body days to die on a cross. That’s why Romans in a hurry beat the stuffing out of condemned souls, and broke their legs when necessary. Victims had to push up to exhale. That’s hard to do with two broken legs nailed into timber.Painting by Fyodor Bronnikov.THE BIBLE isn’t the only book that talks about how horrifying crucifixion was. Roman eyewitnesses wrote about what they saw
“He was whipped until his bones showed.” —Josephus (AD 37-100), Wars of the Jews, 6.5.3
“Each criminal who goes to execution must carry his own cross on his back.” —Plutarch (AD 46-about 120), Sera, 554
“Sixteen men . . . . were paraded out, chained together by the foot and neck, each carrying his own cross. The executioners added this grim public spectacle to the punishment as an extra deterrent to anyone thinking about committing the same crime.” —Chariton (about 25 BC-AD 50), Chaereas and Callirhoe, 4.2.7 Read more.
print at the moment:The Jesus of the Bible.
Goodbye Uncle Henry
UNCLE HENRY, the year I was born. It was a bad year for haircuts. And for Mohawk Native Americans.
UNCLE HENRY DIED at 12:15 p.m.Eastern Time yesterday. He was my mom’s little brother.
He was diagnosed this winter with glioblastoma, a fast-growing brain tumor that surgeons tried to remove a few weeks ago. Since then, an MRI showed that it spread to the other side of the brain.
Mom sang to him last night.
When Henry was born, Mom was a kid in school. Someone told her that she had a little brother at home.
“No I don’t,” she said.
“Yes you do.”
Mom hurried home, walking fast through the woods to their house in the West Virginia holler, beside the creek.
My granny introduced Mom to Henry. Granny said, “He’s going to be your little boy to take care of. I’ll show you how to take care of him. But you’re going to be the one to look out for him.”
Read more.
Goodbye Uncle Henry by Stephen M. MillerA BIBLE ATLAS IN DISGUISE. That's how I thought of this book as I was writing it and filling it with more than 300 color pictures and more than 100 illustrated maps.
As usual, I've written in a fast-paced, magazine style.
I've written Bible handbooks before. But none with this many maps, which are 3D-style, to give you the lay of the land.
This is a new and fresh way of exploring the Bible’s headliner stories, including…
Finding Rebekah: Long Walk for a Good Wife
Moses Takes the Scenic Route
Ahab's Family War Machine
Preorders, sneak peek at Amazon.
Video break
Cool off with a winter music video to remind you that Christmas is coming.
Bible reference videos don't usually get a lot of attention. But Marriage by Rape is getting a bit more than normal, at least compared to others I've done. I'm a rookie at making videos like these, but it's a visual age...and besides, I think it's fun creating these things. They're like books, in video.
Two most-read blog articles
I'M ALWAYS CURIOUS about which blog articles folks seem to read most. So far this year:
The letter I wrote my daughter when she graduated from high school
What Romans said about crucifixion (I think I'll create a video about this) I'll post new articles every Tuesday and Thursday. The subscription is free: Sign me up. All you need is a name and an email address.
Goodbye letter to my high school grad
GOODBYE HIGH. It’s the moment you and your kid have been slaving over for 18 years. High school graduation. When it comes time to send her on her way, what do you say? Photo by Lcrward.
Dearest Rebecca:
Wasn’t it only a minute ago that your mom and I drove you to kindergarten, while you bubbled with excitement in the back seat and Mom cried in the front seat? Seems like it.
Your mother and I would like to thank you for something, Rebecca. We’d like to thank you for the music and the joy you brought into our lives. Since you were a little girl, you’ve been singing, dancing, and playing the piano for us. Many times I’ve stood behind a nearby doorway or on the stairs, secretly listening to you sing—the way Nanny used to do with me back when I wrote songs and played the guitar.
You’ve been a good daughter to us. I hope you feel that we’ve been good parents to you. I confess, I’ve been wondering lately if we’ve taught you enough—about life, about love, about God. There are things we’ve missed, I fear. Like teaching you to change a car tire. Do you still...
