Donald Miller's Blog, page 99

How To Pick A Fight and Do Something That Matters

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

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

It was pretty easy to pick a fight with Dale, actually. I told Dale one day when he was beating up another kid that I was “calling him out”. That’s junior high speak for let’s have a fist fight; so we did. We really didn’t settle anything in the cul-de-sac a few days later other than trade bloody noses and  let off some steam. We both got expelled for a couple days (which just made for a long weekend), and by Monday we were back at school exchanging gunslinger stares as we passed each in the hallways.

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

*Photo by Casey Kazmann

It’s easier to pick an opinion than it is to pick a fight. It’s also easier to pick an organization or a jersey and identify with that fight than it is to actually pick your own; commit to it; call it out and take a swing. Picking a fight isn’t neat either. It’s messy. It’s time consuming. It’s painful. It’s costly. Stated differently, it’s what many of us should be all about as followers of Jesus.

• • •

There’s a character in the Bible named Joshua. Over and over the phrase “be strong and courageous” repeats itself to Joshua and those traveling in his posse. It doesn’t say we’re supposed to be wild at heart, or man up, or dance around the fire naked and tell manly stories. We’re just supposed to be strong and courageous. That’s it. The way I read it, it sounds an awful lot like God is calling us out and telling us to pick a fight.

Picking a fight can be scary because we might be going it alone sometimes. That’s why organizations and groups are sometimes a bridge to the fight. But we need to make sure that those organizations and groups don’t become an impediment to us actually doing something. We need to be the ones calling out the bad guys and not leave it to the organizations. It’s having the mindset that it’s not thier fight that we are joining; it’s our fight and we’re standing back to back with those organizations or friends in a common struggle.

Just as Joshua was going to enter the promised land, he meets an angel who stands with his sword drawn in front of him. Joshua asks the angelic warrior something I would ask: “Are you for us or against us?” It’s a logical question (He must have had some lawyer in him). No doubt, Joshua was hoping that the angelic warrior was “for” them. That’s what I’d be hoping. I love the warrior’s answer to Joshua’s question about which side he was on: “Neither; take off your shoes.”   The angel wasn’t interested in having Joshua and his buddies pick sides, he wanted them to pick God. They were on holy ground, just as we are today, because God was present. Perhaps God doesn’t want us spending our time picking sides or teams and trying on jerseys either. He wants us to pick a fight and then pick Him.

I want to pick a fight because I want someone else’s suffering to matter more to me. I can’t make it matter to me by just listening to the story, wearing the bracelet or hearing the song about it. I need to pick the fight myself; to call it out. Then, most important of all, I need to run barefoot towards it. I want to go barefoot because it’s holy ground; I want to be running because time is short and none of us has as much runway as we think we do; and I want it to be a fight because that’s where we can make a difference. It’s where we belong as we get to the “do” part of faith.

What fight are you running barefoot towards?

How To Pick A Fight and Do Something That Matters is a post from: Storyline Blog

A Successful Defeat – How to Feel Good About a Bad Day of Writing

I got a little bit of work done on my book today, but not as much as I’d hoped. Yesterday, I wrote five times as many words as I did today. And I’d even argue yesterday’s words were better. I doubt anything I wrote today will be published. And yet I feel fine about it.

It’s been a long time coming for me to view a relatively unsuccessful writing day as a victory, but I’m glad this is now my perspective.

What I mean by this is writing is not an exact science. It’s not like screwing bottle caps on bottles, in which each day you can measure your accomplishments. There are too many mysterious forces in writing. It’s more like playing basketball, I’d say. Some days you’ve got a jump shot and other days you don’t. Who really knows why. But like in basketball, there are things you can do to increase the chances of a ball going in. You can practice, for example, and you can stay in shape.

