personality, epiphanies, and the church

I took the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator for the first time when I was about 10 years old. I’m not sure that researchers have studied the accuracy of the test for children but whatever the case, I remember getting ESFJ.

Fast-forward about ten years, and I took it for the second time. By this time, I knew more about the test itself and had some ideas about my personality; or at least, I knew that the first letter referred to either extraversion or introversion. By this age, I was aware that people were extremely important to me and I figured this meant that I was an extravert. Back to the MBTI, the second time I scored as an ENFP. This time, I read the description and felt it moderately described what I knew of my personality; it was not a perfect fit but it was pretty close.

Then this weekend happened.

It all started with this hobby of mine. You see, I like to understand people. I like to understand what makes people tick: why this person responds in this way and that person responds in that way. I enjoy reading different articles and books about personality psychology because it helps me better understand the people in my context. However, this weekend, my hobby took me to uncharted territory.

I found an article on Huffington Post about introversion. I have a number of friends who identify as introverts so I enjoy reading about introversion to help me understand their experience of life. Well, it was going fine and dandy until I had an epiphany. The person that the article was describing with these classic signs of introversion was uncomfortably similar to myself. 

Could I be an introvert?

So, I did what any good scientist would do and went back to the beginning of the article and read it closely analyzing each trait that was mentioned while frantically wracking my brain for experiences in my life to both prove and disprove each sign. I got to the end of the article and realized the shocking news: I mostly likely was an introvert.

How could I have lived my entire life without knowing this rather large detail about myself? How could I be a self-proclaimed people person and be an introvert? Surely, I was mistaken.

I spent the next 48 hours poring over different articles on introversion and extraversion, tentatively asking my very close friends for their opinions on the idea, and reflecting on past experiences in my life. At some point during that time, I decided to try something with the MBTI: I took it for the third time. This time I got INFP. Again, I read the description; only this time, it was like having someone hold up a mirror to my face. I was reading about myself!

Somewhere between seeing that mirror and having a couple friends exclaim that they had seen me as an introvert already that I accepted the truth: I was and am an introvert. This is both freeing and scary. I’m in uncharted territory. It’s like I’ve been painting the canvas of life with what I thought to be the color fire engine red only to discover that I’ve been painting with robin’s egg blue this whole time.

In one of my classes, Global Christian Heritage II, we have spent a lot of time talking about sacraments, worship style, and spiritual practices throughout our Christian history. We debate various methods of evangelism and the complications of imperial Christianity in other countries.

This week, as I live my life for the first time as a conscious introvert, I am struck by how much extraversion is rewarded in Christianity. We affirm the communal aspects of life so much that the private aspects of our faith are pushed to the margins. We push community groups; we invite people to meet-and-greet during worship services; we play music that is highly stimulating with drums and electric guitars; we honor the friendly, energetic volunteer in front of the congregation. These tasks all reward the extravert.

Where in our faith do we leave space for introverts? Where are the quiet times in our services? How are we supporting the diversity of personalities in our brothers and sisters?

My epiphany this weekend about my own introversion has raised a lot of questions that I hope to explore further as I grow in my understanding of my self. I also see a need for the Church regarding this. Maybe I can help create that space and recognition that introverts matter in the Church.

*This post was originally written for a reflection for a Practicum class. 

Overflow: When tears become words

I am raw and broken.
I am a boat tossed in the sea.
Waterlogged and splitting, falling
apart as fiber after fiber
comes undone.

I can't continue, not without losing
the essence of who I am.
What do I do?
Do I surrender to the process?
Do I let myself be unmade in the
hope of being remade in a more
complete and whole way?
What do I do when what I thought
was my purpose is
no longer my purpose?

We talk about our desire to be
real, authentic, intentional.
But what do we do when the realness
is too much, when the unpolished
and ugliness of real overwhelms our persons?

Real requires time spent with the
pain and unpleasant as well as the
joyous and thought-provoking.
Real see the dissonances within living.
But what do we do when Real gets
too real?