Read more.Goodbye letter to my high school grad by Stephen M. Miller
GOODBYE HIGH. It’s the moment you and your kid have been slaving over for 18 years. High school graduation. When it comes time to send her on her way, what do you say? Photo by Lcrward.
FRIENDS OF MINE hosted a high school graduation party at their home last weekend for their only child, a daughter.
Sweet, intelligent, sensitive soul.
I’ve watched her grow up over the past several years. I’ve watched her parents, too. They’re in my Bible study group. This is one tight-knit trio, not counting their dogs.
I was talking with the mom on Sunday about the day they drop their daughter off at college this summer.
“You know you’re gonna cry, right?”
“She’s not going to be too far away.”
Two hours west.
“You know you’re gonna cry, right?”
“Yes, a lot.”
When my first child graduated from high school, my wife built her a scrapbook of memories.
Pictures, mostly. And letters. From family, friends, and teachers.
Some years during graduation season when friends of mine are getting ready to send a child off to college, I reread the letter I wrote my daughter.
It reminds me of feelings I don’t want to forget.
Dearest Rebecca:
Wasn’t it only a minute ago that your mom and I drove you to kindergarten, while you bubbled with excitement in the back seat and Mom cried in the front seat? Seems like it.
Your mother and I would like to thank you for something, Rebecca. We’d like to thank you for the music and the joy you brought into our lives. Since you were a little girl, you’ve been singing, dancing, and playing the piano for us. Many times I’ve stood behind a nearby doorway or on the stairs, secretly listening to you sing—the way Nanny used to do with me back when I wrote songs and played the guitar.
You’ve been a good daughter to us. I hope you feel that we’ve been good parents to you. I confess, I’ve been wondering lately if we’ve taught you enough—about life, about love, about God. There are things we’ve missed, I fear. Like teaching you to change a car tire. Do you still remember how? Maybe you’ll have time for a refresher course this summer.
More importantly, though, I hope you’ve learned from us to trust in God and to accept his forgiveness when you make mistakes. I know you’ve seen us make mistakes. And I hope you’ve figured out that the reason we still claim our faith isn’t because we’re hypocrites who only pretend to follow Jesus. It’s because he forgives us when he knows we’re doing the best we can to follow his example. So our Christian faith isn’t based on the fact that we’re good. It’s based on the fact that he’s good. When that lesson sinks in, it protects you from a lot of needless pressure and destructive guilt.
There’s one piece of advice your mom and I have for you. If you learn only one thing from us, learn this: love God, and treat other people the way you want them to treat you. I know it’s a cliché. But the older I get, the more I understand how important this Golden Rule really is. So build your life on love—love of God and love of others. And stay close to those who love you most and who need you to love them without conditions. Your family. Your friends.
And Sweetie, don’t ever lose track of your brother Bradley. He has been a part of your daily life for as long as you can remember. But that precious time is almost over now. When Mom and I are off the planet, you two need to be there for each other. So keep nourishing your relationship by talking often and spending time together. Honor your mother and me by loving each other—no matter what.
As you go off to college, you’ll have to make a lot of important decisions that will affect you for the rest of your life. You’ll face unwholesome pressures and desires. You’ll be tempted by sex, money, and pride. Bec, you’ll make some mistakes. Maybe some big ones. But through it all, God will love you. And your mom and I will love you. And Brad will love you. It’s not only in the familyjob description, it’s programmed by God into our very spirit. Love comes naturally.
Try not to do anything dumb. But if you do, you can come home.
Wherever Mom and I live, this is your home whenever you want it or need it. You know how comfortable I feel at Nanny’s home, where I grew up. It’s almost as though it’s still my home. I want you to feel that way about our home here—or wherever we find ourselves in the years ahead.
Rebecca, we’re so glad God loaned you to us for these almost 18 years—it seems like 18 seconds. God in Heaven, it has gone too fast.
When Mom and I dedicated you, we symbolically placed you in God’s hands, though you were still in our care. Now we face the real thing. Today, we again place you in God’s hands, because too soon you will be out of our reach.
