I love being an introvert except when I have to enter a room full of people I don’t know. It’s so pleasant to sit by the fire or even at at Dunkin’ Donuts, all by myself with a cup of tea and think interesting thoughts and wonder about things. I’m great company (to me) and I think much more interesting thoughts than most people. (Well, perhaps only interesting to me).

If I am in the mood to speculate if heaven might be sort of like a Mickey Rooney/Judy Garland movie, who can I speculate with? Me. I’ll take an interest.

If I take notion to walk from the southern tip of England to the northern tip of Scotland, who wants to come with me? I do! That sounds great!

But when I walk into a room full of people I don’t know, all eating cookies and having fun talking about football games or recipes, my insides shrivel. I get self-conscious. What shall I say? Does anyone here share my interest in socks for cats? Or the Adventures of Freddy the Pig?

Last night Trish and I went to a reception for a missionary given by our pastor. Ulp! The subjects for pre-lecture chat included recipes and babies. (It was all ladies except me). To whom could I express my concern over socks for cats? Or anything else? My mind started squirming like a toad, to quote Jim Morrison. I gorged on chocolate chip cookies in an effort at aplomb. I sunk into my chair and tried to hide. The lecture began and it was delivered earnestly and seriously by a very tired missionary. Where was my heart of grace and love and concern for him? Buried under walls of uncomfortableness.

Horrible self-consciousness. Does anyone else out there have this problem?


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