Donald Miller's Blog, page 23

Why You Might Be Missing The Life You’ve Always Dreamed Of

For our son Henry’s seventh birthday, we loaded up the car with his best friends, with snacks and juice boxes, with extra sweatshirts and loads of Batman guys, and we spent a wild, fun, silly afternoon at the Brookfield Zoo.

Photo Credit: Meghen Hess, Creative Commons

There was one main attraction for Henry: the dinosaurs.

Brookfield has this amazing exhibition of animatronic dinosaurs—machines that look and sound like dinosaurs, laid out just like any other animal exhibition. It’s amazing. You walk through the bears and the tigers and the kangaroos, and then you walk through the dinosaurs, arching their backs, breathing and growling. It’s pretty great.

Henry had been looking forward to it for ages.

His friends were so excited about it. We went to lots of other sections first, to build anticipation.

When we finally arrived at the dinosaurs, the boys were wriggling with excitement. We handed out their tickets for this special exhibition, and then they sprinted through it. They reached the end in record time, yelping, dragging one another on to the next one, the next one, the next one.

When they got to the end, we were shocked.

“How could you be done already?” we asked. “We could barely keep up with you. Don’t you want to see it again? Or look at each one up close?”

They didn’t. They were too wound up, too excited about the dinosaurs to actually experience the dinosaurs. It’s easy to do when you’re seven.

And it’s easy to do when you’re thirty-seven.

All my life I wanted to be a mom.

I wanted to love and nurture and snuggle little people, to give them baths and laugh with them, to read to them and play with them.

But I find myself blowing past the most important moments with my children all too often, hardly even there, running through the dinosaurs I’ve been longing to experience.

All my life I wanted to fall in love and live a love story with someone who makes me laugh and makes me think and makes me happy.

And instead of making rich memories with my husband, who does all of those things in my life so well, all too often I pick at him about small things or waste our time together by complaining about things of little consequence.

I run through the dinosaurs all the time, and I don’t even realize it till later.

I lay in bed and realize I missed the most important things, the things that really matter to me, because I was caught up in my own head, running circles, having imaginary conversations, forecasting imaginary disasters.

One of my goals these days: stop running through the dinosaurs.

I want to be where I am, and be fully there, instead of missing the things I’ve been looking forward to for so long, caught up in my fears and anxieties.

I don’t want to miss anymore dinosaurs.

What is it in your life that you might be missing, because you’re moving too fast, or because you’re running to the next thing?

Are You Killing Yourself For Nothing?

The first time I joined a gym, the trainer worked me out until I nearly died.

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She put me on a machine and had me lift the weights in sets of ten, decreasing the weights each time, doing as many sets as it would take until I literally couldn’t lift an empty bar. She wanted me to know what a workout felt like, and wanted to make sure the initial work out was as hard as it could be, so I’d have something to compare my subsequent workouts to.

I think she hated men.

The result was that I could hardly get out of bed the next morning, or the morning after that, and I hated the gym. I associated the gym with pain and emasculation.

And even when I went to the gym, unless I nearly killed myself, I felt like I hadn’t worked out at all. After a year or so, I just quit going.

Years later, though, I met a personal trainer at a coffee shop.

He was hoping to write a book and I struck up a deal with him. I told him I’d give him some pointers on writing if he’d reintroduce me to the gym.

He agreed, and I definitely got more out of the deal than he did.

For our first workout, we got on stationary bikes and I started to pedal hard, trying to impress him. He quickly told me to slow down, to get my heart rate up to a level where I had to open my mouth to breathe, but could still talk.

I did so, and it was pretty easy. We rode for about twenty minutes and then he told me to stop. I assumed we were going to move on to the real workout, but he said we were done.

He told me to go home, that I’d done a good workout.

I stood there shocked, feeling ripped off.

After all, I’d given him valuable information about writing, like the fact that books are often broken up into chapters.

