Inviting Friends For Engagement Quotes

It is only half an hour’–’It is only an afternoon’–’It is only an evening,’ people say to me over and over again; but they don’t know that it is impossible to command one’s self sometimes to any stipulated and set disposal of five minutes–or that the mere consciousness of an engagement will sometime worry a whole day… Who ever is devoted to an art must be content to deliver himself wholly up to it, and to find his recompense in it. I am grieved if you suspect me of not wanting to see you, but I can’t help it; I must go in my way whether or no.

It is proper netiquette to invite new friends in real life to connect with you on the internet. NetworkEtiquette.net

There is a vast difference between being a Christian and being a disciple. The difference is commitment. Motivation and discipline will not ultimately occur through listening to sermons, sitting in a class, participating in a fellowship group, attending a study group in the workplace or being a member of a small group, but rather in the context of highly accountable, relationally transparent, truth-centered, small discipleship units. There are twin prerequisites for following Christ - cost and commitment, neither of which can occur in the anonymity of the masses. Disciples cannot be mass produced. We cannot drop people into a program and see disciples emerge at the end of the production line. It takes time to make disciples. It takes individual personal attention. Discipleship training is not about information transfer, from head to head, but imitation, life to life. You can ultimately learn and develop only by doing. The effectiveness of one's ministry is to be measured by how well it flourishes after one's departure. Discipling is an intentional relationship in which we walk alongside other disciples in order to encourage, equip, and challenge one another in love to grow toward maturity in Christ. This includes equipping the disciple to teach others as well. If there are no explicit, mutually agreed upon commitments, then the group leader is left without any basis to hold people accountable. Without a covenant, all leaders possess is their subjective understanding of what is entailed in the relationship. Every believer or inquirer must be given the opportunity to be invited into a relationship of intimate trust that provides the opportunity to explore and apply God's Word within a setting of relational motivation, and finally, make a sober commitment to a covenant of accountability. Reviewing the covenant is part of the initial invitation to the journey together. It is a sobering moment to examine whether one has the time, the energy and the commitment to do what is necessary to engage in a discipleship relationship. Invest in a relationship with two others for give or take a year. Then multiply. Each person invites two others for the next leg of the journey and does it all again. Same content, different relationships. The invitation to discipleship should be preceded by a period of prayerful discernment. It is vital to have a settled conviction that the Lord is drawing us to those to whom we are issuing this invitation. . If you are going to invest a year or more of your time with two others with the intent of multiplying, whom you invite is of paramount importance. You want to raise the question implicitly: Are you ready to consider serious change in any area of your life? From the outset you are raising the bar and calling a person to step up to it. Do not seek or allow an immediate response to the invitation to join a triad. You want the person to consider the time commitment in light of the larger configuration of life's responsibilities and to make the adjustments in schedule, if necessary, to make this relationship work. Intentionally growing people takes time. Do you want to measure your ministry by the number of sermons preached, worship services designed, homes visited, hospital calls made, counseling sessions held, or the number of self-initiating, reproducing, fully devoted followers of Jesus? When we get to the shore's edge and know that there is a boat there waiting to take us to the other side to be with Jesus, all that will truly matter is the names of family, friends and others who are self initiating, reproducing, fully devoted followers of Jesus because we made it the priority of our lives to walk with them toward maturity in Christ. There is no better eternal investment or legacy to leave behind.

When I first began teaching Religion 101, students would sometimes tell me they were scared to study other religions for fear of losing their own faith. It was an odd concern, on the face of it. Would studying Spanish make them lose their English? Would traveling to Turkey cost them their US passport? I had a stock response to their concern: engaging the faith of others is the best way to grow your own. Now, years down the road, I have greater respect for their unease. To discover that your faith is one among many - that there are hundreds of others that have sustained millions of people for thousands of years, and that some of them make a great deal of sense - that can rock your boat, especially if you thought yours was the only one on the sea. If your faith depends on being God's only child, then the discovery that there are others can lead you to decide that someone must be wrong - or that everybody belongs, which means that no religion, including yours, is the entire ocean. The next time I teach the course I will try to be more honest. 'Engaging the faith of others will almost certainly cause you to lose faith in the old box you kept God in,' I will say. 'The truths you glimpse in other religions are going to crowd up against some of your own. Holy envy may lead you to borrow some things, and you will need a place to put them. You may find spiritual guides outside your box whom you want to make room for, or some neighbors from other faith who have stopped by for a visit. However it happens, your old box will turn out to be too small for who you have become. You will need a bigger one with more windows in it - something more like a home than a box, perhaps - where you can open the door to all kinds of people without fearing their faith will cancel yours out if you let them in. If things go well, they may invite you to visit them in their homes as well, so that your children can make friends.

