Getting a Beer with Don Miller

DRIVEN BY SOMETHING BIG
GREAT SAND DUNES NATIONAL PARK & PRESERVE, CO

When I was driving up to New York this last Friday night, where I would stay with my friend Crystal the Fashionista before heading up to Boston to hear Don Miller talk at a conference, I decided I would ask Don Miller if I could take him to coffee or dinner or beer. I was hoping for a beer, honestly. (I liked that Don Miller was a Christian who drinks beer. I like that Jesus was a Christian who drank wine. I like that my New Yorker friends Crystal and Megan have wine in their apartment that they enjoy drinking with pizza. I think beer and wine are earthy, and I think Christian spirituality is quite earthy.)

I told Crystal about this when she got in the car after I had crossed the George Washington Bridge and pulled up to her apartment. As we looked for a parking spot, she laughed at me. She didn't think Don Miller would have that kind of time. I thought he wouldn't be all that busy, and that for some reason it was on my heart to ask him and maybe Jesus wanted me to have a beer with him. I think Crystal, Jesus, and I all laughed at that.

The next morning when I was driving up to Boston Crystal called and said she would be praying for a little miracle. She said, "You better ask him." I thanked her and then she went and worked at her job at a fashionable little store where they sell fashionable professional women's attire.

Don Miller's talk quickly made me want to call him Don. I didn't get the impression he'd be offended.

As soon as he was done, I walked out the door, bought a copy of his book, and got in line. The line was short. He wasn't even there yet. I didn't necessarily want the book signed, I just didn't want to try asking him to get coffee or beer without even having a copy of his book. More than a signing I wanted to ask him to get coffee or beer so I could tell him he's a good guy and ask him what he thinks about public education. That was it, really.

While I was waiting in line, a girl got in line behind me, and I spoke to her. She had come from Baltimore--funny, I thought; I figured I was the only person who'd driven so far. She had come mostly for Don Miller--funny, I thought; I figured I was the only person who'd driven so far just to hear this guy speak. She said she was sad when Blue Like Jazz ended, because Don's writing had felt like the writing of a friend--funny, I thought; I figured I was the only person who'd had such a connection.

As I finished talking to this girl and neared Don, signing books with a surety and quickness that was akin to a landslide, my little planet came within the gravitational pull of Earth's reality. I was realizing with a sweat, "Oh, there are other people, and they like this guy, too."

I got the book signed, and I said to Don, "Hey... uh, I came from Baltimore... I read your book this week..." He looked up at me and smiled, and his roadies nearby sort of looked at me expectantly.

"Well, take it easy," I said, then shook his hand, then walked away feeling shaky and dumb.

Good grief, I'm not telling anyone about this.

To be continued.