Dave explained to me, though, that if I showed up at the gym and got my heart rate up for twenty minutes, I’d worked out. He said I needed to do that every day, and if I did, I had nothing to feel guilty about. He then told me to come back the next day, and we’d do the same workout, only increase it a little bit.

The next day we rode for twenty minutes and he congratulated me on working out two days in a row. Then he asked if I wanted to do anything extra.

I did, of course, so we ended up doing a mildly difficult workout with weights.

Within a month, Dave was working me out so hard I once had to stop him and ask if I could go out in the alley behind the gym to throw up. And no kidding, he moved the rest of the workout into the alley so I wouldn’t throw up on his floor.

But he kept working me out, always reminding me that what we were doing was extra, that I’d already finished my workout.

That was six or seven years ago.

These days, I almost never exercise for under an hour, and I exercise at least every other day, depending on whether or not I am traveling.

I love going for long walks or hikes or bike rides. What changed? All guilt went away.

Before, I’d nearly kill myself and feel guilty for not doing enough. But now, I feel like anything over twenty minutes is extra. Before there was negative association with exercise; now there is positive association with exercise.

The same technique can be used with all sorts of areas in our lives where we are defeating ourselves. The question is, what constitutes a satisfactory job? What do we really need to do to be a good father, a good employee, a good wife, a good teacher?

If we do that, we’ve done a good job, and anything else is extra. What you’ll find is you’ll do a whole lot extra, and feel great about it.

Where Do You Go to Heal A Broken Heart?

I think it was the ax that made me stop the longest. It was the ax a man used to break up his girlfriend’s furniture when she said she wanted to break up with him.

But there were other compelling items, too. The wedding dress, the joker card, the stun gun, the Galileo thermograph, the three-volume set of Proust, the stuffed animals, the unopened letters, the court summons for rape.

All of these things were on display at the Museum of Broken Relationships in Zagreb, Croatia, when I was there recently on a magazine assignment.

Zagreb is a beautiful and sophisticated city.

It is the capitol of this relatively new country that was part of the former Yugoslavia. It has more museums and art galleries and cathedrals than most similar-sized cities in Europe, which is saying a lot.

Photo Credit: Leo Hidalgo, Creative Commons

But the museum that got my attention the first day I was there was this one, dedicated to commemorating what has been lost through deception, betrayal, indifference, change of heart or mind, and death.

Most of the other places of interest in Zagreb had a few visitors in each.

This place was packed.

People from all over the world were there, gazing at the shoes worn at a wedding where the marriage lasted just a few days. And in front of that was a garden gnome, which used to be a playful symbol between two lovers…until it wasn’t.

And the barbed wire. And the positive heroin test.

Along with each item was a brief description of its significance, written by the contributor.

The letter sent by the son, returned unopened by the father, describing what the father had missed in his son’s life.

The museum is an artful collection of specific lamentations.

The curator told me that there is an entire warehouse full of additional donated items, waiting to be rotated through. There are so many stories of broken hearts, a museum dedicate specifically to that topic can’t even contain them.

Even the café next door was in on it—the sign outside said, “We serve beer as cold as your ex’s heart.”

This got me thinking.

Broken relationships seem to be a universal experience, the “thing” that gets to us more than any other thing, what we spend our time thinking about.

Have you ever met a person who hasn’t had a broken relationship?

I haven’t.

So the question is: where do people go to have relationships restored, renewed, reconciled, maybe even healed?

Right around the corner from this museum are several churches that have historical significance and spectacular art. There is also a stone gate that has an icon of Mary and the baby Jesus, where people have gazed, wept, prayed for miracles in their lives.

I couldn’t help but think we need more places where people can go to heal their broken hearts.

I hope my church is not a museum, but a place that is alive.

I hope it is a place where people come for rest and repair. I hope my home is a place where people come for rest and repair.

I hope I am a person to whom people come for rest and repair from their broken hearts.

I hope we can all be this kind of person.