If I don’t respond, will there be negative repercussions? Are they trying to make their problem my problem? Am I being baited into an argument? Is this distracting me from more important tasks? Sometimes the unnecessary stress in our life is our own doing, because we intentionally engage with the people or situations creating it. Although we often don’t mean to, we find ourselves instinctually catching the ball out of habit or obligation or because of our history with that person (ex-spouse, childhood friend, overbearing parent). You may not be able to control what another person says or does, but you can always control your response, or lack thereof, to it. If you don’t like drama, then don’t invite it in.

When Camilla and her husband joined Prince Charles on a holiday in Turkey shortly before his polo accident, she didn’t complain just as she bore, through gritted teeth, Camilla’s regular invitations to Balmoral and Sandringham. When Charles flew to Italy last year on a sketching holiday, Diana’s friends noted that Camilla was staying at another villa a short drive away. On her return Mrs Parker-Bowles made it quite clear that any suggestion of impropriety was absurd. Her protestations of innocence brought a tight smile from the Princess. That changed to scarcely controlled anger during their summer holiday on board a Greek tycoon’s yacht. She quietly simmered as she heard her husband holding forth to dinner-party guests about the virtues of mistresses. Her mood was scarcely helped when, later that evening, she heard him chatting on the telephone to Camilla. They meet socially on occasion but, there is no love lost between these two women locked into an eternal triangle of rivalry. Diana calls her rival “the rotweiller” while Camilla refers to the Princess as that “ridiculous creature”. At social engagements they are at pains to avoid each other. Diana has developed a technique in public of locating Camilla as quickly as possible and then, depending on her mood, she watches Charles when he looks in her direction or simply evades her gaze. “It is a morbid game,” says a friend. Days before the Salisbury Cathedral spire appeal concert Diana knew that Camilla was going. She vented her frustration in conversations with friends so that on the day of the event the Princess was able to watch the eye contact between her husband and Camilla with quiet amusement. Last December all those years of pent-up emotion came flooding out at a memorial service for Leonora Knatchbull, the six-year-old daughter of Lord and Lady Romsey, who tragically died of cancer. As Diana left the service, held at St James’s Palace, she was photographed in tears. She was weeping in sorrow but also in anger. Diana was upset that Camilla Parker Bowles who had only known the Romseys for a short time was also present at such an intimate family service. It was a point she made vigorously to her husband as they travelled back to Kensington Palace in their chauffeur-driven limousine. When they arrived at Kensington Palace the Princess felt so distressed that she ignored the staff Christmas party, which was then in full swing, and went to her sitting-room to recover her composure. Diplomatically, Peter Westmacott, the Wales’s deputy private secretary, sent her avuncular detective Ken Wharfe to help calm her.

Even after the funeral, the trips to Kensington Palace, and the consolation of friends, I still couldn’t accept Diana’s death. Then, Mr. Jeffrey Ling, the British consul general in New York, invited me to speak at the memorial service for Diana in Central Park the weekend after the funeral. I was grateful for the chance to speak about Diana in my own words and at my own pace. Pat and I rewrote my three-minute speech over and over. I practiced it several times the night before. On Sunday afternoon I visited backstage with Mr. Ling and Mayor Giuliani before the service began. The mayor was engaging and down to earth. Mr. Ling was gracious and reassuring, a true gentleman. We watched the North Meadow fill up with more than ten thousand people and were grateful to see such a big turnout on a hot, sunny day. As I sat on the stage, I grew more nervous by the minute. I delivered my heartfelt speech, trembling with emotion as I spoke about “the Diana we knew.” As I looked out at the crowded meadow, I pondered the incredible path I’d traveled, all because I’d needed a part-time nanny in London seventeen years ago. I’d enjoyed a remarkable friendship, attended the most famous ceremonies of my lifetime, dined and danced in palaces, visited with royalty--extraordinary experiences for me and my family. Now, tragically, it was all ending here, as I spoke from my heart in memory and praise of my friend Diana.

