In Which I Switch Gears at 20% and Tag Along With Dad

I arose from repose at the ripe hour of 9 o'clock this morning and got dressed, hearing voices downstairs and feeling anxious lest I miss that important hour of the day when the Walters family has a moot and plans for the day start piecing together. (It's nothing intentional or planned, understand...information just happens to get exchanged sometimes.) If I miss that crucial time, I feel kind of disoriented for the day.

While I was still fussing with my jeans, I heard Dad calling me, and bleary eyed, I went out to the landing. "Do you want to go to Tyler with me?" he asked. "I'm leaving in 15 minutes." My dear brain was still only running on 20%, but I managed to grasp what he said, and mumbled an affirmative.

It was pretty impressive, ya'll! I totally switched gears in a matter of seconds (while my brain was only functioning at 20%) and kicked into "go" mode. I showered neglectfully, dressed in something else, applied a little goop here and there as needed, and hurried downstairs. Dad had poured some grapenuts into the cruddy old blue mug with whales on it that I secretly like (oh well, now it's not a secret!), so I added milk and a teaspoon of sugar and headed out the door with a kiss from Mom.

We went to Tyler for Dad's doctor apointment, a checkup on his back required for Social Security purposes. I read World Magazine in the waiting room. The doctor congratulated him on getting Social Security and said "nothing new."

Then, we went to Barnes & Nobles. Why I keep letting this happen to me, I can't say, but once again I went into a book store with money, and...

I sat reading a book called Reaching Out, by Henri Nouwen, and when I had read maybe a third of it and had that sensation of someone-telling-me-what-I've-been-thinking-all-my-life-but-didn't-know-how-to-say, I thought "maybe I should just buy it." So I did. I have so many questions about life right now and I'm searching out so many things, I almost feel like these books I keep coming across are part of my "education." This living by faith thing is so crazy. I'm just trying to learn to listen to God's promptings and "buy" when He says "buy". So far He's blessing it!

It was past lunch time, but we hadn't eaten, so we stopped on the way home in Gladewater at a tiny restaurant called "Don Omar's" It's a little family business (I'm a bit partial to those!) and they have great Mexican food for a great price.

Our (at least my) favorite part about the restaurant is the waitress, though. She's eight years old, and a very charming hostess! She helps her mom translate orders. When she got us settled in with our food, she came over to our table and stood there in her yellow shirt and flouncy denim skirt. She regarded us with big brown eyes, serious but perfectly self-assured. She addressed my dad.

"So, is this your granddaughter?" Looks of mild amusement.

"No, she's my daughter."

"Does he look old?" I broke in, laughing. She nodded her head emphatically while poor dad protested. I mean, he's got a little gray up there, but he does not look old to me. But I guess when you're eight...

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Daisy," she said pertly.

"That's a pretty name," I replied, (what an original remark; don't you love small talk?) I was actually thinking how cute it was that she was named that because it fit her. Her shirt was sunshiny looking, and I wondered how such dark eyes could look so bright.

She did her job thoroughly. Every few minutes she'd return, flouncing.

"Need anything else?" she'd ask.

"Just a bigger stomach," Dad said. Mmm. Good food.

No Formula for That

"Love has taken away my practices
and filled me with poetry.

I tried to keep quietly repeating,
No strength but yours,
but I couldn't.

I had to clap and sing.
I used to be respectable and chaste and stable,
but who can stand in this strong wind
and remember those things?"

-Rumi, from "Buoyancy"

That's how it is. It seems like it should be grand enough to have the promise of God's strength, "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength," but there's something so much bigger than just getting by. It's called Love.

After all, what's the greatest commandment?

"The most important one," answered Jesus, "is this: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.'"

Mark 12:29-30

So I'm running around, half mad, thumbing open Rumi and Hafiz every little while to be baffled and delighted once again. And I have lots of questions. Like, did these guys believe Jesus was the Son of God, or did they think he was just a nice prophet? How could anybody possibly write about God's love like that and not believe? What exactly were the Sufis like? What can I learn from them? Can I trust what these heretic Muslims are saying? They weren't good Muslims. They weren't good Christians. But neither am I.

The morning after I read Rumi till 3 a.m. I woke and jumped out of bed, scandalized, and quickly started singing safe, contemporary Christian choruses, just to reel myself back in. I felt that I had sneaked into heresy's bedroom, not intending to be bad, but just to see if it really was heresy in there or not. What scared me is that I hadn't found a satisfactory answer to that question, and I fully intended to return every night until I did.

