Life has taught me that those who can find a four-leaf clover seem to have an inborn gift. In the middle of thousands of ordinary clovers, their eyes somehow settle upon the rare one. What does this mean? 

“Looking for a needle in a haystack” also applies to the spiritual life. Sometimes we desperately seek something essential—guidance, clarity, purpose—yet what we need is hidden from plain sight.

You have probably heard many times the phrase, “It is like finding a needle in a haystack.” That old image—first recorded by Sir Thomas More in 1532 as “to look for a needle in a meadow”—captures a truth: some things hide in plain sight, perfectly camouflaged by the world around them. Some things can't be seen because the context is too large. But why do they seem to completely vanish? Because we are not fully present.

In May 2009, just eight months after the heartbreaking loss of our son Ben, Lark and I found ourselves in a profound spiritual desert. Eight years of battling his illness had left us overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted. Deep grief overwhelmed us. As people of faith, we believed that God cared for us, but in our pain, we could not feel God like we had hoped and prayed for. It was as if our prayers were echoing off the ceiling, and in our darkest moments, we questioned if God even knew where we were.

Simply put, presence to the moment is like dropping water on a Chia Pet—a “toy” pet with actual grass on its back. When the flat grass is watered, it perks right up and stands on end, to resemble the pet’s fur.  

I am writing this reflection in New Mexico, a state I have never before explored. Out in the country from Santa Fe, which is translated as Holy Faith, I’m journaling in the New Mexican sun.

I am writing this reflection in New Mexico, a state I have never before explored. Out in the country from Santa Fe, which is translated as Holy Faith, I’m journaling in the New Mexican sun.

It was 1:00 am and we had just arrived at the hotel after a long and tiring drive. The lone night clerk took care of our very late registration. There were lots of details we needed to know, such as how and where to park, if the parking ticket stayed in the car or not, and of course how to get to our room.

Yesterday, I moved my patronage to a new pharmacy because my old one had become too crowded and busy. Refreshingly, this new drugstore was as quiet as a library, just as I was told it would be. There was only one customer at the prescription counter, so I waited my turn to address the lady behind the counter whose eyes never left the computer screen in front of her. Without looking at me, she said "May I help you?" I said to her, “May I speak with you for a moment, please?” With her eyes still on the screen, she said, "Yes." Then I thought to myself, "Am I going to have to talk to the back of a computer screen if I use this drugstore?”

Once, several years ago, at an International Enneagram Association conference in San Francisco, I attended one of its many informative workshops. Like so many workshops, in the one I chose, after the lecture, there were breakout discussion groups. The discussion group in which I was placed had three people. One of the people in my group—a nice young woman, was concentrating very hard on what I and the other group members were saying. She leaned forward when we spoke and she spoke with great intensity. I observed that her eyes were intently looking into the group members' eyes. But there was one other thing that I noticed about this dear soul. She appeared to be exhausted.

In making the pivotal shift from ego to soul, all nine of the Enneagram energies require us to live in the now. The now is also called the present moment.

The Beloved is a pilgrim on the sacred road toward union with the Divine. With every step comes a deeper realization, a fresh revelation, and a gradual refining of the heart’s ability to love. Yet the journey is not without hardship. We stumble and fall. Storms drench us. Wounds reopen. There are seasons when life feels lonely, confusing, or painfully unfair.

Once we begin to recognize the Inner Critic for what it is, we no longer have to fear it. We can slowly disengage from its accusations, and endless fault-finding. As its voice quiets, something else begins to emerge within us — our Beloved selves. But what does it mean to live as the Beloved?

The inner critic does not merely point out our mistakes; it can become the constant soundtrack of our lives. It can whisper in the background of almost everything we do, finding fault with even our best efforts.

The inner critic is the opposite of the beloved. And we can be aware of both of these in ourselves. One of them is our real identity, while the other is a self-regulating mechanism that can harm us. 

The word “beloved” sounds like a romantic term in a novel. Indeed, the word is used in many contexts to refer to lovers and romantic relationships. 

What is the origin of our inner critic? And why would we carry its self-debasement and hurt with us everywhere? Why have we kept this unpleasant self-talk when it makes us feel so bad, so unworthy? The inner critic has been in us since our early childhood, when we developed it for our survival. It is part of what we call our ego, and we cannot do without it. The basis of the inner critic is the cautionary and punitive communication of our parents. Though their verbal warnings and even shaming were to keep us safe and accepted, we internalized their voices, only to echo them to ourselves. The inner critic is meant to keep us in line but can become a monster that completely distracts us from who we really are: the Beloved. 

The inner critic comes to us every day. It points out our shortcomings, deficiencies, and blunders. And regardless of what the Inner critic says, or the particular deficit it brings to our attention, there is an implied message: you are flawed and unacceptable.