Fast-paced and entertaning, Donald Miller’s latest, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years encourages readers to live purposefully, but it has the same lighthearted, joyous tone that has distinguished Miller as an author. Miller has a gift for conversational writing that invites you in and sounds like it’s coming from a lifelong friend. There is no pomp or formality, and Miller pulls no punches in admitting the highs and lows of his life’s path. You’ll put this book down with some melancholy, sad to be through reading but motivated to get to the task of writing your life’s story.
Using his own life as a backdrop, Donald Miller compares movies to reality and illustrates how we all have the ability to shape the narrative arc of our lives. Tired of your laziness? Get out and bike across the country. Tired of being lonely? Get out and befriend someone. Miller trumpets that we all have the power to change our lives, encouraging the reader that it’s never too late to become who you’ve wanted to be.
This book is a joy to read, as Miller again delights with his unique blend of wit and an honest confrontation with life issues. But even more than a pleasant couple of hours of reading, the story reminds you as the reader that you are alive. It inspires you to take control of your life and begin anew.
Tags: reviews
Life is like a game of Monopoly. You may own hotels on Boardwalk or you may be renting on Baltic Avenue. But in the end, it all goes back in the box.
Mysterious and pithy, Jones was full of advice just like that. Life can be horrific or brimming with hope; it all depends on your perspective, and Jones had one goal - helping people see life from a better perspective.
The Noticer Project struck me initially as just another overly-sentimental book, marked by a couple cute cliches, but it slowly won me over. In a world of overwhelming pessimism, perspective and concern are desperately needed. Jones, the enigmatic protagonist, demanded nothing and yet everything of anyone he encountered. He refused to stay in guest rooms and never accepted a free meal, but Jones required much. He required that people change. But he pressed on them in a way that was filled with care. He urged others to see life from a perspective of hope.
At several points in my reading, I welled up with emotion at the great change happening to someone in the story. And all the change happened because someone spoke up, because Jones was willing to press deeply into their life.
And now the story moves beyond the pages of the book. The author, Andy Andrews, has begun what is known as The Noticer Project, an effort to get people to “notice” the five most influential people in their lives. So I encourage you to stop by their website and to take time to “notice” those who are most important to you.
Tags: reviews
I’m hunting the sunrise, meeting it headfirst. Soft blue turns a brilliant red at the horizon as the sky is set afire by the rising sun. From thousands of feet in the air, the sunrise takes on a spectacular new hue.
After color, the perspective strikes me next. How often have I looked down upon the sunrise? How many times have I stood above and beckoned the sun come? I’ve stayed up all night, and now sleep is far from my mind as I watch a glowing orb slowly emerge from beneath the horizon.
But this morning, sitting aboard a 737 hurtling east toward my future, it is fitting that all would seem new. Behind me are friends, school, family, and home. Ahead of me are three years of law school, bringing new challenges as yet unimagined. Read the rest of this entry »
Tomorrow I’ll fly out of Houston at 6:20am to head to Raleigh, NC. I think I’m going to grab lunch with Jonathan Moss, whom I met on Twitter - which will make the first time I’ve met a Twitter friend in person. From there, I’ll have a four hour drive to Lexington, VA. And there I’ll be attending an Open House for Washington & Lee Law.
I’ve narrowed my law school choices down to W&L and Georgetown. Both have offered me similar scholarships, and I now have six days left in which to make a decision. Hopefully I’ll have some free time while there to post my thoughts and possibly some pictures.
Tags: Georgetown, W&L
In his book, Waking the Dead, John Eldredge quotes Beauchene as saying:
You are never a great man when you have more mind than heart.
Always true, it hits me with force now as I’m preparing a Bible study for tonight. I’d just finished reading an 8th commentary on the passage. I’d reread the Scripture a dozen times. But had I prayed? Only once. And briefly.
So I close the internet browser. I look within my own heart. And I pray. There is far too much mind and far too little heart in my faith.
Sometimes my life feels like a carpet that’s frayed along every edge. A frayed carpet could last for years, provided that no string is tugged too violently, but with just the right circumstance the entire thing could come undone. I’m solid, reliable, and stable; I’ve hidden almost every tattered string out of site. I’m not sure that anyone knows just how close I’ve come to falling apart. Those haunting moments I spend in the dark are my own secret.
Some say that each generation invents new ways to fall apart, but I’ve never seen a need for more than the most ancient sins. I’ve heard power, money, and sex described as man’s version of PMS – prone to drive him to irrational, abnormal behavior. Perhaps there come new ways to grasp at those three, but all of life already seems geared to push me to them. In this American life, would even Mother Teresa or father Gandhi rise above?
My mind doesn’t need much encouragement in its flight to folly, but there’s plenty of impetus to be found. Even the most innocuous television shows are punctuated with advertisements pushing power, possessions, and people. Any one of those – or better, a combination of all three – is moneyback guaranteed to be the solution to all that ails you. Suppose I flee from television, knowing its snares. So I take a walk around the local mall. Rather than better, it is worse in nearly every facet. Each of the things peddled on TV walks around in flesh and blood, tempting and enticing even the most innocent in the crowd.
Frustrated in my attempts, I can run to the pages of literature. No real persons walk those pages, and there’s no sign of an image to allure my wandering eye. I scan the bookstore shelves, looking for a novel worth my time. But novel is not the word to describe what I find; each book cover convinces me that there’s only the old and tired storylines, repeated in a new language for a modern time. Misfortune, unrequited love, and ill-gotten gains sell just as well as they did centuries ago. Well was it written, “There is nothing new under the sun.”
