Donald Miller's Blog, page 96

Preparing to Let Go of Your Kids Starts When They’re Born

The day he was born, I walked outside with my tools and began to dig. I wasn’t sure why I was digging. 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 smooth surface, free from obstacles, small and large. Daily I tore into the ground, breaking rocks into small pieces, cutting down trees, and tearing out roots that would find their way to the surface again. Sometimes my boy would work alongside me, not knowing what we were building or why, but glad to be with me and a part of the task.

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 years, particularly when hills had to be cut through. But time and patience saw them open wide and finally welcome the path as an old friend.

A few weeks ago, a little more than eighteen years after I began this project, I realized what it was. It was when my eldest son began to gather his things in boxes. And one by one, he placed them at 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 horizon, bright with the morning son.

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.

This morning, we will load the truck and Hunter will be moving into his own apartment. For the first time in all of his years, he will be leaving to return only for visits. While my grief is profound, it is overwhelmed by gratitude for his tenure with us and with hope for all of his adventure-filled 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 he entered this world. And it is a voice that I embrace for all that will be his.

-Al Andrews, a grateful father

Preparing to Let Go of Your Kids Starts When They’re Born is a post from: Storyline Blog

A Surprising Way to Become More Generous

I used to think I was a generous person. Then, I met my husband.

At our wedding, his best friend pulled me aside and told me a few things he thought I should know about Darrell before we were married. One of them was, “He will give anything to anyone. He’ll give the shirt off his back. He is the most generous person you will ever meet.”

Sure enough, in our first year of marriage I found this to be true, which was endearing until he started giving away my things (after all, what’s mine is his) and revealed how generous I actually wasn’t.

Before I knew it I was having flashbacks to elementary school (hey, that’s mine!)

My husband is teaching me what it looks like to be generous.

*Photo by asenat29, Creative Commons

One day, as we were talking generosity and why it was hard for me, my husband said something that totally changed the way I thought about generosity altogether. He said, “If you want to become better at giving, you need to become good at receiving, too.

“We can’t give gifts we haven’t received first.”

At first, I was skeptical. Really? I can become more generous by receiving? That seems like a total copout. But as I started paying attention to the way I received gifts, favors, or even compliments from people — sure enough, I saw a connection between giving and receiving in my life.

Someone would offer to pay for my meal, or buy me coffee, and I would refuse.

Someone would give me a gift, and I would feel guilty.

Someone would do me a favor, and I felt like I needed to repay them.

Someone would give me a compliment, and I would shake my head.

It took me months to discover why I had such a hard time receiving gifs. Each time someone offered to help me, or do something nice for me, or just told me I was beautiful, I had to ask myself — why does this make me so uncomfortable?

Over and over, my answer was the same: I don’t deserve it.

Not only was I operating under the assumption that gifts had to be earned, I felt like I hadn’t done enough to make myself worthy of earning the greatest gift of all — grace. No wonder it was hard for me to be generous.

I didn’t feel like I had anything to give.

Everything I owned, everything I had, was being held back to compensate for what I perceived to be some personal detriment.

These days, I like to think of resources and gifts like the flow of water. You can’t stop the flow in one part of the stream, and not have it impact the flow in another. If I cut off the flow of gifts into my life, no wonder there wouldn’t be a flow out.

Likewise, if I stop the flow of blessings out of my life, it makes sense that it would be difficult for gifts and blessings to flow in.

Receiving gifts is humbling. So is giving them.

Both remind me how little, and how much, I really have.

A Surprising Way to Become More Generous is a post from: Storyline Blog

What Makes This Paragraph so Great?

When I first started writing I made the mistake of thinking I should be descriptive. I’d envision every scene and describe things, the trees as tall as flag poles, the wind coming across the field like music and all that flowery like this and like that. But in truth, many of the great writers don’t describe much at all. It’s true you’ll read Fitzgerald or Steinbeck and feel like you are in the scene, but when you take a second look at the description, there isn’t a whole lot there.

