Though she was just a wisp of a woman with barely a third-grade education, Alverta was wise and mighty in the Lord. She brightened every room she entered, and given enough time, her unwavering child-like faith, stalwart sunny disposition, and genuinely altruistic love could melt even the most cynical heart.
I was blessed to meet Alverta Mae Miller shortly after I had divorced my first wife. I was wracked with guilt and shame and desperately longing to find love and redemption, so one evening I went to the place I believed I would find it: a church.
The church I decided to visit was large and boasted a Christian school, but the congregation itself was small. A rift over a pastoral issue had split the body, and three-quarters of the parishioners had left to form another church. The remnant filled only a handful of pews and was mostly composed of schoolteachers and staff.
They were a tight-knit group, and their warmth reminded me of families portrayed in old TV shows like The Waltons. I found this incredibly appealing. So when I was invited to join them for a fellowship supper after the service, I eagerly accepted.
Though I barely knew them, their kindness emboldened me. So when dessert ended, I stood up — uninvited — and shared my testimony.
Not a soul said a word.
Finally, the pastor stood up and broke the awkward silence by thanking me for my testimony and closing with a benediction.
As I made my way to the parking lot, I mentally chastised myself:
>“What were you thinking? A handful of strangers smile, shake your hand, and invite you to dinner — and you take that as an invitation to air out your dirty laundry!?”
The moment replayed again and again as I walked out to my car, and with it an icy shiver settled in — the slow, sinking realization that I’ve just made a fool of myself.
“You gave them no time to get to know you before sharing. What did you expect, idiot? There’s no way you can go back now.”
The Light Walker
Without warning, a soft tap on my shoulder jarred me out of my thoughts. I spun around, and there stood Alverta — her little light poised, ready to illuminate my darkness:
“Excuse me sir, I'm so sorry to trouble you, but I didn't get a chance to tell you inside just how moved I was by your testimony!”
Picture this: a dimly lit parking lot, and a small elderly woman approaching a stranger at night — me. My thoughts raced. Who is she? Why is she here? Is she about to rebuke me? Then her words landed. "Moved by my testimony!?"
Alverta spoke with childlike awe and wonder, her joy unmistakable. There was a peaceful, settled confidence about her that drew me in immediately — not the unguarded familiarity of someone unaware of danger, but the calm assurance of someone who walked under protection. I began to explain that I meant every word of what I had shared, that I wasn’t looking for sympathy, that—
Suddenly, she interjected, “You like soup?”
Confused, I responded, “What?”
Alverta continued, “Do you like homemade soup? I have a jar in my car. Would you care for some?”
The question wasn’t cautious or transactional — it carried the easy warmth of family, as if I belonged long before I knew it. Her gesture touched me deeply.
“Oh, my grandma used to make the most delicious homemade soup! She could make soup out of an old shoe!” I exclaimed.
Alverta chuckled, “Oh my! Then I’m afraid mine won’t measure up!”
The laugh that followed was pure and unguarded — not false humility, but the sound of someone unburdened by the need to impress, untouched by ridicule, free to delight without defending herself. It was the most charming sound I had ever heard.
Fast Friends
Alverta and I became close very quickly. She was an exceptional cook and delighted in preparing foods I had never tried before, including hog maw. When she wasn’t cooking, she brought me with her to fellowship meals at churches throughout the county, introducing me to friends wherever we went. She approached people openly and without suspicion, but never without awareness.
It didn’t take long for those of us who knew her well to recognize that distinction. Alverta was not blind to people’s flaws, pretenses, or even their dangers. She simply refused to let those things become the lens through which she saw them. Thinly veiled annoyance, condescension, and even disdain seemed to roll off her without leaving a mark — not because she failed to notice them, but because she saw something deeper at work.
She seemed able to recognize the wound beneath the behavior, the ache beneath the anger. Where others reacted to offense, she responded to need. That posture sometimes drew people who were unstable or untrustworthy. On one occasion, someone she befriended even stole money from her purse at a laundromat. The incident didn’t harden her — it saddened her, and it drove her to pray more fervently for the one who had taken it.
Alverta prayed for every one of her “friends,” regardless of their intentions. She didn’t excuse wrongdoing, nor did she pretend it didn’t exist. But neither did she withdraw her love. Her faith was neither sheltered nor idealistic; it was seasoned, discerning, and remarkably free of self-protection.
Alverta was the quintessential optimist, and I cannot recall a day when her attitude was not positive and uplifting. Love and joy of the Lord flowed from an inexhaustible spring deep within her. She was bold and unashamed to testify about Jesus in any situation; her unabashed outspokenness was often mistaken for dementia. But for those who had eyes to see, it was the confidence of someone who had already settled the question of whom she trusted.
That same boldness was often misunderstood. At a karaoke night in a restaurant, she once felt led to sing a gospel hymn. When the DJ said he had neither the music nor the lyrics, she stepped onto the stage and sang the hymn a cappella. Her unguarded love for Christ confused some, convicted others, and quietly strengthened the faith of those who longed to walk as freely and unashamed. But it never occurred to her to hide her love for Jesus; when you love someone, you introduce them.
“Truly I tell you… unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18:2–4)
“What I tell you in the darkness, tell in the light…” (Matthew 10:27 NAS)
“Everyone who confesses Me before people, the Son of Man will also confess him…” (Luke 12:8–9 ASV)
Preaching to the Choir?
