The Road Back to You {book review & my story}

The Road Back To You - book cover
Find out more information (and listen to Ian and Suzanne’s podcast) at theroadbacktoyou.com

Seventeen out of twenty.

Of course, the numbers didn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe there were extenuating circumstances, like the high mountain air, or stress, or lack of stress.

Except there weren’t, and I knew it.

“I do not want to be a 1,” I wrote in my journal. “It feels akin to saying I’m not creative.” I kept writing until more than two pages were filled with my frantic, angry thoughts on this otherwise quiet night.

Before I completely lose you, here’s what’s going on: I’m talking about the Enneagram, an ancient personality typing system based around identifying one’s basic need and basic fear. The core motivation for each of the nine types shapes how that type navigates the world. Each number has healthy and unhealthy iterations, and each number comes with fully realized steps toward growth.

Some types are more withdrawn, while others tilt outward; some are dialed in to their feelings, while others are more detached; some are prone to anxiety, others to anger, others to shame. But before I am run away by Enneagram minutiae, by triads and wings and arrows and the like, let me turn your attention to the book that inspired the above late-night reflections:

Brand-new to the world as of this week, the book is called The Road Back to You: An Enneagram Journey of Self-Discovery. Authors Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile both teach and speak on the Enneagram, and Stabile is a master teacher of the Enneagram.

My hopes were high when I caught wind of this book, and it didn’t disappoint. This relatively slim volume is a great introduction to the Enneagram. Filled with real-life examples, a down-to-earth, conversational tone, and an easy-to-follow structure, it brings each of the nine types to life in a fresh way.

The knowledge and experience that grounds The Road Back to You is translated into stories of people we know: husbands and wives, sons and daughters, friends and co-workers … the person in the mirror. It’s also rich in application: Each chapter starts with a list of “What it’s like to be a __”, and ends with “Ten Paths to Transformation.”

This was by no means the first book I’d read on the Enneagram, but it is the first I will recommend to those new to the subject.

Over the last year and a half, I’ve logged multiple books, articles, podcasts, and even seminars on the Enneagram. And in all this time, I haven’t locked onto “my” type. I’d heard that discovering your type feels more like a sinking realization than an elated epiphany, but I felt torn between my warring logical and creative sides, unable to discern which was stronger, or came first, or was most likely to exert its will at dusk and at dawn.

What made it harder was that I despised that part of myself that turned everything into a plan or a list, that became a human fact-checker and detail-monitor as I slouched over computers or, in olden days, sheaves of paper. I couldn’t stop, deep down didn’t want to stop, even as I felt dullness and exhaustion creep over me, even as I wondered why I wasn’t spending time on what mattered most to me. Surely here was death, not life.

Here is my sinking realization, here is the box I need to transcend and redeem. Here is where it gets worse before it gets better.

(Not to demonize Ones, who can also be big champions of justice, and bring needed precision to their fields, among other things).

Now, I’m not completely convinced that I’m a One, but either way this turn of events has illuminated traits that I wished away while trying to convince myself that I was only a dreamer, a romantic, a creative. I am both. I have a shadow side, and ignoring it won’t make it go away.

I enjoyed reading The Road Back to You, both for its insights and for the way it brought the Enneagram a little closer to home. There’s something here for both the casual reader and the Enneagram aficionado. Here’s to the next stage of the journey!

 

(For a quick look at all the Enneagram types, this article at thoughtcatalog.com is helpful).

 

 

I received a free copy of this book from the publisher in exchange for my honest opinion.

 

Night Driving: A Story of Faith in the Dark {a review & giveaway}

Me and the book

How do you know God is real?

Because you’ve felt him.

Until you don’t anymore.

Addie Zierman’s second book, Night Driving: A Story of Faith in the Dark, officially came into the world one week ago Tuesday. It arrived on my doorstep that night, and as I absorbed myself into it, I found myself within its pages. Like her first book, When We Were On Fire, it took me to familiar places, hard places, true places.

