Donald Miller's Blog, page 92

Why Perfectionism is Dead to Me

Yesterday I blew it. I made a mistake. I’m not going to bore you with the details, but let’s just say it had to do with banking and paying bills, two things that are not my gift. I was being pretty hard on myself for a while, and then I remembered a lesson I learned a year ago.

For several weeks last summer, I spent far too much time watching the Olympics. I cheered at victories, got teary over the back-stories, and yelled mature things like “we were robbed!” at officials who remained oblivious to my complaints.

After it was over, I made a decision. I will not watch Olympic gymnastic competitions any more. I know this statement will not only incur the wrath of the gymnastic community, but will probably receive a warning from the IOC. I, however, will hold firmly to my decision.

Let me explain.

Over and over again, it was the same story. Someone performed an almost flawless routine, landing with the tiniest of extra steps. Their coaches put their faces in their hands, the commentators said things like “there goes the gold,” their mothers begin to cry, and the athletes had this blank, stunned stare. All those years of training and sacrifice, and nothing to show for it but shame.

“It’s just a little step folks,” I screamed at the television. “For goodness sakes people! They were hurling themselves through the air like a human boomerang! Can’t they just do a little bunny hop? Just one teeny mistake?”

The answer from the collective judges was a resounding “NO” as the young loser gymnasts were herded into windowless vans and driven straight to a camp in Siberia to spend the rest of their days ruminating upon their losses and sipping cold Yak broth. OK, I’ll admit to being a little dramatic.

But here’s my problem. The discomfort I felt watching the gymnastic competition (and the perfection required) comes from the fact that my life and faith are anything but perfect. Not only do I rarely stick my “landings,” I trip and fall, missing my mark more times than not. I falter and wobble and blow it on a regular basis. Somehow I get through and finish my routine, but it’s rarely pretty and never perfect. Never.

Believe me, I’ve had my bouts with perfectionism. For years I thought I could do it right, and those who missed their mark, well, they should be pitied. But I’m weary of that kind of pressure and judgment. The longer I live, the less I think God is asking that of me. Rather, he asks me to invite him into the stumbles and bobbles, to lean on him precisely because I can’t do it right. And in the midst of it, what he does ask of me is to love. And love is always messy.

This is why my new sport of choice is volleyball. Beach volleyball. (At my age, watching not playing!) The players dive for the ball, get sand in their teeth and down their shorts. The volleyballs hit the net and often go out of bounds. The players fumble a lot of shots, while making quite a few of them too.

Better yet, they have someone next to them on the court, who’s always looking out for them, intent on setting them up to make a play and look good. They slap each other on the back when they make a mistake and high five when they do well. And a team can lose a whole set and come back to win. How great is that?

So that’s why I’m going to be a fan of beach volleyball. It speaks to me of the journey I’m on and comforts me at the same time. And while I’m at it, I think I’ll watch baseball too.

In that game, everyone is just rooting for you to make it safely home.

Why Perfectionism is Dead to Me is a post from: Storyline Blog

Theological Sophistication Doesn’t Bind Us: Thoughts on What Really Brings Us Together

What are the ties that bind you and me? Do you ever wonder how we can stay in community with each other when there is so much in this world that feels powerful enough to tear us apart? I felt a tie strong enough to bind us last week in the pull of the tide.

To understand this tie, I need to tell you that I have just come out of a twenty-year phase of not liking the song, “Amazing Grace.” It started when I was in seminary; the song seemed so simplistic to me. As I began my career as a pastor, I saw people who didn’t know much about the depth and breath of church music, request it as a kind of default song. Songs like “What Wondrous Love” and “Tis a Gift to Be Simple” had memorable melodies and theological depth but were passed over because of the star power of “Amazing Grace.” I think I felt a bit proud of the fact that I didn’t like the song, as if I had a more discerning and sophisticated palate for music.