Instead of adjectives, great writers often use verbs. Their characters do, and they are always doing. In this example from Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes, a Mother and Father have recently lost a child to crib death, and the doctor has pronounced the child dead. Notice how the paragraph feels descriptive, but is actually more full of verbs than adjectives.

“My father shakes his head. Doctor says he’ll have to take her to examine her and Dad signs a paper. My mother begs for another few minutes with her baby but the doctor says he doesn’t have all day. When Dad reaches for Margaret my mother pulls away against the wall. She has the wild look, her black curly hair is damp on her forehead and there is sweat all over her face, her eyes are wide open and her face is shiny with tears, she keeps shaking her head and moaning, Ah, no, ah, no, till Dad eases the baby from her arms. The doctor wraps Margaret completely in a  blanket and my mother cries, Oh, Jesus, you’ll smother her. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, help me. The doctor leaves. My mother turns to the wall and doesn’t make a move or sound. The twins are awake, crying with the hunger, but Dad stands in the middle of the room, starting at the ceiling. His face is white and he beats on his thighs with his fists. He comes to the bed, puts his hand on my head. His hand is shaking. Francis, I’m going for cigarettes.”

*Photo by I Travel East, Creative Commons

I’ll highlight the descriptive sentences in green and the sentences pronouncing action in red so we can see which the author feels is more important:

“My father shakes his head. Doctor says he’ll have to take her to examine her and Dad signs a paper. My mother begs for another few minutes with her baby but the doctor says he doesn’t have all day. When Dad reaches for Margaret my mother pulls away against the wall. She has the wild look, her black curly hair is damp on her forehead and there is sweat all over her face, her eyes are wide open and her face is shiny with tears, she keeps shaking her head and moaning, Ah, no, ah, no, till Dad eases the baby from her arms. The doctor wraps Margaret completely in a  blanket and my mother cries, Oh, Jesus, you’ll smother her. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, help me. The doctor leaves. My mother turns to the wall and doesn’t make a move or sound. The twins are awake, crying with the hunger, but Dad stands in the middle of the room, starting at the ceiling. His face is white and he beats on his thighs with his fists. He comes to the bed, puts his hand on my head. his hand is shaking. Francis, I’m going for cigarettes.”

A novice writer will transpose the colors in this paragraph. They will describe the dead baby, the father’s look, the doctor’s white coat, the children’s fearful aspect. Frank McCourt spends little time worrying about it. He trusts the readers mind to imagine details. Instead, he captivates his audience with action. If people are moving and doing, it’s hard to look away. Indeed it is. Nearly every paragraph in this book would be this red. And look at the description he does use. It isn’t flowery. It’s matter of fact. Her face was covered in sweat. Her eyes are wide open. Really? No prose at all, no flowery description.

None needed.

So, if you’re working on a writing project, do readers a favor and cut out the “white as snow” and “cold as a meat locker” and tell us what your characters are doing. Perhaps, like McCourt, you’ll win the Pulitzer for your effort.

(this is a re-post from the archives)

What Makes This Paragraph so Great? is a post from: Storyline Blog

Are You Willing to Admit You Are a Liability to the Project You Started?

Most founders don’t want to talk about it. Many founders aren’t even aware of it. But all founders will be susceptible to it at some point in time. It is a condition that has been appropriately, though somewhat painfully termed, Founder’s Syndrome. It is a difficult condition for all involved parties, especially if everyone but the founder knows that it exists.

I am a Founder’s Syndrome survivor. I have fought internal and external battles to ensure that I overcome it. It is not a favorable condition, and it is not an easy one to admit having, nor to be cured of. 

I don’t have children, but I have birthed a vision into the world to empower communities to work together against the HIV/AIDS and water crises in Africa. Since the age of 21, I have poured everything, and I mean everything, that I had into ensuring that the vision could become a reality. It was a 24/7 kind of job that didn’t sleep, and so neither did I. It felt incredibly sacrificial and was genuinely satisfying. Whatever it took, I gave what I could. It defined me, it filled me, it fueled me and it guided me.

