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.

What follows is the post I made on Facebook on January 17. I want to introduce it here a bit to clarify a few things. First, this was addressed specifically to real-life friends who defend everything Trump does and believe his “rough edges” are in fact good things. I have many friends who voted for Trump as what they perceived as the lesser of two evils, and while I am SO grateful for their perspectives too, if you do not self-identify as MAGA, then chances are good you are not the ones I was specifically speaking to. 😉 Even so, I want to share my own perspective and invite yours, because your matters–whether you were my “target audience” here or not.

Unlike the Facebook post, which got TOTALLY out of hand, I intend to moderate any comments here completely, which means things that show the commenter to be mildly-upset will be let through but I reserve the right to chime in to invite you to see a different perspective (you don’t have to agree with it, but please try to understand it, if you’re engaging), and shouting or name-calling comments will either not be approved to begin with or be deleted as soon as I see them). And if you just don’t want to comment at all, I get. If this comment sections remains a ghost-town, that’s fine. 😉

I also want to take a moment to note that this was my first (and perhaps last, LOL) viral post on social media. It got about 800K views by the time I’m posting this, with a little under 3K comments (this number includes comments on shares, not just on my post itself on my page), and over 400 shares. Way higher than anything I’d seen before. And while I know it only did that because it was dealing with political things, I am still grateful that my “once in a lifetime” viral post was on something that matters and not a cat video. 😉 (I’m not dissing cat videos. I love them.) I also want to note that I’m blown away by the number of international viewers who reached out privately and/or commented, most of whom had no idea how I ended up in their feed. But I saw people from England, Scotland, Denmark, Australia, Germany, Sweden, and New Zealand…and there were several who mentioned being not-US but whose country of origin I didn’t actually see.

Which I mention solely because they all said that this conversation–not the viewpoints, but the fact that we were having an earnest conversation–was the first thing they’d seen out of the US to give them hope that we’ll survive this current storm. That touched me. And gave me hope too.

One final note–that I’m adding some notes. Footnote style. Just things to provide you with the source to which I’m referring. If I’m bringing them up, it’s because it was part of the conversation I’ve had in years past with people who matter to me on these subjects. I’m not claiming you, particularly, claim them. Rather, I’m claiming that they’re part of what I was told. (I did not include these in the original post for the sake of length.)

~*~

Hey, MAGA friends—do you have a minute? I need to talk through some things.

The last couple nights, I’ve been lying awake, honestly upset to the point of tears, after seeing some memes and posts shared here (edited to add: these were not worried, anxious thoughts and tears. They were tears of sorrow, and this “upset” led to a burden to put words to it…and when Roseanna the Writer feels a burden to words to something, she inevitably ends up doing it in the middle of the night, LOL)¹. And I need to hear your actual thoughts so I avoid making any wrong assumptions. I want to say this clearly up front: I love you. In real life, you’re my family, my friends, my neighbors, my book-club people. You matter to me. Your viewpoints matter to me.

I usually live by “don’t talk politics, and for the love of all that’s holy, don’t argue on Facebook.” But I think we’re past the point where that works. I don’t understand some things, and I suspect you don’t fully understand my perspective either. I genuinely believe we’d all be better off if we talked—really talked. If Facebook isn’t the place, fair enough. Email me. Call me. Let’s even get dinner with the goal of having these conversations. Because they’re important.

I need to be honest: when it comes to our current political situation, I feel betrayed. Many of you are the people who raised me, who taught me how to follow Christ. You’re my people. (And for context, if you don’t know me in real life, I’m the stereotypical Conservative Christian woman—I’m a white, rural Republican from West Virginia. I hold traditional views on marriage and gender. I’ve been married 25 years. I homeschooled. I don’t drink, curse, or do drugs.)²

And I am deeply dismayed.

You taught me in the ’90s not to trust politicians without character. You taught me that a man who lies, mocks, and disgraces his office should not lead.³ You taught me to vote my conscience—which is why I didn’t vote for Trump, even back in 2016. Back then, many of you said, “He’s a baby Christian.”⁴

That was nearly a decade ago.

True new Christians grow—remember that parable about the seed and the soil? You taught me the fruits of the Spirit to watch for—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.⁵ Please help me understand: do you honestly see those fruits being modeled now? Not just by the president, but by the broader movement? I see crosses worn publicly and prayers posted online—but I also see open contempt, hatred, mockery, aggression, pride, and a startling lack of self-control.

Don’t tell me you’re a Christian with your T-shirts or jewelry. Show me you’re a Christian by your love.

Which brings me to what started all of this: how we’re talking about immigrants.

One of you shared a meme saying you voted for Trump to “take out the trash.” Please—help me understand. Are we talking about people? Because the kind of things we throw away as trash are rotten, disgusting, beyond worth. And even if you mean “unnecessary clutter,” I don’t believe you would ever look a person in the eye and tell them they’re unnecessary.

