As I was having those big conversations a couple weeks ago, the thing that led me to say, “Okay, maybe I need to be the one to foster this, or at least try,” was that many, many, MANY people commented or messaged specifically to thank me for the way I was engaging and hence modeling for others how to engage. Hundreds of people told me that this thing I was doing was unusual…and necessary, and needed.

I don’t have a communication degree. But what I do have is training in classical conversation. The first things we were taught at St. John’s College were “how to ask a question” and “how to talk about the answers with people not like you.” There were ground rules, rules which allowed people from the most diverse backgrounds to engage on a topic without devolving into name-calling or falling into sheer chaos.

And the more I’m out in the world away from St. John’s, the more I realize these things are not taught to everyone. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still learn them. =)

In those social media conversations, I quickly fell into a pattern in my responses, and that pattern served me well. More, it was easily distillable. And also easily picked up on. I noticed others in the comment section very quickly mirroring the pattern, and when they did, hostilities cooled. Conversations stayed rational and heartfelt. There was no bullying in those threads. And something that greatly flattered me was that when I saw things they were posting that day or in the ones to follow, they kept that same approach.

Because it works. It’s not that it’s ground-breaking. It’s just that it was a very simple thing we don’t always think to do.

As I was thinking about the rules of engagement and moderation for the Common Room, writer-me couldn’t resist coming up with some alliteration for the ideas I’d been using. And I think they’re pretty useful guides for any time we find ourselves in a conversation with someone who isn’t 100% like us. (So, you know…most of them.) So here you have them. My 4 Gs of real conversation.

1. Grace

No one is on the same journey. And even when we are, we’re not in the same place on it. I can remember when I didn’t think the way I think now, when I hadn’t had come to conclusions I’ve since come to. Which is to say,  I’ve been wrong about things before.

I bet you have too.

And here’s the thing–that’s okay. Just like we need to offer ourselves grace for not knowing then what we know now, so too do we need to offer grace for wherever other people are. Even when we don’t get how they could not see something. Even when they should know better.

And there’s more to it even than that–we shouldn’t assume bad motives. We shouldn’t assume anything. We don’t know, when someone simply states their opinion as fact, what led them to that. We don’t know the hurts they’ve gone through. And we don’t know what they’re going through right now.

When people send me a huffing note about something I forgot to do and I say, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I was getting a chemo infusion when your email came in, and it slipped my mind,” I am absolutely asking, Will you give me a little grace? And in that situation, they do, because it’s so OBVIOUS, right?

But here’s the thing. The less obvious is no less deserving. We are all desperate for grace. I know I am…and so, I will offer to you what I hope to receive from you. And in every conversation, we should do the same.

Assuming the best about people. When you start there, you’ll naturally avoid a lot of potholes in your conversation.

2. Gratitude

Sharing your heart in a climate of attack takes courage. Even weighing into a conversation with vitriol indicates a passion for a subject. As an author, I deal with complaint mail (I won’t call it “hate mail,” because it isn’t hate, but I certainly have my fair share of people who “felt compelled to write to let you know that I didn’t like your last book”), so I’ve had some practice in how to reply. And it all stems from Dale Carnegie’s advice in How to Win Friends and Influence People. And that is this: thank them.

Thank them for the time they took to write to you or to comment or for showing up to a verbal conversation. Thank them for caring so much that they’d speak. Thank them for being honest and vulnerable. Thank them for hearing you out.

When we thank someone, we are immediately saying, “I recognize that you’re a person, and that you have something to contribute.” Our emotional, knee-jerk reaction to what they say should be irrelevant when it comes to that fact. Thank them–and mean it. Train yourself to take a step back and recognize what’s at stake for the other person. Once in a while, someone’s just a jerk who enjoys making people mad. But most of the time, that’s not what’s driving someone.

And once you thank someone (genuinely), you’ll see an immediate shift. Because when we’re (genuinely) thanked for something, we shift immediately out of offensive mode. We think, Oh, they hear me. They appreciate me. They recognize my heart. And suddenly they’re ready to recognize yours too. 

This is so simple–and so profound. And so incredibly important.

Now, obviously if you’re involved in a long conversation, you’re not going to start every response with “Thank you for sharing that with me.” But it is important to recognize when someone takes a risk in opening up and recognize that. To be trusted with someone’s heart is a precious thing. Don’t squander it.

3. Gentleness

As per my post “A Soft Answer,” it turns out Solomon was onto something (Proverbs 15:1). A soft answer really does turn away wrath. When we set aside defensiveness and the need to win and instead focus on understanding, when we answer anger with gentleness and kindness, tempers come down.

Responding to something with gentleness does not mean you agree with what they said. It does mean you agree that are a beloved child of God, just like you.

Let’s not forget that this is listed as one of the Fruits of the Spirit, and it’s also what Jesus teaches in His radical “turn the other cheek/go the extra mile” teaching.