You are a kind soul, a hard-worker, a quick study, and a child of God. We are so proud of you. What a bright future you have, Rebecca.
Go now, and shine.
Love,
Dad and Mom
“I will never leave you. I will never forsake you.”[God from (Hebrews 13:5)]
What Romans said about crucifixion
DEATH IN SLOW MOTION. It could take a body days to die on a cross. That’s why Romans in a hurry beat the stuffing out of condemned souls, and broke their legs when necessary. Victims had to push up to exhale. That’s hard to do with two broken legs nailed into timber.Painting by Fyodor Bronnikov.THE BIBLE isn’t the only book that talks about how horrifying crucifixion was. Roman eyewitnesses wrote about what they saw
“He was whipped until his bones showed.” —Josephus (AD 37-100), Wars of the Jews, 6.5.3
“Each criminal who goes to execution must carry his own cross on his back.” —Plutarch (AD 46-about 120), Sera, 554
“Sixteen men . . . . were paraded out, chained together by the foot and neck, each carrying his own cross. The executioners added this grim public spectacle to the punishment as an extra deterrent to anyone thinking about committing the same crime.” —Chariton (about 25 BC-AD 50), Chaereas and Callirhoe, 4.2.7 Read more.
DEATH IN SLOW MOTION. It could take a body days to die on a cross. That’s why Romans in a hurry beat the stuffing out of condemned souls, and broke their legs when necessary. Victims had to push up to exhale. That’s hard to do with two broken legs nailed into timber. Painting by Fyodor Bronnikov.
THE BIBLE isn’t the only book that talks about how horrifying crucifixion was. Roman eyewitnesses wrote about what they saw- “He was whipped until his bones showed.”[Josephus (AD 37-100), Wars of the Jews, 6.5.3]
- “Each criminal who goes to execution must carry his own cross on his back.”[Plutarch (AD 46-about 120), Sera, 554]
- “Sixteen men . . . . were paraded out, chained together by the foot and neck, each carrying his own cross. The executioners added this grim public spectacle to the punishment as an extra deterrent to anyone thinking about committing the same crime.”[Chariton (about 25 BC-AD 50), Chaereas and Callirhoe, 4.2.7]
- “Some hang their victims upside down. Some impale them through the private
parts . Others stretch out their arms onto forked poles.”[Seneca (about 4 BC-65 AD), To Marcia on Consolation, 20.3] - “Is there such a thing as a person who would actually prefer wasting away in pain on a cross—dying limb by limb one drop of blood at a time—rather than dying quickly? Would any human being willingly choose to be fastened to that cursed tree, especially after the beating that left him deathly weak, deformed, swelling with vicious welts on shoulders and chest, and struggling to draw every last, agonizing breath? Anyone facing such a death would plead to die rather than mount the cross.”[Seneca, (about 4 BC-65 AD), Epistulae morales (Moral Letters), 101.14]
- “Reliable witnesses . . . . saw the man being dragged to the cross while crying out that he was a Roman citizen. And you, Verres,
confirm that he did cry out that he was a Roman citizen, yet you sent him to a most cruel and shameful death anyhow!”[Cicero, Against Verres, 70 BC, 2.5.64] - “Every day Roman soldiers caught 500 Jews or more. . . . The soldiers driven by their hatred of the Jews nailed them to crosses. They nailed them in many different positions, to entertain themselves and to horrify the Jews
watching this spectacle from inside the walled city of Jerusalem. In time, the soldiers ran out of wood for crosses, and room for crosses even if they had found more wood.”[Josephus (AD 37-100), Wars of the Jews, 5.11.1]
Goodbye Uncle Henry
UNCLE HENRY, the year I was born. It was a bad year for haircuts. And for Mohawk Native Americans.
UNCLE HENRY DIED at 12:15 p.m.Eastern Time yesterday. He was my mom’s little brother.
He was diagnosed this winter with glioblastoma, a fast-growing brain tumor that surgeons tried to remove a few weeks ago. Since then, an MRI showed that it spread to the other side of the brain.
