Short Story: The Light, The Dark, The Way

Long stone corridor with arched ceiling, wooden benches on left, wooden chairs on right.

The Pain. It was always there. Always lingers. Latching onto her soul like a leech. The other children didn’t appear affected by this unseen monster. They laughed, smiled, ate their fill, oblivious to any inner turmoil.

Mari sat alone at the table in the Great Hall, idly picking at her plate of greens. She could not remember life without the Pain inside of her. If she dared mention this to one of the Professors, they would suggest she recite a prayer of Salvation. That, unfortunately, had never brought her anywhere, and she dared not mention it to them. For they would tell her if the Pain was still there after the prayer, it meant there was something wrong with the way she prayed it, and it was evident that she had not fully surrendered her life to the Light. For the Light would never refuse a genuine heart. If the Pain was not removed, it meant she was holding back a part of herself. Though what Mari was holding back, she never could tell. Yet she knew that those who still carried their burdens and marks of darkness, whether hidden or not, were often tormented until they came to repentance of their vile nature.

This was the Way. This is what the Academy taught, and they were never wrong.

Mari continued to pick at her food when a boy with a mop of blond hair and a silly grin plopped down on the bench across from her. Her shoulders hunched forward, and she aggressively stared down at her plate. This boy was one of the new transfers, from an outstanding family, apparently. She could tell. Even after being here a short time, he seemed to be settling in with the other students and was thriving in their daily education. To be fair, the boy was already among the Chosen, secure in his fate in the afterlife, a favorite among the Professors, so it would be easy to get along with everyone.

The boy leaned forward, not seeming to get the hint that Mari did not want to talk with him. “Name’s Leeland.”

“Mari,” she mumbled, scraping her plate, wishing he would leave.

“How’s it going?”

Mari wanted to tell him off, but that would be rude, and she’d receive some kind of demerit from the Professors for such undisciplined behaviour.

“You going to finish eating soon?” he asked with a pleasant tone. He pointed his finger way too close to her food for her liking.

Too bad there isn’t a demerit point for being too friendly. Mari grumbled to herself, then immediately regretted it as a wave of guilt flooded through her. The Light would never approve of such a thought. Students of the Academy should never think that way. It would be added to the list of things to be judged in the afterlife, even more so if you weren’t among the forgiven, the Chosen Ones.

“It would be a shame to waste that, you know,” Leeland said.

Mari forced herself to smile. Wasn’t planning to.

The boy grinned. She noticed a leather-bound Truthsay tucked under his arm. All the teachings of the Light were written in that one book. Mari hadn’t brought hers to the Hall. Her face flushed, and she wondered if she should have. Students who loved the Light always carried theirs around, even if it wasn’t required.

But I’m not Chosen.

She didn’t want to give the appearance that she was. Being a pretender in the Academy was frowned upon and severely punished if found out.

“The Confessor is coming today,” he announced, wiggling with uncontained excitement on the bench across from her.

He comes every week. Mari thought glumly, and it wasn’t something she was ever excited about. She shifted uncomfortably, hoping Leeland didn’t notice. Must be nice to not feel Pain when a sermon is preached.
The best Mari could hope for was that the Confessor preached some boring, long sermon she could tune out. A sermon that didn’t involve surrendering, death, and the afterlife. All the stuff they liked to put into one message to move the youth toward the Light…and Pain.

“He’s coming to check our souls,” Leeland continued, not noticing Mari’s growing discomfort. She had gotten good at hiding it by now. “How’s yours, Mari?”

She inwardly cringed, hating that question. The Pain blossomed upward, clawing inside and ripping her internally. Mari responded with an indifferent shrug as she forcefully continued to pick at her food and put some in her mouth. It tasted like sawdust. As it should, for someone like her.

Leeland seemed a little puzzled at her lack of enthusiasm, but kept going. “Think he’ll offer the Water Rite to us?”

He must not know my label yet, Mari thought tiredly. Only the Chosen had the privilege of the Water Rite. He probably assumes I am Chosen because I don’t sit with the Rebels. Not yet, anyway.

Mari shrugged, not offering that she would not be going through Water Rite because of the state of her soul. He would find out soon enough. The only thing that would be offered was the Abyss. Mari picked at a pea, splitting it in two, wondering if she could avoid the Confessor altogether.

Maybe I can say I’m sick.

Guilt thrust inside.

The righteous don’t lie. It accused. And you say you want to follow the Light?

The Light hated liars. How could she expect salvation when she ran from a Confessor? They were the ones who helped the lost and wayward souls. They helped purify the unclean. So why did it hurt so much every time she was forced to be beneath their counsel?

Because you’re wicked.

Mari’s vision blurred. She tried to hold the tears back so that Leeland wouldn’t notice and ask invasive questions. She longed to ask how Leeland came to know the Light, but she couldn’t bring herself to. It was simple. They said. Just surrender yourself. For if Mari really wanted the Light, she would have been delivered. The Light didn’t refuse those who came.

So they said.

“You don’t seem happy, Mari?” Leeland frowned, finally seeming to notice.

Mari shrugged again, “I’m not feeling that great, is all.”

Liar. Pain twisted inside. She wanted to throw up.

“Pity,” a stern man in dark green robes stopped by their table, one of her professors and soul-mentors.

Oh no. Mari shrank back, face flushing in shame. He’ll see right through me.

“Professor Junee!” Leeland exclaimed, turning to the older man, puffing up like a little peacock, straightening his shoulders and clutching his leather-bound Truthsay with pride.

The older man barely acknowledged Leeland as his gaze remained mainly on Mari. One hand was placed behind his back, observing her with a critical expression. “Do you need to see a doctor?”

He’ll know if I lie. Mari swallowed, shaking her head.

“Didn’t think so,” he sniffed. “Let me remind you, Mari, that students are required to attend the listening of the Confessor unless they have a serious reason not to. Do you have one?” Junee spoke with a scrutinizing stare.

She gulped and shook her head again.

“Good,” he nodded in satisfaction, but that underlying look of disapproval was still there. “I can’t imagine any good student of this Academy wanting to miss out.”

Leelnad glanced between Mari and the Professor, as if trying to understand why Junee was so stern.

“Of course, she’s coming,” Leeland said with enough excitement for the entire Hall. “She’ll sit with me.”

Mari’s shoulders slumped, wishing he hadn’t said that.

“She isn’t in that category,” Professor informed with a forced smile. “We can only hope you, Leeland, will continue to give Mari and all who refuse to believe a good example of true faith.”

Leeland’s eyes widened like round saucers, staring at Mari, then back at the Professor. “Ohhh.”

Well, that didn’t take long. Mari’s gaze was transfixed on her plate, losing the little appetite she had.

“Finish eating,” the Professor instructed. “And be ready to listen to today’s message with an open heart, Mari.”
He gave a placid smile, as if he knew she hadn’t wanted to hear or see the Confessor today. Of course, he knew. She probably was on one of their school lists of the unconverted, their list of the wayward souls that needed prayer, and since the Professor was her personal soul-mentor, Mari could only imagine how happy it would make him if she made some confession under this tutoring. Mari watched the Professor walk away with Leeland scrambling off his seat to follow, eagerly chattering the man’s ears off.

I could pretend to be Chosen.

