Matt Miller

I never thought I’d miss my construction days, but some days I do. There was a certain peace in those evenings when the sun dipped low, tools clattered into the back of the truck, and I knew the day was finished. Work stayed at work. Life was simple. Predictable. Manageable. No late-night messages. No families waiting for counsel. No stack of ministry needs that follow me home. Back then I lived for myself—make money, do my job, enjoy my time. And in moments of pressure today, that life can...

When the fields finally rest, gratitude becomes clearer. From Missouri farm tables to Serbian homes, one truth rises above culture and tradition: thanksgiving belongs to God alone—not to saints, symbols, or stories. This is a call to lay every other custom aside and lift your thanks to the only One who hears.

As a boy sitting by the fishing pond, I felt like time grew on trees. Now, as responsibilities pile up like storm clouds, I steer my days like a submarine through deep waters — careful, tense, never enough room to breathe. And when the pressure rises, wasting time becomes the sweet poison that promises relief while slowly hollowing the soul.