Donald Miller the personal blog for all things Don Miller

One of my favorite stories was told to me by my friend Bob Goff. It’s a true story and it’s about a parade.

Bob lives in San Diego, and when his three children were young they were sitting around on New Years Day, bored. And Bob thought it was a crime anybody should be bored on New Years Day. (Let’s face it, unless you are a football fan, there’s not a whole lot to do.)

Bob asked the kids what they could do to honor the fact God gave them a day. And eventually Bob and his wife Maria, and their children, came up with the idea of a parade. So they set out to have a parade on their street. They went house to house telling their neighbors they were going to have a parade. And the neighbors must have indulged the children by saying they would watch. But the Goff’s had a better idea than just a parade people would watch. They decided nobody could watch the parade. They could only be in the parade.

And so a few neighbors joined in. The small parade marched from the end of the street to the Goff house, where they had a small cookout, if I remember correctly.

Now, more than ten years later, the New Years Day Parade is a tradition. Hundreds of people join in (nobody watches, everybody marches) and the day has not been boring since. Not only has it not been boring for the Goff family, it hasn’t been boring for hundreds of neighbors as well.

Each year the parade selects a Grand Marshal. The year Bob told me about the parade, the Grand Marshal was the mailman, who marched in front of the crowd throwing letters into the air. And each year a New-Years Day Queen is selected, sometimes from the local retirement center (the women in the picture below look way too young.) And the Queen gives a speech, and there is an annual Queen’s brunch at the San Diego Yacht Club. 

People on Bob’s street know each other better because of the parade. The women in the Queen’s court feel honored, too. And the children grow up thinking New Years Day is a special celebration honoring a day, the miracle of a day.

It strikes me as I retell the story how wonderful it is God gave us time. By that I mean He has made us characters in a grand epic. The epic is meaningful, but there are dark forces trying to convince us it is meaningless, worth nothing, and therefore boring. What I like about Bob’s story is that he and his family decided to fight back.

Bob’s story is one of the more delightful, inspiring stories I’ve heard. He and his family were bored, but they didn’t complain, they spoke something into nothing, created unity where there was separation, created fun where there was boredom.

I often find myself thinking complaints about life, about business or politics or relationships. Anymore, though, when I complain, I am starting to realize that, in part, every ounce of nothingness in life is my fault, because I always have the ability to speak something into it, to create a different reality. A theory that life is meaningless is just an excuse not to try. It’s safe. It’s risk free. It may end in ruin, but it is a ruin we can control, and we know with certainty what will happen. We will be bored. Or worse.

I’m reading Victor Frankl’s book, Man’s Search for Meaning, in which he recounts his experience in the concentration camps where he lost his mother and father and his wife. He argues that what kept people alive in spirit was their belief that life expected something of them, that life needed them to die with dignity, to play a role that would teach the world the important lesson of honor, and also of evil.

“We had to learn ourselves and, furthermore, we had to teach the despairing men, that it did not really matter what we expected from life, but that what life expected from us.”

I think what we need this year is a bit of courage to stand up to the dark forces that lie about life, that say life has no meaning, no beauty and no hope. There is always meaning, even in the darkest of hours. We can always speak something into the nothingness.

Here are some pics my friend Lindsey took from this year’s parade. Happy New Year everybody. Have fun speaking something into the nothingness, and redeeming the days!

Bob Goff and friend and balloons.

The New Years Day Parade

Queens of the New Years Day Parade

Lindsey Goff, a friend from the neighborhood and lots of balloons.

A few pieces of art that have meant something to me this season are Brian Kershisnik’s “Nativity”, some lines from Hamlet I spent a bit of time considering, and Sara Groves Christmas album.

If you click on Kershisnik’s painting, you’ll get a better look at the movement of the piece. The crowd of angels or saints are huddled in mass around Christ, those in front of Him pressing toward the child, but not to stop, but to move through and beyond toward something else. It’s an evocative statement. I think this is Kershisnik’s nod toward God in three persons, the crowd moving on to worship God, as though Christ came to point us toward the Father. In the painting, many of those who have moved past Christ are singing.

And I like the expression on the face of Joseph, his hand over the eye closest to the crowd, yet uncovered toward his son. He seems human, and in dilemma for having been given a child, who was God, but who was also his child. I wonder in what way Joseph loved Jesus. The Child was not His own, biologically. And Joseph knew the child was from God. I think the painter captures something special here.

