One of the first women's conferences I ever attended was during the "off-season" at a camp tucked away in the Piney Woods of East Texas. Women of all ages and stages car-pooled to the little town of Lone Star, Texas. There was worship, games, crafts, nature, good food, and great Bible teaching. But the thing that impacted me most wasn’t the sessions or the scenery—it was the bunk room.

Because we were at a camp, those were the only accommodations. All the ladies. One room. Sounds awesome, right? The mattresses were thinner than a pancake, and a lingering musk clung to the air, conjuring images of a middle-school boy refusing deodorant.

On the second night, just after we had all settled in and the lights clicked off, the unmistakable sound of passing gas reverberated around the room. I froze. What do I do? Yell, it wasn’t me, pretend I didn’t hear it, or belt out “Amazing Grace” to mask the impending mortification?

Before I could decide, the steady, dignified voice of the seasoned Mrs. Karen broke the silence:

“It was the bed.”

Followed by a quiet giggle.

Grateful for the explanation, no one dared question the esteemed Mrs. Karen or her bunk’s… blunder.

If only Mrs. Karen had slipped her “bed” a few Beano tablets, because over the next half-hour, the “bed excuse” became harder and harder to sell. By the end, all the steady dignity she had shown earlier was replaced by tearful, side-splitting laughter so contagious it consumed the entire room.

I don’t think anyone, but Mrs. Karen, will ever know the true source of that unexpected acoustic disturbance. But the riot of laughter that followed loosened us all up, stitched us together in the most unexpected, delightful way, and turned a room of strangers into something resembling a family.

Mrs. Karen is a special lady—one who seized the moment and made herself the noisy butt of the joke. The laughable experience knit a roomful of women together. But that night taught me something I didn’t expect.

As an introvert, I once thought of retreats as a social nightmare. The selling points were great: “rest,” “rejuvenation,” and “spiritual growth.” I found all of them to be true. But the real treasure wasn’t in the schedule or the activities.

It was in the friendships that formed simply by being together—letting our hair down, laughing until we cried, sharing pieces of our stories, and discovering that grace threads our hearts together in ways we could never stitch on our own.

And that is precisely what I’m praying for as we prepare for our upcoming women’s retreat:

Moments of deep joy, unexpected connection, and the gentle weaving of hearts through the grace of Christ.

We’ll be exploring a series of short devotionals from Colossians—verses that remind us what it means to be knit together in love, clothed in compassion, and woven in the peace and Word of Christ.

Also, don't worry. We made sure there will be no pancake mattresses included, and we will have Beano for any ill-mannered "beds."

Spots are going fast, but there's still time to grab a friend and register to join us 1/30/26 - 2/2/26 in the Great Smoky Mountains. 

Get Ready. Grace is stitching something beautiful.