What would be left to feature in a museum of broken hearts if we made space for healing, for ourselves and those around us? Instead of an ax, maybe some glue.

How I Learned to Stand Strong in The Face of Rejection

When I was a senior in high school and applying for colleges, I applied at Texas A&M University. I didn’t really want to go there, but I knew it was a good school and I should apply because, well, everyone in Texas applies at either A&M or the University of Texas.

While I was waiting for A&M to respond, I found out I was accepted into the school I actually wanted to go to and began the enrollment process there.

I had almost forgotten about A&M when their letter came in the mail.

I read it and was shocked to find out I had been “waitlisted.” I ran to my room and cried.

I did not handle rejection well back then, not even from a school I didn’t want to go to in the first place.

In my mid-twenties, after a lot more rejections from various things and people, I began to understand that rejection was so hard for me because it was so personal. Not getting into a certain school meant I wasn’t smart. Not getting chosen for the choir solo meant I was a bad singer. Getting dumped meant I was unlovable.

If you rejected me, I rejected me too. Rejection threatened my identity.

I think the only way to get “better” at handling rejection, which will and should always cause some disappointment, is to better understand who you are.

Photo Credit: Christopher Michel, Creative Commons

For me, as a Christian, who I am is laid out clearly in the Bible. I am an adopted child of God through Jesus Christ (Rom. 8:15). It’s a pretty rock solid identity. Later on in Romans 8, Paul talks about how nothing can change our status as adopted children of God—no height, no depth, nothing.

That identity is key when it comes to rejection because that identity is ultimate, complete, unconditional acceptance.

And when we believe we are unconditionally accepted by God, rejection can no longer tell us we’re not accepted.

It’s a lie, and we know it.

I recently got rejected by a publication I wanted to write for.

They said, “thanks but no thanks.” I was disappointed. I had worked really hard on the piece I sent them.

I was helping set up for a friend’s rehearsal dinner when I read the rejection email, so I stepped into the bathroom for a minute.

I felt myself starting to spiral and think things like, “I am a bad writer because these people told me no.” Then, I remembered that rejection is a big part of the process for writers, and I told myself that just because they don’t want this piece doesn’t mean I am a terrible writer and should quit my job.

I was being a reasonable adult about things.

I was so proud of myself. And it was nothing I had done that made me act so mature.

I simply have a better grasp these days of who I am and whose I am.

After a couple of minutes, I came out of the bathroom and I was ok. It felt like I had this invisible shield of protection around me that rejection couldn’t get through.

This is what happens when we begin to understand and believe in who we are. Rather than our identity being this unstable, shake-able thing, easily tossed about by the opinions of others, it becomes a protective shield, something we can count on to always be the same and to always protect us.

How to Keep Your Big Feelings From Derailing You

In a lot of ways, my life pretty much works. I have strong, healthy kids who are fun to be around. My marriage is great. I have interesting projects to work on. I can feel the sun on my face almost every day. I can breathe fresh air and drink fresh water.

There’s nature right outside my front door, and I can see green things out the windows.

Photo Credit: Joe St.Pierre, Creative Commons

So when anxiety starts building up, or when depression creeps in, I used to tell myself things like: There’s no reason to feel this way. You shouldn’t feel like this. This is the wrong feeling.

And the voice I used sounded like: you idiot.

I would take the lousy experience I was having and lay a nice thick layer of judgment over it. This is not actually a strategy I recommend.

Instead of dealing with my anxiety, I would spend the day being anxious and feeling guilty about being anxious. Instead of sitting with the depression and figuring out what needed to happen next, I would feel empty (from the depression) and stupid (for being depressed at all).

Then one day I found myself kneeling in front of my daughter, who was struggling to handle some big feelings of her own, the way preschoolers often do. Sometimes, in the face of tears and snot and flailing limbs, it’s best to just be present, and other times it’s best to try to direct the flow.

If I’m lucky, parenting wisdom absorbed years ago from Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood will surface, and I will say something helpful.

