I felt good about having Dr. Trueblood as our opening speaker. His long advocacy of "the ministry of common life" made him perfect for the launching of a retreat center for the laity. And yet, as construction on the Lodge was being finished, I began to feel uneasy, sensing that our planned introductory program was incomplete. We needed something or someone else.

Dr. Trueblood was basically a conceptual speaker. His approach was logical, cerebral, based on reason. But as we prepared for the meeting, I began to think we needed someone in addition who would speak from experience. Someone who would be more personal.

My Oklahoma oilman friend, Keith Miller, agreed then to come and share his spiritual story. The impact of the two men teaming up together was electric.

Ever since—for over thirty years now, and through innumerable program formats—we have continued to follow that basic formula. One speaker—usually the featured one—teaches by the mental formulation of ideas, images, and concepts. Another speaker—or often a couple—shares his or her personal faith story, recounting some portion of his or her own individual journey.

Contemplating those events today, as I analyze the way I came to that pivotal decision, I realize that my own thought processes reflected the two kinds of presentations—and that my growing maturity of judgment demonstrated the power inherent in merging the two approaches.

My decision to invite Dr. Trueblood was a rational one. My reading had told me that, broadly speaking, Hendrik Kraemer and Elton Trueblood were the two great lay-ministry scholar and spokespersons on the contemporary church scene. I happened to know Elton Trueblood, so inviting him seemed a logical choice.

In contrast, I invited Keith Miller by intuition. While I could have come up with some sort of reasoned explanations for asking Keith, the real reason I invited him was that I felt drawn to do so. I sensed that we needed him.

In those decisions—and in their consequences across thirty-plus years—I believe the Triune God was teaching me how my thinking processes could mature. As I grew in sanctification, I was becoming more and more a stranger to the centuries-old split between two different—though complementary—methods of thought and problem solving.

That different people approach reality differently is no secret; it's a fundamental dynamic in all our relationships. And just as fundamental, usually, is our deep-seated conviction that our approach is the right one and another person's approach is wrong. We are usually sure that our way of thinking is the only workable approach.

These polarizations in our thought processes tend to push us into one of two camps. These camps have been explained, over the years, with a variety of terms: rational/intuitive, analytical/creative, objective/subjective, thinking/feeling, Athens/Jerusalem, left brain/right brain—even cold and unfeeling/flaky and overemotional. I find it helpful to think of these two approaches as "cognitive" and "narrative."

For a variety of reasons, the polarized rift between these two general thinking styles has become connected to the estrangement between the sexes. Rational, objective, abstract thinking has been considered essentially male, while intuitive, feelingful, subjective, concrete thinking has been considered female. And anyone who has ever lived knows that these distinctions have been a source of friction between men and women.

Males have typically been taught to fear and distrust the subjective, intuitive, personal, female approach to reality which I call the narrative approach. Women have scorned and distrusted the abstract, objective, analytic male way of thinking, that I call the cognitive. The battle of the thought processes undoubtedly forms a front line skirmish in the battle of the sexes.

I remember recognizing for the first time during 1961 spring—as I thought about turning my religious work over to God—that surrender or yielding or giving in is fundamentally feminine in character. Which may be basic to why, as a man, it frightened me.

But I'm a stronger man today than I was then—more responsible, more secure, and more self-controlled. That added strength has come in part through a growing awareness—and appreciation, and experience—of these two different ways that all of us, male and female, can think and communicate.