Like Addie’s debut, Night Driving is a memoir. This one chronicles a spontaneous road trip she took two winters ago with her two young boys, to escape the darkness of her even-colder-than-usual Minnesota home for Florida light … to escape the darkness and emptiness inside her to maybe, just maybe, find a Light she could take back with her.

The book flits between past and present, and I was carried along on interstates and into strangers’ homes. I was carried to beaches of yesteryear where fire lit the sky, lit the heart, and to beaches where the rain thundered down, where nothing was as simple as it used to be. Night Driving is achingly beautiful; Night Driving is achingly real.

It seems fitting to be writing about this book in the cold of a Colorado blizzard, in the darkness of Holy Week, in the sparseness of my own soul.

The morning after I finished the book, I found myself flipping back, a few chapters at first and then all the way to the beginning, filling three pages deep with quote after quote. I was going to share a few of my favorites, interspersed with reflections on why these particular words are meaningful to me … but then I realized that you don’t need my words right now, that what you need are Addie’s words, full stop. And so, here they are:

“In the dark kitchen, I feel as if my eyes are finally beginning to adjust. And I’d forgotten that this is how sight works. We move from someplace very bright to someplace very dark, and for several minutes it’s very hard to see. But then the pupil expands and the rod cells engage, and the whole eye is flooded with rhodopsin, and we can finally absorb photos, perceive light. I’d forgotten that we are made like this. We are equipped to see not only in the light … but also in the darkness. It just takes time to switch between the two.

And maybe this has all been nothing more than part of the natural process of things. I spent the formative years of my life, my faith, looking straight into the Light. It only makes sense that it would take my eyes a while to heal from that burning and to adjust to a world that so often is dark. But now I’m sitting at the kitchen table, blinking in the darkness, and God’s presence doesn’t feel at all like fog lights or romance or smoke or fire. It is as steady and commonplace as the wooden farm table between us, at the floor my feet brush against, the slant of the oven light barely illuminating the table. It’s almost pitch-black. I’ve never seen so clearly.”

Night Driving, pages 195-196

“I feel like I’ve spent the last several years twisting and turning the puzzle pieces of my faith, trying to get them to plug up that ‘God-shaped hole’ that is still throbbing like an abscess in my heart. But it never seems to go away – no matter how long I sit there, Bible in my lap, staring out the patio door of my kitchen, waiting. … ‘All sins are attempts to fill voids,’ Simone Weil said, and at some crucial point that I can’t actually remember, I figured out that burning down your own life felt strikingly similar to being on fire. That if I couldn’t shoot the gap via that bridge which is the empty cross, at least I could pour wine down into it. Such an easy shortcut. Such a simply fix to get tipsy on cheap cabernet and smile at some guy on some street and feel myself float to the top of that gaping, empty space in me – at least for a little while.”

Night Driving, pages 126-127

“It’s like this: Once upon a time, I learned that God came like light. I spent a long time, head against the window, peering into the darkness, praying for God to come like a spotlight, like a fire, like some wild laser show in the pitch-black sky. I learned to fear the darkness, and when it came, I struck myself against everything around me trying to make sparks.”

Night Driving, page 208

“I hadn’t understood, then, that love doesn’t always look like romance and faith doesn’t look like fire and light doesn’t always look like the sun – and that this matters.”

Night Driving, page 209

You can find out more Addie and her book at addiezierman.com, and you can find Night Driving on Amazon (or wherever you buy books).

Also, a GIVEAWAY! I have a copy of Night Driving that I’d like to give to one of you. If this book sounds like it’s for you, simply post a comment on this blog post, and you will be entered in the giveaway. On Easter Monday, I will randomly select one winner (so make sure you include your email address in your comment, so I can contact you if you win).

UPDATE: The giveaway has ended. Thank you to everyone who participated!

The Spiritual Practice of Reading Sarah Bessey {a book review & giveaway}

faith isn't certaintyI read the last half of Sarah Bessey’s newest book, Out of Sorts: Making Peace with an Evolving Faith, while lounging in my messy bed in my messy room. It seemed fitting.

