In my last post, I began the telling of how I saw God move on my behalf as I readied for a trip to Nashville, Here is Part 2 of 4. 

When I arrived at the modest hotel in Dallas the hour was early which gave me ample time to rest, shower, and eat a nice dinner. I even squeezed a good, solid workout in. As I readied for bed with a bit more clarity I decided to look into returning home Sunday instead of Saturday for two reasons.

One, I had been able to notify the hotel in Nashville to keep the remaining nights but they were not sure I could get a refund for canceling two hours prior to checking in. In turn, I might lose the money I had prepaid since it was booked through a third party.

Two, I wanted to make up for the day I had lost in Nashville so as not to waste such an expensive flight only to return home so quickly. 

I put out a plea to the Lord and asked for guidance to make the right decision. I decided to start with the hotel. I dialed the hotel and a sweet gal with a lovely southern drawl answered the phone. I explained to her my dilemma and that I wished to use the credit from tonight’s stay and conclude my visit on Sunday instead of Saturday, while she completely agreed with my logic she said, “Because you scheduled through another party I will have to see if the system will let me but I will give it a go.” After a few seconds, she excitedly exclaimed, “It worked! You are set to stay here Thursday thru Saturday. We will see you soon.” I hung up relieved that step one was complete. I then reached out to the ticketing agent in hopes that I could change my Saturday return flight allowing me to arrive home on Sunday. The agent warned me that this request would most likely cost around $200 but she would take a look at what was available and get back to me. Almost 30 minutes later she came back online and said, “I have a 6:00 am flight from Nashville to Minneapolis, then from Minneapolis to San Diego with a $50 change fee. Do you want it?” I couldn’t believe it! I replied, “Yes please!” and thanked Jesus for taking care of this desire to make the most of my trip. I reached out to everyone involved back home to let them know I was not going to return in time for Sunday service. 

On Thursday I arrived in Nashville with ample time to get checked in and ready for the conference. The next two days were a bit of a whirlwind filled with the excitement of meeting new people, hearing incredible music, and getting updated information from vendors. The conference opened that evening with my absolute favorite worship artist, Brooke Ligertwood. She was everything I could hope for; gracious, humble, and talented, and she beautifully led over 800 people in song with such brevity that allowed an outpouring of the Holy Spirit.

That same night, Lisa Harper, a well-known author, and pastor shared Paul’s teaching on Ephesians. She shared that we are to approach the throne of God with “confidence and humility,” reminding us what a fine line that is to balance. Those words, “confidence and humility” resonated in my heart the rest of the night and I asked God to open my eyes and heart to what the weekend held for me.

“confidence and humility“

Each service cracked open new truths about me; a follower of Jesus, a worship leader, a mother, a wife, and a friend. On the second day of the conference, Pastor Chris Brooks from Local Church in Nashville continued with the theme of humility and dropped the weighty nugget, “Humility is tied to our authority,” and asked if we were ready to “receive the full weight of the calling and character on our lives?” He then leaned in and asked a final question which he drew from the book of Matthew in the story of when Jesus asked the two blind beggars outside the temple walls before he healed their sight, “What do you want me to do for you?” Chris pointed out that it is a comical question if you think about it. One might answer, “Um, Jesus, obvi, they want their sight healed.” Pastor Chris guided us to sit with that question as if Jesus were in front of us right then? I envisioned Jesus sitting in front of me asking me,

“Kelly, what do you want me to do for you?” In my heart, I said, “To see people.” 

Pastor Chris chided us a bit that we would knee jerk to a liturgical answer but to be honest and again the words came to my mind, “To see people, to really see people.” I attribute it to the fact that just a few days before my trip I had been invited to read a new book called, Good, and Beautiful and Kind by Rich Villodas as part of a book launch. I was honored to read a book before it is released to the public, which comes out this July, and give feedback in a social media group forum. As I read this gorgeous book I was encouraged with tangible ways to be good, beautiful, and kind. While reading it the image of a homeless man on my street corner right outside our local grocery store kept flashing in my mind’s eye. I ‘saw’ him every time I went to the store with my husband and I always had my canned answer, “I’m sorry, I don’t have any cash.” That was always true, but had I thought to sit by him and ask, “What can I do for you?” I was feeling the rawness of this conviction even now as Pastor Chris spoke. 

After two and a half days of rich learning, I returned to the venue on the final morning of the conference a bit exhausted since the night before ended well past 10:30 pm. As the morning kicked off a group of about twenty vocalists and musicians came out with incredible energy, clothed in bright colors and each member representing a range of diversity in age, ethnicity, and talent. They called themselves Sanctuary and the joy they exuded spilled from the stage and washed over us. We sang for over an hour followed by a sermon shared by Pastor Ty, whose last name I missed because I had to slip out to use the restroom. Pastor Ty sounded and looked like Chris Rock except for the large beard that grazed his chest. He was a lean, tall man with a ton of energy. He paced the stage and quoted scripture with authority and humor that had us all on the edge of our seats. Pastor Ty wrecked me that morning when he stated,

“The enemy speaks to pain but God wants to heal it.” 

