Donald Miller's Blog, page 111

A Parable About the Church

Here's a little unpublished parable I wrote trying to explain how I sometimes feel about the church. It's wordy, so you might want to print it out. And don't get mad if it ends up as the first chapter of a book some day. Here you go:

You'll be a Dentist

Jack was born to be a dentist. Both his mother and father were dentists and from an early age they took Jack with them once a week to their local dental school. Even as a child Jack loved dental school because of the children's program where kids gathered in colorful rooms and listened to well-mannered teachers read ancient stories about famous dentists, pioneer dentists who created endodontic and prosthodontic procedures. Jack sat wide eyed and mouth agape, as close as he could to his teacher as she turned page after glorious page of cartooned characters knuckle deep in the mouths of sun-drenched and bushy-bearded patients.

Jack would color pictures of molars and lateral incisors, first and second cuspids and third molars, sometimes referred to as wisdom teeth, the teacher would say, handing Jack a black and white line drawing of a tooth wearing a cap and gown. When Jack's mom and dad picked him up from the children's program they'd lean down with their perfectly bright smiles and look at his drawings, affirming he got the teeth in the right order, pointing out what a skilled dentist could do about that slight overbite. Jack was thrilled, and he knew when he grew up he would become a dentist.

From the children's program Jack joined the dental school youth group where they learned even more about dentistry amidst three-legged sack races and pizza feeds, and was always excited when the youth leader rolled out the canister of laughing gas. At the end of each night the youth leader would stop and tell another story about dentists who practiced their skills in back rooms, under the ospices of antediluvian governments threatened by the rise of the dental class. This made Jack feel like his calling to be a dentist was dangerous and exciting and birthed in him a desire for a similar adventure.

One morning before dental school, Jack's parents gave him a book, The Ancient Story of Dentistry and explained he would be allowed to attend the grand lecture, a weekly class where the adult dental students heard a presentation interpreting the ways of the ancient book. Jack was beside himself. He read the first three chapters in the car on the way to school and sat with his parents, trying to understand the teachings of the head professor. Even though he didn't comprehend all of what he heard, he understood bits and pieces and went home to read the rest of the book, completing it in just under a year. Reading the book gave him more questions than answers. It was something of a confusing book, mostly stories with very few points and even fewer mandates for practical application. The lectures by the head professor would help Jack translate those stories and apply them to his life and daily routines, and Jack kept these routines religiously. He brushed his teeth with one-hundred strokes each night and flossed and rarely ate without rinsing his mouth with hydrogen peroxide to prevent gum disease.

Jack developed terrific personal habits and enjoyed the lectures but wanted more than principals for growth as a dentist, he actually longed to be more like the characters in the stories in the book itself. Not only this, but the teaching Jack was getting was beginning to repeat itself. As the years went on, Jack actually knew where the head professor was going with his illustrations and could recite from memory the principles the professor was about to list.

Jack made an appointment with the head professor, a man he loved and who loved him and the professor sat on the other side of a desk, surrounded by books interpreting The Ancient Book of Dentistry. Jack told the professor he wanted to be a dentist, and asked where he could he go to practice dentistry. The professor smiled and affirmed Jack and came around the desk to pat him on the back. Jack, the professor said, you've always been an eager young man, one of our better dentists, to be sure. I wish the rest of our students had your enthusiasm.

Thanks, Jack said. But I'd really like to practice dentistry. I mean I don't know everything, but I know enough to help somebody with a tooth ache or pull a third molar I haven't done it much but I think I can figure it out as I go.

The professor flicked his finger into the air as though to point to a light bulb. He went back to his desk and pulled out a brochure. I know exactly what you should do, the professor said. You should go to Dental University, it's where I graduated from. In fact, our little dental school helped start this program years ago. It's now one of the best in the country. You'll love it!

Jack was so excited he almost forgot to thank the professor. He read the brochure twice through, while sitting at stoplights and called the University the second he got home. Within a month, Jack was enrolled at Dental University and spent the next two years studying the intricacies and various theories of dentistry. When Jack finished the program, his local dental school honored him with an informal luncheon and praised the merit of his work. After the luncheon, the head professor offered Jack a job. He said he wanted him to work for the little dental school where he first learned about teeth. Once again, Jack was excited. Jack loved the little Dental School and loved the professor.