Do not meet anger with anger. Do not meet force with force. Give kindness and gentleness instead. Quite often, it will change the tenor of the conversation.

And you know what? Even if it doesn’t, it will change the tenor of your own heart. And that matters too.

4. (Common) Ground

Yes, I’m cheating with this “G” by adding a C-word in front of it. Indulge me. 😉 Because this, also, is huge. 

Find the common ground. You have it. I promise. There are no two people on earth without something in common, and if you can find that in a heated conversation, you’re well on your way to making a friend. And I don’t mean interrupt a diatribe with “What’s your favorite color? Maybe we have that in common.” I mean actually look at the things they’re saying and find the common ground. Find something to agree on.

More often than not, we’re all starting from the same core principles. We all want safety and security, we all want dependable and fair laws, we all want good for our children, we all want fair treatment for and from our neighbors. It isn’t the what we disagree on–it’s the how. We disagree on the best way to achieve good things, but that just means you might need to strip away all the “trimmings” and look to the heart of the issue.

“I can absolutely agree that we don’t want rapists and murderers on the street.”

“I think you’re right that federal law enforcement needs to follow the law too.”

“I’m also an advocate for safety for our children.”

And so on. Start there. Acknowledge how they feel and why they feel it. Respect where they are (even if you don’t agree with it). And then explain your own point of view. And if you really want to make it approachable, share it not as the conclusion you’ve come to, but as the place you are through a journey. 

“You know, I used to think that too. And then as I dug deeper, I started to ask these questions. [Share the questions that made you look deeper.] It’s tough, you know? Because I still believe in that core ideal. But I struggle with how to reconcile it with these other things. Which is what led me to this position today.”

You know what usually follows? “Yeah, I get that. I ask those questions to.” Or maybe, “Huh, I’ve never thought of it that way. I’m going to have to ponder that.”

Now, here’s the thing–that line of conversation doesn’t work if you’ve never examined our own ideas or come to where you are. If you’re arguing “that’s the way it is” without nuance, chances are pretty good that you’re never going to convince someone…because they clearly aren’t where you are now, and they can’t just be there. Which means sometimes, you’re just going to have to do that examination there, with them. Ask questions–not bullying ones, not accusatory ones, but genuine ones. “I’ve seriously never considered that before. Can you explain your thoughts to me more? Can we dig a little deeper? The thing that immediately comes to mind is this [state your rebuttal], can you help me reconcile that with your position?”

When we remember our 4 Gs, when we treat our interlocutors with respect and dignity, when we treat them as we want to be treated in the conversation, amazing things happen. We actually learn from each other. We understand the other side better, and hence our own too. We plumb new depths. We build new bridges.

And we make new friends. That right there isn’t nothing. That’s one of the most important “somethings” you can ever expect of a conversation.

With permission from my new friend Caroline, I want to tell you a story that came out of my “Hey, MAGA friends, do you have a minute?” post that I shared here on my blog as “Why I Feel Betrayed.” By Sunday, I had completely lost control of the comment section, but some of the newest comments were saying how impressed they were with the level of civility and open dialogue, so I assured myself it was still okay. I went about my life, including a trip to the hospital to talk about my next surgery, and how it needs to wait until my next scans to make sure I’m still clear of the cancer I’m being treated for (I offer this as explanation for my own raw emotional state).

As we were leaving the hospital, I pulled up my phone and did something I honestly rarely do on my phone anymore–I opened my Messenger app. And I saw a message waiting in the “pending” file, the ones from people not already on my friends list. There had been a lot of these that weekend, mostly from international people who had no idea how I popped up in their feed and didn’t feel they had a right to weigh in on a post directed to a particular group of people, but who wanted to thank me for opening a non-shouting conversation, and that from their point of view, it was the first hope they’d had in a long time that America might get through this.

Honestly, I was expecting more of the same. But instead, I opened up this message from Caroline, and I saw this (again, shared with her permission, using only her first name):

Caroline

Roseanna, I am so sorry I responded to your question on Facebook. But even more I am so disappointed. Your post incited online bullying and I am saddened that I took your bait and fell for it. I have deleted my reply to your post and blocked those that I needed to. You crossed a line…in your own words you said never discuss politics on Facebook and for some reason you decided it was ok. You know that because of your profession, you have a large audience and so I wonder what did you expect you were going to accomplish? Anyway, I wish you the best.

Now, let me tell you a bit about me. I don’t mind when people disagree with my ideas–I know how often I shift and refine them and come to new understandings of complex things, so why in the world should anyone else agree with what I myself might not in the future? But I feel it like an arrow to the heart when someone questions my motives, so this cut. It didn’t make me angry, it HURT. Because someone was hurt, and they perceived it as my fault, and what if it WAS my fault?