He had been pacing the stage nonstop when he stopped and said, “The word ‘forgiveness’ is coming to my mind. I’m gonna stop right here.” His eyes got real big and he smiled and said, “Oh boy, who here needs to hear this word??” He bounced up and down a bit and got really excited as the Holy Spirit began to move and asked with enthusiasm and passion, “Who here needs to hear the word of forgiveness? What do you need to forgive and renounce? What lies of the enemy are you believing today. What thing is haunting you today?” When he said the word “haunting” I dropped to my seat and grabbed my notepad and pen and began to write the words that flowed out of my head and heart of the lies I was believing and holding onto, the choices of my past that haunt me all these years later, and the revelation and surprise that I needed to forgive someone in my life for past hurts.

Pastor Ty broke into song, singing, “I’m no longer a slave to fear. I am a child of God.” As he sang, the group Sanctuary joined him followed by the congregation and the sound of the proclamation was almost deafening. I stood and sang and wept and lifted words of praise until there was nothing left. Another pastor came out to offer us all a benediction as we parted our separate ways. I was filled to the brim with gratitude and began to make my way back to my hotel a little unsure how I would process all that I had received.

If you missed part 1 you can check it out here https://lifeonthebackburner.wordpress.com/

On a recent trip to Nashville, Tennessee I saw God move in ways I had not asked for and do not feel worthy of receiving. In order to describe to you the beautiful ways in which I saw God move on my behalf, I need to go back to about a month ago. In early June while at work I was cleaning out my email inbox and noticed an email in my spam account that I had missed about a worship conference. It was an advertisement for the Worship Together Conference in Nashville and upon reading it I thought to myself, “Oh my goodness, this sounds amazing!” and I assumed the email was offering me information for 2023 since the last time I attended this event it had been in May but low and behold it was announcing the lineup for June 2022 and my heart sank since the dates of the conference were only two weeks away. After thinking about it for a few hours I decided I would reach out to the accountant of the church where I am on staff and inquire if there was a way I could attend this conference. Coincidentally, in my recent annual review, my Pastor and I had discussed taking advantage of opportunities to help develop me professionally by attending conferences or developmental activities when they came across my lap.

In 2019 my husband and I had the privilege of attending the Worship Together Conference where it had been two days filled with wonderful speakers, musicians, and of course workshops on the latest technology and strategies within the framework of my role as a worship leader. I emailed the accountant not holding my breath that she would say yes to such a big ask on such short notice. The next morning I awoke to a happy reply that communicated the church would gladly cover the cost of the trip with a small portion needing to come from my annual operations budget. I was elated and wasted no time booking my flights, hotel, and registering for the event. 

As I looked ahead at the date of my trip I realized I would need to miss our mid-week rehearsal but did not want to cancel since that would make Sunday morning feel crunched and that can cause undue stress on our tech team so I reached out to the Music Director to let her know of my plans and sought her help in how we could make the mid-week rehearsal flow without me there. She was a great sport and assured me that all would be taken care of. Unfortunately, airline ticket sales were at a peak high as the world was waking up from COVID travel shutdowns over the past two years so this made me want to take full advantage of the opportunity and this itinerary would allow me to fly to Nashville a day prior and spend a little downtime in the gorgeous city I fell in love with three years prior.

On the morning of my departure, my supportive husband drove me to the airport for the 8:00 am flight. To save a few hundred dollars I had booked my flight through a third-party app for the reason I mentioned before and with the flight being cheaper it had me connecting in Dallas and then continuing on to Nashville where I would arrive just in time for dinner. As I waited to board the plane I began to feel nervous about the fact that I was unfamiliar with the airline and unsure of how to find my connecting flight at the next airport. I expressed this concern to a friend who had been wishing me well on my travels via text and she encouraged me to download the airline’s app. I thought, “I don’t want to download an app for an airline I may never fly again,” but as I got settled onto the plane my gut told me to go ahead and do so. Thankfully just before take off I secured my information in the airline app. Immediately upon landing in Nashville I received a notification that my connecting flight was canceled. It turns out it was a newsworthy event where major airlines had canceled over 1400 flights that day. I felt a small seed of panic rise in my chest as I looked at my phone wondering what to do. Thankfully the app prompted me with the option to book another flight, however, the only date offered was the next day at 7:00 am. In a knee-jerk reaction, I selected the 7:00 am flight and quickly texted my husband who flies much more frequently than me to seek any advice on what to do next and he encouraged me to head to a ticket counter to see what could be done. When I deboarded the plane and arrived at the ticket booth I was one of many with the same dilemma since there were over 30 people in line in front of me. The anxiety and worry began to set in. 

