What Number Are You?

Growing up as the youngest of 11 children was a novelty.  In gatherings when we were introduced to our parents friends they would ask “what number are you?”  At first I was proud to tell them I was #11, the “caboose.”  The first and last seemed special, the beginning and the end.  All nine children in the middle were lumped together, but I was proud to have my own slot just for me.  

My mom loved children and the last child represented an ending to a long season of her bringing life into the world.  Being the “baby” as she would refer to me had its perks, but it also had some setbacks too.  In a pack of children, everyone wants to be seen and set apart as special, it is human nature.  When there are so many children and time and resources are limited it can be a breeding ground for envy.  Just consider the story of Joseph from the bible.  His brothers hated him because he was favored.  I didn’t choose to be born last, and yet because of that God-given birth order, there was a favor that I completely enjoyed as well as envy that often crushed me.  

Along with being the youngest, I was super sensitive and was given the gift of empathy.  My heart bled and took on all the sorrow and pain that was around me.  My tears were of compassion and deep feeling and knowing of suffering.  This very gift became like a target on my back where I was vulnerable to attack.  My tears drew violence and mockery and boatloads of shame.  Being a baby was a bad thing but I hadn’t yet learned to contain my emotion, in fact it is still so hard for me to do.  There is a time and place to cry.  In our culture the time is “not now” and the place is alone in your room behind a closed door.  

We are taught early and told often to suck it up.  For some reason, I never quite mastered that skill.  My heart feels and so my eyes express and release the tears.  I see you and I am sad too!  This is the message of tears. It has taken over 40 years to come to a place of loving acceptance for the gift of tears.  In learning to release the heartache through tears, there is a re-ordering of the heart.  Letting go of the suffering that isn’t mine to bear opens up a space deep inside for God’s light and compassionate love to fill and restore and make new.

Many years ago, in a women’s study the question, “What number are you?” returned.  I found it a little off-putting because I had no understanding of what she was referring to.   As those at the table chimed in and engaged in a rich conversation about the Enneagram, I sunk into the confusion and shame of not knowing.  I resisted learning about it though my curiosity was piqued.  I didn’t want to be known as a number again; I wanted to be seen and valued as so much more.  Over time my heart and passion for the Enneagram has shifted.  Although I don’t like to ask people “what’s your number?” I do want to know how they see the world and what tends to pull them out of the light of God’s glory and how they have learned to recognize and return to their essence. 

The Enneagram is a powerful tool that helps bring order and goodness in places of confusion and chaos.

It ushers in connection, curiosity, kindness and compassion.  As we begin to understand who we are at the core of our being and learn to love and bless the unique lens God has given us to see and engage the world, we are bringing the Kingdom of God to earth.  

As we return to this posture of radical self love and acceptance we are then able to share that gift with those we encounter.  We are so much more than a number and yet, numbers are helpful for bringing order and helping us learn and understand God’s creation and perfect design.  He created something different on each of the seven days in which he spoke order into chaos.  We are each created with unique gifts and passions to bring order to our lives and the kingdom of God.  You are invited to take a step and explore the mystery of the Enneagram so that you can experience the fullness of God’s love for you and those he has blessed you with.

(originally posted on www.redtentliving.com)

Please join us for our first ever Virtual Healing Your Trauma using the Enneagram Workshop on Saturday, May 9th as we explore the power of the Enneagram, Your story and Healing. Click HERE to sign up.

Writing Myself Well

My mind races and I have the undeniable urge to run out of the room.  I grip the arms of my chair to make sure that I don’t.  I am about to share a painful childhood experience with a group of near strangers.  They are staring at me with kind expectancy.  I have willingly agreed to do this for The Allender Center’s Certificate Training program, but now it seems like a foolish, exposing thing to do.  Something akin to how I would feel if I went grocery shopping naked. 