Mom sang to him last night.
When Henry was born, Mom was a kid in school. Someone told her that she had a little brother at home.
“No I don’t,” she said.
“Yes you do.”
Mom hurried home, walking fast through the woods to their house in the West Virginia holler, beside the creek.
My granny introduced Mom to Henry. Granny said, “He’s going to be your little boy to take care of. I’ll show you how to take care of him. But you’re going to be the one to look out for him.”
Read more.
GOOFING OFF. Mom and Uncle Henry on the West Virginia home place. Look close and you’ll see Aunt Sue, the youngest in the family of six kids. (Inset) Uncle Henry, the year I was born. It was a bad year for haircuts. And for Mohawk Native Americans.
UNCLE HENRY DIED at 12:15 p.m. Eastern Time yesterday. He was my mom’s little brother.
He was diagnosed this winter with glioblastoma, a fast-growing brain tumor that surgeons tried to remove a few weeks ago. Since then, an MRI showed that it spread to the other side of the brain.
Mom sang to him last night.
When Henry was born, Mom was a kid in school. Someone told her that she had a little brother at home.
“No I don’t,” she said.
“Yes you do.”
Mom hurried home, walking fast through the woods to their house in the West Virginia holler, beside the creek.
My granny introduced Mom to Henry. Granny said, “He’s going to be your little boy to take care of. I’ll show you how to take care of him. But you’re going to be the one to look out for him.”
By that time, Granny had three sons and two daughters, with another daughter yet to come. She also had a farmhouse to run, with a garden, critters, beehives, and a coalminer husband. So, I’m guessing Granny meant what she said. She needed Mom’s help.
That built a special bond between the two kids. In the adult years, Mom has had arguments and butting-head run-ins with all of her brothers and sisters – except Henry. She says she can’t remember a single exchange of heated words between them. Which is saying something for a Williams. All I can say about that is, if you’re going to mess with a Williams, do it from a distance. Or wear earplugs.
Last night, Henry lay heavily sedated and unresponsive. But hopefully listening.
His oldest daughter, Debbie, sat with him. She was the only one there when Mom called, to say goodbye to her little brother.
Mom told Henry she loves him.
She told him about the first time she met him and about their mom placing him in her care. She told him she was glad that he was her little brother and one of her best friends.
Then she told him it’s okay to go. “When the angel comes to get you, go ahead and go. Mom and Dad and Charles and Duane are waiting for you.”
Then she sang. Right over that speaker phone.
No, never alone,
No, never alone,
He promised never to leave me,
Never to leave me alone.
Then another.
“Lord, lift me up and let me stand,
By faith, on Heaven’s tableland,
A higher plane than I have found;
Lord, plant my feet on higher ground.”
And another.
“I’ve got a mansion just over the hilltop
In that bright land where we’ll never grow old
And someday yonder, we’ll never more wander
But walk on streets that are purest gold.”
That’s how Mom said goodbye.
I said my goodbyes a few weeks earlier.
My last letter to Uncle Henry
February 21, 2015
HELLO YOU OLD COALMINER.
Your big sis – my mom – called me a few days ago.
“Write this down,” she said.
Slowly, she spelled the word.
G-l-i-o-b-l-a-s-t-o-m-a.
She said that’s what the biopsy shows you have.
“Hang on,” I told her. “I’ll look it up on the internet.”
Neither of us knew what it meant.
What we knew is that you had a fast-growing tumor on your brain and that the surgeon in Morgantown took out as much as he could.
The search engine took me to the website of the American Brain Tumor Association.
I read out loud so Mom could hear. I skipped over some of the more technical doctor-talk.
“Glioblastomas are tumors….usually highly malignant (cancerous) because the cells reproduce quickly and they are supported by a large network of blood vessels.”
“Mom,” I said. “I’m going to jump down to the prognosis because I know that’s what you want to know. I want to know, too.”
“For adults with more aggressive glioblastoma, treated with concurrent temozolamide and radiation therapy, median survival is about 14.6 months.”
I was choking on my words by then.