But what would that do? She never wanted to be fake. Even if she could fool everyone, she knew the Light would not be fooled by her darkness. But this was her fault, anyway. Everything would be fixed if she just properly surrendered. The Confessor would surely just remind her of that today. Maybe this time she would better understand the message of Salvation, or perhaps she would be trapped in this Pain forever. The Light didn’t ignore those who truly cared, right? Maybe she’d never care enough.

<<<<<<0>>>>>>

The pews were filled with children of varying ages. The well-mannered and well-dressed sat in the center. They were the Chosen and blessed of the Light. Those who clearly rebelled, sat near the back, professors standing with watchful eyes to make sure they didn’t cause a ruckus. Swift punishment would come to the one who disturbed the message from a Confessor.

And then there were side-rows filled with the unrepentant fence-sitters. One of the worst categories to be in, Professor Junee had told her, because the lukewarm would be spat out when judgment day came.

This is where she sat. Her row was more sparsely filled. Most of the children here were well-dressed, like those of the center, but overall, there seemed to be a subdued and defeated look amongst them. She didn’t know their names and didn’t dare ask why they were here like her. It was humiliating enough to be placed here, knowing you were the subject of the teachers and confessors. Their hopes and prayers that you would one day bend the knee.

She glanced longingly at the rows filled with the Chosen. Mari knew all the words to say. She knew how to act. She knew how to dress. How to appease the adult world. But the Light would know her deception, and she didn’t want to displease Him.

But did the Light even want her?

Her daily prayers went unanswered. The always Pain continued, no matter how she begged. The empty vastness ate away at her insides.

“You need to surrender yourself fully,” the Confessor preached from the pulpit. A man in black robes and a white collar. A man who faithfully dedicated his life to the Way of Light. Godly. Revered. Messenger of Truth. To ignore him was to ignore the calling. To reject his teaching was to say you didn’t want eternal life. You wanted to serve the Way of Darkness.

“You are young now,” the Confessor continued, full of vigour as he pumped his hand in the air, then crooked a finger, seeming to stare directly at the fence-sitters, directly at her. “But one day you will stand before the Lightbringer, and you will pay for following your wicked heart.”

Mari’s insides twisted, wishing more than anything to leave the room. As she squirmed in her seat, she felt the eyes of someone upon her. Professor Junee was there, in the back of the room, watching with a hawk-like gaze, watching her face, watching her in Pain. Probably avidly praying for her Salvation.

“The longer you wait,” the Confessor squinted, “your heart will be hardened beyond repair.”

A wave of despair filled Mari. Beyond repair?

“How long do you think the Light will take rejection of your rebellious ways?” He wagged a finger, scowling at the congregation of children. Those in the center nodded in agreement, Leeland the most attentive of all.. Mari could feel her heart constricting. Misery flooding within. Pain throbbing more and more. “To continue to refuse the mercy of Light is to refuse the greatest gift.” The gaze of the Confessor burned. “Will you continue to refuse the Light?” His tone softened ever so slightly. “Just come forward, give your life to the One, and you’ll be set free. You’ll be released of the burdens you carry. You will experience joy like you never have before.” He stretched his arms wide open in invitation. “Just come.”

A girl sobbed to her left, and Mari watched as she rose from her seat and walked down the aisle toward the Confessor. A round of applause and cheers came from the center of the pews. Mari sat frozen, wishing she could go up and be liberated from the Pain within, but couldn’t make herself do it, not in front of everyone. Someone was still watching her. Mari glanced over. Professor Junee shook his head, eyes filled with anger and disappointment. He looked away and joined in the applause for the young girl who had gone up to the front to be prayed over.

<<<<<<0>>>>>>

Mari still was in her seat, watching a line of children waiting to speak to the Confessor, Leeland among them. Her palms were sweaty as she gripped the pew. She wanted to leave, though part of her wanted to talk to the Confessor, but she already knew the drill. Say a prayer. Surrender your life. And if she dared claimed that she still had Pain and still felt broken even after she had tried to do the steps, they would say that she hadn’t truly surrendered. The Light knew the devious ways of wretched children.

Professor Junee entered her row and sat down next to her. Mari stiffened, breath quickening, and avoided eye contact.

“What did you think of the message?” Junee asked, voice softer than usual.

Panic shot through her. She knew what she thought, but it wasn’t safe to speak. She wanted to explain, but it hurt too much to expose what was writhing inside.

“Good.” It was all she could manage without giving away her emotions. She didn’t want to cry. Crying did nothing. Crying reminded her that she was alone in her Pain and the Light wasn’t there to help her because she hadn’t surrendered enough of herself to be liberated from her evil ways.

“Have you thought about giving your life to the Light?”

Of course. Mari kept her gaze focused on her shoes, anything but looking at Junee. Instead of saying anything, she gave a little shrug of her shoulders. If she didn’t keep herself together, the hurt that could not be fixed would spill out.

“You should talk to the Confessor,” Professor Junee encouraged. “I’m sure he can help you.”

Yeah, right. She breathed out, knowing that if she refused to go, it would displease Junee greatly, even if she explained that talking to the Confessor made things worse. The Professor wouldn’t believe her that the results were always the same after every prayer. Further Pain. Further loneliness. Further judgement from those around her. If she mentioned the Light did not want her, he would shut that conversation down, telling her she was nothing but a doubter. The Light wasn’t the problem. She was.

“You do want the Light, don’t you?” Junee repeated, raising his eyebrows, that familiar disapproving tone returned. That disappointment didn’t take long to resurface.

“Yeah…” Mari answered submissively, still keeping her head down.

“Then you know what you need to do,” Junee rose from his seat, a sternness there. He abruptly left the row. Mari watched him head toward another student, to the girl who had surrendered her life today, and patted her on the back with a proud expression. Then there was Leeland, up on the stage, engrossed in a conversation with the Confessor, probably talking about going through the Water Rite.

Mari crossed her arms over her chest, stomach churning, wishing that she could disappear. She envied Leeland, not seeming to have a care in the world… and in some way she envied the Rebels, too. They were the kids in the back, not appearing to have even listened to a word of the sermon, wiggling in the rows, refusing to go up and speak to the Confessor. At least they didn’t have Pain burning within them, or they had become so calloused to it that it didn’t bother them anymore. Mari took a breath. Maybe she would try talking to the Confessor. One last time.

<<<<<<0>>>>>>

By the time the Confessor was available, the room was nearly empty. Somehow, that felt even worse. The elderly Confessor, with a crown of balding hair, sat in front of her, hands clasped with intention. “You’re a fence-sitter.”

The first words out of his mouth. The slim hope of this conversation going in a helpful direction dissipated in an instant.

“Would you like to change that?”

Of course, I do. She thought bitterly, but couldn’t bring herself to say anything as fear took over that this would just be another prayer that brought further isolation.

When she didn’t answer, he continued. ‘Would you like me to lead you in a prayer of Salvation?”

Just repent. Just believe.

Still, she said nothing. Professor Junee would be so disappointed.

“Mari?” the Confessor said.

She didn’t reply.

He let out a heavy sigh. “Why did you come up here?”

Mari was embarrassed, but still didn’t speak.

The Confessor sighed again, “I’ll be here if you need to talk, but I can’t force this on you.”

She glanced toward the back of the auditorium. Sure enough, Professor Junee was watching her. She turned back to look at the Confessor and shrugged.

