More is More

There are a lot of people out there that adhere to the saying--less is more.  I don't.  I say--more is more.  I say the more the merrier.  I say--I want more.

I want more during this season of Christmas.  I want more of everything.  I want more songs, more food, and more fun.  I want more lights and decorations.  I want more cookies and treats.  I want more.  Selfish?  I don't think so.  And this is why.

While sitting here this morning, praying, I was reminded of my deep relationship with Christ.  I want more of Him.  I want to breathe in His presence.  Fully.  Deeply.  More.

As I sing songs about His birth, I want more of that.  I want more worship.  I want to sing loudly for all the world to hear.  I want more Christmas songs, and I want to freely sing them with all my might.  Hands raised high to my God.  I want more church.  I want to think about Mary.  I want to envision her, sitting there holding the little baby that would save her very soul.  I want more of that.  Love.

As I purchase and wrap gifts for my children and grandchildren--I want more of them.  Grandchildren--not gifts.  Or maybe both!  I want to be surrounded by my family.  Laughing, eating, telling funny stories.  I want to give them the world.  I want to shower them with gifts, money--external material stuff.  Yep, stuff.  I want to give them more.  It makes me feel good.  It makes me smile.  It makes my heart happy to bring them joy.  I want more of that.  Joy.

I want more lights and decorations.  More ornaments and candles.  I want that feeling of soft and cozy while driving around at night peering into peoples windows.  I want to see great big Christmas trees.  I love looking at the creations of others.  The talent amazes me.  It gives me a feeling of peace.
I want more of that.  Peace.

And, I want to be with my friends.  During this time of year, I think about them non-stop.  Are they ok?  Are they happy?  What if they're not?  How can I help them?  So, I pray for them.  I want more of that.  Praying.  I want to spend quality time, thinking of them, praying for them and trying in some small way to minister to them.  I feel their loneliness and sorrow.  I want to tell them about a God who heals.  A God who cares.  A God who loves.  A heart that prays, and cares, and loves.  And hopes.  I want more of that.  Hope.

This time of year is about that little baby in a manger.  And, it is also about gift giving and prime rib eating.  It is about family and friends.  It is about church services and singing Christmas songs.  It is about all those things and I do not believe that there is one thing wrong with any of it.  Why?  Because more is more.

However, there is that still small voice--the voice of Jesus that whispers to my heart.  Don't forget about me.  And so I won't.  I won't forget about Him.  My Jesus.  He is whom I want more of.  More of Him.  Because more is more.  And I want more.

Yep, for me, more is more.  More of Him.  More of Jesus.  More of acting like Him.  More of living like Him.  More of loving like Him.  More of sharing my life--which is all about God-- with others.  More of this.  More.  Just more.  More of God.  He is my life.  My love.  My joy.  My peace.  My hope.  My everything.  He is God.  And I want more.

Thanksgiving Morning

My turkey is in the oven, my pies are baked, I've got the sides prepped and in the refrigerator.  And all is quiet in my house.

But, don't let the quiet fool you.  My daughter and her family are still sleeping upstairs.  She has teenagers!  It's early.  Pretty soon, they'll stumble down, one by one, and press the button for the coffee maker.  Pretty soon, breakfast will be had.  Pretty soon, my house will come to life.

And, then in just a few short hours, our sons and their families will come over.  There will be 15 of us today for dinner.  I can hardly believe it.  15.  6 adult children, 7 grandchildren.  Who would have thought?

When I think about my kids, their spouses, and their children, I get extremely teary-eyed.  I love my family.  I don't care how loud they get, what get's broken or spilled--I just want them here.  I want to be with them.  I want to laugh, take pictures, eat, and watch the banter between my grown children as they tell stories on each other--it is childhood tattle-telling at it's finest.  I yell out "you're grounded", which is of course what they want to hear, and they all laugh.

That to me is what family is all about.  Loving each other, being together, sharing our past and planning for our future.  Thanksgiving is one of those holidays where you're forced to stay corraled together.  First the parade, then the food, then the football, then the pie.  If you can walk after that, sometimes that's on the agenda also.  A walk.  For us, it depends on the weather--snow, most likely, but even that's fun.  We take family pictures, which many times ends up being our Christmas card photo.

Yes, I am a holiday groupie.  I love them.  So, while everyone is still sleeping, I'll write this quick blog, drink some coffee, and enjoy the silence.  I'll pray for my family, think of those that aren't here, and wait patiently for the house to wake and the others to join us.  It's going to be a fantastic day.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Me Too

There is a new movement happening--a movement against sexual harassment, against predators, and against molesters.  It's called Me Too.  It's a movement to call out those who generally want to make women feel less-than about themselves.  It's a movement to say--stop this now!

Some might do an eye-roll right about now.  Not all, but some.  And not all men either.  Many of those eye-rolls would come from women.  Those who evidently have not been sexually harassed or abused.  That's a little hard for me to believe though.  Not ever?  You've never had anyone whistle at you, or made catcalls as you've walked down the street minding your own business?  Never?  You've never felt vulnerable at night--walking your dog, or making a late night run to a convenience market? Well, I have.  To all of the above and then some.

I'll share some of my stories now--after all these years.  I'll tell you about some of those creepy uncle/family friend situations since most are deceased now.  Yep, I'm about to spill the beans.  I'll water it down some.  However, please know this--it wasn't watered down when it happened.  It was as scary as it comes.  I'm still afraid.  It's hard being female.  

The first time it happened to me, I was right around 6 years old.  I'm sorry that I don't remember the exact date or time, I was just a little girl, you see.  Only 6 years old.
My family was visiting my grandparents for the holidays.  Because it was a small home, I was sleeping on the sofa.  I remember waking up during the night and an uncle was sitting on the sofa right by my side--he was just staring down at me.  I woke with a start, and what I remember is this--he gave me the scariest smile that I had ever seen.  I began to yell for my mom as loud as I could.  My little 6-year-old voice screaming out--MOMMY! 
He just sat there leering at me, and he then slowly got up from the sofa and walked back into his bedroom.  My mom came in and when I told her what had happened, she said that it was probably a bad dream.  It wasn't.  But, I'll leave that there.  I wish she had believed me.

Over the span of my teenage years, many, and I mean many rude comments were made about my body, etc.  I eventually learned over the years to ignore it.  I was smart though, I always walked with friends (safety in numbers) and I tried to look "tough".  I wanted to present as one who could take care of herself.  All 5 feet of me.  I did not gain another 4 inches in height until I was almost a senior in high school.  So, I was small but well built, which was sadly a true detriment.  I wore a lot of sweaters to cover my body, even during those hot California summers.  I hated my body.  Hated it.

When I became an adult, I remember vividly the first few jobs that I applied for and the looks from the hiring bosses.  Uggggg.  
As I began working--out in the real world, my goal was for them to leave me alone.  Let me do my job and let me enjoy my life without the stupid and unjustified sexual comments.  That's all I wanted--to do my job.  However, with men being men (great sarcasm here) and oh so much "locker room talk"--you know how that goes.  Working in a man's world wasn't as easy as I thought it would be.