This time I heard myself saying:

All feelings are okay. Feelings are just feelings. You get to decide what to do with those feelings.

There’s a Flannery O’Connor quote that says, in part, “I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.”

For me it’s more like, “I don’t know what I believe until I hear what I tell my kids.”

All feelings are okay. Anxiety and depression are more than just feelings, but the same truth applies. Having feelings that don’t match my circumstances is a thing that happens sometimes. It doesn’t mean that I’m wrong, or that my experience is wrong.

It just is what it is.

When I stopped judging my feelings, I could start supporting myself.

If I had a cold, I certainly wouldn’t tell myself: this is the wrong response to winter. Why are you feeling like this? Why all the sneezing? Nothing is MAKING you sneeze! Most people aren’t sneezing right now! Why do you need so much help to stop sneezing?

I would just get myself a box of tissues and go to bed.

When I started treating my feelings the same way, I could show myself more compassion. It’s awful to be anxious. It’s exhausting to be depressed, like all your energy has been sucked away along with all the light in the world.

I don’t have to spend the rest of my strength listing all the reasons this is the wrong thing to feel.

I can just deal with the fact that I feel that way.

I still have to handle the anxiety. I still have to cope with the depression. But I don’t have to wade through the judgment first.

That’s a whole layer of complexity removed, right there.

When I’m having difficulty, I don’t need my own judgment. I need to be on my own side. I need to offer myself kindness and nourishment and care. I need support, not second-guessing. I bet you do, too.

Here’s What Is Sometimes Better Than A Leap of Faith

A little over two years ago I stood in front of chapel at the beginning of a new semester to address a weary group of students, staff and faculty. A few weeks before the end of the previous semester, our beloved president and friend resigned from his position. 

As Dean of Students, I now stood before my school with the responsibility of figuring out how to give our community permission to step into the next phase of our story.

I saw faces tired of change, sad from loss, and drained from the cycle of rally-inducing promises, followed by let down. This was not the time for another “put your head down, pick up your boot straps” kind of speech. And yet I knew it was a “be strong and courageous” type of moment.

Photo Credit: Leo Hidalgo, Creative Commons

I opened the book of Joshua and I began to read about a people who recently lost their leader. They were looking out at a river they were supposed to cross, during flood stage, to a land full of the scary unknown. Their desert journey had brought them loss, monotony, and unfulfilled promises. There is little doubt they were tired.

Yet it is into this scene we heard God say, “be strong and courageous.

I read the passage to my community and even emphasized the “very” on the second of three times the phrase “be strong and courageous” is repeated in the first nine verses.

I kept reading. 

And I noticed that, as Joshua wraps up his heart-to-heart with God, he turns his back toward the leaders of the people. He doesn’t give a rallying cry. He doesn’t scold them for being tired. He doesn’t challenge them to have an attitude change by saying, “be strong and courageous.” He calls on them to get their camp ready.

He says, “Sort through your stuff, get your house in order and get ready, because God is on the move and so are we. You’ve got three days.”

I stopped and looked out over my own people.

They had heard the promises and the rally cries. The voices in their heads played the tapes telling them they weren’t doing enough or good enough. The call I was to give them had nothing to do with attitude changes, work ethic or therapy sessions. 

It had to do with pointing them to a God who was about to move and reminding them of their part in the story. 

It was time to get our camp in order.

After days of preparation, the next instructions were for the people to watch for the ark of the covenant, the physical representation of the presence of God. When they spotted the ark, they were to move out from where they were camped and follow it.

Simply watch for God and, when they saw him, move, follow.

The final step in the path towards strength and courage was crossing the river. This would be the big step they had waited for. Finally, this is where they would have to muster the strength to get across a flooded river.

“Let’s hear it, Joshua. Tell us how we need to be stronger and braver and better than we’ve been before. Give us the Braveheart speech we’ve been waiting for.”  

Instead, God asked them to step into the water.

