The Retreat

by Jacci Turner

  Surprisingly, she saw no judgment from her group mates. In fact, both Stephen and Connie had nodded as if understanding. She sat back in her chair and looked at her lap.

  Connie spoke up. “I thoroughly relate to that, Amy. Although I am pretty mad at God. I spent most of the exercise battling cynical thoughts, and I wasn’t really able to get past them. So, sorry, guys—I’ve got nothing.” Amy was grateful for her honesty.

  “No harm, no foul,” said Stephen, nodding. Then he was quiet as if thinking. “I related mostly to Bartimaeus. I feel blind right now. Can’t see. I guess I’ve not been calling out much for help, just trying to figure it out on my own. So, I guess that is my hope for this week—to get some clarity for my life.” He nodded again, then looked at Hasmita.

  “I’m Hindu,” she said. “This was my first time really listening to a story about Jesus. I was struck by his compassion. He stopped to talk to what we would consider an untouchable. I thought about how I judge people and how I need to see past the social barriers to the heart of the people.”

  Amy felt chastised by Hasmita’s words, although she knew they were not shared to make her feel guilty. It just seemed that Hasmita, a Hindu, had a much better handle on what was really important to God than Amy did as a Christian.

  Connie spoke up. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to run to my room before lunch. I’ll catch you all later tonight.”

  With that, the group broke up, and Amy was a little disappointed. She wanted to learn more about her group mates. She had always loved learning about people. That’s one thing she liked about her master’s degree. They talked a lot about what made people tick. At least her curiosity hadn’t died. She wandered outside to soak up some warmth until lunch. She found a chair facing the lake and propped her feet up on the cement wall that encircled it. Their first night on retreat, Tom had offered a basket for them to put their phones in if they wanted to be disconnected from technology during the retreat. She didn’t think she would have survived that. She decided to spend the break texting Joshua.

  Amy: I wish you were here. You wouldn’t believe the jokes I’ve wanted to share with you already.

  Joshua: I wish I were too, instead of making Frappuccinos for friggin’ idiots.

  Amy: Rough day at the office?

  Joshua: This guy practically threw his coffee at me because I put whip on it. I KNOW he said whip! A-hole. I should have spit in his cup.

  Amy laughed.

  Amy: Sorry. You on break?

  Joshua: No, it’s just slowed down, but I should go. You okay?

  Amy: Yeah, but pray for my attitude. I’m fighting the urge to steal a car and run away!

  Joshua: Will do. Hang in there, baby. You know there has to be a reason you’re in the cornfields.

  Amy: So I can be killed by the Children of the Corn?

  Joshua: Ahhh, no. Why did you say that? You know that movie gave me nightmares for years. Now I’ll worry about you.

  Amy: I’ll be fine. Well, I’ll let you go.

  Joshua: Yeah, customers heading this way.

  Amy: Give my love to Petie!

  Joshua: The Petester sends his love. I’ll write back later. Bye.

  She slid her phone into her back pocket.

  She pictured Joshua working at the Starbucks counter, a place he thought he was done with when he’d gotten the job at the big church they’d grown up in. He, too, had been fired from the church, which was a shame because he was hands down the best youth leader the church had ever had. But then there was Peter. Peter had slipped into Joshua’s heart. Suddenly it was as if Joshua’s lifetime of faithfulness to the church and to God counted for nothing. When he’d told the board of his decision to date Peter, he’d been asked to resign immediately. Amy’s face heated at the memory and her eyes flooded with tears. Horrible, awful words had been said that day as they sat around the conference table. Three pastors, six elders, one of them being her dad, and she and Joshua. Words like abomination and degenerate had flown from the lips of people Amy had respected all her life. The accusations flew like bile from their mouths. Her father sat there, silent. Silent! Joshua had been like a son to him and he’d done nothing. Joshua had been crushed and Amy stunned. Surely they couldn’t mean it. Joshua had always been gay. Nothing had changed except that he’d fallen in love. She shook her head, trying to shake off the memory. Everything had changed that day, for both of them.

  6

  Amy sat with Brooke and Natalie at lunch and was sad to hear they were skipping the one o’clock special topic of the day. Maybe she should skip it.

  “I took a whole Enneagram class in college,” said Natalie, her doe eyes widening as she blew on a spoonful of tomato soup. “You’ll love it!” Amy had never even heard of the Enneagram until she had taken the online test as directed on the conference registration site, but her results were unclear at best.

  Brooke agreed. “We used it at the church where I got fired. It was the best part of working there, actually.” Amy laughed at that. Brooke had a very disarming way about her. She was able to be real about hard things without bitterness.

  Natalie leaned forward, whispering. “Brooke and I are cooking up a little mischief for later. Would you be interested in a possible outing sometime soon?”

  Amy smiled. “Would I? I’ve already been contemplating ways to escape.”

  Natalie smiled and raised her eyebrows, looking at her watch. “Time to go, but we’ll keep you posted. The plans—they are afoot!”

  That thought, even though she had no clue what they were planning, gave Amy great hope. Before lunch, she’d been contemplating skipping the special session, but now she felt energized.

