I Met God in a Strip Club

And it changed how I saw Him.

I was 29 years old when my first husband passed away. He was 30. It wasn’t a quick loss. Since meeting him when I was 14 years old, I felt like I watched him slowly slip away from me little by little.

I grew up in the church. In fact, it’s where I met him. Youth group, choir, “Holy Ghost parties…” he was an integral part of my adolescent years. When he died, it felt like the carpet was pulled out from under me, and with it, my identity. I was angry. I was angry at him, and I was angry at God. I mean, life was hard enough, and now I was a 30-year-old widow. I spent a good part of my youth acting as his caregiver, and I had nothing to show for it…no husband, no career, no children, nothing.

Frankly, this was probably the time I was the most honest with God. Growing up as a “church kid,” you learn how to pray a certain way — the fancy words, the poetic cadences, memorized Scriptures, moans — but in this season of my life, none of that seemed to matter. It felt empty, and I was desperate to be rescued from the despair I was encountering.

Feeling like my prayers were hitting the ceiling and catapulting back down over my head like cracked eggs, I decided I needed a “faith break.” It was time to go out and find ME. Since I spent the better part of my youth doing what I felt was the right thing to honor my late husband and God, I decided it was time to explore the things I never had a chance to. If you knew me during this season, you know it got messy and risky, and if I’m honest, pretty exhilarating. I won’t bore you with the details…I’ll save that for another post. But I definitely had my loved ones biting their nails, worrying about me.

What started off as rebellion turned into a beautiful love story of encounter. I was taught that God is so holy you leave Him behind when you partake in unclean things, so imagine my surprise to be running away from my faith and seeing Him chase after me.

One of the places I visited often during this season of my life was New Orleans, LA — or NOLA, as we call it. I lived in Canada at the time, but I would find ways to escape to NOLA more times than I care to admit. If you’ve ever experienced Bourbon St., you’d know how wild it is. Though it has its hallmarks of debauchery, it’s also full of beautiful culture, history, diversity. I loved it — the musty smell, the people, the drinks…especially the drinks. It was a good escape.

On one of the nights we were there partying, we ended up in a hole-in-the-wall strip club. And when I say “hole-in-the-wall,” I mean it. From Bourbon St., you could barely see it. These types of adventures were not uncommon for me back then. After all, I left my faith and my grief in Canada — or so I thought.

This time was different, though.

As soon as I walked in, I felt uncomfortable. I just chalked it up to the libations (Grenades, anyone!). There was a woman on stage dancing while our group was laughing, drinking, and having a good time. Despite my many attempts to ignore this gut-wrenching feeling that something wasn’t right, I just couldn’t shake it. As the woman was dancing, I couldn’t stop staring at her — don’t get me wrong, she was beautiful, but my eyes couldn’t stop seeing her sadness. Deep sadness. I could identify it because I know it well…I felt it, too.

And that’s when it happened. The Holy Spirit showed up and spoke to me. Can you imagine thinking you’ve thrown your faith to the wind, and God shows up uninvited to remind you that He sees you…but not just you — the half-naked woman on the stage, too?

The Holy Spirit ministered to my soul that night right there in the strip club. So much so that it was one of the initial sparks that led me to become a therapist, my marketplace ministry, and why I can share it today.

I left the strip club changed that night. Not immediately, but gradually. Then, I don’t think I had the capacity to fully unpack what happened. God in the strip club? Nope, that didn’t track with my version of Christianity at the time. God is with me, but only as long as I’m “acting right.” It didn’t compute.

It’s funny because the Scriptures are filled with stories of God running after His children… but our brains are wired to see threat, not pursuit.

We scan for danger, not love. We remember pain more than provision. We brace for abandonment…even when we’re being chased by grace. That’s why His pursuit can feel unfamiliar…even unnoticeable…even uncomfortable.

In Matthew 18, Jesus talks about the Good Shepherd leaving the 99 sheep to find the one that was lost. I’ve heard this passage preached every which way but loose growing up, but I never heard many people talk about where the one lost sheep may have been. A cave, maybe?

On that night, Jesus didn’t go after His long-lost sheep in a cave. He met me in a strip club. How scandalous is that? Not the altar, not Sunday School, not a prayer meeting…but a STRIP CLUB.

As I continue to unpack that time in my life with the Lord through therapy, it’s becoming quite clear that God does not run from our pain but into the fire with us. He’s not scared of the mud — He conquered it.

That night in the strip club reframed everything I thought I knew about God.

He wasn’t waiting for me to clean myself up. God wasn’t standing at a distance with His arms crossed, disappointed. He wasn’t confined to church walls or “holy” moments. He came for me. Right in the middle of my grief. Right in the middle of my anger. Right in the middle of my running. And not just me…He saw her, too.

The God I thought I had to perform for…was actually pursuing me. The God I thought I left behind…never left me. So now, I read those Scriptures differently.

God doesn’t just leave the 99. He steps into the places we think disqualify us. He walks straight into the mess, the confusion, the rebellion…the chaos…and calls us by name.

Not to shame us. Not to expose us. But to bring us home. And if He met me there…in a rinky-dink strip club, in my grief, in my anger…there’s no place He won’t go to find you.

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