Skip ahead 20 years to the shore this summer with 15 members of my family on a beach to baptize my great niece, Sadie. I asked my husband, grammy-winning songwriter Marcus Hummon, to lead us in a song and he begins singing “Amazing Grace.” He knows thousands of songs and much more than I do about music. After my initial shock that he picked that song, my heart almost melted. I could see him singing, not out of wanting to do anything, but connect us. Out of love for the whole family he picked the one song he knew everyone would know and could sing. It was perfect to pick something easy and universal we could do together.

We stood on the shore and belted out the first verse and chorus of that worn out tune. While you could barely hear it above the wind and tide, you could feel how in the simplicity of love we are bound together. Theological sophistication doesn’t bind us and the injustices of the world combined with political dogmatism thrive on tearing us apart, but the powerful truth is that it is the grace washing over us that ties us to each other. I bent down into the ocean water and baptized sweet Sadie in Universal waters that bind this whole world together. The simplest acts of love we offer one another in grace and gratitude bind us together more powerfully than anything that can tear us apart.

I thought about how the song has been there, even when I didn’t like it, my whole life. I remember singing the song at camp to a James Taylor tune. I remember the version used in a play my husband wrote about missionaries in Africa. There was a time on a pilgrimage to Ecuador when we sang that sweet song followed with a version of “Hotel California”.

Amazing grace binds us with its simple message that keeps us together. Despite our differences, we are a people tied to each other in love. So we will keep singing “Amazing Grace” and we keep kneeling in the waters of grace so we can always love one another.

Theological Sophistication Doesn’t Bind Us: Thoughts on What Really Brings Us Together is a post from: Storyline Blog

The Supreme Court and Jesus: What Christians Can Learn About Submitting to a Document

So I’ve been living within walking distance of the Supreme Court for six months now. I pass by it every other morning when I walk my dog to the local coffee shop. Lucy literally poops on their back lawn. I pick it up, of course. Dogs don’t know.

Since I moved into the neighborhood (I’m only here another couple weeks), I’ve paid more attention to the goings on over there. When a Justice is interviewed on C-Span, I stop to watch. And the whole thing amazes me.

What I love about the court is that, at least in principle, each Justice is more committed to the truth than they are to their opinions. And the checks and balances that keep their personal views in check are immense. Each must defend their decision in precedent and opinion. Activist Judges would be marginalized quickly.

Of course, even at that level, personal bias and opinion seeps in, and yet, like no other man-made institution, they are committed to objective interpretation.

I trust them more than any other body of government. And I’m convinced we, as Christians, have much to learn from how they do business. If we can learn from them, the whole liberal vs. conservative and reformed vs. postmodern nonsense that is absurd (and strategically manipulates ignorant masses to buy books and join the tribes of control-freak leaders) can end.

The job of the court is not for them to do what’s right or what’s moral. The job of the court is to uphold what they deem as Constitutional, meaning that many times they have to make decisions, not according to their conscious, but according to what they deem as upholding the Constitution.

For instance, you recently had conservative judges voting down DOMA and liberal judges siding against the Voters Rights Act. In other words, you had people crossing philosophical lines. Amazing. Imagine a world in which people checked their identities and egos at the door to honor what they see as truth?

To be honest, I love this. I love that a group of intellectuals have to submit themselves to a document that they may or may not believe is infallible. I certainly don’t think it’s infallible at all and yet I completely respect they let go of their egos and submit all the same. Part of standing up for truth is admitting you might not know the truth fully yourself.

The church should be such a world but it isn’t.

This, of course, reminds me of a Christian’s relationship with scripture. Like the court, you’ve got activist preachers who only support some of scripture, say, the more conservative aspects, while only giving lip-service to the stuff about poverty and justice and so forth, and some more liberal preachers who speak out for justice but ignore hardline morality.

As much as we may love or hate the court, we’ve got a lot to learn from them. And that is this: Honoring truth is not about our opinion. It’s about interpreting the document of Scripture as fairly and honestly as possible, and, to be honest, pissing off some of our own tribe when we believe they are interpreting the document wrongly.

If your preacher is towing a hard line and unwilling to admit their “enemies” are sometimes right, find a new church. You’re being lied to by a self-deceived manipulator who is using you to build a tribe.

