ZugHaus: Honorary 5th House at Hogwarts

The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.
– Professor McGonagall, Harry Potter & the Sorcerer’s Stone

I’m reading Harry Potter to the kids, and when we got to the Sorting Ceremony we had fun comparing what it was like living at the ZugHaus compared to one of the houses at Hogwarts.

We’re in our 9th year of living in community with others, and currently have a full house with five adults and two kids. I know that sounds crazy to some people. It sounds crazy to me, sometimes, especially when no other adult in this house replaces the toilet paper roll. But I’m very thankful for our big giant house and the crazy people who live in it.

Here’s why we think the ZugHaus would fit in at Hogwarts:

  • People who live at the ZugHaus become like family.
  • We host a weekly small group through our church community, which is kinda like a class.
  • Our bedrooms are all kinda small, like a dormitory.
  • We spend our free time in a big common room too!

What do you think? Should I get a wand?

Momageddon: Brought To You By the Number 17

I’m starting to like my daughter again. I know it’s not very parental to dislike your own children, nor is it probably very Christian-like, but there’s the truth of it.

Sometimes I don’t like my kid.

Sorry for that pause. Had to deal with my daughter.

What was I saying?

Oh right. I like my kid again.

Oops. Be right back.

Last week I–

*sigh*

Hang on.

Alrighty.

So, I’d like to point out how calm I am, despite all these interruptions. Did you notice that? Did you notice how my blood pressure didn’t spike? How I didn’t type in all caps or go out for a smoke?

Thank you, Lou Priolo.

The Heart of Anger was an amazing read for me. And Priolo’s not kidding when he says you should read the book twice – once for yourself and once for your kid. This is not just a book about dealing with an angry kid, it’s also a book about taking responsibility for your angry kid.

I realized quickly that I’ve developed some bad parenting habits that needed to change – habits that were provoking her to anger.

— Issue #1 —

I tend to “answer a fool according to his folly” (Proverbs 26:4). Though, I kinda knew this already. We all know this about me. When my kid sasses me, I tend to respond more like a 14 year old than a grownup, and we end up getting into a YES YOU DID/NO I DIDN’T/YES YOU DID situation.

Priolo describes in great detail how Jesus responds to all the fools in his life, and never once does he 1) justify himself to a fool, or 2) bark orders at a fool. What Jesus does do, is show a fool his own foolishness.

My child acts foolish often, and by responding “according to her folly,” I create a dysfunctional dynamic between us. Basically, I’ve trained her to only take me seriously when I’m yelling. But as soon as I quit answering “according to her folly,” I began to see immediate change in Ruthie.

In fact, the first time Bryan saw me in action he was all, “Whoa. When did you become the Bitch Whisperer?”

— Issue #2 —

I allow myself to get caught up into an emotional tangle of manipulation and guilt. Priolo starts off chapter nine by giving a test “to determine just how manipulative a child might be.”

A score of 90 or better means “you are probably quite adept at preventing manipulation by your child.” A score of 75-90 means you’re probably being manipulated “to a small degree.” A score below 75 means “it’s likely you’re being manipulated to a great extent.”

My total added up to 17.

Perhaps one might freak out by the number 17, but this was actually a great relief to me. In fact, I heaved great big ugly sobs of relief because I’M NOT FUCKING CRAZY.

Somehow the number 17 was like that lazer thing Luke Skywalker fired into the exhaust vent of the Death Star. With great precision, it found a very exacting path to my guilt and blew it to pieces.

Perspective

A friend asked me if Bryan would have scored the manipulation test differently.

(Do you have a friend who pokes you like this? I have many. They are annoying.)

To be honest, yes. He would have scored it a little differently because he’s less likely to be manipulated. But not all the questions were subjective, so we would have agreed on many answers.

What I loved about the book is that it doesn’t allow me as a parent to walk away blaming my kid for being angry and manipulative. The responsibility is mine to improve my parenting skills, and the responsibility is mine to mentor Ruthie through her anger responses.

It’s given us, to overcome.

The other day a friend called me. She was struggling to see light at the end of her tunnel of despair, and I hope I was able to encourage her.