It's so scary to step out on a limb and even read a book that might be part truth but not all-the-way-truth. Careful worldview training has taught me to reject any vestiges of "tolerance," which I have always wholeheartedly done. I'm the queen of throwing the baby out with the bath water. Maybe I share my throne with Lauren :P

But the time has come to step out and risk it. The box I've let my "religion" become has nearly succeeded in suffocating me while my back was turned! It's so nice to know that God won't let me be snatched out of His hand. His love is the biggest thing in the world (think about sending your only Beloved to die on a cross and see if it's not), so I'm not fall off somewhere.

Rooted and grounded in the absolute of Jesus Christ and His loving boundaries, I am free to run, to explore, to love, to dream, to read crazy poetry and smile and say "that's how it is," and "that's how it isn't" if need be.

Here in America, we're so young, so green at being human, really. We have no ancient ruins. Not much history. We have a beautiful, godly heritage and an amazing story of freedom and Gods' hand. But we are young. There is not much mystery here, not much hidden under our sod. Generally speaking, we're more concerned with practical things rather than spiritual things. We have a lot to share with struggling nations in the East. But the East has a lot to give to us.

In India, for example, people are completely wrapped up in their spiritual nature. This usually looks bad and creepy, (worshipping cobras, setting up altars to stones, becoming one with the rainbow), but the truth is, God made them like that. They are seeking Him, ultimately, whether they discover Him or not in all their mess. So, while we are busy trying to fit life into a box, they are constantly peering into the box and taking life out, piece by piece exploring it. We want to make sense; they want something bigger than sense.

This is such a relief to me. I don't have to try to fit life into a box for the rest of my days, 9 to 5, fall semester, spring semester, summer. I just wasn't made to do that! I can live with the curious mind of a child, always discovering more of God at every turn and reveling in it! Every day there will be something new. What you see is not what you get. His love is higher than the mountains and deeper than the ocean. So, no formula for figuring that!!!

I will never know who the Lord is while I am on this earth. I know Him and love Him now in part, but it won't be till "The Divine Wedding Day" that I cease staring into that dingy mirror of Paul's and finally get to see the real thing. Yahoo!

The Beloved has gone completely Wild

I'm so tired that it's probably not wise for me to be thinking. But yeah, I am.

I'm so happy. God is so silly with me- I say that in the most reverent way! Yesterday I walked into a bookstore and started crying in the poetry section as I fingered book after book and opened them up and actually found truth. I forgot God could be so wonderful.

"Last night,
So many tears took flight because of Joy
That the sky got crowded and complained
When I discovered God hiding again in my heart
And I could not cease to celebrate..."

-Hafiz

I bought two books of it and went home; devoured them...was happy to tears and went around figuratively socking God in the arm as I once heard of a woman doing to the man she loved when he proposed to her. The title of one book (The beautiful blue and gold one) was:

I Heard God Laughing-
Poems of Hope and Joy

God laughs?

Did I need a mystic whirling dervish dude to tell me that?

The poems are English translations of Persian poems written in the 14th century by a rather exotic individual who called himself Hafiz. The other book is poetry by another Persian poet, Rumi.

These poets are crazy men. But if someone were to run by me on the street waving his arms and leaping through the air in sheer joy and yelling, "God is love! God is love!" I would be bound to yell "Yes! Yes!" and run after him. That's kind of how it is reading this poetry.

And what a beautiful, cheerful Friend I have, who would speak to me in poetry :)

"The Beloved has gone completely Wild-
He has poured Himself into me!
-Hafiz

The Best of Two Worlds

So, I’m at Grandma’s now, and thoroughly enjoying it. Right now Dad is in the living room looking at old yearbooks. I had to laugh, because in all the pictures his mouth looks like Ethan’s :)

Roads are delicious. I spent some time yesterday cultivating appreciation for my southern roots (which I really have never bothered doing before). Observing and absorbing the long, unchanging lines of towering pines along the interstate, the hurried vastness of the Mighty Mississippi, and the enchanting iron work fences at the Vicksburg rest stop, I discovered that I kind of…like this. The mountains up here, though, are so beautiful to me. They aren’t very big mountains, but the peaceful mystery of these hills with little houses tucked into them delights me.