There was one set of doctors I worked for in particular.  One was absolutely fantastic to work with, a true gentleman, and the other--not so much.  He came up behind me one day, asking a question and when I turned around to answer him, he had a plastic penis sticking out on the end of his pen.  He thought my startled look was hilarious and went around the office telling everyone all about his "funny joke".  Did he even care about the way he made me feel?   Not even a little.  I do remember never ever wanting to be left alone in a room with him.  He made me feel unsafe.  I just instinctively knew that if he could--he would.  Fill in the blank.  I endured several years of working in that office with him.  Always making sure that I was never alone in a room.  Always looking over my shoulder, always wondering about my safety.

One situation that I will share now is one that truly broke my heart.  It happened right after I had my little baby daughter.  My father's best friend and business partner, along with his wife, wanted to come over and see the new baby as well as our new home.  I was excited to entertain them and to show off my new house and baby.  I had known them for years.  In fact, I used to babysit their 4 children when I was a teenager.  We had a history, a relationship, one that I should have been able to rely on and trust.  It was shattered that day though.  As I went into the kitchen to prepare the coffee, my dad's friend followed me, he came up behind me and began to try and wrap his arms around my waist.  He leaned in and started to tell me how I made him feel, and he tried to kiss me.  I remember shoving him away and telling him that I would tell my dad if he didn't leave me alone.  It was the first thing that popped into my mind.  I'll tell my dad. He laughed and said--I was just joking around.
Just joking around?  Are you kidding me?  That's what I wanted to say, but being young and naive, I ran out of the kitchen and acted as though nothing had happened.  I never told anyone.  Why?  Because I was so ashamed and embarrassed.  I thought maybe I had done something to provoke him. It had to be me, right?  Maybe I was dressed provocatively.  Maybe I walked just a little too sexy.  Maybe I...you fill in the blank.  So many thoughts with me rebuking myself.  It had to be my fault, right?  Needless to say, I never ever saw him again.  I never told my parents what he had done, and I never told my husband.  I didn't want to make a big deal out of it and I didn't want to stir up any trouble.  I didn't want to ruin relationships that were decades old.  However, in keeping that little secret, my heart was damaged.  Trust was shattered that day.  Memories ruined--and fear and distrust began to grow in my heart.

I think that might just be the key to these feelings of mine regarding sexual harassment.  Shame, fear, embarrassment--always assuming that the blame was mine and not wanting to cause problems for anyone.  Who would believe me anyway?

I have so many more stories just like these--years and years of them.  One happened at my church.  A so-called "friend" tried to block me from leaving a room and made advances towards me.  At another friend's home. I was trapped in a room with someone who made gross sexual comments to me.  I was so embarrassed!  There were 2 different times when men exposed themselves to me.  Once when I was a child and once as an adult.  So many stories.  I put up with so much because I was afraid.  I was humiliated.  Fear totally crippled me.  It really did.

In sharing all these stories, I do realize that I have much to be thankful for.  I was never sexually molested or raped.  I am so very thankful for that.  But, harassed?  Oh yes, so many times!  And I never told a soul.  Why is that?  What was I afraid of?  Why didn't I shout it from the rooftops right when it happened?   What was it that kept me from speaking up?  Why was I so afraid?

This is our society even today.  This is how it is in America.  This is what we let men get away with. So I say, let's do something to change that.  Let's teach our daughters and granddaughters to speak up. Let's believe them.  Let's stop this allowance of sexual harassment now.  Let's tell our stories and get the word out and let's start protecting ourselves and our children.  Why?  Because it's not OK.  No one has the right to do or say the things that were done to me.  No matter how I looked, no matter what I did.  No one had that right.  It sickens me now.  When I think of what I should have said or done at the time--when I think of the missed opportunities to shut those men down, and put them in their place!  I feel like I blew it big time.  I should have said something.  I should have stood up for myself.  There I go again--assuming blame.   It wasn't me!  It was them!  Shame on them!

No more.  Let's say Me Too!  And let's share our stories and be there for each other.  I will believe you.  Will you believe me?  I will protect you?  Will you protect me?  I sure hope so.

This Doesn't Make Sense

I'm going to get a little preachy here.  I can feel it.  I can tell.  So, if you would rather not read this--don't.  But, I need to write it.  It's how I process.  It how my brain works.  Pray.  Think.  Write.

I woke up Sunday morning just like the rest of America to an alarming story unfolding in our nation.  A horrific story.  And it didn't make sense to me.  Why, who, how?   Questions we all asked--of ourselves and each other.  We had a need, an internal desire to figure it out.  To rationalize it, and then somehow, I guess, we thought it would make it all better.  At least I did that.  It's my nature.  It's in my DNA to try and rectify and grapple with the goings on of this world around me.

The first day, I listened.  To the news, to other's opinions, to my own thoughts.  I empathized with the hurting--with the parents who lost children, and husbands who lost wives, etc.  I had tears in my eyes, and I shook my head in disbelief.  How could this happen?  We all wanted to know.  How did this guy get into a hotel with so many weapons with the purpose of killing so many people?  And, what was his motivation?  My thoughts went to this conclusion--a psychotic break with reality, a mentally disturbed person--something had triggered his decision to do what he did.

The second day, as I processed the entire story as it was unfolding--I prayed.  I asked God to show me why a person would do such a thing.  It just didn't make sense to me!  And, as my mind usually does--my thoughts wandered.  I thought of all the other things in this world that don't make sense to me.  Divorce, cheating, lying, stealing, human trafficking, death, disease, drug use, along with hurricanes, earthquakes, and many other natural disasters--you name it, and most likely I thought about it.

As I mulled over these items--one thing stood out.  They did not make sense.  I could not reconcile them.  They confused me.  They brought me distress.  I thought of the deaths of my nephews.  Why?  Why did they have to die?  I thought of friends of mine who had been cheated on.  Why?  Why did they have to go through that?  I ended up having so many whys in my prayer that I just had to take a breath, settle down, and then listen.  I had to listen to what God was speaking to my heart.

So, this morning as I was driving to meet my friends for our regular Tuesday morning Bible Study--as I was singing and worshiping God in my car--it came to me.  Nothing in this world makes sense.  Nothing but God.  He makes sense.  He alone, He is what I understand.  He is the only constant steady entity in my life.  The only sure thing.  He's the only person who will never leave me.  He'll never divorce me, cheat on me, die on me.  He's the only person whom I can trust.  With my whole heart.  He is it.  He makes sense.

There I was driving, trying not to cry (or crash my car) and trying to act as normal as possible when I met with my friends this morning.  I was a little more quiet than usual.  I was still processing the fact that God made sense.  I was still "having a moment" with God and probably should have just kept on driving, but I love being with my friends, so I got out of my car and went inside.  However, all I could think about was that God made sense.  And honestly--how do I convey that?  It sounds too simple.  And it is.  But, it's not.