We talked as I sat in my car in the Grocery Outlet parking lot because this is the reality of life in community: to go on a rescue mission between client calls and grocery shopping.

After we talked I went into the store. I don’t normally shut out the world in public. I like to smile and say hello to fellow pear squeezers. But on that day I needed to pray, to decompress, to go inward.

This song by Josh Garrels came into the mix as I rummaged through packs of chicken thighs, looking for the largest one. As I heard a particular lyric – I can’t remember which one – I gasped.

And I must have gasped out loud and not just in my head because the lady next to me turned quickly and looked concerned.

“Wow, these prices are great,” I said, and chuckled. Nothing to see here! All is well! Surely no one despairs in the meat department!

But when she turned away, I cried a little. And worshipped a little. And I can’t be sure, but I may have sung this out loud a little. I really hope I didn’t, though, because I’m no American Idol.

To be clear, my life is pretty great right now – I don’t have much to cry about. But Jesus wept with those who wept. And Job’s friends sat down and cried with him (before they turned into jerks, but we’ll ignore that part of the story for now). So if I want to cry and worship in the meat department on someone else’s behalf I think there’s plenty of Biblical argument in favor of that.

So, this song is for you, friend. And it’s for anyone who is struggling to see light at the end of despair. It’s not a battle cry that calls you to kick ass, but a meditation, a beckoning, an invitation to believe He will overcome.

It’s one of the reasons I follow Jesus. He’s a God who restores everything I lose, squander, or have taken from me.

p.s. Thank you, Bandcamp & Josh Garrels for letting me share your music with a file embed.

Rise

I hung my head, for the last time
In surrender and despair
Before I’m dead, I’ll take the last climb
Up the mountain, face my fears
The time has come, to make a choice
Use my voice for the love of every man
My minds made up, never again
Never again, will I turn round

Though they may surround me like lions
And crush me on all sides
I may fall, but I will rise
Not by my might, or my power, or by the strength of swords
Only through, your love, my lord
All we’ve lost, will be, restored

Take courage sons, for we must go under
The heart of darkness, and set them free
But don’t lose heart when you see the numbers
There’s no measure for, the faith we bring
It’s given us, to overcome
If we run, where the spirit calls us on
The greatest things, have yet to come
With the dawn, we will rise

Though they may surround us like lions
And crush us on all sides
we may fall, but we will rise
Not by my might, or my power, or by the strength of swords
Only through, your love, my lord
All we’ve lost, will be, restored

no more excuses

Snowing on my bad attitude.It’s snowing on my bad attitude.

Today I got up in a foul mood. I’d been awake since 3am, the kids weren’t getting out of bed in time to eat a decent breakfast, the internet was down, and it was snowing.

This meant that even though I was exhausted by 7am, I couldn’t stay home and work in my pajamas. And not only couldn’t I stay home and work in my pajamas, but it was snowing between me and the closest coffee shop.

Blargh.

Clearly these are irritating circumstances and not end-of-the-world events, yet I use excuses like this every day to justify my bitterness, anger, and foul moods.

So when this went down today, it didn’t take long before I grew tired of my own complaining tweets and thoughts, so I opened my Bible in hopes that it would shut down my attitude.

I read this:

But that is not the way you learned Christ!— assuming that you have heard about him and were taught in him, as the truth is in Jesus, to put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness. Ephesians 4:20-24

What caught my attention was the phrase, “be renewed in the spirit of your minds and put on the new self, created in the likeness of God…”

My old self is bitter and angry whenever I don’t get my way. Or maybe I should say my “old self,” because I don’t act very much like it’s old. Unless you consider 5 minutes ago as old. Then heck yeah, that was my old self.

BUT THAT IS NOT THE WAY YOU LEARNED CHRIST!

(If Paul had a blog he’d have used all caps there).

The gospel doesn’t allow for my shitty attitude to be justified by circumstances. This is bad news for people like me who embrace an Eeyore outlook on life, but I’m praying for a more… how shall I say?… overt renewing of my mind.