I want to pull the mask up.
I want to pull away from Real.
Because...
Real is hard.
Real is brokenness.
Real is raw.

insecurities and Truth

I am in a weird mood. What is going on with me? I hear C&S talking about having more kids and B&D about starting a family soon. What about me? I sometimes feel forgotten. I’m the single one. The single daughter who really isn’t independent. The one with the medical drama. The one who is good with taking care of the kids. The one who is wishy-washy. The one who is a freak. The one who talks big but has a small follow-through. That’s who my insecurities say I am. 

Yet I am not those things. I am not forgotten. I have a niece who calls me Dee and Dah and best friend. I am a responsible, independent daughter who has learned to ask for help when needed. I am the one with an incredible story of how God uses medical complications for good. I am like Jesus saying let the children come to me. I am open to change, I am not stuck in my ways. I am unique, unforgettable, irresistible, and irreplaceable. I talk through the confusion in my head and through it, I am able to take the baby steps towards real, long-term change. I am not my insecurities. I am not my fear. I am not enslaved by my past. I am forgiven and washed pure. I am the king’s daughter. I am pursued. I am a kingdom woman, I have a kingdom purpose. I am here because God has created me for a specific role that nobody else can fill. 

"God knit you together in your mother’s womb and created you in His very own image. He refers to you, as His masterpiece. The Creator’s greatest creation. Pause for a moment and let that sink in.
For those reasons alone, your value is intrinsic and irrevocable.
It doesn’t matter what you’ve done or what’s been done to you. It doesn’t matter how dark of a past you might have or how broken you may be.
Your value cannot be damaged, destroyed or even diminished.
So please, let the Truth scream louder than the lies."

~ Nick Martin

I am not my insecurity.

blogging and God's awesomeness, part 2

It has once again been a long time since I wrote. It's not that I don't want to write, because I do. I'll think of something that I want to share with you that happened that day and what it made me think about. But when I sit down to write, the words don't come. I fought this at first; its hard to have something that you want to share but not be able to share it.

So here I am, actually writing for the first time in over two months. In my last post, I realized that I had become so focused on my glory that I lost sight of God's glory with this blog. I have done a lot of soul searching since then, trying to figure out whether my time as a blogger was finished, learning what my talents are.

I honestly believe that this blog is my service for God right now. It's my way of sharing what I am learning about God and my relationship with him. My mission field per say. Just like missionaries need breaks to not become burnt out and lose their focus, I needed the same. There has been so much hard stuff going on in my life recently that I had burnt out and lost my focus.

I'm not sure when I'll write again. I know that this is not the end of this blog, in fact, I would say it is a beginning of sorts, a beginning of honest talks, with no BS allowed.

Abba, I want to keep my eyes on Jesus, through the easy times and the hard times. I know I've messed up. I looked away and just as Peter started sinking when he doubted his ability to walk in the steps of his Rabbi (walk on water), I started sinking. I'm grabbing your hand, Jesus, I need you. In your name I pray, Amen.

blogging and God's awesomeness, part 1

Today, I was strongly encouraged to blog, since I haven't blogged in a couple weeks, by one of my ADX sisters, I'll call her Aro. So here I am, attempting to write however its not going that well. Maybe its because I'm trying too hard to write something thought-provoking that will spur each of my readers to become better people. I'll be honest, thats my problem. I've been told by my friends that read my blog that some of my posts are powerful spiritually. And now whenever I think about writing, I wonder if its "good enough," will it have enough "spiritual-ness" to bring people closer to God? 

When I first started writing, this was a way for me to share what I was learning about God's awesomeness through my daily life. But now, I've become egotistical and way to absorbed in the awesomeness of myself. I've become a pharisee-blogger. I'm a pharisaical blogger.

I'm not sure where this leaves me and this blog. I think I need to spend some time evaluating why I'm writing, whether its to glorify me or God.

