“I don’t want to go home,” I told one of my best friends over a call.

“I was wondering when you’d say that.”

Apparently, she knows me better than I know myself. Even if the conference had started with an absolute mess of a roller coaster of emotions, I could feel my heart deflating when the last session ended. Every class had been infused with so much information and inspiration revolving around writing, stories, and faith. I had encountered and connected with so many writers within those four days who had the same passion and joy in the craft and…I didn’t want it to stop. I didn’t want to go back to the drudgery of daily life where my writing so often got steamrolled, shoved to the back corner as other routines took over.

But deep down, I knew I needed to go home.

Though I still went to bed with a pang of sadness, when I woke up in the morning for breakfast, I sat down with a writer friend I had made during those four days. As we sat together, we started to share our stories about faith and the church, and it soon delved into stories of how legalism impacted us growing up, or still has an impact on our lives. I was thankful for her vulnerability and moved by her story, but something sat heavy with me.

She wasn’t the only one out there who had a story like this.

Over the course of the few days, there were several others I had talked to who had been deeply hurt by the church, by legalism, and how God had been taught to them in a distorted way. These were only a handful of individuals, but I knew there were many, many more who have been affected by this broken version of church, a place where you’re supposed to be safe and protected, and instead met with spiritual and emotional abuse by the church and its leaders.

Now, I used to remember being under the assumption, whenever someone left the church, it was because they were just a “rebellious sinner” who never was in the faith, never loved Jesus. Okay, sure, there might be some who fall under that category, but was that just a write-off so we didn’t have to think about all the reasons why someone might have left? If there was something the church was missing? For what of those who wanted a relationship with Jesus, but were silently suffering as they try to be obedient to all the “rules” placed before them, and the constant feeling of not being enough, the constant fear of judgement when they struggle with doubts and fear if they open up that they will be mocked, dismissed, or rejected?

And perhaps there are those who HAVE tried to work through their struggles, tried to bring them to the church for advice, but have been shamed instead of receiving the love they need. So instead of being helped by the ones who are supposed to be compassionate and gentle, they are crushed, forced into a silent suffering, unable to figure out what they should do, and feeling further and further away from God with each passing day as the cycle of doubt, sin, and brokenness continue.

But apparently it’s all their fault. They just need to trust more. Muster up their own strength (though they say to do everything through Jesus, but what does that even look like?) And when they can’t, it just gets lonelier and heavier until…

They leave.

It seems that God doesn’t love them in their suffering. And the church doesn’t either.

And what does the church do in response?

Judge.

Put more fear into those who are staying with warnings like, “Careful you better become not like them or you’ll end up in hell, forever condemned.”

A faith that says we speak love and truth, but often is void of it. So high and mighty, ready to swing down with a heavy hammer. Because isn’t that easier? To talk about someone’s fault, rather than listening to the broken heart of the sufferer? Maybe unable to help because we can’t even face our own brokenness, and rather than admit we have our own struggles, we bury them deep down and we mask up, pretending we have it all together.

But we can’t keep pretending. Not with so many stories unraveling what has happened or is happening to so many. After listening to to those who have been negatively impacted by the church, I knew it was time to say goodbye as my mind began to spin with ideas, and resolve started to form. For was it by chance that I had written a manuscript that spoke exactly to this issue of legalism and church hurt? I felt that I was meant to write this story, to show there is hope in the darkness, and to show that God did not design the church or the gospel to be represented in such a way.

Though I’m not anywhere near ready to be published yet, I am working towards that every day, for I seek to put words on the pages and weave stories that can help those who have been under bondage or maybe still are. There is hope and freedom in the gospel, not this fear and shame that has been offered. I’m not sure how I’m going to get published yet, but it seems to me that God put this calling on my heart, and if this conference taught me anything? God sees you, in the little moments, and in the big moments, and He can help me get there in His perfect timing.

I was sitting down at the Chicago airport, waiting to meet up with a couple ladies I would be taking an Uber with to the conference, and finishing up my overly priced wrap, when a young woman approached me. “Excuse me, can I pray for you?”

The question startled me. What had she just asked? I mean, I knew what she asked, but I was in disbelief. Wasn’t this something I had heard or seen that happened to other people? Surely, not to someone like me. But it was me she had asked.