And the size of Christ, smaller than a baby might be, as though to accentuate the fragility and humanity of God incarnate, nursing, dependent on the creation, all in humility. He became man. And also the litter of puppies at the feet of Mary, perhaps to bring out the earthy reality of birth, and further elaborate the theme of humility. Not that one pup is moving toward the Christ, while the mother is turned toward God.

(Brian Kershisnik’s “Nativity”)

This quote from Hamlet feels right, perhaps, because Portland has been so quiet in the few days leading to Christmas. There are no planets striking, no witches charming. God quieted the town. I love that Shakespeare would use a bird to prophesy the coming of Christ, and nod to the child’s victory over evil. And of all holidays, Christmas has a most sacred feel. It is commercialized, sure, but no market force will compete with the overwhelming spirit of love and intimacy that invades us as we celebrate the coming of Jesus.

“Some says, that ever ‘gainst that Season comes; Wherein our Saviours Birth is celebrated, The Bird of Dawning singeth all night long: And then (they say) no Spirit can walk abroud, The nights are wholesome, then no Planets strike, No Fairy takes, nor Witch hath power to Charme: So hallow’d, and so gracious is the time.” Shakespeare From Hamlet, Act. i scene i.

And as of late I’ve been listening to Sara Groves. I’ve been to Sara’s home in Minnesota, and I can imagine her at Christmas, back in her studio, reflecting on the birth of Christ. Her music has endeared me ever since I heard her a few years ago now. There is a subtle depth of meaning in her Christmas reflections that I appreciate. She has been a good guide, this advent.

Merry Christmas to you and yours. Christ has come.

It’s been snowing here in Portland. Supposedly the biggest snow storm in 40 years. Because of that, most of us have been holed up in our homes. We can take walks here and there, but driving doesn’t work so well. I couldn’t even get my truck away from the curb. So I’ve been holed up in the house, cleaning and looking after my new puppy, Lucy. The exciting news is that Lucy is about half housetrained. Right now she is convinced that if she poops outside, and goes to the side door, she will get a treat. But if she is in the back bedroom, the carpet feels too much like lawn and she goes there. She’s only ten days into training, so I am sure she will figure it out soon enough.

The penned up energy of being in the house is being channeled toward finishing the new book. It’s due mid January. I’m enjoying the process, but in the pressure to get the book completed, I’ve been thinking about what it means to be human, to need to work, to want to accomplish and succeed, and what plays in those motives. I was sharing with a couple friends who were visiting from out of town the other night, both of them in their mid-thirties, that I miss those twenty-something days where you were more motivated to do good work for other reasons than just good work can provide. Without knowing it, we more or less agreed the motivation to get married and get a job and find your identity fueled much of our motivation in the early days. They say most genius’ complete their greatest works before the age of 26. (I think they are obviously wrong, but it’s remarkable how many great thinkers complete their theories in that span. John Calvin and Albert Einstein come to mind). But when much of the mating and identity ritual is accomplished, the motivation becomes harder, because by necessity it must become purer. The work (in my case) is really about the literature. And I wish that were always enough. It isn’t, at least for me (and I am convinced people who say it is really have some sort of ulterior motive, such as the need for validation or affirmation)…

There is a reason older, wiser people just look at those of us who are younger as though we will get it “some day.” They do not have words to explain that the things we think matter, do not. And perhaps they do not know exactly what matters, either.

Perhaps because we’ve been snowed in, and because I’ve had little to do but clean the house and write and think, I’ve been watching Lucy (the aforementioned dog) and wondered why God made her. A pet. Just a dog (chocolate lab puppy) that runs and jumps and chews things and, even though we’ve only known each other for a couple weeks, wants nothing more than to please me. She puts on no airs, which is one of the things I think we find so comforting about pets and children. There is no false motive, only the desire to eat, reproduce and play.

I think of that scripture that tells us to not think more of ourselves than we should, and not less of ourselves either. I think if Lucy could understand a hearing of that passage, she’d probably tilt her head and say “what is an I?”….all she knows is her red ball and her weasel chew toy and the fact she can dig her nose into snow to make a tunnel.

Life is not all good for Lucy, for sure. She got a shot from the vet the other day and cried pretty loud about it. If I leave the house for an hour (something I’ve managed to do twice since I got her) she is convinced the world has ended, and needs about ten minutes of being held while she cries once I return. I suppose she will get past that.