For our part, we thought we would be following her path from a distance in the press. Our friends called to tell us when the photo of Diana pushing Patrick in his stroller appeared in Newsweek, or when our name was mentioned in a news magazine or paper. We were generally mislabeled as the Robinsons. Everyone asked if we would be going to the wedding, and we would reply, “Us? No, of course not.” We truly never expected to hear from Diana again, so her January letter became especially precious to us. We were stunned when a letter from Diana on Buckingham Palace stationary arrived in late March. She was clearly happy, writing, “I am on a cloud.” She missed Patrick “dreadfully.” She hoped that we were all “settled down by now, including your cat too--.” Diana had never even seen our cat. We’d left him with my brother because England requires a six-month quarantine for cats and dogs. How did she ever remember we had one? Then, “I will be sending you an invitation to the wedding, naturally. . . .” The wedding . . . naturally . . . God bless her. Maybe we weren’t going to lose her after all. She even asked me to send a picture of Patrick to show to “her intended(!), since I’m always talking about him.” As for her engagement, she could never even have imagined it the year before. She closed with her typical and appealing modesty: “I do hope you don’t mind me writing to you but just had to let you know what was going on.” Mind? I was thrilled and touched and amazed by her fondness and thoughtfulness, as I have been every single time she has written to us and seen us. This was always to be the Diana we knew and loved—kind, affectionate, unpretentious. I wrote back write away and sent her the two photographs I’d taken of her holding Patrick in our living room the previous fall. After Diana received the photographs, she wrote back on March 31 to thank me and sent us their official engagement picture. She said I should throw the photograph away if it was of no use. She added, “You said some lovely things which I don’t feel I deserve . . . .” Surely, she knew from the previous year that we would be her devoted friends forever.

You have to go rescue Gabe before he does something foolish. Chetwin is here and they’re near to coming to blows over that stupid race. They’re in the card room.” “Oh, for God’s sake, I can’t believe Foxmoor invited that idiot.” He hurried off. As soon as Oliver disappeared into the house, Celia and Minerva tugged Maria inside, grinning. “Hurry, before he gets back.” They were met by Lord Gabriel and Lord Jarret, who strode up with several young men in tow. “Lord Gabriel!” Maria exclaimed. “Your brother-“ “Yes, I know. And while he’s gone…” He and Jarret introduced the other gentlemen to her. By the time Oliver returned, she’d promised dances to all of his brothers’ friends. Oliver’s frown deepened as he saw Gabe standing there, blithe as could be. He raised an eyebrow at his sister. “Was running me off in search of Chetwin your idea of a joke?” “I got confused, that’s all,” Celia said brightly. “We’ve been introducing Maria around while you were gone.” “Thank you for making her feel welcome,” he said, though he eyed the other gentlemen warily. Then he held out his arm to Maria. “Come, my dear, let me introduce you to our hosts, so we can dance.” “Sorry, old chap.” Gabe said, stepping between them, “but she’s already promised the first dance to me.” Oliver’s gaze swung to her, dark and accusing, “You didn’t.” She stared to feel guilty, then caught herself. What did she have to feel guilty about? He was the one who’d spent last night at a brothel. He was the one who’d been so caught up in his battle with his grandmother that he hadn’t even bothered to ask her for a dance. He’d just assumed that she would give him one, because he’d “paid” for her services. Well, a pox on him. Meeting his gaze steadily, she thrust out her chin. “You never mentioned it. I had no idea you wanted the first dance.” A black scowl formed on his brow. “Then I get the second dance.” “I’m afraid that one’s mine,” Jarret put in. “Indeed, I believe Miss Butterfield is engaged for every single dance. Isn’t that right, gentlemen?” A male swell of assent turned Oliver’s scowl into a glower. “The hell she is.” Mrs. Plumtree slapped his arm with her fan. “Really, Oliver, you must watch your language around young ladies. This is a respectable gathering.” “I don’t care. She’s my fi-“ He caught himself just in time. “Maria came with me. I deserve at least one dance.” “Then perhaps you should have asked for one before she became otherwise engaged,” Celia said with a mischievous smile. Gabe held out his arm to Maria. “Come, Miss Butterfield,” he said in an echo of his older brother’s words, “I’ll introduce you to our hosts.” As she took his arm, he grinned at Oliver. “You’d better start hoping you draw her name in the lottery for the supper waltz, old boy. Because that’s the only way you’re going to get to dance with her tonight.