The only thing my muddled mind could think to say was, “I’m going to a writing conference.” Though inwardly, my insides were an emotional wreck, and that was really what I could use prayer for. I hadn’t slept well that night, and the entire morning, my nerves refused to be reasoned with, even though I tried to pray through it and read scripture.

She prayed over me, wishing my conference would go well. As she ended, I stuttered over my words, but didn’t care as I asked her how she knew I needed prayer, or how she had the boldness to go up and ask people. She told me she was led by God, and that if I asked, that was something God would show me how to do, too. And it truly was a desire of my heart that I could become more bold in being able to encourage others through prayer. Without even asking, she prayed over me again, that this would be something God would help me with in the future.

As she said goodbye, I sat there, unable to quite comprehend that just happened. A complete stranger. A believer I had never met. In the airport crowded with hundreds of people. And I happened to sit down in a spot where this young woman had been standing. That was no coincidence. God had placed each other in our paths, and though my nerves didn’t quite calm down after she prayed, I was assured that I wasn’t alone in this. It felt as if God was saying he saw me, and knew my struggles, and that I was going to be okay.

Except I still hid.

Even after meeting with three lovely ladies (another answer to prayer) who were attending the conference as they helped me navigate through the Chicago airport and order and Uber to take the Wheaton Campus, I left their company as soon as I was registered and went to my dorm room. Part of me wished I could stay there, not move, forget that I had come all this way. Silly, I know. I had invested in this conference, so staying in the room forever wasn’t an option, but my internal struggle did not want to release its hold.

Yet, I got back up, forcing myself to face what I did not want to, and left the safety of my room. Somewhere amidst the wandering, as the opening session wouldn’t start for a while, I sat on a bench outside the main building.

What am I even doing here, Lord? I questioned. Could I even make friends if I were so paralyzed by this ridiculous anxiety?

Just then, a young woman walked by. Then slowed down. Then walked toward me. She smiled warmly and greeted me, and we both realized that we had messaged each other on the conference app a few days earlier. Instead of staying seated alone on the bench, I joined her on a walk around campus. Again, I knew this wasn’t a coincidence that she had walked by me at this timing. God really wasn’t leaving me to struggle alone in my mess.

Now it was time for the opening session.

I can’t remember much of what was said because I was burnt out, so as the session came to a close, and we applauded the speaker, all I wanted to do was get back to my dorm room. Yet the head of WTP Conference came up to the mic with closing remarks, and she invited us to head down to the lounge and meet up with other writers, tempting us with snacks, perhaps, but saying just go there, even if it was only for three minutes. Just three minutes.

I really didn’t want to go, but I could commit to three minutes, couldn’t I? And she did say there were snacks. I like snacks. Slinging my satchel over my shoulder, trying not to make contact with anyone else, I headed in the direction of the lounge would be. When I entered the room, it was already buzzing with activity. Many were already seated at tables, engaged in conversations. I headed to the back of the room where the snack table was and grabbed a small plate of food (they were good snacks, by the way) and wandered back through the main area. I wasn’t intending to sit with anyone, but I guess God had other plans. Again.

An older gentleman was sitting alone at a table, and he waved me to join. Well, I wanted to get to know people, so I should sit down, even if it was only for a little while. As I sat down, I secretly hoped we weren’t going to talk much, or that he would do all the talking. Before we even had much of a conversation, he continued to invite others to the table, and soon the table was filled with friendly faces. One lady started going into the history of C.S. Lewis, and I felt myself settle in, enthralled by the stories of what she was telling us. Though I was still tired, I did not regret staying past the three minutes.

As the night ended, and I headed back to my room, I wondered if there was a chance I would be able to settle into this conference. It seemed that God was using the little things that day to give me encouragement exactly when I needed it. Though it didn’t fix the overwhelm inside, it made it easier to handle. To be honest, I am so used to being the one who goes out of my way to encourage and help others, and for some reason, it didn’t occur to me that God can put people in my path to do the same for me when I feel incapable.

I think what I learned that day was that God sees you, even if it may seem like a small, insignificant thing, and he can help you through that, too. But also, reminding myself that small acts of kindness, whether that be praying with someone, inviting a stranger into your circle, are sometimes bigger than you may realize. You never know what someone is going through, so if you have a prompting in your heart to reach out, maybe step out and do it, for you never know how that will impact someone else and make their day.