You see, she starts her book with the analogy of a rummage sale — of laying out everything we’ve believed and inherited and carried with us, and deciding what should stay and what should go. So is what needs to happen when we reach that “out of sorts” place. And it doesn’t just happen once.

Through her writing, Sarah has been a constant companion of mine for more than two years. I’ve fallen in love with what she writes and how she writes it. And most importantly, I trust her.

Whether it’s a book or a service or a meme, it doesn’t take much for something Christian to put me on my guard. I am overly critical and overly sensitive and overly scarred, so it’s no surprise that I fold my arms across my chest more often than not, the words catching on something or bouncing off or just scratching the surface.

Not so with Sarah’s words.

Out of Sorts is, in part, her own story. It’s a tale of “happy-clappy churches” and “getting religion,” of unanswered questions and ill-fitting places, of Jesus and burnout and sorrow and hope. But woven into and over and around it are deep, thought-provoking explorations of the issues themselves that most often unravel us: the Bible, the Church, signs and wonders, and suffering, to name a few.

Sarah’s book isn’t the first I’ve read to honestly (and excellently) explore the hard questions. Some spiritual memoirs throb with the very real pain of loneliness, lies, and wounds from those who meant well … and those who didn’t. Others dig deep into my skin, putting a finger on the very nerve of my own spiritual angst. Out of Sorts does both of these things, while also — one might say first and foremost — being a book of relentless hope.

And then there’s the beauty. The gift of Sarah’s writing — in Out of Sorts as well as elsewhere — isn’t just in what she writes, but also in how she writes it. It is pictures and poetry and music wrapped up in prose. It is grace and peace. It is an invitation, and not just to those on the margins who are questioning everything. This book is for all who hunger and thirst, whether they be on the outside looking in, or the inside looking out, or somewhere in between.

If you are like me, though, you may sometimes wonder how anyone can really love Jesus. You may look into the eyes of the flesh-and-blood people standing before you, the ones who have your heart, and find that the invisible Divine is so hard to know and understand, let alone love. But if there’s one person I believe loves Jesus as much as she says she does, it’s Sarah Bessey. Her words give me hope that maybe, someday, I will too.

*****

Out of Sorts makes its way into the world on November 3 — that’s tomorrow! You can order it on Amazon here, or wherever you buy books. I received an advance copy of this book in order to review it, and I would like to give away that copy to one of you! To be entered in the giveaway, simply post a comment below (making sure to include your email address so I can contact you), and I will randomly choose one winner on Friday, November 6, to receive this book. U.S. and Canadian addresses only.

Sarah Bessey writes from Abbotsford, British Columbia, where she lives with her husband and four tinies. Her first book, Jesus Feminist, is also excellent. You can find out more about Sarah Bessey on her website.

Explore, recover delight, wrestle with the story

To Be a Part of the Mystery

Communion
“Communion.” Artwork by Ruth Catherine Meharg, inspired by Rachel Held Evans’ book “Searching for Sunday.”

In a few days, I will be offering to others something that is not mine. I won’t be able to take credit for a single taste, for the mystery that’s among us, for any trembling hands or averted eyes, and I don’t want to. The body of Christ, broken for you, my friend, for you, my neighbor, for you who are hungry. The blood of Christ, shed for you.

I tell people I’ve found a church in Denver, but most of them don’t understand how big of a deal this is for me. They don’t know the backstory of doubts and church-weariness and all the sharp points that started poking out of my skin two or three years ago. This church I’ve found now, rich in liturgy, gentle in spirit, a meeting of the old and the new, is a gift in my rocky faith story.

I’ve inhaled that same sweet air in the written word too, in those men and women who write blogs and books that remind me that I am not alone in the questions I ask, in the injustices I see, in what I’m frustrated and passionate about.

