Anne Marie Miller

Author: Anne Marie Miller

  • Sex for Clean Water?

    Who would you say are the most vulnerable people in the world?

    Children? Women?

    Guess who typically holds the responsibility for walking miles daily to fetch water when there is no source available?

    Children and women.

    When our cycling team shares about how clean water helps communities become more educated, we talk about how children can go to school instead of having to spend their days walking to and from a water source. Women are also free to earn income or take care of their homes.

    But a few nights ago, I was looking at my schedule for our upcoming rides and was struck with a thought that terrified me to the core.

    —-

    I’ve sparsely mentioned on my blog that I was sexually abused by a pastor when I was in high school. As I went over our route, I realized something.

    On this trip, I would be within miles from where the person who abused me is living.

    Knowing this instantly caused me anxiety. What if I saw him at a gas station or a grocery store? How would I react? Flashbacks from years past rushed back. I felt like a vulnerable sixteen year old again.

    It’s interesting how Blood:Water Mission and this particular part of my past have woven their stories together. I didn’t expect that discovering my proximity to my abuser would have such an impact on the way I thought about clean water, women, and children.

    I mean, if I was a vulnerable, lower-middle class sixteen year old girl in America…what happens to vulnerable children without the protection I had?

    So, I researched.

    —–

    It didn’t take long to discover how women and children seeking a simple place to use the restroom are often targets of sexual crime. I found this right away on the UN’s website:

    1.3 billion (NOTE: BILLION!!!) women and girls in developing countries are doing without access to private, safe and sanitary toilets. In some cultural settings where basic sanitation is lacking, women and girls have to rise before dawn, making their way in the darkness to fields, railroad tracks and roadsides to defecate in the open, knowing they may risk rape or other violence in the process.

    That doesn’t include the risks women and children who go alone to find clean water source may face, either. The World Health Organization says that many women are forced to have sex in order to receive clean water. Certain men will claim territory over areas of water and use that “power” over the women and children who need that water in order to survive.

    —-

    Even though I haven’t been able to ride every single mile on this trip, it was my goal to get a century (100 miles) ride in and Thursday, July 8, is my last chance since it’s the last century ride on the trip.

    At first, attempting it was more of a personal accomplishment. I’ve ridden 80 miles before — why not finally ride the milestone of a century? But after all of these random bits and pieces from my own story and the tragic statistics from millions of others, I decided to change the focus of that ride.

    I’m riding this century for the women and children who have lost had taken away from them their innocence, their hope, their sense of who they are for the unjust reason of not having clean water or a private place to use the restroom.

    And I’m going to make an ask of you.

    Would you help sponsor me for this ride? We raised over $5200 on my 30th birthday that went directly to Blood:Water mission and I’m going to ask you to donate again.

    Can you pledge to donate $1 for every mile I ride on Thursday? Or even $0.25 for every mile? Even $.01 for every mile will give an African clean water for an entire year — every penny counts. Every penny goes to Blood:Water Mission.

    The route has us going 104 miles from Little Rock, AR to Forrest City, AR, and I’ll take a before and after picture of my cycling computer and post it as soon as I have internet again so you can see how many miles I finished.

    The lack of access to clean water is such a solvable problem, penny by penny. And with clean water, maybe we can help prevent innocent women and children from being taken advantage of by allowing them to stay in safe places.

    Because nobody — nobody — should have to have such a beautiful part of their life stolen from them just so they can survive and provide for their families.

    If you can pledge, please leave a comment and I’ll let you know how it goes as soon as I can. Or, if you’d like to simply make a donation, you can click here.

  • When God Isn’t…

    Before heading out on this cycling trip, one thing I was curious about was how “God would show up” and I was really excited to “find Him” in different ways.

    Anyway, I thought I had it figured out, this “God showing up” thing. In my fantasy I was leaning head-down into the wind, pathways of sweat cutting across my face and rolling off into the road behind me. I heard the vibration of my bike moving across hot asphalt as blades of grass and insects buzzed next to my feet. My chest moved in and out as my lungs expanded and emptied with each breath. I felt the movement of God in me. I felt alive.