As a human, as a person, I see things through very dim lighting.  Every once in awhile though, God turns that light on real bright.  Just for me.  Just when I need it.  Just when I think I'm going down for the count.  Just when I'm almost to the point of losing all hope--BAM, there goes the light.  He turns it on and He drops a beautiful nugget of truth right into my heart.  He said this to me--I make sense.  And that's all I needed.  I just needed to hear from Him.  To hear His voice.  His still small voice, that brings me comfort and peace.

Just to know that He is God.  That He's still there.  That He's all I need.  And that He makes sense.

So, yeah, I'm a little preachy today.  I'm a little overwhelmed by the mighty goodness and power of God.  As humans continue to do things that don't make a lick of sense to me--God steps in, and God makes sense.

Today, I will continue to pray.  I will read my Bible and study.  I will get know God even better.  And, I will continue to say--God makes sense.  He has this all under control.  God is sovereign, and He makes sense.  And I am so very thankful.

A Club of Clubs

I have just now returned home from another fun-filled day.  A day with new friends, a day of laughing, talking, eating and oh so much more.  A day out with friends.

I can't believe I did it, but I did.  I didn't want to at first, but a friend of mine (who I had been in a book club with years ago) convinced me.  Just come to one event, she said.  Just a luncheon.  And see if you like it.   I didn't want to like it.  Not really.  It wasn't my cup of tea.  I had other things I was interested in.  And they weren't club type things.  No, no.  They were much more serious and important, or so I thought. Churchy things, important.  You know.  Or maybe you don't.

You see, I've always had a heart for ministry.  I loved going to (and still do) Bible studies, I loved being involved in church activities, going to coffee with church friends, and shopping and lunches with--you guessed it, church friends.  So, to go to a club luncheon that was not affiliated with my church, well, that was a little outside of my comfort zone.  I'm just being honest here.  It's important for you to understand where I'm coming from.  However, I did it for her.  I do confess that I didn't agree to go with her to be nice, it was was more like, I'll go to get her off my back  That sounds harsh, I know.  But seriously, she would not let up.  Come with me, you'll like it, the people are awesome, they are so nice...OK, OK, I'll go!

And so I went.  I didn't know what to expect.  The luncheon was at a local country club with a little over 50 women.  When I walked in, I really had my doubts--what were they going to be like?  I had no idea.  I was extremely nervous.  A little sweaty.  As an extroverted introvert, I find that being placed in a situation like this is not very comfortable for me.  I am an INFJ, remember?  However, I was determined to see this through--for my friend.  I would go to this one lunch, tell her it wasn't for me and then I'd be off the hook forever!  Great plan.  Great idea.  One and done!

I really didn't plan to like it.  I didn't want to like these ladies.  I didn't want them to be so nice!  Stop talking to me, stop making me feel welcome, stop having so many things in common with me--you're making me want to like you!   And while I didn't say these things out loud, I sure thought them.  What a great group of women.  So friendly, so nice, so inclusive.  I fell in love--lunch at first sight.

I had a decision to make.  To join or not to join.  Honestly, I didn't have to think about it long at all.  I wanted to join.  See, I told you--my friend said.  I told you you'd like it.  Shut up!!!!!  You're right.  Where do I sign up? 

So, I joined the club.  And it isn't just any old club.  It's huge.  With over 100 women from all walks of life, all wanting and needing to be with others like them.  Some are retired, some empty nesters, some expats, some just plain old needing friends.  We have so much in common--whether it's kids, grandkids, or travel--we come from all over the country and the world.  We are friendly, loving, kind, inclusive and non-judgmental.  Kind of like a church group.  I'm saying that a little tongue in cheek.  A few of the gals are Christians like me, a few are atheists, and a few are quiet about stuff like that.  Me on the other hand, well, I am not so quiet about my faith.  I live it out (or try to) as best I can.  I am not the preachy type, I don't get in their faces, but I don't hide it either, that's for sure.  I am hoping that through my deeds, words and actions--they see me for who I really am.  Someone who loves her God, someone who is kind, loving, and caring.  Someone they can come to at any time for prayer.  A friend. A true friend.

I've been a part of this club now for 2 years.  I am extremely involved.  I hold a position on the board.
I probably see these women 2-3 times per week.  Our club offers right around 20 activities to get involved in.  I bet I do at least half of them.  My faves are--anything to do with food, which means if you're going to lunch, I'm in!  I have also mastered the game of canasta, and now I am addicted.  And I am once again in a book club, which is great for me since I am an avid reader.  I talked one of the gals into teaching a bunch of us to knit--we now have a knitting club.  We go to dinners, happy hours, movies, plays, and lunches.  We hike, golf, and we play a lot of games, with Canasta being my favorite.  I know, I've already said that.  It is my favorite!

Honestly, if someone had told me just a few years ago that I would be involved with a club like this I would have bet against them.  I had zero interest.  It's funny though how God knows just what I need.  You see--I need friends.  I need a ministry.  I need to be needed.  And I need to be used by God.  I need people.  And He put me in just the right place.  A great big club, with lots of little clubs, where I meet new and interesting people all the time.  He shows me who to pray for.  He gives me just the right words to say, at just the right time.  And He also helps me keep my mouth shut and just listen.  He helps me to be a good, authentic, and genuine friend--who loves, cares and empathizes with her friends.  He has made me a better person via this club.  Do I still attend a Bible study?  Yes, I do, and I love those gals also.  However, God has opened my eyes to a whole new group of friends.  It's a new ministry area for me.  He's teaching me so many things about what it is to truly live out my faith, live out my walk, and also entire new areas of prayer.  What an amazing experience this has been for me!

I thank my friend Jean for inviting me.  I can say truthfully that these last 2 years have been a Godsend.  The ladies are wonderful, I haven't had this much fun in years.  And thanks to them I have put on a ton of weight from all the many lunches we go to.  That will have to change though!  Ugh, I can't even fit into my clothes!

All in all, I have learned many things about myself and about life.  I've learned that God wants me to be flexible.  He wants me to change, and to grow.  He wants me to be able to be open to new people, new places, and new experiences.  And He does not want me to put Him in a box and say--this is how God works.  He is teaching me to be a better friend, a better listener, and a better pray-er.  He is teaching me.  Period.  Now it's up to me to be open to Him--to listen, learn, and to be obedient.  I am very thankful for His patience with me.  For His unfailing love, and for His kindness.  I am thankful for the many friends that He has placed in my life.  I am thankful for this club.  I hope to be a part of it for years to come.  I hope to be used by God to minister to others.  I hope and pray that I can always be there for my new friends as well as old.

Oh, you club of clubs, you New Clevelanders you, I want to wrap my arms around you and give you a big ol' hug.  I'll see you in a couple of hours--for lunch.  Oh my goodness!  As I try to zip up my jeans...wait for me!

Sunday School

I grew up going to Sunday school.  Since the age of 6--I went almost every Sunday morning.  I sat in a classroom learning about God, Jesus, the Bible and all the many characters that were written about in that great big book.  I heard glorious stories and I loved every minute of it.  We sang songs about Jesus, colored pictures, played games and ate graham crackers--it was awesome.