I waited in line and began to do what I do best, make small talk with complete strangers. One young gal was from San Diego and like me heading to Nashville. She was excited for a girl’s weekend but sad that she might miss out on seeing a friend who would not be there if she arrived the following day. A family of six was in front of us returning home from a family vacation and had already experienced major drama on their way to California and getting frustrated to be in a similar boat on the way back to Ohio. I was grateful to chat with them since it made the time pass quickly. As it soon was my turn I showed the agent my reservation for the 7:00 am flight and asked if there was any way I could fly out today when he noticed that my flight was not direct from Dallas but had me connecting in DC then to Nashville. He promptly secured a direct flight for the next day, Thursday afternoon, departing at 1:30 pm. In the meantime, I could try to fly Standby on one of the few flights that remained for the day. It was early in the afternoon so I felt hopeful until I arrived at the gate and saw that I was a standby passenger of 20 out of 30. I saw the gal from San Diego and we stood next to each other trying hard to be patient as we knew it was a long shot. When the plane completed its boarding process only three standby passengers had been lucky enough to take off. The flight attendant at the gate began to call out each passenger that remained on the stand-by list; some were no longer present, some chose to stay the night, while the remaining passengers decided to try their luck on the next flight that was left in 30 minutes. After all of that, there were still about fifteen of us hoping to fly out that day when the agent called my name and confirmed I had a flight for the next day. She smiled at me and inquired if I wanted to try my luck with standby at the same time gently giving me a reality check that it was very unlikely so I decided to stay the night in Dallas. I thanked her for her time, said bye to my new friend who was going to chance flying standby and headed to the ticket counter to collect my hotel and meal voucher. 

While I waited for the airport shuttle I called home and gave my husband the update where he in his wisdom brought up the idea that I might want to think about a backup plan in case of delays on the back end of the trip. He asked me to think about who could lead in my place? I sat down and looked at the volunteers that were slated for the Sunday service and the two people that quickly came to mind were either already serving somewhere else or out of town. Then I noticed a peculiar thing. Usually, when I schedule volunteers I schedule three or four vocalists including myself with a vocalist who typically plays acoustic guitar but this Sunday I had scheduled five! Four female vocalists and a male vocalist who played the guitar. In the event of a scenario like this, I would have the acoustic player stationed at the back of the stage because our platform front and center could only fit four vocalists comfortably. However, I had a song in the lineup that needed a male vocalist to lead due to the nature of the song and our only male vocalist played guitar. I then noticed a name jump out at me, “Jennifer.” She was a recent college graduate who had recently begun attending our church and joined the worship team two months prior and began sharing her violin and vocal talent with us. I texted Jennifer to see if she would even entertain the idea to step in and lead for me if I could not make it home in time. She quickly responded yes and assured me she was available to do whatever was needed. At this point, I was frustrated to lose a day in Music City but grateful to be headed to a hotel with a backup plan in place and hopeful that I would get to Nashville without further delays. Little did I realize God was moving in my midst.

I will be posting parts 2 thru 4 over the next few days if you wish to come back and read more.

Part 2 https://lifeonthebackburner.wordpress.com/

Today is always an odd holiday to me. I honestly never know how to honor it or not feel I am taking something or someone for granted. I remember a time when I lived in Lake Havasu City, AZ. Memorial Day was the weekend that kicked off summer and brought hundreds of boaters out to spend the weekend skiing and sunbathing on their pontoons or houseboats. I’ll admit for as a junior higher I loved that the beach was 100 degrees and we had all day to hang with our friends and no school in sight until September. The London Bridge was lined with American Flags from one end to the next and many a time my family went to a memorial service and sang the National Anthem for a local rotary club. 

My dad’s father served in the Army in the last horse infantry of World War II. He came home a wounded man with many demons that no one had the tools back in the 40s to help him navigate his PTSD. When my grandfather died in 1990 his funeral was the first I had ever seen a 21 gun salute. I was 14 and it was terrifying and breathtaking all at the same moment. My grandfather had not talked much of his time in the military but I knew he was proud of how he had served as a young man. My dad was in the military for a short time as he transitioned from college to his professional career. He signed up with the Air Force and was quickly put in charge of his company’s health and fitness. He ran all the sports tournaments for Edwards AF base and before he left he completely managed the Summer pool and swim programs. Three years into his military career he was offered a full-time teaching position and was honorably discharged after he and my mom had their second child. My dad was always passionate about showing respect to all branches of the military but it was not a huge part of our daily life or conversations. At times stories of his childhood friends who never came home from Vietnam would sprinkle into conversations. He always felt lucky that he had not been drafted and also struggled with shame that he never served in that capacity. 

After marrying my husband, I was introduced to a different perspective on the military since both sides of my husband’s family served in the Navy. His grandfathers both served life-long careers which were handed down to the next two generations. My father-in-law served 20 years in cryptography and his eldest son went into the Navy and served a 4-year term before becoming a police officer. They even sailed on the same ship over 20 years apart. My husband however did not have the same passion for going into the armed forces and chose a path in computer science finishing with a year degree from PLNU. Every year since being a part of this family I have seen the heart that these families have for our country as they spent many years serving their country. My husband’s family was stationed in Hawaii, the Azores (a small island off of Portugal), and ended their 20-year stint in Pensacola, Florida, home of the Blue Angels. I have learned to appreciate their patriotism but still at times hold these traditions at arm’s length to a degree. I find myself a bit saddened when we as a country have seen blurred lines between patriotism, Christianity, and family traditions. It can get a bit convoluted and I try to keep some of it as separate as possible. 

