by Chip Gaines
But guess what? We didn’t actually have it.
It was really easy for us to feel like we could do it all when the show and the business were in the early stages. But the bigger things got—and they got big fast—the less energy we had to devote to all three. So much time was being allocated to filming that the details of the business were slipping. But it was easy for us to fall into the illusion that the business was doing just fine with a third of our attention because, after all, candle sales were still up.
Jo and I were going about our lives in our normal Newton’s-cradle-like way until I was knocked off pace, into the opposite direction, by a tweet. And didn’t we all know that a tweet would ultimately end life as we know it? I for sure had a sense of that.
THE TWEET THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING
I swear my tombstone will read “Death by Tweet.” I am a serious Twitter aficionado. Want to make my day? Want to hurt my feelings? All you have to do is tweet at me. Those little 140-character messages can be like a hug or a dagger to the heart.
So I got this particular tweet at approximately two in the morning on a night when I was finding sleep particularly elusive. The tweet was from a customer who hadn’t received an order.
I wasn’t happy about that, of course. But I tried to shake it off, knowing that I couldn’t do anything about it then and that it would have to wait until morning. No luck. I was up all night dwelling on it. And Jo and I were scheduled to film at one of the projects we were working on the next morning, hair combed, by eight o’clock.
Midway through our second shot of the day, I started to get this weird, not-good, fuzzy feeling. I thought I must just be exhausted or dehydrated or something like that. I found a place to sit down and let my mind settle. But as I was sitting there, all of a sudden I was overwhelmed by a single thought.
What am I doing here?
A simple tweet about a late order from our online store was all it took for me to realize that I needed to recalibrate. I felt this overwhelming compulsion to walk off this shoot and head straight to our company’s shipping warehouse. In my mind, I knew that I needed to be packing up orders and helping to get those packages out. We were behind on our ship dates, and this no longer felt like a distant problem that others were surely attending to. This was my problem, and I needed to be part of the solution. Who else but me should be figuring out what was ailing my growing business, and who else other than me should be ensuring that we moved beyond each and every one of these mistakes?
In the same instant it felt like Mexico all over again—like I was off chasing something trivial instead of taking care of my primary responsibilities. My construction company was a well-oiled machine; we had been doing what we do for nearly two decades now. But the retail side of our business was still just getting its feet under it, and it was suffering the consequences of my absence.
In that moment, something shifted within me. Suddenly filming the TV show looked like “the job” that had seduced me into giving it my precious time that I had always promised would be reserved for my true loves, my family and my business. How had this side gig found its way to competing with the very things that mean more to me than anything else in the world?
It’s crazy how sometimes it takes something tiny to knock your steady pendulum swing into a completely different trajectory. That one symbolic tweet made me realize that although everything seemed to be going fine, the company really did need my daily leadership.
That tweet-fueled revelation also brought me to realize that Jo and I are tired. Don’t take this to mean that we aren’t doing well as a couple—that’s definitely not the case. I’d even go as far as to say that we are doing better and are even more in love today than we have ever been. Joanna is my partner in family, business, and life in general, and that is never going to change. But pure long-term exhaustion can change a person—or two persons. We had been driving so hard for so long now. And I had this sense that if I kept my foot on the gas, we might be headed for disaster.
I have to admit that I’m already feeling it. Even the most menial tasks feel draining these days—and by this point in this book, you know that’s not me. I know that Jo is worn out too. But she is naturally better at pressing on and often doesn’t even realize how tired she is until she’s crashed.
Have you guessed what I’m getting at? You probably have, but let me be direct. We haven’t said the words out loud to many folks yet, but as I write them now they feel more real than ever:
We have decided to leave the show.
It’s mile nineteen of this marathon we’ve been running, and I have hit the infamous wall. I can feel my body breaking down, and my mind is arguing with my heart, telling me that it’s impossible to finish. (It’s funny what your mind will tell you, and what you’ll believe, when you are totally exhausted.)
But, the end of this race called Fixer Upper is drawing near. I can see the finish line off in the distance, and I do want to finish well. It’s the only way I know to do it.
I learned a long time ago that if you ever consider quitting, it’s already too late. When things get tough—and I mean really tough—you’ve already quit even if you don’t know it yet. So we’re not quitting the race in the middle. But we are looking ahead to the end of our run and wondering, then what?
It almost seems nonsensical to walk away from this miraculous gift from God, from the very thing that brought the world to our doorstep here in Waco, Texas. I understand that I’ve lapsed into new heights of melodrama, but I feel a bit like the biblical patriarch Abraham standing at his makeshift altar, arms around his precious son, facing the enormous sacrifice he believes he is being called to make.2 The Lord gives and the Lord takes away, and in all these things we’re to bless him!3
Obviously, leaving a television show behind is not in the same stratosphere as sacrificing one’s son, and I’m certainly no Abraham. And yet I feel as though Joanna and I have gotten a small taste of that struggle. We have wrestled every which way with this decision, and still we end up on the same side:
It’s time for us to lay it down.
