Defining Moments: Uplifting, Inspiring Memoirs and Faith Lessons

By Patricia A. Miller

As I've reflected over my 84 years I realize that certain events and people influenced some of the decisions I made later in life. Even as a child I was subconsciously saying things to myself such things as "I will never do that" or "I admire those women so much I want to be like them" or " This is what's really important" or "I will never act like that person".
These are what I call defining moments. Thus, the title "Defining Moments" was born. Even though I didn't realize it at the time, I was forming decisions and opinions based on those seemingly insignificant events and people.
This book includes my family history, my personal history, and my spiritual history. My family history is based on what I saw and heard, as well as information from others. How I wish I had asked some questions and found out more. I recently read that when the oldest member of a family dies, a library burns to the ground! At least some of my stories will remain alive and can be passed on.
My personal history includes some of the incredible people I've met along the way including my first love as well as the man I was married to for 57 years.
My faith history is my journey into the heart of God as I came to know the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit on a personal level.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098366285

Patricia A. Miller

Patricia A. Miller se estrenó en la literatura en 2015 y, desde entonces, ha publicado una decena de novelas, las siete últimas en Ediciones Versátil. De Patricia nos encanta su gusto por el detalle (realmente se obsesiona con la documentación), su sensibilidad, que sus personajes sean unos luchadores y que sepa contar historias tan verosímiles que piensas que eso te podría estar pasando a ti. Puedes seguir a Patricia A. Miller en redes sociales y en su web: www.patriciaamiller.com

Book preview

Epilogue

INTRODUCTION

I’ve discovered that writing a book is similar to giving birth. This book has been months in the making and concludes with a part of myself entering the outside world. Throughout this memoir, my family history, personal history, and faith history are the components that have birthed this project.

As for family history, I’m the middle link between seven traceable generations. My great-grandparents were the first immigrants in my family to come to America, and I spent a lot of time with them. I’ve been entrusted with the lofty task of bringing the past alive and pertinent to the present. Some of my personal history from childhood to the present and includes some of the very special people I’ve met along the way by first names only. Within this journey there have been many defining moments as I came to know the three Persons of the Trinity on a personal level. It has been life-changing and transformational. This book is my testimony.

I follow in the footprints of strong and courageous women who have been my role models and inspirations. They, and others, have shaped and formed me into the person God intended me to be and that I am still becoming. If these stories aren't told, they will be lost. My original intent was to write a memoir about my ancestors, as I knew them, so the generations following me would have a sense of their lineage. I’m the hinge that connects the ancestors from 1854 to their descendants of 2021. I find myself in a very distinct position with a foot in two very different worlds and eras. But the blood bond that unites us is ever present and continues.

Memories are inner recordings from our past that can play on demand. I realize that past events and people have influenced my values and decisions throughout my life. Regardless of what emotions they draw forth, memories are precious and define our future.

The silhouettes on the cover represent my life from childhood to adulthood with the symbol of Jesus Christ in the middle. The adult silhouette is me as done by a local artist.

I consider a defining moment to be those events and people who have caused me to say to myself, either consciously or subconsciously,

I admire them and want to be like them. This is what's important. I’ll never do that! This is worth my time and effort.

Thus, the title Defining Moments was born.

I know these memories and the ability to retain them is a gift at my age, and I also know the agony of witnessing a loved one lose their ability to recall people and events that were an important part of their life. May God be with all those in such situations, including their loved ones, and keep them in His loving care. Amen

CHAPTER O N E

The Gift

"It was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.

My frame was not hidden from you when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were before me, when none of them as yet existed" Psalm 139:13-16.

I recently heard someone say that regardless of the circumstances we’re born into, no person is a mistake because the conditions are according to God’s will. His will is for our good and to give Him praise, glory, and honor. Please keep this in mind as I share my story. There was a time in my life when I would have found that very difficult to believe, but now I know it to be true because I’ve lived it. I believe He gave me the gift of being illegitimate and entrusted it to me because "He knew the days that were before me" and that I would eventually use it for His glory and honor. He entrusted this priceless gift to me.