We made decent time yesterday on I-20, and I actually got to drive about half the time! I was surprised and delighted at how quickly I adjusted to it. Dad actually got to sleep a bit, and at least rest in the passenger’s seat. And I got a lot of practice passing eighteen wheelers. Things were going so well that I even braved Birmingham and triumphed, and then tried Chattanooga at rush hour and conquered again! (There really wasn’t much traffic though, considering it was rush hour). So now I feel confident that I can really and truly drive on the interstate and even through cities, and could even do it alone, if need be. That would be an adventure! But I think acquiring the confidence to attempt it is the biggest hurtle for me…and it’s jumped!!

Last night Aunt Ann, Kimmy, and Elizabeth came over and we had supper together. Then the girls and I sprawled out in the bedroom and talked while I played with Kim’s beautiful hair. It’s nice to be with them again.

After they left, I tried to go to bed because I had been up since 3:15 a.m. and never even tried to kid myself into thinking I could sleep in the van…but alas. Elizabeth had left some books on the shelf in the bedroom, and I was only going to take a peek, but…You guessed it-- I fell to temptation and was up till 1:00 a.m. reading an extraordinary story.

The book wasn’t very long, so I sort of speed read it and finished it. It was Total Abandon, by Gary Witherall. He and his wife went to Lebanon several years ago as missionaries and she was killed by a gunman after about two years there. In a way it’s a sad story, but their realness and devoted, joyful love for the Lord really captured me. You think you dread “tragedies” like that…but at the same time there’s an element of longing to fully abandon everything to God in that way.

Needless to say, I didn’t want to get up very early this morning, and when I first woke up at 7:30, realizing that it was actually only 6:30 by my body’s Texas clock, I was sort of disgusted. It was already light! So I kind of went back to sleep, and then sort of got up, but not really, and then at 9:45 I finally went out to the living room where Grandma was working a crossword and watching a game show. Soft sunlight was coming in through the lacy curtains, and it felt like a good morning.

Dad had gone for a walk at the track here in Dayton, and part way through my breakfast he came in with a McDonald's iced coffee for me :) I felt loved.

Liz told me that the Dayton library has wireless internet, so I’m writing this at Grandma’s table and plan to go to the library later. Fun, fun. This wireless stuff is new and exciting to me :) I’ve always loved coming to Grandma’s, but I always felt a little stuck and isolated. This way, I seem to have the best of two worlds.

We’ll probably be leaving for North Carolina on Saturday. For now, we’ll just hang out and enjoy each other :)

Wierd Dreams and A Mark Twain Book

Hmmm. It seems like time for a good blog post, but now that I have the chance to write, I can’t seem to collect the thoughts I had. Some of them condensed on my brain like water droplets while I weeded the garden this morning (Dad is determined to keep me from getting bored). Others emerged in the wee hours when I woke at 3:30 a.m. and entertained the cat with my tossing. Couldn’t sleep.

Mainly, I was composing imaginary updates that I would like to be writing from Ukraine :) I composed some blog entries and other literary masterpieces, as well, but I think they’re lost to history.

When I finally drifted off to sleep again, I dreamed that I was in Ukraine, in an apartment near a field. I can’t remember what happened, except that I was only there for a short visit. In the dream, I told Bronwyn, “I have to go home now (it was Thursday), but on Wednesday I’m coming back.” Then my Dad drove me home from Ukraine, and on the way we got in a hold up with a guy with a rifle who said we were trespassing on his land. I have no idea how it turned out.

A week or two I had another dream about Ukraine, in which I was feeding and changing a lot of babies. They weren’t the Crowes’, and they weren’t mine—I don’t know exactly whose they were. I thought I was in Ukraine, but then was aware that I couldn’t go outside without a headscarf, so…??? Was I a Babushka?

I also dreamed that I went exploring in the wilderness with two complete strangers. Maybe I was Sacagawea.

So far, I don’t think I’ve had any dreams with real meaning. I think with those kind, you know when you wake up that it was special. All I thought about waking up from last night’s dream was that I must have read too much of Mark Twain’s Roughing It yesterday while I was waiting for Grammie in the dentist’s office!

Roughing It is about two brothers who adventure to the wild west in a stagecoach after one of them is made the secretary of Nevada. So far there isn’t much plot, but plenty of characteristic Twainesque humor :) What a funny guy, and what a way with words. My favorite parts are what he has to say about the secretary’s dictionary, which pops up several times in the course of the travels.

(They were each allowed 25 lbs. of luggage on the coach)

“My brother, the Secretary, took along about four pounds of United States statues and six pounds of unabridged dictionary…”

(Later, when they are traveling through the night by stage, trying to sleep on top of stacks of mail in the coach.)