He patted her shoulder and said with a sad smile. “Don’t ignore the presence of the Light too long, child. There’s only so much until it is too late.”

Mari nodded and hurried off the stage as fast as her legs could take her, making sure to avoid eye contact with Professor Junee. She burned with shame. Why had she bothered to go up there? Her mouth was tongue-tied whenever she tried to talk about these things. She knew this was going to happen. Why had she hoped it would be any different? Why was this so hard?

Because you don’t truly want the Light. You’re a Rebel. You’ll always be one.

That’s why she was tormented by Pain no matter how she tried to ignore it. Why was the Light so cruel as to say Salvation came from Him, but she could not taste of its goodness no matter how she tried?

He should strike you down for such thoughts.

It was probably only a matter of time before He did.

<<<<<<0>>>>>>

“Wasn’t the message amazing?’ Leeland said, shoveling a spoonful of food into his mouth. “I feel so rejuvenated.”

Why are you sitting with me? She wanted to ask. He knew she was a fence-sitter, and that she hadn’t made a prayer of Salvation with the Confessor, otherwise, she would have sat at the table with the Chosen. Mari poked at her pile of mashed potatoes, wishing Leeland would talk about anything other than the preaching.

“I’m going through the Water Rite next week!” he beamed with joy, picking a piece of loose food from his mouth. “How about you?”

She gave him a dubious look.

“I saw you talking to the Confessor,” he smacked his lips, licked a finger before pushing the spoon into his food.

“I’m a fence-sitter,” Mari said dryly, trying to make sure he understood. Now go away.

“You didn’t ask him about Salvation?” his eyes widened with surprise.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to tell the boy to shut up, but that wouldn’t be nice.

“She’s not ready yet,” Professor Junee came out of nowhere, nearly making Mari jump. It was like he was always watching her, how she behaved, how she reacted to the sermons.

“Oh,” Leeland looked saddened. “Sorry to hear that.” He peered at Mari with a curious expression, but didn’t persist further. Thank goodness. She felt humiliated enough.

“Just continue to pray for your friend, Leeland,” the Professor said, eyeing Mari. “And pray that her heart would be softened.”

Leeland nodded, “Of course, Professor! I’m sure Mari will see soon.”

Not if I die first. The Light was probably getting fed up with her by now. Everyone else appeared to be, so why wouldn’t the Light? Perhaps it was already too late for Salvation, as the Confessor said.

<<<<<<0>>>>>>

The rebellious do not inherit eternal life. They will be thrown into the Abyss where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. The words of today’s class ran through Mari’s mind as she pressed her blankets against her chin. It was nighttime. The worst time of the day, when she was alone with her thoughts, alone with her Pain, no way of distraction.

Terror filled her. I don’t want to die.

“Light,” she whispered, hugging herself, hoping that He would respond this time. “Won’t you save me?”

There was no answer as the ache throbbed inside her, a Pain that could not be healed.

“I — I know I’m wicked,” Mari spoke in a subdued tone, “And that I don’t love You as I ought but…” her voice trembled as warm tears trickled down her face. “Please save me.”

She waited for something. Anything. A release from this misery. An answer that she wasn’t alone in this.

“Light?” she whispered, biting her lip. “What do you want me to do?”

There was nothing but darkness and emptiness.

I truly am lost. Despair welled up. Mari clutched her blankets, vision blurring. “Why don’t You answer me?” her voice cracked. It hurt so much, as if she were being stabbed over and over again. She couldn’t bear it. No one was there. The Light wasn’t there. There wasn’t anyone she could seek out for help. Mari sniffled, trying to control her sobs, and pressed her hands against her chest. “Please,” she begged. “I…I don’t want to go to the eternal abyss. Will you save my soul? I believe…I believe in you.”

There was no peace that filled her. There was no comforting embrace. The Light had not come as the professors promised. A deeper Pain vibrated throughout her being. Words of pleading did not matter. It was the same as always.

He must not want me.

Stiffness replaced the Pain, as she buried the emotions deep down, as far as she could, trying to make herself numb, trying to make herself forget about salvation, of the afterlife, anything that stirred the turmoil within. If the Light refused to answer, she would bury everything. She couldn’t continue to live like this. Yet anger began to rise above the Pain. Anger towards the Light. Anger towards the Confessor. His words of peace weren’t meant for her, were they? They were meant for the select few. The Chosen. The Favored. And if she was destined to the eternal Abyss, that was totally in the Light’s sovereign will. Anger interwove itself into the Pain. She wanted it to go away. She wanted it to stop. Mari was scared of where her thoughts would lead her, but living like this was unbearable. The Pain dimmed, turning to a dull thrum, and a sudden fear struck her. Was this the hardening they talked about? She gritted her teeth. But that was her fault, too, wasn’t it?

Guess this is what the Light wants.

It was over for her. The message had been received too many times, and now she would be forsaken.

What I deserve.

She turned over in her bed, crying herself to sleep.

<<<<<<0>>>>>>

“Do not ignore the call!” The Confessor’s voice rang out, slamming his fist on the pulpit. “How many years will you continue to rebel?”

Mari sat in the fence-sitter aisle, hands placed on her lap, staring down at her fingers. She was no longer a child, but he still preached the same message, and the Academy still kept her in the same section. Most children had grown and moved out of her aisle, either joining the back row with the Rebels or joining the ranks of the Chosen. Technically, she was a rebel at heart in the Academy’s mind, but she supposed she was still on some Professor’s lists of hope of soon-to-be conversion. She didn’t know why.

“The condemnation will be far greater for you who have sat under the Light’s message every week,” the Confessor continued his adamant sermon. “Do not turn away!” he raised his voice another octave, as if that would catch some wayward attention this time, break some stubborn heart.

The Rebels’ faces were impassive, some bored, some glaring. There was a very slim chance they would turn to the Light now. It had been years since they had been in the Academy, and no amount of preaching, teaching, or discipline had enticed them to follow the Light. The Chosen, eyes misted, attentive, some looking with pity at the Rebels and at… her. Leeland especially. The boy had grown into a spindly youth, one of the tallest, brightest. The star evangelist. He stared at her and slowly shook his head before returning his attention to the Confessor. Even Leeland had given up hope. As he should. How lucky he was to know he was part of the Kingdom of Light. Mari slipped her hand into her pocket, touching a small journal she had kept with a list of unanswered prayers.

I bet Leeland doesn’t have this problem. The Light loves the obedient, after all.

<<<<<<0>>>>>>

It was the last day before the graduating youth of the Academy were to depart. The Hall was full. There was a clear divide between the Rebels and the Chosen, on two sides of the room. The Professors seemed to ignore Rebels, as if their hopes were now completely gone in this group, and they spent their energy with the outstanding students who would now be sent off to be the Academy’s future leaders.

Mari sat down at her usual spot, an empty table at the back, away from both factions. She wasn’t sure where she belonged, to be honest. She didn’t feel a connection with either the Chosen or the Rebels.

Footsteps approached.

It was Leeland. She tried to suppress her discomfort. The boy who had never appeared to struggle throughout their years at the Academy. As to why he still wanted to talk to the stubborn fence-sitter, she didn’t know. As usual, Leeland sat across from her without an invitation and placed his thick leather Truthsay on the table in front of them. Leeland was much older now than that eager little boy she knew a few years ago. Face a little more stern, though there was a delight behind it.

“Hi, Mari.”