Like those who I have seen raise their children, there comes a time when the differentiation of child and parent happens. We all know that it must happen, and it is best for the child and hopefully ultimately for the parent as well. But the process is painful because it feels like a part of you is being cut off. The living, breathing, vibrant part of you. You are still the child’s parent, but you have to start letting go.

Maybe you can relate? Perhaps you are a part of an organization or a church whose founder is unaware of the syndrome he or she has acquired? Or maybe you’re a founder who needs to acknowledge that which you are holding too tightly? Founders, for a season, are indispensable. But if that belief of indispensability persists past its time, founders simply become a liability to the health and flourishing of the very thing they have founded. 

About two years ago, I began a conversation with my board about Founder’s Syndrome and ensuring that we, as an organization, were aware of its implications especially as we are growing. We have been on a slow and healthy process of taking the training wheels off. We have rotated off all of our founding board members after they faithfully served two terms of three years each, and have invited new voices into the board room. We have hired employees who come with new energy, different perspectives and a wealth of experience. We have spent a lot of time re-defining my role and my co-founders’ roles in ensuring that they align with the future growth and vision of the organization. There is inevitable grief involved as you watch your small start-up grow up, and as you continue to hand off responsibilities to people who can steward them better than you. It is humbling, difficult, painful even. And yet, it is incredibly gratifying. And it is the right thing to do.


I am blown away by the quality of people who are serving this mission across Africa and here in the US. I am honored to have such an incredible team and, as a result, a very promising future for this mission. I am confident that if I had not made the conscious decision to let go and let others in, we would not be tasting the fruits of flourishing growth like we are today.

For anyone who is a founder or working with a founder, I highly recommend a resource provided by Board Source called Moving Beyond Founder’s Syndrome to Nonprofit Success. For founders, may you find the courage toward self-awareness and change. And for those working with founders, may you give grace as they move through it.

Are You Willing to Admit You Are a Liability to the Project You Started? is a post from: Storyline Blog

Why I Don’t Bother Getting my Inbox to Zero, and Why I’d Lose Out if I Did

I’m not a CEO type, but I run a little company. I’m not efficient, but I get things done. I’m an artist living in the world of people who dot every “i” and cross every “t” and take pride in their ability to get things done.

I’ve read a few books on becoming more efficient, but they all read like Greek to me. I’m not a linear thinker. I’m not going to create an elaborate filing system.

All I want to do in my professional life is get important things done. It would be easy for me to get bogged down.

So as a creative, how do I manage?

Turns out I have a system. It’s a patch I learned a long time ago.

I do this: I focus on one ball and I hit it.

What I mean is, on a given day I’m asked to coffee twice, asked to review and endorse at least one manuscript, receive more than one-hundred emails and about twenty text messages. That’s per day. Per week, add in a few invitations to speak, a few friends coming to town, requests to talk on the phone and so on. I’d say I get between 500 to 1000 requests per week that claim to need a response.

I see each of these requests as a baseball coming at me from the pitchers mound.

And I decide NOT TO HIT THEM.

That’s right. I do the incredibly rude and offensive thing. I let them pass by.

Right now I have thousands of unreturned emails and hundreds of unopened text messages. It’s rude. It’s insanely rude. It’s not nice. In a culture that takes pride in people who get their inboxes to zero, I’m a complete loser.

And yet, year after year I get an enormous amount of work done.

The thing is, I see all those baseballs coming at me from the pitchers mound and instead of trying to hit them all, I choose one and I swing for a home run. Of the dozens of pitches thrown at me on a given day, I focus on one and I hit it. When I’m done, I pull the bat back and hit another.

After I hit a few pitches a day (a daily quota) I try to respond to some of the others, but I don’t worry about it if I can’t get to them all.