My favorite song as a child was this one--
Jesus loves the little children
all the children of the world
read and yellow, black and white
they are precious in His sight
Jesus loves the children of the world

I believed it too.  I believed the words in that song.  He did love all the children of the world.  And soon, God became my world.  All my thoughts, feelings, emotions, and beliefs--were run by Him.   Eventually, as I grew older and I began to read the Bible on my own, I again learned about His love for me and the whole wide world.  He was my everything.  And He still is.

My favorite parts of the Bible while growing up were the 10 commandments and the beatitudes. There weren't words written that held more meaning for me.  Reading the very words spoken by Christ held such significance.  They were and still are the words that I live by, or at least I try my very best to do so.

So, here I was in Sunday School--singing songs about God, reading words inspired by God and learning what it meant to be a real true born again, saved by grace follower of Christ.  I had such child like faith--which is just what Jesus wanted.  I was a good little girl.

As an adult in my 60's I now contemplate the words I sang and read and I wonder--do others who say they believe, really believe?  Do they believe that Jesus loves ALL the little children of the world or just the ones that meet certain criteria?  I'm just wondering.  And the 10 commandments--do they believe those?  ALL of them?   Don't kill, steal, covet or commit adultery?  Love your enemies, your neighbors etc?  I wonder.  Do they believe what Jesus taught?

I also question myself.  Am I a peacemaker?  Do I love my neighbor as myself?  How about all those little children of the world?  What am I doing about that?  The older I get, the more I realize that I am not living up to the teachings that I was taught as a child.  I believe that I need to do an overhaul in my spiritual life.  I need to reread the above-mentioned items and maybe repent--just a little bit.  Or maybe even more than that.  Yes, that is exactly what I need to do.  Especially now.  Why now?  Because I find myself feeling angry, depressed, despondent and overwhelmed in the world I now live in.  I really don't want to be here anymore.

I want to live in a world where people are kind, tolerant, loving, helpful, caring, giving--not selfish, hateful and stingy.  I want to live in a world where the Beatitudes and the commandments are real words to live by.  I guess I want rainbows and sunshine.  Who doesn't?

Right now I am in a place where I just want to be 6 years old again--singing songs about Jesus, hearing stories about Daniel and feeling safe.  Maybe that's it.  I just want to feel safe again.  I want to sit on His lap, knowing that no matter what color my skin is, no matter which country I was born in, no matter who my parents are--He loves me anyway.  And I love Him for that very reason.

Yep, I miss Sunday School.  I miss the good ol' days--the days of my innocence and youth.  I miss the days of not understanding discrimination, violence, hatred, and bigotry.  I want to be a kid again.  And I want to go back to Sunday School.

Card Days

I tried really hard to finish writing this back in May.  I wrote most of it and then couldn't write any longer.  I had to close my laptop, put it away and think of other things.  It was just too hard.  I think that grief is like that.  It comes in waves--some knocking me down, others letting me get back up, slowly.  It's been a weird type of year--for many reasons.  However, I do believe that my grief over my father's death has been delayed.  I am just now dealing with it.

It was my dad's birthday in May.  He would have been 86.  That's how old he would have been.  86.  He was born on Cinco de Mayo.  I always laughed a little by this coincidence because he actually looked as though he could have been of Mexican descent.  He wasn't though.  Nope, just part Native American and Irish, with a little Scottish thrown in.

It was too strange for me to think of my father's death on his birthday.  He passed away last July, he was 85 years old.  And even though it was "for the best" it was still hard.  And even though we had a different type of relationship, it was still hard.  I am trying to wrap my brain around this.  Why was it so hard?  Why wasn't I able to write about it?  Why couldn't I finish the blog and post it?  We weren't that close, we never talked, we rarely saw each other, and yet, his death has still taken its toll on me.

Even as Father's Day approached, I found that I could not look at the cards without crying, so I would leave the stores and think--I'll do it later when I'm not so emotional.  That day never came.   Looking at birthday cards and Father's Day cards is just too hard right now.

My father had 3 daughters, 9 grandchildren, and 8 great grandchildren at the time of his death.  It has always bothered me that he never met 5 of my 7 grandchildren.  I guess I could be a little more positive here and say, well, at least he met 2 of them.  However, I'm not in the mood to be positive right now.  So, I'm going to stick with the fact that he never met the other 5.  Yep, I'm going to wallow in a bit of self-pity.  Just because I feel like it.

My little family moved away from California almost 18 years ago.  It was before my children married and began families of their own.  And though my husband and I visit often, as does our daughter and her family, my sons have not.  And so, it saddens me that my dad didn't watch my sons become men.  That he never met their families, their children, my grandchildren, and his great grandchildren. I wish that he could have seen my sons all grown up, could have watched them parent their children, could have smiled at the antics of my silly grandchildren, but that was never to be.

Yes, I am a little nostalgic today.  Time marched on without him and he has missed out.  Which has me thinking--I don't want to miss out.  I don't want to have distant relationships with my kids or my grandkids.  I want to be and feel close to all of them.  I don't want anything (not health or finances) to get in the way.  I want them to know how much they are loved.  I want them to know how proud I am of them, how much I admire them and how much they mean to me.  I want to shower them with affection, gifts, and time.  I want what I didn't get--for them.

Today, I am a little sad.  For what could have been, what should have been and for what never will be.  I notice that I am spending a lot of time thinking and pondering relationships, and their importance to me.  I value them--those relationships of mine.  I treasure them.  I hold them near to my heart and I cry for what I missed out on as a child and also as an adult child.  I would have loved to have had a real relationship with my own father.  There were parts missing.  Big huge empty parts.  I don't want that for my own children.  I want them to know that I will love them no matter what.  Even if they make me mad, hurt my feelings, say mean things, ignore my advice, etc.  I will always be there for them!  Listening, praying, loving them.  Even on the hard days.

I've tried so hard during my adult life to analyze relationships between a parent and child, and parent and adult child.  And, in my opinion, it comes down to this.  As the parent--you put in the effort.  You start the dialog.  You never, ever stop parenting.  You be there--forever!  And I will be.  I'll always be there for my kids.  I'll listen, I'll advise (when asked), and I'll pray for them.  Same with my grandchildren.  My love will know no limits.  It will be and is unconditional.  I will not take these relationships for granted.  They are far too precious for that.  I'm not saying that there won't be hiccups along the way, I'm just saying don't let them ever get in the way.  Big difference!  Huge!

I think that I am saying all that for this--get involved, stay involved.  Love beyond measure.  Hug it out.  Talk it out.  Laugh a lot.  Pray a lot.  Be there.  Do it.  Buy it.  Go there.  Time is of the essence.  It really and truly is.  Tomorrow might not come.

So, happy birthday Dad.  Happy Cinco de Mayo.  Happy Father's Day.  I know that you are far happier in heaven with Jesus than you would be here on earth suffering.  I am happy that you are pain-free.  I am happy that you are with God.  I do miss you.  I do wish that I could have spent more time with you.  I do wish for many things that will never be, but that is in the past.  I will see you again one day when it is my time to join you in heaven.  Until then--I hope you are being good up there!

