Donald Miller's Blog, page 28

What I Remind Myself When Life Isn’t Easy

It happened again today. Life got hard.

My day started out with great promise of ease. By eight o’clock in the morning, all three of my kids had eaten a healthy breakfast, were dressed with their shoes on and we joyfully walked to school.

Photo Credit: Theresa Martell, Creative Commons

Then as the day progressed, guess what? Life happened.

And life, my friends, is hard.

It started with the news that my son might need tubes in his ears, which is not a big deal really, but requires action on my part and adding actions to my already overloaded list of things to do is hard. Then, a call from my daughters school letting me know she had a “bowel movement” in her pants.

That’s right friends, my seven year old pooped her pants, at school. And the cherry on top, or rather the straw that broke the camels back, or the “something” that hit the fan…

As I drove to the school to drop off clean clothes, I started to cry.

Why dear Lord does everything have to be so hard?

I don’t know about you, but I am often working my butt off to make life a little bit easier. And I have found my pursuit to “easier” is an uphill climb, which in and of itself is not easy.

Sometimes the pursuit to easy is harder than just letting life be hard.

When my daughter got home from school, I took her dirty clothes out of the plastic bag in her backpack. I had every intention of washing them but as I opened up the bag I thought, “I don’t have time for this crap.”

So I threw the dirty undies and skirt in the outside trashcan.

Often times life is about choosing our battles.

Looking at the list of difficult things required of us and from time to time taking items off of the list and throwing them straight into the trash.

That night as I made “no-bake” cookies for her teacher, complete with a note that said “because no one should have to clean up another kid’s poop” (it took everything in me not to say the word I really wanted to say, but it’s first grade, so I censored myself!)…

I had a moment of clarity.

Maybe this journey I’m on is not about being easy, but about simply embracing what is.

My son might need tubs in his ears, but so what? My daughter pooped her pants, but so what? Maybe tomorrow I’ll find myself skipping down a sidewalk on Easy Street. But I’m pretty confident I won’t.

So rather than try to make my day unfold in a way that makes life a little easier, I’m learning to embrace the idea of simply putting one foot in front of the other, breathing in and breathing out.

I’m trying to hold on with two hands to the life in front of me instead of working hard to make it something I think I want it to be. And in so doing, I am remembering that, as Jesus walked the earth, one foot in front of the other, breathing in and breathing out, his pursuits were for many things, but an easier life never made the list.

This morning, as I opened the refrigerator to grab my hazelnut creamer to add to a fresh cup of coffee, I spotted the extra no-bake cookies from last night.

I grabbed one, and as I took a bite, I thought how thankful I can be for these little moments of reprieve, even in the midst of a life that’s hard—a life that sometimes is filled with piles of poop.

One of The Best Things You Can Do With Your Irrational Fears

I have an irrational fear of being a bridesmaid.

Photo Credit: Cat Meyer, Creative Commons

I fainted during a ceremony a few years ago and ever since, when a friend has asked me to be in her wedding, I get flashbacks of blurry vision and wobbly knees.

The reason I fainted a few years back was because the ceremony took place outdoors, in the Texas heat, and it was long and, it turned out, I was sick. The perfect storm for a fainting bridesmaid.

A few weeks ago, I was in another friend’s wedding.

It was in Portland. It was indoors in an air-conditioned church. I was not sick. Yet, I was terrified I would faint again.

All day I had visions of falling to my knees in front of everybody, ruining the vows.

I saw myself being carried away by groomsmen, unable to fulfill my bridesmaid duties, and forced to lie on a couch in the back (this is what happened last time).

To add to my fear, the bride had asked me to sing during the wedding. Singing in front of people typically would not be a huge deal, but singing as a bridesmaid? This concerned me. During my rehearsal, the pianist warned me, as if she knew my history:

“Don’t faint. Singers faint.”

So do bridesmaids, I thought.

I walked back to the bridal room feeling queasy. My friend, the bride, asked if I was ok. I told her I was fine.

What bride needs to worry about her fainting-inclined bridesmaids on her wedding day?

We circled up to pray. When we were done, I felt like I should ask someone to pray for me. To pray that I wouldn’t faint, but I didn’t. That would be stupid, I told myself. No one needs to know I’m afraid right now. No one needs to know about my little, irrational fear.

Best to keep quiet.

So I said nothing.

I sat in the corner and sipped water and tried to have positive thoughts.

