When I started working with InterVarsity in 2014, I realized how little I actually knew myself. Through all the reflection, personality, and emotional health tools that I became aware of, I always proceeded with caution and excitement. Caution because I was afraid of what would be exposed. Excited because I knew, even when I didn’t want to admit it, that this was an opportunity to know God more intimately.

As I’ve explored the Enneagram, I’ve seen this also as a tool: to sharpen and deepen my understanding of myself, and to encounter God with greater vulnerability and trust. When I first heard other staff talk about “their numbers,” however, I assumed the numbers represented worth, and that some numbers were greater than others (I mean, that’s usually what numbers represent). So I hesitated for a long time to read into anything related to the Enneagram. But as I heard people whom I deeply trusted talk about how understanding their number was impacting their spiritual formation, I decided to try it out.

As I read the names of each number, I tried to guess intuitively which one I’d be; perfectionist seemed to make the most sense. But then I read descriptions and scenarios for each number, and realized I was very wrong. I even cross-checked with my wife, and she confirmed. I was a Six, a Loyalist.

The Enneagram Institute defines Loyalists as “the committed, security-oriented type. Sixes are reliable, hard-working, responsible, and trustworthy. Excellent ‘troubleshooters,’ they foresee problems and foster cooperation, but can also become defensive, evasive, and anxious—running on stress while complaining about it. They can be cautious and indecisive, but also reactive, defiant and rebellious. They typically have problems with self-doubt and suspicion. At their Best: internally stable and self-reliant, courageously championing themselves and others.” As I wrestled with both the positive and negative characteristics of a Loyalist, I realized that there is much to embrace about how I am wired, and there is much to pray and repent for. But both the positive and negative are opportunities for me to seek Jesus in a deeply transformative way.

The Positive Characteristics of Loyalists

I have always been loyal to the activities and communities I’ve been a part of. Loyalists get their name because they are most loyal to their friends and their values. It is this type of personality that has the ability to strengthen my faith as a Christian, my commitment as a husband, and my compassion as a friend. It is the loyal nature of my character that also drives discontent for injustice, righteous indignation in ministry, and anger toward manipulation. It is the Loyalist in me that helps make me a great ally, and a committed defender.

When I am healthy, I find that I am not only able to remain faithful to the people and communities around me, but I am also able to easily build trust that pushes the whole team/community forward. In ministry, this means I am able to build trust with students in ways that point them to Jesus. I am able to challenge and redirect students when we need to make a shift. I am also able to encourage and empower them when they are faithfully taking risks. Because they know I am on their side, building a team to pursue mission is fun and faith-building. I am also able to develop strong trust with peers and superiors. I am able to develop influence in a way that builds momentum for my teammates, and in a way that could healthily challenge us to consider direction that we weren’t before. This makes me a great team player, and a useful influencer. In relationships, this makes me a good partner and friend.

The Negative Characteristics of Loyalists

My biggest fear is detachment. I fear being abandoned by others and remaining alone. This fear makes my strength as a Loyalist also a weakness. Because I fear losing affection, value, and self-worth, often my motivation to commit, and to remain loyal to people, communities, and beliefs, is rooted in fear. This leads to anxiety and stress. In stress, I overperform and overcommit to compensate for my fear (which is probably why I initially thought I’d be a perfectionist). Often, my self-confidence and self-worth come from the affirmation of others, which means if I don’t have that, then I tend to struggle with self-doubt.

This impacts my relationship with God because I will often project a lack of public affirmation onto him. So if I am not feeling affirmed by the community around me, I can assume God also isn’t affirming me. In this way, relationships take the place of God in my life and can easily become an idol. Supervisors, friends, and family can all sound like the voice of God in my ear. This cripples my ability to actually hear from God, and shifts my faithfulness to people and communities, who, being sinful and part of a fallen world, will ultimately fail me. This type of inferiority complex could impact my ability to seek opportunities to grow. I often find myself only taking a growth opportunity when it is directed to me by someone else. This makes it hard for me to identify gifts that I have that haven’t already been affirmed by others, and avoid seeking opportunities to grow in those gifts (which has been true for me in my church participation). It also could impact my ability to embrace the identity that God has given me and exchange that with false half-truths that damage the view I have of myself. As a college student, though I showed very clear leadership skills and potential, I never viewed myself as a leader because of lies that were told to me in the beginning of my discipleship as a Christian.