Quebec City

I just found this blog and I guess I forgot to post it.  It's probably 4 years old by now, but you know what?  I'm going to post it anyway.  Just for the heck of it.  It was a fun adventure and one worth documenting.  Enjoy!

Ahhhh, what can I say?  Ou-la-la--Quebec Cit--it was so much fun.  But, before I get to the fun part, would you like to hear the funny part?  I thought you would.

OK, let’s start with our electricity being off (thanks to the remnants of Hurricane Ike) from 7:00 PM the night before we were to fly out to Quebec.  Fortunately, we were all packed, we had taken our dog Lacey to the kennel and we were ready to sit down and enjoy an evening of “must see TV” when bam, there went the lights.  The wind was howling, the trees were blowing junk all over the place—so we got out our trusty flashlights, lit some candles and thought—this should blow over soon.  No pun intended.  

After several boring hours of reading by candle light, and wondering when the power would go back on, we went to bed.  We had to set our cell phone alarms (no power, remember?) to get up at 3:45 the next morning to get ready to drive to the airport for a 6:30 flight.  Ugg!  

The next morning-- still no power, but that’s OK, I set a flashlight in the bathroom and took a shower—umm, now for makeup, Ok, still using the flashlight—now for blow-dryer, umm, no power!  Ah, but I had a trick up my sleeve!  For all of you who used to make fun of me when we went camping for using a 12-volt blow-dryer…guess who’s laughing now?  Uh? Uh?  I was able to plug my little blow-dryer into the cigarette lighter in the car and dry my hair on the way to the airport!  Wow, I looked like a million bucks!  At least until I saw myself in the bathroom mirror at the airport!  Oh well, win some lose some, right?

On to Quebec, it was awesome.  It’s not Paris, but it did feel like a quaint little village out in the middle of France.  We walked our butts off, and ate until we hurt—the food was so good.  We took a bus tour through the countryside which was really a highlight for us.  We were able to see other little villages and learn some history along the way.  It was a great vacation and a great birthday for me!  Two for one!  If you have any questions about Quebec feel free to email me, we know the city by heart!  I think 5 days was a little too long for us to stay in one place without a car.  We were way too antsy.  Next time we go—we drive!

Our electricity was off for 3 days, so when we got home we had to throw everything out that was in the refrigerator.  Now we are cleaning up the yard.  It looks like a tornado hit it!  Have a great autumn.  The leaves are turning and it smells so good outside—time to order firewood.

Things I Miss

I am waxing nostalgic again this morning.  I'm thinking of all the things I miss.  As I have entered into my 6th decade, it has hit me a little hard.  Only 2 or 3 more to go, you know what I mean?  Things to ponder, things to regret, things to long for.  It's what's on my mind this morning.

You see, I miss skipping.  I miss the smell of sidewalks in the rain.  I miss the crunching of small gravel and leaves underneath my feet.  I miss hopscotch.  I miss my teacher reading to me in school with my head laying on my desk--as I was transported to Africa, playing with lions.  I miss tetherball.  And monkey bars.  I even miss nap time.  I never thought I'd say that.  I miss my first crush--3rd grade, Danny.  I miss jumping over sidewalk cracks, hide and seek in the bushes, and playing outside after dark on a hot summer night.

I miss pizza joints, football games, and driving by boys houses.  I miss riding my horse--wind blowing in my hair.  I miss the smell of alfalfa hay and manure.  I miss dances and parties, giggling and secrets.  I miss my best friend, whom I protected fiercely, and shared all my deepest truths.

I miss summers with cousins--chasing tree frogs and polliwogs.  I miss picking berries with my grandmother and making cobbler.  I miss ice cream sandwiches and public swimming pools.  I miss talking on the phone until the wee hours of the morning with my boyfriend of the moment.

I miss being a newlywed.  Snuggling and watching movies in the dark.  Being so poor, that date night was a burger and fries.  I miss being able to have a milkshake without gaining 10 pounds!  I miss being pregnant.  Feeling that first little flutter of life--mine felt like butterflies let loose inside.  I miss rocking, singing, and late night feedings.  Yes, all those firsts.  I miss them all.

I even miss this--mom, mom, mom.  All day, every day.  Yep, I even miss that.  Look at me Mom, watch me!  He hit me, she looked at me, he spit at me.  Yes, I miss all that too. I miss folding their clothes, picking up their shoes, and breaking up their many arguments.

Life was happening in my home, and I loved it.  It's over too quickly.  Life.

My children are all adults now.  They have children of their own.  And, I'm sure that they also have many things that they either miss now or will miss in the years to come.  It seems that when we are living in the moment we are too busy and caught up in the here and now to see that these moments in time are the things we'll miss later.  Little things--memories.

It's just the two of us now, and our furry little dog.  I look back on my memories, I try hard to make new ones, I hold on to each day and I am so very thankful.  Not all were good, but most were wonderful.  Not all were painful, as most produced growth.

I have found that although I had to move around a lot, it enabled me to make many friends.  And even though I've lost touch with some, they made a huge impact on my life.  I miss them.  As it turns out--friends are extremely important to me.  Their value in my life was and is priceless.

I also miss my old houses.  Each one held different memories.  I miss my sunroom, and swimming pool, my river, and almond trees.  I miss my single story and two story homes.  I miss the orchards and their beautiful blossoms.  And I miss hearing the kids playing outside.  I miss wallpaper, and wicker furniture--each house, yard and neighborhood all held special memories of their very own.  That ability to remember is like a photo book to me.  Perhaps that's why I am so drawn to my camera.  I have a need to capture everything.

I have a different perspective on life now.  That might come with having time to ponder without noise, without the outside barging in.  I liked that though.  I liked the outside world pushing through the walls of my inside world.  I liked the noise, the laughter, the arguing, the messes, the mom, mom, mom--I miss those things.  I'll miss these things too.  This time, this moment with--just the two of us.

Funny thing about memories, as soon as I miss them, new ones pop up.  I guess that's a good thing--there is always something to miss.  As each day comes to a close--a new memory is formed.  As each day begins--new opportunities arise.

Quick 6

It was quick.  A very fast, whirlwind extended visit.  I thought we'd have more time.  I had no idea that it would abruptly come to an end.  Here one day, gone the next.

When my mom moved in with us at the beginning of October, I thought it would be forever.  In the sense that she'd live with us as long as she could.  Until that unfortunate time where we would have to place her in some type of care facility.

She was doing great.  Off the oxygen, knee replaced, plugging into different groups and activities.  Running around with me--lunch, shop, friends, repeat.  We were having fun.  Or so I thought.  We were working out the kinks of our living arrangement.  She had moved into the master bedroom and we had moved upstairs.  We walked her dog, I did her laundry, cleaned her room and cooked her meals and also generally helped with anything she needed.

And although it was a long winter--spring was coming.  I could not wait for her to see our neck of the woods in full color.  Cleveland goes nuts in the spring.  I'm not exaggerating.  A lot of the nurseries even have traffic control for a while.  We all clammer to buy up all the flowers that we can fit into the backs of our SUV's and then plant, plant, plant until our yards are bursting with color.  Even the trees in my little neighborhood flower.  It's green and lush, and I wanted her to see it.

