I nodded. She had missed a few weeks of Bible study, but she was back now. The study itself had ended twenty minutes earlier, yet the conversation lingered, one of those moments where no one rushes to leave because something is unfolding.
“I would never wish divorce on anyone,” I told her. “But I can tell you this, I’ve learned to know the Lord and lean on Him in ways I never had to before.”
And I meant it.
Two years ago, those words wouldn’t have been possible. The end of a twenty-year marriage wasn’t just sad, it was traumatic. I wasn’t growing spiritually then. I was surviving. Getting through the day felt like an accomplishment, let alone finding meaning in the pain.
And yet, here I was, two years later, sitting across from another woman walking through her own version of that same heartbreak.
“My daughter has severe separation anxiety,” she said.
I understood immediately. There were nights, many nights, when both my daughter and my son slept beside me. It was the only way any of us could push back the loneliness. At the time, it was pure survival. Looking back now, it feels tender. Sacred, even.
As we talked, another woman approached the table.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said gently. “I overheard you talking. I’m moving in a few months. My husband left me.”
Without hesitation, I pulled out a chair and slid it toward our small round table.
“Please,” I said. “Join us.”
She sat down and began telling her story, my story. Three women. Three open Bibles. Three separate lives marked by loss, fear, responsibility, and resilience. We talked about mental health. About working while raising children. About trying to stay afloat when life has knocked the wind out of you.
Not long ago, I was afraid to join a Bible study. I worried I’d be judged because of my marital status. I didn’t expect much when I decided to go, maybe a small takeaway, maybe nothing at all. I had been reading The Purpose Driven Life, listening to Pastor Rick Warren speak about the importance of fellowship and community. For the first time in my adult life, I chose to step into church without the polished “church face.” I came as I was, guarded, tired, and determined to be honest.
I expected it to hurt.
Instead, I found something unexpected.
A group of women who are kind. Real. Non-judgmental. Women who are hurting, yes, but also healing. When I leave Bible study now, it often feels like I’ve been to therapy. The early weeks were awkward, filled with pauses and uncertainty as we tested the waters. Now, we have to take turns speaking because our hearts are full and our stories need room.
For a quiet introvert like me, this feels nothing short of miraculous.
I’m grateful to the Lord for this gift I never knew I needed.
He truly sets the lonely in families.
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