Don’t leap, don’t swim, don’t fear, just step in the edge. And they did. As the priests stepped into the water, the miraculous happened. The water stopped up stream and the people crossed over on dry ground.

The 40 year wandering ended, not with a battle, not with a leap, not with doing more and doing it better, but with a simple step.

I looked up from the Scriptures.

With a few tears in my eyes, I reminded our school that, more often than not, faith looks less like leaping into a river and more like taking a small step into the edge of it.  

To get to that step, sometimes we need to clean up our camp, look for God passing by and follow where he moves.

It is not our job to stop to the river. It’s our job to be ready, spot God and step.

As I walked off the stage, I knew those words were not just for our school, but they were for me. I knew this new season marked the beginning of a larger coming change. I loved my job, I loved my life, but a call buried in me was starting to become louder and I could no longer stay still.

I had seen God move, but I wasn’t ready to go.

I began taking my own advice and cleaning up my camp.

There were relationships that needed rebuilding. My financial spending lacked restraint, and physically, I was in the worst shape of my life. There were truths about myself that needed uncovering and lies that needed to be put to rest. 

If I had been asked to take a step that day, I would not have been ready. I needed time to clean some things up.

So with the help of friends and God, I started getting my camp in order.

I began watching for God to move. There were so many moments that would take up an entire book just to recount.

God moved over and over and when He did, I got up and followed.

Two years ago this month, I stood again before my school. This time I was telling them how I was resigning from my position. 

The moment came when I actually had to step.

Today I look back and regret nothing.

I am more comfortable in my own skin, I am working to develop a TV show, finishing a book, passed my PhD qualifying exams and just said “yes” to a job I never would have dreamed would have been an option for me.

I’m not saying it has been an easy journey, but it was worth taking that step two years ago.

I didn’t have to rally. I didn’t have to muster anything. I didn’t need to part any waters. Starting over two years ago, I had to get my camp ready, watch for God to move, take a tiny step and wait for the waters to part.  I’m sure there will be many more tiny steps in the years to come, but I think I will look back on two years ago as the one that helped me cross the Jordan.

Why Sometimes The Best Thing You Can Do Is Pick A Fight

My list of things that I decided to do this year starts with these three words: “Pick a fight.”

Photo Credit: Chris Seward, Creative Commons

That might sound a little odd at first. I picked a fight with Dale Gardener when I was in the 7th grade. He was huge. He almost blocked the sun when he walked by. I didn’t like Dale because he was a bully and beat up the little guys on campus. I’m not sure why he didn’t like me, maybe because I wasn’t a little guy.

It was pretty easy to pick a fight with Dale, actually.

I told Dale one day when he was beating up another kid that I was “calling him out”. That’s junior high speak for let’s have a fist fight; so we did.

We really didn’t settle anything in the cul-de-sac a few days later, other than trade bloody noses and let off some steam. We both got expelled for a couple days (which just made for a long weekend), and by Monday we were back at school exchanging gunslinger stares as we passed each in the hallways.

That’s not the kind of fight I was referring to when I made my list.

I want to pick a fight where I can make a meaningful difference somewhere in the world. It’s not a fight with a particular person or institution; I want to pick one fight among the many fights being waged on the planet and see if there is a way I can get some skin in the game; to help in some way; to make a tangible difference.

It’s easier to pick an opinion than it is to pick a fight.

It’s also easier to pick an organization or a jersey and identify with that fight than it is to actually pick your own; commit to it; call it out and take a swing.

Picking a fight isn’t neat either. It’s messy. It’s time consuming. It’s painful. It’s costly.

Stated differently, it’s what many of us should be all about as followers of Jesus.

There’s a character in the Bible named Joshua.

Over and over the phrase “be strong and courageous” repeats itself to Joshua and those traveling in his posse. It doesn’t say we’re supposed to be wild at heart, or man up, or dance around the fire naked and tell manly stories.

We’re just supposed to be strong and courageous. That’s it.

The way I read it, it sounds an awful lot like God is calling us out and telling us to pick a fight.