She shifted in her seat. “Hi.”

This was awkward.

“Still not finishing your food,” he joked, pointing at her plate, maybe trying to lighten the mood. It wasn’t working. When she didn’t react, he cleared his throat and coughed into his hand. He glanced over his shoulder and waved at a group of his graduating friends, his fellow Chosen, before looking back at Mari.

“Mari,” he cleared his throat again, touching the corner of his Truthsay. “I…” he looked upward, as if trying to find the right words, then blurted out. “I don’t want to see you leave this place without…” he glanced at the Rebels, and lowered his voice. “Is there a reason you’re still resisting the presence of the Light?”

Still resisting. Is that what he thought? Her throat clenched as anger, as fear, as agony scaled its way up inside of her, bleeding itself from the center of her heart. That was the same question she was asked over and over, yet no one could explain why the Light was further away from her when she had followed their prayers, their lines, their teaching, their counsel.

When she didn’t answer, he asked softly. “Don’t you want to feel the freedom the Light is offering?”

Pain stabbed her. The same one that had been there for years. The same one she had asked the Light to help her with. She pushed it down, not willing to allow it to resurface in this conversation.

“Do you want to end up like them?” he gestured toward the table filled with the unbelievers.

Yes, she secretly thought, pursing her lips. At least they aren’t suffering as I am.

But they were suffering. Professor Junee had told her. Because they were in darkness. At least they weren’t harassed about their Pain every day. At least they could shut out the Confessor. Fence-sitters didn’t have that luxury, as their soul-mentors continued to pressure them, showering them with guilt when they didn’t give in.

“I’ll be praying for you,” Leeland offered with a weak smile, as if he didn’t know what else to say.


As you have been, for how long? Mari wanted to respond, but kept her mouth shut. It wasn’t Leeland’s fault she was like this. He was just trying his best. How could she tell him that if the Light didn’t want her, no amount of pleading on her behalf would change a thing? As the Confessor always said, once you had rejected the truth too many times, there was no turning back.

“Well, I’ll see you around? Leeland said,

Mari shrugged. “Yep.” And was relieved when Leeland got up to leave.

He headed back to his group of peers, his clique. One of Leeland’s friends cast a glance in Mar’s direction before they turned away.

And there was Professor Junee, observing, as always, and was giving Leeland a nod of approval. Mari soured, knowing the Professor was just hoping for one more convert before the year was done, and he loathed her “stubbornness”.

If only he knew.

Mari pulled a journal from her pocket. In it were tear-stained pages filled with prayers. One page in particular contained hundreds of blotchy tally marks. It was the total number of times she had prayed the prayer over the years at the Academy, the number of times she had asked for forgiveness and help from the Light, but no one would believe her if she told them.

Just then, she realized Leeland had left his Truthsay on her table. She almost laughed at it, feeling like it was mocking her existence. Did you create me just so that I could be tormented in your eternal abyss? Mari silently fumed, wishing she could toss the book across the room. Yet the Light had the right to do whatever He wanted with her soul, right? It was His prerogative. He made vessels that were beautiful and vessels that were to be destroyed. It didn’t matter how much you sought Him. It was a cruel punishment to have grown up in the Academy, knowing this.

What kind of Light are you? She stared at the Truthsay, gritting her teeth. Asking what I cannot give?

He was far from the peaceful, loving, kind, good being her professors gushed about every day. Mari clutched her journal, the tally marks boldly written. The one who gives transformation? The one who broke the rebels and made them new?

“How about the one who abandons?” she seethed, bitterness filled her as she listened to her graduating peers laugh. Mari stared at the Truthsay, tucking her notebook back into her pocket, wishing more than ever to escape this version of hell. “I hate you.”

The laughter that filled the Hall went silent in an instant.

Mari froze, suddenly frightened that everyone had somehow managed to hear her curse the Light. When she looked up, she found a startling revelation. Everyone in the room was frozen in place. It was like they were all turned to statues, caught in mid-conversations and laughter.

What have I done?

A tall man, wearing white priestly robes, entered the Hall, face enshrouded by a hood. He halted and stared directly at Mari. Mari panicked, looking from side to side to see if anyone else was viewing this. No one moved but her and the hooded man. He strode toward her, almost as if he were gliding across the Hall. Not knowing why, Mari grabbed the Truthsay and clutched it to her chest, as if that would protect her. The man halted as he stood across from Mari and pushed back his hood. A man with a beard and a head full of dark hair and silver streaks smiled at her.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Mari couldn’t speak, could barely breathe as her heart continued to thud as if someone was pounding on a door.

He glanced around the frozen Hall, then back at Mari. “I am sorry you had to endure this.”

A sound of loud clacking marched in their direction. Professor Junee walked toward them through the stillness of the crowd, a scowl on his face. “How dare you show yourself here.”

Mari wasn’t sure whether to be relieved of Professor Junee’s intervention or not. Did he know this man? And why wasn’t he affected by the stillness like everyone else?

The intruder slowly turned to Professor Junee. “Ah, Junee. Good to see you again.” The man flattened his gaze, sarcasm rolling off him. “How many more false converts have you made this year?”

Professor Junee bristled, face darkening. “You are not welcome here, Jahn,” he spat. “You will leave at once.”

Jahn appeared unconcerned with Junee’s threat. “Not until I finish what I was sent to do.” He turned to Mari and stretched out a hand. “Mari is to come with me.”

Junee swiftly moved forward and pressed a hand over Mari’s shoulder, clamping it tight. “She is not yours to take,” he snarled in a possessive tone Mari had never heard the Professor speak in before. She wanted to pull away, but wasn’t sure she was allowed to. Professor Junee was her assigned soul-mentor, even if he was a little overwhelming. He knew what was best for her. This Jahn was clearly a danger.

You will remove your hold from her,” Jahn said as his voice remained calm, though a brief flash of anger flickered in his eyes.

Junee scoffed. “You have no right. She belongs to us.”

Mari shifted, uncomfortable at the Professor’s tone, but she still wasn’t sure she was allowed to do anything about it.

Jahn appeared amused. “To you? She never did.” His voice lowered, all lightheartedness gone. “Now, I will not ask you again. Remove your hand from the girl.”

If possible, Junee’s grip tightened further, causing Mari to gasp and her eyes to water from the pinching. The Professor seemed completely oblivious to her pain. “I will not. She is mine.”

Jahn flicked his wrist. A flash of light burst behind Mari, and Professor Junee yelped as if something bit him. His hand flew off her shoulder. Mari’s eyes widened as Junee clutched his hand, ice sizzling off his fingertips. “You will regret that.” An unearthly voice crept from his mouth, and a black plume of smoke oozed from his nostrils. Mari gasped and jumped from her seat, trying to move away as quick as she could. A low hissing filled the Hall, and she nearly screamed. It was as if a veil had been torn from her eyes. The Hall was filled with shadowy creatures of darkness, latching onto various students, both the Rebels and the Chosen; even Leeland had one wrung around his neck like a scarf. No one noticed a thing, all trapped in a frozen state. The creatures, though, were all looking toward Jahn with eyes of glowing red, filled with a hatred Mari had never felt in her life.

Someone grabbed her hand. Mari looked up to see Jahn. He pushed her behind, further away from the Professor’s reach. Jahn stared at Professor Junee with an unwavering stance, unafraid of the dark creatures around them. “You will allow us to leave unharmed.”