“…every time we flew down one bank and scrambled up another, the company inside got mixed somewhat…Every time we avalanched from one end of the stage to the other, the unabridged dictionary would come too; and every time it came it damaged somebody. One trip it “barked” the secretary’s elbow; the next trip it hurt me in the stomach, and the third it tilted Bemis’s nose up till he could look down his nostrils—he said.”

So, Mark Twain and the dreams of the Definitely Disturbed…

P.S. I did succeed in installing setting up Skype!!! I really did it! I haven't ventured to make a call yet, but at least I have the option now.

Vanya, and Faithfulness

All my housecleaning muscles are tired. Connor and I had tea after lunch and now I want to go back to bed. But I think that is partly because I stayed up till one reading Vanya in my closet. and then Mom, who didn't know of my midnight vigil, woke me up at 6:30 to have coffee time with her. Well, I didn't want to miss that, so I got up, but wasn't a very coherent companion, and when everyone else got up I promptly went back to bed till 10:00. It was very odd.

But, aside from that...Vanya, by Myrna Grant was a very good book, and just what I needed. It's the story of a Russian Christian guy in his late teens who went into the Red Army under Communism and was martyred within a few years. As soon as he went in, they started persecuting, interrogating, and hounding him to renounce Jesus. He was so constant, and every time he underwent another impossible trial, he cried out to God, and God rescued him. So many miracles happened because of him that many of the atheists around him became believers.

My favorite part was his testimony during one of these trials. His authorities sent him to stand outside in sub-zero temperatures in a summer uniform at night until he was willing to deny what they thought of as his religious nonsense. He stood there for hours. When the officers eventually came to check on him, expecting to find him frozen to death, they were shocked to discover him stamping his feet and rubbing his hands, no colder than they were after their five minutes out-of-doors.

Although Vanya was thrilled at the miracle God was doing in keeping him from freezing to death, as soon as the officers left, he became very broken and cried out to God...

"He was no better than any of the young people in his congregation at home. His parents had suffered in difficult situations for years. He knew pastors who had been questioned, arrested, even sent to prison camps. Yet he was touched again and again by God's direct power and deliverance...He didn't want to be special, he didn't deserve miracles or mysteries. He ought to be freezing. He wasn't good enough. Hot tears rimmed his eyes..."

So he cried and prayed and finally was about to fall asleep, when an officer called him inside. The wondering officer asked "What kind of person are you?

And out of his brokenness, Vanya answered, "Oh comrade, I am a person just like you. But I prayed to God and was warm."

This story encouraged me, because even as I read the book, I felt the weight of my own inadequacy and wimpiness. But this reminded me that it's not what I can do, but what God can do. I want to run the race and fight the fight. I want to be like Vanya, like Paul, even like Jesus, as he has called us to be. I want to live a life that faces pain and death with confidence and even joy. I don't want to always try to preserve and shield myself.

But even one of the persecutions Vanya underwent would have put me under. One foul prison cell, one beating, one "refrigeration." I'm a huge wimp. I have plenty of struggles and pains, but my life is so easy, physically, and many ways emotionally, too. I cried when I had the chicken pox and I moaned for days when I sliced my fingernail with the potato peeler. My fingernails stay purple with cold in East Texas winter. Weeding the garden is often my greatest physical hardship, and I have never broken a bone.

I cried to God that I want to pursue Him with all my heart, but I'm not fit to be His saint. I don't have the willpower to undergo Vanya's kind of suffering again and again. I can hardly stand up to my elementary hardships at home...ones like holding back complaints, helping with kitchen chores, and being cheerful in the morning. I am so easily discouraged, so easily reduced to tears, so quickly driven to my knees.

Could this be a good thing? All He seemed to say to me was "You already have what it takes to do this..." and then, "Be faithful, Cass."

Faithful. "Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life." Revelations 2:10 That was Vanya's last word in a letter to his brother before he was brutally killed. And in Revelations 3:8 there is a dear verse...

"I know your works...for you have a little strength, and have kept my word, and not denied My name."

Really, every time I complain or hurt someone else, I'm denying Jesus' name. He has forgiven me for those sins, but doesn't this mean that I'm fighting the same fight Vanya fought so faithfully? God has made me small and weak. I am like a cat, finicky, pampered, wanting to avoid the water as long as possible. Vanya, Paul, and many of my friends seem like joyful, bounding puppies, so ready to get down and dirty, to bear anything. But maybe He has a special place for this weak one. If I truly am driven to my knees, and not into the pit of despair, so much the better. If I am driven to tears, maybe I can share God's heart.

