Searching for jazz in painted deserts

Grayson Moody gave me his copy of Blue Like Jazz in the summer of '06. He'd driven about an hour from Visalia to Bakersfield to have lunch with me over break because we missed each other and he's just awesome like that. After amazing mostaccioli at Frugatti's, we parted with a hug, and he gave me an already weathered copy of Don Miller's top seller. He said his dad had read it first and jotted some notes down here and there in the margins. He himself had highlighted a few sentences he found profound or meaningful. He told me to tackle it with a pen also and to experience it fully by almost interacting with the book. I really miss Grayson. We had some good talks.

About a week later I got on an Amtrak bus in Bakersfield headed for San Diego to spend time with my old room mate Amanda. On the bus, I slept mostly and talked to Luke a little on the phone, but on the train, I curled up in my window seat and cracked open Blue Like Jazz, my favorite pen in my right hand. His writing style is what got to me first. It's almost cliche to say it now, but I really felt like he was just sitting there, telling me about his life, explaining God's love for me unlike anyone ever had before. I fell in love with his casual and conversational methods and I can't really explain it. I just knew that's what I needed to do, too. I had discovered creative non-fiction, and I was not turning back. When I got home from San Diego, Dad asked me how my trip was. I said I'd had fun, but I'd learned one thing about myself. "Dad," I said. "I want to be a writer."

I don't know if you've ever experienced this, but I absolutely love words, especially song lyrics, so when something fits a situation, a scene, an emotion so perfectly, I literally explode inside. It drives me crazy because I want to express how incredible it is, but I can never find the words. It's just amazing. This book was like that for me. Every page I was literally speechless at both the style and the message behind it. I'm usually very critical of Christian criticisms (hence why I wrote my final paper in Bib Lit on why Rick Warren is a modern day false teacher), but for some reason, I felt as though Miller was speaking the truth. I jotted down notes, drew smiley faces in the margins, and interacted with the book. So many times I've run into the perfect person in the perfect situation to pass the book on to, but I just can't let go of my copy with its tattered cover and Moody & Son's notes right along with mine. It's OUR book. I'm not ready to let someone else into my particular club. Buy your own copy. You'll want to hang onto this one.

I bought Miller's two other books Through Painted Deserts and Searching for God Knows What and am tackling them this winter break. I'm halfway through Deserts and he's still got it. I desperately want to have coffee with this man and just talk about his experiences, but mostly his writing. Sometimes I really feel like I'm reading my own words. I just need to go out and experience something so I can write my life down, too. I sat here at the family desktop tonight and, turning to my mom, said, "I really want to meet this man. So for like a graduation present, if you could arrange that, that'd be great." She laughed and sarcastically agreed to working that out before heading to bed. I went to Miller's website just a few minutes ago and clicked around a bit before I came to "Appearances". Lo and behold, in April of this coming year, he's coming to Fresno Pacific University. Looks like I won't have to wait until graduation. The reasons why I transferred keep popping up everywhere. God is crazy. He's like music, or rather music is like Him, I suppose. He's so amazing that I sometimes can't find the words to express Him. This is one of those times.