Yet we’re saying it about an entire group.

I’ve heard it said: “If they’re here legally, they’re fine. If not, they’re criminals and they’ve got to go.” But here’s the problem—the government keeps changing what ‘legal’ means. People who entered the country lawfully, under one administration’s rules, have had their status revoked by another’s executive order. Refugees. Families. People still in active legal processes with legal statuses.⁶

Are they suddenly “trash”?

I know we all agree violent criminals shouldn’t be on the streets. That’s not the debate. The issue is the use of blanket terms. It’s shifting laws. It’s a system that punishes people who followed the rules—and then calling concern about that “fake news” and “the liberal agenda.” I’m not liberal by any stretch of the imagination—and please don’t even DARE suggest I don’t know how to read and research. If you know me even a little, you know them be fightin’ words to a historical novelist. ?

And here’s the thing: I don’t think we actually disagree on whether innocent people being brutalized is wrong. I think we agree it would be horrific—if it’s true. The question is whether we’re willing to believe uncomfortable truths, or whether we drown them out because they don’t fit our narrative. History gives us sobering examples of what happens when Christians choose the latter.

I’ll offer this about myself, since I’m asking for honesty from you. Last year, when Roe was overturned, I went looking for data to prove my side right. Instead, I found evidence that strict abortion laws increase abortions. I didn’t like it—but I had to reckon with it. I didn’t change my belief that life is sacred. I changed my conclusion about the system I thought would protect it.⁷

That’s what I’m asking for here—not a change of core values, but a willingness to examine whether the systems we support are actually producing the good we say we want.

I am not here to pick a fight. Conflict literally makes me feel sick to my stomach, and I’ve got enough of that dealing with chemo. ? I’m here because I believe something is broken in the unity of the Church, and I don’t think silence fixes it.

I believe we still share core principles. I believe our disagreements are about how to live them out. And I believe we owe it to each other—as Christians, as friends, as family—to talk honestly, humbly, and without name-calling or fear.

I’ve laid my heart on the table. Please tell me where I’ve misunderstood you. Please correct me where I’m wrong. Let’s start a real conversation—and see where we can go from here.

Footnotes:

¹ See my post “A Time to Speak” (https://www.roseannamwhite.com/2026/01/a-time-to-speak.html)

² To be totally accurate, this is my “historical” place, where I’m coming from, what informs and shapes my opinions. Because of what I go on to explain, I’ve undergone a lot of change. And am really just trying to disentangle my identity from ANY identity politics. Again, see the same post mentioned above.

³ I was born in 1982, so the “era” I best remember from my childhood is the Clinton era. In my particular circles, I remember many conversations about how a president should not even let himself be impeached but should rather resign if it comes down to that, to keep from disrespecting the office of President. That it didn’t matter what Clinton did for the economy, because he was not a man of character. As I approached my eighteenth year (in 2000, if you don’t feel like doing the math) when I would register to vote, I had been 100% taught to vote my conscience based not just on political issues but on the politicians. Not because any political candidate would ever be perfect (we all know that’s impossible), but because someday I will have to stand before God and answer for what my vote supported and what they did as public servants. Yeah, it’s a lot of pressure, LOL.

⁴ “James Dobson Says Paula White Led Donald Trump to Jesus Christ” (https://www.christianpost.com/news/james-dobson-says-paula-white-led-donald-trump-to-jesus-christ.html) This article was quoted as the reason many people I know in real life felt “permission” to vote for Trump.

⁵ In Matthew 7:16-20, Jesus tells us we will know believers by the fruit they produce. In Galatians 5:22-23, Paul lists that fruit.

⁶ Sharing statements from a Christian ministry devoted to refugees that a trusted friend has volunteered with in Minneapolis, Arrive Ministries. This is their Jan 20, 2026 post.

⁷ I talk a bit more in-depth about this in my post “Grappling.” https://www.roseannamwhite.com/2025/05/grappling.html

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.

A few years ago, when my son was beginning high school and we were debating what electives he should take, I did something dangerous.

I bought a Logic curriculum for him. I knew that Rowyn already valued logical arguments–I hear him regularly chatting on Discord with his gamer friends, so I knew he took perhaps too much joy in dismantling their statements when they didn’t satisfy his logical mind, LOL. So I figured, let’s make sure he’s doing it right.

Feeding the beast? Well, maybe. 😉 But as the textbook arrived and I was flipping through it, I realized that my own education in spotting logical fallacies is sorely lacking. My husband is better at it, but me? Not so much. I had no idea what the names were for those things that frustrated me in conversation, or why sometimes something felt “off” in a response, or manipulative, but I didn’t know why.

And of course, as I learned a bit more about these fallacies, I also learned where I tend to fall into them as well. Sigh. Don’t you just hate it when you set out to learn why others are wrong and instead learn where you are? 😉 

Given how many of these I see in my own social media feed every single day, I figure either I’m not the only one who doesn’t just “get” these things intuitively…or people are doing it deliberately. Because I’m always a “give them the benefit of the doubt” kind of person, I’m assuming the first. And so…maybe you could benefit from this list too. And I know I need it!