My husband and I have lived in El Cajon, CA. A city 25 miles east of Downtown San Diego. We chose to live here many years ago because it was a much warmer climate since we are still desert rats and thrive in 90-degree weather. Between the fact that I was freezing most of the time by the beach, this neighborhood allowed us to afford a 3 bedroom condominium purchase. It is a very diverse area and at the time we moved in it was a mix of Hispanic, Black, Caucasian, and a handful of Arabic-speaking neighbors. Within 5 years time of us living out this way, the demographic changed almost overnight when over 80,000 refugees migrated to El Cajon from Iran and Iraq when there was much distress with ISIS at the time. Within 3 years the restaurants within walking distance from our house went from taco shops to falafels and gyro eateries. We had neighbors moving in with luggage tags straight from the boat who did not speak any English and were very terrified of dogs and loud noises. Soon we began to get to know these neighbors. I’ll never forget about 5 years after one of the elder gentlemen in our neighborhood had moved in he rode up on his bicycle, he was about 70 at the time and when he saw me, loudly proclaimed, “ I am a US Citizen!!!” The pride in his voice and the smile on his face I will never forget. He was beaming and all I could do was smile back and return his hug sharing in his glee and pride.  A few years later I was working at our neighborhood grocery store and  I struck up a conversation with an older Arabic man who told me how much he missed the pomegranate trees and citrus in his country. He had a teary look in his eye as he described the lush landscape of his youth but then he said in his broken English, “But we’re free here.” I remember feeling chills after he expressed that to me. Just a few weeks ago, while I was walking my dog and waiting for the pedestrian sign to change a young Chaldean man on his bike started chatting with me and said, “It’s so great here! I love it here. America! I don’t have my license yet but that’s ok. I can ride my bike and go wherever I want!” He patted my puppy’s head and waved goodbye as the light changed. I giggled and asked myself, “Why did he tell me that?” But I pondered his words the rest of my 3-mile loop. 

As I sit here reflecting on all of these moments where complete strangers or my dear neighbor who have had to leave their home, their families, and all they know have expressed their joy of freedom. Freedom to go to the grocery store whenever they need to, no wild dogs roaming the streets in terror, or bombs going off in their local markets or churches. I think about the last two years specifically, our government has looked like a ****-show yet we have to remember that we are one of the freest countries in the world. And that came at a cost and still does. As I write these words I will admit I spent the morning cleaning my porch and taking the day slow because I was given the day off and I am so grateful for that yet, I struggle to want to sit and think of the lives lost over the hundreds of years that this country has been a country. I know that there are many moments of shame and grief that this country has caused us over the past 200 + years but I do believe that it is important to say thank you for these freedoms whether we believe in war or whether the current or previous leadership is screwing up or has screwed up. What is important is that we do our part in our local arenas and that we say thank you to those who have served because I have heard too many stories that the grass isn’t greener and those who have given up so much to come here know the gifts we were born into and I hope you and I do not take it for granted.

I found myself on Maundy Thursday with a strong urge to write. It’s a somber day as I reflect on the last week of Jesus’s life. In scripture, it says that in the last days of Jesus’s life this day was spent with the ones he loved the most, his disciples. I told a colleague of mine that in ministry, preparing for Good Friday was like preparing for a funeral. At least for me, I have to go there to really get in the headspace to grasp the magnitude of what Jesus did for us. All of these thoughts brought me to the memories of my dad’s passing. While I am not about to compare my dad’s passing with Jesus, the Christ, the experience of losing my dad has given me a perspective that I feel led to share. 

I’ll never forget the week my dad fell and broke his neck. His injuries had left him paralyzed from the neck down and on life support. This occurred in 2015 and there are times it feels like yesterday yet it’s already coming up on seven years. The events that transpired that week were life-changing and I remember the day before his passing were hopeful. Yes, there was fear and challenges ahead with the unknowns of his recovery but we were hopeful he would leave that hospital room. On Thursday, July 2nd we had a plan to see our dad through recovery after this horrific fall. We had prayer warriors all over the nation surrounding us in prayer and the feeling was palpable that we would see a miracle.

The following morning the hospital Ethics and Crisis team met with us. We were asking the doctors to proceed with a tracheostomy to allow my dad to breathe so healing could be his number one concern. The woman who sat with us was incredibly empathetic, yet authoritative as she broke the news to us that if these doctors here at UCLA medical center said that our amazing and active father would never walk again or breathe on his own then we had to come to that reality and putting a trach in someone who had directives to not prolong their life with these very things we were asking to do, was inhumane. At that moment the realization of all of this began to surface. My mother bravely went to my dad that morning and said to him with sadness in her voice, “Larry, you are not going to come home with me. They are saying that you will live the rest of your life on a breathing tube and feeding tube if you decide to continue with treatment.” I am not even sure if my mom finished that sentence, my dad began to shake his head in protest knowing that he never wanted to live that way. He courageously chose to begin the process of exiting this earth and for them to remove the breathing tube that was supporting his every breath in that stark hospital room. Suddenly we were in the last hours, saying goodbye yet, without even knowing the pain we would feel tomorrow. 