    We’re now on our fourth week of this trip and my God-fantasy is just that. A fantasy. There have been no magic burning bushes or epiphanies had on the open roads. In fact, it’s maybe been the opposite.

    And as expected, the unexpected has happened.

    Physically, the heat and climbing escalated my almost-fixed-but-evidently-not-quite heart problem. That knocks me out from riding every mile on certain days with big climbs or 100 degree plus weather.

    Didn’t see that coming.

    On top of that, the day before two really great rides in Texas, a component of my bike broke to an extent I couldn’t effectively ride. I had planned to do my first century ride into Anson, TX (which is close to where I went to high school) but because I couldn’t get my bike fixed before that day, I ended up driving the van.

    In keeping a healthy perspective, my unplanned time in the van isn’t really a big deal. Before my heart surgery, simply walking to the van would have been tough. So riding 30 miles, 50 miles, 80 miles…any miles, really…is beyond anything I could have hoped for a year ago.

    But my perspective isn’t always healthy.

    I’ve been fighting with my “ideal” self – the athlete I was before my heart problems. I know my muscles are strong and can handle these long miles. Except for the literal pain in the butt from sitting on a six-inch seat for seven hours, nothing really hurts.

    If only my heart worked right, this wouldn’t be such a struggle for me.

    If only…

    The unexpected has thrown my spiritual fantasy out the door as well. And once again, it has to do with my heart.

    What I expected is something emotional. Cathartic. Exciting. Clear. Maybe even miraculous in an obvious way. I’m supposed to be writing another book and planning my future as an author and speaker. I wait each day, hoping for a revelation on what I’m supposed to do when I get back in August and each night go to bed as empty handed as I woke up.

    If only…

    What I am realizing is the extent I let my expectations control me. My heart – both physically and spiritually – had formed expectations for this trip. Expectations that aren’t being met. I’ve spent so much of my spiritual life coasting from a mountain top to a valley and back up again, so I only expect to see God at the top or at the bottom on a roller coaster.

    What happens when there is no roller coaster?

    What happens when the land of my spirit is flat?

    How do I find Him?

    And when I don’t “feel” Him…where do I turn?

    Quite honestly, I find myself turning the other way.

    (Evidently I am not gifted with patience.)

    “What? You’re not here? Okay. Fine. I’m gonna try running over there to find you.”

    I’m left breathless and exhausted at the end.

    My heart…It’s not perfect.

    It beats too fast sometimes.

    It gets anxious.

    It doesn’t like to wait.

    It likes to experience the highs and lows, but never the middle.

    The middle is too quiet. Too tame.

    And as such, too threatening to my comfort.

    In the same way I can’t control how my physical heart functions, I can’t control how God shows Himself, or how I see him.

    What happens when God isn’t a feeling? When He isn’t a high or an adrenaline rush or a moment of clarity when I expect Him to be?

    God simply is, and I need to simply be.

    I need to realize that in that holy moment of simply being, it’s not about my expectations.

    It’s about His.

    Resting.

    Existing.

    Living.

    Being.

    Right here. Right now.

    In this moment.

    With this heart beat.

    And this one.

    And that’s all He wants (and expects) of me.

    —-

  • On Being Homeless

    It probably doesn’t need to be stated, but just in case, I do realize I’m not homeless.

    In fact, we have a very charming little turn-of-the-century rental cottage we call home. And we have friends who are caring for it during our absence as we cycle across the states.

    But as we cycle, we continually rely on the hospitality of strangers to take us in, otherwise, seventeen of us would sleep in a fifteen passenger van or perhaps on top of a fifteen passenger van. Every night, a church opens their doors for us, a group of smelly, sweaty, unknown young adults and lets us sleep on their floors, their pews, their couches.

    They let us shower if they have one, sometimes feed us, or let us use their kitchen to make our own dinner. We’ve been greeted with ice coolers full of Gatorade, towels soaked in cold water, and always smiling faces.

