Last night our wonderful light went out. Mark’s beautiful and kind Aunt Phyllis, the one who was his spiritual saving grace, shed her earthly body and slipped into the arms of Jesus. She left almost 14 months to the day after her beloved big brother Jerry paved the way on his heavenly journey. She was our last remaining matriarch of that Miller bunch, and, with her departure, she took her strong wit and signature laugh and great charm. It seems appropriate that she left while her oldest granddaughter was reading aloud from Jerry’s book of poetry and prose entitled “Looking Skyward.” She really was looking forward to going home.
She was an artist in her own right, just like her brother, creating beautiful pieces of glazed pottery out of earthen clay which adorned her house and were given as gifts. We have been the recipients of various works of art. She was a storyteller, weaving the gospel message in creative ways for decades and for countless children in after-school programs. She was a dedicated BSF leader as well, pouring wisdom and grace into the lives of hundreds of women who were hungry for a refreshing word.
Our four kids only know one memory of what we did every Christmas night for the past three and a half decades: gathering at Aunt Phyllis’ for dinner. We would hustle into Temple City and crowd around two tables in her modest house, all the time enjoying the gourmet meals of her daughter Joan, who would deliver scrumptious dishes with a common theme based upon her latest travels. We would begin the meal often with Phyllis leading us in the doxology: “Praise God from Whom all blessings flow; praise Him all creatures here below; praise Him above, ye heav’nly host; praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.” Then the wine and platters would be passed around until we were stuffed, leaving a tiny bit of room in our stomachs for the famous Heath bar dessert. The grandchildren and grand nieces and nephews would wash and dry all the fine china and glassware, as she never had a dishwasher in her small kitchen. The memories and bond created by that experience is etched in everyone’s minds.
The Christmas tree would be decorated with the paper plate angels of loved ones who had once graced the table but had moved on to their heavenly homes. Those paper plate angels had once served as place cards on the table. She honored her friends and family well and wanted others to recognize their significance and not forget, as we gathered around the Christmas tree for our annual family pictures.
In this last decade, Jerry and his little sister, separated by six years, were inseparable pals, always celebrating their April birthdays together. So grateful we were able to celebrate them well in 2021 at the ages of 101 and 95 respectively. In one of our last conversations, she commented on how special she felt with the crown and sash I had ordered for her for that event. They both spoke reverently about their Nebraska upbringing and life on the farm and the bonds of family. They never stopped talking about the One who came to earth to save us from our sins.
Now they are face to face with that One, the Great Light. They no longer live in a land of deep shadows. “Oh, they’re so glad in Your presence! Festival joy! The joy of a great celebration, sharing rich gifts and warm greetings.” (Isaiah 9, The Message)
I think of Aunt Phyllis when I read the story of the prophetess Anna in Luke 2. Jesus’ parents brought their 8-day old son to the temple for dedication. Anna, the widow who never left the temple, “broke into an anthem of praise to God, and talked about the child to all who were waiting expectantly for the freeing of Jerusalem.” That was Aunt Phyllis, and we will all miss that joyous voice and our shining light this Christmas.
