Narratives and Donald Miller

A few weeks ago, I was on my way to a friend’s wedding and stopped to get coffee. A few things you should know: 1) I’m not usually the kind of person who drinks coffee or 2) spends $4 on a small drink. But it was a chilly day, and I knew the ceremony was going to be outside, and I have recently become addicted to Salty Caramel Mochas because they’re amazing. I was a little early so I stopped at a shop on the edge of town and went inside to splurge on a tasty drink. As I was waiting for them to make it, I spotted a poster hanging on the community bulletin board with a photo of author Don Miller, which I thought was weird, because who hangs photos of authors up at Starbucks? I was super excited to see that not only would he would be speaking at a free event, but that it was at the church I’ve started attending in the area. I immediately used my phone to register online and put it on my calendar. Pretty sure the baristas thought I was weird, but oh well.

I decided to prepare for the evening by re-reading all of his books that I own. I forgot how much I loved his writings. I mean, I remembered that I liked them, obviously, but I forgot how great they were. Over the course of three books I wrote almost 20 pages of quotes and reflections in my journal. That’s crazy. But I feel like I learned so much that I want to read them again already, if that makes sense.

One of the things I like most about his books is his transparency in them. Not that he’s the Invisible Man or something, but that when he writes he talks about all his faults and frustrations and insights as if he’s sitting right there telling them to you. His books, along with those of Anne Lamott and others, inspired me to practice writing creative nonfiction in college. Between his books and Twitter and his blog I felt like he was a friend of mine already, if its possible to be friends with someone you haven’t met who has no idea who you are (also, that one time when my tweet was printed in Relevant he was on the cover, so now we’re both published writers and would obviously be friends in real life).

I went to the talk tonight, and it was great, just as I expected. I ran into some friends from college, there was some lovely worship time, and Don told stories about stories and talked about Jesus. People seemed surprised that he was funny, which made no sense to me because his books can be hilarious, and he was slightly awkward, as he’s always claimed to be, although in an endearing way not in a cringe-worthy kind of way. He was available for autographs and photos afterwards, but I didn’t stick around. I hung around the lobby for a little bit, trying to decide if I should, and started thinking:

1. It must be incredibly exhausting to get up and talk in front of a crowd of people and then smile and shake hands with strangers for an hour or so. I’m glad I’m not a famous writer.
2. How weird is it that we show people how great we think they are by asking them to write their name on our stuff? Shouldn’t we be bringing them gifts, rather than asking them to give us something?
3. If I do get in that line, and wait twenty minutes, what will I say? I’m not good at meeting people. What if I get to the front of the line only to do something weird, like in Empire Records when that lady comes in for Rex Manning Day and sings him a line from his song and he looks around like he can’t believe his life has come to this? That would be horrible. And I bet Don Miller doesn’t even like that Rex Manning song. 

And then I left. At the end of the day, autographs really don’t matter much to me. The guy from Ashland theological Seminary who introduced him said he hoped that we learned a lot from the event, and judging by my furiously written notes, I did. Who knew you could learn so much by buying a single cup of coffee?