*Photo by Seattle Municipal Archives, Creative Commons

In writing, it’s all about routine. My job is not to get up every day and write two-thousand words. My job is to do this:

1. Go to bed before 9pm. This assures I will get up early and be ready to write.

2. Wake up at 5am or so. Respond to a few emails, then turn off my phone. Take the dog for a walk and think and pray about what I’m going to be working on.

3. Don’t force the inspiration. I sit down and ask myself what I feel like writing. I remind myself that I have a book, and need to stay within that range of topics. I also remind myself that I have some chapters in that book, and that the book has structure. I dig around a little within that structure to see if there’s anything there.

On most mornings, something, a thought transpires, and I write it down, letting the words come. Once the thought is finished, I try to find a place within the existing structure where that thought might fit. I then file it on my computer for review later when I start compiling the book. I repeat that process until my mind gets just a little bit sloppy, which is normally just before noon. That’s the end of my writing day, and the beginning of my day as a manager of a writer’s life.

But that’s what my writing responsibilities look like. Some days I walk away from the computer having accomplished a mountain of work. Some days just a little pile of words. Today was a pile of words. But I don’t feel bad at all.

Now, I turn my phone on and there will be voicemails and text messages that, had I left my phone on, would have derailed me completely. I have the rest of the day to not worry about the book. I’ll start thinking about this book at 7pm tonight, when tomorrow’s writing day starts with me slowly orbiting my bed, brushing my teeth, walking the dog, reading a few articles, watching a television show before I lay down a little nervous and excited about what might get written in the morning.

(this is a repost from the archives)

A Successful Defeat – How to Feel Good About a Bad Day of Writing is a post from: Storyline Blog

A Question to Ask When Faced With Conflict

He started playing the piano at age four. At eight years old, Leon Fleisher made his public debut in music performing with the New York Philharmonic. The director called him “the pianistic find of the century” and soon he was accepted to study with some of the greatest teachers of his time.

His star continued to rise in his twenties as he signed an exclusive contract with Columbia Masterworks. Particularly acclaimed for his interpretations of Bach and Beethoven, in the classical music world, he was becoming known around the globe as the “next big thing.”

And then, when he was in his 30s, at the peak of his career, something happened. Over a brief period of time, he gradually lost the functional use of his right hand. It simply wouldn’t work. Doctor after doctor couldn’t diagnose the problem. Physical therapy didn’t help. Counseling wouldn’t bring it back. Medications failed to make a difference.

Predictably, he sank into a depression and wondered if all was lost. I don’t know this for sure, but I would imagine suicide could have been a real option. It appeared his career was over.

• • •

Can you imagine it? What if you lost the very thing that allowed you to do your job, to make a living, or to offer your gift to the world?

A singer loses his voice.

A dancer loses her foot.

An artist loses her eyesight.

An audio engineer loses his hearing.

What would you do? How would your respond?

• • •

After a while, Leon began to slowing find his way through and found that he loved to compose music. Then he discovered his love for conducting, which he dived into as well. While still playing the piano, he developed proficiency playing with his left hand alone.

Soon, his world renown returned, this time for his beautiful and intricate left handed concerts. Take a look a Leon Fleischer performing in his seventies:

So, here’s the rest of the story. When Fleischer was in his seventies, after more than forty years, the cause of his hand disorder was discovered and in time, the use of his right hand returned. In early 2000, Fleischer embarked on yet another world tour to promote his new CD, “Both Hands.”

Before you read any further, I want you to sit with this story for a few minutes.

A man had it all, then lost it all, wandered in the wilderness, found something again, and late in his life, was given even more. It’s a rich story of hope. I have wept over the beauty of it all.

• • •

I wish that I could say that every story ends like this. Sadly they don’t. I know plenty of people for whom tragedy has struck a dissonant chord, and that chord will likely never resolve this side of heaven. There are some things in my own life that I feel that way about. Sometimes life doesn’t take that turn.

So what do we do when tragedy strikes and takes away the equivalent of our right hand – our job, our marriage, our reputations?