Alverta kept a small book of hymns in her purse, and we spent countless hours in her home and in various nursing homes singing and praising the Lord. She ministered with the same zeal to those who could not walk or sing as she did to those who could — and not without effect. Patients I would have sworn were either heavily sedated or completely unresponsive would begin to hum or tap a finger, not only showing there was still life in them, but that they were grateful she had brought church to them.
Between hymns, I would often ramble about what God was revealing to me in Scripture, read something I had written about striving for holiness, or share my frustration at being unable to find a body of believers who were not complacent and content to remain lukewarm. During those moments, Alverta would sigh and say things like, “Your preaching reminds me of the preaching I used to hear in my youth!”
Preaching? My ramblings were closer to a diatribe than a sermon. The truth was, the only time I did not feel disenchanted with the church — or disappointed in myself — was when I was with Alverta. Praise God for her steadfast faith, hope, love, and encouragement.
Pure religion and undefiled before our God and Father is this: to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unspotted from the world.
(James 1:27 ASV)
After I remarried and moved away, I vowed to visit Alverta every week, and I kept that vow for more than five years. It was a 160-mile round trip, but worth every mile to spend time with her. When her son, who lived out of state, learned of this, he praised me over the phone for faithfully “visiting the widow in her distress.” I quickly corrected him.
“Visiting your mother is no duty or service, Roger. It is an honor and a privilege. If anyone deserves your respect and admiration, it is your mother — she has been patiently caring for me, and for countless other orphans and widows in distress, for most of her life.”
Not long after I moved away, Alverta was involved in a car accident and had to give up driving. But did that — or her aging body — stop her? Absolutely not. She simply “made the rabbit a habit.” Rabbit was the nickname the local transit system gave itself, and despite the inconvenience, Alverta rode it back and forth from her rural home to the nursing homes in the city, alone, for several more years.
Faithful to the End
Though her little light still shone brightly, Alverta’s health eventually declined to the point that she could no longer live safely on her own, and she moved into assisted living. The home her son chose was not a particularly joyful place — but my sweet sister in Christ soon changed that.
I will never forget the looks she received the first time we entered the dining foyer. Without hesitation, Alverta cheerfully introduced herself to each resident, asking their name, age, and how they were doing. You could almost read the thoughts on their faces: What are you so happy about? Don’t you realize why we’re all here — and where we’re headed next?
But Alverta loved people — relentlessly.
With each visit, the transformation of the residents, the staff, and even the atmosphere of the facility was unmistakable. Like plants long deprived of water, dour and sullen residents and weary, discontented staff were refreshed by the living water that flowed from Alverta’s heart. It was like stepping out of the gray wreckage of Dorothy’s homestead into the Technicolor brightness of Munchkin Land.
You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.
(Matthew 5:14)Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven.
(Matthew 5:16 KJV)
Backslider’s Lament
All who do evil hate the light and refuse to go near it, for fear their deeds will be exposed.
(John 3:20 NLT)
As my second marriage began to falter, I made fewer and fewer trips to see Alverta. I was not afraid of her judgment — she was incapable of that — but I was running from God. And there was no place on earth where I felt closer to Him than in her presence.
By the time my longing to visit finally overcame my fear of conviction, Alverta’s memory had deteriorated. She barely recognized me, let alone remembered the countless hours we had shared in fellowship, worship, and ministry. Losing both her companionship and that closeness to God was more than I could bear. With those living waters cut off, the pool of my faith stagnated, and bitterness set in. Once again, the enemy resumed feasting upon me.
Shortly after my second divorce, her son called to tell me she had passed into eternity. Though her body was now only a shell, the news still cut deeply. I did not attend her funeral; only a few people did. I like to think that those who truly knew her as a lamp that gave light to everyone in the room did not feel the need to grieve. She was now in the presence of the Lord she loved and served so faithfully.
Reflection
For months I had pleaded with God for just one friend who could see the truths He was revealing to me — someone who walked the walk and not merely talked the talk. A mentor who could fan the flame of my desire for holiness and show me how to overcome the sin that so easily entangles.
That is when God gave me this verse:
If we walk in the light, as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanses us from all sin.
(1 John 1:7 KJV)
Not long after, God brought Alverta into my life. Though I loved her deeply, like the apostles I did not fully understand who it was I was walking alongside — not until long after her death.
While I was busy asking God for the friend I wanted — a sharp, intellectual companion to affirm the truths He was teaching me — He had already given me what I needed. Alverta. A sheep among wolves; wise as a serpent, yet innocent as a dove.
She was not merely a faithful believer. She was the only person I ever knew intimately who truly walked the walk. She embodied everything I had longed to find and emulate — a cross-bearing follower of Jesus who practiced the only religion that is pure and undefiled in the sight of God.
Prayer & Supplication
Lord, my disobedience and transgressions are more than I can number. I have turned from my calling repeatedly and offended You in thought, word, and deed. Yet You have shown me mercy again and again. Teach me to practice the religion that is pure in Your sight. Guard me from worldliness, and strengthen my resolve to walk uprightly.
In Christ Jesus’ Name, Amen.
And he looked up, and saw the rich men casting their gifts into the treasury. And he saw also a certain poor widow casting in thither two mites. And he said, Of a truth I say unto you, that this poor widow hath cast in more than they all: For all these have of their abundance cast in unto the offerings of God: but she of her penury hath cast in all the living that she had. Luke 21:1-4