Growing as a Loyalist

Understanding how I am tempted to believe lies about myself, others, and God; where those lies come from; and the truth about myself, others, and God has all been helpful in my journey of growing as a Loyalist. Having consistent space to reflect on my day, my emotions, and my reactions has been helpful for me to both proactively catch moments I am likely to lean into the negative characteristics of a Loyalist and willingly choose to respond differently, and reactively catch moments that I failed in avoiding the critical characteristics, and faithfully confess and repent before God and others. Every morning this looks like a care-casting exercise. Every afternoon this looks like a midday reflection where I stop, journal, and pray. Every evening, this looks like an Examen.

Since my fear of abandonment causes me to believe lies about myself, I’ve also learned to hold a few images and phrases during different seasons to remind myself about the truth of who I am daily. For example, during this season, I spend my morning prayer time reflecting on the truth that I am God’s son, and he is my Father. I look through my schedule for the day to anticipate the moments I may be tempted to believe otherwise, and declare God’s truth over those moments in faith. This has helped me not only increase my personal awareness, but also grow in emotional health.

I’m learning how to embrace both the strengths of being a Loyalist, thanking God for how I can be a gift to my communities, and how this strengthens my faith in Jesus. I’m also learning how to acknowledge the weaknesses of being a Loyalist, confessing to God where I often fall short, and diligently working on turning those weaknesses into opportunities to grow more faithful to Jesus.

My wife and I remodeled the second floor of our house a few years ago, and in preparation I watched and rewatched probably hours of videos to learn how to hang and mud drywall. The funny thing is that I had a friend who was coming to help and teach me how to do it! But I wanted to be sure that I understood the process and would be able to do it well. As a Five on the Enneagram, I love to learn and want to be competent.

Always Thinking

Some people call Fives “the Observer.” As a Five, my natural state is to stay in the background, watching and learning, happy to let others be the center of attention (at least, until there is a topic where I can demonstrate my expertise). And because we observe, research, and learn, Fives often do become experts in a specific field, which is likely why many Fives choose careers as scientists, researchers, professors, and engineers (my background). These fields encourage a deep knowledge of a specific area (and often allow you to work alone for long periods of time). I can normally focus intensely on one thing, ignoring all distractions and really diving deep into a topic, problem, or task.

But at the same time, Fives are frequently seen as detached because we don’t get emotional . . . at least in public. If I’m going to cry, it’ll be by myself or with a very trusted friend. But to others I can be like a blank computer screen; it seems like nothing is going on. Behind that blank screen, though, the processor may be running at 100 percent. Unless I’m really tired, my mind is always going, always noticing things, processing what I’m learning, and storing it away for future reference; my face just might not show it.

It’s like everything I outwardly express passes through a filter. This sounds bad, but sometimes I need to remind myself to have a smile on my face when I run into a friend I haven’t seen in a while, or to visibly show compassion when someone shares their struggles with me. I may be thinking, “I’m really glad to see that person!” or “That must be really difficult,” but my thoughts don’t necessarily connect with my body.

Because we think through our emotions, Fives can gather and analyze information and remain objective, only allowing our emotions to come out when we’re ready. A few years ago, there was a large conflict among a leadership team that I was working with. While I was deeply involved, I was able to remain detached emotionally. This allowed me to talk with those involved, ask questions, and understand their perspective, without being colored by my own feelings and initial reactions.

But my desire to observe and learn also has a major drawback: it’s hard for me to actually act on things. I can spend all day learning and not actually doing anything (the Internet is both amazing and terrible for me because it’s an endless source of information). I store that info up, knowing that someday it may be useful.

Being Competent

This gets to the core desire for a Five: to be competent or capable. When I worked as a software developer, I loved the accomplishment of fixing a bug in the code—especially if I did it by myself. I now work with international students on campus, and I love being able to help students and volunteers understand the cross-cultural dynamics that are happening in ministry. My experience overseas, the books I’ve read, and the training I’ve received make me a valuable resource.

The flip side is that a Five’s biggest fear is to be incapable. This is what often drives my actions: I never want to be in a situation where I’m useless, so to protect myself, I will accumulate and hoard. It could be possessions (“I might need this someday . . .”), money, time, or even knowledge (“If I’m in a situation where someone asks me about this, I’ll be ready”).

Last night, I recognized the feelings of incompetence surge up when I pulled bread out of the oven too early, leaving the insides doughy. Running through my mind was: My wife made this delicious bread; all I had to do was take it out when it was done, and I blew it. I can’t do anything right. When I start to have thoughts like that, I can disengage from everything and everyone and pull back into my mind—a realm I can control. I withdraw.

