Convo on Verbs 18:1

Here follows what I deem a profitable conversation:

Girl: Home?

Boy 1: Si.

Girl: I was telling the truth, you know. I didn't mean to play the "jokingly begging" card, but it got played anyway . . .

Boy 1: About lying regarding your enthusiasm at those parties?

Girl: No, I am telling the truth! Sometimes, I have fun, but usually I—like I said—I get into a funk . . . I won't fit in . . . I don't know how to explain it, but Boy 2 seems to understand.

Boy 1: Hm . . . even I, though embarrassing and finding it difficult to do the main activity of the party, enjoy those events, even though I've said in the past that I don't like them. I've seen where I've been at large—a proud snot bent on pooping out on parties—and I don't want to go back to that. It's difficult for me to see an honest-to-goodness attitude that goes along the lines of "I get depressed" when my emotional reaction used to be "I'm too good for this, or I'm too embarrassed for this." . . . I suppose I can believe you though. I mean, we do not always act the way we feel, and that is often good . . . Even if you don't like it, you act as if you do, making the event far better for everyone else, and—I believe—in turn, given enough time, you will enjoy it also.

Girl: Yes . . . I don't usually act how I'm feeling; it's an easy act to play, the out-going go-lucky girl.

[Girl takes bow.]

Boy 1: Hm . . . I mean, the whole thing of "party" in the semi-formal/formal manner is almost backwards, but at the same time, it is fun to eat yummy food and wear nice clothes and dance with handsome people.

[Pause.]

Girl: I'm going to be honest, 'kay? Believe me or not.

Boy 1: I can take honesty.

Girl: Some parties are particularly unpleasant, with full blown “depression”—or whatever—it's more like just not feeling like I can fit in, which then snowballs and gets worse as the night wears on—and some parties okay. I can remain neutral and have some good moments, eat good food . . . And now that I think of it, I just realized something . . . Parties where I have the most fun, where I really have a good time, happen when, by complete happenstance, I end up only hangin' out with a few select people, and we chill together the whole time . . . in which case we might as well have gone out by ourselves . . . So, furthermore . . . I get into the same weird mood when I am with small groups of more than, say, three people . . . With you, me, and Boy 2, it's all good, but I recall many times when three girls and myself hang, and I still have a really, really bad time.

Boy 1: OK, now I understand. Let me present a reason for all this, or at least, a reason causing such consideration of these feelings.

Girl: Do tell.

Boy 1: Close friends enjoy company better together than separated by the mob of individuals that you only know a little, don't know at all, or don't like.

Boy 1: Because a party necessitates the involvement of the mob, you enjoy your friends company less because the meaningful fun you normally have is impossible to have in the party circumstances because to do so would exclude the majority, giving the appearance of aloof pride and separation.

Girl: Yes, that and an additional thing: for some reason, a few particular galfriends of mine . . . when we're in a crowd, they kind of stay with the mass of the crowd, and I separate myself . . . so I'm like, “Hey, guys . . . where are you?” But I feel stupid for wanting them to only hang out with me—which is selfish on my part—but I will not get with the larger mass of people, leaving my friends enjoying themselves, and me enjoying the food.

Boy 1: OK, then I've got another thing to say.

Girl: Say it. I have another thing to say too.

Boy 1: You're not going to necessarily like this, but as a matter of fact, almost all or all problems we have—we have—are a result, not of other people, but ourselves, our sin.

Girl: It must not be too horrible for me, because I will always choose to go to a party than not. But yes! I agree with you . . . I end up sitting in a corner, dealing with my sin! Oh, oh! Keep typing, but I'm just going to say something else: that doesn't really explain why I can't/won't/don't fit in with groups of four.

Boy 1: Simply put, the situation for you or me or anyone else is a result of us wanting to only please ourselves—we know we will be pleased to hang out with our close friends. We know this is the wrong thing, and as a result—I'm already changing what I was about to say—God knocks on our hearts, trying to remind us that we are separating ourselves, only for our benefit just so that we aren't having a un-fun, embarrassing, boring, or whatever-else time. We need to get in among people so that we can love and promote Christ. It's only by interaction and action that we make each other better. Remember Proverbs 18:1: "He who separates himself seeks his own desire, he quarrels against all sound wisdom” . . . I know that it is not good for me to separate myself. Unless I'm trusting Christ and doing the right thing—or I'm being proud and doing the right thing with the wrong attitude, which is just sin—for sure I'll never really enjoy any social event.

Girl: Hm . . . that is such a good point . . . maybe I get it from my parents; they also refuse to be sociable . . . Uh . . . you don't have to respond to that . . . But what about the smaller group setting? Maybe because I like things that are so different from what other girls like; I have such different interests that I am always an odd bird. Boy 3 called me an odd bird once.

[Smiles with big grin.]

Boy 1: OK, so, does that answer the issue of can't/don't/won't fit in with more than three?

Girl: Keep typing, but I have an idea.

Boy 1: Yeah, I admit, you are much more of a "tomboy”—you like guns and video games and paintballing and airsofting and motorbikes and all that "manly" stuff . . . But, that does not make you un-feminine. Being "un-feminine" or, I should say, trying to be un-feminine is trying to deny your role as a woman: bears children, cares for them, holds herself as the "submissive" one.