Beauty In the Breakdown (repost)

A few months ago I bought a Groupon for two nights at the Earthbox Motel on San Juan Island. The islands are a favorite summer destination for us so I’m excited to visit in the off season. Earthbox boasts the only indoor pool on the island, which is really what sold me on it since we may get rained out of everything else to do on the island.

(Ruthie just asked me if we could go swimming RIGHT WHEN WE GET THERE, so this pool may be the best $150 I spent in a long time.)

My goal for this weekend is to enjoy playing with my family and to be present in the moment. I’ve noticed that my comfort and contentment tend to hinge mostly on whether my own expectations are met (peace and quiet! solitude! let me read my book!), at the expense of everyone else’s enjoyment (rrraawwwrrrrr!).

If that sounds like the description of a teenager, I accept your rebuke.

This weekend I desire to play and be silly and explore and snuggle and say Yes more than I say No. I don’t do any of that often enough, which is probably why Bryan is such a rock star in this house. He does it all with his eyes closed and standing on one foot.

For inspiration, I looked to a favorite vacation post from February 2007. If you overlook the fact I’m STILL the same control freak I was five years ago (STAY IN MY HAPPY PLACE! DON’T OVERTHINK IT!), you’ll see I had a magical time being free with my kids.

This is my hope for the weekend. Also, I’d love to find my sense of humor again.

Finding Beauty In the Breakdown
February 2007
Original Post

Our trip to the San Jose area couldn’t have come at a better time. I’ve spent the last couple months reorganizing and reprioritizing my focus as a mother and household manager, trying to correct the part of my brain that sometimes finds it easier to focus on the latter and see the former as a distraction. I want to be present with my children. I want to enjoy them. My goal in spending ten days apart from the household duties of cleaning, laundry, and other such necessities was to develop good habits in spending time with my children.

I believe I did well in accomplishing what I set out to do. We played hide and seek. The tickle monster attacked. We went to parks and visited attractions. We left the hotel every day. We talked. And we didn’t watch t.v. Even in the midst of being away from the comforts of home, I only used the morning PBS programs to occupy Ruthie while I showered. We kept busy, and I remained focused on them until they were sleeping.

For me the pinnacle came on Monday when we visited Santa Cruz, about an hour from our hotel. We were nearly alone on a wide open beach, running around and digging in the sand with nothing but our fingers and some empty coffee cups. I stretched myself, and offered Ruthie some freedom from my control, and I watched her revel in a world with few boundaries. The beach was so empty, so expansive, and the ocean before us was so never-ending, that my need to control every situation, every moment, every move seemed insignificant. I realized how rigid I had become, how inflexible. But that morning I was able to let my children run, and I practiced trusting them, and I patiently corrected them when they wandered too far, and I became their biggest fan once again.

It was the silence, and the time, and the space provided by this trip that allowed me to grow as a parent in this way – to remember that my job is much more than just keeping them fed and clothed, but to also disciple and teach and model, and to sometimes play with them. I developed a taste for getting out, for exploring, for inspiring my children and giving them opportunities to run and jump and play – not that it couldn’t have happened in the absence of a vacation, amidst the everyday life I live, but it seems a trip to San Jose is how God chose to get through to me.

As we left the beach in Santa Cruz my kids immediately crashed into a coma, and I listened to the Garden State soundtrack. I love it for its mix. Many soundtracks have a schizophrenic feel to it, accommodating for love scenes and fight scenes and war scenes all within the same album. But the Garden State soundtrack has a vibe, and it’s a good vibe for a quiet ride home from the beach. When the song, Let Go, by Frou Frou began playing I immediately knew it was the soundtrack for the day at least, and maybe even for my overall struggle through anger and control.

You’ll know why when you hear it.

So, the video you are about to see is more than just a video scrapbook of a fun day. I had a vision for this project the moment I heard the song. It is a stone for me to carry, like the ones Much Afraid carried. It is a rock cairn to remember the path I have taken to get where I am now. It is an alter built to God, in praise of who he is, like the ones built by my spiritual forefathers in the desert.

I’m proud of this one. I hope you like it.

in hot pursuit

But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. (Ephesians 2:13 ESV)

Today I worked straight through lunch, and when I finally unplugged my headphones at 1:30 to see what Bryan was up to, he asked if I was ready to eat.

