Dispatch from the home front
It's time for some housekeeping and a respite from the news
First of all, I want to welcome the new subscribers to Ron’s Reflections. It’s always an honor when someone thinks well enough of my writing to add me to their online reading list, so thank you from the bottom of my heart. I hope I provide the quality and quantity of content to make your decision worthwhile.
Ron’s Reflections will always be free to subscribers who want to read and ponder on their own, but if you’d like to comment on any of my posts, I’ve added a small monthly or annual subscription for that purpose. I learned from a dear friend and fellow Substacker that a "pay-to-comment" setup helps keep bad actors at bay, as being rude isn't worth losing their hard-earned cash! While I don’t think I necessarily rate that kind of attention, I’ve not had any issues, so I guess it’s working! Some of you who’ve purchased a paid subscription said you want to encourage me in my work, and that means a lot to me. I want to offer a little more than the ability to comment, but I’m constrained by time and a lack of ideas, so if you have some, I’m willing to listen.
I just finished an article discussing the various responses to the tragic flash floods in central Texas. It emphasizes that, as Christians, we must be cautious not to allow our outrage over current events in our country to lead us to respond with cruelty to those we perceive as responsible for our current fate. We should avoid mirroring the actions of those who are enriching themselves, corrupting our government, dismissing the rule of law, and subjecting marginalized individuals to inhumane treatment that is unprecedented in modern times. Instead, we should strive to respond with compassion and understanding when people suffer.
I’m working on another article about the political and cultural gulf that exists between Black and white evangelicals, who are theologically aligned but otherwise see the world entirely differently. It’s a compelling look at how we who profess there is “one Lord, one faith, one baptism” are far from the “perfect unity” Jesus Christ prayed so fervently for us to experience as His disciples.
I have another one in the pipeline about the mass firing and forced retirements of tens of thousands of federal workers. Trump and his acolytes have demonized them, and his Office of Management and Budget director, Russell Vought, is on the record as wanting them to suffer trauma so they will be compelled to leave. This is a horrible mindset for anyone to have toward their fellow Americans, especially a devout Christian who serves in a position where his recommendations to the president can affect millions of lives with the stroke of a pen. I worked with federal civil servants for three years, and I strongly oppose the ridiculous viewpoint that these dedicated individuals—who see their work as a calling to serve others—are lazy, corrupt, or part of some nefarious “deep state.” This belief seems to stem from a frustration among some conservatives who feel that laws and regulations prevent them from getting their way. I want to share my experiences so that, somehow, they know how much I appreciated them during my brief time with the federal government.
This has been a whirlwind of a year thus far, and we’re only halfway through. There are so many things to write and lament about, but it can be exhausting and emotionally weighty to be in a state of constant vigilance and rapid response to the latest outrage from this administration and its followers. I want to take a bit of a breather and invite you into my home for a bit if that’s OK. As Jesus said, “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own” (Matthew 6:34). Barring Jesus’ return, the troubles I write about will still be there tomorrow, so there will be plenty to reflect on and offer a perspective. Let’s take a brief break!
Of course, the news of the summer for us is the arrival of our first grandchild, Shilo Marshall Miller. He’s the first child of my youngest, my son Colin, and his wife, Aurora, whom we call Rory, and while I have been anticipating being a grandfather since they told us on Thanksgiving night last year that she was expecting, I wasn’t prepared for how much I want to be with this little boy. I can’t get enough of holding him, and I hate to give him up to someone else or when we have to leave. I hope I can moderate my expectations over time, but for now, I am obsessed with him!
In 2024, our family experienced significant loss; Annik and I lost our fathers and our oldest family dog, Daisy, within nine months. Like millions of others, I felt the loss of the America we once aspired to be with the results of the election, and, frankly, it’s been worse than I imagined.
When Colin and Rory joined us for dessert at Thanksgiving and gave us a Christmas tree ornament that read, “Promoted to Grandparents, 2025,” it was a gift that couldn’t have come at a better time. Thanksgiving would have been my dad’s 87th birthday, and he passed away on October 14th, so he had been gone a little more than a month, and his death was still fresh on my mind and heart. The prospect of new life in our family was one of God’s tender mercies; He knows when we need them, and He is generous with them if we are open to seeing them.
There are dog people and cat people, or so I’m told. I was a “no pet” person for most of my adult life, in part because of bad experiences with animals here and there, and also because of my allergies. I had a pet chick as a child that grew into a rather ugly teenage chicken, but he didn’t survive a cold snap in Louisiana one night, and I recall being devastated over the loss. Annik and I had a cat for a while after we married, and we ended up rehoming her when she started becoming too annoyed with our newborn daughter. Annik persuaded me to bring a one-year-old dalmatian home with us, and that experiment lasted all of two weeks while this animal wreaked havoc on the household and everyone in it except our toddler son; the two of them seemed able to chill out together. A gentleman who specialized in raising dalmatians offered to take him, and we readily agreed.