The family I was born into consisted of my Grandparents, Lula (Leptak) and Frank Cepluch, my Uncle Henry, and my Mom. They lived on Noyes Avenue in Hamilton, Ohio. I entered this world on August 17, 1936, at Mercy Hospital in Hamilton, Ohio. You might say that I took the world by surprise, to put it mildly. It was a case of Look out, world, here I come, ready or not! I don’t know how many were ready for me, but I do know that some definitely were not.

I’ve come to realize that from the very beginning of my life, I’ve had something in common with Jesus. Just as my mother was unwed, so was Mary, the mother of Jesus. She would have been an outcast had it not been for Joseph. Jesus was also conceived outside of marriage. So I’ve been in good company from the very beginning. Because of that unplanned pregnancy, we can all be saved for all eternity.

Most unwed mothers in this area went to The Maple Knoll Home for Unwed Mothers in Cincinnati, Ohio, when their pregnancy became obvious, and then gave their babies up for adoption. Some chose to go away, keep their babies, and never return home; anything to prevent themselves and their families from facing the stigma, embarrassment, and disgrace of having a baby out of wedlock. Abortion was not legal then, but I don’t think my mother would have chosen that even if it had been. She chose the brave and more challenging option of bringing me home from the hospital and showing me off to the world, not in a deliberate way but allowing the situation to unfold day-by-day. Our family, neighbors, and friends gradually became aware that she had given birth without the benefit of marriage. That took a lot of courage in 1936.

The only people I remember being around in my early years were family, including my Mom’s aunts, uncles, and cousins who mostly lived in Indiana and Ohio. My great grandparent’s farm in Indiana was the gathering place on weekends for numerous relatives and their city friends who enjoyed a day in the country.

My Mom

My Mom became an avid photographer at age seventeen. She always carried a camera with her. There are many photo albums containing pictures from the farm. The black pages in these albums are literally disintegrating. I even have pictures saved on my phone that she took in 1929.

Sundays were always a good time at the farm. I felt accepted and loved and played with the kids who were my age, especially my cousin, Shirley. They loved me because they loved my Mom. They didn’t judge her or me.

Mom didn’t work when I was an infant. When I was about two years old, she went to work at Louis Duemer Pattern Works on Dixie Highway as a typist and could also take shorthand. They manufactured wood and metal patterns, pressure cast match plates, cope, drag plates, and core dryers.

Mom was more educated than most women in her day because, after high school, she attended Business College, learned shorthand and could also transcribe it. I’m not going to attempt to describe shorthand, so if you don’t know what it is, I’ll leave it up to you to do some research. I will tell you that it was a skill that few had. She could also type more than the required number of words per minute. Her fingers just flew over those keys.

Being illegitimate affected me and my family’s reputation immensely. When I was only five months old, my Grandpa committed suicide. My illegitimacy brought him dishonor, disgrace, and shame that he was unable to endure. Upon his tragic death, the local newspaper published his obituary. We have a copy and it describes how Uncle Henry found him in the car in the garage after he shot himself in the heart with a revolver. Let it be duly noted that I was not mentioned in the obituary; only his wife, children, and sibling were listed as survivors. Such an acknowledgment would have publicly announced that my mother had a baby out of wedlock, and the family I was born into wasn’t ready for that.

I’ve noticed that there are no pictures of my Grandpa in any of Mom’s albums. He apparently never went to the family gatherings at the farm, and Grandma went to all of them because it was her parent’s farm. The few people who knew him felt that my birth was the last straw for him. A family friend told me that the night before he took his life he spoke the words Goodbye, Patsy, which was my childhood nickname. She and others told me later that he was an unpleasant, hateful man. The only picture I have of him is their wedding picture in which he looks angry and mean. I can’t imagine my dear, sweet Grandma living with him.

As I said before, some people were just not ready for me. As an infant, I was not aware of the adverse effects that were caused by my arrival. I was only aware of living in a safe, accepting world until I was old enough to go to the local family-owned neighborhood grocery store, which was only about a block from our house. At that time, the closest supermarket was the Kroger store on the west side of Pleasant Avenue between Williams and Belle Avenues in Lindenwald, the southern part of Hamilton.

