Last night I saw Blue Like Jazz, the Movie for the second time. I went with some charter members of my Man Movie Club, the clandestine band of misfits that meets in my basement once a month to protest chick flicks and “Girl’s Night Out.”
Among our number was Jay the Pacifist. You might have read about him and his perpetual smile in Red Like Blood. There was that Big-Haired Indian known as Sanj, one of the most transformed sinners on the planet. My favorite son-in-law sat next to me–the highly tattooed youth pastor and expectant father (hello) who first turned me on to Donald Miller and his book, Blue Like Jazz. Even the soft-spoken statistics professor Mark Fridline was there–he is one of truest and most trustworthy men I know.
In the middle of the movie I looked around and realized I have at least one thing in common with Don Miller–we both have a lot of cool friends.
But when the credits rolled, I didn’t have much to say. Because I can feel them bubbling up: Confessions.