In my opinion, the court is doing a much more objective job seeking the “truth” than the church is. We act more like Congress — we take our sides and bend truth to defend our tribe. It’s ridiculous. In today’s culture, a truth-teller won’t have a tribe.

Jesus wasn’t crucified by the church or the government, he was crucified by both. So goes the life of a truth teller. They will never please a people group, because people are often right and often wrong.

The Supreme Court and Jesus: What Christians Can Learn About Submitting to a Document is a post from: Storyline Blog

Sunday Morning Sermon – Mark Wahlberg on Prison, Faith, and Gratitude

Each Sunday Morning we feature a sermon from an unlikely source. This week, Mark Wahlberg.

Wahlberg did plenty of bad in his youth and he has plenty of enemies, but in the past decade or so he’s become somebody I respect. Mostly I respect him because I’ve plenty of Christian friends in Hollywood who simply don’t talk about their faith because they know it will cost them. Not true for Wahlberg. Maybe it’s because he’s earned and will never shake his bad-boy image so he can get away with it, but I doubt he cares.

In nearly every interview Mark walks the fine line between expressing his faith and bothering people with it. His faith is his and yours is yours and I do wish more Christians would understand how much more powerful and attractive this approach is. Our faith has made us free and if other people want to be it’s available to them, too.

My favorite Wahlberg quote about faith came from an interview he did in London in which he was asked if he knew Tom Cruise. Wahlberg replied “I don’t know him. He doesn’t go to my church, I guess. I go to the one with Jesus, baby.”

The audience laughed. How many people can talk about Jesus, take a stand for faith, call absurdity out and still get a laugh from the audience?

Here’s Mark talking to Piers Morgan, matter of factly, about what he believes, how he came to believe it and why it still matters to him.

Sunday Morning Sermon – Mark Wahlberg on Prison, Faith, and Gratitude is a post from: Storyline Blog

Saturday Morning Cereal: The Best Viral Videos We Found This Week

The Gatsby video won by only 2 votes last week. Curious to hear which is your favorite this week. Leave your vote below in the comments. I hope your Saturday is full of rest!

Saturday Morning Cereal: The Best Viral Videos We Found This Week is a post from: Storyline Blog

Can Any Good Come From Digging Out Old Memories?

My wife and I had been putting off this task for some time. It was gross. That’s what we kept telling ourselves as we would reach a new Saturday, contemplate the job before us, and then have something conveniently come up to keep us from the work. We didn’t feel like battling the cobwebs, and we really didn’t feel like shoveling out the loads of mice (could they be rat?) droppings.

A few times we actually opened the door to the shed in our back yard, took one look, and maybe a whiff, of what had taken up residence there, and quickly closed the door, trying to wish it all away. Maybe a selective tornado could barrel through and take just the shed?

But I suspect that the grossness of it wasn’t the real reason we avoided cleaning out the shed. More likely it was because it had some of our kids’ bigger toys in it. Our kids are adults now, and have moved into their own independent lives. We checked with them and yes, we could get rid of those things, they said. But we kept putting it off.

So last Saturday we held our noses and our hearts and ventured into that storage space of memories and vermin. The droppings were probably a gift in that they distracted us from being too sentimental about what we were hosing off so we could give them away. And it wasn’t as hard as we thought it would be.

Except for one thing.

When I was in grad school in Ohio, and our son was two, he broke his femur in a freak accident. The doctor put him in a cast that went from mid-stomach down the broken leg all the way to the ankle, and halfway down the other leg. An opening in the crotch area allowed him to go to the bathroom. That meant about half of his body was covered in plaster. It gets hot in the summer in southern Ohio. It gets even hotter when your skin has no chance to breathe and cool itself. And plaster is kind of heavy.

My wife was pregnant with our daughter, so it was very uncomfortable for her to lift our son if he needed to move. Getting him out of the house, going for walks, changing the scenery, all proved impossible. Cabin fever – plaster fever? – was driving everyone crazy.

