Just my asking that question has put you in a "camp." And if you haven't made a decision, it might be because you aren't totally clear about what it means to have one or another of those personalities.
So, for those who might need it, here is a brief summary of each:
Type A: organized, punctual, pro-active, high-achieving, sometimes seen as aggressive or competitive.
Type B: relaxed, caring, emotional, flexible, slow to anger, sometimes seen as lazy.
Now, I'm sure you probably thought of people in the extremes of both of those personalities. Maybe you are one of the extremes yourself. Most likely, you, as most people, are a combination. If there was a scale from -10 to +10 with -10 being all Type A, no Type B and +10 being all Type B, no Type A, most of us would be on the scale in the middle somewhere.
Type A/-10_-9_-8_-7_-6_-5_-4_-3_-2_-1_0_+1_+2_+3_+4_+5_+6_+7_+8_+9_+10 /Type B
So where would God be?
Some of you immediately thought, "Of course, God is Type A."
1 Corinthians 14:33 "For God is not a God of disorder but of peace—as in all the congregations of the Lord’s people."
Ecclesiastes 3:1 "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens"
Others of you can only know your God as a Type B.
Psalm 86:15 "But you, Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness."
And then of course there are those of you on that last camp - those who are just mad at me for posing the question. Those who think I'm trying to ascribe a human character to the God of the universe. He is neither. How dare I put God in a box?
So why am I? And why do I need to know?
Here's why. I am made in God's likeness. So I have a feeling that something in this personality theory can tie me closer to Him. I can have a better understanding of who He is when I can see Him evaluated next to something I know. (Of course, I know that comparing God to anything is ridiculous, but doesn't that just make Him all the more awesome?)
He has also told me to be holy, as He is holy. In other words, it should be my goal to conduct my behavior as much like He would as I can. Can I ever attain His character? Can I ever be holy? No. But I am still told to make the effort.
God has told me about His love. Not just me, but everyone. And He has commissioned us to tell the world about it. We all have different ways of distributing this good news.
1 Corinthians 12:4
"There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them. 5 There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. 6 There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone it is the same God at work."
For me, I write. I have taken the beautiful story of Christ's salvation and made an allegory of it to reach young people who like to read fantastic fiction ("fantastic" here, referring to the genre of fantasy, not trying to pump up the quality of the writing.) It is not God's Word, but a story inspired by God's Word.
Normally, I am a Type A, competitive kind of person. However, I get nervous when it comes to my books. It's one thing to proclaim the truth of God's love when it is written plainly in God's Word, but it is another thing to hope they see it buried in my own words. I feel prideful promoting my work.
Yes, if it is me I'm promoting. But if I have God's message, I have to get more Type A. He says in Matthew, "Go!" He doesn't say, "Sit back and wait for the nations to ask about Me."
Going back to that old cliché - What Would Jesus Do? - we wonder. Did Jesus wait for people to ask Him how to get to heaven?
Wait a second. Yes, usually He did. I can't think of any record of Jesus running up to anyone, shaking them by the shoulders saying, "Don't you see? I am the Son of God!" He was told to wait.
But we weren't.
Therefore Jesus told them, “My time is not yet here; for you any time will do."
So now you see why I am going to start getting pushy about my books. I want the word to get out, in hopes of others seeing Jesus through God coming near. (To this, my husband says, "Finally!")
Back to the idea of which personality type DOES encapsulate God? This verse sums it up perfectly:
"You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly."
He is everything good about both A and B - and then even more that we can't even understand.Type A people are organized. God created the entire order of the universe, when before it, there was nothing. Type A people are punctual ("at just the right time.") Type B people are compassionate. ("Christ died for the ungodly.") Type B people are patient. God put up with sin for about 4000 years before sending The Last Sacrifice, and He waits even today for every sinner's confession.
What does that mean to you? What should you be with the method of spreading His Word that He has given you? I think it means you need to be Type A about getting out there to tell others about Him, but Type B while waiting for them to respond.
We can be a little of both. And God can be the fullest extent of both.
I think that makes God, ABBA.
To learn more about Tracy's books, go to The Angelmen Series portion of this website.
As promised, here is Chapter 1 of Asher of the Angelmen. Coming SOON, so give yourself a reminder to add it to your to-read list!
Chapter 1 The Stranger
Girls at Hanover High School all fell into one of two camps.
The first camp was his fan club, those who swooned at the sight of the tall, fair-skinned, handsome track star. A teenage girl was helpless in the presence of Asher Andrews.