What’ll it be?” Steve asked me, just days after our wedding. “Do we go on the honeymoon we’ve got planned, or do you want to go catch crocs?” My head was still spinning from the ceremony, the celebration, and the fact that I could now use the two words “my husband” and have them mean something real. The four months between February 2, 1992--the day Steve asked me to marry him--and our wedding day on June 4 had been a blur. Steve’s mother threw us an engagement party for Queensland friends and family, and I encountered a very common theme: “We never thought Steve would get married.” Everyone said it--relatives, old friends, and schoolmates. I’d smile and nod, but my inner response was, Well, we’ve got that in common. And something else: Wait until I get home and tell everybody I am moving to Australia. I knew what I’d have to explain. Being with Steve, running the zoo, and helping the crocs was exactly the right thing to do. I knew with all my heart and soul that this was the path I was meant to travel. My American friends--the best, closest ones--understood this perfectly. I trusted Steve with my life and loved him desperately. One of the first challenges was how to bring as many Australian friends and family as possible over to the United States for the wedding. None of us had a lot of money. Eleven people wound up making the trip from Australia, and we held the ceremony in the big Methodist church my grandmother attended. It was more than a wedding, it was saying good-bye to everyone I’d ever known. I invited everybody, even people who may not have been intimate friends. I even invited my dentist. The whole network of wildlife rehabilitators came too--four hundred people in all. The ceremony began at eight p.m., with coffee and cake afterward. I wore the same dress that my older sister Bonnie had worn at her wedding twenty-seven years earlier, and my sister Tricia wore at her wedding six years after that. The wedding cake had white frosting, but it was decorated with real flowers instead of icing ones. Steve had picked out a simple ring for me, a quarter carat, exactly what I wanted. He didn’t have a wedding ring. We were just going to borrow one for the service, but we couldn’t find anybody with fingers that were big enough. It turned out that my dad’s wedding ring fitted him, and that’s the one we used. Steve’s mother, Lyn, gave me a silk horseshoe to put around my wrist, a symbol of good luck. On our wedding day, June 4, 1992, it had been eight months since Steve and I first met. As the minister started reading the vows, I could see that Steve was nervous. His tuxedo looked like it was strangling him. For a man who was used to working in the tropics, he sure looked hot. The church was air-conditioned, but sweat drops formed on the ends of his fingers. Poor Steve, I thought. He’d never been up in front of such a big crowd before. “The scariest situation I’ve ever been in,” Steve would say later of the ceremony. This from a man who wrangled crocodiles! When the minister invited the groom to kiss the bride, I could feel all Steve’s energy, passion, and love. I realized without a doubt we were doing the right thing.

Users who continually find value in a product are more likely to tell their friends about it. Frequent usage creates more opportunities to encourage people to invite their friends, broadcast content, and share through word-of-mouth. Hooked users become brand evangelists — megaphones for your company, bringing in new users at little or no cost. Products with higher user engagement also have the potential to grow faster than their rivals.

4. Investment The last phase of the Hook Model is where the user does a bit of work. The investment phase increases the odds that the user will make another pass through the hook cycle in the future. The investment occurs when the user puts something into the product of service such as time, data, effort, social capital, or money. However, the investment phase isn’t about users opening up their wallets and moving on with their day. Rather, the investment implies an action that improves the service for the next go-around. Inviting friends, stating preferences, building virtual assets, and learning to use new features are all investments users make to improve their experience. These commitments can be leveraged to make the trigger more engaging, the action easier, and the reward more exciting with every pass through the hook cycle.

Nir elaborates in this post: TriggerThe trigger is the actuator of a behavior — the spark plug in the engine. Triggers come in two types: external and internal. Habit-forming technologies start by alerting users with external triggers like an email, a link on a web site, or the app icon on a phone. ActionAfter the trigger comes the intended action. Here, companies leverage two pulleys of human behavior – motivation and ability. This phase of the Hook draws upon the art and science of usability design to ensure that the user acts the way the designer intends. Variable RewardVariable schedules of reward are one of the most powerful tools that companies use to hook users. Research shows that levels of dopamine surge when the brain is expecting a reward. Introducing variability multiplies the effect, creating a frenzied hunting state, activating the parts associated with wanting and desire. Although classic examples include slot machines and lotteries, variable rewards are prevalent in habit-forming technologies as well. InvestmentThe last phase of the Hook is where the user is asked to do bit of work. The investment implies an action that improves the service for the next go-around. Inviting friends, stating preferences, building virtual assets, and learning to use new features are all commitments that improve the service for the user. These investments can be leveraged to make the trigger more engaging, the action easier, and the reward more exciting with every pass through the Hook. We’ve found this model (and the accompanying book) to be a great starting point for a customer acquisition and retention strategy.