Then my parents sent a wagon. It was one of those cool red wooden wagons that looked like it was made years ago, but was modern and easy to pull. We lined the inside of the wagon with pillows, gently placed our son in it, and took him all over the neighborhood. Even at the 45-degree angle he had to endure, he was overjoyed. Neighbors came out and talked to him. Dogs came over and licked him. When our daughter was born, we could pull the two of them and he acted like the responsible protector of his baby sister. It was a life and sanity saver.

As they grew older, the wagon’s role evolved. It carried toys from one room to another. Books and other supplies. It was even a weapons repository when the neighbor kids made movies. The weapons were fake, I should make clear.

For the last several years, though, it has been sitting in the shed collecting dust and rodent waste. When we pulled it out on Saturday and scrubbed it down, all of those memories washed over us.

Most of the rest of the toys will be picked up by a local charity and sold in their thrift shop. But we felt like the wagon deserved a different outcome. There are lots of families with kids in our neighborhood, and they go on walks and pass by our house. This has always been a neighborhood wagon, and we wanted it to stay that way if possible.

So we cleaned it, dried it, and put it in our driveway with a sign that said “Free! Enjoy!” and went in the house.

*Photo by LisaW123, Creative Commons

An hour or two later we heard noise outside. Yelling, maybe? Loud voices at least. We went out and saw two teenagers pulling the wagon down the street, with their little sister inside. She was squealing and the older girls were chattering about their good fortune.

Neither my wife nor I remembered how gross it was to clean that wagon. We watched as the kids disappeared down the street, full of joy.

Memories of a child in pain, sadness about our kids growing up and moving away, disgust at the rodents we had harbored, all disappeared in an instant. The world was painful, sad and gross. Then the veil parted and we caught a glimpse of joy.

Can Any Good Come From Digging Out Old Memories? is a post from: Storyline Blog

If the Zimmerman Trial Teaches Us One Thing, It’s That We Fill in “Truth Gaps” with Fiction

What was most interesting about the public’s response to the George Zimmerman trial is how quickly almost everybody made up their minds about what happened, even without hearing the facts.

The narrative most people subscribe to is this: Racially charged white man with a gun harasses black teen and kills him. Man gets off and our justice system is broken.

That, of course, is not a factual narrative, but it’s a powerful narrative and one that offers the most drama while also speaking to the very real problem of racism in our society. And so organizations with various agendas have used this fictional narrative to further their cause.

Another fact about this case I found surprising was the overall acceptance of a black-and-white, hollywood style plot line. To most people, at least on television, there was a clear good guy and a clear bad guy. None of the facts supported this, either.

This, to me, speaks to our incredible ability to fill in “truth gaps” with what feels like facts, but simply aren’t. The truth is we know very little about what happened, while we feel like we do. The brain, whether we like it or not, categorizes facts into a narrative and once that narrative is subscribed to, which happens very quickly, rejects any facts that don’t support the story we’ve chosen to believe.

This is a terrible way to search for the truth and yet it’s what our brains do without us even knowing it’s happening.

Was Trayvon Martin a criminal, a hoodlum, and dangerous? Facts don’t support this at all. He was just a kid walking home from the store. Was Zimmerman a racist? Not a single witness could be found to support that, either.

This case is confusing and requires nuanced thought, an intellectual ability Americans are losing by the hour. Even a jury member has confessed Zimmerman acted like a fool and they wanted to convict him but they couldn’t find a law he’d broken (which I find to be the real tragedy.)

So what really happened? Well, what if we will never know? Are we okay with that? Likely we’re not okay with this because our brains long for resolution and when we can’t resolve an issue, we simply build a story and backfill fictional ideas to support it while rejecting facts that don’t.

What if we tell ourselves fictional narratives to support agendas we don’t even admit  we’re subscribing to?

In their book Decisive, Chip and Dan Heath call this tendency a Confirmation Bias. That is, we come to snap judgments about what we believe is true, then we lean toward data that supports our snap judgments.

Not only this, but siding with the Trayvon Martin side of the story allows us to play the role of hero, to support the underdog, to distance ourselves from racism and so forth. So the ego clearly has something to gain in taking a particular side in what is most assuredly a situation in which we don’t have all the facts.