I wonder what it was like for humans before the fall of man, to not think too much or too little of themselves, to enjoy play, to enjoy work, to enjoy God. I think the difference between them and us would be startling. If they could come here today and have a conversation with us, my guess is they would sniff out all our motives and wonder why it is we care about so many things that don’t matter at all.

This isn’t much of a Christmas post. You can get about a million of those on other blogs. But this winter, holed up in the house because we are snowed in, these are the things I’ve been thinking about. I’ve been thinking it would be great to be a little more like Lucy. To not know about critics or dangling participles, but just to burry my nose into the words and trench through them for the sheer joy of writing. I think that might get me closer to being human. Or canine.

I have to go. Lucy is at my feet whimpering because it’s been more than half an hour since I got down on the floor and let her bite my ears. Have a great day, everybody.

Don

P.S. Before you leave this post thinking you should be more like Lucy, I should disclose Lucy often stares into blank space and barks as though she is looking at a ghost (I call it her Hamlet monologue, often saying back to her “is that a dagger you see before you?”) and she also eats her own poo. Purity comes at a price.

(Artwork by Stephen Ferris)

A sure sign Christmas is upon us is the annual event of Tuba Christmas. Two-hundred or so tuba players will gather in Pioneer Square this Saturday to serenade onlookers with a dozen or so holiday favorites. If you’ve ever wanted to sing Christmas carols to the low-hum of alien spaceships, this is your chance. Tuba Christmas is a national event, so even if you’re not from Portland, check your local listings to see if there is a concert in your hometown. All the concerts are free, of course, and it’s worth the outing. Especially if you live in a larger city like Chicago or New York. I think Boston has a great one, too.

I’ve actually performed in a Tuba Christmas in Houston. I played Tuba in the high-school band, and so I am not only a fan of Tuba Christmas, but a veteran. I think I used to have a hat or something.

My friend Laura Jean used to get her Tuba out every year here in Portland, and she used to bug me to find a Tuba and come and play with the gang. But I never did. And now she lives in New York. I live in a condo, anyway, so it just wouldn’t work to do all the practicing. I’d scare the neighbors dog, who is both blind and deaf, but no doubt would freak at the foreign vibrations. But in a way, every year, I am envious of all those Tuba Players. Tuba Christmas is the single event where tuba players are actually cool. Just one more thing Jesus redeemed with the incarnation. No small task. Merry Christmas, indeed.

Here’s a sample of Tuba Christmas in New York. Happy Holidays, everybody.

(In Portland, Tuba Christmas will take place this Saturday, in Pioneer Square, from 1:30 P.M. till 3:00 P.M. You will want to get there a bit early, as rain or shine, the place packs out.)

*Stephen Ferris’ artwork, “Tuba Christmas” is significant because it is a painting of the Portland site. The tent, under which the tubas are organized, is a staple. And the man in the hat is Dr. John Richards, who played in the Oregon Symphony for many years. He actually wears that hat each year because he also drives a submarine.

Came across this today, and was willing to risk belaboring the tribute. Hope you are having a good monday.

For discussions sake, I am curious about the worst lines of poetry you’ve read. Or perhaps, written.

Put this playlist together this morning so it’s ready for tomorrow. Wondering what music you’ll be playing on Thanksgiving as you cook and eat and, well, listen to music. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

This is obviously a tiny image, but if you click on it it will explode….

My favorite recent discovery is a kid out of Toronto named Matthew Barber. He’s a very thoughtful songwriter, kind of a David Gray without the severe depression. In other words, his stuff is easy to listen to but doesn’t make you want to kill yourself. Also, Sara Groves has a new Christmas album out, and she is always worth listening to. The Fray is coming out with a new album, so I hear, and that will no doubt be good. Leigh Nash’ solo record was terrific, this year, also. The song Along the Wall might be my favorite song from 2008. It seems to sum up the year for me. Anyway, this playlist is really not so much about my favorites from the year as it is a playlist that will work as background music for hanging out. And for that matter for getting my Christmas mailing out….Enjoy the holiday….

