Tag Archives: Enneagram

Ordering My Thoughts

Write.

Just do the thing for the time. Get the words from your head, through your fingers, and out there.

I’ve been awake for what feels like hours with all the thoughts. I’ve done the breaths and prayers and gotten out of bed to peer through the blinds at the street, checking that all cars are home and accounted for.

Lying in bed, words flood my head, press my chest, spill through my eyes. I know when I won’t return to sleep, and it’s now.

I ease out of bed and into my robe. Drinking the remaining water in my glass, I exit to the kitchen.

Last night’s late-night mess greets me, and I begin cleaning up. Only as long as it takes to heat water for my hot morning drink I tell myself, rejoicing when I open the dishwasher to dirty dishes that don’t need to be put away just yet.

I fill the empty spots with glassware, silverware, random plates. I add a detergent pack and set it to run.

I grind coffee beans, dumping used ones into the compost tub on the counter, and fill the coffeemaker with water. It’s ready to press start in a few hours.

Turning the burner under the kettle, I notice a grease-splattered surface and stovetop in need of cleaning. I resist my urge to fill the sink with soapy water, a mark of growth for my Enneagram 9 self who does all the right tasks at the wrong times.

Yes, it’s a job that needs to be done, but not now when I am supposed to be writing. I don’t have to do it early Sunday morning.

I spoon the citrus-ginger-honey mixture into a mug, adding lemon juice, apple cider vinegar, and several shakes of cayenne pepper. The kettle rattles and begins to whistle. I lift the hot handle with a kitchen towel and carry it to pour over and stir everything together.

Walking upstairs, mug in hand, I make a final stop in the laundry room to start a load of laundry that has been soaking before settling on the small couch in my tiny home office to (finally) write.

Tomorrow marks 4 months since Mom died. July brings us to the final days of before.

I still feel fragmented. I begin looking for the pieces that shattered with the news, It’s not good, and were left for me to collect sometime later. Over the course of this descent into darkness, I took notes, telling myself I would order them later, but life keeps rolling on and doesn’t wait for you to do it perfectly.

This month I told myself, I will write. I will coax words and memories and try to wed them. Thank you for your patience with me on the journey of ordering my thoughts and finding my words.

Listening

I arrive at the blog the day after my 49th birthday with a desire to break silence and write something here.

Fools are destroyed by their own complacency. Proverbs 1:32b, NLT

I feel this today. The cost of complacency. My battle against it as an Enneagram 9 is thick. Lately I have been warring inside to show up in the spaces. Any of them. Every time I do show up anywhere, it is work.

The words in my head are fast and furious. Ushering them through the keys to the page is the battle. I lean in and stand firm at the desk in my tiny home office. Eyeing the clock in the bottom corner of the screen, I invite the words to line up.

Each wants to be first. To say its piece. To jump out before being judged and sent to the end of the line. Time is running short. I have only minutes before the next thing. It’s tempting to pivot away to something else.

It is no secret that our country is in a state of collective trauma and chaos. From COVID-19 and the pandemic to the most recently publicized unjust killings and police brutality against the African-American community, this is a persistent state of unrest.

Cry out for insight and ask for understanding. Proverbs 2:3, NLT

This is where I have been. Crying out and asking. Listening.

Therefore they must eat the bitter fruit of their own way, choking on their own schemes. Proverbs 1:31, NLT

I am examining the bitter fruit in my own life. Ways that I have chosen comfort over truth. Safety over honesty. Blindness over sight.

And what do I do with the bitterness? The feeling of choking? How do I try to escape it by justifying instead of naming honestly? How do I rush to feel better at the cost of ignoring the plight of another?

I can still breathe.

I have more questions than answers. Where do I turn outside of myself? Who do I listen to and heed?

I am listening to my brothers and sisters of color. To faithful leaders who are doing the work of teaching and leaning in to reconciliation. I do not have answers which is why I am quiet.

I am listening.

Learn all you can

From those who are wiser

Practice doing what is right, just, and fair.

Fearing the Lord

While listening to counsel

From genuine heart~friends

Will help you grow wise. 

~thoughts on Proverbs 1~