I was surprised to hear that he’d also skipped lunch because he was waiting to spend time with me.

At first I was irritated because I hadn’t planned on taking a break at all. The Task Master in me had things to get done and no time for fraternizing!

Then as I stood there at my kitchen island slicing an apple and considering my inconvenient situation, I saw a mental picture of myself running away from the people I love the most – my kids, Bryan, and even Jesus. My heart doesn’t pursue them with a never stopping, never giving up, unbreaking, always and forever love, but retreats into selfishness and bitterness.

But just like my diligent and loving husband pursues me over and over, Jesus continues to pursue my heart.

So I repented today.

I repented for always running away and making myself the most important person in the room. I expressed my gratitude for a husband’s love that clearly images the unconditional love of Jesus. And I said, “Help me! Help me! Help me!” because I have no idea how to live differently, but I know enough to trust that Jesus will change my heart.

Momageddon: Unbreakable Love

A few weeks ago I watched the Parenthood episode where Julia & Joel realize their daughter, Sydney, who is about the same age as Ruthie, is a sore loser.

When Sydney loses a game, she throws a major fit – screaming, flailing, and she even slaps Joel across the face.

Joel tosses her in her room where she continues to throw a fit for hours. Eventually Julia gets home and takes a shift sitting outside Sydney’s door with a bottle of wine and a laptop.

By the time Joel returns, Julia’s blathering on about failing as a parent, and Joel quips about this kid being a bust but they can start fresh with a new one.

Up to this point I wanted to marry Parenthood I loved it so much. FINALLY! I thought. SOMEONE WHO GETS ME.

And then…

Julia & Joel opened the door to Sydney’s bedroom and we see she is sprawled out in the middle of the floor, passed out in a room that was completely destroyed in her rage.

I nodded. Oh yes, I thought. I’ve been here before.

And then…

Like flipping a light switch, Julia & Joel get downright giddy over how adorable Sydney looks passed out, and they giggle about her lovingly as they try to get her to bed without waking her up.

*blink* *blink*

This is where the show totally lost me because I couldn’t fathom how they still liked her after all that.

And then it hit me that parents everywhere seemed to still like their kids despite this sort of behavior. How did they do that?

You see, no matter what, in spite of everything, God would love his children — with a Never Stopping, Never Giving Up, Unbreaking, Always and Forever Love.

And though they would forget him, and run from him, deep in their hearts, God’s children would miss him always, and long for him — lost children yearning for their home.

– from The Jesus Storybook Bible

I have a daughter who throws a fit like Sydney many times a week – sometimes nightly if the moon and stars are lined up just right – and I realized I scratch a mental notch into my heart each time she does, like a prisoner counting off the days he’s in jail.

All these notches adding up over time are hardening my heart toward her, and I find myself disconnecting from her relationally.

Ouch.

Must be awesome to get parented by me.

So I’ve pretty much been praying for a heart transformation since I don’t know what else to do. Ruthie’s a difficult kid, there’s no doubt about that. But so am I, and Jesus pursues me despite all my bitchiness.

I have a feeling my daughter will struggle with rage and rebellion into perpetuity (I sure do!). It’s my prayer that I can become an earthly example of the heavenly Father who pursues her with a Never Stopping, Never Giving Up, Unbreaking, Always and Forever Love.

Soundtrack: Passover

I’ve been around this song for more than 10 years. It was written by Luke Abrams, and I’m so happy my friend Joe Day recorded such a great studio version of it. I play this song loud and on repeat whenever I need a reminder that God is sovereign over both my ugliness and my pain.

It reminds me to worship, instead of sulk.

When I feel taken advantage of or offended, it reminds me to crush my god of victimhood. When I’m depressed or angry, it reminds me to crush my god of selfishness and control. When I want to justify my bitterness, it reminds me to give God the first of my pain.

Whether I sin or am sinned against, this song pretty much covers all the bases.