  After she finished her food Amy walked into the meeting room without her friends. The chairs were still in the big circle from the first session. She saw an open spot next to a middle-aged lady in capris and a flowered shirt but noticed her sandals and veered off to another seat. The sandals were bronze with large fake jewels set into the straps, and the lady’s toenails were a sparkly red. She sat instead next to a guy with a hipster beard, waiting for the room to fill and wondering what it was about those sandals that made her veer away. She looked around the room at the feet of the people seated in the circle. Most wore plain sandals or slip-on canvas shoes like she did. She liked this brand because for every pair you bought, a pair was donated to a child who needed it. I guess in a room full of activists, that lady’s sandals look out of place. Like, there is a dress code for activism and she’s not wearing it. What could I possibly have in common with her? I mean, she can afford a pedicure! Then Amy remembered what Hasmita had said during their triad time. Am I being judgmental?

  Amy’s self-reflection was cut short when Felicia came into the room. “Why don’t we pull the chairs up here in front of the PowerPoint so we’re not so spread out?”

  Amy joined the others in pulling their chairs from the wide circle into loose rows at the front of the room. This class was attended by about two-thirds of the retreatants. She figured that the others, like her friends, were already familiar with the Enneagram.

  Felicia started with the history of the Enneagram, which was not just a personality test but an ancient tool for growing from your “false self” into your “true self.” Amy pondered that. What was her false self? The Enneagram looked a bit like a pentagram, but Felicia said it was made of interlocking triangles. She continued through all nine numbers on the points of the Enneagram star, describing the attributes of each. Some were easy for Amy to rule out. Her test had said she was either a two, three, or seven. As Felicia explained each number in detail, Amy narrowed her choices to the number two or the number three.

  The two was described as the Helper or the Giver. It was someone who always wanted to be helpful, and Amy was definitely motivated to help others. The words that described the number two included generous, empathetic, warm, and sincere. She liked that. But the three, called the Achiever, was driven to perform. She’d been in all the plays in high scho
ol. She loved performing, public speaking, and any opportunity to lead from up front, which is why she’d loved her job as the outreach director at church. Words that described the three were charming, ambitious, competent, and energetic. These were words that would describe her too. She was still confused.

  “The proof,” said Felicia, “is when you find the dark, or shadow, side of your number. You’ll know you’ve found the right number if you absolutely hate the description of your number’s shadow.”

  Amy looked down at the handout she’d been given. For the number two, it said their shadow side involved being “over helpful” in order to get praise. That they would even manipulate others with their helpfulness to get their own needs for affirmation met. They could become martyrs to help others, but their help was often motivated by a fear of worthlessness. Amy didn’t like the sound of that at all. Surely, she was not like that.

  The shadow side of the three was that they worked so hard to please others, and perform for others, they forgot to take care of themselves until they didn’t really know who they were anymore. Hmm, thought Amy. Did she know who she was anymore? Had she thought she was “doing the right thing” to please God, or her parents, or her own confused values? Had she worked so hard she’d lost herself?

  To make matters even more confusing, Felicia said you had a dominant wing, a number to one side of your number that you would “lean into.” It would be a large part of your personality. So, if Amy was a two, she would lean into a one or a three. A one was a perfectionist. She definitely didn’t lean that way. One look at her bedroom would tell you that—heck, one look at her room here at the monastery would tell you that. It was covered with her clothes draped on every possible surface. She could be a two that leaned into the three. That made sense. A giver that leaned into performing.

  If she was a three, she could lean into the two. That made sense too. Or she could lean into a four. A four was considered a romantic, artistic person. Hmm—she didn’t really think so. She concluded, I am either a two with a three wing or a three with a two wing.

  As the class ended and people started putting the chairs back, Amy walked up to Felicia, who was stacking up her papers. She pushed back the strong pull she was feeling that she should be helping with the chairs, but she really wanted answers. “Felicia, I feel stuck between a two and a three. How do I figure it out?”

  “Give yourself some time to mull it over. Or ask people that know you. Remember, if you really hate the shadow side, it’s probably a good indication of your number. The goal is to learn to acknowledge the shadow side, not beat ourselves up over it. If we can own it, we can begin to live more into our true self.”

  “Thanks,” said Amy, thinking that Felicia’s explanation was about as clear as the overcast sky. She left the room and exited through the large glass doors to the muggy afternoon. She knew just who to ask. She sat on one of the white plastic chairs that ringed the building side of the lake and pulled out her phone to text Joshua.

  Amy: Have I ever been “overly helpful” to you?

  Joshua: Huh?

  Amy: We did this Enneagram personality thing, and the number that I might be says I like to be helpful, but the down side is that I can be overly helpful, like when people aren’t asking for my help.

  Joshua: Uh, yeah … I can see that.

  Anger flared up Amy’s spine.

  Amy: WHAT? What do you mean? Give me an example.

  Joshua: Hey, you asked. Don’t get mad at me.

  Amy: Sorry . . . I really do want to know.

  Amy: Sort of.

  Joshua: You SURE?

  Amy: Yes.

  Joshua: Okay, here goes.

  Joshua: Like when we took those kids to Mexico to build houses and you took over, ordering everyone’s food like you were our mom.