Why would I choose to write about such a tragic time in my life and then willingly share it with others?  Was I crazy?  It seems so counter intuitive to everything I have been taught by my parents, the church and well-meaning friends.  

As a society, we are encouraged to put the past behind us and press onward and upward. “What’s done is done” and “don’t cry over spilled milk” are two refrains I’ve heard over and over again.  Even Paul in the book of Philippians tells us to forget what is behind us and press ahead to the prize that is in Christ. 

I had done a great deal of pressing on, yet my spiritual walk had become anything but joyful and life giving.  Instead, I felt weary, run down and just getting by with a low-grade numbness invading the crevices of my soul.  Could there be another way?  Could it be possible that Jesus was asking me to enter some of the more painful stories of my life; stories that I would much rather keep sealed off never to be opened again? 

What if maybe, just maybe, Jesus is really behind me, not just ahead of me. What if he is wooing and calling me to write and share some of these painful experiences so that I can find redemption from the pain, patterns and debris of my past that is keeping me from experiencing the abundant life I’ve been promised?

Dr. Dan Allender’s book, To Be Told, resonates deeply with me. He states:  

“Our own story is the thing that most influences and shapes our outlook, our tendencies, our choices and our decisions.  It is the force that orients us toward the future, and yet we don’t give it a second thought, much less careful examination.  It’s time we listen to our own story.” 

I guess it was my time.

My voice falters as I begin.  I start to read the particular details of one of my painful childhood stories; the Bee Gee song that was playing on the radio, the sting of the hot August sun on my adolescent skin... 

We had been instructed by our leader not to narrate our stories as if bystanders casually observing the action from a safe distance, but instead to get back down in the dirt of the story.  I was consciously using my senses to kick up the dust as I walk back through it. 

I continue reading, allowing the images, sights, sounds and the presence of the characters involved wash over me.  I could actually feel myself as that twelve-year old girl again. 

I keep sharing this way and as I do my jaw clenches and I feel a heavy knot in the pit of my stomach.  The flush of shame rises from my chest into my face as I recount the intense feelings of powerlessness and betrayal that marked me in this particular story.  I am walking in the valley of the shadow of death and it feels like hell.  Waves of grief come as I experience the pain and agony of this particular time in my life afresh.  I somehow finish but the sorrow is deep and the tears continue to flow. 

I catch my breath and gather the courage to look up, cautiously making eye contact with my fellow story sojourners who have just witnessed my intense valley walk.  Their faces are brimming with tears.  Many of them seem to be as shaken as I am.

There is a deafening silence and then something remarkable happens. 

They begin speaking beauty into my sad and grief filled soul with curiosity, kindness and compassion.  They start making holy observations and pointing out profound truths I had never had eyes to see before.  They ask insightful questions and we explore my story more in depth and then, through shared eyes, new truths are revealed to me.  This stunning care towards me and my story starts to shake loose a new way of seeing and an unbelievable freedom is being born in its wake.  Through this process, I break strong-holds that my past had on me which I didn’t even know existed.  

A torn piece of me is sewn back together again. 

I feel a shiver of joy rush through me and a lightness of being that I still can’t quite explain.

Since that first time, I have pondered, written and shared other foundational stories from my life and have cried many tears in the process.  Each time, I am newly amazed at the transformation that happens when I write and re-enter my stories in this way.  It is in and through the valley where I have found freedom from some deep seeded wounds and vows which were keeping me from experiencing the prize of Christ that Paul was speaking of; joy, delight, love, wellness.

Walking in our valley experiences is not for the faint of heart.  It can be a treacherous path filled with unexpected twists, turns and precarious land mines. And the fruits of this particular labor make it worth the journey.  

Billy Graham once said; "Mountaintops are for views and inspiration, but fruit is grown in the valleys." 

How true I have found this on my own healing path. So, what about you? Will you come and spend a little time in your valleys?  I promise you, the beautiful, majestic mountains are just on the other side, waiting for you. 

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