*Photo by dcJohn, Creative Commons

Here are the steps in my “two step process” to getting things done, broken down:

1. Pick your pitch: This means knowing, as opportunities are coming at you, which one you should hit. I hit the ones that have to do with furthering my calling as a writer. That means I write the blog, work on the new book, interview that guy who’s been elusive and so on. That’s the ball I want to hit consistently. The others are extra. If I have time, I have time, if not, it doesn’t matter cause that’s not my pitch.

2. Let the others go by: This is incredibly hard for some people to do. They feel like they are morally obligated to respond to everything. And maybe we are. Maybe in heaven Jesus will be mad because we didn’t return our emails. But I doubt it. I have nearly 200 unreturned text messages and several thousand unreturned emails. I take no pride in getting to zero because I’m not on the planet to get my inbox to zero. I’m on the planet for other reasons. I explain to people I can’t respond to all the requests and I go back to step one. I pick my pitch and try to hit it out of the park.

Will this system frustrate people? Yes, it will. And I don’t like that, but that’s not the point, the point is I have to hit my pitch. Is this the best system? No, it’s not. But it’s the system that works for me. If I had a more linear mind, I’d have a different system.

Anyway, I miss a lot of balls, but I hit a lot of home runs too. I hope for some of you creative types this is helpful.

Why I Don’t Bother Getting my Inbox to Zero, and Why I’d Lose Out if I Did is a post from: Storyline Blog

How I Manage Too Many Tasks

I’m not a CEO type, but I run a little company. I’m not efficient, but I get things done. I’m an artist living in the world of people who dot every “i” and cross every “t” and take pride in their ability to get things done.

I’ve read a few books on becoming more efficient, but they all read like Greek to me. I’m not a linear thinker. I’m not going to create an elaborate filing system.

All I want to do in my professional life is get important things done. It would be easy for me to get bogged down.

So as a creative, how do I manage?

Turns out I have a system. It’s a patch I learned a long time ago.

I do this: I focus on one ball and I hit it.

What I mean is, on a given day I’m asked to coffee twice, asked to review and endorse at least one manuscript, receive more than one-hundred emails and about twenty text messages. That’s per day. Per week, add in a few invitations to speak, a few friends coming to town, requests to talk on the phone and so on. I’d say I get between 500 to 1000 requests per week that claim to need a response.

I see each of these requests as a baseball coming at me from the pitchers mound.

And I decide NOT TO HIT THEM.

That’s right. I do the incredibly rude and offensive thing. I let them pass by.

Right now I have thousands of unreturned emails and hundreds of unopened text messages. It’s rude. It’s insanely rude. It’s not nice. In a culture that takes pride in people who get their inboxes to zero, I’m a complete loser.

And yet, year after year I get an enormous amount of work done.

The thing is, I see all those baseballs coming at me from the pitchers mound and instead of trying to hit them all, I choose one and I swing for a home run. Of the dozens of pitches thrown at me on a given day, I focus on one and I hit it. When I’m done, I pull the bat back and hit another.

After I hit a few pitches a day (a daily quota) I try to respond to some of the others, but I don’t worry about it if I can’t get to them all.

*Photo by dcJohn, Creative Commons

Here are the steps in my “two step process” to getting things done, broken down:

1. Pick your pitch: This means knowing, as opportunities are coming at you, which one you should hit. I hit the ones that have to do with furthering my calling as a writer. That means I write the blog, work on the new book, interview that guy who’s been elusive and so on. That’s the ball I want to hit consistently. The others are extra. If I have time, I have time, if not, it doesn’t matter cause that’s not my pitch.

2. Let the others go by: This is incredibly hard for some people to do. They feel like they are morally obligated to respond to everything. And maybe we are. Maybe in heaven Jesus will be mad because we didn’t return our emails. But I doubt it. I have nearly 200 unreturned text messages and several thousand unreturned emails. I take no pride in getting to zero because I’m not on the planet to get my inbox to zero. I’m on the planet for other reasons. I explain to people I can’t respond to all the requests and I go back to step one. I pick my pitch and try to hit it out of the park.