Leaving Afflictive Thoughts and Moving to Abundance

Learning the Enneagram over the past couple of years has taught me to recognize and respond more appropriately to that natural reaction. My withdrawal ends up hurting those around me . . . and usually doesn’t help me, either, as I often replay those negative thoughts again and again. My spiritual director calls these “afflictive thoughts”: they are repetitive and circular, and don’t bring us closer to God and his way of life.

To counter that, I’m learning to remain present and remind myself of truth. The first step has been to simply recognize when I’m withdrawing and am not emotionally or mentally present. My wife has helped me with this; she (gently) lets me know that I am pulling back and reminds me to be more than just physically present. But—and this is important—she also gives me the space I need to be able to process what’s going on. This has helped me recognize my tendency to withdraw more quickly and reverse course, staying engaged.

I also need to counteract those afflictive thoughts with truth. Am I really incapable of doing anything right? Of course not; that’s a lie! But the more I allow myself to spiral down into these thoughts and dejection, the harder it is to hear the truth. There are many things that I am good at—things that God has gifted me in, ways that I have blessed others—and I need to remind myself of these things in order to get out of these traps.

In the end, I need to remember that God is full of abundance, and he gives that abundance to us. It’s easy to settle into a mindset of scarcity—there’s not enough time, money, or knowledge, so in fear I hoard it. The antidote is to learn to trust God. A friend who is a Five wrote:

Trust comes when I don’t have all the knowledge. . . . He wants me to trust that he will work it out, so that I cannot rely on myself but need to know that I am dependent. I can be very individualistic and independent; having to trust God in my life forces me to remember that I need God.

Feasting and celebrating is hard for me, because I don’t often live in God’s abundance. But if I can remember that I need God, that I can trust him, and that he loves me regardless of my competency or usefulness, I’m taking good steps toward who he made me to be.

Confession time.

When I was seven or eight years old, my mom opened the door to our basement stairs and found me sitting on the top step. It’s unclear how long I’d been there, but it had been awhile. I was hunched over an old tape recorder, listening to Jim Croce’s “I’ll Have to Say ‘I Love You’ in a Song.”

Alone. On repeat. In the dark.

I’m pretty sure when I was seven I didn’t know any actual girls. Even if I did it was maybe a bit early in life to musically drop the L word. But I remember liking how that song made me feel—heavy, deep, full on the inside. I was in another world, one inside me that felt bigger and more colorful than real life, as if someone had hooked an electric wire to my soul and hit the juice.

My parents didn’t know about the Enneagram back in 1989. If they had, it would have been pretty clear to them what was up: I was a Four.

The Sad-Happy Deep Life of an Enneagram Four

Enneagram Fours are often called “the Individualist” type, or “the Romantic.” They see themselves as special, owners of vivid and expressive emotional lives, and are often unusually attracted to (and skilled in) the arts. Fours feel like they were born missing something inside them that makes them fundamentally different from other people. As a result, Fours cultivate a self-image rooted in being different, hoping that people will notice their individuality and affirm them. The quintessential movie Four is John Cusack’s character in Say Anything.

When healthy, Fours are creative, honest, empathetic, passionate, and authentic. When unhealthy, they can be overly sensitive, self-pitying, emotionally self-destructive, and prone to envy. Regardless of health, almost all Fours nurse moody streaks and are unusually attracted to the bittersweetness of life. Their flagship quote could be this bit of dialogue from Doctor Who: “What’s good about sad?” “It’s happy, for deep people.”

Feeling Like an Outsider

Two experiences seem to be common to all Fours: (1) the sense of being a misunderstood outsider, of not really belonging anywhere, and (2) deep shame at their perceived insignificance.

The first experience, in particular, is in many ways the root of the Fours’ primary sin, which is envy. I’ve often battled the sense of being “out of place” wherever I’ve been. For most of my childhood and early adult years, I felt like my nose was pressed against the glass of life, watching confident, secure, at-ease peers who really had this life thing nailed in a way I didn’t. Surely they didn’t feel the way I did, I thought, and I wondered what they had inside that I was missing.

