A Knock in the Snow: The People Who Changed Everything

An 'Amazing Americans' Guest Contribution by Lynette Miller

This is a guest post contribution by Lynette Miller, who reached out to me to tell her story of encountering great Americans after moving to a new neighborhood.

If you’d like to contribute your story, contact me directly via DM.

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People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.

When you figure out which one it is, you will know what to do for each person.

A reason person meets a specific need—offering guidance, support, or help through a difficult time—then moves on once the purpose is fulfilled.

A season person brings joy, growth, or shared experiences for a temporary chapter.

Lifetime relationships teach enduring lessons and remain constant.

~ Brian A. “Drew” Chalker (adapted)

I was eight months pregnant with our third child, due in about six weeks, when a kindly man with white hair and a suit jacket knocked on our door at snowy Fort Drum, where there are two seasons: winter and the 4th of July. We’d just moved into new quarters, and I was chasing two toddlers while feeling utterly miserable.

He introduced himself as Pastor Maughan and asked if he could step inside for a moment. Hesitant and exhausted, I let him in anyway. He and his wife were planting a new church nearby and wondered if we had a church home. I explained we’d only been there a couple of months and hadn’t found one yet. He invited us for Sunday and left a flyer, which I set on top of the fridge and promptly forgot to mention to my husband.

Sundays came and went. We stayed home, just trying to survive each day.

Three weeks later, the familiar knock returned. Pastor Maughan was “in the neighborhood” and wanted to check on me. He asked gentle questions about our family and where we’d come from, then left after giving the kids a small treat. No pushy invitation this time, just kindness. I told my husband about it that night.

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Ten days later, the knock came again. This time, his lovely wife, Miss Amy, stood beside him. They asked to visit for a minute. In my mind, questions swirled: Why are they being so nice? Are they legit or just… creepy?

My toddlers immediately flocked to Miss Amy, drawn by her soft eyes and gentle voice. Over coffee, Pastor shared about their small group of families. For the first time in months, I had uninterrupted adult conversation. They stayed only twenty minutes, didn’t press us to attend, but asked if they could check in again sometime. I said yes.

Our baby boy arrived early; labor started at 2 p.m. on December 21, and by 11:11 that night, we were snuggling an 8-pound, 5-ounce bundle. With no family within 1,000 miles, we rushed home from the hospital by noon the next day. That evening blurred into exhaustion, excitement, and nursing.

Somehow—they never said how—Pastor Maughan and Miss Amy knew. On the 23rd, they arrived with a hot meal, a beautiful handmade blanket, and layette items. They didn’t linger, just asked if they could pop by the next day. Tears filled my eyes; I said yes.

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Every day for the next week, including Christmas Eve and Christmas, a church member brought a meal. On Christmas, the kids got little toys, and we received a fruit basket. They didn’t preach; they simply showed Christ’s love through actions.

In January, we started attending steadily. Their church met in a big old Victorian house: the dining room turned sanctuary, Miss Amy at the organ against the wall, children upstairs for kids’ church while we worshiped and studied.

One Sunday, our middle child Hannah, who was three years old and convinced clothes were optional, vanished during service. Panic set in until someone spotted her outside in the vegetable garden, happily munching on green tomatoes in nothing but her underwear. She was blissfully unbothered; the rest of us were in stitches (and relief).

Moments like that reminded us that this little church family embraced the messiness of real life, toddlers and all.

That summer, Dave and I were baptized at a nearby church willing to host our little group. Pastor Maughan joked there wouldn’t be enough room for everyone in their bathroom. Our son was dedicated there too.

Over the next couple of years at Fort Drum, that church family demonstrated God’s faithfulness again and again: changing a flat tire when my husband was in the field, inviting us for meals and fellowship, teens offering free babysitting on special nights.

Then orders came. We moved nearly 3,000 miles to Fort Lewis.

We stayed in touch for a while, but military life, time zones, and changing seasons pulled us apart naturally. Yet thirty-seven years ago this month, we first walked through those Victorian doors, and we’ve never looked back.

Pastor Maughan and Miss Amy were our “reason” people: they entered our lives briefly, met a deep need with quiet, persistent kindness, and left gifts that still echo. Gifts like confidence in God’s details, the habit of showing up, a faith that traveled with us through every PCS. They taught us that God is faithful in the smallest moments; we just have to open the door.