Picking a fight can be scary because we might be going it alone sometimes.

That’s why organizations and groups are sometimes a bridge to the fight. But we need to make sure that those organizations and groups don’t become an impediment to us actually doing something.

We need to be the ones calling out the bad guys and not leave it to the organizations.

It’s having the mindset that it’s not their fight that we are joining; it’s our fight and we’re standing back to back with those organizations or friends in a common struggle.

Just as Joshua was going to enter the promised land, he meets an angel who stands with his sword drawn in front of him. Joshua asks the angelic warrior something I would ask: “Are you for us or against us?”

It’s a logical question (He must have had some lawyer in him).

No doubt, Joshua was hoping that the angelic warrior was “for” them. That’s what I’d be hoping. I love the warrior’s answer to Joshua’s question about which side he was on: “Neither; take off your shoes.”

The angel wasn’t interested in having Joshua and his buddies pick sides, he wanted them to pick God. They were on holy ground, just as we are today, because God was present. Perhaps God doesn’t want us spending our time picking sides or teams and trying on jerseys either.

He wants us to pick a fight and then pick Him.

I want to pick a fight because I want someone else’s suffering to matter more to me.

I can’t make it matter to me by just listening to the story, wearing the bracelet or hearing the song about it. I need to pick the fight myself; to call it out.

Then, most important of all, I need to run barefoot towards it.

I want to go barefoot because it’s holy ground; I want to be running because time is short and none of us has as much runway as we think we do; and I want it to be a fight because that’s where we can make a difference.

It’s where we belong as we get to the “do” part of faith.

What fight are you running barefoot towards?

Can Positive Self-Talk Impact Your Physical Body?

I joined a gym awhile back ago because I was getting lightheaded doing even minimal physical activity. You’d look at me and assume I’m in shape, but mostly my days are spent in front of a computer or reading.

Neither of those things require being in shape.

Photo Credit: Emile Krijgsman, Creative Commons

Walking into a new gym can be overwhelming. Where do I go? How do these machines work? So to minimize my risk of being embarrassed, I hopped on the treadmill and started running. That thing is pretty straight forward.

I even started running outside every once in a while.

I’m an optimistic guy. According to StrengthsFinder, my #1 strength is “positivity.” But something abnormal happens for me while running. Negative thoughts. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to shake it. The negative thoughts just kept popping up.

You can’t make it.

You should just walk.

You’re tired, you can just stop.

After a few weeks of this repeated pattern, I was reading a chapter from Shauna Niequist’s beautiful book, Bread & Wine. In it, she tells the story of her Chicago Marathon training. Apparently, there are a lot of positive words thrown around in the running world:

If you can get to the starting line, you can get to the finish line.

One foot in front of the other.

So on my next run, I decided to give it a shot. What could it hurt?

I was going to combat negative thoughts with positive words.

I run with my iPhone and am able to analyze distance, pace, and elevation when I’m done. The last mile and a half is typically the hardest for me. That’s usually where the negative thoughts are the strongest. But something amazing happened when I started saying positive words to myself on the final stretch:

If you can get to the starting line, you can get to the finish line.

One foot in front of the other.

Not only did I finish in record pace, I actually got faster as I was speaking positive words that last mile and a half. Runners call that a “negative split” which I hear is good.

Either way, I was pumped to get those negative thoughts out of my head.

All this made me wonder what other areas of life I was affecting with positive talk, and whether my work, relationships and even faith could be boosted by taking greater responsibility for the words that flow through my head.

How much faster could I be running in other areas of my life?

What positive words do you need to speak to yourself today?

Ten Words that Drastically Changed My Relationships

A little over a year ago, my dad had a massive heart attack.

We didn’t expect it (which sounds weird to say, because who ever expects someone they love to have a heart attack?) but it’s true. He’d never had any heart trouble before, he was only fifty-five years old, and you could find him at the gym at least a few times each week.