Abba, I ask that you be glorified in everything that I do whether it be going to class, meeting with friends, or writing on this blog. Let your love flow out of me onto everybody with whom I interact. Forgive me for ever thinking that I was ever the one touching hearts through my writing when really it has always been you working through me. Thank you for loving me even when I mess up. 

dreams and my savior

In my Italian class, we have to write one paper every week with the theme of the paper focusing on the vocab and grammar that we learned the past week. So far, they haven't been that difficult. Easy topics like, describing my relationship with a friend, or telling how a friend and I met. Quelli temi sono facili! (Those topics are easy!) 

However, this week's theme is the future so of course the topic for the paper is my dreams. (Not the sleeping type dreams either, more like the hopes and desires type of dreams.) The problem with this topic, I don't know what my hopes and dreams are anymore. In high school, if you had asked me what I wanted to do or what my dreams were, I knew; I had a plan. Sure, I didn't have all the details worked out but I had a general outline of what I wanted my future to look like. And then my senior year happened. Everything that I had thought I wanted, I discovered, in a matter of a few weeks, I didn't want anymore. In a few seconds, I had gone from knowing exactly what I wanted to not having a clue about the future. At the time, I remember feeling like I had just fallen overboard right smack dab in the center of the Pacific Ocean. I imagine it looking something like this: 

{

You open your eyes, slightly confused for a few seconds at where you are and why you woke up. And then you remember. You're on a the sundeck of the cruise-ship M.Y.L.I.P.O, somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. "Aaaa, life is good," you think happily and start to drift off back to dreamland. Suddenly, there's a piercing scream and then the splash of something or somebody hitting the water! You quickly jump up, race to the side of the ship and look down trying to find the source of the disturbance. Oh, there! You found it, whatever it is.

"Quick, help!" you shout, and hurriedly look around, searching for somebody that could help you. There are a handful of other people on the deck with you but each of them is completely absorbed in their activities, that nobody hears your shout. You whip back around to the rail, and scan the water, searching again.

There. This time, you get a better look and your eyes widen in recognition. Its one of the girls that was on the ship with you! You squint against the glare of the sun on the water and notice that she doesn't have a life-jacket on. At that very instant, you realize from the way she is flailing about that she has no clue how to swim; she's trying to stay afloat but its like there's an anchor attached to that is dragging her down. 

"Help!" you yell again and again. Surely there must be somebody on this ship that will come out of their self-absorbed state and hear you. 

Quickly, you grab a pair of binoculars lying on a chair close by and direct your eyes out onto the water, this time to her face. Suddenly, she looks directly at you and you gasp, you can see the panic and hopelessness in her eyes. She knows that she is going to drown.

}

I think at points in our life, we can all feel like the girl in the water; utterly hopeless in the outcome of our situation. So why, why do I write about this? I honestly have no idea. 

Lately I have been struggling with surrendering everything, including my hopes and dreams and aspirations, to God. It's a daily challenge for me, giving them to Him and then like a toddler, grabbing them back and crying "mine!" at Him. When somebody asks me what my dreams and aspirations are, how do I respond? Do I tell them all of my dreams even though I say that I have given them to God? Or do I tell them that my desire is to do what my God asks me to do; that my hope, my feelings of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen, is God; that the thing I want most in life is to follow, with total abandon, the One who saved me.

 

{

You're crying now, tears coursing down your cheeks and onto your shirt. 

"Why won't somebody come help?!" you scream silently in your head, angry at every other person on the ship. "If nobody will listen to me, I'll go make them listen to me," you say angrily and run to the nearest person and shake them forcefully, sure that they will realize the urgency of the situation.

Its only been a couple minutes but it feels like hours. After trying the people on this side of the deck, you stumble back to the railing, gasping for air as your eyes quickly sweep the water and stops on the girl's floundering form. She's tiring, you can see clearly how her arms and legs are moving slower and slower. "Come on," you whisper, "You can do it. Don't give up."

Wait! 

What was that? Your eyes pop open. You must be seeing things!

You rub your fists against your eyes and look again at the girl. There is someone else in the water with her! 

"Where did he come from?" you puzzle. 