More black smoke twisted around Junee, and he stared at Jahn with the same hatred as the shadowy creatures. Then, as if it were but a dream, the darkness vanished, and Professor was back to his smiling, pleasing self. Though it felt more like a snake.

“Have you forgotten? It is the choice of the soulbearer whether they want to leave or not.”

“I think she has seen enough,” Jahn replied, but he looked down at Mari with an expression of compassion. “It is true, I cannot force you from here, but I will guide you to the true source of Light.”

“True source?” Professor Junee laughed smugly, folding his arms. “As if you can do such a thing?” He looked to Mari. “You know that state of your soul. Do you really think someone can help you see the Light?”

Jahn ignored Junee’s taunting and faced Mari. “The Light will help you. He knows about your Pain.”

You believe that?” Junee said, narrowing his gaze. “She doesn’t deserve—“

“Enough!” Jahn waved a hand, eyes flashing dangerously, and Junee shut his mouth. Mari had never seen the Professor silenced in such a way. “You have done enough damage with your words of cursing.” Jahn let go of Mari’s hand and looked toward her. “I know you must have so many questions, and so much…hurt.”

Mari wilted, not wanting to go there, not with a stranger.

“But I promise you,” Jahn continued in a tone of kindness Mari had never experienced before. “The Light does not hate you. He knows your suffering, and He has loved you and heard every one of your prayers.”

Professor Junee rolled his eyes, but he did not comment; it was as if he couldn’t say a word, bound to silence.

“Will you come with me, so I can show you?” Jahn asked, with a kindness Mari had never heard.

At first, Mari didn’t know what to say. There were so many thing she wanted to say, wanted to ask. Some of them were quite ugly, some of them desperate, filled with agony.

All she could manage was. “I don’t know if I believe I can be helped.” The words slipped out before she could guard them. Mari shrunk down, expecting to be reprimanded for her lack of faith.

Jahn returned with a small, compassionate smile, as if he could feel the Pain with her. “I understand.”

Mari blinked, then blinked again, staggered. He wasn’t going to tell her that her view was wrong? He wasn’t going to give her some fix? No scowling at how disrespectful she was, and she deserved the abyss?

“He can’t love me,” Mari insisted, resistance growing inside of her.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched a victorious smile peek onto the corner of Professor Junee’s mouth.

“That’s what you were told,” Jahn folded his arms. “And you can continue believing that, or you can leave this place and learn something entirely new. What the Light really wants you to know.”

Mari narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “How can you know that?”

“Because I know Him.”

Mari felt doubt within. Isn’t that what they all said?

Professor Junee continued to look smug. She had never seen him in that way before. Stern, yes. Disapproving, always, but gloating over her confusion and hurt? Had he always been like that, the Professor? Did he not want her to learn who the Light was and was so convinced that there was no hope for her?

“I’ll go with you,” she told Jahn

A startled expression came over Professor Junee, almost as if he had lost something important. Then his face distorted, veins almost popping out of his face in anger. “You…”

“She made her decision,” Jahn cut him off. “She is coming with me.”

Professor Junee sneered. “You may leave this place,” his ugly voice returned. “But you’ll never get rid of us.”

A chill crawled through her spine, and she instinctively moved closer to Jahn for protection. How had she never seen Professor Junee like this before?

“In time, she will overcome you,” Jahn replied, then nodded toward the exit of the Hall. “Let’s go.”

Once again, to Mari’s horror, the shadowy beasts were all back in place, watching Jahn and Mari with their gleaming eyes as they moved past the frozen students. It was as if they wanted to pounce on them, tear them apart, but they did not move.

Mari could feel Junee’s furious gaze upon her back. “You’ll be back,” he called, voice echoing throughout the Hall.

“Not in the way you think,” Jahn replied, keeping his gaze forward. Mari didn’t know what Jahn meant by that, but she stumbled to keep up with his long strides. It felt like it took forever before they exited the Hall of the Academy. Mari was nearly blinded by the brightness of the daylight, but they kept walking, further away from the Academy, further away from the place she grew up. Mari glanced over her shoulder once and paused.

The Academy stood tall, but somehow the building looked like it was falling apart, decaying, rotting from within. Why had she never seen that before? Pain drummed inside her, and she collapsed to her knees. Voices were calling her to return, but she shoved them away, remembering the dark shadows that filled the building.

“I know there’s a lot to explain,” Jahn came beside her, observing the Academy with a look of sadness. “But you will learn in time.”

Mari realized she was still holding Leeland’s Truthsay. Alarm filled her. “What about the others?” Even the Chosen had those creatures latching onto them. How could no one see that, even the greatest student of them all?

“What does your heart say?” Jahn asked, regarding her with keen eyes.
My heart? Mari was filled with confusion. She knew what Professor Junee and the Academy told her about that, instructing her how to think, how to feel, how to act, but she didn’t think Jahn was asking her the same thing.

Jahn bent down next to her, the pointed at the Truthsay. “Maybe it is time for you to learn the proper meaning of the text, no?”

“I thought I already did?” Mari stated, though the crumbling building of the Academy and the images of the creatures caused her to doubt she had fully learned what the truth actually was.

“Do you truly believe that?” Jahn watched her, lifting an eyebrow. It seemed Jahn knew just as much as she now that Mari could no longer continue believing the Academy had done everything in her best interest.

“No…” Mari slowly shook her head, then asked with some trepidation. “Will you…teach me the Way?”

The Pain she had been holding onto all these years cracked open. It bled out. It wasn’t completely gone, but it was the start of something new, a start of a healing she hadn’t known she was in desperate need of, that Professor Junee had prevented her from experiencing. Jahn was inviting her to know something Mari had truly missed all her years at the Academy. The real Way of Light.

Jahn smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Realm Makers: The Voice of God

Why am I afraid to write this? To explore the idea, rather than to shut it out altogether? I felt as if God put this on my heart this past week to pour out my thoughts on this event, but every time I sat down to write all I heard were the accusations, the scolding, the voices of correction, the disapproving frown, and caution pounding into my skull, seeping into my body with a tightening hold, saying that shouldn’t open my mouth on things that are best left unsaid, or I should stick to a certain way of thinking that is outwardly acceptable and doesn’t step on any toes.

It would be an easier thing to tuck away this memory and keep it to myself rather than face the condemnation, whether it is merely a projection of my own negative thoughts, my past, or from others, than to face the onslaught of accusations that want to shred the encouragement I experienced last weekend, but would I giving into fear rather than obeying God if I kept my mouth shut when He has asked me to write stories, share words, even such as this?

Even if I may not fully understand what it is I am seeking, is it not better to explore ideas in the safety of trusted friends and family? Is it not better to explore and understand my beliefs, rather than to stamp down anything that rises from beneath the surface, and then, when others have questions of a similar nature to simply judge them for it, too, with an air of superiority and self-righteousness that doesn’t point to Christ but causes greater division and unrest?

Over the last year, I’ve been going down a road, taking a few turns, that have been leading me to question why I believe certain things, whether I believe them because they were told to me, or whether I believe that is actually what God teaches. I’m not talking about the gospel, about whether Jesus Christ rose from the dead, I believe this, and will forever believe this with all my heart, mind, and soul. These are foundational, core truths to my faith, but I am referring to other areas where I have been strictly taught that going down certain paths will, well, essentially, I’ll be diving off a cliff or making a train wreck of my life.

