There are two things you need to know about my friend, Becky. She listens to Jesus, and she’s a phenomenal cook. Pies are her specialty, but anything Becky makes, bakes, or concocts is out of this world. She is always patient with me when I ask her to send me a recipe or give me tips on how to replicate something incredible that she’s brought to our life group.
Becky and I go way back. We used to go to church together before our family joined a church plant that would be the setting for some beautiful experiences—and some of the most devastating of our lives. Years later, after a long season of ministry, abuse, heartache, and recovery, we found ourselves walking back in the doors of our first home church. I’ll never forget the first morning we ran into Becky and her husband, Kevin, in the back of the auditorium. Tears streamed down our faces as we embraced with joy, relief, and gratitude to God. He had seen us through! We had survived! We were home.
Tears streamed down our faces as we embraced with joy, relief, and gratitude to God. He had seen us through! We had survived!
Finding a church after experiencing spiritual abuse is incredibly difficult. The familiar sights and songs, the triggering verses, the pull on your heart—any one of those things, on any given day, can bring you right back to painful memories of manipulation, pressure, fear, or isolation. It calls for so much patience and gentleness for your system as you lean into God’s faithful care. And trust? Well, that’s another thing. It takes a long time and lots of reps of people being who they say they are to slowly build trust. It’s not impossible (and it’s worth pursuing), but it’s a slow, methodical, evidence-based process.
We experienced that with Kevin and Becky. No one cheered us on more as we took steps to rejoin our former community. I remember the first Sunday I was on the worship team again with Kevin. He had tears of joy and gratitude to God streaming down his face. We both did.
- Week after week, we prayed together at our weekly Monday night prayer meeting.
- Sunday after Sunday, we worshiped together and connected in the lobby.
- Wednesday mornings, Becky and I would inevitably bump into one another at European Delights, a lovely coffee shop nearby.
- And after a year or so, we joined the same life group.
Interaction by interaction, prayer by prayer, through laughter and tears, the Lord knit our hearts together.
Along the way, we slowly shared parts of our story—the manipulation and abuse we’d experienced, the devastation of losing our church community in the aftermath, the grief of betrayal, the shattering loneliness—and our desire to help others avoid the same experiences. We were met with compassion, tears, and a desire to understand what we’d walked through—the kind of compassion and care that heals.
We were met with compassion, tears, and a desire to understand what we’d walked through—the kind of compassion and care that heals.
A few weeks ago Becky and I were at European Delights talking about how the enemy loves to exploit our trauma by isolating us. People may feel care from a distance, but no one really knows what to do when someone they know is going through profound loss. We’re told they “need their space,” we aren’t sure what to say, we don’t want to intrude. And we inadvertently leave the wounded utterly alone when they need care the most. Our whole discussion caused me to reflect on our early days of trauma and how isolated we felt. Becky and I both felt a sense of longing in that moment - a desire that somehow she might have known how alone we were. As she wondered what she could have done to help, I said, “You have no idea what it would have meant to us ten years ago if you had known and had shown up on our doorstep with a pie.” We both teared up at the thought, more resolved than ever to help others know how to show care to the wounded and be the hands and feet of Jesus to the traumatized.
Fast-forward to yesterday afternoon.
I was on my way home from work when Becky messaged me,
“Are you home?”
I told her I’d be there in five minutes, and she said she’d be by in a little bit. I pulled up as she was getting out of her car. We headed into the house and sat down in the kitchen, and she pulled out a warm loaf of bread and put it on the table.
“This is banana bread,” she said.
Now as I’ve mentioned, Becky is an incredible cook, so this was very good news. But there’s something special about Becky and banana bread.
During the Asbury Outpouring in 2023, Becky was praying one day and heard the Lord tell her to bake banana bread and take it to Asbury. She didn’t know where to take it or what to do with it, but she kept feeling His prompting to bake banana bread, so bake she did. She drove down to the university, walked up to someone who looked in charge and said, “The Lord told me to bring banana bread.” His eyes lit up and he pointed her toward a group of guests who’d driven through the night to get there and had been standing in line for hours. They were tired and hungry, and Becky walked through the crowd feeding the hungry, like the disciples fed the 5,000 with the loaves and fishes Jesus had blessed.
I looked at the banana bread. Then I looked at Becky. And knowing the story of how God had spoken to her in the past, I asked,
“Did the Lord tell you to make that?”
She said, “He did.”
My eyes widened as she continued,
“I watched a video of your story last night and I just wept. I can’t believe all that you went through. And I didn’t know enough to bring you a pie back then, but the Lord said I could bring you banana bread now. So this is for you.”
I don’t know if you’ve ever been ambushed by the love of God before, but that’s what this moment felt like.
If you’ve ever been ambushed by the love of God, that’s what this moment felt like.
Tears streamed down both of our faces, and we hugged for a good long time. As we did, I felt the strangest thing - like the loosening of time. The connecting of those early days of loneliness with THIS day. It was like my grieving heart then was feeling the love and care of today.
Like grieving ten-year-ago me was holding warm banana bread, feeling not so alone.
Friends, I don’t think time is the same with the Lord as it is for us. When He says He will restore the years the locusts have eaten (Joel 2:25), maybe that’s because He operates outside of time.
I looked at Becky yesterday, our eyes full of tears, and said,
“It’s never too late.”
Her kindness was healing to me yesterday.
And then later when I told my kids.
And last night when I told my husband.
It’s just never too late.
You may have missed an opportunity to show kindness to someone who was grieving, wounded, or brokenhearted in the past, but the remarkably good news is that kindness transcends the boundaries of time.
Maybe today is the day to take some time to listen for a way to express your care and love. Even now, you could:
- Pick up the phone.
- Send the card.
- Say the words.
- Send the flowers.
- Bake the banana bread.
Paul and I literally broke (banana) bread together last night, and gave thanks that our God saw us then, and He sees us now.
Friends—it’s not too late.
Be like Becky.
Bake the banana bread.