3 - A Sacred Encounter
Two years had passed since I walked away from church. I was still keeping my distance from anything that looked like spiritual community. And yet, deep down, something in me quietly hoped. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping for exactly, but I longed to feel connected again. I missed God, even if I couldn’t say that out loud yet.
One evening, two childhood friends invited me over for dinner. They did not come with an agenda, and they were not trying to “bring me back to Jesus.” They simply made a meal, asked about my life, and listened.
There was no pressure, no hidden motive — just kindness.
Through them, I met another couple who slowly began spending time with me. We shared meals, went on walks, and had simple conversations that did not feel particularly spiritual at the time, but were quietly healing. Their presence was consistent. Safe. Real.
Eventually, they invited me into their house church — a small group that met in their home to worship, take communion, read Scripture, and pray together. There was no stage, no lights, no performance. It was simply people being honest and making space for God to meet us in the middle of ordinary life.
That space became the beginning of a new kind of spiritual family for me.
No one expected me to have it all together. No one handed me a recovery plan or asked me to clean myself up before I could belong. They simply made room for me. I was still broken. Still wrestling. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was loved — and that I was lovable.
One day, a friend I had just met in that house church said something to me that I will never forget. His words went straight through me. He named things I had only ever shared with Jesus — truths I had not spoken to anyone else. And yet there they were, spoken out loud by someone who could not have known.
I cannot fully explain how it happened, but I knew in that moment that God saw me. I was known. And more than that — I was not alone.
That experience shifted something inside me. It changed the way I saw God — not as a distant idea or a religious system, but as someone kind, present, and deeply personal. Someone who had been with me through every moment of silence and suffering.
Trust did not return because of doctrine or theology. It began to grow again through presence. Through empathy. Through people who stayed.
And that is one of the quiet ways spiritual direction often begins: not through pressure, but through the slow and surprising gift of being seen.
Chapter 4 coming soon
Next: A seed was planted… and the calling I thought I had lost began to stir again.