One evening, when we lived in Florida, my oldest daughter begged me to let her bring a black kitten home with her. Some cunning church lady had brought a litter of kittens to a middle-school girls’ youth group meeting, knowing full well what would happen. We ended up being tenants in this cat’s household for ten years while he prowled the neighborhood and got into trouble during the night, and came back, sometimes nicked up from a fight with another cat, to sleep it off. Only occasionally were we allowed to show him any affection, and he was quick to swat us away when he’d had enough. He was not doing well when we left Maryland to move to Virginia in 2011, and our rental wouldn’t allow us to have pets, so we took him to a nearby shelter where they would care for him until his time came.
Eight years later, we bought our first home in Virginia, and my wife and daughter made it clear that we were going to get a dog. Realizing resistance was futile, I grudgingly welcomed a corgi, Daisy, to our new home. My middle daughter had always loved corgis, and it was a Godsend that the local humane society had a seven-year-old Cardigan Welsh Corgi who had been brought in a week before.
Daisy was a fluffy, plump furball who couldn’t get into much of anything, and I started to grow attached to her. Eventually, my son decided he wanted a dog of his own, and soon Daisy had company in the form of Marlo.
Daisy made it clear from the beginning who was the boss, and it was always a source of amusement to us that Marlo, even after she grew taller and stronger than Daisy, would never cross Daisy’s path and would give in to her if she pushed her way into Marlo’s personal space. They figured out how to get along, and I became so accustomed to them that I thought of them as part of the family. I guess that’s when I became a dog dad.
Daisy used to love going on walks and occasionally chasing after the deer that populated our neighborhood, although she’d quickly give up once they got away. However, as time passed, she started to struggle with her back legs, and eventually she lost the use of them altogether. We tried acupuncture treatments and even purchased a dog wheelchair for her so she could join us on walks again, but she disliked the wheelchair immensely, and the treatments didn’t seem to make a difference. It got to a point where we were carrying her outside to relieve herself, and she soon became incontinent. She was increasingly frustrated with her diminished quality of life, which made her loud and grumpy. Eventually, the veterinarian said she would lose the use of her other limbs before long and suggested it was time to put Daisy to sleep. The day before we were to say goodbye to her was July 4th, and we treated Daisy like the queen she was. My daughter took her for a car ride, one of her favorite things to do, and got her chicken McNuggets and a Pup Cup. That evening, we grilled steaks and had some sirloin just for Daisy. She napped and was perfectly contented. I hope she knows how much we loved her.
The next day was one of the hardest days of my life; the veterinarian was kind and the process as humane as it could be, and we made sure that all of her family, including Marlo, were in the room with her as she passed away. I wept uncontrollably along with my daughter, for Daisy was probably her best friend. Death had already visited our family when Annik’s father, Henri, passed away in the garden of his home in France on Valentine’s Day, and I am pretty sure that contributed to how hard I took Daisy’s death. I grieved her loss for months after that, only to have that grief compounded a few months later with the unexpected death of my father due to complications after emergency abdominal surgery for a bowel obstruction.
About one month after Daisy’s death, Briana visited the Lynchburg Humane Society, which was struggling with an overpopulation of cats and dogs in its shelter and was urging people to come in and adopt. She saw a litter of pups, and one of them was struggling to get out of the pack and made eye contact with her. She said her heart melted, and she knew she wanted her. Coincidentally, the pups were in the same cage where she found Daisy five years before. She brought her home that day and named her Popcorn, or Poppy for short, which is what we typically call her.
Poppy is now almost 14 months old and is as feisty and energetic as one would expect a puppy to be.
Marlo still doesn’t stand up for herself, even though she’s bigger and stronger, and Poppy won’t hesitate to push Marlo aside and take food from her bowl. After some understandable hesitation about this intruder in her house, and indeed a period of mourning herself with Daisy no longer there, Marlo has warmed up to Poppy, and they get along for the most part. However, Marlo is going to be five years old this fall, and she’s already acting like an old lady, getting annoyed when Poppy is in full energy mode!
Tomorrow, I’m going to go “full nerd” and share about my home office workspace. If you’re into technology or you spend a lot of time at your desk, either working or writing as a pastime, I hope there will be something in the article for you.
Thanks for visiting!
Come, you who are blessed by the Lord,” he said. “Why are you standing out here? I have prepared the house and a place for the camels.” (Genesis 24:31)
It is great to be grand parent, totally understand your feelings!