And to be fair, I have seen people who pursue certain teachings utterly destroy themselves, but can there be a way to explore ideas without the danger of self-destruction? I would like to believe I can work through ideas without completely unraveling the foundations of my mind, even if it makes some uncomfortable, for it is hard to question what you’ve always believed in is from God or from a set of rules that were introduced and you never thought to dig deeper, and that has led me to ask:

Can one hear the voice of God?

As someone who has been told to be wary of anything that is not explicitly written in scripture, this has been a hard thing for me to grapple with. Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with that statement, for anything that contradicts the Word should be questioned and evaluated as an error, for God would not oppose Himself. Yet, it seems there are certain circles that, out of fear of how this term, won’t even entertain there might be ways God speaks. Is it possible to receive prompting, nudges, thoughts, spoken outside the written text?

On Sunday morning, the last day of the conference, there was a worship service. It was the first one Realm Makers had ever hosted in the 13 years they had been running. The directors talked about how it never felt like there was a place for a worship service until that year, as they had not wanted to stir division, followed by a couple of cracked jokes about the church carpets and drums. By the laughter that followed, it is a common thing that Christians have fought over. And though I was amused, part of me felt grieved for the church in North America. There are so many things that have caused strife among believers that are not even central to the gospel, and we wonder why some criticize the church.

As the song portion of the service ended, a man came up onto the stage to pray before the main speaker delivered the Sunday message. I closed my eyes. It didn’t feel different from any other prayer, but in the middle of it, it was like his words faded out, not because I hadn’t been paying attention; I very much had been. The room shifted, and my world kind of shrank in on itself. A very clear thought, as if it weren’t even my own, came across my mind.

“I will take care of you.”

It was a gentle voice. Different from the constant negative hounding that often followed me. A sense of comfort washed over me, and I took a breath. Was that just… my own thought? Slowly, the room came back into focus, tuning back into the prayer, and I realized the man was saying that if there were any struggles, anything that was lying on our hearts that we would lift that up to God in prayer, and that in return, we would receive what God wanted us to know

Was it a coincidence that I will take care of you came to my mind at this moment when the prayer was about giving our struggles to God and receiving what He has to say?

As someone who has literally stressed about provision since my college years, whether that was living situations, future ventures, or even receiving help when I’m in need, hearing that was a reminder that I wasn’t alone in the direction I have been working toward. It wasn’t just a random phrase. I had been carrying a burden on my shoulder that I didn’t realize was there, and it was a loving reminder that I had a Father in Heaven who had provided for me in the past, and He was going to do so again in my next stage of life.

Well, duh. It’s not like that’s an extra-biblical revelation if that perfectly aligns with scripture. It’s not like that’s anything special you heard.

Except, it was.

It came when I needed it. Do you know how hard it is to live with a constant voice that condemns all the time, that wants to cast doubt at every turn, that literally wants to tell you not to believe the things in the Bible when things get hard? But my mind felt open to hearing God’s Word, and the Holy Spirit used that moment to bring a vivid remembrance of who He was and what He is doing amidst uncertainty. How often, even though we have scripture, we fret about our struggles. We talk about trust all the time, but we’re not very good at it.

Okay, well, that’s not exactly outside of scripture, the “voice” is it?

Fair enough. Another story, then?

Earlier this week, after being challenged by a believer to pray specifically about what God is asking me to do with my writing, I felt a strong prompting that this blog post needed to be written, even if it was only for a handful who would read it. So I would do it.

Yet, when I got through the first draft of this post a few days ago, I sensed as if God were saying that this wasn’t the version He was asking for, and deep down, I knew He was right. I was holding back in my writing, trying to politely tailor my words to make it appeasing to all audiences, telling the story in the least controversial way possible. That wasn’t authentic.

So then I started again, and a series of things happened. The encouragement I had been filled with from the conference left as I was attacked with negative thoughts, doubts, and fears, crushing my confidence that being a storyteller and writer was what God called me to be. It was a back-and-forth battle between “Is this really what God wants me to do, or am I just making this up in my head?” and beginning to question whether I should even write the post at all.

But I knew how strongly I had felt about it and that I couldn’t continue to operate out of fear.

Yesterday, the intensity peaked. An unusual pressure in my chest from fear grew. It made no sense. It worsened as I was around friends, as if the emotions didn’t want me to speak about the joys I had found at the conference, about the joys I was discovering with my faith, my passion for writing, and God.

It wasn’t until I went home later that night and called a close friend that I broke down over the phone saying I was so sick of being ruled by fear, that it was not only holding me back from writing, but holding me back from speaking to friends, and fulfilling the role God was placing in my life. So she prayed with me. Read scripture with me. For over an hour. As she was praying words of encouragement over my life, I could feel the negative voices ramping up nasty words; it almost felt like they weren’t even of myself, as if they would not let me go.

At the height of the spiritual battle, a negative thought spoke, trying to drown out the words my friend was giving. Just give up.

Whoa, whoa, whooooaaa.

Says who? That sounded like remnants of the deep darkness I had walked through months ago, and sometimes still dip into. That wasn’t from God. It reeked of hopelessness, of life having no meaning, and I had to fight it, and God had given me a friend to fight them with. She continued to speak words of truth and life until the lies were silenced. By the end of the conversation, I felt so exhausted and drained as if I had gone to war. I was unable to write anything that night, but the words of darkness were no longer there.

And here I am, a day after. This morning, the negative thoughts tried to return, but I didn’t let them, and later I sat down to finish this post. It still wasn’t easy, but I’m tired of hiding and pretending. I want to be done with that. Whether or not God prompted me to write this blog post, I’m writing it because it is a good thing. I’m looking forward to seeing where God takes me in this adventure and praying that He will help me through the voices that want to deter me from stepping into a role He’s leading me toward. If it isn’t in contradiction to His character and His Word, then who am I to ignore promptings and thoughts from the Lord?

Realm Makers: Reconnecting With Friends


The room was filled with at least 400 people, maybe more. Round tables were covered with white cloths and there were more forks than I knew what to do with, a couple of spoons, and some dishes already set. When I saw on the schedule that there would be a semi-formal dinner, I hadn’t known I’d get this treat! It was Friday evening when those who cosplayed as Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, or really, anything, would walk across the stage and be judged on their outfits. I joined one of the tables along with the other attendees who would happily view the contest.

As the room filled, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a young woman in a red dress weaving through the crowd and tables. She looked familiar. Was she someone from a workshop I had attended several years ago? There wasn’t time to go up and check as the costume parade across the stage began, and the meal followed afterwards

As the evening came to an end, bellies full with delicious food, everyone cheered with the fun conversations of being in a room with writers and creatives, people started to leave. I wasn’t going anywhere quite yet. I rose and made a beeline for where I had seen the young woman in the red dress. As I drew closer, a smile broadened across my face.

“Catherine?” I walked up behind her.

She turned around, with a delightful smile lighting up her face. “I thought I saw you earlier!”

Happy to see each other, we embraced. It was so good to see a familiar face in the sea of strangers, but also wonderful to find a friend I hadn’t seen in years.