Jack spent the next few years on staff at his local dental school but there was still something missing. He went back to the professor, saying that while he loved his job as a teacher, he wanted more. He actually wanted to practice dentistry.

The professor was taken aback, slightly offended that Jack would imply they were not already doing dentistry. No, Jack said, it's dentistry, it's just that it's a school, right? I mean it's all about learning about dentistry. When do we actually do dentistry?

The professor reminded Jack of the many programs taking people to other countries to do dental work and how homeless people with terrible teeth could come in once a week and listen to a lecture about dentistry in exchange for food. Jack was confused. The professor was right. They really were doing dentistry.

Late one night, though, Jack took a long walk through the streets of his town, noticing on every few corners another little dental school. There were dental schools for people who were afraid of pain and there were hard-nosed dental schools that didn't use anesthetic (he walked more briskly past these schools) and even another Dental University that fed into dental schools Jack didn't know much about. Jack felt like there was something missing but didn't know what it was.

One night, Jack woke up in a cold sweat. He had an idea, and the idea terrified him. What if he opened a little office to actually practice dentistry? What if he just took in patients and worked on their teeth? Sure he'd teach them about hygiene and all the basics but the bulk of his efforts would involve pulling molars and installing braces.

Jack took the idea back to the head professor. The head professor sat stalwart beneath the shelves of intimidating books and explained what Jack was talking about was dangerous. People could get hurt, for example, or could learn improper hygiene unless the practices were supervised by a dental scholar. The professor reluctantly suggested Jack start another little dental school, maybe a school for younger students who had different methods of learning.

That's not what I want to do, Jack said. I want to practice dentistry. I know there's more to learn but I feel like I know enough. This comment was misinterpreted by the professor, and he began to see Jack as something of a rebel who was loose with the ancient truths. The professor loved Jack but his constant questions and pointing out inconsistencies unnerved him, especially during staff meetings. Jack was dismissed from his position at the little dental school and he was distraught.

For weeks Jack had trouble sleeping. He was misunderstood by the community he loved and their relations were strained and part of it was his fault. He hadn't respectfully communicated his desire to do more than just teach and learn. He would still attend the weekly lecture, but fewer and fewer people spoke with him and some of his oldest friends would turn away when he approached them.

Still, Jack knew he needed to move forward with his idea. He opened a little office in town, bought an old barbers chair and a work-light from home depot and posted an ad in the local paper. Before long, he had patients. They didn't understand the concept completely and had always taken their dental needs to dental school where they learned preventive hygiene and heard stories about ancient dentists, but they appreciated what Jack was doing. His practice was simple enough. He'd pull a tooth or two and give out colorful tooth brushes to kids. He'd even tell stories from the ancient book to those who wanted to hear them, and to his surprise, many did.

As Jack's dental practice grew, he felt alive. He was finally practicing dentistry. But he also felt alone. Things had become so uncomfortable at the local dental school that he stopped attending. With the distance in relationship, the dental school thought of Jack as suspect. He wasn't under their authority, and if he wasn't under their authority, how could they monitor whether or not he was being true to The Ancient Book of Dentistry?

Any rumor of mistakes made by Jack turned into fodder for backroom conversations at the little school of dentistry. The professors viewed him as a maverick and an outsider. Upon hearing that Jack was telling stories from the Ancient Book to his patients, the leaders of the local dental schools formed a council and called Jack to stand before their authority. He stood opposite a long table of head professors as they questioned him about his practice, asking what authority he had to teach dentistry outside their governance. Jack said he wasn't teaching dentistry at all, that he was doing dentistry. Some of the professors looked confused and others simply rolled their eyes, flipping through the Ancient Book looking for evidence against him. Jack referenced the ancient stories, saying the system of authority was loose and the emphasis was in the going and doing, not the teaching, even though in the book itself it had created a bit of chaos. The professors opened The Ancient Book of Dentistry and showed Jack the two places in the book where an authoritarian structure was discussed.

But that structure looks nothing like our structure, Jack said. Our structure looks like a school system. That structure hardly had professional teachers at all! And there were no classrooms, it's a book of dentists doing dental work in all kinds of crazy places. The professors looked visibly angry. They questioned Jack about what the world would look like if anybody were allowed to practice dentistry. They told stories about gingivitis.