Chip and Dan Heath also warn us of “spotlight thinking” meaning we tend to think the facts we have are the only facts that exist. What gets lost in spotlight thinking is, in short, truth. But I’m only using the Martin/Zimmeran trial as an example of our ability to create fictional narratives and come to the conclusions that most benefits our preconceived or agenda-drien ideas.

Now I want to go a completely different direction, if that’s even possible while talking about such an emotionally charged issue. I want to talk about our tendency to back fill narratives with fiction as it relates to the Christian life. What if what we’re all doing in the Zimmerman trial is happening in other, even more important aspects of our lives?

Consider the ramifications of backfilling fictional narratives in the political arena. Consider the ramifications regarding theological issues.

Interview most people and they’re certain they understand an issue when by any measure they can’t, not because they’re dumb, but because they don’t have time to study an issue from so many camera angles, not to mention there are often few facts to support our agendas anyway.

For me, following the Zimmerman trial has been frustrating, not only because it’s entirely tragic, but because it speaks to a complete devaluation of truth in our culture. Honestly, it reminds me of the theological and political arguments that take place in evangelical culture all the time, with multiple sides scrounging through limited facts to support agendas that are largely built on fictional, backfilled narratives.

For this reason, I’ve become more and more comfortable with this phrase: I don’t know.

I no longer consider this phrase a cop out, either. In fact, I now consider the phrase I don’t know a form of extreme respect for the truth. What’s wrong with admitting we can’t know something we actually can’t know? And why in the world are so many people expressing absolutely certain ideas about what happened between Zimmerman and Martin when they can’t possibly know the truth anyway? Could it be we have other agendas we aren’t admitting to or are even aware of? And how does the dynamic of backfilling truth gaps with fiction affect the culture we live in?

The problem with the phrase I don’t know is it doesn’t sell. If pastors confess they don’t actually know whether the world was made in seven days or whether we should take all of the Bible literally, they are seen as weak. But the truth is we don’t know. We don’t know whether Genesis 1 and 2 should be taken literally because the Bible doesn’t tell us. We don’t know whether scripture is inerrant because scripture doesn’t tell us. So why not just admit it rather than make confident claims we can’t possibly back up with reasoned arguments. Why not live within the ambiguity God has left us in?

Who is more weak in your opinion, a person who makes things up and sells a false narrative with confidence, or somebody who humbly admits we don’t have all the facts and yet we must go on trusting God all the same? Be careful with that question. Are we choosing false security over the truth, the truth being we can’t possibly know everything? I think many Christians today believe many things they simply can’t prove because those beliefs bring them a sense of control, security and comfort. What if God hasn’t given us all the information, and what if justice and order in the world doesn’t depend on us knowing everything anyway? What if truth lives outside of us whether we understand it or not? What if we are given just enough information to trust God and know Him but not fully understand Him or, for that matter, life itself? What if we are given some information but not all?

Should we still seek truth? Yes. Should we use what we know to seek justice? Yes. Should we make things up when we don’t have all the facts to give people a sense of comfort and security? No. Does this mean we have to live without resolution sometimes? Yes, unfortunately it does. What should we do about that?

I don’t know.

I suppose we do what we can and trust God with the rest. But in respect for truth, I’d offer we shouldn’t backfill gaps with fictional narratives, no matter how comfortable it may make us feel.

What happened between George Zimmerman and Trayvon Martin? I don’t know.

Was justice done? It certainly doesn’t feel like it.

Will justice be done? Yes.

This much we know is true. Justice will be done. And not by us.

If the Zimmerman Trial Teaches Us One Thing, It’s That We Fill in “Truth Gaps” with Fiction is a post from: Storyline Blog

Why Some of the Best Stories Are Invisible

A few years ago, while I was getting my bachelor’s degree at a (not-cheap) private liberal arts university of my choice, I learned that my mom’s monthly paychecks were being deposited directly into an account I didn’t know about.

The account was set up specifically to pay my tuition, and nothing else.