You glance around the sundeck, hoping to find someone to come make sure you're not seeing things. Just as all the other times you looked for someone that isn't absorbed in themselves, nobody hears you. You turn back to the ocean and scan for the girl. 

The man has maneuvered the girl onto his back piggyback style, her hands clasped tightly around his neck, and is swimming with strong, quick strokes towards a small inflatable kayak about a little ways away. Your legs suddenly become like cooked spaghetti and you crumble to the deck, your hands still gripping the railing. Your tears have turned from tears of grief to tears of relief. You want to make sure that the girl and the man made it to the kayak but you when you try to turn your eyes on the water, you can't see through all of your tears.

Eventually, your crying gradually calms down enough so that when you wipe your eyes, you can see. You press your face against the rails, squinting against the glare on the water, and scan for the girl and the man. "They couldn't have gone that far, could they," you wonder. 

Just as you're about to give up on ever finding them, you see something in the distance that could be them. Once more, you bring the binoculars to your eyes, focusing on the speck you had found. Even with the binoculars, you couldn't make out much. The one thing you can tell is that it is the girl and the man. You smile widely for you just witnessed a rescue like none other. You turn from the railing and wander back to the lounge chair you had been sitting in before the rescue. Still thinking about all that happened, you sink down onto the chair and lean back to look up at the clear blue sky. You still aren't sure of everything that happened but there is one thing you are a hundred percent positive on. 

The man that rescued her from drowning, he is, without a doubt, her Savior.

}

 "Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress. He sent forth his word and healed them; he rescued them from the grave."   
               ~ Psalm 107:19-20

clay and trust

Did you ever read any of the Choose Your Own Adventure books? I used to love reading books like them. I think it was the fact that I could have do-overs. If I didn't like the ending, I could just go back in the story and redo it choosing something else that time. Wouldn't it be nice if we had something like that in real life. Like a machine that would let you go see what your life would have been like if you had chosen the other option. I guess that would just create a lot of depressed people wishing that they could go back and change their minds. Yet the second we start wishing for a redo, we're basically telling God that we don't trust him to work out all the kinks in our lives. That God can't take the not-so-great choices we've made and make something good out of it. If a potter can smooth out all the wrinkles and lumps and bumps and rough edges, and have it turn out as a masterpiece; and if God is considered the Master Potter, then I choose to trust that he can work it out. He can take my wrinkly, lumpy, rough edged life and make it into a masterpiece that reflects the Potter.

Jesus, I give you my life. Take it and make it new. I trust you to make it a masterpiece to glorify You, the Master Potter.

"So here's what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life - your sleeping, eating, going to work, and walking-around life - and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don't become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead fix your attention on God. You'll be changed from the inside out."  ~ Romans 12:1-2

pointers and life questions

In my programming class, we are talking about pointers. Without getting into too much detail, a pointer is exactly what it sounds like; an arrow pointing to something else. Now you might be thinking that I'm pretty weird and most definitely a nerd (which I kinda am) for talking about my programming class on my blog. But I really do have a point so just stay with me. We're going to talk a  little about programming.

If you were to ask a pointer what its value was, all it would do is point to what the variable that it's pointing to. For example, let's say that a pointer, we shall call it p, is pointing to a variable, called v. And let's also say that v = 25. If we were to ask p what its value was, it would say "whatever v is, that is what i am. My value is 25." In a way, a pointer is an anology for our relationship with Christ.

Every single person has asked the life questions: Why am I here?, What is my purpose?, Where do I belong?. Maybe those questions that don't seem to have an answer are like pointers. Maybe instead of trying to figure out the exact "value" of each question, we need to look to what the questions are pointing at: Jesus.

Why am I here? To point to Jesus.

What is my purpose? To become more like Jesus.

Where do I belong? In Jesus' arms.

2 Corinthians 3:18 says, "So all of us who have had that veil removed can see and reflect the glory of the Lord. And the Lord—who is the Spirit—makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image." Jesus, I want to reflect Your glory. Help me to be like a pointer and point to You in all that I do.