Jack tried to calm the professors down. He explained how much he learned in dental school and agreed that without their education he'd be of no help to his patients. He respectfully explained that while the dental school system was remarkable it was also bureaucratic and designed primarily to create and sustain further education. He said he wanted more and had even found his education was only enhanced through the work he was doing at his practice. He said the truths he'd learned from the professors had come alive and were that much more meaningful.

This is dentistry! one of the professors interrupted him loudly. This. We are dentists. This is what dentistry is! What you are doing is something else. It's not dentistry. It's dangerous. It's malicious!

Jack let the man speak and then politely disagreed. He said dentistry was more than just learning and scholarship, and there were other dental leaders besides academics and teachers. He said dentistry was robust, multi-cultural and there were all kinds of schools of thought associated with it. He said there were people all over the world who were actually practicing dentistry, not just teaching about it. He asked if dentistry could possibly be more than a system of cyclical learning about dentistry. He asked if there was ever a point where people began to live the stories told in The Ancient Book rather than just study those stories.

The professor's shot back that Jack was disrespecting  The Ancient Book, but Jack stood firm and said he loved the book and had found like-minded characters in the stories. He said in his times of great loneliness he would read the book and know what he was doing was right.

That isn't for you to decide, Jack, one of the professors said bluntly. He pressed his finger against the book laid open on the table. The book is very complicated, written for another culture in another time. We have to guide people through this book and interpret it for them. There must be governance over people's lives or they will go astray!

Jack agreed and affirmed his appreciation for their work, and even their governance. At this point he felt insecure about his position. He knew if they didn't understand him he would be cast out of the community of dentists forever. He spoke timidly. It's true, they learn about dentistry from you, he stammered. I don't mean any disrespect. Please try to understand. At this point Jack felt weak. I love dentistry. Jack said, staring at the floor and wiping away tears. I have given my life to this school and the people who go to this school. I've done everything you've asked me to do. Jack could no longer talk. He was embarrassed and afraid.

The professor who knew Jack best felt compassion and walked around the table, offering Jack a chair. The professor knelt beside his former student.

Jack, the professor whispered peacefully. What is it that you want?

Jack fell his head into the professor's chest. I want to graduate, Jack said. I just want to graduate.

A Parable About the Church is a post from: Donald Miller's Blog

What Happens When You Stop Running?

I had lunch with my friend Chase not long ago. It was a sobering lunch. Chase, who would die for me and who I would die for, let me know that it has been painful for him to watch me live over the last six months. I wasn't sure what he was talking about, honestly. While I've gone through a bit of a personal hell over the last season, I've maintained productivity, kept my chin up, havent given in to depression and so on and so on.

"I know." Chase said. "That's my point. You're running. It's been hard to watch. You're normally reflective and thoughtful, but you haven't even taken the time to sit with your thoughts or with yourself. You're either having tons of people over to the house, out at a restaurant, getting on a plane or calling somebody on the phone. It's not you."

Chase was right. And I knew it. The day before I met with Chase it all came crashing down. I was at yet another party at my office and I could feel it rising up. I said goodbye to my friends and excused myself and went out to the car and fell apart. I cried so hard the edges of my mouth hurt. Why? Because I'd hurt some people. And I'd known it but there was nothing I could do about it. I mean I could say I was sorry, but how do you just say your sorry to wrecking somebody's hopes and dreams?

The truth is after I met with Chase I kept running. It's the holidays, you know, so there's plenty going on. There's plenty of wine and plenty of sugar and no shortage of people hanging out. It wasn't until very recently that I found myself here in the house, scrolling through the phone, looking for somebody to call that I realized I was deathly afraid of facing myself.

I put the phone down and just prayed. And felt. And feared. And a few hours later, for the first time in a long time I started to wonder if everything was going to be okay.

I don't really know, to be honest with you. Maybe. Maybe not. But I do know that whole time I was running, that whole time I was afraid to stop and deal with reality I was secretly miserable.

What happens when you stop running? For me, it's just a time to survey the damage. To say I'm sorry to the people I need to say I'm sorry to. To not distract myself or numb myself with a plan of attack, but rather to pick up the first little pile of ash, the first shards of broken glass and try to clean up a little of the mess I've made.

What happens when you stop running? You start healing. At least that's my hope.