Will this system frustrate people? Yes, it will. And I don’t like that, but that’s not the point, the point is I have to hit my pitch. Is this the best system? No, it’s not. But it’s the system that works for me. If I had a more linear mind, I’d have a different system.

Anyway, I miss a lot of balls, but I hit a lot of home runs too. I hope for some of you creative types this is helpful.

How I Manage Too Many Tasks is a post from: Storyline Blog

Sunday Morning Sermon: G.K. Chesterton Introduces Rudyard Kipling

I used to have all of Kipling’s The God’s of the Copybook Headings memorized. And I taught a class on Chesterton’s Orthodoxy. I’d no idea that Chesterton and Kipling were ever in the same room. What a remarkable moment.

Personalities like Chesterton, C.S. Lewis and Kipling are gone now in the Christian world. Or at least they are unknown. Christian thinking is dominated by Americans who choose simplicity over reason. We like thinkers who pick an enemy and attack them. Lost is the humor, a winsome nature and even a robust intellectualism. The same figures who demant “thought” are hardly thinking at all, and instead attack those who do because they won’t submit to their linear, black-and-white view of life.

So for me this morning’s sermon, that of Cherston introducing Kipling, is a bit sad. How fun would it have been to be there.

It’s not all lost, though. We’ve made some improvements. I mean our leaders actually get to the point. We worship the point, in fact. We worship the sum of numbers rather than enjoy calculating them. Anyway, that to say Chesterton gets delightfully long winded. It’s like a sophisticated “best man’s toast” at a wedding. He introduces somebody by talking endlessly about himself. Love it.

Enjoy!

Sunday Morning Sermon: G.K. Chesterton Introduces Rudyard Kipling is a post from: Storyline Blog

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

From the votes last week, it sounds like we all still love the Carlton dance. What about this week? Which of these if your favorite? Vote below in the comments.

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

Change Someone’s Life – Provide a Mentor

The Mentoring Project exists to rewrite the fatherless story through mentoring. We recruit, train and encourage mentors to show up for at-risk and fatherless kids. We watch tiny (and massive) miracles happen day after day.

Although a mentor can never replace a father, he can be a champion of a child in a way that allows a precious young soul to spread its wings. Diego is an example of one who now soars with the help of his mentor.

Diego’s mom died from an accident during childbirth. Diego’s skull was fractured during delivery, and as a result, he developed Cerebral Palsy. His father, a drug addict, took the malpractice settlement money and split town, leaving Diego alone as an orphan. His heroic grandmother relocated to be with him. She stepped up and adopted Diego. Her love and devotion to Diego are without equal.

Meanwhile, Kevin, a vivacious leader in his community, heard about The Mentoring Project from Donald Miller at the Storyline conference. Since Storyline, Kevin has worked with The Mentoring Project to tirelessly recruit mentors for fatherless boys.

One fine day, Diego and his grandmother met Kevin in church after Kevin and his wife watched Diego singing his heart out in the front row of the service. Often sporting a bowtie, Diego is always sharp-dressed and dapper. He’s brimming with life and joy, with an infectious smile. But don’t let his smile fool you; Diego is a fighter.

Diego faces the realities of Cerebral Palsy and growing up without a relationship with either biological parent. Regardless, Diego has big dreams. He wants to be a judge and a pastor, which he is quick to tell anyone who’ll listen. He recently had a piano recital and wrote a letter to the State Supreme Court Judge (who he had never met) inviting him to the recital. The Judge showed up and immediately joined the ever-growing Diego Fan Club.

At The Mentoring Project, we are big fans of Diego and Kevin. Because Kevin shows up for Diego on a consistent basis, Diego is dreaming big dreams. Because Diego has a mentor, studies show he will do better socially and in school. He will be less likely to be swayed by peer pressure, less likely to skip class, less likely to try drugs. Diego will be more likely to positively engage with his community, pursue new skills, have openness towards authority figures and complete more educational milestones. For kids with mentors, life just gets better.