ay cheese!" If you're like most women I know, you have at least one family and friends photo area in your home. My entire home is practically a photo gallery! Walls, tabletops, and my refrigerator door are all crowded with the faces of people I love. My husband, Bob, my children, grandchildren, new friends, old friends you name 'em and I've displayed 'em. How precious are these gatherings of faces to us. And it's so fitting, isn't it? Because our family and friends' pictures tell the story of their lives.. .and ours! Cherish your family and friends and those priceless moments. Hold them close. Seek out your friends and enjoy their company more often. Treasure their faces, their characteristics, their uniqueness. But also make room for new people.. .and add them to the gallery in your heart. ant to hold a spring garden party? It can be a birthday, a graduation, or just a celebration. For invitations, glue inexpensive packets of seeds to index cards and write in your party information. Pass them out or stick them in envelopes and mail them. Decorate a picnic table with an umbrella and bright floral sheets or vinyl cloths. Why not decorate the awnings and porch posts to make it even more festive? Flowers, flowers, and flowers everywhere create a bright, aromatic space. If you're limber and energetic or you're inviting kids, spread sheets on the ground for an authentic, old-fashioned picnic. A little red wagon or painted tub with a potted plant makes a fun off-to-the-side "centerpiece." Use a clean watering can for your lemonade pitcher. Engage your imagination and have fun entertaining.

Today was a day to face that very temptation. A family who had become dear friends had left the church with no warning or explanation. Not even good bye. When they were missing on that first Sunday, we didn’t realize that they had removed themselves from our church. We thought maybe someone was sick or an alarm clock didn’t go off or something simple. If it had been something serious, they would have called us, of course. We had done so much for them and with them. We rejoiced when they rejoiced, we cried when they cried, we prayed with them, we prayed for them, we loved them and felt as if they loved us in return. Of course, one Sunday turned to two, and then three. I mentioned to Michael that I had called and left a message. He told me that he had the same thought as well. He had left a message and sent a card. We felt sad as the realization sank in: they had left the church. People don’t know how to leave a church, and many pastors don’t take such a loss graciously. In all our determinations about pastoring, we had considered the possibility of losing members, but this family was the first. It was time for a lesson for all of us, and I felt the Lord tugging at my spirit. I was to take the first step. Sunday afternoon, Michael taking a nap, kids playing games in their room... Now was as good a time as any. I got into my car and headed toward their house. Suddenly nervous, I sat in the driveway for a minute at first. What was I doing here again? Pastor’s wives don’t do this. I had been around pastor’s wives all my life. Since sensing my call to full time ministry at eighteen, I had been paying close attention to them, and I had never seen one of them do this. I got my words together. I needed an eloquent prayer for such a moment as this one: “Lord, help” (okay, so it wasn’t eloquent). I remembered a verse in Jeremiah: “I, the LORD, search the heart, I test the mind, Even to give every man according to his ways, According to the fruit of his doings” (17:10). The Lord knew my heart, and He understood. In this situation, I knew that I had opened myself up to Him. In this situation, I knew that my heart was pure before Him. All of a sudden, my courage returned. I opened the car door and willed myself toward the front porch. As I walked up the driveway, I also thought about Paul’s warning which I had read earlier that morning: “they failed to reach their goal... because their minds were fixed on what they achieved instead of what they believed” (Romans 9:31-32). This family was not my achievement; they were the Lord’s creation. What I believed was that I had been right in opening my heart to them. What I believed was that Michael and I had been faithful to the Lord and that we had helped this family while they were in our flock. I had not failed to reach my goal thus far, and I felt determined not to fail now. This front porch was not unfamiliar to me. I had been here before on many occasions, with my husband and children. Happy times: dinners, cook-outs, birthdays, engagement announcements, births.... Sad times as well: teenaged child rebelling, financial struggles, hospital stays or even death .... We had been invited to share heartache and joy alike. No, “invited” is the wrong word. We were needed. We were family, and family comes together at such times. This afternoon, however, was different. I was standing on this familiar front porch for a reason that had never brought me here before: I came to say good bye. On this front porch, I knocked on the door. This family had been with us for years, and we had been with them. Remembering how this family had helped and blessed our congregation, I quietly smiled. Remembering how they had enriched our personal lives with their friendship and encouragement, I could feel the tears burning behind my eyes. We would miss them. Remembering all that we had done for them, I wondered how they could leave with no word or even warning. Just stopped coming. Just