Long pauses.
I was afraid Mom would think I was done reading, when I was trying my hardest to get the words out.
“Almost 10% of patients with glioblastoma may live five years or longer.”
I didn’t say it. I thought it. “That means 90% don’t.”
“Mom,” I said. “When the snow clears enough to travel, you’ll want to go see him.”
I know she saw you a few weeks ago, after your surgery. I figure she’ll be seeing you again soon.
Me, I’m a thousand miles away.
But what’s a thousand miles to a writer. Words can go anywhere, anytime.
The thing is that at times like this, I’m not sure how much help you can get from words. It’s better to have people. I don’t know of any word that conveys the power of even a single teardrop that your little sister, Sue, cried when she happened to come upon you in Walmart, when your wife Betty brought you there to get some medicine.
Henry, you’re close enough to me in years that I never felt especially comfortable calling you Uncle. You felt more like a big brother.
In our younger years when we lived closer to each other, you even acted like a big brother.
Sometimes a good big brother. You let me drive your car on those West Virginia dirt roads, and assured me that I could get the car safely across that narrow wooden bridge that didn’t have guardrails.
Sometimes a jerk of a big brother. My first memory of you is standing alongside the road in front of the home place. I was in grade school, one of the little numbers closer to kindergarten thansixth grade. You were chewing tobacco. You asked me if I’d like a chew.
I don’t remember what I thought of that first brown wave of flavor in my mouth. My memory rushes to the sensation that followed, after you said, “Swallow the juice. It’ll kill pinworms.”
Far as I know, I didn’t have pinworms. But if I did, they surely died that day.
Henry, if you feel you need my forgiveness before you leave the planet, heck with that. I’m hanging onto this memory. It’s one of my favorites.
Many years later, you gave me another one of my favorite memories. It started with another call from Mom. She said, “Steve, you need to call Henry. He’s got a story you need to hear.”
That was the story you kept from almost everyone for 30 years. It was the story of the last moments of your dad, my Pap-pap, who was dying of prostate cancer. You told me that you and Granny brought him home from the hospital on a Thursday. It was a good day for him. Friday, too.
Saturday as well, until 11 o’clock at night when the convulsions began. Sunday was hard, with Pap-pap in pain, and saying, “I hear angels singing.”
You said that by daybreak on Monday morning it was clear that Pap-pap was about to leave. You began to read the 23rd Psalm: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul.”
You said that something so amazing happened next that you couldn’t tell people about it because you thought they would think you were crazy.
Pap-pap drew his last breath. And you said you felt something. A presence, filling the room.
I wrote down your words so I would never forget them.
“I saw a vapor of his body asleep; it looked like a vapor, a mist. It just slowly lifted up out of him.”
You said it rose above his body, hovering in the air for several moments. Then gone.
I asked if you were afraid.
“It never scared me the least bit. It sure felt good to me. I mean, I wasn’t happy, but I knew that everything was all right.”
Henry, I’m a man of faith.
I believe the Bible songwriter: “He restoreth my soul.”
I believe the West Virginia coalminer: “I knew that everything was all right.”
I love you, Henry. Always will. Death can’t do a thing about it.
My life is richer for having traveled all these years with you in my herd.
And, I don’t have pinworms.
Steve
An afterthought, after the letter.
Henry, if messages like this get through to you, thanks for being my uncle and my friend. Thanks for riding with me and your sisters to Uncle Wade’s funeral in Colorado. Tell my family up there that I miss them. It might be awkward, but give my dad a hug and a kiss on his cheek. Tell him it’s from The Boy. I’ll see you later.
Christian vs. a flat tire
BEFORE THE FLAT. The daughter child didn’t see the flat tire coming last Saturday night. But she did her pa proud, in the way she handled the car and the crisis. Pa did not respond in kind. The good news is that Jesus died for sinners.A THOUSAND MILES FROM HOME four days ago, I had a flat tire.
I was not up to the challenge, spiritually speaking. So I’m grateful for grace.
I had driven across country to attend the funeral of my Uncle Henry, my mom’s little brother.