We only had a very few weeks left to wait for spring.  However, it wasn't to be.  After 6 months of winter, my mom flew the coup.  I went out with a friend one evening, only to find out that she'd been talking about being homesick.  A week later she was gone.  It happened so quickly that I didn't even have time to process the whole thing.  I didn't know that she was so unhappy, and longing for "home".  I felt horrible.  It was just too cold for her and her dog.  It wasn't California, it wasn't home.

Had I known that my mom had intentions of leaving after just a mere 6 months I would have done things so differently.  So very differently!  There was so much left to show her and do with her.  I would have packed in so many more excursions and day trips.  I wanted her to eat at my favorite outdoor patio restaurants, I wanted her to meet more of my friends and neighbors.  I did not know she'd be gone in 6 months.

I also had high hopes of walking her through her first year of grief after losing my father.  I wanted to sit with her and let her reminisce.  I wanted to be that shoulder to cry on.  I thought over time she'd be happy again.  After all--she had me!

So many things to show her, places to take her, and now she's gone.  She'll never see the other 2 seasons--the real seasons of Cleveland.  Some say the best seasons.  And that makes me sad.  She left 2 weeks ago, and I'm still reeling from the quickness of the move.  Back to California, back to her old neighborhood, back to her old life, that she once told me was so lonely and boring.  I don't understand what just happened.  I don't understand why she left.  However, I respect her decision and I'll always be here to love and support her through prayer, and a listening ear.  It's all I can do--just be here for her.

Yes, it was a quick 6 months.  A very short time.  Not enough time.  And now I'm sad.  In a very weird sense, it was like a death for me--first my dad, and then my mom.  They left in different ways. But, they both left.  And I'm still processing.  That's why I write.  It's my way.

I'm praying for my mom.  That she finds new friends, happiness and a new outlook on life.  I'm praying that God comforts her in her grief.  And that she finds what she is looking for.
Home.  Security.  Love.  Peace.  Those are the things she needs from God.  Just His presence in her life--that is what she needs the most.  I could not fill that void.  Not that I'd want to, but I did want to help her in some small way.

I can't even begin to imagine what widowhood looks or feels like.  It breaks my heart to know that she misses my dad so much.  I think in some strange way, she's looking for him--back home.  He's not there though, and she will find that out soon enough.  At least she has my sister and me.  She can lean on us during this time of grief.  We will always be here for her.

I'll fly out to visit her soon.  I miss her already.  I got used to her being here every day.  We became buddies.  Shopping and lunching--just fun silly stuff.  And now she's gone.  And I am sad.  I guess I'm sad that I couldn't do more.  I couldn't make her happy.  I wasn't "home" for her.

My husband tells me to look on the bright side.  It was a very long extended visit.  We never thought she'd ever see the Midwest, and she did!  We never thought she'd meet our other grandchildren, and she did!  We never thought she'd see our home, meet our friends, go to our church, and just be a part of our lives.  But, she did.  And for that, I am very thankful.  I got her for 6 whole months.  I will always be grateful for our time together, getting to know each other, getting those last moments of life together that is so precious.  So, today I say--thank you God for those quick 6 months.

My heart is greatful.

I Tried So Hard

I tried so hard.  I did everything I could and then some.  Even my husband joined me in trying.  My children and grandchildren embraced you with their whole hearts.  I changed my entire life so that you would be comfortable.  I tried to make you happy.

We gave you our bedroom and bathroom.
We turned up the heat even though we were burning up.
I gave you coats, jackets, scarves, gloves and vests.
We walked your dog 4 times a day in any weather.
I took your dog to the groomer and vet each time you asked.
I cooked your meals.
I cleaned your room and bathroom.
I washed your sheets and remade your bed every week.
I did all your laundry.
I took you to your doctors' appointments.
I gifted you my older hearing aids because you did not have any.
I invited you to all of my activities.
I introduced you to my friends.
I took you to my church and Bible study.
I took you shopping and out to many restaurants.
I helped you with your knee replacement surgery.
I took you to physical therapy 3 times per week and even more doctors appointments.

And yet, you still were not happy.  You said you were homesick.  I get that.  You said that your dog did not like the snow.  I get that too.  However, I tried my hardest to make this your home.  To make you feel safe, loved and secure.  And yet, you were not happy.

I am at a loss.  I am out of ideas.  You did not like my home, my friends, my husband, my life.
Even though I was having fun--getting to know you all over again, showing you my life, my city, my family, and my friends.  I wanted so badly for you to settle in and just love us.  However, it was not to be.  No matter how hard I tried, nothing made you happy.
So, I guess it was time for you to go back to your home state and make a life for yourself that is not here with me.

I have so many fears for you though.  That you will not be happy there either.  That you will be unsafe, unprotected, uncared for and unloved.  These are my fears.  I am worried for you.

I realize that I am not in control of this situation and that you make your own choices, and when you do I hope that you remember this one thing.  That I love you and wish that you had stayed with me.

And that I tried so hard.

My Global Thoughts

I love to travel, that's no secret.  I dream about it on a consistent basis.  Even while on a trip, this weirdo is dreaming and planning her next adventure.  And while traveling my husband and I share a few inside jokes--one being that any and all Starbucks are in fact, US embassies.  I am not ashamed that I secretly (ok, not so secretly) am thrilled to pieces when traipsing through Europe I spy, with my little eye--a Starbucks!  A thrill shoots through my body as I run towards my home away from home yelling dry cappuccino, please!  It really does.  And you know why?  Because a Starbucks in any language is still a Starbucks.  Pretty much.

And that is kind of what I really want to talk about right now.  Language.  Or lack thereof.  I don't know of any way to put this other than bluntly, so please don't take offense.  But, I want to just say it out loud and then explain my perspective on this issue.

I know as Americans, we do not like pressing 1 for English.  Do you hear what I am saying?  A lot of you complain.  This is America, why do I have to press 1 to hear my own my own language?  Why don't others just learn English?  And on and on.  You know who you are.  You've said it before.  And guess what?  I think I even have said it a time or two.  Way back in the day, way back before I began to travel the globe.  However, I don't feel that way any longer.  Not even a little bit.  Traveling has changed my life, my perspective, my attitude.  And it has made me a kinder gentler person.  At least that's what I'd like to believe about myself.

I remember on one such trip being in Italy, we were in a small town, or airport or train station and there was not even one sign in English!  How dare they!  Just how were we supposed to get around if we couldn't understand the signage?  We walked around aimlessly for a bit before hearing someone speak English and then asked for help.  Fortunately, they were very kind to us and pointed us in the right direction.  I couldn't help thinking that our lives would have been so much easier had all their signs been printed up in several languages for travelers.  Especially English!

