Case in point: Thursday. The day Donald Miller came to campus. The day I got to hang out with Donald Miller. The day I introduced Donald Miller, as if we were bffs, to a sold-out crowd. The day Donald Miller and I talked about coffee together. The day Donald Miller spoke in chapel and made a joke about God taking a shower and I was all, "Oh, Donny, you are such a funny boy," in my head to myself.
So, anyway, my job has its perks.
I read Blue Like Jazz about ten years ago and it changed me. It's one of those books that says what you are thinking but in a much better way than you could ever say it. And at the end of it you're equal parts mad that you didn't write it yourself and inspired to write your own thing.
Then I read this,
and I'm about to read this. (It's available for preorder on Amazon. It's a man's perspective on struggling with intimacy.)
The week leading up to his visit I was a maniac. I think my coworkers were scared. I didn't care. I sat in his chair and pretended to be him multiple times to make sure the lighting and sound and chairs and tables and coffee were nothing less than perfect.
This was a bucket-list day for me.
If you haven't read a Donald Miller yet, do it as soon as possible. This post will make a lot more sense afterwards, I assure you.