I hate asking for help. I hate asking for prayer. I hate asking for rides to the airport. I hate asking friends to help me move. I hate asking for anything in general, and if I am 5% capable of doing it on my own, I will.

But as soon as I stepped on stage during that wedding, I knew my fierce independence was going to get me nowhere that day but flat on my face.

There I stood in three-inch heels, a pink dress and fake smile and I could feel it. The fainting feelings. The blurry vision the nausea. My little irrational fear felt huge and insurmountable.

I needed help. So, I asked for it.

I scooted to the bridesmaid closest to me, who happened to be a nurse practitioner, and I told her I didn’t feel good, and I held onto her arm. I held onto her arm. In that moment, I needed someone to literally hold me.

I was not going to make it by myself because making it by myself would mean literally falling on my face. No, I was not going to be Independent Andrea today. I was going to be needy and fearful and desperate Andrea.

The Andrea I know all too well but rarely reveal to others.

Though I had only met this bridesmaid the night before at the rehearsal dinner, she let me hold onto her. She told me it would be ok. She reminded me to breathe. She didn’t shove me away or gawk. She was understanding of my little, irrational fear and she talked me through the ceremony.

And guess what? I didn’t faint.

Not when I sang the song. Not during the sermon. Not during the vows. I made it, standing the entire time, and it’s because I had an arm to hold onto. It’s because a nearly complete stranger was understanding and kind and gracious.

I made it because I admitted I couldn’t make it, and I asked for help.

If you’re like me—fiercely independent and ashamed of your secret neediness—I hope this story encourages you. I think if we independent types reached out to others more often and confessed our own inadequacies, we would find what I found in that bridesmaid: a gracious, kind and understanding response.

We would find that our weakness brings out the strength in others and that fear cannot often be conquered alone, but it can be conquered with a little help.

What I Learned About Parenting When My Sons Left the Nest

This is the season that sons and daughters, after graduating from high school, are moving out of the house. Some are going to work, and others are going to college.

Photo Credit: State Farm, Creative Commons

But they are leaving the place that has been their home, their nest, for 18 years.

A few weeks ago, my wife and I delivered our youngest son to college.

When we returned home that evening, there was a quiet we hadn’t heard before. Prior to that night, for more than twenty-one years, there had been a son living down our hall. I stayed awake a good part of that night, images and memories passing through my mind like shooting stars.

Parenting is all about preparing your children to leave well.

And it takes a long time to get the soil ready for their departure.

The day my first son was born, I walked outside with my tools and began to dig.

I wasn’t sure why I was digging. I’m speaking figuratively of course, but I simply knew I must break into the hard ground to make it something it was not.

I wasn’t digging a hole.

Rather I was preparing a surface, free from obstacles, small and large. Daily I tore into the ground, breaking rocks into small pieces, cutting down trees, and ripping out roots that would eventually find their way to the surface again. Sometimes my boy would work alongside me, not knowing what we were doing or why, but glad to be with me and a part of the task.

(Soon, my second son joined us. This was a huge project!)

I don’t remember the day I realized we were constructing some sort of path.

Perhaps it was when I saw that it was not deep enough for a foundation and too long for a garden.

The path was wide and never meandered. It was smooth and level.

There were difficult days (sprained ankles, fender-benders, and break-ups) when the hills had to be cut through. But time and patience saw them open wide.

And then, a little more than eighteen years after I began this project, I realized what it was. It was when he began to gather his things in boxes.

And one by one, placed them at the spot where my work began.

His belongings were all there—his instruments, his books, his trophies, his mattress—stacked up at the path’s starting point. As he stood there, tall and manly, he looked down the path beyond its end and toward the bright horizon, the sun beaming on his face.

Then it came to me.

There before us was a runway, wide and long and smooth. And he, with an eager heart and a long wingspan, was ready for takeoff.

Both of my sons have made this journey.

Both have worked alongside my wife and I to construct this runway. (Parenting is a group project.) Both have left to return only for visits now. And while my grief is profound, it is overshadowed by gratitude for their tenure with us and by hope for all of the flights to come.

I can hear the pilot’s voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, prepare for liftoff.”

It is a voice I have dreaded since the day my sons entered this world.

And it is a voice that I embrace for all that will be theirs.

Is Control the Opposite of Love?

I love that short scene from the movie Bruce Almighty in which Bruce tries to use his God-like powers to cause his girlfriend to fall in love with him. It’s a funny scene but the fact it doesn’t work speaks so terrifically to the way God has designed our lives.