I’d like to suggest a prayer that the Benedictine monks pray during times the call “Desolation.” Desolation is when things don’t work – when life, relationships, God – all seem disconnected at best.

When that happens, our natural prayers are usually variations of the word “Why?”

Why?

Why me?

Why this?

Why this now?

Why God?

The Benedictines suggest a different question. They ask us to pray this simple prayer, “God, what do you have for me here?”

Do you notice the difference? While honest, the why questions presume we are entitled to something and the current problem has no place in our life or the universe.

“What do you have for me here?” presumes that there is a larger story told by a storyteller who loves us and is far more creative in his telling than I would ever be. It also presumes that if my right hand ceases to function, unknown to me, sixty years later, someone I’ve never met might be writing a blog because my story touched him and gave him hope.

Deitrich Bonhoeffer in one of his prison poems, wrote this in the weeks before he died, “That which is lost will return to us again as life’s most living strain.”

Bonhoeffer died before I was born and thus far, Leon and I have not crossed paths. However, in the mystery and mingling of stories that weave in and out of one another, they are dear friends who have taught me to lean into loss and ask a different question.

A Question to Ask When Faced With Conflict is a post from: Storyline Blog

The Simple Step to Become a Remarkably Likeable Person

I recently met a local Portland politician for lunch whom I’ve respected for a long time. I went into the meeting planning on asking him about his political career and to get some tips on a few communication questions I had. Basically, I was planning on talking about him for an hour.

Then something incredible happened.

We sat down, he opened up his laptop, and proceeded to take notes while asking me engaging question after engaging question about my work, my family, my interests, and more. When it was all said and done, he hit me over the head with one more: “How can I help you?”

He’s a politician, but his interest in me wasn’t disingenuous. He wasn’t trying to schmooze me. I have no money to give him, no political connections of any value. But for 45 minutes he made me feel important.

The result? I will vote for him in every possible scenario I can. I will tell my friends to vote for him. I will attend his events. I will support his initiatives. I will put up a yard sign. I will put up two yard signs.

• • •

Seth Godin calls this the Connection Economy



“Friends bring us more friends. A reputation brings us a chance to build a better reputation. Access to information encourages us to seek ever more information. The connections in our life multiply and increase in value.”

Thriving in the connection economy is based on one important principle:

Getting people to like you.

People who like you will support your ideas, buy your product, hire your services, introduce you to their friends, and go out of their way to make your life better.

If you’re an extrovert, getting people to like you is simple:

Stop talking so much.

No seriously. Stop it.

I know a lot of people who, out of nervousness or excitement think the best way to engage people is to talk them into utter submission. As if their endless words, jokes and anecdotes infused with Red Bull and hooked up to a V8 engine will fast-track them into the Connection Economy.

What so many don’t realize is that the secret to building relationships isn’t in the words you say, but in the questions you ask.

If you’re an introvert, the same truth applies. Don’t change who you are, just be more strategic in how you foster dialogue.

• • •

Asking the right questions is an art form and it has a name: Social Jiu-Jitsu

Popularized in an article by Jeff Haden, he breaks down this scenario:

You meet someone. You talk for 15 minutes. You walk away thinking, “Wow, we just had a great conversation. She is awesome.”

Then, when you think about it later, you realize you didn’t learn a thing about the other person.

Remarkably likeable people are masters at Social Jiu-Jitsu, the ancient art of getting you to talk about yourself without you ever knowing it happened.

Social Jiu-Jitsu masters use their interest, their politeness, and their social graces to cast an immediate spell on you.

And you like them for it.

Social Jiu-Jitsu is easy. Just ask the right questions.

As soon as you learn a little about someone, ask how they did it. Or why they did it. Or what they liked about it, or what they learned from it, or what you should do if you’re in a similar situation.

Before our lunch order had even arrived, my politician friend Social Jui-Jitsu’d me into submission. And I love him for it.

