I was born a critic. I have become an encourager. But I am still a critic.
I am a Christian. But, I’d rather not tell you that, because you might not understand what it means.
I love Jesus. These days, being a Christian and loving Jesus don’t seem to be the same thing.
More than anything else, it is my desire that God shapes me, made possible by Jesus, through the Holy Spirit. In a perfect world, these Three-in-One would be my only influence.
I am in a constant state of recovery from untreated OCD. I battle perfectionism on a minute-by-minute basis.
I am sensitive to word choice. And fonts. And light. And small mammals.
I am also sensitive to spirit and “energy,” but not in an Oprah way.
I have a terribly mischievous streak. This is lessening as the years go by. I’d like to think it’s the Holy Spirit, but it may just be age.
People say I am snobby. Instead of shrinking, I am trying not to care anymore.
I hesitate to share my gifts. I worry about my motives. I worry others will feel inadequate.
I’m trying to reconcile not-caring-what-other-people-think with meekness.
I love real-life, in-person conversation about things that matter. I am tolerating small talk less and less.
I would almost always rather be at home. Reading. Or writing.
In Second Life, I would be a sniper. In real life, I will settle for being a handgun combat master.
As much as I hate school and biology, I am seriously considering becoming a speech pathologist in about 25 years.
My husband tells me I’m complex.
I am trying to simplify.
If I didn’t have to live in the real world, I would be an INTP reading and writing and hiding in a closet all day. But, as reality has it, I am an INFJ.
I kind of like being an INFJ.
I love drama — the acting kind, not the Disney Channel kind. My sister tells me I’m only funny when I’m impersonating other people.
I value freedom. Sometimes I think I’m a libertarian.
I am a lover of Truth and beauty. I pursue it here.