Love is a choice nobody can take away from us.

Photo Credit: Garrett Coyte, Creative Commons

God Himself gives us free will to walk away, otherwise He is not loving, He is controlling.

Controlling people can make others respect them, fear them, obey them and even serve them, but the one thing they will never do is make people love them.

I knew a guy once who was a shock-jock pastor and created quite the empire.

I know many people who worked for him, who depended on him for their incomes, who associated themselves with him to feel strong, but I never heard anybody say they loved him.

This is true for nearly every controlling person. It’s not that they aren’t loved, because some people see through it and love them anyway, it’s that they can’t trust anybody to love them.

They have to force everything.

What I love about God is He is more interested in exchanging love than exchanging anything else.

And He’s tough. Truly tough. He lets you walk away and He stands there.

The sad reality is we all try to do exactly what Jim Carrey does in Bruce Almighty more often than we’d like to admit.

We are all, to some degree, controlling. Some more directly than others. It’s almost impossible not to. I only bring that up because it’s one of the things that reminds me of just how powerful God really is.

He woos but he does not force, He hurts but He doesn’t numb the pain, He gives whether or not He receives.

C.S. Lewis said “I talk of love as a scholar’s parrot talks Greek” and I think it’s true.

To love is to risk. To control is to fear.

That’s a mantra I repeat to myself in a number of my relationships. In greater percentages, as the years go by, I want to run the kind of risk that gets me closer and closer to real love.

What do you think? Is control an opposite of love?

***I say “opposite” for sake of conversation, not because I think love actually has an opposite. But can love and control go together, or is risk necessary?

Five Articles I Sent My Staff This Week

As a staff, we are committed to learning and growing, both professionally and personally. One of the ways we do that is by reading. Below are some of the most current things we’re reading together.

If you’re in need of something great to read this weekend, start here.

The Research is Clear: Long Hours Backfire for People and Companies

via Harvard Business Review

These days it seems like you can’t have a conversation with someone without comparing how busy you are or how hard you work. But have we stopped to ask ourselves the question if working harder is actually helping?

No, You Don’t Have to Work 24-7 to Succeed

via Michael Hyatt

Thankfully, just because working 24-7 isn’t the fastest way to achieve success doesn’t mean you can’t have big goals. In fact, my friend Mike has some of the biggest goals of anyone I know. Check out his advice.

Want to Power Up Your Results? Shut Down Your Business

via Marie Forleo

Are you noticing a theme to these articles yet? Here is yet another reason to slow down and take a break in order to kick-start your productivity and revive your business.

How to Develop Opinions Worth Having

via Relevant Magazine

I’m all for people having opinions. In fact, I have strong opinions myself. But here’s some great advice about how we can develop those opinions to be more than just emotional reactions. Great thoughts.

12 Scientifically Proven Habits That Will Change Your Life

via Lolly Daskal

Each of these habits are ones I hope to embody in my own life and I encourage my team to work toward, too. None of us are perfect. But habits like these can help us build a strong foundation.

The Real Key To Success (And Why Talent Is Overrated)

Each summer, about twelve hundred young American men and women arrive at the United States Military Academy at West Point to begin four years of study. But before any of them sees a classroom, they go through seven weeks of Cadet Basic Training.

Photo Credit: West Point – The U.S. Military Academy, Creative Commons

By the time the summer ends, 1 in 20 of these talented, dedicated young adults will drop out.

A group of researchers wanted to understand why some students continued on the road toward military mastery and the others got off at the first exit.

Was it physical strength and athleticism? Intellect? Leadership ability? Well-roundedness?

The answer? None of the above.

The best predictor of success, the researchers found, was the cadets’ ratings on a non-cognitive, non-physical trait knows as “Grit.” In her excellent TED Talk on this very research, Angela Duckworth describes Grit as,

…perseverance and passion for long term goals. Grit is having stamina. Grit is sticking with your future, day in and day out. Not just for the week, not just for the month, but for years.

Grit is that special force that gets you down in the dirt. Grit is toil. Grit is the slow burn, over time, that nearly kills you, and yet, it’s the best indicator for success. So much so, that researchers found in every field:

Grit was just as important as talent.

How about that?!

For college students, it was grittiness, rather than IQ or standardized test scores, that was the most accurate predictor of college grades.

Grit is inspiring.

Because Grit is such a powerful indicator for success, it becomes the life-blood of some of the world’s greatest stories.