Just some thoughts.

I am Going to Read to Myself...

Mmmm. Tummy hurts. Just the first thought that comes to mind...I feel queasy, but I must not be sick, because I was hungry for lunch, which I just ate, and usually people don't feel like eating when they're going to throw up. Not this person, anyway.

Nothing in particular to write...in fact, I think I'm going to lay in bed and read the sequel to Sarah, Plain and Tall for a little while. I know Sarah, Plain and Tall is not exactly challenging literature, but it's peaceful, restful, and well crafted. And it has something to say about life that tugs at me right now. I read the first book to Bron yesterday and there was a line that the neighbor, Maggie, says to Sarah, who is new on the prairie and misses Maine.

"No matter where you are, you'll always miss something."

Layla, our kitty (no, Mattie's- though I'm liking her more and more every day), is getting warmed up to us. Her name is actually spelled Leyla, not Layla, which I actually like better. She will sit in our laps a little sometimes, and is particularly partial to Dad's. She's still shy, and gets spooked easily. This morning Mom picked her up and held her, and when Ethan walked into the room, she (Leyla) hissed at him like a little snake. Rrreeeer!

On Friday my cousin Anna will be here! Yay! I haven't seen her in three years, since they ended their last furlough and went "home" to Niger. They're visiting again and will be in for about six days, I think. They were going to come today or tomorrow, but it's been moved out. I can't wait to catch up with one of my dearest friends in the world and see what her life is really like now. Instant messaging just doesn't cut it. It will be a happy time with the whole family. Uncle Kevin, Aunt Colleen, Anna, Stephen, Daniel, and Matthew...Jon and Jo are in Washington still finishing up the college semester.

I truly am going to go off and read now, if I can keep from getting guilty and trying to occupy myself...

Call Me Piglet

I love Winnie the Pooh because it illustrates, with mere adorable stuffed animals, what human nature is really like. Vivid personalities come out in a beloved bear "all stuffed with fluff," an anxious piglet, a melancholy donkey...

This is so the typical pessimist, if I may once again fall into my ever present fault of stereotyping...

(A conversation between Pooh and Eeyore, upon discovering Eeyore's tail to be missing)

""What has happened to it?" said Eeyore.
"It isn't there!"
"Are you sure?"
"Well, either a tail is there or it isn't there!" You can't make a mistake about it. And yours isn't there."
"Then what is?"
"Nothing."
"Let's have a look," said Eeyore..."

(Looks)

"...At last he said, with a long, sad sigh, "I believe you're right."
"Of course I'm right," said Pooh.
"That Accounts for a Good Deal," said Eeyore gloomily. "It Explains Everything. No Wonder."
"You must have left it somewhere," said Winnie-the-Pooh.
"Somebody must have taken it," said Eeyore.
"How Like Them," he added, after a long silence."

"How Like Them." Yes. It's just like Them to do such a thing!

So, following Bailey's idea about taking the "Which Jane Austen Character are You?" quizz, I looked up a "Which Winnie the Pooh Character are You?" quizz, and took it. Actually, I took about four different ones and came out with four differing results. I was Roo, Owl, and Pooh Bear by turns. On the last one I was Piglet (don't laugh!), but as that one was longest and seemed more accurate, and seeing as my very dear friends Lauren and Gracie have determined that I'm piglet-like...I think it's probably right. However, I take comfort in the fact that my second rating was Christoper Robin...Christopher Robin is my hero!

I hope that this link will work so that you can take the quizz too, if the fit takes you...

http://www.selectsmart.com/plus/select.php?url=pooh

Sorry. I don't know how to get the link workable, but I guess you can copy the url...

Being Real

You might get tired of this subject, but I'm afraid you'll have to get used to it!

"The Velveteen Rabbit," by Margery Williams Bianco, just oozes with truth about "being real," finding worth in being rather than doing.

When you are "real" in front of God, you are just a small, helpless being compared to an infinitely powerful God, with no accomplishments or titles to commend you to Him. But for some reason, He loves you.

You try to matter on the outside, until you find out that all along, what God's been looking at is the inside!

It would seem that that is what this story is all about.

"There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really quite splendid...

He was naturally shy, and being made only of velveteen, some of the more expensive toys quite snubbed him. The mechanical toys were very superior, and looked down upon everybody else; they were full of modern ideas, and pretended they were real...the Rabbit could not claim to be a model of anything, for he didn't know that real rabbits existed; he thought they were all stuffed with sawdust like himself, and he understood that sawdust was quite out of date and should never be mentioned in modern circles...