The second camp comprised those who had already been pulled in by Asher's charms and realized that no girl was ever going to climb the ladder in his mind above himself and the sports he dominated. They'd been burned by themselves, each thinking she would be the one at whose feet he would fall, when really, Asher never fell.
There was no in between – no one who hadn't heard of Asher Andrews, and no one indifferent. He was a title-holder. In track, he was a state champion and had been since his freshman year. He brought glory home every spring, and television crews put the small town of Hanover, New York, on the local radar. His speed was what would give him a career in football, which was the sport in which he now made headlines.
Although there was always at least one girl in his presence, rarely did one find any male companions. Asher's attitude was a huge turn-off to other guys, so he had no one close to him. Even the other team members saw him as untouchable. Asher preferred to concentrate on his game, not sharing secrets with others. He didn't seek out the company of other guys, and they pretty much left him alone too.
The slap across Asher's face actually hurt his pride more than his skin, but then again, something that huge was an easy target.
“Hey, now, what was that for, pretty lady?” It took a lot to bother the popular athlete, and the smile he gave annoyed his accuser even more than his action.
“What's my name, Jerk?”
“Excuse me?” he asked, reaching for her shoulder.
“It isn't 'pretty lady.' It isn't 'pussy cat.' And it surely isn't Devin, as you called me in your last text, you know.”
Ooh, oops. Asher was terrible at names. He just didn't take the time to remember them. He loved the spotlight and enjoyed being in the company of just about every person in the school. They were all glad to be in his good graces, or so he thought. He was the closest thing that school had to a star, and they all couldn't wait to see which college would put his stardom on the national scene.
He used that to his advantage to make sure he wasn't alone any weekend night. The big flirt in him loved the attention the girls gave him.
It could hurt sometimes when they found out that he wasn't serious, though.
“I'm waiting.” A very displeased, but serious dark-haired girl stood at his locker staring daggers at him.
Asher avoided her stare, as he rarely looked anyone in the eyes, even when proclaiming phony feelings and making empty promises. With his head in his locker for safety, he said, “Darcy?”
“It's Sara. Not even close.” She slammed the locker door onto his head, and the corner caught his chin. “You know, Asher Andrews, I don't know if this is a game to you. You might think you can have any girl come and kneel at your feet, but it's never going to work for you. No one cares what time you can run a mile in. Once the race is over, you will still be alone. All alone.”
“Actually, I do the shorter sprints, and hurdles are my specialty. My time on the mile is irrelevant because it isn't what I focus on. In track, we don't even do a mile.”
His ignorance of the point infuriated the little brunette. She stomped away with a couple of girlfriends at her side, nose in the air.
Asher reached his hand to feel the long scratch across his chin, care of Sara. Sara, yes, he wouldn't forget that now, even though it wouldn't be of any concern to him again.
She turned back before parading off with the girlfriends to kindly inform him by yelling down the hall for the benefit of other students, “You're not cute, Asher!”
After she was gone, he was still looking in her direction, and said to no one who was listening, as if she had simply overlooked something obvious, “Yes I am. I'm adorable.”
He wasn't down in the slightest, though. She was wrong. He would always have someone. Loneliness wasn't in his future, as far as he could see. Looking back at the mirror in his locker, he gave a winning smile.
Yup, there would be someone new in his life by lunch time. Time to go check out the prospects.
Lunch came and went, but Asher hadn't come across any new company. A lot of the girls were busy with pep club work, decorating the school for the big football game coming up over the weekend against South High. Apparently no one noticed that Sara was no longer his companion and left a vacancy by his side. Asher wasn't bothered. Maybe it was time to switch focus for the time being. South was a big game, one of Hanover's biggest rivalries, and he needed to concentrate on learning the newer plays. As the team's fastest running back, Asher had to make sure he had the plays down before he got into formation, showing any college scouts in the stands that he knew what he was doing. This weekend would be a good one to be alone. He knew his dad would be grateful for that.
Practice came and went. Asher nailed down a few of the newer plays the team had been working on, after some basic drills. He loved the basics. The faster he could move, the better the chance he would avoid contact, a goal well worth its effort.
An hour and a half of pushing his body and mind to its max felt great when he was rewarded at the end with a long, hot shower. He headed back to his locker and took his time dressing. Since practice was over, he could go back to thinking about his social life. He began to wonder why his relationships were getting shorter and shorter.
“Don't worry about it. She's not the one for you.”