We get e-mails from moms all the time asking how they can “put their son on our list.” We wish that every child who desires a mentor could have one, but we need more capacity. The Mentoring Project needs more people who will pray for fatherless and at-risk kids, serve as mentors and we need more people to give generously to help us recruit and train more mentors.

We need more people who believe, like we do, that together we can rewrite the fatherless story through mentoring. We can positively change the destiny of a generation growing up without dad.

• • •

This Father’s Day, The Mentoring Project is asking you to do something different. What if we took all of those predictable Father’s Day gifts, like ties, shammy towels, and golf balls, and put them to good use? What if we gave a champion to someone who doesn’t have a dad to celebrate? What if we stopped buying useless stuff and instead helped a boy, like Diego, find hope with a mentor?

Instead of buying another tie, or other useless stuff, help recruit and train a mentor for a fatherless child. You can do that at dontbuythetie.com and when you do, we’ll send your dad a card telling him you made a donation in his name, we even include a special note authored by you!

This year, do something different for Father’s Day … Don’t Buy the Tie.

Change Someone’s Life – Provide a Mentor is a post from: Storyline Blog

What Happens When You Decide to Care

Most golf courses around the world have some things in common: they are usually built on hundreds of acres of beautiful land with hills, trees, water, sand, manicured lawns, people with disposable incomes, and a pro shop for last-minute supplies. What do they look like when they are turned into refugee camps?

I recently played at Torrey Pines golf course in La Jolla, California, the site of several major golf tournaments. Every famous golfer has played there. It looks over the Pacific Ocean, and every TV angle includes views of the water in the background and hang gliders launching right next to one of the fairways. It’s one of the most beautiful golf courses in the country.

Torrey Pines – La Jolla, California

I wasn’t playing in a tournament there. I’m not really very good at golf. But I was with the poet Billy Collins and his friend Brian Doyle Murray (Caddyshack, anyone?), and they wanted to play there. So we did, and I lost five bucks to each of them. It was time and money well spent. And no, I didn’t quote any movie lines, despite my son’s constant texting of things to say to Murray.

A few days later I was in Port Au Prince, Haiti, to do some reporting about that country’s recovery from its devastating earthquake in 2010. More than 200,000 people died in that quake and the aftershocks. Millions were displaced because the sub-standard housing they were in collapsed. About 60,000 found their way to the Petionville golf course, which is located in a La Jolla-esque part of Port Au Prince. Because it had acres of wide open spaces, and no buildings that could fall on people, it was an ideal setting for the newly homeless. They set up tarps, blankets and shacks. Eventually Sean Penn helped provide latrines and clean water stations, and solar phone recharging poles. Three years later there are still about 20,000 living there. I walked through that tent city, talked to residents, and tried to picture what it looked like as a golf course.

Then I thought about Torrey Pines and wondered what it would look like as a tent city filled with refugees. I thought about how the Superdome in New Orleans was turned into a refugee camp after Hurricane Katrina. I remembered how quickly the thin veneer of civilization could be peeled away when people become desperate.

Then I thought about my own pampered life. Is there room for the refugee in my little personal country club? Is there room for desperate people who have no where else to go?

• • •

Last night I was leaving a meeting in downtown San Diego around 8:30. It was cold and rainy. I walked a couple of blocks to my car, parked on the street. Two homeless men were sitting on the curb, leaning against my car.

“Evening, gentlemen,” I said.

They figured out that this was my car.

“We’re not hurting your car or anything,” one of them said. “We’re just staying out of the wind.”

They got up.

For some reason, I said this to them:

“I wasn’t worried about my car, and I’m not afraid of you. Are you warm enough?”

“We’re really cold,” one of them said.

I opened my trunk and pulled out a hooded sweatshirt and a blanket.

“You guys will have to figure out who gets what,” I said.

They thanked me and walked off in the rain.

For that moment, at least, the private country club was open. But it’s time to re-stock the pro shop. Not enough blankets.

What Happens When You Decide to Care is a post from: Storyline Blog