Conventional wisdom would say that we are insane to even consider walking away now, and I’d be happy to list out the many reasons why this is true. I have every last one memorized as I turn them around and around in my head, usually in the middle of the night.
First of all, the show has been a hit. We are consistently one of the top shows in all of cable television—and trust me, nobody saw this coming. All of us have been completely amazed at Fixer Upper’s success.
Second, Fixer Upper has been really, really good for our business. Jo and I have always been business people. That’s who we are. That’s what we do. That’s how we think. Our business has always been a central part of our story, and it was only natural for it to be a central part of the show. It was the fact that Joanna was actually a designer and I was legitimately a contractor that landed us the show in the first place. This authenticity seemed novel to the production company, and they pitched the show with that as the core concept. If Waco is a character on the show, then Magnolia definitely is too.
We didn’t start our business to capitalize on the Fixer Upper audience, of course. As you now know, Magnolia’s home-remodeling company preceded Fixer Upper by about thirteen years, and Jo had been selling home decor for a decade before the show first aired. But did the show grow these businesses? Absolutely. Fixer Upper is like a long, free infomercial about Magnolia every Tuesday night. So why would anyone walk away from a free advertising machine in the middle of establishing a new brand? Who in their right minds would give that up?
Third, and most important, we are about five hundred Magnolia employees strong at this point. That number typically shocks people, and that may be because we work hard at keeping this place feeling like a mom-and-pop shop. No matter how big our business might grow, we never want it to lose that feeling. And to me, these employees aren’t just a number; they are the very lifeblood of this whole deal. Even though I don’t kno
w the name of every single person we employ like I used to, I carry each one of them. I feel an enormous amount of responsibility for them and their livelihoods. I think about their spouses and their children, about their health, their mortgages, their debts—and most of all, I think about their dreams and their futures.
We have built this amazing team of beautiful folks who show up each day and work their hearts out on our behalf. And in stepping away from the show, we are stepping into the unknown with all of them on our shoulders.
We have no idea what this all looks like once the screen goes dark. In all of the wrestling that we did over whether or not we should stop doing Fixer Upper, the praying and seeking God, what really kept me up at night was wondering how leaving might affect all of these people, the people who risked going with us.
All this is to say that yes, we know we might be crazy to leave the show now. But we’ve been called crazy before. The decision to leave Fixer Upper has not been easy, and we are acutely aware of what the implications might be, but we still believe it’s what we’re to do.
We will forever be thankful to HGTV for taking a risk on us. Back when we began, that’s what we were—a big risk, pretty far outside the box of the “talent” they usually hired. They have been good partners to us, and we will always be so proud of the beautiful thing we created together. HGTV has been an amazing place to learn the ins and outs of television. We have received the education of a lifetime, and we wouldn’t trade that for the world.
HGTV also provided us with a platform to share our perspective, and we are grateful for that too. In an industry that doesn’t often show authentically happy marriages, we have loved getting to go in front of the camera and laugh, hug, argue, collaborate, and cheer each other on. These are all the things we do with or without the cameras rolling. But getting to show people this version of marriage has truly been one of our favorite parts in all of this.
And sure, staying on the show for a few more years makes all the sense in the world. It’s at the height of its popularity, breaking network and cable records, and we have a full spectrum of offers coming our way. A couple more years could make all the difference. But at every step of the way there’ll be another ante, another all-in required of us. Who knows where it all would end?
It’s easy to talk a big game when you have nothing on the line. It’s a lot harder to put your money where your mouth is when it could cost you everything. And in a way, we’ve never had more at stake. This decision may severely affect our finances as well as our opportunities. What’s ours for the taking right now may be expired when we come back around. If we leave now, there’s no guarantee that anyone will be calling tomorrow.
Even so, there is only one way forward for us. And we’re all right with that.
We probably don’t see it the way the rest of the world does. If things stop selling, if the offers stop coming and our money dwindles away, I couldn’t care less. Seriously. If you don’t hear anything else, hear this—I don’t care enough about my finances to compromise my family or their well-being. We’ve had empty pockets before, and that’s nothing we can’t take on again.
The education Jo and I have gotten through the process of making this decision has changed everything. What we knew going into this opportunity years ago made us a force to be reckoned with. But armed with what we know now, I feel like we are unstoppable.
And when the day comes when we can take a step back from Magnolia, there will still be many things we’re excited to explore. There will be new challenges to conquer and new facets of society to disrupt. And there may even be a show or two in our future. Jo has always loved the medium of television, and maybe I’d love it more if I didn’t feel like my hands were committed to raising my beautiful family and to building this amazing company.