I remember feeling a little taken aback when I found out, for a moment unworthy of the gift, and for another moment shocked that it would be given so quietly. No fanfare. No parade. No “look-at-what-a-good-mom-I-am” search for acknowledgement. Just my mom, showing up diligently to her job everyday, so I could go to college.

“This is what moms do for their kids.”

That’s what I remember her saying when I asked her about it, while she stood in the kitchen chopping vegetables.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about what an extravagant act it was, and yet how invisible. I don’t have kids of my own yet, but I can tell you with certainty that I’ve never done anything that selfless for anyone, and when I do anything selfless at all, I usually I want the credit.

I’m terrified of being invisible.

It’s funny how we hold onto our biggest fears in life and sort of live them out, so that in some ways they become our own created realities. In some moments I find myself tiptoeing around people, trying to protect feelings and relationships, never willing to be too loud or take up too much space.

At other moments, probably when I get tired of being so quiet all the time, I feel like I’m slamming around in my life — closing cabinets loud and walking loud, and raising my voice just to get someone to notice.

My husband says he never has to wonder where I am.

I’m always clunking around a little bit.

*Photo by millerm217, Creative Commons


And to be perfectly honest, I’ve always wanted my story to be kind of loud too, to go down in the history books. I’ve dreaded the thought of being too quiet, wanting instead to be worth noticing, to make a splash. But as I think about this story about my mom, and at least a dozen other quietly generous and beautifully simple and seemingly-invisible stories connected to my own, I can’t help but realize that a quiet story is not a bad story.

In fact, it might be the best story of all.

I think about my husband, who always wanted to write a book, but has put his dream on hold to make money while I write and publish mine; about my friend Rebecca, who I lived with before I was married. While I tried to “make it” as a full-time writer, she shared everything she had with me — her clothes, her food, her car.

I think about my friend and cousin, Krisi, who moved her entire life from Texas to Minnesota last winter to help my husband and me launch and sustain Prodigal Magazine. Then I think about all the people who made her move possible.

The list could go on and on.

These are people who never once asked for credit, never needed their names to show up in the bright lights. They just showed up daily to their individual stories, doing what they knew was right — daily acts of courage, visible or invisible.

They’re heroes in my story, heroes in their own stories, and heroes in the larger story being written — even if no one is watching.

But someone is watching. Especially now.

I’m starting to keep my eyes open for people who are living silent but beautiful stories. Some of them are connected to my own, others are not. But all of them are connected to the broader story, the story we’re all writing together. All of them valuable. I’m starting to celebrate them in a way I couldn’t have before.

And the weirdest things happens as I celebrate the quiet stories of others.

I’m not scared of being invisible anymore.

Why Some of the Best Stories Are Invisible is a post from: Storyline Blog

How to Move Beyond Words — Write with Blood

I remember sitting behind a mixing table at NRG music studios in North Hollywood. From the street, NRG looks like a back-alley warehouse, surrounded by a high, chained link fence. No flash. No fanfare. From the outside, you’d have no idea that NRG hosted artists like: Jay-Z, Linkin Park, Alicia Keys, Foo Fighters, Avril Lavigne and others.

I was sitting in Studio A listening to an artist lay down vocal tracks. The two songwriters, Ben and David, were sitting right beside me, feeling and mouth-syncing the words. After one take, Ben got up and went into the recording room. He was saying something to the singer – and she was nodding. From behind the glass, I couldn’t really hear what he was saying, but I did make out one phrase….

Bleed for me.

Ben was calling for blood. He wanted her to wring every drop of raw passion and pour it into the mic. Every ounce of soul. Every ounce of pain and feeling and life. Here were two Grammy-winning songwriters – two of the best in the world – and instead of worrying about meter, pitch or style, they wanted something deeper. Something more visceral. They wanted blood.

The singer responded. And magic happened.

This was a transformational moment for me. I began to wonder, what does it mean for an artist to bleed? As a writer, how do I reach down and spill my life onto the paper? How do I connect to and communicate from my deep soul?