My wife, daughter, and I had driven 800 miles to Ohio to pick up Mom and take her 250 miles further, to the funeral in West Virginia.
My Ohio sis and her husband came along. We arranged a two-car trip.
About 50 miles into the trip on Saturday evening, the Prius’ rear, passenger-side tire popped it’s air sack. Puncture wound. My daughter drove it skillfully, I am told, to the side of the expressway.
Read more.
BEFORE THE FLAT. The daughter child didn’t see the flat tire coming last Saturday night. But she did her pa proud, in the way she handled the car and the crisis. Pa did not respond in kind. The good news is that Jesus died for sinners.
A THOUSAND MILES FROM HOME four days ago, I had a flat tire.
I was not up to the challenge, spiritually speaking. So I’m grateful for grace.
I had driven across country to attend the funeral of my Uncle Henry, my mom’s little brother.
My wife, daughter, and I had driven 800 miles to Ohio to pick up Mom and take her 250 miles further, to the funeral in West Virginia. My Ohio sis and her husband came along. We arranged a two-car trip.
It was a beautiful funeral among sad family and friends. Then back to Ohio.
On the trip home, my brother-in-law and I drove my mom’s car, an older model Toyota Camry. My daughter drove our Prius, riding with Mom, my wife, and my sister. A guy’s car and a gal’s car.
About 50 miles into the trip on Saturday evening, the Prius’ rear, passenger-side tire popped it’s air sack. Puncture wound. My daughter drove it skillfully, I am told, to the side of the expressway.
My brother-in-law and I got trapped in traffic and pushed on down the road a short ways. We finally pulled off the road and waited to see if the ladies’ car would inch toward us, since we didn’t realize it had a flat. By the time we started to back up, my daughter arrived running down the side of the road. After she told us they had a flat, she turned and started to run back.
“Want a ride?” I asked.
She jumped in.
By the time we arrived at the Prius, my wife had already unloaded the back of the car, pulled out the jack, and put it in the right position.
Gee whiz. Had we goofed off that long? Or was my wife that fast?
The Prius has a miniature spare tire, designed – as far as I’m concerned – by someone with a miniature brain. Who wouldn’t want a full-sized spare?
My brother-in-law suggested trying on the spare tire that my mom had in her car.
Wouldn’t it have been nice if it had worked.
I put on the miniature, lowered the jack, and watched the spare tire sink to what you might expect of a tire about one-third full. I would never know exactly how empty it was because the tire gauge in my car was battery operated. And the battery was dead.
My wife called AAA, since we have been members of that auto association for a few decades.
No human answered.
My daughter saw on her phone that there was a Walmart Supercenter about seven miles ahead of us.
I avoid Walmart because of the way they treat their employees. By the time we would get finished there, I would feel as though Walmart didn’t treat them badly enough.
Over the phone, a manager told my daughter that the auto service center was closed. It was about 8:30 on Saturday night. But the manager said to come on in and one of the managers would get us the tire we needed.
I thought that odd, but hoped it meant that someone in the store had worked in the auto service center and could help us out.
We drove both cars slowly, with flashers engaged.
Crippled car in front, filled with the ladies. Old, healthy car bringing up the rear.
When we got to the exit, my daughter turned in one direction. My brother-in-law turned in the other.
You had to be there.
We eventually got to Walmart. Gals first. Guys last.
Three souls stayed with the cars in the parking lot, while I walked into the store with my wife and my daughter.
The manager had instructed my daughter to go to the customer service desk. You can imagine the line on a Saturday night.
In time, the one and only human being working behind the customer service desk – an elderly lady who looked ticked as all get out – called an assistant manager.
That manager didn’t know what we were talking about. She called a guy assistant manager. He didn’t know, either.
He got the keys to the auto service center and walked us there. A wave of relief and hope washed over us: my daughter, my wife, and me.
The manager spent about 10 minutes in the service center. Then he rolled out two tires.
“These are your options,” he said.
I picked one and said, “You’ll be able to put it on the car, right?”