As we become more and more global, as we travel more, I find myself looking out for and wanting to help others navigate airports, train stations, large cities, etc.  As I sit on trains, as I walk city streets, as I wait for taxis, I listen.  I watch.  And I wait and then as I'm needed, I help.  One poor French gentleman in Germany could not figure out how to work the ticket machine at the local train station.  My husband couldn't help him (he takes over for us while in Germany)  however, I was able to help him (as I take over while in France) so I helped this Frenchman buy his train ticket in Germany because nothing on the machine was in French, or English--just German.  Some might think that it was as it should be.  Signs in the country of origin.  I'm not so sure though.  We've become a global traveling people, I'm thinking we need signs, signs, and more signs, in many languages, not just one.

It isn't just America that has signs in their own language, it's kind of a universal thing especially in smaller towns.  Wouldn't it be nice though, if that weren't the case?  Wouldn't it be great if all signs--toll roads, freeways, ATM's, menus, buses, trains, airports--you get the idea, were in several different languages?  I would love that.  It would make traveling so much easier.  And much more worry free.

We live in a global society.  We, as a people, need to face that reality.  The world is getting smaller.  People are traveling now more than ever.  Let's get with the program.  Let's make it easier on each other and stop being so narrow-minded when it comes to language.  It doesn't really hurt anything or anyone to print stuff up in a few more languages.  So you have to press 1--big deal.  Press it.  Do it for me.  Do it for those who travel.  Remember, they stimulate our economy.  And we theirs.  So really, if you have to think of it this way--you're doing it for yourself.

Those are just a few (a very few) of my global thoughts.  I'm in the mood, especially lately, for a kinder world.  And as I plan my next trip abroad, I am praying, even as I type, that someone, somewhere is taking pity on this American and printing out a simple sign for me--in English.

Uncivil War

I didn't want to write this blog.  In fact, I haven't wanted to write anything at all for a while now. However, our pastor said something this past weekend that made me rethink my feelings.  He talked about things that God might be asking us to do and the reasons we might be putting them off.  Some examples were--fear (rejection, what would others think) laziness (usually not part of how I work) and not wanting to offend others.  For me, I really believe it's the last one that left me wondering if I am running from what God has laid on my heart and what He has asked me to do.  Most times I love writing.  It's become a part of my nature, my well-being, my way of expression and a huge form of therapy for me.

Something had changed though.  I finally asked myself (due in part to last week's sermon) --does God want it changed back?  Back to where I write again, back to sharing my thoughts and feelings--no matter who thinks what?  Is He calling me to speak out?  Or, is this just me talking?  I waited a few days, I prayed, and then I finally got out my laptop and began to write my heart.  If this is of God--then great.  If not--if it's just plain old me, disregard it.  However, I do ask that you at least pray about what I am saying.  Here goes...

I am finding that as each day passes, I am becoming more angry, more sad, and more despondent.  I am seeing things in others that I never ever thought I'd see.  I'm watching people--so-called Christian people, tear each other apart.  I am watching a horror show.  I feel as though I am living in an episode of the Twilight Zone.  It has become a nightmare that I can't seem to wake from.

There seems to be a war going on in my country--a civil war.  No, an uncivil war.  Us vs them.  North vs south.  Family vs family.  Republican Christian vs Democrat Christian.  There is an "our way or the highway" mentality.  And it's getting embarrassingly uncomfortable.  I am having a very hard time trying to explain to my non-Christian friends that no--not every Christian is as hard-hearted, mean, uncivil, selfish, racist, etc, as they think they are.  Trying to convince them otherwise though, is exhausting.  And I'm tired.

You know, I really have tried to remain neutral all these years.  I am a moderate, I was an independent.  A true critical thinker.  I watched, waited, prayed, and then after much thought and consideration--I voted or spoke my heart.  What, may I ask is wrong with that approach?

It wasn't hard for me.  I happen to have this strange ability to see things from both sides--to put myself in the place of others.  It isn't that I don't have an opinion (ha! just ask anyone)  I do!  It's just that I am open to hearing yours too.  I value yours and I had hoped that you valued mine.

All that has changed since this past election.  Hatred is now the new norm.  Who can yell the loudest, who can be the wittiest, and who can cut people so very low with their words.  And it's breaking my heart.

My conservative friends and family have always thought me much too liberal, my liberal friends have always thought--well, wait a minute now...they've never really said.  I guess if I think long and hard about it, the only ones to criticize me are the conservative "Christian" people in my life.  Rather than trying to see things through my eyes--they've just condemned me, or at least that's how I feel.

I've been told many things of late--that I'm not really a Christian, that I don't really love God, that I am not reading my Bible, and that I must not pray hard enough.  And on and on.  However, I know who I am.  And I know what I believe.  When I read in my Bible the words of Jesus Christ, I read about a different Christianity--it is so very different than what is being portrayed nowadays.
So very, very different.

The sad thing is--if I weren't a Christian, if I really did not know much about God, Jesus, the church, etc., would I even want to?  That's the real question in my mind.  If I weren't a believer--just what about Christianity today would draw me to Christ?  Honestly?  Absolutely nothing.  Why?  Because what I am hearing from about 75% of the Christians being portrayed in the media (no, not fake news, I'm talking social media) is pure selfishness, hatred, bigotry, meanness, and hardheartedness.  Truly, it is.  Just ask any non-believer.  Oh, and I was also told that I shouldn't be hanging out with those types of people--I should only hang with Christians.  What???  I wonder if they said that to Jesus too?  Oh wait, yep, they did!  And what did He say?  Look it up, you might be surprised.  For, in only hanging out with believers, just how then, and to whom, am I supposed to share my faith and hope and trust in God?  Whom am I supposed to be witnessing to?  Wow, this stuff just boggles my brain.

It's hard saying these things.  It's hard pointing the finger at my own people!  But, it's the truth.  We are not sharing our faith, spreading the gospel or coming alongside the broken-hearted.  We are basically kicking them in the teeth and saying--unless you do these things, act this way, talk like me, look like me--you aren't one of us.  Really?  Is that what Jesus said to people?  I don't think so.

So, my challenge to you is this. Get out your Bible.  Look at those red-lettered words of Jesus.  Read them.  And then ask yourself this one question.  Am I being like Him?  And, if your answer is no--ask Him to forgive you and go and sin no more.  Because that's what all this mean-spirited attitude is all about.  It is sin--plain and simple.

You don't want to share your stuff?  Sin.
You don't want to pay your taxes?  Sin.
You don't want to feed the hungry?  Sin.
You are against abortion but don't want to pay for health care, education, food, etc for these babies after they are born?  Sin.
You want to build a wall?  Really?  Sin.
You hate gay people?  Sin.
Black people?  Any people?  Sin.

Shall I go on?   Because this is what I did not want to write about.  This is what has been on my heart.  If you are a Christian--stop it.  Start praying, ask for forgiveness and read your Bible!!!  Read those beautiful words of Christ.  Those Red Letter Words.  He is whom we are supposed to emulate.  He is our very reason for living.  Not our things, not our possessions, not our homes and cars, and stuff, stuff, stuff.  He says--sell it all.  Feed the poor.  Take care of those who weep.  Pray with and for the broken-hearted.  If they ask for your coat--give it to them.  If they ask you to walk a mile with them--walk 2 miles!  Does this not tell you something? 