So I leave the store, having grasped at the air and come back empty. I reemerge as if into a rushing stream; people flow in both directions, carried along by whatever urge takes their fancy. Most of the ones I pass won’t make eye contact, feigning fascination with the tile floor, the empty store window, or anything but the person drawing near. A scattered few among the throng dare my glance, locking eyes as if against hope. Each pair of pupils subtly betrays insecurity in their own way. Some eyes, longing for affection, speak seduction, either overtly or covertly.
Others, not having any hope of love, instead beg for help. Those, the puppy dog eyes, are the hardest to bear. We’ve all felt that same cry from our own hearts, and it hurts to watch them walk by, begging for rescue with a silent plea. That overwhelming hurt with no cure touches everyone, though only a few grieve deeply enough to be betrayed by their eyes.
Every few stare me down, their eyes unblinkingly challenging every passerby. Some do it out of hate, others simply yearn to be tested. Typically, they’re all men, both young and old They’re lost souls, men in a society that has no room for masculinity. Eyes shaded with eyeliner and bodies bedecked in clothing once only seen on women, their eyes are screaming for a fight.
But – and mind you this is rare – there are a few whose eyes aren’t glazed over. I suddenly find two gleaming orbs staring back at me untainted by guile and unclouded by shame. That fabled “twinkle in her eyes” manifests itself like a rainbow after a week of storms. Where once there was only gray, there’s a light shining forth clearer than day. Midnight is pierced and torn asunder. The rushing stream continues to flow, and the throng is no gentler than before. But in that look, in the hope that it represents, all despair is gone. If that one soul can rise above the mire and find its bearings, there’s still a chance for the rest.
The world is never changed all at once. Cultures are vast dunes, composed of single grains of sand. Shift one, and you might just see more follow.
I’ve been reading through John Calvin’s commentary on the Gospels, and although I’m not even finished with his study of Luke 1, I am already thankful for his passion for Christ and for truth.
This quote struck me as I read the other day:
The presence of God fills men with alarm, which not only leads them to reverence, but humbles the pride of the flesh, naturally so insolent that they never submit themselves to God until they have been overcome by violence. Hence, too, we infer that it is only when God is absent, –or, in other words, when they withdraw from his presence, –that they indulge in pride and self-flatter; for if they had God as a Judge before their eyes, they would at once and unavoidably fall prostrate.
Is it not true? If you had God as Judge right before your eyes, would you flatter yourself? Would you be content with your lifestyle? Would you continue to live as you are? Or would you fall, unavoidably prostrate? Would you be humbled before the living God?
In the year of King Uzziah’s death I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, lofty and exalted, with the train of His robe filling the temple.
Seraphim stood above Him, each having six wings: with two he covered his face, and with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew.
And one called out to another and said,
“Holy, Holy, Holy, is the LORD of hosts,
The whole earth is full of His glory.”And the foundations of the thresholds trembled at the voice of him who called out, while the temple was filling with smoke.
Then I said,
“Woe is me, for I am ruined!
Because I am a man of unclean lips,
And I live among a people of unclean lips;
For my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts.”- Isaiah 6:1-5, NASB
This blog has seen little writing lately for a variety of reasons.
For my personal spiritual well-being, I am presently thankful for God’s great mercy in continually drawing me back to Him after sin, for the commentaries of John Calvin, for the calls to repentance of Paul Washer, and for the authenticity of Mark Driscoll.
Dear Lord,
Another day. Another sin.
Willfully chos’n, this time again.
How deep it runs, this stench within.
Backwards and forth, just like a wave.
Both good and bad, do I behave.
Oh gracious Lord, please quickly save.
But this I know, there’s naught in me.
There’s nothing that, from sin will free.
Oh please, dear God, hear this, my plea.
Aching and sore, I’m tired of this.
Restore me to Your glorious bliss.
I never want, Your love to miss.
Lift me from this, my broken frame.
Cleanse all my spots, wipe clean the blame.
Restore me for Your glorious name.
Rachel Scott was a student at Columbine High School in 1999, on that infamous day when two young men went on a violent rampage. Rachel was one of the thirteen victims whose lives were taken, but her faith lives on today in the pages of her journals and this book. The book, Rachel’s Tears, is written by her parents and is a record of Rachel’s faith and the impact of her life.
My family members are extremely dear to my heart, so I was very moved through the opening of the book as Rachel’s parents pour out their love for her and their sorrow at her death. I am unable to fully consider what it would be like to lose someone I love without breaking down in tears, and I have the greatest sympathy for Rachel’s parents after hearing their story. Her mother and father each write sections of the book, and they each offer a unique glimpse into the emotions behind the story.
Rachel was gone from this earth, but in a way her memory was brought back to her loved ones through her writings. Rachel was a prolific journaler, and this book is largely a compilation of her own words. Several pages include copies of her journal entries, both written and drawn.
Looking at her old journal entries offers startling examples of the great faith of this young woman. She wrote openly and honestly about her doubts and temptations, but through it all you can see her great love for her Savior, Jesus.
Rachel’s parents, the authors of this book, hope that this record of a young woman’s faith will inspire young people everywhere to seek to embrace a deeper trust in Jesus Christ. Ultimately, Rachel was murdered for her faith in Christ (The killers’ list of targets was composed primarily of a combination of Christians and athletes - the two groups they despised.), and I was touched by the joy with which she embraced death (Recorded in her journals - when she had no knowledge that such a massacre would occur in her school). I appreciated the honesty of the parents in revealing both the faith and the doubt of their daughter. It would do everyone well to be more authentic about faith, revealing both the ups and downs. In her journals and her relationships, Rachel Scott was both authentic and passionate, and her example is one deserving of imitation.
