CONFESSIONS OF A MELANCHOLIC TEMPERAMENT TYPE
Yesterday at church we were given a questionnaire to evaluate our feelings toward the church – a check-up on how we are doing. Under areas I feel need to be improved, I put, “People are too smiley and they tend to hug with no probable cause.”
We have a church of 3,000 and it never fails. The moment they get to the exit, all the sanguines (about 97% of our congregation) pause to hug and say those immortal words, “How ARE you!?” They tell each other how marvelous they look and how divine it is to see one another.
Meanwhile 2999 people are waiting for them to removed themselves from the exit so that they may have their turn to block the doorway with this meaningless ritual.
The phlegmatics aren’t in a rush anyway, and the cholerics are shouldering their way through. But we melancholics have to suffer and dream of bringing cattle prods next Sunday.
Small things bother me. The fact that my (x now) husband puts moisturizer in his belly-button occupies a large percent of my thinking time. And I try not to think over four hours a day. The rest of the time I interact positively with my kids. (It’s difficult but I’m told I’ll regret it otherwise.)
The biggest worry of my life was I took Mrs. Jancey’s (name changed) bible study on crowns. Actually I went through it twice. The reason I repeated was that I was so riveted with concern over what I’d heard the first time and was hoping I’d get some new insight to ease my mind the second. I didn’t.
No, it’s not that I won’t have any crowns. I’ve got two I know of for sure, possibly more. It’s what she said we have to DO with them when we get them: “Throw them at our Savior’s feet!”
Now, I had been sitting, smiling sweetly, taking notes and a happy woman till I heard these words. They struck me with terror. I remember vividly how I used to throw a ball in school – never once did it go anywhere close to where I aimed it. How’s it gonna look, in front of all those angels and people of God – even bible characters standing around – when I toss it and it knocks Noah in the head? They’ll think I’m malicious.
I thought of just hanging onto it till no one’s around. But then it will appear as though I want to just keep it for myself, which I don’t. All the cholerics will come up and quote me scripture on selfishness. All the sangjines will come over and hug me and say, “We love you anyway, darling!” All the phlegmatics will take a nap till it’s over.
I hope maybe there’ll be a UPS man I can persuade to carry it over. I’ve taken to handing out “The Four Spiritual Laws” to all delivery men lately in hopes one of them will be close by me when it comes time to toss.
I haven’t lost my fear of that day and how I’ll look to all the others, how they’ll misinterpret my innocence, how on earth I can get my crowns anywhere close to the Lord’s feet. I do so much want to present him with a wedding gift. I’ve also taken to praying for ballplayers a lot, though I know none personally.
Then there’s the matter of the moment when we are face-to-face with the One who has called us by name. For every other Christian, I see the Lord saying, “Well done thou good and faithful servant!” Trumpets are blowing, angels stand in neat rows. There is reverence, grace, decorum.
I simply cannot visualize that for myself. Instead, my Lord and I, as we look back on my life will burst into uncontrollable laughter. We’ll hold our aching sides. We’ll wish the angels weren’t looking as we fall down and roll on the grass, tears streaming out of our eyes (ruining my make-up).
We’ll recall, not my picture perfect prayers in which I sound like a quote from Calvin, but my earnest prayers, where I’m so exasperated that I tag onto them before I catch myself, “I bet your can’t do that!” And then He does that.
We’ll not see the times when I reacted just as Christ has taught me to, but the times that were so difficult that I dropped my controlled demeanor and yelled at him, “Hey, what do You think You’re doing!?” He always showed me what.
He’ll let me see that my communications with Him were not so special when I prayed for good things for my enemies, because I knew that’s what He said to do; but rather the time after my salvation when all I could say repeatedly to Him for days was, “You’re here! You’re here!”
He’ll rerun a video of the time when a friend with herpes on her forehead was coming over. How I smeared chocolate syrup all over the front door knob prior to her arrival. I planned to yell, “Come in!” rather than open the door myself. That way she’d have to dirty her hands. I’d placed Phisophex soap in the bathroom and removed all the others. I knew she’d want to hold the baby. I was going to say, “Those kids! They get that stuff everywhere!” How He’d convicted me of deception and lack of trust.
I trusted Him and washed it off. She showed up with ketchup that had spilled from her hamburger while she was driving and went straight in and washed her hands. Elizabeth took an unscheduled nap and couldn’t be held anyway. I saw His glory.
He’ll show me all the other millions of antics I’ve lived through in my quest to trust Him and know Him more. To realize His reality and caring power. By this time there won’t be a dignified face in heaven. Even old Jeremiah will be in stitches.
Then He will take my crowns and be welcome to them; and I will be welcomed by all the angelic host to doubt no longer. But I know one thing: I won’t lose the ability to bring Him JOY.