There’s a question Jesus asks a blind man in the book of Mark that I am occasionally a little jealous of.
“What do you want me to do for you?”
I picture the man there, not seeing the hairy legs he sits in front of. Knowing what Jesus smells like, committing his voice to memory. Perhaps the man reaches out a hand, adding a fabric texture to his mental portrait.
I first took the enneagram about a year ago when my family mentioned it. (Yes, my whole family talks about this kind of stuff. If you’re into a sports team or politics, we might not be able to help you out).
With a husband who’s a Human Resources exec, you can bet I’ve taken my share of personality tests. (I’ve even tried to outwit some of them?)
Personally, the enneagram has brought me more self-knowledge–knowledge that actually helped me truly change–than any of the others. I even keep basic profiles on my Kindle. (Yeah. I’m one of those.) With 207 subtypes, I’ve found it to be fairly accurate for me, which hasn’t always been the case with other profiles.
Tomorrow, another one of my kids turns 13. (Golly, I am getting old.) I’ll let you in on a little secret. One of his friend’s moms and I decided to share planning a small party for both of our sons together–because it turns out neither of us likes planning parties.
Birthdays seem to require a sudden push of adrenaline, past the normal working-mom-with-four-kids schedule. (It is no doubt a sign of my lack of margin.) So far, I don’t know that my kids have had a birthday that didn’t feel special. (Gosh, I hope not.) But days before, I’m always like, Shoot. I really need to do something!
Around his birthday last year, I mentioned to my husband the number of people who’d wished him a warm HBD on Facebook. My daughter, listening, asked if he’d received a lot of cards. “I used to get a lot. But people don’t do that much anymore,” he shrugged.
We’ve all got more than enough to do–and plenty of “shoulds”, right? I’m truly not wanting to add more. But I’ve found writing notes actually makes me…happier.
So I should probably tell you that generally (weirdly?) I do not go to the doctor when sick. I’ve taken kids for ear infections and all that, and certainly that time when my son’s staph infection on his jaw made him resemble Jay Leno (also weirdly. And yes, I remember writing about the importance of getting your kids’ behavioral diagnosis.
But still.)
Four years ago a friend in publishing suggested I start a blog (well. Five years ago. Took me awhile to come around). I initially looked at her like she’d suddenly sprouted horns.
I mean, who has that much to say? (Especially publically? Isn’t that like running naked through cyberspace, waving a flag?)
My 9-year-old was ready to spend his screen time. But you know that feeling, stumbling around to find quality television for an elementary schooler?
In a blast from my ‘80s past, I delighted to find The Cosby Show on Amazon. (I mean, sort of. Now there’s this niggling in my mind, as if I missed something in those eight years of regular Thursday nights, my chin propped on my palms as I lay on the shag carpet.) In a few minutes, I could hear my son giggling from the next room. “Mom! You’ve gotta come see this part!” We chuckled together over Theo and Rudy, and over Dr. Huxtable imitating a woman in labor.
My son’s enthrallment was only three weeks before Mr. Cosby was led somberly in handcuffs from a Pennsylvania courthouse, prison-bound following his conviction of sexual assault. Like so many, I groaned at the disparity: Perfect, hilarious TV family. Lurid, devastating real life.
So–it’s cool that I have a lot of friends who are are smarter than I am in a smorgasbord of ways.
Last night, sitting with my friend Amber–a stellar junior high teacher, which means she is to be praised in more ways than one–she mentioned she’d be helping her kids with New Year’s goals. She bases their goal-setting on Luke 2:52: And Jesus grew in wisdom and in stature, and in favor with God and man.
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