'What is real?' asked the Rabbit one day...'Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick out handle?' 'Real isn't how you're made,' said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.' 'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit. 'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt...'

The Rabbit sighed...He longed to become real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him...

When he heard [the boy say he was Real], he was happy...almost too happy to sleep, and so much love stirred in his little sawdust heart that it almost burst. And into his boot button eyes, that had long ago lost their polish, there came a look of wisdom and beauty, so that even Nana noticed it the next morning when she picked him up...

The Boy...loved him so hard he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to his ears turned grey, and his brown spots faded...he scarcely looked like a rabbit any more, except to the Boy. To him he was always beautiful, and that was all that the little Rabbit cared about. He didn't mind how he looked to other people, because...when you are Real, shabbiness doesn't matter."

And you know the rest. The boy fell ill, and the rabbit had to be burned along with all his other toys, but the fairy came along and took him away to become truly Real, not only to the Boy anymore, but Real as a living, breathing Rabbit, for everyone to see.

"Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day." 2 Cor. 4:16

"Listen, I tell you a mystery: we will not all sleep, but we will all be changed-- in a flash, in teh twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the last trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will all be changed."
2 Cor. 15:52

Learning to be Cilvilized (and the book on How To)

Well adjusted...thank you for your comment, Mrs. Burklin. It was good to be reminded of being a stranger in this world, and that its ok, necessary, even.


When I think of well-adjusted, I think of having the ability to be comfortable and at ease in any situation with any people...to be able to say and do what is appropriate, to be at home in one's own skin. Alive, but not obnoxious. Present, but not painfully obvious.


A few days ago I was in Barnes and Nobles with Dad, and, foolishly, I did bring money, and, foolishly, I left my guard down about all those lovely books. What possessed me in that moment, I can't say, but after 15 minutes of skimming a little book called "The Art of Civilized Conversation" I impetuously bought it.


Not only was it odd for me to buy such a little book for such a lot of money, it was (is) faintly embarressing to buy such a book, especially since I didn't mean to read it just out of sheer boredom but actually had need of it...


Like most books, there were the good, bad, and the hmm-I'm-not-sure parts, but overall it was pretty helpful. Its rare to find a book (especially a self help book, which I guess you would categorize that as) that doesn't completely focus on you, and how you should find yourself, assert yourself, pamper yourself, and whatever else you FEEL like doing to yourself. Instead, The Art of Civilized Conversation emphasized that, in order to have meaningful conversations, you absolutely must focus on the other person, their interests, feelings, and personality. A Biblical concept, one summed up in Philippians 2:3-4, which Mom made us memorize at a very young age and repeat often (usually after a good sibling bickering match)

"Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind, let each of you regard one another as more important than himself. Do not merely look out for your own interests, but also for the interests of others."

And Philippians 2 goes on to say that the reason we should treat people this way is that that is the way Christ treated us. I'm coming to realize (in a painful sense of knowing-but-not-being-there-yet) that shyness and selfconsciousness and extreme sense of social ineptness is sometimes not merely a personality trait, but a sin, if it means that I'm just focusing on myself. So this book, which has to do with adjusting oneself socially, really helped me see habits of conversation that are downright selfcentered that I had never even thought of before. It exposes false humility and how you can be thinking you are complimenting the other person when really you are putting the spotlight on yourself, among other things. I went through the book thinking, "oh, I thought there was something wrong with talking like that, I just didn't know there was another way to do it!"

I think a main error of the book would have been that it encouraged politeness to the extent of tolerance. While it did encourage considerate confrontation for inappropriate actions, etc., it also encourages you to keep your mouth shut about "your religious beliefs" and not push. While in a sense I think some Christians really could use more tact and consideration and less pushiness in presenting the gospel, others among us already have a hard time opening our mouths for Christ's sake in the first place. While a Christian ought to "as far as it depends on you, be at peace with all men," we also ought to be ready to follow the Holy Spirit's leading at any time as well, even when its not comfortable or socially acceptable. Jesus wasn't always polite in His conversation, but He always did and said what the Father told Him.

Anyhow, I'm just mulling over these things in my head (and now on my blog). It comforts me to know that He isn't finished with me, with us, yet. I so deserve it to be over! But somehow, its miraculously not!

"People are more, much more, than what holds them back."

That was a quote from The Art of Cilivized Conversation that really captured my attention, and its one I want to see others through, as well as myself.