Since we didn’t have a car at the time, getting groceries was a significant undertaking. We had to take the bus to Kroger’s and then carry the brown paper bags to the bus stop. After getting to the closest bus stop to our house, we still had to tote everything for over a block. The bags had no handles, which made it even more awkward to transport groceries. In the 1940s, a common phenomenon was small family-owned neighborhood stores. These were usually garages or first-floor rooms converted into grocery stores and operated by the family.

Around that same time, Mom and Grandma decided I was old enough to go to the one nearest to us by myself. The first time I went by myself, the reality of life hit me like a slap in the face and a kick in the gut. I didn’t know what hit me or why. I was used to getting a sucker when I went with my best friend, Marlene, or my Grandma. The owner was even pleasant. However, this time was different. There was a paradigm shift.

The first time I entered his neighborhood store alone, he filled the orders of his regular customers, including those who came in after me. Not until the store was empty did he acknowledge me and take my list. When he eventually looked at me, he said with such disdain and disgust, You’re that CEPLUCH KID, aren’t you? I didn’t know if his question required an answer or not because he saw us at Mass every Sunday. He had also seen me numerous times with my Grandma in his store, so I was thoroughly confused.

I just knew that he didn’t like me, and I didn’t understand why he disliked me so much. I’d never done anything to him, so it didn’t make any sense. What I did know was that he made me feel worthless, embarrassed, and ashamed.

That scenario was repeated many times over the years, and a part of me died every time I went to that store. My heart and soul were more deeply wounded each time, and I dreaded going there. I told Mom and Grandma that he wasn’t very nice to me, but they didn’t grasp the impact that his words and actions had, and I was unable to relate it to them effectively. They didn’t realize that every time I crossed that threshold, my spirit was broken. They didn’t hear the venom and anger in his voice or see the look of disgust on his face. The more he said it, the deeper the ugly words and accompanying feelings were embedded within me.

So I tried to protect myself from such abuse by stopping at my best friend, Marlene’s, to see if she or her sister, Janice, could go with me because he treated me much better if someone was with me. I even got a sucker if I wasn’t alone. As I reflect on that, I realized it was the beginning of a dark cloud of shame that hung over me for decades, and other people unknowingly added to it. "Death and life are in the power of the tongue." Proverbs 18:21.

The grocer’s tongue brought death to my inner being and heightened my feeling of shame and confusion as to why he mistreated me.

From a Bill and Gloria Gaither hymn,

"Something beautiful;

something good;

All my confusion

He understood.

All I had to offer Him was brokenness and strife,

but He made something beautiful of my life!"

Speaking of the grocer, I’ll jump forward to twenty plus years later after I was married and the mother of two beautiful little girls. I was serving at a parish function at St. Ann’s for those celebrating silver and golden anniversaries and guess who was celebrating a 50th anniversary. Sometimes God puts people in our lives at times of His choosing to confirm what wondrous works and healings He has performed in our lives and hearts. What a powerful confirmation of His healing and love occurred that night.

As I was pouring ice water for the grocer, he looked up at me and said with such familiar disgust, You’re that CEPLUCH KID, aren’t you? As a testimony of God’s healing power, I can report that I graciously smiled instead of baptizing him with ice water. His wife, who was on the other side of him, gave him an elbow in the ribs and told him not to say that.

He thought he knew who I was, but he had no idea. He didn’t know that I am a precious child of God, greatly blessed and highly favored. I knew then that those years of praying for the gift of forgiveness had accomplished the desired result because that personal encounter with him did not make me feel ashamed, and I didn’t feel any animosity toward him. My mind, heart, and spirit had been healed. Miracles still happen. Praise God!

A DEFINING MOMENT

As a young girl, I knew that when I became an adult, I would never treat anybody like this man had treated me. I would never make anyone feel ashamed or worthless.

My Abba Father orchestrated that situation to confirm in my heart that I was genuinely healed of all anger and negative emotions. He wanted me to know that He had touched me and made me whole in a way that only He could. When I am void of negative emotions