• • •

Here’s a tip: From here on out, in every meeting or meaningful conversation you have, work to try and get the other person to stop and say, “Hmm, that’s a really good question.” That’s the goal. If you’ve gotten them to say that, you’ve won.

Becoming a remarkably likable person in the Connection Economy is a crucial step to building the network you need to make a real impact in the world.

“Be interesting, be enthusiastic, and don’t talk too much.” – Norman Vincent Peale

The Simple Step to Become a Remarkably Likeable Person is a post from: Storyline Blog

Will Jesus Fulfill us Here on Earth?

One of the reasons people struggle so much with life is they expect it to be something it isn’t. They expect to be fulfilled by products, relationships and even religion as though this is going to be the “Act 3 Climax” of life. But Biblically, the complete climax of life doesn’t happen at conversion, it happens when we are reunited with God. Adjusting expectations, therefore, frees people to be happy and grateful for the good things they experience on earth.

A study done of the happiest countries named Denmark as the world’s happiest country. I believe America was 32nd on that list. And when researchers took a closer look, they realized the key characteristic that made people in Denmark so happy was, and you won’t believe this, they had generally low expectations in life. They were always pleasantly surprised at how things turn out.

So in Christian culture, when we increase our manmade expectations (and trick ourselves into thinking this is faith in God) we are setting ourselves up for emotional instability. But the Bible does not set false expectations for us. The lives of the Apostles testify to this. So ours is a life filled with hope of what will come. We are like that bride, excited about her coming wedding, still thick with the frustrations that come with betrothal.

• • •

Things this post does not say: You can’t be content or fulfilled (in an earthly sense). What we are really talking about here is that intuitive sense that something is wrong with the world and that something needs to happen to fix it. Marketing companies play on this intuitive sense all the time. So does self-help philosophy and prosperity theology. But Biblical theology puts this event at the reunion you’ll have with God.

*This video is from the Million Miles Tour and is also a chapter in A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.

(this is a repost from the archives)

Will Jesus Fulfill us Here on Earth? is a post from: Storyline Blog

Sunday Morning Sermon: Dallas Willard on the Relationship Between Belief and Doubt

Every Sunday we feature a brief “sermon” from an unlikely source. This week we feature Dallas Willard, who passed away this week from a long fight with cancer. Dr. Willard taught us about God’s love and His grace and is now with Him personally. A stunning life. We are grateful. Well done, Dr. Willard.

Sunday Morning Sermon: Dallas Willard on the Relationship Between Belief and Doubt is a post from: Storyline Blog

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

Good morning! I love gathering videos for you all each week. Jack Carroll received the most votes last Saturday, but what about this week? Which of these is your favorite? Vote below in the comments.

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

The Power of Not Over Thinking It

I’ve a friend named Stacey (guy) who started dating a girl years ago. I asked him how he was feeling about it, whether he thought she was going to work out. He said he hadn’t thought much about it, that it wasn’t time yet. What do you mean, I asked. Of course you’ve thought about it. He admitted he had, but that he wasn’t going to evaluate the relationship for another month. Instead, he was just going to enjoy it. He actually showed me his calendar and the following month had an X on a specific date. He said he had given himself permission to wait a month, and after this specific date, to ask himself whether it was working.

This advice works in a lot more areas than just relationships. If you’ve got a new job and need to commit for a year, wondering about whether this church is the right fit for you or just about any major decision, you can give yourself permission to just be, to enjoy, and wait to evaluate after you’ve had enough time to experience some of the highs and lows.

By the way, Stacy married the girl.

• • •

(this is a repost from the archives)

The Power of Not Over Thinking It is a post from: Storyline Blog

Cursing at God and Things I Learned From My Mother

Growing up, I didn’t think my mother liked me. I knew she had to love me, she was my mother. But I wasn’t sure she liked me, or at least she didn’t know how to handle me. Mom was quiet and melancholy; I was brash and angry. Melancholy and anger were the mechanisms we each used to cope with the family’s dysfunction. But we had little in common. Well, except for the dysfunction.