I went to Powell’s to get Malcolm Gladwell’s new book (Powell’s is selling signed editions) and nearly dropped it when I saw Billy Collins had released another selection of poems. I kept the Gladwell book and am looking forward to reading it, but the new Collins book jumped off the shelf and wagged around my feet like a dog. I bought it and went outside and tried to read and walk but nearly ran into a pole so I sat outside a coffee shop and read slowly. It’s hard to read Collins slowly, though. It’s hard to enjoy him when you enjoy him so much. Ten poems in I had ink on my hands and on my chin and I wiped the ink on my sleeves and by the end of it I was holding the book open with my elbows and the top, round pink of my ears were black.  

The new book is called Ballistics and I’ll share some of my favorite lines, then give you the title poem. For the rest you’ll have to spring for the hardcover. 

from August

I went to grammar school for Jesus

and to graduate school for Wallace Stevens

from The Poems of Others

Is there no end to it

the way they keep popping up in magazines

then congregate in the drafty orphanage of a book?

Just this morning, one approached me like a possum,

snout twitching, impossible to ignore.

Another looked out of the water at me like an otter.

How can anyone dismiss them

when they dangle from the eaves of houses

and throw themselves in our paths?

from January in Paris

That winter I had nothing to do

but tend the kettle in my shuttered room

on the top floor of a pensione near a cemetery,

but I would sometimes descend the stairs, 

unlock my bicycle, and pedal along the cold city streets

down a narrow side street

bearing the name of an obscure patriot.

I followed a few private rules,

never crossing a bridge without stopping

mid-point to lean my bike on the railing

and observe the flow of the river below

as I tried to better understand the French.

In my pale coat and my Basque cap

I pedaled past the windows of a patisserie

or sat up tall in the seat, arms folded,

and clicked downhill filling my nose with winter air.

I would see beggars and street cleaners in their bright uniforms, and sometimes

I would see the poems of Valery,

the ones he never finished but abandoned,

wandering the streets of the city half-clothed.

Most of them needed only a final line

or two, a little verbal flourish at the end,

but whenever I approached,

they would retreat from tehir makeshift fires

into the shadow-thin specters of incompletion,

forsaken for so many long decades

how could they ever trust another man with a pen?

and finally, Ballistics

When I came across the hig-speed photograph

of a bullet that had just pierced a book-

the pages exploding with the velocity-

I forgot all about the marvels of photography

and began to wonder which book

the photographer had selected for the shot.

Many novels sparing to mind

including those of Raymond Chandler

where an extra bullet would hardly be noticed.

Nonfiction offered too many choices-

a history of Scottish lighthouses,

a biograhy of Joan of Arc and so forth.

Or it could be an anthology of medieval literature,

the bullet having just beheaded Sir Gawain

and scattered the band of assorted pilgrims.

but later, as I was drifting off to sleep,

I realized that the executed book

was a recent collection of poems written

by someone of whom I was not fond

and that the bullet must have passed through

his writing with little resistance

at twenty-eight hundred feet per second,

through the poems about his childhood

and the ones about the dreary state of the world,

and then through the author’s photograph,

through the beard, the round glasses,

and that special poet’s hat he loves to wear.

So that’s it. If you’re looking for a good book of poems, Billy Collins delivers more consistently than anybody I can think of. I hear the new Gladwell book is good too, so I’ll let you know.

*Guernica Interviews Billy Collins

*Only portions of the poems were printed, except for Ballistics, and as such the lines should only be considered out of context.

As much as it annoys me to do anything remotely like this, it really is the best way we’ve found to help promote and fund The Mentoring Project. We’re about to send out a mass e-mail offering an autographed book when people sign up to support a mentor. It’s a great cause so I’m having to get over the “infomercial” connotation. Please forgive. Anyway, here’s a copy of the e-mail that is about to go out. Thanks…

Receive an autographed, limited-edition, hard-back edition of Blue Like Jazz well before Christmas!

Friends,

It’s been a long time since I’ve sent out an e-mail, but this one is important. And it may even lead to an autographed book or two arriving in your mailbox!

As you may already know, The Belmont Foundation has changed its name to The Mentoring Project, and in so doing we’ve launched our most ambitious campaign yet: To recruit ten-thousand mentors through one-thousand churches.

There are over twenty-seven million kids growing up without fathers, and yet there are over three-hundred thousand churches already in place to meet the need. The Mentoring Project is equipping churches to operate mentoring programs as an answer to the crisis of fatherlessness in America. We are the hope that so many kids have been waiting for.

But we need your help.