When the first day of the festival had concluded, I retired early, my feet aching and my body exhausted. Narian had left us after our tour of the grounds, and I had not seen him since, although I hoped he would come to me now. He did, but even as he dropped through my window, he seemed distracted, far away inside his own head. I tried to engage him in conversation, but found it to be mostly one-sided, for I could not hold his interest. Though there was no smooth way to launch into the necessary topic, I did so anyway, doubtful that he was even listening. “Are you upset that your family was with us today?” I asked. “You invited them?” Judging by the tone of his voice, I had landed upon the correct issue. “Yes. It made sense to do so.” “I suppose,” he replied, but I knew the answer did not reflect his actual thoughts. “They’re old friends of my family, Narian. And I thought perhaps you would…enjoy seeing them again.” “Alera, they don’t want my company.” “Your mother does.” His eyes at last met mine. “I spoke to her about you. She would give up her husband to regain her son.” “I doubt that’s true,” he said with a short laugh. “It is,” I insisted, reaching out to run a hand through his hair. I might have changed her words a little, but I understood her intent. “She told me so herself. Believe it.” Narian stared at me, a flicker of hope on his face that quickly faded into his stoic façade. “Even if what you say is true,” he said at last, “in order to have a relationship with her, with my siblings, I need to have one with Koranis.” “You’re right,” I admitted, for my dinner at the Baron’s home had proven that to be the case. He sat on the bed beside me and drew one knee close to his chest. “Koranis doesn’t want to be anywhere near me, and to be honest, I have no interest in a relationship with him. I have no respect for him.” Narian read the sympathy in my eyes. “It’s all right, Alera. I don’t need a family.” “Maybe you don’t need one,” I said with a shrug, playing with the fabric of the quilt that lay between us. “But you deserve one.” I thought for a moment I had hit a nerve, but instead he made a joke out of it. “Just think--if I’d had Koranis as my father, I might have turned into him by now. I’d be brutish and pretentious, but at least my boastful garb would distract you from those flaws. Oh, and this hair you love? It would be gone.” I laughed at the ounce of truth in his statement, then fell silent, for some reason feeling sadder about his situation than he was.

Anaya and McAda were engaged in the same criminal venture. Fran Tilbury, the regular at the Jolly Roger Social Club, and a friend of McAda’s, told investigators that McAda had a pistol, but only for his own protection. “He’s a brilliant man,” added Tilbury, “a friendly person, easy to get along with.… In fact, he’s such a good person that people sometimes take advantage of him.” The procedure in the second careo was identical to that of the first. But this time, Scott McAda was invited to speak first. He had come prepared with a statement to read out. “I requested the first confrontation with Mr. Holbert three months ago because I wanted to ask the detainee, in person, why he named me in his ridiculous, concocted story of lies. Naively I thought that if I confronted him face-to-face he might tell me the truth. But Mr. Holbert stuck to his lies. […] “In my first careo in May, I asked the detainee many questions and he did not provide one answer to any of them. Today, I will not ask the detainee any questions, because it only feeds him information for new lies. The people who the detainee himself

The longer a person attends church, the fewer evangelistic discussions they engage in with family members and friends. Fewer presentations of the life-changing plan of salvation are given, and fewer invitations to events that attractively present the message of Christ are offered, mostly because Christ-followers have fewer friends outside the faith to whom to offer them.

Families, parents and society must evolve. As long as someone is not destructive, they have a right to experience Life their way, making choices they want, living on their terms. Their stumbling, falling, learning, discovering, experimenting…is part of their entitlement, it is part of their adventure. Now, should family or friends wish to share perspectives, they may do that but not with an expectation that the point of view will be considered, appreciated, accepted or implemented. So, by-invitation- only parenting is a simple principle to embrace! Of course, honest conversations always help…should everyone be willing to engage meaningfully.

Yet in Scripture we see Jesus accept invitations into women's homes, talk with women unaccompanied by a chaperone, travel with women, let a woman show affection for him, ask a woman for a drink and engage with her in theological discussion in the middle of the day where everyone could see, and trust women to be the first heralds of the gospel in an age when a woman's testimony was discounted. People whispered. They questioned his credibility because of his interactions with these women.

If you think engaging guys within your church beyond worship is challenging, try getting them to share their faith with other men outside the church and inviting a friend to visit. Even tougher. But what if you tell them they can recruit two prospects--who might be good athletes--that don't attend church to play on their sports team? Suddenly, they become extraordinary evangelists.

