I talked with Max the other day. You know, Max, right? Pastor, author, Fixer Upper alum. More than 154 million copies of his books sold globally. That Max.

Some people like to call him by his full name, Max Lucado, but I prefer to keep our relationship casual.

He asked me to send him some copies of my book, so I’ll probably get to the post office sometime this week and do that.

Anywho, Max and I were scheduled to do an interview for The Kindness Podcast last Tuesday. I was flying home from Wisconsin and got stuck in the Minneapolis airport at show time. Max hopped on after his chat on Christine Caine’s show (look her up, I’m sick of explaining all my friends to you).

Max and I talked for a minute before I hit the “Go Live” button. We were both futzing with our camera angles and then I literally said, “We’re both hot messes. Let’s just do this.” He laughed and agreed.

The interview lasted 13 minutes. Max was on a tight schedule and needed to get to his next interview which was going to start 17 minutes after ours began.

Max was relaxed and charming and authentic and all the things you’d hope he’d be.

Then I stopped the Live button, and it was just us. Max and me.

With four minutes to go until his next appointment, Max looked at me through the camera lens and said, “Nicole, would you tell me your story?”

Wait, what?

This man who knows more people than Jesus did when He walked this earth wants to know about me?


He wasn’t going to offer me a job or make me the main character in a book. He was just curious.

And curiosity equals kindness.

Asking me that question made me feel seen. It meant I wasn’t just another slot on his calendar. Had we been hotly debating opinions, it would have removed barriers and pulled me off the defensive.

“Would you tell me your story?” might just be the kindest question we could ask.

My friend Max taught me that.