Grit is the homeless teen in Georgia who becomes valedictorian. Grit is the impoverished kids in Paraguay who perform with recycled orchestra instruments from landfills.

Grit is Rocky Balboa, the Mighty Ducks, and JK Rowling when Harry Potter was rejected 12 times before being published.

Grit is practical.

If you didn’t know, I’m a massive soccer fan.

Soccer is an acquired taste like beer or coffee—or baseball. While it can be thrilling and dramatic, there are times where, and I hate to admit it, it can be kind of boring. The thing I’ve learned as I’ve really begun to study the game is a key difference between good teams and great teams.

Good teams win when they play well.

Great teams “grind out wins” when they’re playing poorly. It’s not pretty, there are few fireworks, but they defend well, they keep the ball, and they toil their way to a 1-0 or 2-1 victory.

This is the short-term sports version of Grit. It’s not inspiring, but it works.

Grit is the key.

While talent is helpful, Grit is the X factor to long-term success.

If you don’t have it, you need to find it. If you already have it, don’t waste it on something stupid.

Despite the advancements in neuroscience and biotechnology, Grit is remarkably hard to nail down. Some say you have to experience great adversity to get it. Others just seem to be born with it. At this point in time, there is no formula for how to harness and cultivate Grit.

I believe the science comes up short on Grit because it is intensely personal and subjective.

Grit is something deep within you. It’s the soul of your work that only you can access.

This brings us to today.

To you and your work and your deepest purpose. How can you develop Grit? How have you already done so?

*Inspired and borrowed in parts from Drive – by Daniel Pink.

Why God Told Me to Ruin My Life

For much of my life, when it came time to make a decision about anything, I felt virtually paralyzed by fear of making the “wrong” choice. When I had to choose a college, or a job to take or not take, a city to live in, or even a car to drive, I always wanted to do all the research, talk to everyone I knew and discover all the possible pitfalls before I chose.

Photo Credit: Christopher Michel, Creative Commons

I have to admit, I hesitated to make a choice at all if I didn’t feel absolutely certain I knew it was the “right” choice.

Then, a few years ago, all of that changed.

I was working part time as a barista, writing a little bit on the side and working on a book idea about a trip I had taken to all 50 states. I had quit my full-time job with the intention of writing this book, but since supporting myself as an author proved to be more difficult than I expected, I picked up a part-time job to supplement my income.

And while I expected to hate serving coffee, I became surprisingly attached to my friends and my time there. It wasn’t perfect, obviously, but I enjoyed it and began to settle into a rhythm.

Then, when I least expected it, I felt God urging me to quit.

It didn’t make any practical sense to me. I hadn’t suddenly come into a bunch of money, or stumbled across any big projects that promised to sustain me as a writer. There wasn’t any fanfare or drama, or anything forcing me to pull the trigger.

There was just a quiet assurance, a pit-in-my gut feeling that it was time.

This is the time? I wanted to ask. Why now?

I wanted to quit, kind of. I wanted to take the step, if this was the “right” step to take, if this was going to move me forward in my career as a writer. But what guarantee did I have that this was the case? What if this wasn’t the right choice at all?

In fact, what if I was hearing things all wrong?

Just as I was starting to get roped into my usual process of obsessing, I felt this tiny, silent voice deep inside of me say:

“Go ahead, ruin your life. I dare you.”

I’m not sure if it was God, but it certainly seemed like it was. It seemed like it had to be someone who knew me well enough to know what was happening inside of me; someone who knew I was obsessing over “right” decisions and “wrong” ones, and that it wasn’t doing me any good.

I’ve made some bad decisions in my life, and I’ve lived the consequences for them. I drank too much in college, and have the scars to prove it. And there was this one haircut in my early twenties that tops the charts for poor life choices.

But so far, I haven’t ruined my life.

In fact, even my worst decisions have been used for good.

So when it came to quitting my job as a barista, I decided I was tired of living my life dictated by a fear of doing the wrong thing. I was tired of stalling, tired of waiting, tired of obsessing and staying stuck. I wasn’t going to do it anymore. So I quit.

And less than one year after I quit, I published my first book.

I’m not saying that there’s no such thing as a wrong decision, or that my decision to quit my job was even “right.” I’m saying it’s often hard to measure “right” decisions and “wrong” ones, because I can’t see the whole story from where I’m standing right now, and because I can’t even begin to fathom the depth and breadth and richness of God’s grace.

So I’m not going to live trapped by fear of the “wrong” decision anymore.