What Happens When You Stop Running? is a post from: Donald Miller's Blog

What Makes Certain People Special? Part One

Last night I stayed out till about 3am with some old friends. We shared the same stories we always share, stories about living in the woods, in the mountains of Oregon, about how we met in Colorado, about how we used to sleep on the lawn or meet each other outside one of our high schools, waiting for somebody to come tumbling out the window to skip for the day so we could go to the river. We all agreed those were some of the best days of our lives. And each of us has lived a life with no less risk, adventure or excitement.

As the evening wore down, one of my friend said to me, "You know, Don, I think I just assumed back then that everybody was special, that everybody wanted to live an exceptional life, but it isn't true. The older I get, the more I realize people don't really know how to live well. There are not very many special people in the world."

I reluctantly agreed. I say reluctantly because in my line of work you meet and even seek out exceptional people. I've met tons of them, many of them having become my role models and best friends.

Now, by special I do not mean talented, rich or famous. I have very few friends like that. I just mean people who are doing life differently, whether that means home schooling their kids or showing their work in galleries or inventing a different kind of bicycle to save a country. I am talking about people who take social norms as suggestions, not mandates.

I confess I have little patience for normality. Oh, I love laying in bed on Sunday morning and watching football on Saturday. I think if you followed me around for a week you'd see a lot of normal. But I can't live that way for long.

It's not that I think normal people are boring or not good enough, it's that normal people often have beauty and strength and abilities they aren't using. In America, normal means that you are a follower, a consumer, not a creator. I don't mean to sound judgmental, but I have felt this way for a long time. The truth is I don't want to live a normal life. I want to homeschool my kids, on a boat in the Jervis Inlet. I want them to know that if they want they can grow up and be Senators, or Opera singers. I want to study Michaelangelo in Rome and Florence, I want them to worship Jesus in a Buddhist temple, befriend famous authors, assist in surgeries in the third world, ride their bikes across Africa and disagree, at thirteen, with columnists in the New York Times. Why? Because they can, and nobody is stopping them.

Many of us are normal because we are afraid. We aren't taking responsibility for the exceptional opportunities that are laid before us. We have failed to realize that God shares agency with us. He shares his power, and even His will. God is the Father sitting with his child at a giant, blank piece of butcher paper asking us what we want to draw. And within reason, we can draw whatever we want.

I'm going to start a series on exceptional people and what makes them so exceptional. But I'm starting this series because I want all of us to understand that we can be exceptional, too. If you want to live an exceptional life, just strike out and make it happen. Nothing is stopping you.

So, keep watching in January. I'll be featuring more than few of my heroes and together maybe we can learn from them.

As we start, and as offensive as the question may sound, what do you think makes people stand out? What makes somebody special?

What Makes Certain People Special? Part One is a post from: Donald Miller's Blog

Thoughts on Taking Risks in Life

This isn't one of my better little scratch-out blogs. But I'm okay with it. I've enjoyed coming to my desk every day and pulling out the little pad and playing Andy Rouney for a minute. I like this one, even though it's hardly worth anybody else reading. I think I just needed to preach to myself for a second about who I am and how I live. I'd forgotten.

Come the new year I'll be blogging a bit more about hopes and dreams and starting over and all the usual fair for blogs in January. I love thinking about that stuff. For now, here's some end-of-the-year rambling. Hope you're holidays are going swimmingly!

Thoughts on Taking Risks in Life is a post from: Donald Miller's Blog

Thoughts on Asking for Forgiveness

So I've wronged more than a few people in my life, some of them terribly. I've had people put their hopes in me and I've crashed their hopes. I've scarred people with my words and injured them with my neglect. I wish this wasn't true, but it is. There are reasons. I'm broken, confused at times, downright defensive and scared which makes me evil and so on and so on.

Recently an old friend who I wronged years ago popped up once again to rub it in. I wondered why it was that this person simply couldn't give me forgiveness. And I realized, when I put myself in their shoes, forgiveness was a lot to ask. Nobody deserves to be forgiven for what they've done. I'm not entitled to it, for sure. But these days, I'm grateful for being given forgiveness by some, and having it withheld makes me more willing to offer it. I don't blame people for not forgiving. It's hard, and frightening and it takes time and a lot of work, unfair work.

A friend describes forgiveness as the willingness to carry a burden somebody has given you without holding it against them any longer. I thought that was a good definition. Good but not easy.