Gabrielle, my dear, my sweet, my flower, I, the King of Romance, have come for you!” The person who had appeared was wearing a white tuxedo that was different from everyone else’s plaid pants and blazer combination. He had bright blond hair that was slicked back. His eyes were blue. Gabrielle had seen him numerous times already, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember his name. The blond man walked up the stairs toward her, his hand extended in a grand gesture. “My love, you are the only one whose beauty can captivate me so. Please, allow me, the King of Love, the sweep you off your feet!” The blond knelt before Gabrielle and took her hand in his. He stared into her eyes. Why was he staring into her eyes so hard? It looked like he was trying to drill holes through her with his gaze. Creepy. Gabrielle responded to this man the same way she had done every time he appeared. “Who are you again?” The reaction around the room was instant. The whole class burst out laughing. Ryoko and Serah were the worst perpetrators, bent over the table and howling with laughter as they were, but even Kazekiri was snickering into her hand while trying to look stern. Gabrielle just smiled. She didn’t really know what was so funny. “W-why is it that you can never remember my name?” The blond cried out. “I’m Jameson de Truante, the most handsome man in this entire school. I am so handsome that people often call me the King of Good Looks.” “Hmm…” Gabrielle crossed her arms. That’s right. This boy was Jasmine’s older brother, wasn’t he? She remembered now. However… “I’m sorry, but you’re nowhere near as handsome as Alex.” “Hurk!” Jameson jerked backwards as though he’d been shot through the heart with something, though all this did was cause him to lose his balance. With a loud squawk that reminded her of an Angelisian parocetian (a lizard found on Angelisia that sounded like a parrot), he rolled down the stairs, bounced along the floor, and hit the stage with a harsh thud. And there he lay, insensate to the world around him. “Oh! That was rich!” Ryoko continued to laugh. “He keeps… keeps making passes at you… and you… you can’t even remember his name!! Bwa-ha-ha-ha!” “Serves the jerk right,” Serah added. Kazekiri sighed. “I normally would not approve of such behavior, but Jameson has always been a problem child, so I will let this slide once.” “Um, thank you?” Gabrielle said, not quite sure if she should be grateful or not. “Don’t worry,” Selene said upon seeing her confused look. “You might not understand right now, but you did a very good thing.” “Oh.” Gabrielle paused, and then beamed brightly at her friend. “Okay!” Class eventually settled down, though Jameson remained lying on the floor. Students chatted about this and that. Gabrielle engaged in her own conversation with her friends, discussing the possibility of going to sing karaoke this weekend. Of course, she invited Kazekiri to come as well, to which the young woman replied that she would think about it. Gabrielle hoped that meant she would come. It wasn’t long before the students were forced to settle down as their teacher came in and barked at them. Their homeroom teacher, a stern-looking man with neatly combed gray hair named Mr. Sanchez, took one look at Jameson, sighed, and then said, “Does anyone want to explain why Mr. Truante is lying unconscious on the floor?

To remember people’s names, create a New Contact—Saving someone’s name shortly after meeting will help you retain it longer. Whether it is on a piece of paper, your cell phone contacts, “friending” him on Facebook, or inviting him to join your LinkedIn network, adding the name to your contacts will make it easy to remember him for a long time into the future.

There’s a reason why the term used for viral growth is to “land and expand”—to build new networks as well as increasing the density of existing networks. By “landing,” viral growth can start new atomic networks, as a Dropbox invite from an ad agency to their client brings a new company into the collaboration network. Or, when a WhatsApp group chat invite brings onboard a new set of friends who hadn’t previously used the service. But then the product “expands”—increasing the density of a network as all the coworkers in an office ultimately join Dropbox. It’s for this reason that networks built through viral growth are healthier and more engaged than those that are launched in the typical “Big Bang” fashion, as Google+ did years back. Big Bang Launches can be great at landing, but often fail at expanding—and as we discussed, many networks with low density and low engagement will fail. The result of increasing density and engagement isn’t just easier new user acquisition, but also stronger Engagement and Economic network effects. That’s because these network effects are ultimately derived by the density and size of the network, and as more users join, they naturally become stronger.

The risk of social isolation and loneliness isn’t limited to pain and drug addiction—it affects us at a much deeper level. Research has shown that those who are lonely are not only less focused, productive, and engaged, but they also die younger. It seems that if we want to be effective, taking some time to connect with friends and coworkers isn’t a distraction so much as a productivity hack.