“Yeah, I know. To be honest, I don't even know if there's just one. Ha, ha.” Asher suddenly realized he had no clue with whom he was conversing or how the other knew his thoughts.
Asher was always the last one out of the locker room after practice. He took his time in the shower, letting the hot water relieve his well-worked muscles. No one waited for him. He didn't need the company after a work out. He preferred to roll his performance over in his mind as the water rolled down his sun-soaked skin. The reflection usually was a way to congratulate himself, but sometimes, he came away with ideas to improve his performance even more. Today's workout was fine, though, so his mind headed in a different direction, betraying him by hinting at the idea that he didn't really enjoy being so alone.
“You did great out there today,” came the voice of the other.
Asher brought his mind back to where he was. He quickly looked at the person next to him, still unable to figure out who the other guy was. He could have been wrong about not knowing him. He didn't get a good look; that wasn’t done in the locker room. Maybe he just never paid attention to the new person. He decided not to be rude. Asher generally was a friendly person.
“Thanks. Were you there? I mean, are you new on the team?” came Asher's unsure reply.
Upon second glance, the stranger was obviously too old to be a high school student, though his appearance was too vague for Asher to determine his real age. As such, he saw no reason for this man to be in a high school boys’ locker room. Panic rose, but he tried to squelch it with his macho I can handle it attitude.
The other answered him. “Yes and no.”
The man took a step closer, and Asher quickly and nervously backed up to the locker behind him. The stranger was taller than he was, and since Asher was six-foot-two, that said something. It was hard not to be intimidated, even when you thought you were the best athlete in the school.
“Who are you?” Asher demanded, knowing he wasn't commanding much in the way of intimidation, backed up against the wall as he was.
The other was unflinching. He was not exactly comforting nor was he threatening. He didn't move forward but his stare kept Asher frozen against the lockers. “My name is Jeremiah.”
That presented no useful information to Asher, but time the stranger took to make a greeting afforded him an escape. His eyes betrayed him as he glanced behind Jeremiah to an exit route. A champion hurdler, Asher thought he should be able to make it past this guy with no problem.
While Jeremiah's expression didn't change, the locker room door suddenly clicked and locked, as if he'd read Asher's mind. Taking things a step further, the lights in the locker room went out, leaving the pair in the dark, so that any other escape plans were thwarted.
Asher, usually the picture of calm, panicked like a stranded puppy and had no idea what to do next. He couldn't even think of anything to say. Never in his life had he had to deal with a dangerous situation.
Then, Jeremiah’s form illuminated the darkness. His calm voice told Asher, “Be at peace, Asher Andrews. You have been chosen. I will guide you. Now, let's talk.”
Something compelled Asher to stay and listen, but his body took over his mind. At the very word “peace,” his soul began to relax, but his body did not accept it. In a time like this he remembered why he hated being alone, and how nice it would have been to have some big, football-playing friends around to help tackle Jeremiah.
Asher was going to have to throw him off somehow, but that didn't look easy. Jeremiah appeared intensely focused, and Asher wondered what on earth this guy could want with him. Chosen for what? How'd he get in here anyway?
Asher surveyed the locker room, dimly lit and empty of any other human presence. What stood between him and the door, other than the stranger, was a long bench and a block of tall red lockers. Somehow, he would have to get past the man and around the lockers to run out the door.
Jeremiah didn't move. He still awaited a reply from his nervous, unknowing protégé. Though he wasn't moving, his presence appeared to be coming closer to Asher.
“Okay, okay. We'll talk,” Asher assured the non-assailing assailant. “But not in the same place—”
With that, Asher slammed a muscular leg onto the long wooden bench in the locker cubicle. The might of the placement propelled Asher up and over Jeremiah's non-turning head. Way over. Asher had hoped to clear the man, but wouldn't have been terribly upset if he accidentally kicked the guy in the process. He expected to land on the ground behind him so he could scurry around the lockers and out the door.
Instead, he jumped so high, he cleared the top of the lockers. In what felt like slow motion, he torqued his body, rolling in the air over the lockers, and landed in a crouched position on two feet and a hand, right in front of the locker room door. Thrilled to be safely separated from the stranger, Asher quickly unlocked and fell through the door. He then pushed himself back against it to keep it closed, so Jeremiah couldn't attempt to escape and come after him, while he caught his breath.
He knew he was an incredible athlete, but honestly, he had no idea he had that power in him.
Remarkably shaken from the event that just transpired in the locker room, Asher could hardly stop trembling as he exited the gym area. More distracted than he had ever been, he jumped when he heard a voice.