Forgiveness, though, has the power to melt an evil and broken heart. I remember watching a documentary years ago about the death penalty. A particular murderer in the documentary had to sit in a court room as his victims families read statements to him, one by one. Each family member had vindictive and angry things to say, but the man sat there stoic, unaffected. Until. A particular mother came to the podium, unfolded a piece of paper and read aloud her statement about how much she loved her daughter and how much she missed her. And then she did the unthinkable. She looked into the mans eyes and told him she forgave him. She told him she wished the best for him, that some day he could meet his maker and his evil heart would be healed and even loved.

The murderer wept. He buried his head in his hands and showed emotion for the first time during the trial.

Do you struggle with forgiveness? Do you hold grudges? Are you holding out on forgiving somebody? Do you think you could give them the forgiveness they desire? You'd be giving up a lot. You'd be giving up control. It won't be easy.

Thoughts on Asking for Forgiveness is a post from: Donald Miller's Blog

Changing God's Diaper

Who knew they had diapers in ancient Israel?

Changing God's Diaper is a post from: Donald Miller's Blog

Do You Believe in Your Own Power to Shape the World?

Do You Believe in Your Own Power to Shape the World? is a post from: Donald Miller's Blog

Vulnerability as a key to emotional health

So, according to researchers, if you want to be healthy you have to be in an environment where you are accepted and are free to have flaws. You also have to love yourself, have compassion for yourself and accept yourself. Why, because if we are going to be healthy, we must connect, and if we are going to connect, we must be vulnerable with each other.

This TED Talk from Brene Brown is the best I've heard in a while. Are you somebody people can be vulnerable with? And do you struggle with vulnerability? You'll enjoy this.

I've made some notes under the clip. Peruse them as you watch and listen.

Don

STUFF I GOT FROM BRENE BROWN:

• We are here to connect. It's hardwired into our biology. It's the driving force in the human personality.

• Shame unravels connection. People who do not experience shame cannot experience connection. Shame is the enemy of connection.

• In order for connection to happen, we must allow ourselves to be seen. We must overcome our shame.

• A sense of worthiness is connected to a sense of love and belonging.

• People who have a strong sense of love and belonging BELIEVE THEY ARE WORTHY OF LOVE AND BELONGING.

• What keeps us out of connection is the feeling we are not worthy of connection.

• People who are living out of a sense of worthiness are "whole hearted."

• Being whole hearted means: 1. Having courage. Courage means to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart. Whole hearted means we have the courage to be imperfect. 2. They have compassion for themselves, and therefore have compassion for others. And lastly 3. They have connection. As a result of accepting themselves and having the courage to project who they really are, along with having compassion for themselves and others, they were able to be authentic, and therefore connect with others. They were willing to let go of the idea of who they should be in order to accept who they were.

• Connected people believe that what makes them vulnerable makes them beautiful. Connected people are willing to say "I love you" first and to take relational risks. They are willing to get hurt. This is fundamental to a connected person.

• We numb vulnerability because it scares us. We overeat, drink and escape the risks involved in actually connecting with other human beings. Connected people don't numb vulnerability.

So, the questions I'm asking myself, which are very painful:

• Am I somebody that people can be vulnerable with? Do I create a safe place for people to be themselves and therefore connect?

• Am I willing to be vulnerable, even though there is no guarantee? Am I willing to love with my whole heart?

• Can I practice gratitude and joy in the face of rejection? In the face of risk?

• Am I communicating to others that they are enough, even as they are?

• Do I believe I am enough? Do I believe I am worthy of love?

• Do I understand that my belief I am worthy of love directly connects with my ability to connect with and love others?

Are you afraid to be vulnerable?

Do you believe you are a safe person people can be vulnerable with?

 

Vulnerability as a key to emotional health is a post from: Donald Miller's Blog

When Doing Creative Work, Sail in the Direction of the Wind

When Doing Creative Work, Sail in the Direction of the Wind is a post from: Donald Miller's Blog

Remembering Ludwig van Beethoven

Ludwig van Beethoven, widely considered one of the greatest composers in history, died on this day in 1827. Beethoven moved to Vienna from Germany in his early twenties where he became a virtuoso pianist, before beginning to lose his hearing. Some attributed his loss of hearing to his habit of lowering his head into ice-cold water in order to stay awake and continue practicing, though today this theory is dismissed.

Despite the composers failed hearing, Beethoven remained committed to the creation of his art. He stayed sane, and even warded off thoughts of suicide, through devotion to virtue and to becoming accepted as an artist amongst the other musical craftsman of his day.