Passover

passover me
let your wrath pass over me
may grace stay with me
let your mercy be

take all of me
let me glorify you
for your glory
let it be manifest to all

take the first of thoughts
take the first of my time
take the throne of my heart

paint my doorway
with the blood of the lamb
a sacrifice
for all who dwell within

you gave your word
and took it to the grave
for your glory
let it me manifest to all

take the first of thought
take the first of my time
take the throne of my heart

crush all other gods
you alone sit on the throne
take me, take my all
father take me, take me home
on my, on my way, on my way back home
on my, on my wy on my way back

p.s. I’ve embedded an audio file at the top of this post, which may not come through in a reader.

Joy in the Tight Spots

The year after I dropped out of college I worked as a receptionist at a tech company and shared an apartment with my best friend. I can’t remember the exact circumstances of our financial situation, but I remember we were in a Tight Spot.

We were in danger of not making rent and didn’t have enough money for groceries.

Is was so bad that we ate an onion fried in butter for dinner one night, cashed in our penny jars at the bank, and grown-up friends left a few bags of groceries at our apartment door on more than one occasion.

We also tried to sell my friend’s tiny green Le Car by posting signs in the window that said, “Please buy this car or we’ll be living in it.”

In the years since then I’ve been in both plenty and want, but this month feels a little like those Glory Days of eating Ramen, fried onions, and selling stuff to pay the bills.

I’m not sure we’ll get enough client payments to make the mortgage, we decided the destination of our date night based on the amount of gas we had in our car, and the Porter I’m drinking now is courtesy of some Christmas money I’d stashed away for a rainy day.

And still, I think I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time.

Money is just money, and things are just things. We work hard and I’m sure the mortgage will get paid eventually… but even if it doesn’t, we’ll be okay.

I remember talking to my mom those many years ago, and she fretted. She was good at fretting. “What do I do??” she fretted. “Do I send you money??”

No, I said. We’ll be fine.

And even now as I think back on that season, I remember it as being fun. I’m sure it wasn’t at the time, but that’s the beauty of retrospect: we only remember the important things through a filter of maturity.

I don’t remember feeling stressed or scared, but I do remember watching Robert Downey Jr. in Chaplin for $1 at the King Cat theater, then walking all the way home to lower Queen Anne in the middle of the night because I didn’t have bus money.

So in this current season I attempt to trust God with things I can’t control, rest in the sovereignty of his provision, and enjoy the moments that bring me joy in the midst of our Tight Spot.

Momageddon: Jerks In Their Own Right.

Snow ball in the face

It snowed in the Seattle area last week, which made me a little nostalgic so I went back into my snowy photo archives. I found this photo of Thomas, just after Ruthie hit him with a snow clump.

He was 21 months old, Ruthie was 3 1/2.

It’s funny to remember them at this age, because even back then Ruthie went out of her way to push his buttons, and even back then Thomas was quick to retaliate.

This same scenario plays out a thousand times in our home – Ruthie’s sin of provoking, Thomas’ sin of executing his own justice. It happens so often that I get lazy and just start barking at them to leave each other alone.

I tend to take my kids’ flaws personally, as if I somehow caused them to be this way or otherwise failed as a parent. In my rational mind I know this isn’t true, but emotionally I carry the weight of their sin on my own shoulders.

When I remind myself this is just how they are because we all sin, I’m able to slow down and shepherd them through repentance.

But all those other times? The yelling.

Zugtastic Snowblast 2012

Snowman

It snowed last week. I lived in Minnesota for 18 years – a place where your nostrils stick together if you breathe too deeply, and your eyeballs freeze if you’re outside too long – so I’m not one of the crazies who gets all excited about the snow.

But about once or twice a year it taunts me.

Abandoned Street

The depth of my selfishness revealed itself during the snow week. I couldn’t even muster enough excitement for the sake of the children.

“Come play in the snow, mom!”

“No.”

Fortunately, we have a neighborhood full of play mates, so my presence was not requested often. But still. Would it have killed me?

(I think it might have.)

But I more than made up for it as the Queen of Hot Cocoa and Indoor Entertainment. Name your game consol, we’ve got it.

Flake(s)

My big win for the week was that I didn’t lose my mind. I was in the middle of writing a script with a deadline on Friday, and it was not at all convenient to have the kids home from school.