    Some of these churches are quite large, thousands of people calling them home. Their campuses sprawl and it’s easy to meander to a quiet spot to find some time alone. Others maybe just have a room or two, like the old and outdated church in a ghost-town in the middle of Arizona. But there was a floor, a kitchen, a shower, and a lovely pastor who opened the doors for us.

    I realize quite a few people who may read this blog are on staff at a church, or are somehow involved in a decision-making capacity, and as I sit in the youth center at our church in Brownfield, TX, I couldn’t help but make a plea to you:

    If you have the facilities or resources to host someone – do it. In fact, seek out those opportunities.

    In the American church culture, we put a lot of bank in our building projects. We see this as an investment into ministry but it’s typically limited to the weekend. But what would happen if the doors were opened all week long? And if we can’t open the doors to our buildings for some reason, what about our own homes?

    Every time I take a shower I find myself thinking, “I am taking a shower in a church in a place I’ve never seen before, and I’ll be safe inside this church tonight when I sleep because of people I’ve never met before.”

    And every time I’m just humbled and blown away by their spirit of generosity, no matter how “much” or how “little” they provide.

    The amount doesn’t matter.

    The open heart and open doors do.

  • Can You Live a Life of No Secrets?

    Permission to Speak Freely: Essays and Art on Fear, Confession and Grace will be releasing at the end of August. (You can pre-order it here if you’d like!) It’s currently being printed and I have to say the team of people who worked on it is incredible. The design and order of the book, from the stories to the confessions to the poetry, is simply beautiful. I can’t wait to share a chapter or two with you soon.

    To support the book, I’ll be going on tour with the hilarious actress/comedienne/author Susan Isaacs and the enchanting musical artist Solveig. This specific tour is for women’s groups and is affordable for churches of any size.

    For more info on the tour, check out this page.

  • Quiet

    I should be blogging more than I have been.

    One legit excuse is we don’t typically have internet (and rarely mobile reception) in these random parts of the southwest.

    But mainly it’s because I don’t have anything to say.

    It’s been easy for me to talk my whole life. I grew up knowing the right answers…the right things to say…and most of the time…when to say them. And don’t get me wrong – there are plenty of things I could tell you about from this trip.

    But not now.

    The sound of pavement under my road tire for miles and miles and hours and hours has me realizing something.

    I need to be quiet more often.

    When you’re dehydrated or overheating or your heart rate is too fast or your knee begins to burn you listen to your body and you respect it. You take care of it.

    My mind, my heart, my soul are all telling me I need to be quiet.

    So, for now, I’m going to listen to that voice, and respect it.

  • Don’t Look Dumb in the Desert

    First, lemme just say the desert is hot.

    I know that seems rather obvious.

    But you guys, I grew up in West Texas.

    I thought that was hot.

    I was in India last year during their most dramatic heat wave in twenty-seven years. It was 120 degrees there.

    I thought that was hot.

    And so I figured with my experience with hot weather, surely riding a bike through the desert would be a piece of cake.

    Easy.

    (Please pause here to laugh. Loud and hard. Seriously. Because I am. Here’s a view from today’s ride.)

    Anyway, on the Ride:Well tour, not everyone rides every mile, every day. Some people do (and I love them. And they blow my mind). But I am not one of those people.

    Today, however, I really thought I’d ride the entire day. It was mostly flat terrain, we got an early start, and I was keeping a great pace.

    After being on the road for about three hours, we made a turn and faced a very hilly 20 mile stretch.

    Hills aren’t a big deal for me. I’m slow, but I live in Nashville so that’s what I’m used to cycling on.

    I guess the equation of HILLS + BOILING HOT WEATHER = GETTING PUT IN THE VAN.

    At first, the hilly stretch was hard. It wasn’t too bad, but it was hard. Nothing we couldn’t push through.

    Then came one big hill.

    I had to pull over at the top.

    Checked my heart rate.

    190.

    (And remember, I had heart surgery to fix these crazy heart rates. 190 is fine – it’s not my max – but it hasn’t been that high since last summer!)

    I rested a bit, let it recover, and we went up the next hill.

    Longer.

    Steeper.

    And I swear the sun was hotter…

    Our group of six got to the top of the hill and I said I needed another breather.