But I did know my mother loved me. She said she worried about me, she wanted me to be happy; she wanted me to know Jesus. And she prayed for me every day. Every morning as I got ready for school, I passed the den and caught a glimpse of her reading her Bible and praying.

Maybe she wasn’t close to me, but I saw with whom she was close: God. Over time I saw what that friendship did to her. It made her good and kind, even in the face of disappointment and sorrow.

As an adult I tried to get closer to Mom by sharing the things that mattered to me. The first attempt didn’t go so well. I gave her a copy of my MFA thesis screenplay, which was a dark comedy about a dysfunctional family. She never read it.

“I just don’t get it,” she flustered. I think she didn’t understand screenplay formatting.

I got better at sharing things with her. I told her about idiots I’d dated and made her laugh. I told her some of my deepest regrets and made her cry. We loosened up around each other. Even my sister noticed. “When I go see Mom she talks about ‘Susan this, Susan that.’ I feel left out!” Mom didn’t share a lot in return. She preferred to listen.

• • •

Eleven years ago my mother had a stroke. It affected some of her motor skills but mostly her speech. She’d had a great vocabulary to start, so she simply circumlocuted around the blank spot. And she still spoke fluent Spanish, which was fun when we took her to Mexican restaurants.

But then she got vascular dementia, in which the brain suffers lots of microscopic strokes. (Dementia runs in mom’s family. Her mother and an older brother died from it). Mom hasn’t succumbed yet, but she now lives in a convalescent home. She’s lost a little bit of herself every day – her words, her health, her memory.

Dementia will eventually claim one’s internal editor—the super-ego that governs the infantile id. I had an uncle (unrelated to Mom) who, after he had a stroke, took to blurting tasteless jokes and threatening to cross-dress. I’ve seen a lot of ugly ids at my mother’s convalescent home: suspicious, inconsolable, tantrumy. They’re like kindergarteners.

My mother has no super-ego left, either. And her unbridled id is pure sweetness. She is kind, joyful, delighted. The activities coordinator says Mom is one of her favorites. “Whenever she comes to Activity, she is eager to help. Even if she has no idea what she’s doing.”

Sometimes Mom is lucid but can’t make the right words come out of her mouth. Other times she’s foggy and childlike. Too much stimuli can trigger her oddities.

One weekend my aunt came to visit her. Mom got to go out to a restaurant one night and spend the day at my sister’s house the next. On Monday my sister drove her to three doctor’s appointments.

“Well, Mom,” my sister commented, “You’ve had a busy weekend.”

“Yes,” my mother replied. “And there was no nudity involved.”

• • •

Two summers ago, my 14-year-old cat died and I was inconsolable. I flew to Denver to see my mother and brought C.S. Lewis’ A Grief Observed to read on the plane. When I visited Mom, she asked me to read from the book. I was on Madeline L’Engle’s foreword. L’Engle commented on what a secure relationship Lewis had with God, that he could curse and rail against Him in his grief, and still know God was there to listen.

My mom blurted out, “Yes. We can talk to God like that! It’s okay! We are okay … And Susan, you and I have that in common. Not everyone does. But we’re alike … we know we can have that with God.”

I sat, stunned. My mom had uttered a profound statement in nearly flawless sentences. And she had put me in her camp. She said I was like her.

Last summer there was a wedding on my mother’s side of the family. My cousins commented on how much they missed seeing my mom, their Aunt Marian.

“Your mom is pure sweetness,” my cousin Sherrie said. “I’m so worried if I get dementia, I won’t end up like her.”

“Me too!” I cried. “If God takes my super-ego I’ll be a total bitch!”

“Me too!” my cousin Dee Dee jumped in. “I’ve prayed, God if I get dementia, please don’t let me be like my mom. Let me be like Aunt Marian!”

“Get working on your prayer life,” I told myself. I knew what made my mother who she was. She was close to very few people. But she was close to God. Whatever character defects my mother started out with, they’d been burned off like dross in the fire of prayer.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I want to be like you.