Historically when Things don’t go According to Plan, I end up going Momageddon on the kids. But thankfully I’m 40 now because that behavior is sooooooo 39.

Checking Up On Snowman
Thomas wanted to say goodnight to the snowman he built in the park.

INFP acronym: I Never Fucking Prepare for anything.

sunny day

I’m an INFP on the Meyers-Briggs type indicator, and there’s only 1% of us in the universe with that personality type.

(I just heard all the ISTJ’s of the world breathe a collective sigh of relief at the low probability of running into one of us).

I’m not really sure how we INFP’s get along in the world, what with our inability to stay on task and all. Bryan calls it my LOOK! A SHINY BALL! syndrome because I get so easily distracted. I think he’s spent the better part of our marriage with his head in his hands, or perhaps pulling his hair out or sticking a fork in his eye – he just doesn’t get me.

But I mean that in a good way.

jen

We are pretty much opposites of each other, which as we all know is what we found attractive about each other. He loved my passion and flare for drama, I loved that he had a plan and knew where he was going. But as a wise married sage once told me, that thing you love most about your spouse will be the thing to drive you crazy in the long run.

Boy howdy, was she right.

But I mean that in a good way.

IMG_1587.JPG

Bryan and I somehow make it work. Somehow we still Get Things Done together despite our…how shall I say?… drastically different approaches to Getting Things Done. Awhile back did some research on INFP’s, and I have to say we are quite entertaining on paper:

Exhibit A:

INFPs are quite disorganized. But when tasks at hand are important and best done in an organized way, INFPs strive to do so. Practicality is not a driving force for INFPs. Things that traditionally belong together may not be placed together because the INFP does not see it as necessary. They have trouble finishing what they start…. When they do finish a project, they may not consider it done ‘for good.’ …. Because they are able to visualize the finished product long before it is done, the actual completion is of less importance.
(INFP – The Dreamer)

This might explain why I still haven’t finished painting our bedroom. It might explain all the really cool (unfinished) craft projects on the shelf in our basement. It might explain the piles of important paperwork I leave lying around in random places in the house.

headshot

Exhibit B:

For example the “Perceivers” of the world are habitually late, have a strong tendency to “procrastinate”, and will be less attracted to the tried and true time management techniques recommended by the experts for all of us to use. Consequently if a “Perceiver” is working for a organization or a boss who values promptness, neatness, timely and structured decision making, more traditional methods of time management let us say, the “Perceiver” will have to work a bit harder.
(Personality Power for Everyday Living)

I particularly love the phrase, tried and true time management techniques recommended by the experts. It should be noted this couples well with the phrase from the previous paragraph, practicality is not a driving force for INFP’s.

OKAY, I GET IT. It’s true, I’m irrational and dramatic. I get there when I get there. I wake up at 3am in a panic, wondering if I paid That Bill. I make my husband, who “values promptness, neatness, and structured decision making,” just a teeny weeny bit crazy.

So yeah, I have to work a bit harder.

IMG_8116

Exhibit C:

When it comes to the mundane details of life maintenance, INFPs are typically completely unaware of such things. They might go for long periods without noticing a stain on the carpet…. (or the tiny pieces of streamer paper still stuck to the wall in the corners of their dining room).

INFPs do not like to deal with hard facts and logic. Their focus on their feelings and the Human Condition makes it difficult for them to deal with impersonal judgment. They don’t understand or believe in the validity of impersonal judgment, which makes them naturally rather ineffective at using it. Most INFPs will avoid impersonal analysis, although some have developed this ability and are able to be quite logical. Under stress, it’s not uncommon for INFPs to mis-use hard logic in the heat of anger, throwing out fact after (often inaccurate) fact in an emotional outburst.
INFP – The Idealist

I spewed my coffee all over myself when I read this one:When it comes to the mundane details of life maintenance, INFPs are typically completely unaware of such things. This explains my sporadic tooth brushing habits. And my inability to rely on a daily pill to keep me from getting pregnant.

I also love the line, INFP’s do not like to deal with hard facts and logic. I mean, it’s true, I don’t. But SAYING it like that makes me seem like such an AIR HEAD.