Going back to the story of Jesus, imagine the disciples’ long night of confusion and worry as they had just seen their friend and teacher be arrested and then condemned to death. Their calm dinner with Jesus washing their feet must have felt like a lifetime away already. We can never fully grasp the fear and confusion they were feeling nor can we fathom the pain that Jesus would encounter when being crucified. Can you even imagine having to stand by and watch a beloved friend be beaten and tortured and nailed to a cross? And then, in the midst of it all, Jesus does what you do when your hours on this earth are coming to an end. You begin to give out directives to those you are leaving behind. 

In that final hour, before the nurses would up my dad’s pain medication to alleviate his body’s stress, he began to communicate what he wanted for his funeral. My dad could not speak due to the breathing tube down his throat so he would blink yes as we went across a board of letters to help spell out the words he was thinking. It still amazes me how aware he was despite the immense pain he must have been in. He told us where he wanted to be buried and who would officiate among other details that he must have been thinking about all week long as he lay trapped in his hospital bed. We each snuggled his cheek and told him how much we loved him and how we would carry on the legacy of his love for Jesus and that we were so grateful he was our dad. He asked us to sing hymns over him and we prayed one last time as he slipped into a deep sleep and his body began to shut down. They removed the breathing tube and his neck collar as we continued to share stories of him and allow those who loved him most to squeeze his hands and kiss his cheek goodbye. 

As Jesus hung on the cross he told John to care for his mother Mary. He gave admission into eternity to the thief hanging on his own cross next to him. He forgave those who were yelling and spitting at him and the very ones who nailed Him to the cross and he even cried out to God one last time before breathing his last breath. 

In the final hour of my dad’s life, we were lying across his bed with the 5 of us waiting until his incredibly strong heart gave out. Then in a blink of an eye, it was finished. He was gone and immediately you could see that Larry was no longer here. His body was a mere shell. I remember squeezing those strong hands one last time while they still had warmth in them. We walked out of the hospital room as the fatigue set in those early hours of July 4th and made our way to our respective hotel rooms only to collapse in sorrow and grief.

After experiencing the last moment of my father’s life, I now think differently of the Saturday following Good Friday. No one went home following Jesus’s death. Some took the time to bury him and others scattered in fear that they would be next but most of all they left the crucifixion site defeated and overwhelmed with the weight of Jesus’s absence. Someone they had spent almost every waking hour with for the past 3 years was gone. I imagine they gathered and cried together and walked through the past 48 hours reliving and rehashing how it all occurred and may be wondering if they had missed any signs that this tragedy was going to occur. I am confident that the day was long and no one wanted the dawn to come. 

On the Saturday morning of my father’s death, the wave of grief knocked me over. Nausea washed over me as I woke in that sweet moment between dreaming and waking only to realize it was not a dream. That this was now our reality. The tears would not stop. As a family, we spent the day weeping; recalling the events from the moment he fell to the moment he passed. Of course, we shared memories of who our dad was, like his laughter and the way he hugged, all the while grief was taking hold of our hearts tighter and tighter. We spent the next 10 days planning and executing my dad’s memorial service including a 1600-mile round trip trek to Colorado to bury his body next to his mama and daddy. Those days were hard yet healing and gave us purpose in the midst of the grief. 

When Mary came the next morning to visit Jesus’s tomb we can only suspect she was just coming to do what was accustomed at that time, to make sure that the aroma of spices and perfumes were what was coming from the tomb as Jesus’s body would have surely been beginning to decay. Yet, she finds it empty and is overwhelmed with worry since grave robbers were a concern in that day and age. Then she hears Jesus call her name. Can You Imagine??!! Someone you just saw dies a horrible death is alive to call your name? I love how she recognizes Jesus only after he calls her name. What a beautiful testament to their friendship. In this day and age, we see miracles through modern medicine more often than we see miracles through the unseen acts of the Holy Spirit. But we have never seen someone come to life after being dead for 3 days!!

Oh, how I would lose my ever-loving mind to hear my dad call my name again. If that occurred it would change my perspective of everything. I would not be able to be quiet about what I saw and would yes, go running to my family and share the good news! After my dad passed everything he said or did had new meaning. I saw his heart and all the sacrifices he made for us. It became so clear to me how much he loved God and how his action toward others was driven by that love. I believe the feelings of the disciples and loved ones of Jesus probably felt all of this but multiplied by twenty. 

There is no comparison to Jesus. That is not what this writing is about. It’s about a real-life experience that allows me to relate to an experience that occurred over 2000 years ago. It helped me to see that what Jesus did was not only amazing but the example of how he lived and died causes me to pause and reflect. And then you have the miracle of Jesus rising from the dead and become aware of how incredible and yes unfathomable that is. Thinking about these things allows me to sit in the tension of the sadness that was felt on Good Friday and Saturday but I then have to recognize that the dawn of Sunday is real. The miracle of my dad’s death was that he was able to choose to leave this earth and not suffer. He was able to say goodbye to us and have the hope of eternity on the other side. I hope that tomorrow brings you to hope and that today you’ll sit in the tension with anticipation for the dawn of Easter.