While we are recruiting and training ten-thousand mentors, we are also recruiting donors like you to support a mentor. It takes $5 per month to support a mentor. That’s it. Just five bucks, and you will be part of the solution.

And if you respond to this e-mail, and donate at least $10 per month, we will send you an autographed copy of Jazz Notes, a special hardback edition of Blue Like Jazz. And if you donate $25, we will send two. In fact, you can pick up as many as you like, and they’ll come to you in the mail immediately, well before Christmas.

Click this link to visit our new donation page, and support a mentor today. We can’t thank you enough for partnering with us as, together, we provide a hopeful answer to the American crisis of fatherlessness.

Sincerely,

Donald Miller

Steve Taylor on Blue Like Jazz from Donald Miller on Vimeo.

I’ve been getting a number of questions about the movie version of Blue Like Jazz and I thought I’d update everybody. Steve Taylor, Ben Pearson and I have been working on the screenplay for a long time, nearly two years. We had hoped to shoot the movie last summer but because the economy tanked it has taken longer to find the right investors (a studio won’t give us the creative freedom we want) so we are scheduled to shoot the film this June/July. Anyway, recently Steve, Ben and I were able to get together for a few hours to go through the script again and I captured a bit of Steve on video.

Screenwriting is different work than essay writing in that the work (at least for our project) was done in community. I found this more enjoyable than sitting alone in a coffee shop or in my office trying to dial in a series of thoughts for paper. In screenwriting, the story is everything. And I was surprised at how much the process changed my approach to writing essays. I’ve applied a great deal of story structure to my non-fiction. The principle questions in story tend to be 1. What does the character want? and 2. What are the principles of antagonism? With those ideas in mind, a story involves taking the character on a journey through conflict, toward resolution. The same can be said of essays, if you think about it. The best essays are just that, an idea trying to surface through forces of antagonism.

I recorded Steve going through a new scene he had written so you can get a feel for how a scene unfolds. But this is late in the game. This scene was added to employ more internal tension toward the end of Act 2. But it’s a long way from the skeleton we started with two years ago.

Our first session involved an empty white-board, some characters from the book, and only a foggy idea about what our characters wanted. The story itself took several week-long sessions, spread out over a year, and then we began to plug in the dialogue. Once the dialogue was written, we worked on making the screenplay funny and moving, careful to keep the tension up throughout the arc.

We will shoot the film this summer in Portland and it will release in theaters in 2010. Because Jazz is mostly essay, there is little in the movie that is in the book, save the confession-booth scene, which itself is dramatically different. The only characters in the film that are in the book are me, Penny and Laura. My character is not much like my character in the book, and Laura’s has changed a bit, but Penny is pretty much dead on. We also added to major characters that do not appear in the book, one is called “the pope” and the other is “quinn,” a friend of Laura’s that is named after Penny’s daughter. Even though the narrative is different, reviewers have said the story works, and reviewers who are familiar with the book say the film captures the essence of the book. I feel the movie is more moving than the book since it explores the inner-lives of more characters. In fact, I’m not alone. A number of reviewers have felt the screenplay was stronger. I tried not to take that too personally.

You can check out the website here, on which you will find another video of Steve and I talking about the film. You can also hear Steve read a review from a studio about the script. And if you want to invest several-million dollars, you can get contact information on the movie website as well.

To Josuha, Paul, Rachel, Michael, and the rest of the faith-based staff, you were amazing. You worked for years, with so little pay, with just hope to keep you awake and alert, in prayer and faith you moved forward, with a belief you were supporting a man destined to lead the world. Congratulations.

For the rest of us, as Americans, we have overcome. You have overcome. I am grateful. We have witnessed an incredible accomplishment and a night that will forever remind the sufferers of injustice that humility and diligence yield hope, progress, freedom, and that the resolution of unjust conflict must ultimately give under the unbearable pressure of self-evident truth.

Thank you to John McCain, for a remarkable speech, and to his supporters for their graciousness as they yield in humility to our remarkable democracy.

The Acceptance Speech of Barack Obama, President Elect of the United States of America:

If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.
It’s the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen, by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different, that their voices could be that difference.
It’s the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled. Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of red states and blue states.

OBAMA: We are, and always will be, the United States of America.
It’s the answer that led those who’ve been told for so long by so many to be cynical and fearful and doubtful about what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.

It’s been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this date in this election at this defining moment change has come to America.
It’s the answer that led those who’ve been told for so long by so many to be cynical and fearful and doubtful about what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.