Seriously, though, it’s not like I’ll be on my death bed wishing I’d been more logical during my life, right?

bed head

All joking aside, I think a lot about these personality traits. What are my strengths? What is my Achilles heel?

I am the way God made me, and while I recognize the way I am is wrought with faults and weaknesses (as everyone is), I still have God’s fingerprint on me.

Psalm 139:13-15 (New International Version)

13 For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

15 My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth.

God was intentional in his creation of me. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Knit together with precision. Intricately woven.

jen2

While I know I can be frustrating in my aversion to finish what I’ve started, in my tendency toward the dramatic, in my easy distractability, I am also all of these things (taken from the already mentioned links):

INFPs, more than other iNtuitive Feeling types, are focused on making the world a better place for people.

INFPs are highly intuitive about people. The goal at the end of the path is always the same – the INFP is driven to help people and make the world a better place.

INFPs are good listeners and put people at ease. Although they may be reserved in expressing emotion, they have a very deep well of caring and are genuinely interested in understanding people…making the INFP a valued friend and confidante.

The INFP tends to want others to feel as if they belong and that everyone is pulling together.

For the INFP, love is a very deep commitment.

The INFP is deeply committed to their beliefs and values and to the circle of those around them—family, organizations, and those they feel need them, particularly those who cannot stand up for themselves.

INFPs are deeply loyal friends, spouses, parents, and life partners. [They] have an inner sense of joy and contentment that is infectious to those around them.

I originally wrote this post over a year ago after a fight with Bryan. That draft took on a different tone because I was mostly interested in justifying my disorganization and proving what a slave driver my jerk husband was. I literally spent hours researching my personality type, and as I collected each quote I was all, “SEE?? THIS IS JUST HOW I AM! SCREW YOU!”

Quite wisely, I didn’t publish that first draft. As a rule, I don’t publish anything to my blog out of anger or spite.

When I started writing this a year ago, I worshipped my personality type. Being an INFP was more important to me than loving my husband, and I was willing to crucify him with my words.

Today I don’t even remember what the fight was about, specifically, but this latest version makes me laugh out loud. Between my dementia and my disorganization, we laugh at a lot of things around here, mostly related to my shortcomings.

And that’s way more fun than arguing.

Momageddon: Not As Awesome As Being “The Talent.”

Studio time at Bad Animal.

Awhile ago I popped into Bad Animals studio to record a voice over track for one of my clients (Do you like how breezy I was when I said that? Like it happens all the time?). When I got there, the staff ushered me into a special parking spot and asked if I wanted my water chilled or at room temperature.

A few hours later I picked up my kids at the bus stop. Ruthie yelled at me (in public!) because (as usual!) homework comes before playing (gasp!), and Thomas got distracted 42 times while emptying the dishwasher.

How is it that my own children don’t understand what an expert I am, and that I’m to be deeply respected? After all, I’ve helped organizations worldwide communicate their story, yet MY OWN CHILDREN can’t seem to understand a word I’m saying.

For instance, when I say to Ruthie, “You can play with a friend after your homework is done,” she hears, “You will never see that friend again. Ever. Global warming will melt glaciers & flood the continent before you ever lay eyes on any friends ever again,” and responds accordingly with, “YOU’RE THE WORST MOM EVER!”

Our First Mother, Eve, was bent the same way.

God said Adam & Eve could eat from any tree in the garden except from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, but Eve heard differently. She heard, “BACK AWAY FROM THE TREE! DON’T EVEN TOUCH IT! IN FACT, AVERT YOUR EYES!”

It seems a small discrepancy, but how often do our minds exaggerate to justify what we want? Because surely if God (or mom!) is really that unreasonable, then I’m totally going to talk my way out of this one.

When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it (Genesis 3:6).

Eve believed a half-truth (which is worse than a lie!), surmised that God was a jerk, and ate the fruit anyway.

KINDA LIKE MY KID.

When my kids act out like Eve, it’s so tempting to love my job more than I love parenting (which is also a job, in case you missed that). On my worst day with the worst client ever (hardly ever happens!), I can shut the lid and quit working.

But oh lordy, this parenting thing is forever.