What is the Enneagram?

A few years ago I was asked to speak to a room full of church board members, CEO’s,  professors and other leaders in my church community. I will admit, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to talk about but then a dear friend of mine reminded me of the one thing I am so passionate about because it has helped me so much in my areas of leadership.  The Enneagram. I assist a team of 30 students at Point Loma Nazarene University for our campus visit program and I am a bi-vocational worship leader in San Diego. While in these simultaneous roles the past five years I have looked for ways to make me the best leader, manager and version of myself. About a four years ago, I discovered the Enneagram.

The enneagram is a personality assessment that was arguably discovered thousands of years ago. In the 1970’s, Father Richard Rohr began teaching and writing about it, which brought it to the light. In 2016, Ian Morgan Cron and Susan Stabille penned the book The Road Back To You. This book brought the enneagram down to layman’s terms and inspired a podcast by the authors. A spin-off podcast was created by Ian Morgan Cron himself, called Typology. There are many authors that you can seek wisdom on this topic, including Beatrice Chestnut, a licensed psychologist and Father Rohr himself. For me, I have gravitated to Ian Morgan Cron’s style over the past year.

The enneagram is complied of 9 Types. 1-9, these types help us to know what motivates our behavior. How many of you repeat a behavior and wonder “Why do I do that? Why do I keep doing that?” This my friend can help you answer that question. Whether your 22 or 82, it will give you an insight into who you are and even a look into those around you. I highly recommend picking up the book The Road Back to You and sitting down with a nice beverage and reading it from front to back because the best way to know your number is to read each description. In most cases, the one that causes a visceral reaction is probably yours. Some types people don’t even want to claim for themselves, but the good news is, there is good in everyone and room for improvement in all of them.

Why Is It Different?

Many of you may know your Myers Briggs or your top 5 Strengths from the Clifton Strengths. Maybe you looked into the 5 Love Languages by Gary Chapman or you know your Temperament such as referring to yourself as an extroverted Sanguine or introverted Melancholy. I know, there are So. Many. Out there. The difference for me with the Enneagram is that it seems when you know your number along with other’s numbers it is like cracking open the soul. It allows us to understand why people react a certain way in certain situations, stress about certain things or are more concerned about money or time than the next. Why is that person a “go-getter” or that person can’t get motivated to save their life?? Why is that person so worried about image and that person could care less? This will help you see why and it will also help you understand yourself and reach the best version of you. If you’re not convinced let me share with you a couple of stories that in my roles as a leader have found the Enneagram to be vital. (Disclaimer: I am not receiving any money to convince you of this, just hoping to make the world a better place)

Relate: Can we relate better if we know each other’s number?

I am a 7 on the enneagram. 7’s are known as the Enthusiasts. We love stimulating experiences, new adventures and will do anything to avoid pain and conflict. Let’s just say, 7’s love to color outside the lines. A dear friend of mine is a 1. 1’s are known as The Reformers. They are perfectionist, they are “ethical, dedicated and reliable”, but they do not stray outside the lines. This friend and I have been friends for 15 years. We have not always been the best of friends. We have lived parallel to each other; going to the same church, surrounded by like friends and involved in music ministry at our local church for over a decade. Five years ago she and I were teamed up as interim worship leaders in our local church. I was asked to head up the program and she was an amazing support person helping with logistics of everything. As I moved into the role as the director I was on a mission to make the team better and grow the program. Let’s just say, I was moving outside the lines and running as fast as I could to the future of this program. My friend was running behind me making sure all the details were taken care of. Slowly but surely miscommunication took hold and began to cause conflict. Any new idea I had she said no. Anything she thought was too new or too progressive I balked at. It wasn’t good and our friendship that had been blossoming was now disintegrating.

Until one day. On my drive home I was listening to an episode of “The Road Back To You” podcast about a married couple who were both 1’s sharing about their lives as 1’s. They talked about how perfectionism drove them. There was literally a voice in their head keeping a to-do list and if that list was not completed at the end of the day they felt they had failed. They hated how much they cared if something was perfect or how they couldn’t keep their critical mouth shut at times. They shared how they only could do things they would succeed at for fear of failure. So may things about my friend began to click for me and I felt like I could really see her. I sat in my car and just began to weep. I am serious. Not just a tear ran down my cheek, but crocodile tears and this picture of my friend trying to keep me in her box and me pushing it open every day just brought me to a place of empathy I had never known. I called her up immediately and asked if these things were true for her. She confirmed them and I confessed to her how much I didn’t understand her plight and how frustrating I must have been the past year. We spent an hour talking those things out and laughing at our “Ah-Ha” moments. We began to move towards a place of understanding. We also found a messaging technique that worked for us. A big problem in the past was we shot each other down too quickly. From then on if I had a grandiose idea I would “Glide” it to her; she would listen to it, process it and then respond. A day or so later she could respond and say “nope, bad idea” or “yep, great idea.” Just this one change made such a huge difference in how we related to each other. Then the trust began to build. We realized no one was out to sabotage each other or trying to choke out creativity. This one shift in our understanding of each other was a game changer. I now see 1’s as people who want to make whatever I do the best it can be and welcome their feedback and input.