  Amy remembered that. They were all tired and stressed and she thought she was being … helpful. Her stomach sank.

  Joshua: And that time I broke my arm and you brought me meals every day for a month.

  Amy: I thought you liked that.

  Now she was feeling hurt. Had she been doing things for people that they didn’t want her to do?

  Joshua: I did, but every day? For a month? It got a bit overwhelming.

  Amy: Why didn’t you tell me?

  Joshua: I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. You seemed to get so much joy out of doing it.

  Amy sat with her thumbs hovering over her phone. He was protecting her because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, because she was trying to serve him, but … doing it so she’d feel good? She felt sick to her stomach.

  Amy: I think I’ll go lie down now.

  Joshua: Ammmmmyyyy. You can’t leave like that. Are we okay? I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You asked!

  Amy: No. No worries. We’re good. I just need to process this a bit more.

  Joshua: You sure? I love you.

  Amy: I love you too. We’re good.

  Amy slowly rose from her chair and walked to the building. She pulled open the door and a cool air-conditioned blast assaulted her. She headed down the hall to her room, hoping no one would speak to her. It was as if each step drained the energy from her body. Opening her door, she flipped off her shoes and flopped facedown on her bed. She pretty much thought everyone liked her. Did they really see her as bossy and overly helpful? Was she doing things to help others with a secret fear that if she didn’t, she was worthless and needed affirmation?

  Now that she saw it, she couldn’t unsee it. The desire to make a food run for Amani, her desire to follow her out of the room and be sure she was okay … Tears began to soak her pillow until sobs shook her frame. There would be no afternoon yoga for her today. In fact, she felt so bad, so worthless, so stupid, that she might never leave this room again.

  7

  A knock on the door jolted her awake. Amy sat up on her bed, disoriented. The light in the room was dim—was it morning? She shuffled to the door and pulled it open. Natalie and Brooke stood there, looking concerned.

  “We missed you at afternoon yoga; then when you didn’t come for dinner, we thought we’d better check on you,” said Natalie.

  “It’s a good thing too,” said Brooke, pushing past Amy into the room. “You look like crap.”

  Natalie followed Brooke into the room and turned on a light. Amy squinted at the brightness and closed the door. The girls stood, looking for a place to sit. “Sorry—just push something over and have a seat.”

  “We brought you some food,” said Natalie, pulling a banana and a napkin with cookies from her pockets and handing them to Amy. Brooke pushed all of the clothes to one side of the unused bed and sat down; Natalie sat next to her. Amy plopped down across from them on her own bed.

  “So, spill,” said Brooke. “What’s wrong?”

  Amy felt heat rush to her face. “I feel stupid. I just got really upset over the Enneagram.” Surprisingly she saw Natalie and Brooke nod in understanding.

  “What number are you?” asked Natalie. “I’m a nine and I was really upset when I figured it out. We have trouble making decisions and knowing our own minds.”

  “I’m a two,” said Amy, discouraged. “We tend to be overly helpful. Only, I never saw it that way, until today.”

  “Well,” laughed Brooke, “I’m an eight—most people hate me!”

  Amy smiled. Felicia said the eight was a strong personality, like a bull in a china shop, but had a huge heart for justice. In fact, it was the dark side of the eight that Amy’s two went to when she was stressed, and it was why she became bossy. Yikes. To have to deal with that constantly must be difficult. She peeled her banana and took a big bite.

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Brooke. “The point of the Enneagram is to make you aware of your shadow side so you can be mindful of it and grow toward the light side. Let me see your handout.”

  Amy remembered thinking these two girls were young and naive, but it turned out they had more wisdom than she did. Amy looked around the room. S
he’d dropped her bag with the handout onto the floor when she’d walked in. She grabbed it now, pulling it onto the bed and yanking out the stapled papers.

  Brooke grabbed it out of her hand. “Look, when you’re stressed, you go to the low side of the eight—lucky you, and welcome to my life. But when you’re happy, you go to the high side of the four. It says a four’s high side is romantic and creative. What do you like to do that’s romantic and creative?”

  Amy thought about that. “Nothing romantic—unfortunately.” Her heart sank. “I was kind of dumped by my almost fiancé a few months ago, and now he’s engaged to someone else.”

  “Oh no,” said Natalie.

  “His loss,” said Brooke.

  Amy smiled. “I used to do theater. I loved acting when I was little, and I used to do skits for the high school group at church with my friend Joshua. But … nothing lately.”

  “That’s what you need to think about,” said Brooke. “How do you add creativity back into your life—and romance too!” Her eyebrows shot up and down suggestively.

  Amy pulled her notebook out of her bag and began writing.

  “What’s that?” asked Natalie.

  Amy held the notebook up for the girls to see. “It’s my ‘thirty things to do before I turn thirty’ list.”

  Brooke grabbed the notebook from her hand. “One: lose ten pounds. Two: start taking yoga. Three: do something creative. This list needs some work!” She handed the notebook back to Amy. “Add ‘create an online dating profile.’”

  Amy grimaced. “Do I have to? I tried that.” She shivered and said in the voice of a moron, “Hey beautiful, heaven called; they’re missing an angel.”