As I began frantically composing a response ON MY PHONE (which I hate to do, LOL. Give me a computer keyboard any day!) my husband asked, “What’s wrong?” Because he knows me, LOL. So I told him and, seeking to comfort me, he said, “Don’t worry about it, honey. It’s probably just a troll.”

I didn’t think it was. But even if it had been, I’d rather respond kindly to a troll or a bot than risk letting a real grieving heart go unanswered. So I replied:

Roseanna

Oh Caroline, I am so sorry you were bullied! Did I say something that hurt you or was it others? (I’m trying to keep track but have been overwhelmed). If it was me who said something that hurt you, I am truly sorry. I am trying to see each point of view, understand it, offer my own perspective, but always affirm that your perspective is valid and valuable. If others in the content section attacked, then I’m so sorry that wasn’t checked. There are still hundreds of comments I haven’t seen yet, and I’ve been praying they’ve remained respectful.

Caroline replied to let me know that it wasn’t me, it was others. I apologized again and asked her if she would feel comfortable sharing her thoughts there privately with me–because I’ve found that the ones who garner attack are the ones I really need to understand. She was gracious enough to do so…and I admit, I was baffled as to why anyone had bullied her for them. Did we agree on everything? No. But we’d very clearly started from the same place, and she represented one of the more moderate views I’d seen that weekend.

Long story short, we ended up talking back and forth about how hard it is to know what “good” to prioritize, what “bad” to prioritize against, when they are in conflict. How we’re all just muddling our way through a very imperfect system.

I thanked her for trusting me with her view after she’d been hurt in my comment section. She thanked me for being willing to listen and apologize. We fell silent for a while with peace between us.

And then Caroline truly proved her Christ-seeking heart when she reached out again to apologize for blaming me for what others had said, for assuming bad motives on my part. She asked my forgiveness. And I gave it in a heartbeat, acknowledging that sure, she made an assumption about me–but that the moment she reached out to me with it instead of letting it fester, she’d done exactly the thing Jesus instructs us to do, and I was so grateful. I apologized again that she was hurt on my watch.

And we ended that day both calling it such a blessing. We’ve chatted each day since. We now count each other a new friend and are getting each other’s takes on unrelated things.

Do we still have those points of disagreement? Absolutely! And that’s OKAY. We can still be friends. We can still talk…and now we know we can talk about the hard things, and we can help each other understand them better.

This is what communication is supposed to do, friends. Not create click-bait or fan the flames of outrage. We can disagree with something without calling people names.

I’m so grateful Caroline reached out. I’m so grateful she forgave me and asked my forgiveness in turn. I’m so grateful that we gained a friend that day instead of falling into resentment over disagreements.

And I pray we can all do more of this. Less shouting, more talking. That we can deliberately seek reconciliation instead of outrage. That we can prioritize loving our neighbor over winning an argument. Caroline gives me hope that we can.

I’ve had several people ask, either privately or in a comment on my posts lately, a very kind version of “What are you thinking, crazy lady? You’ve got enough going on, fighting cancer. Why are you deciding to talk politics now??”

And they have a point, LOL. (And no one put it that way, I’m being tongue-and-cheek and funny…)

But also…this, too, is important, and I’d like to explain.

I already talked about the year-long journey I’ve been on, and how a year ago, I was just angry and wanted to hold people accountable. How now, I want to understand and heal. Not to talk politics, but to talk about real issues, hard topics that matter. In that “A Time to Speak” post, there was one thing I didn’t go into on this journey.

October 2025.

If you’ve been following me for long, then you know that in 2024, I battled breast cancer. The fight took me into 2025, when I completed radiation treatments in January and then my “blocker” treatments in May. In July, I had my final reconstruction surgery after my bilateral mastectomy. I thought I was done. I thought I’d won.

Then came October, when a brain MRI for an unrelated pituitary issue revealed a tumor in my brain, in the right cerebellum. I know I’ve talked both here and on social media about how hard it hit, and my journey through that. But there are some things I didn’t get into, largely because they were too painful for my family.

I’m going to talk about them now because they are a big part of this.

In those two weeks between the discovery of the tumor and when we had definitive test results, my doctors were sure–SURE–I was in Stage 4 cancer. They were sure it was in my lymph nodes and all through my body. They were sure that palliative care was going to be my fate. They assured me they could keep the cancer in check and still give me years (probably), but let me try to put words to what was going on in my heart and mind.

In those two weeks, I was staring death in the face. Maybe not an immediate death–but that didn’t make it better. I was asking myself, “What if I only have two years left? Or five? Or even ten? What if I don’t get to see my kids get married? What if I spend those years sick and miserable? What if I can’t write the books God’s laid on my heart? What if this is the thing that kills me, and it happens soon?”