Communicate: How can we communicate better?

Like I mentioned before I work at a private university in San Diego and I have the privilege of working with our Campus Visit program. I work for an amazing boss who is 12 years my junior. He is a kind soul who strives for the best and is very caring in how he manages his team. He is a 2 on the enneagram and loves to be needed but also has tendencies to do things very linear and his world can be black and white. For a 7 like me, that of course can be a challenge to live in those spaces of structure. (I swear we’re not wild animals, just very free-spirited) I have been in this role under my boss as Campus Visit Coordinator for 2.5 years. He hired me not for my computer skills but for my customer services skills and outside the box thinking. We have had a blast making phenomenal changes in our visit program all for the better.

If I didn’t mention it before, I am also a mom of 3 teenagers and a husband of 19 years. I live 25 miles from my office and my commute on a good day is forty-five minutes and on a bad day is an hour and twenty. Leaving my house at 6:45am to be there at 8am was and is challenging. I did pretty good the first year. But as I got into the groove of my job, I noticed I was staying til 5 or 5:30 to do parts of my visit job or just to get things done since the office was quiet. A lot of my job in the day is interacting with families and prospective students as well as our student workers. I also noticed that when things went awry in my home it happened between 7am and 7:30am. My son would miss the bus, or I would lose my keys, or my daughter needed the car and so my husband and I had to carpool. I almost must include that my husband doesn’t function before 7am… All these things started to make an 8am start time very hard. It began to weigh on me and frustrate me. I would come in at 8:20 and stay til 5 for a few months with no push back from anyone, then a few months later my boss would say, “Let’s start our season off right by getting in at 8am.” Not to be too dramatic, but I could feel figurative hands choke me when those words were spoken. I felt so trapped between all of these hats I was wearing.

This past summer we went on a trip as a team for our department. We were able to visit a wonderful restaurant called Omeletry on our last day in Vancouver. Everyone was excitedly trying the various omelets. I personally don’t care for omelets but these were actually really amazing. I looked down the table and saw my boss with a large bowl of oatmeal in front of him. I was curious why he had chosen that among everything else and inquired. He informed me that he needed to eat oatmeal per doctors orders. I was a bit dumbfounded. I thought to myself, “But your on vacation at the best omelet restaurant in Vancouver and you’re eating oatmeal??” As I flew home on the plane I had another light bulb moment. I suddenly realized why it was so hard for him to change the structure that I was trying to bust out of. It may seem silly reading this at this point in time, but it really allowed me to see how his brain worked and that when something was to be done a certain way he would execute it the best way he could. I went to his office the following week and shared with him my “Ah-Ha moment”. We started to talk through how my role has changed and how I stay later most days and how it seems to go better on my family when I get in a little later. He explained to me that no one doubted I was doing my job well but that it helped the team know when I was coming and when I was going. We decided that from here on out I would come in at 8:30. If I came in earlier, it was a win! If I needed to come in at 9 to stay later I would put it on the calendar for the team to see. This one revelation allowed us to communicate our needs and wants and frustration with each other. I am so grateful for this discovery with the enneagram I was able to stop and “see” my boss and we were able to stop and assess what was working and what was not. I can honestly say the start of this semester has been a fantastic one with me feeling I have grace and my team sees I am doing my best.

Grace: How do we extend grace?

My latest enneagram discovery was recently with one of my student workers. This student was new to our team and took a few weeks to get to know. We had not worked together prior to our summer team and I was new to independently managing the students. Our students in the summer work our front desk since we are the first point of contact for visiting families and run our daily tours. One of our most pertinent responsibilities is logging off or locking our computer when stepping away. This student would forget almost everyday. It started out innocently and I would remind him when I discovered it but a few days went by and I had to keep reminding him. In other aspects of the job the same forgetful attitude seemed to creep in. I wasn’t sure if it was an attitude or a true spirit of forgetfulness. I was beginning to be frustrated that this student was not listening to my direction and my attitude began to shift negatively. It occurred to me one afternoon that he had told me he was a 7 on the enneagram, like myself, and I began to think back to my 20 year old self. How would I want to be communicated with? I remember that when there was a rule, my subconscious would buck that rule or I was so into the next event the present would become blurry. I realized that maybe my student wasn’t doing this out of spite but maybe was excited about giving the next tour or ready to hang with friends at lunch that he was genuinely forgetting. I decided to try a different tactic than berating him. I decided to “Hasselhoff” his computer.  The next day I changed his computer background to a silly background with a pun about forgetting to lock his computer. He thought it was hilarious and even though he didn’t say much about it he didn’t forget to lock his computer again.

I thought about this story as I was creating my speech for my ministry team meeting and thought how exciting it was as a manager and as a leader that through understanding this student’s enneagram number I was able to stop and extend grace to this student. I not only was able to extend grace in the sense that I knew he wasn’t doing it to make me crazy but then I thought how would I want to be treated. What could have gone on and created a seed of contention turned into a fun inside joke. By the middle of the summer we had a change in our relationship and reached a level of ease and understanding.

Now What?