I’m not going to worry about ruining my life. My eyes, my ears, and my discernment may fail me at times, but if I’m living in honest pursuit of Truth, I believe I’ll find it.

One Reason Many of Us Have A Hard Time Connecting

I was driving home from grabbing coffee a few weeks ago when I heard a quick radio promo on 650AM-WSM—the station many people know as the home of The Grand Ole Opry.

Photo Credit: Joe St. Pierre, Creative Commons

It is also the station I listen to the most here in Nashville, since they play a lot of good old country songs.

It’s their 90th anniversary this year, and they were playing a short recording of one of their DJs talking about what it meant to work at the station.

In the part I caught, he said, “…when you get into the radio business, they tell you not to try and sound like you’re talking to a thousand people, but to talk like you’re talking to just one person.”

I recognized something of myself in this little piece of broadcasting advice.

When the DJ said the words “not to try and sound like you’re talking to a thousand people,” he temporarily swung out his voice into this syncopated, baritone bravado that made him sound like the ringmaster at an old-timey circus.

His listeners were sure to understand what he meant when he moved back into his natural tone, revealing that a glimpse of the circus-ring voice sounded big and important, maybe, but in contrast to real life it also sounded a little forced and far away.

In about seven split seconds, the DJ named that oh-so-human tendency I have to try to look big and important in order to feel confident or qualified to connect with others.

In the same moment, he illustrated that doing so is exactly what actually prevents my connecting with those around me in any real way.

Those few seconds of the big circus voice stuck with me.

Mostly, I think, because they are representative of the many ways we can be tempted to feel like we need to be officially official.

The impression encompasses all the subtle (or so they seem to me) ways I try and put a little sheen on things so that those things feel as legitimate as I don’t: acting like sure I’ve totally heard of that band/philosophical stance/rock-climbing method at a party where I’m positive everyone is cooler than me, for example.

Using some fancy terminology when I’m hoping to look a smidge more experienced than I am in the workplace. Or trying hard to sound particularly eloquent and savvy say, in a blog post for a website that a lot of people read.

Here’s the tricky part.

Whenever I start trying to prove how fill-in-the-blank-with-something-cool I am, to show you how good my circus voice sounds from the center ring, I feel less and less like myself and more like I’m standing alone on a pedestal in a top hat and tails (which, for the record, I’m viewing as a negative thing).

For whatever reason, that DJ’s description of imagining one so he can speak meaningfully to many helps me clarify what happens when I slip from worrying about being myself and doing a good job into worrying about being impressive enough.

So now I’m trying to be quicker to catch myself before I start talking in my big circus voice, and to remember instead that whether it’s from a podium, in a post, or over the punchbowl at a Christmas party, my responsibility isn’t to be impressive or wildly entertaining or even particularly enlightening to some anonymous everybody.

It’s to be honest and kind, like I would be to one person.

The Importance of Making Peace With Your Past

I hated the way I talked when I was a kid.

As a lifelong resident of the Deep South, I have a southern family, with an accent to match. Most people on TV sounded so sophisticated with enunciated speech, while every southerner I saw portrayed in film was either slow or ignorant.

Photo Credit: Jeremy Wilburn, Creative Commons

I wanted to be seen as smart. So, I worked hard to erase my accent. To my ear, my drawl was far less pronounced than my friends and family, but this illusion failed me anytime I traveled to other parts of the country.

Everyone asked me what part of Georgia I was from.

My mom and dad are both from a rural county about an hour east of where I grew up. My parents grew up on farms, and their lives were centered around the rhythm of early mornings, and crop seasons.

I spent a couple of weeks each summer on those farms, spending time with my grandparents. Our Christmas and Thanksgiving rituals involved a drive out to the farms, too. I was fascinated by the natural beauty of our family land growing up, a Cathedral of branches, fields, and wide open sky.

I also loved the food, and the way everyone gathered together at meals.

I was proud that my family always brought along displaced people to our gatherings–the poor, the orphan, the widow. And everyone knew everyone else in the whole county.

There were no strangers.

But, I was so put off by what those farms ultimately represented: Southern culture.

We lagged the nation in fashion, food, and social progress.

These were the days before the Internet, so the South was often more than a decade behind New York and California.

We found novel what Californians were dropping off at thrift shops.

Despite the tight nit community and open doors of Southern homes, the land of my fathers and my father’s fathers was also the first place I heard the “n-word” spoken aloud. It stunned me, that anyone could utter that archaic, hateful sound.

