Sometimes God Sends Someone

Leah Fazzio // Bowen Women's Community Group

I grew up in an interfaith home. My dad was Baptist and my mom was Buddhist, so both faith and culture were woven into my childhood in very different ways. 

I have fond memories of running through the rose garden at Wat Buddhananachat Buddhist Temple in Austin, a temple my grandmother helped establish after moving here from Thailand. I spent many weekends there with my mom, grandmother, and aunts, with the aroma of Thai food always lingering in the air. I ran around playing tag with my cousins and was warned never to touch any of the monks, or I might go bald. Allegedly. I never tested that theory. 

My dad was always in the background of my mom's strong Asian culture, gently telling me, "You'll come to the faith when you're ready."

After my grandmother passed away, just before I became a teenager, I found myself spending even more time at the temple. But as I grew older and began asking deeper questions, I realized I wasn't finding answers that made sense. Eventually, Buddhism became more cultural than religious for me. I understood that my mom held tightly to it in part because it kept her connected to the memory of my grandmother, and I was happy to let her have that. 

A lot of life happened between setting Buddhism down and coming to know Christ. 

No one–not even my dad–had really shared Scripture with me before. What little Scripture I had encountered, I now know, had often been taken out of context. So I carried something with me into adulthood that I didn't even realize I was carrying: the belief that I had to rely on myself. 

I became very good at striving. I pursued success, independence, and achievement. I learned to keep my head down and mind my own business. I could be surrounded by people and still keep them at a safe distance. 

Eventually, I had what I thought should have made me feel fulfilled–the loving husband, the kids, the career, the house, the cars, the list goes on... From the outside, my life looked full. But inside, I felt an emptiness I couldn't explain.

A few years ago, that emptiness was finally brought into the light.

One day, I noticed an NIV Women's Study Bible sitting on our bedroom windowsill. My husband had left it there, and I let it collect dust for months. When he had first placed it on the windowsill, I remember actually scoffing at him and asking why it was there. It was a Bible I had randomly purchased years before for reasons unknown to me at the time.

His response was simple:

"Just in case you get curious."

So I finally got curious.

I sat on the couch in our bedroom, placed my hand on the Bible, looked up to the sky, and said, "Okay, God. What do You have to show me?"

And, if you knew me then, you would know that statement was made with plenty of attitude and more than a little reluctance. 

I opened the Bible to a random page, and God answered me with a direct hit to my heart. 

By the time I finished reading, my eyes were filled with tears. I remember thinking, Is it possible that this book knows me better than I know myself?

So I started reading. And I read a lot.

I spent hours diving into Scripture, laughing and crying, underlining things, asking questions, and eagerly telling my husband about what I had discovered when he came home from work. I mean, I was really nerding out in the Word.

I was growing in knowledge–but I was not yet growing in grace.

Then, in February of this year, I found myself sitting in Kathy Bowen's living room for her Women's Community Group.

I was nervous. I had never done anything like this before, and honestly, I wasn't sure what to expect.

But just before the group ended that first night, I felt something I hadn't expected at all: I'm supposed to be here.

I was sitting in a living room surrounded by women who were still practically strangers to me, yet somehow I felt like I belonged.

I had no idea where these "church ladies" were going to take me, but they have taken me on one of the most fruitful and unexpectedly beautiful rides of my life. 

Following Jesus was never meant to be a solitary experience.

Through community, I've learned that following Jesus isn't just about knowing more Scripture. It's about allowing God's Word to change the way we live, love, forgive, serve, and walk alongside one another. 

I've wept with these women. I've rejoiced with them. I've prayed with them and been prayed over by them. I've shared parts of myself I once would have kept hidden. And I've formed some of the strongest bonds of my life. 

For someone who spent much of her life keeping people at a distance, this has been a profound gift.

Now, when I see one of my sisters in Christ across a sea of other believers on Sunday morning, there's an immediate sense of recognition. A flutter in my Spirit. A familiar face. A connection. A reminder that I'm not walking this out alone.

I realized that by shutting people out, I wasn't just protecting myself from being hurt. I was also cutting myself off from seeing the ways God was working through His people.

My walk with Christ hasn't always been easy. There have been moments when friends and family have treated me differently because of my faith, and although Scripture prepares us for that possibility, walking through it is an entirely different experience.

But community has taught me something I desperately needed to learn: God isn't only good when I can see Him working in my own life. God is good all the time.

Sometimes I see that goodness through another woman's testimony. Sometimes through a prayer. Sometimes through a hug, a conversation, a Scripture shared at exactly the right moment, or simply someone sitting beside me when I don't have the words.

Hebrews 10:24-25 reminds us to encourage one another and to continue gathering together. I used to think of community as something I didn't really need. Now I see it as one of the ways God cares for us.

Maybe that's the biggest shift for me. 

I thought I needed to figure everything out on my own. Jesus showed me that I never have to walk this life alone.

God might not come down in a cloud of thunder to tell you something you need to hear. 

Sometimes He sends you someone in community group to deliver the message.

P.S. To my husband: Thank you for leaving that Bible on the windowsill and for loving me patiently enough to say, "Just in case you get curious." Turns out, I did.