Girl: I like to think that I like all those things, and I can say for sure that I am totally game for the whole child-rearing deal . . . I like to think that I don't deny my role.

Boy 1: In many ways, the strong—able strength, not stubbor strength—women are the ones who do or can or are willing to do those tough things, even though they know God would first have them do others . . . Men don't want panicky, wimpy, whiny, scared, clingy women. We want strong women; women who have the guts to do what they need to do—by God's design, first the children and household before other things that might be necessary because they aren't being done and should or need to be done.

Girl: Well put . . . So it takes extra strength to do what we're supposed to first do: being submissive when I could be “da man.”

Boy 1: Yes! Exactly! Does it take more strength to be humble, or hold yourself above everyone else? Being humble, of course! That same logic applies to the female role situation.

Boy 1: That same logic also applies to men: it is easy for us to become lazy, sit on our butts, and not do a stinkin' thing—though pride can often cause us not to do that, which is basically a bad thing—but it takes a real man to step up and do the things God would have him do: lead while being kind and calm and taking into account the feelings and ideas of others, even as we may have to make decisions that people don't like.

Girl: Wow . . . You guys have it way harder . . . Kudos. [Smiles.] So yeah . . . Do you think that is the reason Boy 2 doesn't get with parties either?

Boy 1: Yes. We are called to get out there, but our sinful reaction is curl up and get with that which we're comfortable with. But, in a sense, we are not called to be comfortable but uncomfortable—comfortable in spirit through Christ and uncomfortable in flesh by flesh.

Girl: Yeah . . . yeah . . .

Boy 1: Honestly, until tonight, I hadn't really thought this deeply about this topic, though I have thought about for myself a little bit. I don't think Boy 2 has ever thought of it either.

Girl: But his is the same deal as mine, only his is from the man's side.

Boy 1: But besides me explainin' with all those words, we're first supposed to obey God by Jesus' power. Thus, what should we do according to Proverbs 18:1? Go get out there with the guys.

Girl: Me to the gals.

[Smiles all around.]

Boy 1: We are first called to do, then to understand. Do good children first understand and then do, or first do and later actually understand the why? . . . They first do, and as we mature, we understand better and better until one day, one glorious day, understanding simply comes along with the doing.

Girl: Exactly . . .

Boy 1: Man, I want to take this and post it somewhere, after changing the names and all, after de-privatizing it.

And so you see it de-privatized.

Silence

I learned a lesson today. Well, I should say, I was reminded of a truth.

Another classmate and I were trying to figure out class scheduling, times and locations. Our official schedules did not match up. We compared them again. We hoped they would match somehow magically coincide. They did not, of course. Each of us began checking the school's website. Servers full. Nothing. We waited several more minutes, tried again, and still nothing. We decided to fly with it. If either of us got new information, we would call, e-mail, or contact in some other manner--likely through Facebook. We tried the servers once more to no avail and called it a night.

The next morning, I arose and went straight to the computer. Praying it would work, I logged in. Eureka! It worked. Problem was, my schedule did not appear any different than on the paper. I called my confused compatriot, leaving my confirmed information while reiterating the information given to me on that end the previous night. I hung up, snarfed some Jell-O, and headed to school.

The day went without incident, being familiarized with the courses I would engage in for the next few months. The excitement of the day was somewhat dimmed from that morning, but not too bleak. I engaged in some small talk with a few other friends, even passing by the one who had tried to hash out the crazy details of the class that we thought were going to be in together. Our mutual confusion and frustration, I deemed, was the result of the crazy and sporadic, though--I thought--comprehensive, information. I was soon to be proven wrong.

I arrived home, quite hungry, and quickly disposed of the remaining, lonely puddle of Jell-O. While I consumed this, my father entered the kitchen. Apparently, my compatriot had called that morning, shortly after my departure, confused and, my father indicated, possibly, just possibly, frustrated in an emotionally angry kind of way. Realizing that I maybe was about to receive a lecture on the decency of keeping a clean slate with everyone or some other lecture along the line of human relationships, I blurted out a response easily taken for insensitive: "It's not my responsibility to worry about someone else's problems." Taken aback, my response did just the opposite. If my father had been a stick of dynamite, my words were the sparks on the fuse. Well, that is an over-exaggeration. He did not blow up, for sure, but he did proceed to speak about my words--easily perceived as brutish, selfish, proud, insensitive, etc. He finished, and I stated my intention: to avoid the discussion that, in fact, I caused. He seemed to understand it, and that was the end of it.

As a mulled over a phrase for which to express the lesson learned, I headed over to my laptop and logged in to Facebook. It turned out that my dad was actually right, on every count. My schoolmate had sent me a message, whether soon before or after the call to my home, all on the lines: "I didn't get your message for some reason." (After I left a message that morning, I had messaged on Facebook that I had left the phone message.) Now, I do not believe my friend ever was angry at me (though I should probably find that out), but God taught me one very good lesson, a lesson that at least illustrates how to live life, if not a lesson illustrating the general goodness of silence. As I walled on Facebook after the event, so I blog here: Hasty words, meaning to avoid lengthy discourse, bring about the discourse wished to be avoided. Always wait for the speaker to finish; then, think. Afterward, say what you thought to say, unless--of course--you discover in your thinking that you should not say anything.

"Even a fool, when he keeps silent, is considered wise; when he closes his lips, he is considered prudent" (Proverbs 17:28, NASB)