I think a lot of people feel like this.

They look at their families and they see much to love and a lot they’re ashamed off. It’s a potent mix; subtle, complex, and often overwhelming. Our families represent our pasts, who we were, and how we came to be who we are now–good and bad.

As an adult I had a personal renaissance toward my rural roots.

My high-flying career kept me on airplanes, traveling from urban center to urban center. I experienced new foods, new cultures, and lived out my dreams. My life was a blur of new faces and new places–and it often wore me out.

I discovered there was something freeing about sitting in a tractor, and moving trees off a forrest road. Or driving aimlessly through the woods in an ATV. Or even taking said ATVs through the mud at chaotic, reckless speeds in a ritual known as “muddin’.”

The South, I learned, had secrets of its own.

Special treasures unknown in our nations Great Cities in the North and West.

You see, my family taught me the value of an open home, and freely sharing love with others. The agricultural rhythm of Madison County showed me that humankind’s relationship with the land is complex and essential.

Most of all, my family showed me the way that faith can remake the story of a family from dysfunction and alcoholism to shared values and worship.

There are things in our family background that are beautiful and life giving, and those are the things we carry forward as heritage. But there are also things in our family past that are chains that bind us and others, and those are the links we have to break, lest they carry on for another generation.

It’s up to us to contemplate which is which: heritage or bondage.

We honor our families–and ourselves–by choosing well.

The Best Thing You Can Do When Someone Tries to Control You

We all have to face them from time to time. Even as adults, bullies stumble across our paths. They’re loud, obnoxious, make shocking statements and have no perception of social boundaries. Bullies must have the world their way, and if you don’t see the world their way, they see you as an enemy.

Photo Credit: Joe St. Pierre, Creative Commons

Bullies love to entangle you in their world. Bullies get validation one of two ways.

Getting you to submit to them as the authority figure (even in areas where they have no authority) or
Feeling powerful by frustrating the lives of people who won’t submit.

The best thing you can do with a bully is to completely ignore them.

They’ll use drama and demands to scare you, but don’t worry, if they don’t have any real authority, there’s nothing they can do. Just don’t return the call, text message, dark stare or email. Sooner or later they’ll move on to somebody else.

Nothing will frustrate them more, but if you aren’t making them feel more powerful, they’ll lose interest.

Still, many have to work with bullies or even have them as family members.

What do you do about bullies you simply must interact with?

Here are some tips:

1. Put distance between their demands and your compliance.

If at all possible, respond to their dramatic demands with statements like, “I’ll think about that and get back to you.”

Take a couple days before you let them know what you’re going to do.

Honestly ask yourself what you want. Bullies don’t want you to think about yourself, they want you to fear them so you’ll comply to their need for power. Sooner or later, the bully will get tired of your unwillingness to fear them and comply. They’ll move on.

And honestly, they’ll actually respect you.

They won’t like you, but they’ll respect you. Bullies secretly loathe the people who always comply with them.

2. Let it be known they’re hard to work with.

Don’t gossip or counter-attack, but if they work on your team, let the leader of the team or your boss know that a member of your team has a bullying personality and it’s affecting morale.

Often, bullies gain power because they get so much done for a company, but there is always a downside: Morale sinks, people hate coming to work and so on.

If your boss never knows about the bullies downside, they won’t count the cost.

If you politely and appropriately let them know, sooner or later they’ll have to consider letting the bully go.

3. Don’t Counter-Attack.

Bullies are born for war. They secretly believe people are out to get them and have likely felt that way since childhood. In other words, they’ve spent a lifetime scheming ways to control everybody around them so they won’t get hurt again.

You, on the other hand, haven’t spent much time at all wondering how to control people. Who do you think is going to win that fight?

They are.

So don’t fight with them. When having a conversation about a famous bully-pastor we both know, my friend Chris Seay recommended walking away from him. If you wrestle with the pigs, you both get dirty.

So let’s not counter attack.

In summary:

Avoid them if you can. Ignore them if you must and don’t feel bad about it.

Place time between their demands and your personal decision as to whether you want to comply. As much time as possible.

Let it be known to the appropriate authorities that you don’t like working with them.

Don’t gossip. Be respectful.

Don’t counter-attack. You’ll lose. You aren’t wired the way they are. Just ignore them and be happy.

Sorry you’re dealing with a bully. Make wise decisions and don’t stoop to their level. You’re likely to come out better for the experience.