Even thinking these questions now makes me cry, guys. Because it’s no less present, just because the scans are clear. It’s no less a real question for me. And it comes with more questions too.

“What really matters?”

During those two weeks, I’ll be honest. I couldn’t read the news. I just…couldn’t. And it wasn’t because I didn’t care about the events or think they mattered. It was because I couldn’t handle the hatred I saw. Every time I glimpsed something, I just wanted to cry, “Don’t you understand? Don’t you understand that you are wasting time on hatred that could be spent on love? On tearing down instead of building up? Why? Why are you spending your precious minutes and hours and days and weeks and months on this? Don’t you see what a tragic waste that is?”

Because when you realize how finite your life is…you are keenly aware of how you’re spending it.

I’ve always given a lot to my legacy, to what I want to be remembered for. When I talk to authors about time management and marketing, that is in fact one of the things I invite them to consider as one of the guiding factors to how they prioritize their time and what governs their outreach.

I want to be remembered as someone who loves, not someone who hates.

I want to be remembered as someone who builds, not someone who tears down.

I want to be remembered as someone who listens, not someone who shouts.

I want to be remembered as someone who uses stories to speak Christ to hurting hearts, not to profit.

I want to be remembered as someone who focuses on others, not just herself.

And as I faced the very real possibility of a short life before me, I realized something else. It’s not enough to just not do the negatives. I have to actively do the positives. Because love isn’t the absence of hate–it’s something more than that, something that requires me to do, to act, to live it out. Similarly, building isn’t just the lack of tearing down. Listening isn’t just the lack of shouting. Not being greedy doesn’t mean working for Christ. And not focusing solely on me doesn’t mean I’m focusing on you.

It isn’t enough to not do. We have to do as well.

As someone who haaaaaaaates conflict (I literally feel sick to my stomach whenever conflict arises, and sometimes migraines even follow), it’s easy for me to just keep my head down. Simpler. 

But this is only peacekeeping. And Jesus didn’t say the “peacekeepers” were blessed. He said the peacemakers were. 

Making is also an action. This is something I’ve written about before, in a post called “Peace: Keeping or Making?” in which I observe the following:

We’re called to CREATE that soul-deep, “all is well” peace. We’re called to create it with love, with faith, with sacrifice, and with hope. Not with lies, compromises, insults, and division.

The peace of Christ is when you would rather die than deny Him–and rather be killed than kill.
The peace of Christ is when you help those who hurt you.
The peace of Christ is when you love the unlovable.
The peace of Christ is when you welcome the outcast, not cast out the one who has offended you.
The peace of Christ is when you greet an insult with a compliment.
The peace of Christ is when you seek to understand rather than to be understood.
The peace of Christ is when you answer a demand with a gift.

And do you know what happens when we do that? Jesus tells us, right there in the Sermon on the Mount.

We are called sons of God.
Heirs of the Kingdom of God.
Brothers and sisters of Christ.
We are given authority in Heaven and on Earth.
We are made like Him.

Peace, my friends, is something not just to seek, not just to preserve, but to make. It’s an active practice. And it doesn’t rely on pleasing people–it relies 100% on pleasing God by our interactions with them. On remembering that He loves them every bit as much as He loves us. And on treating them like they, too, are a son or daughter of God.

That ought to change everything.

So why am I tackling this now, in a year when I’m getting more chemo infusions (I really want to call these “blocker” treatments too, but the fact is that my team calls them chemo. Not full chemo. But they’re chemo.)? In a year when I’ve been promised I’ll be exhausted? In a year when I already have too much on my plate, given that?

Because this is the time I have. This is the time God stirred my heart to speak. This is the time the world is hurting for these conversations so, so much. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. I don’t know where the world will be in a year, when I’m (hopefully and prayerfully) better again. I don’t know if I have another day or another century left on this earth (how’s that last part for optimism?).

But I have now. And so now is the time I will use for the most important things.

The stories He gives me. The people He gives me. The opportunities He gives me.

I will obey, and I will trust Him to provide where I lack. Maybe nothing will come of it. Maybe it’ll take off and I’ll have to bow out. Maybe it’ll just be me talking into what feels like empty space.

Or maybe it will take a cancer patient doing the work to convict other people to do it too. I don’t know. 

I just know that I don’t want to be remembered as someone who was silent when God asked her to speak. I don’t want my legacy to be burying my head, just like I don’t want it to be shouting at people. I want it to be modeling a better way. Showing my children that we can still engage with people, whether we agree with them or not. We can still love. And we can also exhort–from that place of love. We can seek to learn and pray that others will continue to do the same.

We can do better. But it starts with each of us. And when I stand before God–whether that’s soon or not–I want to be able to say, “I obeyed. I loved. I built. I served.”

Why now? Because I am so keenly aware that we’re never guaranteed “later.” And I don’t want to waste whatever time I have giving anything less than my whole heart to the world.