So now that I’ve shared how the enneagram has helped me in my journey as a leader I’d like to direct you to how can you discover these nuggets for yourself? You first need to discover your own number for yourself. There are a few ways to go about this. You can read The Road Back To You as I have mentioned and see which description resonates with you the most. You can head to 9types.com and take a quick and free assessment. This way you can find your baseline number. Another avenue is to navigate to the Enneagraminstitute.com and take the test for $12. It is a bit more thorough and trustworthy but of course not free. This same site has many resources and descriptions as well as how other numbers work with your own number. I hope that you take the time to dive into this and allow yourself to see the enneagram as a tool to help you relate to people, communicate better and extend grace.

Do you get sucked in to the commercialism of Valentines day? Do you wish to wake up to a room dusted in rose petals and coffee sitting on your bedside table? Or maybe a diamond ring hidden in your cheesecake at dinner? Too much?? Okay, let’s go on the simple side. How about a spontaneous picnic lunch on the beach with flavors from your favorite charcuterie board?

I have been married to my high school sweetheart for 19 amazing years.  We have been friends and soul mates since we were 17. He is the ying to my yang and is an incredibly kind and generous man who gets me. What you don’t know is, that he is terrible at Valentine’s day and I am a hopeless romantic. We’ve been married almost 20 years and I can count on one hand the times he has bought me a Valentine gift or sent me flowers. One time he did send me a dozen roses from Canada to my desk at work. I was on the moon for days. Yet another year he bought me a Reese’s Peanut buttercup from the store after grabbing items for dinner. Not the most romantic day of my life. I have written him gushy cards and once made him pink mashed potatoes for dinner. I do not recommend this since it looked like I cut my finger in the process of making said potatoes. Somehow we managed to eat them. I love spontaneous and loud romantic gestures.

There is something about this holiday that brings out the romantic side of people or the forlorn lover. For those who are single, it’s a glaring reminder that you may feel alone this holiday. For you who are widowed it’s a daunting reminder that your life partner is gone and no one will bring you a bouquet after work on Valentine’s day. Maybe this day ignites creativity in you because you thrive on creating that perfect romantic experience but your significant other doesn’t like you to spend money on them. Or it is the day that allows you the courage to tell that certain someone you have feelings for them in hopes they reciprocate them. It seems to be one of those days that seems to make people feel a little topsy turvy.

I will admit, as this day grows close I have had a few fantasies about what it could entail but then I realize it will be just another Thursday. My husband and I will have a rehearsal, our kids will have homework and we will need to figure out what to do for dinner. Plus, I remember that my husband becomes paralyzed with fear when he doesn’t know what to do for a gift idea and then does nothing…I know, I know,  I sound like such a whiner. But then it struck me as I was getting ready for work this morning. I started to think about all the things my husband does for me on the 364 non-Valentine’s days. The ways he loves me with his actions and not empty words or cards. The way he looks at me when I walk into a room. Or the text messages throughout my day when life has been too busy to have a real conversation. There’s so many things I could list but here is a short list for you.

1. He has gone to work EVERY day since the day we said “I do.” (Together we sacrificed for me to stay at home with our kids for 14 years. He got up many mornings while I was still snoozing and could drink coffee at my leisure while snuggled up with our littles.)
2. He cooks dinner EVERY single weekday.  (Ever since we decided it was time for me to head to the work place he has cooked and I have cleaned)
3. He does the dishes when I’m just too tired
4. He helps with the kids’ homework
5. He reminds me to chill when the kids start to make me lose my mind
6. He fixes ALL my computer problems and listens to me freak out when I think I deleted something.
7. He has taken on a 2nd job with me so I could pursue my dream as a worship leader
8. He has been “dad-ager” to our modeling daughter
9. He’s My life-coach
10. My cheerleader
11. My shoulder to cry on
12. My sounding board

I realized today that none of those things could be bottled up and sold to me. They are priceless because they are done when no one is looking and with no intention for reciprocation. Just because he loves me.

What are we actually doing for Valentines day?

Well, technically nothing out of the ordinary. On Friday we will get time to look lovingly into each other’s eyes at dinner before we head to a local play. Thankfully our kids are old enough to stay home and fend for themselves while we take some time to reconnect. We may or may not have a Valentine card for each other, and honestly, neither one of us wants to blow $5 on a card. I would so much rather enjoy a latte together.  I am so grateful for this man I get to call mine but I am sad on this day when I think of my mom who won’t receive flowers from the most romantic man I knew. I think of my friend who has been single for over 40 years and thinks that they may never find someone. I am sad for another friend who is recently divorced and will grieve this day of a love that was lost. It is a day that causes great joy when someone gets engaged or when a new life comes into the world. Yet, doesn’t that hold true for all the days of the year?

My husband may not show his love in ways that are fantastical for my taste but I will rest in the knowledge that every day of the year he loves me in his own way and we show up for each other. We love each other, we champion each other and we give each other grace. Maybe someday he’ll surprise me with a trip to Belize or diamond earrings but until then I am so grateful for the life we are creating; a life together full of love and grace. And no holiday will remind us better then the daily grind we endure together.