In his 1946 book, Confessions of a Story Writer, Paul Gallico offers:

‘It is only when you open your veins and bleed onto the page that you establish contact with your reader. If you do not believe in the characters or the story with all your mind, strength, and will, if you don’t feel joy and excitement while writing it, then you’re wasting good white paper, even if it sells, because there are other ways a writer can bring in the rent money besides writing bad or phony stories.’

In the 1880 novel, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Friedrich Nietzsche says this:

‘Of all that is written, I love only what a man has written in blood. Write with blood and you will experience the blood as spirit. Whoever writes with blood does not want to be read but to be learned by heart.’

*Photo by Clive C

I know this idea of writing with blood sounds a little subjective. The best way I can describe it is when artists put words and bone, feelings and flesh on our experience. She puts words on our anguishes, elations, ecstasies – words that we would never find ourselves.

This is the big knock against most of the reality-show artists. Kids with big voices, big talent, big hair. They look the part. You listen to them and they have huge pipes. But something is missing. Something more than a voice.

Clive Davis, President of RCA Records speaks to this. He discovered talents such as: Alicia Keys, Carlos Santana, Jennifer Hudson, and Whitney Houston. He recalls the night he first heard Whitney sing:

The first time I saw her singing was in a club called Sweet Waters in Manhattan. It was a stunning impact … to hear this young girl breathe such fire into the song, I mean, it sent the proverbial tingles up my spine.

The best artists, writers, and creatives have superior craft, work ethic, talent and rare opportunity. Yes, they have a team of editors, mixers, and directors. But at the core of who they are, the best ones have learned how to pour out every ounce of themselves. They have learned how to bleed.

• • •

For a few other examples of artists who bleed well, check out:

• Adele singing “I Can’t Make You Love Me”

• Dave Grohl’s acoustic version of “Times like These”

• Anything written by Jazz Poet Langston Hughes

How to Move Beyond Words — Write with Blood is a post from: Storyline Blog

5 Life Lessons I Learned from Watching Jesus

Many who read this blog believe in Jesus, that He was the Son of God and most of us, hopefully, have a mysterious relationship with Him. But as I read through the gospels, I wonder what practical life lessons we can learn from Christ. Not sure why I ask except it’s all the rage in blogs to give advice about how to live so why not get some tips from watching Jesus for a minute.

Here are a few immediate things I noticed about Christ I’d like to apply to my life. I hope to:

1. Speak the truth: Jesus had no problem speaking the truth, even if it caused all kinds of problems. When He spoke the truth religious systems were threatened, governments were threatened and, of course, people often felt threatened. But nothing stopped Him from saying it.

2. Don’t bother controlling anybody What separates Jesus from more than a few Christian leaders is He was entirely non-manipulative. He tried to control nobody. He had authority, but if somebody wanted to disobey Him, He didn’t stop them. Jesus had the most healthy boundaries of any leader in history. Where many leaders establish loyalty through threats, Jesus established loyalty through love and forgiveness.

3. Understand there’s another reality: Jesus loved people but didn’t seem to take our social rituals false hierarchies too seriously. He had this way of almost rolling His eyes at many of the things we find ourselves slaves too. The church? Governments? Even the death of parents? These things, apparently, mean little in the eternal scheme of things. Jesus operated as if (and of course He knew in fact what we believe in faith) there was something much bigger and much better than what we’ve constructed.

*Photo by Frenkieb, Creative Commons

4. He was not a people pleaser: Jesus was responsible for the redemption of the entire world but had no problem spending time alone with His Father. He knew His role, He understood His job, and He had no problem offending people by hiding so He could recharge. Jesus never ran for office or tried to get people to like Him.

5. He left nothing behind but love: Jesus never built a building or established a trust fund in His name. He left behind only the message He was the Messiah and a small group of people who loved Him and who He loved.

So there’s some practical self-help guidance for all of us. I find the reality I don’t have to people please or leave a legacy or control people to be quite comforting. I hope you do, too.

5 Life Lessons I Learned from Watching Jesus is a post from: Storyline Blog