Then, out of nowhere, his just heart stopped beating.

In the weeks before I got the call we hadn’t been talking much. We were close, and had been close for most of my life, but I had recently gotten married and moved across the country, and things were really busy, and being newly married was taking so much of my energy, I just hadn’t gotten around to calling very much.

Photo Credit: Billie Ward, Creative Commons

Every time I would think to call I would say to myself, “I’ll call tomorrow…”

So when my sister called to explain what had happened, I felt all of the reasons I’d given myself to hold back from calling him crash against me like a river of grief and regret. “I should have called,” I kept saying to myself. “God, don’t let him die. Please, don’t let him die.”

I was a mess.

I was brought back to this moment the other day after getting in an argument with a friend.

It wasn’t a yelling-screaming fight, but we were both frustrated with each other and by the time we hung up the phone, things were tense. We were still friends, but we were confused; we weren’t sure who should say what, or when.

I laid awake in bed that night, going over the fight in my mind. I felt myself thinking, “I’ll call tomorrow…”

But instead, I sat up in bed and immediately sent them a text: “I love you and care for you, even when we disagree. We’re okay.”

It was simple. So simple.

But at the same time, it changed everything for me.

My grandma turned 90 years old a few years ago, and the whole family traveled to see her and to celebrate. After the celebration, we sat around asking her questions, gleaning from her wisdom about life and marriage and career and family.

My cousin asked, “Grandma, what’s the best thing you ever did for your marriage?”

She thought about it for a minute and then said, “Each night, before we fell asleep, we would turn to each other and say, ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you today. I love you.'” I smiled at her words and then, that night, when I climbed into bed, my husband looked me in the eye and said, “I’m sorry if I hurt you today. I love you.”

It was simple. So simple. But at the same time, it changed everything.

By a beautiful miracle, my dad survived his heart attack.

But I live differently now, knowing my chance to say “I love you, Dad,” in person, was almost taken away from me. Before I go to bed at night I try to say—to my husband, and whoever else needs to hear it—I’m sorry if I hurt you today. I love you.

It’s simple. So simple. But at the same time, it changes everything.

How to Know When It’s Time to Move On

If you think you’ve had a taco but haven’t eaten one in San Diego then you haven’t actually had one. The tacos where I live are some of the best in the world, I’m convinced.

So it’s one of my favorite things when I get to treat my wife and daughter to a taco night. 

Now, what if after my family had eaten the best tacos in the world and paid our bill, we just continued to sit at our table? What if we sat there so long that we got hungry again after the store closed?  We’d lean over the waiter cleaning his last table and say, “Hey, sir. Can we get another awesome taco?”

He’d reply, “I’m sorry sir, the kitchen is closed.”

You’re reading this thinking, there’s no point to you sitting there that long. Go home Mike. Who does that!

And you’re right. That’s my point.

There are some friendships we’ve been sitting in that once were the best thing in our lives that have shut down. They have betrayed and broken us. And while the other person has wiped up all their mess and turned the “Closed” sign around, we continue to remain hoping for something amazing again.

Photo Credit: Lionel Fernandez Roca, Creative Commons

Yes, there are times when we need to stick out a hard time with a friend or forgive and continue on.

However, there are other times where we need to get up and move on.

How do we know the difference between the two?

Nina Simone answers this way: “You have to learn when to get up from the table when love is no longer being served.”

For a healthy friendship to exist, love has to be present. And not the emotion, the verb. The active patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and selflessness required to allow one another to thrive in this crazy hard world, not just survive. 

In your friendships, always look for love.

If you can’t find it, the lights are off and there’s no one to offer you back for the investment you’re making back into them, it may be time to push under your chair and with a “thank you” walk out.  

It has been good but it is time to go. 

This is not an excuse to ditch your friends but a reminder to stop feeding yourself with toxic relationships. We were made to make each other better. To build and rebuild brokenness. And to share life with others who are giving it back.  

Friendships that look for love will always find it.