The next day, on Saturday afternoon, I browsed the schedule to see which session I was going to next. I had missed Part A earlier that day wasn’t sure which Part B session I should attend. Was there something that would benefit me most? A practice I’d been making more of a habit of, even in the smaller things, I decided to pray, asking if there was a particular one that I should go to. No, I didn’t get any magical revelation. No prompting. Nothing stood out. That’s okay. I glanced over the schedule again before closing it and went into the Expo Hall (as where most went in between sessions, cause look at all the shiny things). I walked through the booths and ended up bumping into Catherine. She was about to head to one of the sessions and said I could join her if I wanted. The one she picked hadn’t been inclined to go to, but I decided, sure. Let’s go with a friend.

As we entered the class, we sat down and pulled out our notebooks. Only five minutes into the session, the speaker pulled up a slide about perfectionism vs. high achievers. Oh, boy. I knew I was meant to be here. I was all too familiar with the ways of perfectionism. Yet, as she drew comparisons between the two, every click of the slide revealing more about the traits of both, it made me realize how unhealthy perfectionism was, and it went deeper than I wanted to admit.

Both Catherine and I scribbled down notes the entire class, shooting each other glances every so often, sometimes groaning, as the points struck us. As the speaker taught, she even drew several examples of what perfectionism was from her personal stories and how it harms us as individuals, and how writers can be susceptible to this slippery slope. I am thankful Catherine invited me to join the session with her as they were words I needed to hear.

Sometime later, or maybe this was before, everything about the conference kind of blurs together at some point, Catherine asked. “Did you know Mr. S is here?”

Mr. S!!!

He was here, at Realm Makers?

“Where?”

I was thrilled to hear!

Though I looked for him that Saturday, I found no trace of where he was.

And yes, he is Mr. S. It’s not because I’m shortening the name for anonymity, but because that is how he is known to his students at One Year Adventure Novel, both Catherine and I had been a part of. He’s just Mr. S to all of us, even years later. He is someone I consider to be one of my first writing mentors, as he taught me how to write a novel in one year as a teen. His ongoing dedication to show youth how to craft stories is amazing (though he’s too humble to talk about himself), and creating a space where young Christian writers can have a community both in person and online to learn. It was back in 2011 that I attended one of the summer workshops, one of my first writing events, and they are still memories I cherish as I befriended writers, joined my first critique groups, and felt filled with a passion for storytelling. So, yes, of course I wanted to find Mr. S, who helped me take the first steps into becoming the writer that I am today.

Sunday morning, after the worship service (might just have to write a blog post about that, too), I went to find Catherine. At this point, I knew where she would likely be located because there was a booth she hung out at. (Am I a stalker now?). I wasn’t at the table long when bagpipes went off. Who in the world was playing bagpipes in the Expo hall? A group of us searched through the Expo, trying to find the one who was playing, but they disappeared. Well, that was short-lived. I hoped they come back. They didn’t.

As we gave up the search, Catherine asked, “Have you seen Mr. S yet?”

No, I hadn’t. I had been looking since she had mentioned it the day before, but hadn’t seen any sign of him.

She pointed, “He’s over there in the red shirt.”

I looked over. Sure enough, he was.

Excited, I hurried over, Catherine coming with. I think I interrupted his browsing, but when he saw me, it felt like meeting an old friend. We hugged, and we talked about OYAN. Catherine and I reminisced about our first OYAN workshops experience, but we also just talked about life, how things were, about hardships over the last few years, and it meant a lot to me that they shared their stories. Really, it did.

It was a real blessing to be able to catch up with friends I hadn’t thought would be at Realm Makers. I don’t know if they’ll come across this post, but seeing both of them this past weekend was a balm to my soul. When you meet people who have a love for the Lord, and just a love for people, you can really tell.

For some reason, the handful of deep interactions I had at this conference and how people just listened with care made me ponder. Are we not but pale reflections of a Creator, of Jesus? Yet these few interactions uplifted my heart so much. If these are but reflections, then I should wonder how much more caring and compassionate a perfect God in heaven is? It’s a concept that I struggle with from time to time as God just feels so distant, but He’s not. He’s closer to you than even your closest friend. If these were just fractions of goodness, how much more is God? I thank God He allowed me to reconnect with old friends and that I was able to lean into knowing Him a little better than before. My faith journey hasn’t been an easy one. Though I have been a Christian for a long time, God has been showing me over the past couple of years that I have some disconnect with my relationship with Him, and He’s been healing that through many different things, and I am thankful for it.



At Realm Makers: Unexpected Comfort

The river rushed by in a peaceful, flowing rhythm, with the beautiful rays of the warm afternoon sun casting a gleaming reflection over its currents. I stared vacantly into its flow as discouragement dimmed out what should have been a lovely view. Ugh, not again. I was sick of these emotions. This was my second writing conference of the summer, and though the anxiety wasn’t the same intensity, other thoughts assailed me. A bit of impostor syndrome. No, wait. A lot of it. Then, conviction. Things I saw about myself that I didn’t like, that needed change. Then came the ever-present inner critic that wanted to pull me back under, even though I had been fighting for months to rewire negative thought patterns. It’s difficult to go against a lifetime of bad habits.

I sat there on that bench, turning my face away from the sidewalk as people passed, as tears began to form in the corner of my eyes, as unanswered questions pestered my mind. Fears sprang up, twisting their gripping words, trying to squeeze out the joy of being among writers, my passion, a place I felt at home. Frustrated, I started to pray. Though they were scattered words, and I didn’t know exactly what I needed in that moment, I knew God had helped me through the first conference in the way I needed, and I knew that He could do it again.

Though I really didn’t want to interact with anyone, my heart still feeling raw and exposed, I didn’t want to miss the conference because of the spiraling thoughts that wanted to take over as they always seemed to do lately, so I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed back up the flight of steps into the conference center.

Hundreds of writers were milling about, laughing, talking, some dressed in costumes, some in nerdy shirts, immersed in conversation. I longed to join in the jovial mood, but it wasn’t possible in that moment. Since it wasn’t time for my next session, I wandered into the Expo hall. More laughter. Liveliness all around. Booths filled the hall, stacked with books, amazing cover art, cute dragon plushies, and fantastical things authors love. I slowly went down one of the aisles, making sure to avoid anyone as I half-heartedly scanned the merchandise. Why couldn’t I leave this burden behind? Why did they have to continually follow me whenever I went?

As I neared the end of one aisle, I looked up and realized I recognized the banner on one of the booths, and standing behind it was the creator of a writing challenge I had been a part of several months ago. It was a challenge that helped me write my second novel within 90 days, the shortest amount of time I had ever completed a draft. Though I still wasn’t feeling myself, I picked up my pace, kind of excited to go say hi and at least thank the man who had developed a challenge and helped me write a new manuscript that I was kind of proud of.

As I got to the booth, I saw he was busy talking to a customer and held back. Since I had stopped, someone else who was manning the booth asked if I wanted to roll the dice to win a prize, so I rolled the dice and got a pretty cool map.

And then I went to say hi.

I wasn’t expecting much from it. I just wanted to say thank you. That had been my intention, but then I started talking about the 90-day challenge, and soon fell into a conversation about where I currently was with my writing and my life. Words just poured out before I could stop myself, and I’m pretty sure I cried. Yes, I did. Seems to me I can’t stop doing that these days, and I love doing that in front of someone I hardly know. Yet, he listened. With compassion. With a sort of warmth and genuineness that invited me to keep going. I felt seen. I felt heard. I felt understood.

