Scribbled Under the Daises (Attending My First Christian Conference)

An hour or two into the Empowered Conference I attended last weekend, I was drawing flowers in my notebook while listening to Pastor Grace Kladnik speak.

Flowers and plants are my go-to doodle, and when I’m listening to a speech or sitting in a meeting or taking in a sermon, I draw to help me listen. It takes the fidget out of my fingers and lets me focus on what’s being said, and I will often stop mid pedal or stem to write down things that stand out to me, even if I don’t understand why they stand out to me in the moment.

“An empowered, supernatural life is meant to be super natural” I scribbled underneath two daisies.

I had never been to a conference before. My mom, sister, and I have attended Harvest Festival, an annual faith-based event hosted all over the country, but it is much more like a performance rather than an intimate workshop geared towards strengthening specific areas of your faith. So I was nervous about the setting, about most likely being asked to discuss my faith, and to possibly discover that I was “doing it wrong.”

As I listened to Pastor Grace talk, I doodled, both because I was listening and because I was slightly intimidated to make eye contact, to risk being called on, to somehow give away that I didn’t pray, worship, etc. in the same way that other people in the room did and be scolded for it.

But then the pastor from my own church, who was sitting a few chairs away from me, passed me a note. He is someone who often hears from God in pictures—images he draws or paints, and often shares during his sermons.

“I saw this while we were worshipping earlier,” he whispered, “and I felt like I was supposed to give it to you.”

The picture was a vase with a flower in it.

—

A little while later, I was standing with my eyes closed.

Oftentimes after worship, pastors or worship leaders will encourage others to speak praise to God, and the room will fill with thanks and blessings.

But this has never felt natural to me.

In crowded rooms, I am an observer. I clap quietly, I keep to myself, I listen but try hard not to draw any attention. And even though this act of praise is not meant to draw eyes to me, I’ve just never felt like it is my form of praise. The words that seem to come naturally to others just don’t for me, and I’ve never wanted to stand there and copy what they say. The same goes for raising my hands in worship or kneeling when I pray. If it is something I feel called to do, I’ll do it, but I am hesitant to simply follow suit.  

So I was just standing there quietly.  

The room was loud, powerful, full. A few times I felt myself get emotional because of the pure faith that I felt from those around me. And though I felt genuine in my stillness, I also felt the slightest bit self-conscious.

Here I am God, I said inaudibly with my eyes closed. Shadows and blobs of lights swam across my eyelids. I wondered if I should be seeing some kind of vision or getting some kind of message. I wondered if my stillness was okay—“allowed”—or if God was tapping his foot in the corner of the room like, “why are you so quiet?!” I wondered if other people might be looking at me, doubting my faith or feeling the need to encourage me to speak up, and I wondered if that voice, that message, that vision would be there if I was a “better Christian.”

But it was just dark and quiet. It was just me, standing there with my eyes closed, waiting, listening, being open to God.

And then someone put their arm around me.

In a quick moment of opening my eyes, I saw it was Pastor Tim Russell, who was also speaking that weekend. He stood there with me, with his arm around my shoulder and I continued to pray silently. After a minute or so, he patted my shoulder and walked away, never saying anything. And a little while later, we all went home for the night.

It wasn’t until the next day that Pastor Tim came up to me.

“Last night,” he said, “I just felt like God was telling me ‘she is so loved by me, she is seen and cherished and adored.’ So that’s why I came up to you. And while I was going to say it then, it felt like I should just stand there with you in the quiet.”

I am still surprised that I didn’t cry at his words.

Not only because it is always encouraging to feel seen and loved, but because I was shown in a way that was so geared to me.

The picture of the flower, that matched the hundreds of flowers that fill every single one of my notebooks.

The encouraged stillness, a reminder that I am still seen even if I don’t worship, pray or fellowship the same way everyone else does.

And the nod to authenticity, to what feels natural.

“An empowered, supernatural life is meant to be super natural.”

I think going into the conference I was nervous that I would not only be told I was the wrong kind of Christian walking out the wrong kind of faith, but that the course correction would pluck me from the peace I’ve found in my walk with God and make me start from square one.

I went in curious, but also the slightest bit protective, defensive even, and it was as if God showed up to say I see you, I know you, I understand you and I am with you. In the biggest, loudest rooms, and in the smallest, quietest doodles, I always see you and I am always with you.

And so I left with the very feeling the conference was named after. Maybe not in the same way as everyone else, maybe not in the same colors or with the same volume or pointed in the same direction, but with the version and definition and color meant for me.

With confirmation of my faith and an encouragement to continue the ways in which I have been made to worship, praise and express that faith, I left feeling empowered.