    Checked my pulse.

    210.

    TWO FREAKING TEN.

    After surgery. And on a medicine which helps keep my heart rate low.

    I knew it wasn’t safe to continue.

    We all knew.

    So we called the van.

    I had to come off the road.

    I was mad.

    I dropped my bike (carefully, mind you), and walked away.

    Hot tears began streaming down my face.

    THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE DAY I RODE THE WHOLE ROUTE. THE DAY I FINISHED.

    And I walked away, unstrapping my helmet and waddling down in my road shoes in the sinking sand of the California desert.

    I had a full bottle of water with me. I looked over my shoulder. The other five guys were there. I wondered if they’d notice if I threw it into the desert. Then I thought I’d have to go get it…through the cacti. I really just wanted to punch something.

    WHY WASN’T MY HEART BEHAVING????!!! WHY CAN’T MY HEART JUST BE NORMAL???!!!! WHY DO I HAVE TO GET IN THE *#%&@* VAN???!!!

    I took my helmet off and considered drop-kicking it. But that would be stupid because if you’ve ever tried walking in road shoes you know how easy it is to fall over.

    And then there was the whole cacti thing again.

    So out, alone, away from my team I stood. For a good, solid, ten minutes alone. (Adam took this picture. I’m so glad he did, because I realize how ridiculous I look…ALL ALONE!)

    The van came and picked me up (along with a couple other cyclists) and took us to the next stop a few miles away for lunch.

    I sat almost silent during the entire lunch, still so angry with something I have no control over.

    As lunch wrapped up, we found out our route had changed because of some impassable roads. The entire team of seventeen people fit into a 15-passenger van (that really only seats 13 — this is Karl laying on top of about four other guys) and we drove to the edge of Yuma, our destination for the night.

    Praying the Yuma-to-host-church terrain didn’t have many climbs, I put on my helmet and strapped on my road shoes. I pulled out my bike and clipped into my pedals.

    Ten (hot, slow, traffic-laden) miles later, we arrived at our destination. Granted, our 82 mile day become a 50 mile day, but I was so thankful I had the chance to ride 45 of those miles, including the final ten.

    It wasn’t perfect. But I had finished.

    —-

    If you’ve been around here much, you know I haven’t really cried much since my trip to Haiti.

    I think I’ve cried about ten times already in the last two days.

    Some tears have been tears of frustration (i.e., the story above). Some have been tears of fear or just stress from sleeping in a different place every night and having my belongings for the next two months contained in one plastic bin.

    Most have been tears of gratefulness. Gratefulness for these seventeen people who truly surround each other and push each other. Sometimes it’s to go faster. Sometimes it’s to slow down. Sometimes it’s just sacrificing their own goals to help a teammate make it a little farther, like riding into Yuma today. The two guys I was riding with could have finished that in twenty minutes, but they let me pace slowly with them so my heart rate stayed stable. It took longer, it meant more time in the 112-degree sun and almost crashing a few times but I felt so humbled they sandwiched me in between them to keep me safe and keep me going.

    It’s funny how hard it is to let people in our lives sometimes. To stop and say, “I need a break,” or “Can we slow down?” or “Help me,” or to even accept that help when you need it but are too stubborn to ask. But when everything is stripped away – our appearances, what we do outside of this tour, and good gosh, the terrible way we smell – opening up is vital. So vital.

    Maybe you’re not on a bike for two months this summer, but if I can encourage you in anything, it would be to open up. To get sweaty, dirty, covered in grease, road-rash, saddle sores, and show your weakness to someone. Let them carry you, and if you see someone wobbling along the way, carry them.

    It’s truly life-giving. And that’s really all I can say about that.

    —-

  • Riding my Bicycle All Around the USA

    We leave tomorrow from Faith Chapel (after the 10:45 service if you live around San Diego and want to come out) and head up almost 80 miles to Anza Borrega State Park for our first night (we’ll be camping! And this is…no joke…my first time ever sleeping outside).


