**Guest post by Angie Farnworth, my wonderful wife.**
My husband had some pretty amazing and kind things to say about me in his recent spiritual heroes post.
Reading it made me feel really bad for turning down his original request to write a guest post for his blog.
In fact, the very day he wrote that post was the day I was supposed to crank something out for him.
So why didn’t I do it? Well for one, I’m not an intellectual. Or anything even approaching a biblical expert.
Not at all. At all. Not. At. All.
Me in a Nutshell
Oh, I love the Lord Jesus. I read and study my Bible, memorize scripture, pray without ceasing.
I lay my life down for Him daily—at least as much as this fragile, weak flesh will allow. Or until the next shiny thing passes my way.
So in some regards, we are all the same. Seeking after the heart of our Savior. Failing. Seeking. Failing. Putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that we are getting closer to THE ONE in the midst of all that failing.
But if I had to make a guess, I’d say that’s about where our similarities end.
Friends, Yet Strangers
I’ve never read a single book by John MacArthur, though we have many on our bookshelves.
I don’t have fancy acronyms for my approach to Bible study. I do it more by feel, relationship, prompting.
Ugh. Yuck. “She’s one of those?” you say. Yes, I’m one of those. Hence, my hesitation to write for my dear hubby.
By the Way, Who’s My Audience Again?
To be fair, I am a writer. So it was not such a far-fetched request from him. But I write to a much different audience. An audience more like…well, me.
I am a story teller. I write fiction that is high on entertainment value with little nuggets of wisdom and spiritual truth woven throughout.
So what was I going to say to this audience? An audience that thrives on straight, lean, hard-hitting truth. Even contemplating it made me go on intellectual overload. It kind of made me think of those reluctant friendships we all find ourselves in from time to time…
You know that friend from work or church who you really do like and is a genuinely nice person, but you just can’t seem to get him or her to shut up?
You hate to get on the phone or into a conversation with the person because you know that getting out of the conversation will take an eternity. I mean they’ll turn a quick “yes” or “no” question into two hours of joy and drama at their most recent dentist appointment.
And on those rare occasions when it seems you might actually get out of the conversation in a timely manner, the so-called friend utters these fatal words:
“Just one more thing.”
And you know in your heart of hearts that “Just one more thing” is going to last until the day you die.
Well, here’s the problem: I think I’m that person.
How to Spot THAT Girl
How do I know? I can see it in your eyes. That glazed-over look that darts from side to side and silently says, “You’re sweet and all…but please let me go. Now.”
But still, I talk. And talk.
I hate to make vast assumptions, but for the sake of simplicity, I will assume that if you are a frequent reader of Fallen and Flawed, you are probably either: a.) married to the author—as far as I know I am the only one who qualifies here, b.) an intellectual, or c.) married to an intellectual who makes you read it because he/she thinks it is good exercise for your poor, neglected brain.
My second assumption, then, will be this: You are most probably not “that person.”
So in the vein of exercising brains and all, I thought I’d educate you a bit on “that friend,” seeming as though I have the inside scoop and all.
An Anatomy of THAT Girl
Let’s pretend for a moment that you and I have entered into an eternal conversation.
No, not a conversation about eternity, but one that you are convinced will not end until the second coming. Or until you begin hemorrhaging. Visibly.
While you are glancing at your watch and nodding like a Pez dispenser, here’s some insight into what I might be thinking:
I am an extrovert. I live for relationship. But God has asked me to be a stay-at-home mom (which I love). And to home school my children (which I also love).
But while you are out taking the blogosphere by storm (or whatever you do to fulfill your minuscule need for personal companionship), I am home.
I spend my days talking to dolls, building Legos, examining bugs, answering never-ending why questions, cooking, and cleaning up the same old messes over and over again. Only to wake up and do it all over the next day. And the next.
I love the life God has called me to. I wouldn’t change a single thing about it. But right now I have the undivided attention of an adult.
And even though I can see that you are about to faint away from relationship overstimulation, I still have a couple thousand words I desperately need to get out.
So before you exit this conversation, Just. Give. Me. One. More. Minute. Of. Sane. Adult. Conversation…
See what I mean? Oh, and just one more thing….