“Must have been a really good workout,” she said, somewhat shyly.
The voice belonged to the pretty little sophomore from the girls’ cross-country team. Asher was enamored with her, and she seemed to be the one girl in the whole world to whom he had trouble working up the courage to actually speak. Normally, he even blushed at the sight of her, but he was already flushed. He enjoyed watching her run when he was between his own runs and plays during practice. She was a distance runner, which Asher admired.
This was the first time she had ever spoken to him.
Mr. Dashing lost his cool. “Huh?”
She laughed, but it was a kind laugh. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just saw that you were still shaking and thought you must have had a really good workout.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Wow, really? He couldn't come up with anything better to say? Brother.
“I'm Jessica.” She transferred all her belongings to one hand and stuck out the other for him to shake.
“I'm Asher.” He clumsily shook her hand, not transferring any of his things.
She laughed again. “No kidding! Of course I know who you are.”
That made Asher smile. He had almost forgotten his fame around school.
A car quickly pulled up outside the building and beeped once. Jessica seemed to know the cue. “Okay, well, I gotta go. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
She hurried off. Before she got in the car, however, she mouthed strange words to Asher, and he could only seem to translate them as, “Protect the Cause.”
“Yeah,” he said with a wave that she didn't see. That was weird thing to say, he thought. He wasn't a great lip-reader, so maybe he just got it wrong.
Hmm. Huh, Yeah, I'm Asher, and Yeah. Great conversationalist. Oh, well, he needed to be kept humble.
“That must have been some workout, dear.” Asher's tiny, but spunky mom got up on her tip toes to give her son a kiss on the head. He was used to the drill, so he leaned down to let her adore her son. He had an apple in his mouth, as he usually polished one off on the way home from practice.
“I sure hope the coach kept you late to go over what you were doing right. Because we have been waiting for you for dinner, and I’m hungry, sir,” claimed his father, setting down a magazine, and making a beeline for the table.
“Um, you guys go ahead with dinner. I'm not sure I'm all that hungry.” He lost his appetite from the quaking that hadn't been resolved in his stomach after meeting Jeremiah.
His mother would have none of that. “Asher James, that's boloney. You're a growing boy, and you need your nourishment. Now sit.”
“Mom, I'm not a growing boy any more.” Despite his own pleas, a compulsively obedient Asher sat down at the table.
His dad had already begun eating, but loved an opportunity for a joke. “Yes, please Ellen, if he grows anymore, there won't be any dinner left for his old man.”
“No, I mean, I'm not a boy. I'm eighteen now. I'm a man. I'll be gone next year, so I really don't think I need my mom telling me when I need to eat.”
“Aw, Honey, you know you are just always going to be my baby boy.” She stood behind him to rub down his shoulders for him.
Asher lifted his fork and ate some meat, dissatisfying as it was, to please his mother. She loved still being able to take care of him and hated the reference to his near departure.
Asher was the only son in the Andrews family, the only child at all. All the family's eggs were in his basket.
“Okay, so let's have a run down. This weekend you guys are up against South. What did Coach have to say about your coverage?”
Asher's father had never grown up. He had been in a similar position as Asher when he was a teenager. Where Asher's main sport was track, and he used his running skills on the football field, Bruce Andrews was all football. He had been his team's quarterback and brought championships home three years, so having his only child be a boy he could mold into a superstar was a dream come true. He could continue the football dream after all.
While his wife was concerned about her boy going off to college – most likely out of state – Bruce relished the fact that he still had four more years, and even after that there was the possibility of the pros. It was just another sticking point between him and his wife.
The phone rang.
“I'll get it.” Asher went to the receiver, thinking there was a possibility it could be Jessica. He hoped so. He needed an opportunity to provide a little better conversation and prove he wasn't just some dumb jock.
“No,” commanded his father. “No distractions for you tonight. Ellen?”
Asher's mother went for the phone, but Asher kept his ears open to hear who was on the line. He didn't often take phone calls during the week. His father was careful about keeping his social life at a minimum.
Asher tuned his mother’s conversation out after he realized the call wasn't for him.
“Do you have homework?” Bruce was also intent on making sure Asher's grades stayed high enough for eligibility. He didn't have much to worry about. Asher could hold his own in the classroom. His mother often wondered what his grades would be like if he weren't an athlete.
“Yeah, Dad. I think I'll go work on it now.” Asher wasn't completely honest. He did have some homework, but mostly, he just wanted to go be alone. He needed to work through his encounter with Jeremiah.
Passion Under Grace,