The first, indirect method of breaking the ice is to ask people for objective information or a subjective opinion. These can be very legitimate and important questions that would necessitate speaking to a stranger. It doesn’t necessarily matter that the person you are asking knows the answer; it’s just a way to begin a dialogue. For that matter, it doesn’t even matter that you don’t know the answer. Excuse me, do you know what time the speeches begin? Do you know where the closest Starbucks is? What did you think of the CEO’s speech? Do you like the food here? The first two examples are inquiring about objective information, while the latter two are asking for a subjective opinion. The second, indirect method of breaking the ice is to comment on something in the environment, context, or specific situation. It can be as simple as an observation. Imagine you are thinking out loud and prompting people to answer. Did you see that piece of art on the wall? What a crazy concept. The lighting in here is beautiful. I think it’s worth more than my house. This is an amazing DJ. All the rock ballads of the ’80s. Notice how these are all statements and not direct questions. You are inviting someone to comment on your statement instead of asking them to engage. If they don’t choose to engage, no harm no foul. You are not putting any pressure on them to respond, and you don’t necessarily need to expect an answer. The third and final indirect method of breaking the ice is to comment on a commonality you both share. For instance, why are you both at your friend Jack’s apartment? What business brings you both to this networking conference in Tallahassee? What stroke of misfortune brought you to the DMV this morning? So who do you know here? So how do you know Jack? Has Jack told you about the time he went skiing with his dog? The idea with these commonalities is that they are instant topics of conversation because there will be a clear answer behind them.

Express Empathy When Bill Clinton delivered his now-famous line “I feel your pain” in 1992, he did more than just clinch a victory over George H. W. Bush; he positioned himself as the guide in the American voters’ story. A guide expresses an understanding of the pain and frustration of their hero. In fact, many pundits believe Clinton locked up the election during a town hall debate in which Bush gave a rambling answer to a young woman when she asked what the national debt meant to the average American. Clinton countered Bush’s linear, cerebral answer by asking the woman if she knew anybody who’d lost their job. He asked whether it pained her that she had friends out of work, and when the woman said yes, he went on to explain how the national debt is tied to the well-being of every American, even her and her friends.5 That’s empathy. When we empathize with our customers’ dilemma, we create a bond of trust. People trust those who understand them, and they trust brands that understand them too. Oprah Winfrey, an undeniably successful guide to millions, once explained the three things every human being wants most are to be seen, heard, and understood. This is the essence of empathy. Empathetic statements start with words like, “We understand how it feels to . . .” or “Nobody should have to experience . . .” or “Like you, we are frustrated by . . .” or, in the case of one Toyota commercial inviting Toyota owners to engage their local Toyota service center, simply, “We care about your Toyota.” Expressing empathy isn’t difficult. Once we’ve identified our customers’ internal problems, we simply need to let them know we understand and would like to help them find a resolution. Scan your marketing material and make sure you’ve told your customers that you care. Customers won’t know you care until you tell them.

As David Skok, tech entrepreneur turned venture capitalist, points out, “The most important factor to increasing growth is . . . Viral Cycle Time.”7 Viral Cycle Time is the amount of time it takes a user to invite another user, and it can have a massive impact. “For example, after 20 days with a cycle time of two days, you will have 20,470 users,” Skok writes. “But if you halved that cycle time to one day, you would have over 20 million users! It is logical that it would be better to have more cycles occur, but it is less obvious just how much better.” Having a greater proportion of users daily returning to a service dramatically decreases Viral Cycle Time for two reasons: First, daily users initiate loops more often (think tagging a friend in a Facebook photo); second, more daily active users means more people to respond and react to each invitation. The cycle not only perpetuates the process—with higher and higher user engagement, it accelerates it.

He’s not my fiancé,” I said. “We’re just friends. I had no idea Larry would show up. He came without an invitation.” “Is our engagement one big game to you?” Zach’s words bulleted into me. “No, it isn’t.” I was overwhelmed by his accusation and felt myself breaking down from the inside out.

It didn’t take long for other clubs to follow them across the pond. In 2005, Fulham accepted an invitation from Major League Soccer to play in the league’s annual All-Star Game. Chelsea made the trip the next year, and West Ham took its turn in 2008. If the matches themselves weren’t always thrilling spectacles, there was at least evidence that English clubs were treating them more seriously. West Ham’s supporters lent a sheen of authenticity to the whole thing when they engaged in a brawl with fans of the Columbus Crew, an unlikely outbreak of violence at a so-called friendly game that ended only when police administered pepper spray to both sets of fans. “We wanted to show people what we’re about,” West Ham manager Alan Curbishley remarked after the game.

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I am saying you should take care of your core supporters who have the capacity to make a serious positive impact on your mission first. You should give them an unbelievable engagement experience every time they reach out to you or raise their hands showing interest. Roll out the red carpet for them and help them invite their friends to join in.