Who’s giving the church a bad reputation? Perhaps I am.

I was shocked and dismayed to hear actor Heath Ledger died last month. Shocked, because Ledger was only 28. Dismayed, because I learned of his passing through an MSNBC.com article titled “Church Plans to Protest Ledger’s Memorial.”

Apparently, Fred Phelps’s family is at it again. Fred Phelps is the founder of Westboro Baptist Church (WBC), a group known for vigorously condemning homosexuality through protests, videos, and websites such as GodHatesFags.com. They believe the Iraq war is God’s punishment for America’s acceptance of homosexuality, and they became infamous for picketing funerals of U.S. soldiers killed in Iraq. Ledger became WBC’s target because he played a gay cowboy in the 2005 movie Brokeback Mountain.

I never guessed my “perfect” friend had secret struggles.

I hadn’t seen Cheryl in 20 years. But when we met for lunch last week, we felt we were right back in college. We laughed about the numerous guys we’d liked, the cruddy apartment we’d shared our junior year, and the mystifying way 20 years suddenly seemed like an instant.

I’d been a little nervous about seeing Cheryl. She’s now an important businesswoman married to an important businessman. I knew she’d drive a nicer car, wear better clothes, and live a far more interesting life than mine. None of those accomplishments surprised me. Even in college, Cheryl had always appeared confident and smart—knowing what she wanted and how to get it. She’d stayed focused and above the fray, as if she didn’t worry what anyone thought of her. Cheryl had been ready for adulthood. I, on the other hand, still had felt like a child.

Reexamining a friend’s critical remark as a message from God

The other day, while on the phone with an old friend, I confided my struggle to be a better conversationalist.

“I talk about myself too much,” I told her. “I never remember to ask people about their lives. I’m trying to get into the habit of mentally reviewing all the questions I should ask before I call. I’ve got a list near the phone of topics relevant to specific friends in case they call. Even then,” I confessed, “I’m so self-centered, I often get caught up in something I’m saying and forget my lists altogether. I feel so bad.”

“Yeah,” my friend said. “You do tend to monopolize conversations.”

Being twice her age, I didn’t think I’d fit in with her circle of friends.

A few months ago, I attended the Laura Isaacs Appreciation Barbecue. Laura’s a coworker at the newspaper where I work. At 24, she lives with her cat, Spock, and loves Hello Kitty and ballerina flats.

I don’t remember what was going on in Laura’s life at the time—boyfriend problems, I think. The impromptu barbecue to celebrate Laura was fellow coworkers Cristy and Shemir’s idea, and it took place at Cristy’s apartment.