Please note that I am using examples from BOTH sides of the political aisle; sometimes examples I’ve seen from both are provided for the same Fallacy; sometimes I alternate and will use a Conservative statement in one and the a Liberal statement in the next. Sometimes just general examples that easily apply to both. Cuz we all do these, friends!)

(This list is based on one from Grammarly, with a couple extra thrown in. They all have my take on them and, where it didn’t require too much time spent digging on my part, examples from my own social media feed.)

1. Ad Hominem

Tell: Attacking the person instead of the argument.
Example: “You’re wrong because you’re just a [label],” instead of addressing the actual claim.
Why it’s wrong: The truth of a position doesn’t depend on who says it.

2. Red Herring

Tell: Distracting from the argument by bringing up something irrelevant to the current discussion.
Example: “I think parents should have more say about school curriculum” is answered with “If Conservatives really cared about kids, they’d want to talk about gun violence in schools.”
Why it’s wrong: It sidetracks the discussion with a separate topic instead of engaging the actual issue being discussed.

3. Straw Man

Tell: Misrepresenting someone’s argument to make it easier to attack.
Example: “Schools should admit systemic racism as part of history” is met with “You want to teach kids to hate America.”
Why it’s wrong: It argues against something they didn’t actually say. Thing to remember: if you have to exaggerate someone’s argument in order to defeat it, then you haven’t defeated it.

4. Equivocation

Tell: Using a word in different ways to mislead.
Example: “Freedom” is a common one where meanings get misinterpreted in the conversation. Examples from both sides: “Freedom means people should be free to live without discrimination” is met with “Freedom doesn’t meant freedom from consequences.” Or “This government mandate on gun control overreaches individual freedom” is met with “I think our kids should have freedom to live safely.”
Why it’s wrong: The word shifts in meaning mid-argument.

5. Slippery Slope

Tell: Predicting extreme outcomes without evidence.
Example: “If we don’t deport everyone, next thing you know borders won’t exist” or “If we allow this speaker on our campus, the next stop is fascism.”
Why it’s wrong: It assumes progression without causal proof.

6. Hasty Generalization

Tell: Jumping to a broad conclusion from too little evidence.
Example: “There are three examples of this people group committing crimes, therefore they’re all criminals.”
Why it’s wrong: Too small a sample to justify the conclusion.

7. Appeal to Authority

Tell: Claiming something is true just because an authority said it.
Example: “A famous person said it — so it must be true.”
Why it’s wrong: Authorities can be wrong or irrelevant.

8. False Dilemma / False Dichotomy

Tell: Presenting only two options when more exist.
Example: “Either we deport everyone or let rapists stay” or “If we don’t ban guns our kids will be gunned down in schools.”
Why it’s wrong: It ignores the real range of possibilities.

9. Bandwagon Fallacy

Tell: Saying something is true or right because “everyone believes it.”
Example: “Everyone thinks X, so X must be true.”
Why it’s wrong: Popularity ≠ truth.

10. Appeal to Ignorance

Tell: Claiming something is true because it hasn’t been proven false (or vice versa).
Example: “This regulation won’t help the economy” is met with “You don’t know it won’t, so let’s pass it.”
Why it’s wrong: Lack of evidence isn’t proof.

11. Circular Argument

Tell: Using the conclusion as the premise — no real support.
Example: “He was justified because he had to do it,” without independent evidence.
Why it’s wrong: It goes in a loop instead of reasoning.

12. Sunk Cost Fallacy

Tell: Staying committed just because you’ve invested time/effort.
Example: “I’ve already argued this position for years; changing now would be admitting defeat.”
Why it’s wrong: Past investment doesn’t justify continuing.

13. Appeal to Pity

Tell: Using emotional sympathy instead of logic.
Example: “You must agree because it’s heartbreaking.”
Why it’s wrong: Pathos can highlight stakes but not prove a point.

14. Causal Fallacy

Tell: Assuming causation just because of correlation or timing.
Example: “When X happened, Y happened, so X must have caused Y.”
Why it’s wrong: Correlation ≠ causation.

15. Appeal to Hypocrisy/Whataboutism (Tu Quoque and Tu Quoque Adjacent)

Tell: Dismissing someone’s argument by calling out hypocrisy.
Example: “You criticize this policy but your side did the same.”
Why it’s wrong: Hypocrisy doesn’t make the original argument incorrect.

16. Poisoning the Well

Tell: Using a preemptive move that makes further discussion socially unacceptable
Example: “If you agree with that, you’re not a Christian.”
Why it’s wrong: It admits no nuance in an issue and assumes that there is only one issue that defines “good.” It stops discussion rather than engaging with it.

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.