It’s been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this date in this election at this defining moment change has come to America.

A little bit earlier this evening, I received an extraordinarily gracious call from Senator McCain.
Senator McCain fought long and hard in this campaign. And he’s fought even longer and harder for the country that he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine. We are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader.
I congratulate him; I congratulate Governor Palin for all that they’ve achieved. And I look forward to working with them to renew this nation’s promise in the months ahead.
… the rock of our family, the love of my life, the nation’s next first lady…
… Michelle Obama.
Sasha and Malia…
… I love you both more than you can imagine. And you have earned the new puppy that’s coming with us…
… to the new White House.
And while she’s no longer with us, I know my grandmother’s watching, along with the family that made me who I am. I miss them tonight. I know that my debt to them is beyond measure.
To my sister Maya, my sister Alma, all my other brothers and sisters, thank you so much for all the support that you’ve given me. I am grateful to them.
OBAMA: And to my campaign manager, David Plouffe…
OBAMA: … the unsung hero of this campaign, who built the best — the best political campaign, I think, in the history of the United States of America.
To my chief strategist David Axelrod…
… who’s been a partner with me every step of the way.
To the best campaign team ever assembled in the history of politics…
… you made this happen, and I am forever grateful for what you’ve sacrificed to get it done.

But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to. It belongs to you. It belongs to you.
I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didn’t start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington. It began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston. It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give $5 and $10 and $20 to the cause.

It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generation’s apathy…

(APPLAUSE)

… who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep.
It drew strength from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on doors of perfect strangers, and from the millions of Americans who volunteered and organized and proved that more than two centuries later a government of the people, by the people, and for the people has not perished from the Earth.
This is your victory.
OBAMA: And I know you didn’t do this just to win an election. And I know you didn’t do it for me.
You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead. For even as we celebrate tonight, we know the challenges that tomorrow will bring are the greatest of our lifetime — two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century.
Even as we stand here tonight, we know there are brave Americans waking up in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan to risk their lives for us.
There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after the children fall asleep and wonder how they’ll make the mortgage or pay their doctors’ bills or save enough for their child’s college education.
There’s new energy to harness, new jobs to be created, new schools to build, and threats to meet, alliances to repair.
The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even in one term. But, America, I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there.
I promise you, we as a people will get there.
AUDIENCE: Yes we can! Yes we can! Yes we can!
OBAMA: There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won’t agree with every decision or policy I make as president. And we know the government can’t solve every problem.
But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And, above all, I will ask you to join in the work of remaking this nation, the only way it’s been done in America for 221 years — block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.

What began 21 months ago in the depths of winter cannot end on this autumn night.
OBAMA: This victory alone is not the change we seek. It is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were.

It can’t happen without you, without a new spirit of service, a new spirit of sacrifice.

So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism, of responsibility, where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves but each other.

Let us remember that, if this financial crisis taught us anything, it’s that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers.

In this country, we rise or fall as one nation, as one people. Let’s resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long.
Let’s remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House, a party founded on the values of self-reliance and individual liberty and national unity.
Those are values that we all share. And while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress.
As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, we are not enemies but friends. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection.
And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn, I may not have won your vote tonight, but I hear your voices. I need your help. And I will be your president, too.
OBAMA: And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces, to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of the world, our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand.
To those — to those who would tear the world down: We will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security: We support you. And to all those who have wondered if America’s beacon still burns as bright: Tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity and unyielding hope.
That’s the true genius of America: that America can change. Our union can be perfected. What we’ve already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.
This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one that’s on my mind tonight’s about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. She’s a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election except for one thing: Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old.
OBAMA: She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn’t vote for two reasons — because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin. And tonight, I think about all that she’s seen throughout her century in America — the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can’t, and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes we can. At a time when women’s voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can. When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs, a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.
AUDIENCE: Yes we can. OBAMA: When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can.

AUDIENCE: Yes we can. OBAMA: She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that “We Shall Overcome.” Yes we can.

AUDIENCE: Yes we can. OBAMA: A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination.

And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change.
Yes we can.
AUDIENCE: Yes we can. OBAMA: America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves — if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have mThis is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment.
This is our time, to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth, that, out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope. And where we are met with cynicism and doubts and those who tell us that we can’t, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can.
Thank you. God bless you. And may God bless the United States of America.