Example: I remember coming home from fifth grade and telling my parents that “everyone in my class hates me.” This, despite these objective facts: one of my best neighborhood buddies was also in my class, I was doing alarmingly steady business in birthday party attendance, and when I won the school geography bee a classmate hand-drew me a little first-place medallion. Like a lot of Fours, my perceptions about if I belong or fit in somewhere are often wildly, almost comically, distorted.

This comparison game always, inevitably, leads to envy. C. S. Lewis has a famous essay where he talks about the dangers of “the inner ring”—exclusive social circles to which one hungers to belong. Fours are adept at seeing inner rings—both real and imaginary—everywhere in life, and you can guess which side of the line they think they’re on.

Finding Joy and Freedom as a Four

Reading this, you might get a picture of us Fours as constantly tortured artists, forever paddling our rowboats out in the rain to journal and listen to Dashboard Confessional. Luckily, that’s not the whole story. Far from being a constant sad-sack, I’m usually a pretty happy guy. But like most Fours, I’ve also had to learn that my emotions aren’t the seat of reality. Creativity doesn’t have to come from a storm of emotion to be genuine. In fact, my feelings are sometimes the least authentic, most temporary part of who I am.

I also don’t have to luxuriate in angst just because the emotional weight makes me feel significant, like that old Jim Croce song did once upon a time. God has, in fact, already told me I’m significant and important to him all throughout Scripture. That’s an objective fact, not a subjective reality. As my identity in Christ has strengthened over the years, God has graciously short-circuited those emotional doom loops that shout otherwise. When we are set free by the gospel and growing in the Spirit, life as a Four is rich with real joy. God has turned envy of what’s missing into celebration of what God has given- the artistry of his creation, for example, or God’s craftsmanship in shaping each individual life (even my own!). This ability to celebrate instead of resent frees me to do what I was created to do: “glorify God, and enjoy him forever” (Westminster Catechism).

Because of this, I’m at home in my interior in a way that other Enneagram types might find enviable, and maybe even a little exciting—like a harbor where the wind always blows just perfectly for sailing. When I joke that, like the TARDIS (a second Doctor Who reference!), I’m bigger on the inside, there’s something deeply satisfying about knowing how true that really is.

The Beauty Fours Bring

So what place do we Fours have in the body of Christ, where he has made Christians to fit together perfectly? In its fullness, the Christian life is a perfect balance between external and internal, between the outer life of obedience to Christ and the inner life of being transformed by Christ. Fours like me, inveterate chroniclers of our soul’s every twitch and spasm, have a high comfort level with the latter idea. By example we call our fellow believers into an experience of God’s kingdom that includes both their interior and exterior selves. A church or community with healthy Fours will never lack for reminders that personal transformation is a core part of God’s work among us.

Likewise, groups with healthy Fours will never lack encouragers and listeners. Having ruthlessly catalogued our own soul’s sludginess, very little about another person’s inner experience can shock a healthy Four. They know that God’s grace washes every part of them, even (especially!) the shadowy and shameful parts. This emotional honesty opens up spaces of compassion where fellow Christians can unmask themselves and share burdens in safety.

Perhaps the best part about being a Four is knowing that beauty is an essential part of the Christian story. Christianity—God, Jesus, the cross, the whole shebang—isn’t just historically true or propositionally true, although it is those things. It’s also beautiful. It’s aesthetically true.

Our God is one whose steadfast love never quits, whose mercy for sinners never fails, whose justice over evil always triumphs, and whose future redemption will make all things new forever. The entire redemption narrative uplifts the downtrodden and marginalized. It gives us a savior God who was born in a stable and crucified like a criminal for people who hate him. The story, this God, is so much bigger, so much fuller, so much lovelier, than its alternatives. You don’t have to be an Enneagram Four to see that—but I must admit, it might help.

“Call me if you want any help with this group.”

That was the first sentence I ever said to an InterVarsity staff minister. It was January of my freshman year.

I had stumbled into the large group gathering at my university and, after sitting through the event, I scribbled my name and number down on a piece of paper and handed it to her.

In my small Illinois hometown, I’d graduated at the top of my class and received a great scholarship to attend college in Saint Louis. I was the president of our “Friends in Christ” club in high school and a worship leader in my youth group. Basically, wherever there was an opportunity to be leading people, especially if it was connected to Jesus, I was there.

When I heard about a Christian group on campus, I knew it was something I didn’t want to just join—it was an opportunity for me to step up and lead. I was driven, ambitious, and a little too eager to shine. I was, in short, a young Three on the Enneagram.