    Today we went to the Pacific Ocean for photos and to actually “begin” the Pacific-to-Atlantic ocean trip. The cold water splashed up on our bikes and I can’t believe that in just two months we’ll be rolling our bikes into the Atlantic ocean.

    I was told to expect the unexpected on this trip – and that has been so true, even in our few days of training. I wasn’t able to ride our full ride today and instead drove our support van (with gigantic trailer!), but that’s just one part of the trip…being flexible…letting my plans and expectations fall away when they need to for the benefit of the team (or in some cases, our own health).

    This is an area I need some serious growth in, so I am trying to learn to welcome the unexpected instead of become discouraged by it. How I let it affect me also affects my team.

    Thanks again for all the supportive tweets, comments, and the like…they play part of the energy that keeps us going.

    I’ll probably have internet again later next week, so until then…

    Please enjoy this song our team has created especially for you. I believe it truly speaks the heart behind this trip.

    Get a Kleenex out because this rap will bring tears to your eyes….

  • Spandex, Janitors and Lemon:Aid

    After a long van ride from Minneapolis, The Ride:Well tour leaders arrived safely into San Diego Wednesday night and slowly, the cyclists are arriving today. We’re being hosted by the fabulous Faith Chapel church who have generously allowed us to take over their campus with our bikes, sleeping bags, and spandex.

    It’s been great getting to know each person as they come in and hear why they’ve decided to donate their summer to riding bikes for Blood:Water Mission. There are definitely some serious cyclists on our team (the south team) as well as some newbies, like me.

    We’ll be spending pretty much every minute for the next two months with each other, and with that comes cooking for each other, cleaning up after each other, and doing each others’ laundry. We rely on the generosity of host churches and homes, and sometimes with that, surprises abound.

    That’s where the part about the janitor and the wake up call comes in.

    One of the other leaders, Erin, and I volunteered to do laundry last night for the people who needed it (we have a very limited amount of clothes with us so laundry is almost a daily task). The church has a laundry area — it just happens to be pretty far from the area we were sleeping. We decided it would be easier for us to sleep in the classroom next to the laundry area so we could keep the laundry going into the night and first thing in the morning.

    We planned on waking up around 6:30a to finish the last load, but at about 5:45a, the door to the classroom opens, and a very sweet, older man walks in the room. He turns on the light, sees us passed out in our sleeping bags, apologizes, and leaves.

    I bet he wasn’t expecting that.

    We went back to sleep and five minutes later, he returns with another man — a tall, muscular, Harley-Davidson looking guy with a big beard and bigger biceps.

    “Are you ladies supposed to be sleeping in here?”

    Oh crap. We are so busted.

    “Well…” (I said, stammering)… “We thought it would be easier for us to keep the laundry going if we were in here…” (I continued, trying to dig my way out and wondering how crazy my bed-head looked.)

    “It’s no problem,” the Harley guy continued. “I just feel bad for you guys sleeping on the floor when you could have been in the Bridal Suite down the hall. It’s so much more comfortable in there.”

    So, our Harley guy ended up being a very sweet teddy-bear of a guy and even as I walked by later with our sleeping bags, he explained how badly he felt that we were sleeping on the floor.

    And so begins the journey.

    We’ll have a few days of training and cycling here in San Diego, and then Sunday, we’ll be leaving from Faith Chapel church (time is yet to be determined, but if you’re in the area, I’d love for you to see us off and will update my Twitter and Facebook Page with the details when I know).

    Thank you so much for all your prayers. This is going to be an amazing journey for an amazing cause!

    Oh, and just because you’re not doing a bike ride, did you know there are some easy and super fun ways to help support Blood:Water? Make a “lemon:aid” stand, coordinate a water walk, or….click here for some more awesome ideas.

  • The True Meaning of Companion (and what it has to do with a Big Mac)

    One final post (although I wish I could do many more!) on the book we’ve been talking about, In Praise of Slowness. This book is so rich in wisdom, in inspiration, and is just so darn well-written (and currently still $6 on Amazon) I seriously can’t recommend it enough. It has done for me what Seth Godin’s work did for me five or six years ago – it adds a “lens” through which I view how I live part of my life out.