So, I guess this isn't really about politics at all, is it?  It is about the condition of our hearts.  And if I have offended you, I am truly sorry.  However, in saying that, I will not recant what I have written.  Why?  Because I have prayed about this long and hard.  If you are pro-life--then be pro all life.  If you hate others (read here--anyone not like you) ask God to help you love them as Jesus does.

When I tell you that I am a Christian, I am telling you that I believe in and follow the words, actions, and teachings of Jesus Christ.  That my life goal is--to walk in integrity, love, kindness, forgiveness, and to have a moral character--one that says--she would never do that, or she always does this.  I want my yes to be yes, and my no to be no.  Yes to God, and no to sin.  I want to do what I say I believe in.  Not just talk about it but walk it.  And, if I ever fail you--call me on it.  Don't let me get away with being un-Christlike.  Hold me fast to my convictions.  Make me be kind and loving.  Please.

Yes, this is long-winded.  However, it was long overdue.  And it took some time for me to listen, and then step out in faith to write all of this.  It's hard for me--this uncivil war.  Is it hard for you too?

Tear down those walls, build bridges.  Pray for those around you. Feed them, give them shelter, clothing, love, forgiveness, and acceptance.  Show someone kindness today.  Hug somebody.  Be like Jesus!  Be civil in an uncivil world.

INFJ

Here is the definition of the Myers Briggs test--it's what this particular blog post is all about today.  

"The purpose of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator® (MBTI®) personality inventory is to make the theory of psychological types described by C. G. Jung understandable and useful in people's lives. The essence of the theory is that much seemingly random variation in the behavior is actually quite orderly and consistent, being due to basic differences in the ways individuals prefer to use their perception and judgment.

"Perception involves all the ways of becoming aware of things, people, happenings, or ideas. Judgment involves all the ways of coming to conclusions about what has been perceived. If people differ systematically in what they perceive and in how they reach conclusions, then it is only reasonable for them to differ correspondingly in their interests, reactions, values, motivations, and skills."

In developing the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator [instrument], the aim of Isabel Briggs Myers, and her mother, Katharine Briggs, was to make the insights of type theory accessible to individuals and groups. They addressed the two related goals in the developments and application of the MBTI instrument:"

Many years ago I was given this personality test.  I was intrigued.  I learned much about what made me tic.  Life went on though, I didn't give it much thought until several years later when I retook the same test and came up with the same results.  That alone got my attention.  So, I again retook the same test just a few weeks ago and low and behold, I had the same results.  I guess I am what I am.  I am an INFJ.  And I am now striving to understand myself just a little bit better.

In a nutshell here is the definition of mine--

Portrait of an INFJ - Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging
(Introverted Intuition with Extraverted Feeling)

The Protector

As an INFJ, your primary mode of living is focused internally, where you take things in primarily via intuition. Your secondary mode is external, where you deal with things according to how you feel about them, or how they fit with your personal value system.

INFJs are gentle, caring, complex and highly intuitive individuals. Artistic and creative, they live in a world of hidden meanings and possibilities. Only one percent of the population has an INFJ Personality Type, making it the most rare of all the types.

INFJs place great importance on havings things orderly and systematic in their outer world. They put a lot of energy into identifying the best system for getting things done, and constantly define and re-define the priorities in their lives. On the other hand, INFJs operate within themselves on an intuitive basis which is entirely spontaneous. They know things intuitively, without being able to pinpoint why, and without detailed knowledge of the subject at hand. They are usually right, and they usually know it. Consequently, INFJs put a tremendous amount of faith into their instincts and intuitions. This is something of a conflict between the inner and outer worlds, and may result in the INFJ not being as organized as other Judging types tend to be. Or we may see some signs of disarray in an otherwise orderly tendency, such as a consistently messy desk.

INFJs have uncanny insight into people and situations. They get "feelings" about things and intuitively understand them. As an extreme example, some INFJs report experiences of a psychic nature, such as getting strong feelings about there being a problem with a loved one, and discovering later that they were in a car accident. This is the sort of thing that other types may scorn and scoff at, and the INFJ themself does not really understand their intuition at a level which can be verbalized. Consequently, most INFJs are protective of their inner selves, sharing only what they choose to share when they choose to share it. They are deep, complex individuals, who are quite private and typically difficult to understand. INFJs hold back part of themselves, and can be secretive.

But the INFJ is as genuinely warm as they are complex. INFJs hold a special place in the heart of people who they are close to, who are able to see their special gifts and depth of caring. INFJs are concerned for people's feelings, and try to be gentle to avoid hurting anyone. They are very sensitive to conflict, and cannot tolerate it very well. Situations which are charged with conflict may drive the normally peaceful INFJ into a state of agitation or charged anger. They may tend to internalize conflict into their bodies, and experience health problems when under a lot of stress.

Because the INFJ has such strong intuitive capabilities, they trust their own instincts above all else. This may result in an INFJ stubborness and tendency to ignore other people's opinions. They believe that they're right. On the other hand, INFJ is a perfectionist who doubts that they are living up to their full potential. INFJs are rarely at complete peace with themselves - there's always something else they should be doing to improve themselves and the world around them. They believe in constant growth, and don't often take time to revel in their accomplishments. They have strong value systems, and need to live their lives in accordance with what they feel is right. In deference to the Feeling aspect of their personalities, INFJs are in some ways gentle and easy going. Conversely, they have very high expectations of themselves, and frequently of their families. They don't believe in compromising their ideals.

INFJ is a natural nurturer; patient, devoted and protective. They make loving parents and usually have strong bonds with their offspring. They have high expectations of their children, and push them to be the best that they can be. This can sometimes manifest itself in the INFJ being hard-nosed and stubborn. But generally, children of an INFJ get devoted and sincere parental guidance, combined with deep caring.

In the workplace, the INFJ usually shows up in areas where they can be creative and somewhat independent. They have a natural affinity for art, and many excel in the sciences, where they make use of their intuition. INFJs can also be found in service-oriented professions. They are not good at dealing with minutia or very detailed tasks. The INFJ will either avoid such things, or else go to the other extreme and become enveloped in the details to the extent that they can no longer see the big picture. An INFJ who has gone the route of becoming meticulous about details may be highly critical of other individuals who are not.

The INFJ individual is gifted in ways that other types are not. Life is not necessarily easy for the INFJ, but they are capable of great depth of feeling and personal achievement.

This explains so much about my personality type.  I've always felt a little odd.  And now I know why.  I know why I got a degree in Psychology.  I know why I stick up for the underdog.  I know why I demand justice.  I know why.  And although there isn't much that I can do to change my personality, there is much I can do to use it to help others, glorify God and do my best with this life of mine.  

This helps me.  I guess I kind of "get it" now.  I wish I had paid more attention to these test results when I was younger.  I might have saved myself from a lot of grief.  However, I'm OK, I did alright, things are good.  And God is great.  

I'm going to try my hardest not to let the negative aspects of my personality get in the way and I'm also going to embrace the positive.  I think I'm ready for this ride!