This past weekend was indescribable. Some of you know I was heading into a retreat—a retreat that changed my life three years ago-Cursillo. It was the place where my faith truly took off, where I surrendered my plans for His, and I’ve never looked back. Not that I don’t struggle. Not that I don’t sometimes put God second, third, or even last when I should be running to Him first. But that weekend? That weekend set something in motion.
When I was first invited to go on a Cursillo, I had no idea what to expect. The only things I was told were, It’s a faith-filled weekend with women, there’s a lot of crying, and it’s life-changing. My first two thoughts? Crying? Yeah, I don’t cry. That’s not me. Definitely not gonna cry this weekend. And Life-changing? That sounds a little cliché. But sure let’s try it.
Oh man, was I wrong. I’m sure God was laughing at me as I drove there, thinking, Just wait, Kylee. You have no idea what I have in store for you.
I won’t give away all the details—some things you just have to experience for yourself—but I will tell you this: that weekend broke me in the best way possible. It has brought me to a deep level of connection and relationship with that I had longed for but didn’t quite no how to get there. And this time, returning as part of the team, I thought I knew what to expect. I had already lived my Cursillo, so I wasn’t expecting to be broken again or cry. I figured I’d be there to help, to serve, to encourage the women going through it for the first time.
God laughed again. Cute, Kylee. You think you’ve got this all figured out.
As the weekend unfolded, I realized there were four phases I had lived through before—four phases that every woman there was walking through now. I saw it in their eyes. I felt it in the room. And I lived it all over again.
Phase 1: Shield
We all walked in with shields over our hearts. Some women didn’t even know why they were there—just that something was missing in their life something that couldn’t be filled by anything but a deep relationship with God. They went to church, listened to Christian podcasts, read all the books, joined Bible studies… but still, something wasn’t clicking. Others came because they were at rock bottom, barely holding on, desperate for answers. One might saying throwing their last Hail Mary.
I could see it in their body language. Some sat with arms crossed, guarded. Others were polite but distant, unsure of how much to open up. And then there were the ones who were already crying, their pain too big to keep bottled up anymore.
I remembered my own first night. I remembered how uncomfortable I felt. I prayed for them—prayed that they would let their guards down, that they would feel Jesus knocking on the doors of their hearts. He had been there all along, waiting for them to unlock their doors and let Him in.
Phase 2: Broken
Oh boy. I thought I had already been broken. I thought I had already laid everything down at His feet. But God wasn’t finished with me yet.
That night, I watched women open up in ways I can only describe as miraculous. Tears flowed. Walls crumbled. You could feel the Holy Spirit moving through the room. When I say it’s something you just have to experience to understand I truly mean it is indescribable.
It takes a higher power for someone to be that vulnerable, to pour out their pain to a group of strangers. But it didn’t feel like we were strangers. It felt like God had gathered every single one of us in that place for a reason. We weren’t strangers God had open our eyes to see we were in front of daughters of Christ and He was working through each one of us.
I cried more than I expected. I cried for their pain, for their struggles. But mostly, I cried because I could see what was coming next. I could see the light breaking through.
Phase 3: Hope
This might be my favorite phase. It’s when you start to see it—the shift. The way women carry themselves just a little differently. The way their eyes aren’t as heavy with sadness. The way they sit up straighter, speak a little softer, smile a little more.
They start to believe it.
They start to believe that God does have a plan for them. That He hasn’t abandoned them. That they don’t need to be ashamed anymore. That they are so loved—not just by the people in that room, but by Him.
That night, confession lasted until 1 AM with father. Our alarms were set for 6:15 AM, but he didn’t care about the exhaustion. Because with every confession, you knew there was a weight being lifted. You knew another heart was being healed. How incredible to know how many women poured their hearts out to Him asking for repentance and to be forgiven for everything that has been weighing on their hearts.
My prayers changed again. I started whispering, Keep going. Keep pressing in. You’re almost there. I knew what was coming next it’s the part every Christian longs for.
Phase 4: Joy
This was it. This was the moment we had all been waiting for.
The joy on their faces was indescribable. Not the kind of joy that comes from an exciting event or a temporary high, but the deep, unshakable joy that comes from knowing who you are in Christ. Knowing your past mistakes don’t define you and that you are worthy of love.
The weight was gone. The burden was lifted. They weren’t living for the world anymore—they were living for Him.
There is nothing more beautiful than watching someone step into the freedom that God has been waiting to give them all along.
God Had a Plan All Along
I want to share a little God-was-working-the-whole-time story with you.
Last winter, I led a big service project in my community. It was something I truly believed God put on my heart. And when it was over, so many people asked me, How does it feel?
I felt nothing.
I was numb.
I didn’t understand it. I had worked so hard. I had followed what I believed was His calling. And yet… I felt empty. Did I make the wrong choice? Did I do something wrong? Then, that same month, something triggered a pain I thought I had already healed from—a miscarriage I had experienced years ago. I spiraled. I slipped into a depression I swore I would never go back to.
I felt distant from God, but I forced myself to keep reading my Bible every day. Some days, I didn’t want to. Some days, I barely had the energy to open it. But I kept going. One chapter at a time.
And months later, at this retreat, it all made sense.
A Journal, A Prayer, A Gift
The week before the retreat, I bought a beautiful journal. My plan was to use it for my reflections during the weekend. On the first night, I wrote a prayer—for a mom who was feeling shame, who needed to be reminded of her worth that I wanted to include in my other reflections later.
I had no idea that one of the women there—someone I barely knew—was newly pregnant and hadn’t told a soul. She had been battling shame, unsure of how to move forward. We sat next to each other the first night as I wrote that prayer not knowing she was going to be the one reading it.
That journal? It wasn’t meant for me. It was meant for her.
The last day, I gave it to her, along with my Bible. The journal had a Bible verse that reminded her that she is closed in strength and dignity. I never wrote any more prayers or reflections that weekend and I believe it is because she just needed to hear that prayer. The Bible I was planning to just order her one and mail it her because she was wanting one similar to mine and I wasn’t wanting to give up mine I had just bought that fall. I joined the Cursillo team that next month. The Bible I had clung to in my darkest moments the past couple of months and reminded me of His goodness and to make the joy in my life with Him at the center. The Bible that had carried me through my own desert season or so I thought was mine.
And as I handed it to her, I knew: It was never mine to keep. It was hers I was just holding on to it until she could grab it again.
We Don’t Walk Alone
Sometimes, the cross we carry isn’t just ours. Sometimes, God asks us to carry it for someone else—until they’re strong enough to pick it up themselves.
I truly believe I walked through that desert that was trigged by an unborn baby only to come out on the other side because of my commitment to God and to carry the cross for her until she found her strength with him to carry it the rest of the way.
This weekend reminded me that we are never alone. That even in our brokenness, God is working. That He is always, always leading us—out of our shields, through our brokenness, into hope, and finally, into joy.
And that kind of joy? It’s the kind that never fades. The kind that you want everyone to experience because it’s a deeper connection with Him that you never knew existed.
May God heal your broken and guarded hearts so that you can experience true joy with Him.
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