For now, though, I’m committed to doing two things well—not three. Because in the end, if my family isn’t at its best and my marriage at its absolute strongest, then I will move mountains to make those things right. Jo and I need a break. We have been running this marathon together that never seems to end, and we need to take some time, catch our breaths, and focus on our family and our business.
It’s difficult to give your heart and soul to something that no longer inspires you, and for us, that’s the show. It has been beautiful and wonderful, and our fifth, final season is our favorite yet, even if getting to the finish line has been a struggle. But I know for sure that we’ve left it all out on the field, every bit of love and care we have to give to those homes and these families—we gave it all away. We have no regrets and nothing left to give on that front.
There’s no question that the show was a miracle. From the very beginning, we have seen the hands of God all over it. But we are confident that it was never meant to be the end goal for us but rather a means to an end. We are attempting to impart something important and meaningful on the earth far beyond simply home decor or home renovations. And the show has given us a powerful platform for these goals as well as enabling Magnolia to begin to do the beautiful things it was created to do. But closing the show does not mean we’re going to stop moving toward those goals—or trusting God to show us what to do next.
The thing about walking closely with God is it has to be a minute-by-minute, day-by-day kind of relationship. No formula can suffice. You have to keep listening, keep following, keep being willing to act and to move on when it’s time.
If you’ll remember, the manna from heaven that God sent to sustain the people of Israel in the desert was only good for one day.4 It was miraculous, but it also came with an expiration date. And so do many of God’s blessings in this life. The fact that something is from God does not mean it’s forever. The Lord gives, remember, and the Lord takes away.
One of the things I’ve learned about God in my forty-two years is that he loves to obliterate the boxes we put him in. There’s no way to predict the way he speaks to us or leads us. In this case, he spoke to me through a tweet, and in an instant I knew our miracle had served its purpose. The lessons were learned. The blessings were distributed. It was time to let go of this beautiful experience called Fixer Upper.
God had given us this gift that I knew was ours to unwrap and enjoy. Even as we were being stretched by juggling those three priorities in our lives, he covered my family and our business. They are both doing well—so well in fact, I can only attribute their state to the miraculous. But if I were to continue on with the show now, I know that I would be taking things into my own hands.
God’s grace lasts as long as it is required. But when the grace and peace start to go, it’s a good time to evaluate if God is still in what you’re doing. When I did just that, it became crazy clear to me that if I continued on, too scared to let my aging miracle go, I’d risk losing one of the two commitments that I have been tasked with taking care of for the long haul.
One is our business. Our ongoing prayer is that when people visit Magnolia in Waco, Texas, or even receive a package from us on their doorstep, they will be inspired to go love their own homes more—and behind that, to pour more love into their families and even their own lives. We really do want this company to be a vehicle of hope on earth.
And then of course, my one true desire is to love my beautiful wife and to raise our babies well. I want to give them each the best possible chance to make it. I want them full of courage and confidence and compassion. If I get this one right, I have nothing more to prove.
I have no clue what the future holds at this point. God surely has a few more surprises in store for us, yet I refuse to box him up. I refuse to limit what our story might look like in the months and years to come.
I can say no to everything the world offers. But any gift God has for me, I’m taking it.
CHAPTER 14
TEAM OF RIVALS
In the mood for a parable?
Good.
Let’s say I’m digging a ditch. The day is young, the sun is hot, and there’s plenty of hole left to dig. And then some rand
om guy walks past and offers to give me a hand.
What’s my answer? It’s yes. No pondering. No questions. Just yes.
In a situation like that, it seems crazy to stop to consider the potential helper’s pastimes or belief systems. Say he practices homeopathic medicine or chases after tornados or believes in alien life-forms. What business is that of mine? I’m just thrilled to have an extra set of hands helping out. When you are busy getting real work done, being choosy about who you’re willing to work alongside seems like a pretty big luxury to me.
Now, if we’re in that ditch all day, there’s bound to be some time to talk. So in the case of the storm chaser, I ask him to share his thoughts about inclement weather. And since we’ve got plenty of time, I take advantage of the opportunity to learn about what he does and why he is so passionate about it. I begin to understand a little of what makes him tick, and I even learn something of where he came from and where he’s been.
There’s a good chance that this tornado chaser (or maybe the alien-loving, homeopathic-practicing, amateur ditch digger) has something to say that I need to hear. I’m a pretty opinionated guy, but I try to just listen—and not the kind of listening where I wait for a lull in his monologue just so I can jump in and be heard. Instead, I try to really listen past the what to the why—because it’s so hard to learn when I’m sure that I already know the answers.
Maybe this new acquaintance never gets around to asking about me, what I think about and believe in and the future that I hope for. He doesn’t think to ask, or maybe he doesn’t care to know. Then again, he may be genuinely interested in getting to know me after all. If he asks, I start with some of the easy stuff—the names and ages of my kids, the town I grew up in. But as the day goes on, eventually there’s nowhere to go but straight to the matters of the heart.