    In a chapter on food, we learn that the true meaning of the word “companion” is “sharing bread with someone”…and if you go back and look through the responses of our survey on food, you’ll notice a few people wish to slow down and simply share a meal with family or friends.

    That makes total sense. How often do you hear, “Gosh, I wish that dinner was so much shorter. I hated every minute of the food, the company, the conversation…” Instead, when you have these slower-paced dinners, or even a meal out with friends, the time flies, and you’ve suddenly found yourself at that table for three hours.

    And you want more of that.

    Another large theme was simply eating healthier. Going more local/natural, etc. A common excuse for this is money, and at first glance, sometimes it seems like you pay a lot more going to Whole Foods for a lot less food, than if you went to Wal-Mart (who yes, may carry organic food — but I avoid for other reasons) or Kroger.

    We all know, for the most part, the quality of the Whole Foods-ish products is better, is fair-trade, not made by an eight year old in a sugar field, and more than likely is organic. If you’ve been to a Farmer’s Market, you know some things (meats, pastas, sauces, cheeses) can be a bit pricey.

    So why pay $16/lb for some steak at your Farmer’s Market when you can get it for half that at Wal-Mart?

    The obvious answer is quality. I could literally drive to the farm I get my meat from at the Farmer’s Market and see how it’s made from start to finish. I actually plan on doing this later this summer. If you’ve ever seen Fast Food Nation or Supersize Me (free on Hulu) or The Future of Food (free on Hulu) or any of the other food-advocate type movies, you see the terrible way most food in most supermarkets or chain stores is grown, what pesticides and preservatives are on them, what hidden salts, sugars, syrups, and chemicals they’re laced with, how the animals are given steroids and treated, where your fast food really comes from and what it does, and the way that all of this is disguised to the public.

    I am NOT a conspiracy theorist. But since I have been paying a little more for quality food, it’s amazing how I feel. And I also realize with the amount of eating out I was doing: a $6 bag of Farmer’s Market pasta that will make eight servings is still less than one value meal at Chick-fil-A.

    We don’t mind paying for convenience. That’s the way our culture of busyness has been tricked into thinking healthy things are expensive while we are actually paying so much more for so much less every time we eat out.

    Totally perspective.

    Organic produce, or any produce you can trace back to its origins (and not have to worry if the same chemical they use to make Agent Orange is the pesticide they sprayed on your lettuce) is fairly inexpensive. Buy a few tomatoes, add some herbs, simmer them up, and all of the sudden you have fresh, organic tomato sauce for $2-3 instead of paying $6-12 for the organic kind in a jar. That’s just one example of something you can make that’s less expensive, and better for you, than getting something in a bright colored jar.

    I have decided to stick to the following rules when it comes to food. Exceptions are always made. Nobody can pull this off perfectly, but the exceptions to the rules are few and far between.

    • Know where the food came from
    • Read the ingredients
    • Craving XYZ restaurant? How can we make this at home for less?
    • PLAN AHEAD and shop according to that plan
    • Just stay away from the processed stuff.
    • Buy local when possible (especially produce and meat!)
    • If at all possible, use the oven or stove and not the microwave, even though it takes longer.

    Cooking takes time. And energy. And some days you don’t have that energy. But what can be adjusted in your schedule so you have an hour set aside to cook? Or can you spend a couple hours one night, or on a weekend cooking ahead of time so you have something healthy already to go on the days when life is crazy.

    The affordability issue — for most people — ourselves included — is a priority thing. A family will typically spend more money on entertainment or things like cell phone bills than they do on food. Buying cheap food now may seem like the answer, but with all those strange chemicals racing around in our bodies, it won’t be the answer in the long run when someone has to get treated for obesity related diseases, or because of all the chemicals we’ve slowly been ingesting.

    It’s important to think about the long-term effects this will have on us, our children (who have a shorter life-expectancy than we do…!) instead of the short-term fix of a quick meal in front of the TV before we rush off to doing something that in reality, may not be as important that sharing healthy food, and celebrating that element of creation and nature, with the people we’ve been given in life.