“Well, the service center is closed,” he said.
“What the heck?” I said. “You’re going to sell us an empty rubber tire? What can we do with that?”
“What are we going to do?” my daughter asked the manager, pleading for a little creative problem-solving.
He didn’t say anything. So I answered her.
“Let’s get out of this state.”
For my West Virginia relatives, we were not in West Virginia at the time. Though I think I’d have said the same thing anywhere, with the possible exception of Hawaii.
Things looked pretty hopeless after 9 p.m., with two cars full of travel-weary, funeral-drained souls.
I would like to say I quoted scripture, what with me being a Bible-reference book writer and all.
There are actually some psalms that come close to what I said.
We found a nearby gas station with an air pump. It even had a built-in gauge.
I tried to pump the air into the tire, but the air kept blowing out. After half a dozen tries, I discovered that the air pump’s nozzle wasn’t working. It wasn’t attached tightly to the hose.
All it was any good for was making blowing sounds.
Heck, I could do that.
So I did.
We got back on the expressway, driving slowly with the flashers on. We came to another gas station eventually. It had a hose, but no gauge.
I used to work in an auto service station as a kid. I know that if you over-inflate a tire, it can explode and kill you. So I have a healthy respect for air pumps.
I looked again for a tire gauge in the car. When all I found was that battery-dead gauge, I threw it on the ground, stomped it once, and pitched it in the trash can.
My daughter saw that, ran into the gas station, and asked if they had tire gauges for sale.
They did not.
She told the sales lady that all we had was a battery-operated tire gauge that her dad had just stomped on.
Sales lady: “We have batteries.”
Daughter: “It figures.”
I made my best guess at how much air to put in the tire, and we crawled off into the night.
I drove the crippled Prius, with my brother-in-law riding shotgun. The ladies followed behind us.
Two hundred miles at 50 miles an hour.
By about 1 a.m., more than 20 hours after the day had started for some of us at 4:30 a.m., the ladies’ car was going a little crazy inside.
Mom was cold and curled up in a ball. She wrapped her head in a pillow and covered herself with a blanket.
My sister was having hot flashes and claustrophobia. “I gotta get outta here. I can’t take it.”
She stuck her feet out the window.
Within an hour of the Ohio home, we were traveling dark country roads, well off the expressway.
I saw the rabbit big and fat hopping down a bunny trail from my side of the road to the other.
The ladies saw it, too. They were rooting for the bunny.
“Run, bunny, run.”
It cleared the wheels on the driver’s side of the car.
I didn’t see what happened next. I just heard something go bump in the night.
But the ladies saw it.
As though shot from a cannon into the spray of headlights, rabbit guts and fur streaked into the sky from beneath that cursed spare tire.
We arrived home around 1 a.m.
By then the ladies were laughing like they had been drugged.
Something about the expression on my face triggered hysterical laughter from my wife, as we all stepped out of the cars. The other women joined her, howling in the holler beneath the pine trees that had once been part of a Christmas tree farm.
Inside the home rested my nephew and his golden retriever.
The dog raised her head and looked toward the sound that penetrated the walls of a solid house build by the Amish. My nephew, still up and waiting for us, tipped his head and thought, “Coyotes.”
Thank God for family, who know us and love us anyhow.
Thank God for God, who does the same.
P.S. As for that car, two days later, that passed us doing 75 mph on a miniature spare tire mounted on the passenger side rear of the car, it’s just not right.
FREE BOOKS
5 winners of this week's random drawing
- JULIUS CAESAR ACOSTA (he picked 100 Tough Questions About God and the Bible)
- THOMAS BOPP (The Bible: A History)
- GINETTE CLASS
- TMBLE DODSON
- PATSY HIGDON
- These folks get a free signed copy of one of my books. They get to pick from several titles.
I'm going to keep giving the books away until I run out of books. It should take a while. Publishers keep sending me new ones.
Don't get bit
MYOB
Getting mixed up in someone else's argument is dumber than yanking on a stray dog's ears.[Proverbs 26:17][Steve's Bible Translation]
Steve
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