the things women heal

a recap of the Even If Retreat

Oh hey friends.

This weekend, I hosted the first Even If retreat in Kerhonkson, NY. As the women piled in from all over the country (California, Oklahoma, Michigan, North Carolina, South Carolina, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Connecticut, New Jersey, Minnesota, West Virginia), internally, I was wrestling with … well. A lot.

The question has come up, several times for me over the last few years, of whether or not I am going to keep doing this work. The work of holding tensions between faith and doubt. Of caring for people who have been deeply traumatized even though it invites unending criticism and judgment from those who don’t understand. I keep asking myself, how much longer will you say “yes” to this?

My “yes” has cost me a lot, and yet, I keep giving it. I keep asking the question and I keep saying yes. I keep wrestling with the cost and I keep saying yes. Why? It doesn’t benefit me socially, relationally, financially. It’s brought so much pain into my life. So much heaviness. But as long as people are finding healing, hope, and way to Jesus, I’ll keep saying yes.

This weekend, I had the honor of getting to know women, face to face, as they shared their stories and traumas with each other. Everyone walked in carrying a different grief and everyone surrounded each other with presence. There were no empty words or pithy encouragements. No spiritual bypassing or bootstraps. Just a resounding “That sucks.” and “I’m glad you’re here.”

Healing happens when someone locks eyes with your pain and doesn’t shy away from it. The path to Christ is made smoother when someone removes the obstacles that life, trauma, pain, and other people have put in the way. And gosh. There are a lot of obstacles on the way to Jesus sometimes.

I believe that women hold the key to healing in the body of Christ. We are uniquely crafted to connect in ways that only women can. We see each other, relate to each other, and care for each other in a way that I can only attribute to intelligent, intentional design. The way women can chat for hours and hours and hours about everything and nothing and share so much and change so much is truly a wonder.

If we change the way the church engages with pain, we change everything. I believe women hold the power and tools to change everything. Not because men aren’t capable, but because women are created to do this. It’s what we’re made for.

I believed it before but I believe it every more strongly now, after watching the healing and connections happen a hundred times a minute over the course of a weekend. It happens in a moment. It happens a thousand times in insignificant ways before it happens once in a significant one. It happens in karaoke sing offs and hikes in the woods, and moments of pause in another person’s trigger. It happens in bookstores, on sidewalks, in kitchens, over coffee.

It’s a wonder to watch.

Anytime I gather people around me who have walked through something painful - whether that’s in person on a trip or retreat, on a zoom call, or in a private message on instagram, I keep the stories shared close to my chest. You’ll never see me using other people’s stories to validate or promote my ministry. Your stories are never mine to tell. But every time I come home after spending time with you, or getting off a dm conversation, or whatever it might be, I want to tell the world the truth of what’s happening in people’s hearts and lives. There is so much pain, but so much beauty.

Pain is so grossly misunderstood and mistreated in the body of Christ. It changes us. It breaks us. It kills the people that we were and gives birth to new versions that maybe are unrecognizable to the people who love us. The isolation that happens when the body of Christ pushes you out in your suffering is something that I wouldn’t wish on anybody. It is so deeply painful. And so contrary to the character of Christ. We should be stepping closer, and that’s what I do. If you’re here, that’s probably what you do too.

This weekend reminded me how important my “yes” is and how important yours is too. Saying “yes” to sharing your pain, to opening yourself up, to processing it, to confronting what you need to confront to heal it. I know that your “yes” has cost you something and I’m sorry. I see you. I’m with you.

I’ll keep saying yes if you will.

Thank you for trusting me as a voice to your hard things. It’s an honor to walk with you, to know you, to work alongside you. I am indefinitely changed by the Even If Retreat. I cannot wait to get started on this next phase of my work and ministry and I’m grateful to continue to be welcomed into your lives.

You are my yes.
And you are a really, really, good one.