Threes are typically called “the Performer” or “the Achiever.” We are firmly in the Heart Triad (Twos, Threes, and Fours—see the chart in the intro post for this series), which means we are externally focused on how others are perceiving us. Gaining attention and avoiding shame are key motivators.

Threes specifically want to be seen as successful in whatever arena we find ourselves. We are highly status-aware and, when unhealthy, we can be deceitful and twist the truth to maintain whatever image is held up as the aspirational model in our field.

When we are healthy, Threes have a lot to offer the body of Christ and the broader world. In their book The Road Back to You, Ian Cron and Suzanne Stabile describe Threes as “optimistic, resilient people with audacious dreams who inspire others.” Healthy Threes fully embody the values of their communities and are more than willing to blaze a trail forward and call others to join.

Threes are also gifted coaches and cultivators of gifts that others may not see in themselves. We love empowering people to accomplish a goal they thought was previously impossible.

I have a one-year-old at home who is learning how to walk. More accurately, she is learning how to not be afraid of walking. She has everything she needs—the physical strength in her legs, the coordination, the balance—she’s just afraid to take that first step out on her own. One of my greatest joys as a dad is setting up little challenges for her around the house to build her confidence, like a chair just out of reach from the one next to it so she has to take a tiny leap of faith on her little legs. Whenever she takes the risk, I cheer like a madman and she gets the biggest smile on her face.

The shadow side of Threes is that we wrap our security and sense of worth around how others view our performance, whether it is at work, in school, or even at home. We become so fixated on whether our friends, professors, bosses, and even spouses are gauging our “success” in their arena that we can lose all sense of who we are and what we desire in life. We avoid introspection and dealing with our own feelings, trading our very selves for the masks we put on to impress those we esteem.

This deception is the primary vice of a Three—the desire to so thoroughly convince another person of our competence that we would rather lie than betray a crack in the reputational wall we are always building.

When I was a kid, these lies were pretty grandiose. I remember telling a girl I thought was cute in second grade that I was, in fact, a real-life Power Ranger. She was pretty impressed for about a week until the lie reached all the way up to the owner of our daycare, who called me into her office and reprimanded me for a solid 10 minutes.

As I’ve gotten older, the lies have become more subtle and devious. I still catch myself pretending I’m further along on a project than I really am among my coworkers or telling my wife I will be home fifteen minutes earlier than I know is possible. The lies have changed but the desire is the same—acceptance based on achievement.

This shadow side comes through in my relationship with God as well. I see myself primarily as a performer for whom success equals recognition of my achievements and avoidance of any hint of failure. I have wrestled with seeing God as the ultimate audience to impress, as if I am a tightrope walker and he is just waiting at the bottom to see if I will fall off the rope.

As I have walked through some of the brokenness of my own story, I have been able to see Jesus more and more as both the “final performer”—the one who accomplished everything I needed to accomplish on the cross—and as the Lord of the Sabbath: the one who gives the gift of rest from constant striving.

For Threes, learning to see community as a place to be real and not as another stage from which to perform is a daily spiritual discipline. I was at a church event recently when a relatively new friend asked me how I was doing. Everything in me wanted to move as quickly through the conversation as possible, skimming the surface of my heart and giving him only what felt easy for me to share.

In that moment, I could sense the Holy Spirit challenging me to go deeper and both confess some sin I had been wrestling with and a tough story about my family. I experienced a profound sense of freedom and our relationship seemed to grow even in the 20 minutes we spent together.

The freedom to be vulnerable is a gift I am still learning to accept as a Three, but I know it is a crucial practice in my discipleship. One of my favorite songwriters, Andrew Peterson, wrote a line in a song called “The Dark Before the Dawn” that beautifully sums up a Three on the road to transformation:

I had a dream that I was waking at the burning edge of dawn
And I could finally believe the King had loved me all along.
(From The Burning Edge of Dawn, 2015)

That is the place of wholeness for a Three—the ability to rest from performing in God’s unearned-yet-unflinching love for us.

The gift of this awareness has changed my relationship to other people as well. I am learning that I don’t need to be perfect in order to receive love from those closest to me. I notice that as I am willing to open up and share my actual feelings, it opens a deeper well of trust for the other person too. Instead of blazing a trail of “success” for others to follow in my wake, vulnerability marks a path for communion, a place where we can be who we really are together. I have a long way to go on that path but every time I choose to speak the truth over a convenient lie, I am reminded again that it is the only thing that can set us free (John 8:32).