It is widely believed that in the age of television and consumer distractions, another Ludwig van Beethoven will not develop.

Here is a letter Beethoven wrote to his two brothers, reflecting on his life and ambition, and his loss of hearing. The name Johann is added parenthetically as in its handwritten form was left blank, perhaps because it was a peculiar legal document, and perhaps over strained relations.

For my brothers Carl and (Johann) Beethoven

O ye men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn or misanthropic, how greatly do ye wrong me, you do not know the secret causes of my seeming, from childhood my heart and mind were disposed to the gentle feelings of good will, I was even ever eager to accomplish great deeds, but reflect now that for six years I have been a hopeless case, aggravated by senseless physicians, cheated year after year in the hope of improvement, finally compelled to face the prospect of a lasting malady (whose cure will take years or, perhaps, be impossible), born with an ardent and lively temperament, even susceptible to the diversions of society, I was compelled early to isolate myself, to live in loneliness, when I at times tried to forget all this, O how harshly was I repulsed by the doubly sad experience of my bad hearing, and yet it was impossible for me to say to men speak louder, shout, for I am deaf. Ah how could I possibly admit such an infirmity in the one sense which should have been more perfect in me than in others, a sense which I once possessed in highest perfection, a perfection such as few surely in my profession enjoy or have enjoyed – O I cannot do it, therefore forgive me when you see me draw back when I would gladly mingle with you, my misfortune is doubly painful because it must lead to my being misunderstood, for me there can be no recreations in society of my fellows, refined intercourse, mutual exchange of thought, only just as little as the greatest needs command may I mix with society. I must live like an exile, if I approach near to people a hot terror seizes upon me, a fear that I may be subjected to the danger of letting my condition be observed – thus it has been during the past year which I spent in the country, commanded by my intelligent physician to spare my hearing as much as possible, in this almost meeting my natural disposition, although I sometimes ran counter to it yielding to my inclination for society, but what a humiliation when one stood beside me and heard a flute in the distance and I heard nothing , or someone heard the shepherd singing and again I heard nothing, such incidents brought me to the verge of despair, but little more and I would have put an end to my life – only art it was that withheld me, ah it seemed impossible to leave the world until I had produced all that I felt called upon me to produce, and so I endured this wretched existence – truly wretched, an excitable body which a sudden change can throw from the best into the worst state – Patience – it is said that I must now choose for my guide, I have done so, I hope my determination will remain firm to endure until it please the inexorable parcae to bread the thread, perhaps I shall get better, perhaps not, I am prepared. Forced already in my 28th year to become a philosopher, O it is not easy, less easy for the artist than for anyone else – Divine One thou lookest into my inmost soul, thou knowest it, thou knowest that love of man and desire to do good live therein. O men, when some day you read these words, reflect that ye did me wrong and let the unfortunate one comfort himself and find one of his kind who despite all obstacles of nature yet did all that was in his power to be accepted among worthy artists and men. You my brothers Carl and [Johann] as soon as I am dead if Dr. Schmid is still alive ask him in my name to describe my malady and attach this document to the history of my illness so that so far as possible at least the world may become reconciled with me after my death. At the same time I declare you two to be the heirs to my small fortune (if so it can be called), divide it fairly, bear with and help each other, what injury you have done me you know was long ago forgiven. to you brother Carl I give special thanks for the attachment you have displayed towards me of late. It is my wish that your lives be better and freer from care than I have had, recommend virtue to your children, it alone can give happiness, not money, I speak from experience, it was virtue that upheld me in misery, to it next to my art I owe the fact that I did not end my life with suicide. – Farewell and love each other – I thank all my friends, particularly Prince Lichnowsky and Professor Schmid – I desire that the instruments from Prince L. be preserved by one of you but let no quarrel result from this, so soon as they can serve you better purpose sell them, how glad will I be if I can still be helpful to you in my grave – with joy I hasten towards death – if it comes before I shall have had an opportunity to show all my artistic capacities it will still come too early for me despite my hard fate and I shall probably wish it had come later – but even then I am satisfied, will it not free me from my state of endless suffering? Come when thou will I shall meet thee bravely. – Farewell and do not wholly forget me when I am dead, I deserve this of you in having often in life thought of you how to make you happy, be so -

Remembering Ludwig van Beethoven is a post from: Donald Miller's Blog