Cursing at God and Things I Learned From My Mother is a post from: Storyline Blog

Stop Hustling and Get Your Life Back

I think I’ve been in a hurry for almost seven years. In January of 2006, I found out I was pregnant with Henry. Later that week, I was offered a contract to write Cold Tangerines. And since then, it seems, I’ve been in a hurry, running against the clock. They say that being a writer is like having homework every night for the rest of your life. I get that feeling.

I’ve been stacking things up, plan upon plan upon plan. I’ve been cramming things in—pushing, hustling, scurrying. I’ve been strategizing, multi-tasking, layering commitments one upon another like bricks.

It worked for a while. I like to be busy. I’ll always be kind of “more is more” person when it comes to my schedule. With one child, the pace didn’t bother me much. So maybe it’s a second kid thing. Maybe it’s a second-kid-who-is-a-terrible-sleeper thing. Maybe it’s the accumulated exhaustion of two kids, two miscarriages, three books, countless trips and events, one marathon, one move. Maybe some weird timer goes off inside you when you turn thirty-six. I don’t know.

All I know is along the way, I signed up for a schedule that seemed so fun, not taking into account the pace that super-fun schedule would force me to keep.

I had a lot of fun, but not a lot of margin. I gathered up some amazing experiences, but I didn’t rest well or often. I gulped down so much life, but at a certain point I was too tired and ground away to taste it anymore. Last year, it stopped working for me.

The changes I’m making this year are not, at the core, about more traveling or less traveling, more flights or fewer flights. The travel schedule is part of it, but really it’s about the hustle. It’s about frantic.

That’s what I’m done with, that’s what I want to leave behind. You know what I’m talking about: when your mind has to work seven steps ahead instead of just being where you are, because this deadline’s coming, and the laundry has to get done before that trip, because you can’t forget to pack snowpants for school, and you need to beg for more time on this project. Again.

Kindergarten drop-off is at noon, and that gives me just enough time to squeeze in this meeting and pick up the dry-cleaning and talk through those five pressing things with my editor. While I’m on the phone I prep vegetables for dinner, and if Mac takes a good nap, I can get packed for the next trip, as long as the laundry is dry. And on and on and on, times seven years.

© 2000 David Farley

Good things like efficiency and multi-tasking go of the rails so far that sometimes I find myself running in my own house, shuttling things from room to room like my life is a timed obstacle course. This is insane.

Why am I telling you this? Because I think I’m not alone. It doesn’t matter if you work or don’t, or have little kids or don’t, or travel or don’t. So many of us, it seems, are really, really tired of the hustle, and the next right thing is to slow down, to go back to the beginning, to stop.

I’m adopting a ruthless anti-frantic policy. I’m done with frantic. The new baseline for me: will saying yes to this require me to live in a frantic way?

I’m saying no more often than I’m saying yes. I’m asking hard questions about why I’ve kept myself so busy all these years. The space and silence I’m creating is sometimes beautiful and sometimes terrifying.

Sometimes I feel like I’m in a cartoon airplane when the engine gets cut and the plane hovers for a few long seconds before starting to fall. But then sometimes I feel so strongly like for the first time in a long time, I’m listening to the right voices. I’m remaking my way of living from the inside out.

Publishing is all about striking while the iron’s hot. But sometimes you have to trust that the iron will still be hot later, and that there’s more to life than that iron. Sometimes you have to trust that life is long for most of us, and that there will be other irons.

My inbox is a disaster. The house is messier these days. That’s how it’s going to be for a while. I’m not powering my life with the white-knuckled, keyed-up buzz of efficiency and multi-tasking anymore. The word that rings in my mind is anti-frantic.

Sleep. Slow.

Present with my kids.

Present to my own life.

Anti-frantic.

Stop Hustling and Get Your Life Back is a post from: Storyline Blog