One of those writers is Rachel Held Evans, whose third book, Searching for Sunday: Loving, Leaving, and Finding the Church, came out yesterday. Her book takes us on a journey through the seven sacraments (Communion, Baptism, Confession, Holy Orders, Confirmation, Anointing of the Sick, and Marriage) that carries us into the Bible, into church past and church present. At times, I felt like I was reading a series of interconnected and yet unique essays. One moment, I would be nodding at an oh-so-familiar description of doubt, and the next I would be catching my breath at the enumeration of the many ways throughout its history that the church has descended into darkness. Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy.

When Rachel would revisit Bible stories, she would do so in such a rich, sensory way, attuned to the history and humanity of it all, that it felt familiar in the best way. My favorite of these, I think, was a chapter that wended its through parables of seeds and wheat, through kneading and baking, and brought us to the Last Supper.

I learned more about Rachel’s story through this book, and I also learned about how the early church celebrated communion, how the Orthodox church celebrates weddings, and how church as it’s meant to be is present in AlcoCover of "Searching for Sunday"holics Anonymous and the Gay Christian Network.

There are many reasons why I love this book, but the main one is that it has given me another place, another conversation, where I can breathe a little easier, where I can be myself and yet have hope in this journey at the same time.

Church isn’t some community you join or some place you arrive. Church is what happens when someone taps you on the shoulder and whispers in your ear, “Pay attention, this is holy ground; God is here.”

This Sunday, it’s my house church’s turn to set up the chairs, to welcome people, to pray with them, and to hold out the elements of bread and wine as we all remember together. My doubts are still there, but the weariness is lighter, the cynical daggers are blunter, and I’m hanging on. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that this church is a place of peace and welcome, a place that resonates with my soul, and it’s worth it to be a small part of this mystery.

Packing Light (a book review)

Packing Light coverAfter reading her book, I feel like I know Ally Vesterfelt.

Even though I know she has a blog (and that I’ve been following said blog for months now) I was sad when the book-story ended, and I wanted to know more of what happened in her life between the end of book-story and now.

But this blog is for you as much as it’s for me, so I need to start at the beginning and say that this is a book review, of sorts, of Allison Vesterfelt’s first book, Packing Light, that came out 10 days ago. In a nutshell, the book tells the story of her 50-state road trip (yes, even to Alaska and Hawaii), and what she learned along the way.

At its core, Packing Light is a book about the things in life you need to leave behind. The rest of the title says it all: Thoughts on living life with less baggage. And she isn’t just talking about physical possessions, though that is a part of it, but the emotional baggage as well, the attitudes and relationships and all the assorted “stuff” we cling to that holds us back from being the people God created us to be. The person God created her to be.

I’d been looking forward to this book for months, and it didn’t disappoint. I loved going on this journey with Ally, almost forgetting it wasn’t a novel as I wondered what would happen next with this character or that conflict. But I never forgot it was a true story, not really. Not when I “know” Ally through her blog, and now know her better still through this book.

It’s easy to get drawn into her stories from the road — of the memorable moments, the people she met, the places she visited — but the heart of the book is the heart of Ally. Without mincing words, without painting the best possible picture of herself, she lets us see herself in all her fears, insecurities, and heartaches. She’s vulnerable. And so when she explains what she learned through a particular experience, you know these aren’t platitudes and “all the right answers,” but rather the hard-won gems of one who has sought and wrestled and shed many tears.

So many times I found myself nodding in agreement, marveling at her way of putting words together with such clarity and eloquence. I’m not well read in the travel memoir genre, but this one was deep, exploring topics such as whether or not to be a “Christian writer,” the people we leave behind, the rules that can misdirect us, learning to live the life we’ve always dreamed of, letting go of fear, and so much more.

Packing Light is fun and friendly, personal and thought provoking. It may be a quick read, but it has a lot to say. I highly recommend it.

****

Ally Vesterfelt

In addition to writing, Ally is also the managing editor of Prodigal Magazine. Check out Ally’s website at http://www.allisonvesterfelt.com, and read more about her book at http://packinglightbook.com