It was weird

Not in a bad way. Just…I’m not used to it, still.

For some reason, a part of me is so used to being dismissed, or given awkward looks when I get emotional, or just maybe…annoyance. It’s what I expect, even if that hasn’t been the case mostly anymore; but it’s like my body is waiting for that to come. Instead, I got the opposite.

Then, he asked if he could pray for me.

What?

I had not expected that. Funny, cause the Bible talks about praying a lot, doesn’t it? And yet whenever a believer asks me that question, I always get taken off guard, especially if it’s someone I’ve never talked to before. As if we can’t pray for each other outside of our own local church? Why is that something some of us shy away from, or just simply have never learned to do? We say prayer is important, yet we are hesitant to pray?

Of course, I said yes to prayer. Although let’s be honest, sometimes we say yes just to look like good little Christians, even if we have cynicism hidden away, not believing it will do anything, but it would be a poor Christian thing to do to say no to a prayer. (Don’t worry, this wasn’t one of those times I was being cynical; I would tell you if I was!)

Then, a second thing happened.

He asked if he could place a hand on my shoulder.

Again, what? Excuse me? I mean, yes, I see that happening to other people, but I don’t experience that very often. (Hmm, repeat theme from previous blog post, I see). Of course, I said yes, again. He gently put his hand on my shoulder and we both bowed our heads, in a busy room full of people. I didn’t care. I think a younger me might have been embarrassed by that, but I felt touched and…comforted. It was like I wasn’t alone, carrying my burden. I can’t even remember what he prayed about, but that discouragement I had been battling with started to lift. How could it stay when I knew that this wasn’t a mistake that I had bumped into this fellow believer, who had a passion for writing, who had listened to my story, and had asked to pray with me? That wasn’t a coincidence.

And the prayer wasn’t the only thing I got out of that meet-up. As I was talking through my circumstances, he asked me what I thought God was calling me to do, and I felt myself freeze inside. What was God calling me to do? Yes, yes, typical Christian answer, “Everything you do, do it all to God’s glory!” That’s true, but let me ask you this, although we ought to do everything to God’s glory (whether big or small) what if God is calling you do something with the gifts He’s given you…and…maybe there are things you are holding back on, because of fear, because of uncertainty, because you simply don’t trust Him to provide for you as you take the steps down a path you’ve never done before? What if you are praying for direction, and maybe He’s given it to you, but you’re ignoring that answer because it isn’t the one that aligns with your plans, or how you believe the story should unfold? What if we aren’t taking that step out in boldness that we should be?

In part, I know after my first writer’s conference that I felt assured that I was storyteller, a writer, and that is something He has been putting on my heart that I should be pursuing, but when this question came up, I could almost feel something pressing against my heart, as if I know there are things that are holding me back, but I’m not sure how to tackle them. Or too afraid to. I’m in the middle of figuring it out, with God, and that’s honestly a hard place to be. In the uncertainty. But it’s okay. Because God knows why this journey has been difficult for me, and I am fully confident that He’s going to grow me through it. He has been helping me. Not in ways I expect, but it seems to be that’s kind of how He works, isn’t it?. We don’t often know how our stories are being written, but we have a God who does, and sometimes we just have to realize He knows what He’s doing, even if we don’t know the answers ourselves.



Day Four: Not Ready To Say Goodbye

“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.

Day One: The Little Things

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.

God Hears A Writer

Anxiety. The ball of tension that simmers in the background, which often no one sees, but it clings to your body like an unwelcome guest. Even when it’s an event you’re supposed to enjoy and have been planning for months to attend, an uncertainty crawls into the nooks and crannies of your heart with fears you have suppressed and kept underneath for so long.

I haven’t been to a writing conference in seven years. 

Seven years. 

Though I have never stopped creating content, weaving words on the page, even completing two manuscripts (though unpolished) in that time period, it was a part of me that I kept mostly to myself. However, nearly two years ago, I decided I wanted to become a published author, and though I have no idea how to get there, I am on a journey of learning. 

And that means running into defensive walls I unknowingly constructed and facing the lies I believe about myself that I didn’t even know about. They are lies I need to reframe in the light of who God says I am rather than what others have said, whether that is my broken perception of who I thought should be (and sometimes still do) or whether it was words unintentionally said that shoved me into a shell and led me to not accept the parts of myself that God designed me to be. 

Yet, here comes anxiety. That unpleasant emotion no one likes to feel. That we wish we could simply run away from. Or shut off and feel nothing at all. 

But I couldn’t. It trickled in the day before I was to leave for the Write-To-Publish conference, a conference I had excitedly registered for months prior. I knew it wasn’t just jitters from traveling to a new place – that was something I had done plenty of times before. Heck, when I was 20, I flew to the States, without a cellphone, trusting a friend would know where to find me at this airport, with only the anticipation of the adventure that I was about to participate in. 

I tried to make sense of it, but couldn’t, and then realized it wasn’t only anxiety I felt. There was dread. There was doubt. There was sadness. There was a brokenness that 33-year-old me felt that 19-year-old me never went through at her first writer’s workshop. Something had broken that enthusiasm and joy, morphing into a version of herself that was proper and acceptable to a society outwardly, but dried and shriveled up inwardly. A person I had constructed that only showed pieces of herself and only revealed my inner heart to those she thought wanted to hear the thrum of what brought her joy or the echoes of what brought her sorrow.

Where was this person who was unafraid to make friends? Jump into new things with excitement? Join conversations without caring about what the other person thought? Now, I was avoiding people, hiding in corners, wishing I were a fly on the wall so I could listen to the interesting conversations, but not wanting anyone to see I was there in return.

Why?

Because I didn’t want people to know my story. I was ashamed – and perhaps am ashamed – of who I was and am. I didn’t want anyone to see the pain of my present or the failures of my past, and if I dared share anything? The danger of being misunderstood and dismissed entirely. But this wasn’t living. This wasn’t who I wanted to be.  Or want to be.

So I prayed. For I didn’t know what else to do.

Father, what happened to me? What broke me? Is there any way I can become the bright young woman I once was, but, even a better version?

I asked this, for I know even that 19-year-old carried many unseen burdens, and perhaps it was those burdens that grew, and over time, they crushed me as I was no longer able to carry them. They accumulated as failures mounted, as heartbreaks happened, as dreams were swept away and turned into realities that were unfulfilling in the promises of just do xyz and you’ll succeed, and the years of struggling with waves of depression and doubt and a sense of self-loathing that I buried from the eyes of many. 

And I continued to pray as the anxiety continued its ugly, controlling spin.

God, I’ve been so broken and…

I paused. I felt as if God was prompting me to rest while at this conference and to… not hide myself

Gulp.

Don’t pretend to be someone I’m not? Don’t pretend to be happy when I’m not? Ask for help…from strangers? Though, I knew this was a Christian conference, that seemed scary. I don’t know how to do that. How to I take down the layers I have built? How do I be courageous despite the emotional storm raging within that says it’s not safe to share your pain, your hurt, your emotions, your passion? Even among writers, a place where I should feel free to express my love for this amazing craft, resistance pulled in such a heavy way. How…do I be myself again?

I didn’t know the answer to that question, but God did.

Read with me, this week, as I unfold the story of how God answered my prayers in so many ways throughout the Write-to-Publish Conference.