As a pre-warning to my story, as I speak about my mother and father, I want to be clear that none of this is meant to judge them, as I am no longer the person I will describe. Today, my father and mother are pillars in my life and my step-parents are dear to me. I wouldn’t change anything; I will share the good and the bad, as it was God’s plan to prepare me for today. With that disclosed, this is my story. 

 

I was born in Puerto Rico, the second of five girls. My parents were young when they wed; my mother married my father when she was 15. I moved to Chicago with my family at age three, and at the age of five, my parents divorced. It was the first time I’d experienced pain, the first time I’d experienced a sense of rejection and abandonment. I vaguely remember the day my dad brought another woman to my mom and told her he was leaving her for this woman. Still, I vividly remember my mom’s devastation. My sisters and I would fall asleep beside her while she cried in agony to God for help and comfort. She did this every night when she couldn’t hide her pain any longer. Months after my dad left my mom, we moved back to Puerto Rico, and my mom remarried shortly after. Those days between the divorce and the remarrying went by slowly and rapidly. 

 

I cannot remember a time when we were not Christians, but I do remember the day I gave my life to Jesus. I was about eight when I decided in my heart that what I saw in our local church was real; Jesus Christ was alive. My local church was a Pentecostal church that heavily preached salvation through obedience and deeds. Because of this, the God I knew was a temperamental God who could easily be angered and provoked. Nonetheless, I became passionately intrigued by Him. I became so intrigued that I would share the gospel with my school and church friends and sing worship songs to them when they were going through difficult moments. By the age of nine, I was preaching at kids' services and was invited to different churches to sing and preach to the children. Life in this season of my life with God was new and exciting, a breath of fresh air from the pain before. My young brain was in awe of God. Although I didn’t understand much, God was using me. I longed to be used as an instrument of His. I’d pray for God to make me a woman that’d please Him.

 

My preaching ministry didn’t last long; the preaching and worship had stopped when I turned ten. I cannot remember the exact moment when it all stopped, but I do remember that it all stopped when I began to be molested by a family member. I began making excuses and slowly distanced myself from ministry. The molestation happened on and off for a year. I don’t remember much about that year; I was so afraid that my brain oppressed much of what happened. Only bits and pieces are still vivid. During that time, the freedom and trust I felt in God suddenly became out of reach. I’d ask God to help and protect me, but He became silent. I felt dirty and guilty and began thinking and believing somehow God had rejected me. Why was He silent when I needed Him the most? Was He allowing this? Was this punishment? I was confused, and my soul was troubled and afraid that God would leave me. I suddenly experienced agony similar to my mom’s when my dad left her. I begged God to forgive me, for in my brain, I thought the molestation was on me; it must be if God didn’t rescue me; if God allowed it, it was my fault; I had sinned. I felt so ashamed that I kept this a secret for nine years. The silence I kept was a prison where my hope in Him slowly dissipated. 

 

After the molestation stopped, I continued pursuing God; life without Him wasn’t an option. I knew the truth about hell and heaven, and I was afraid of further punishment. I decided to spend my entire life, if needed, seeking his forgiveness and goodness. What was a gift of grace for all people became something I had to earn. I loved Him, but I didn’t know roots of bitterness were rapidly growing in my heart. Subconsciously, I grew angry and resentful towards Him. I wish I knew what I know today, but I didn’t. I wasn’t discipled; I didn’t know how to hand over my shame and guilt to Him. I felt alone. I’d think that maybe I wasn’t good enough for Him, so He wasn’t good to Me. If only I’d pray more, fast more, believe more, I’d earn his favor, and he’d cleanse me. 

 

When I was twelve, I was baptized on the beach of Vega Baja, Puerto Rico, and became a local church member. I quickly learned how to mask my pain; I had to be prepared to survive the next season: middle school. Middle school was brutal. I was a Christian, skirt-wearing, skinny, and hairy teenager. I was known as “Maria Palito” (“Mary the Stick”) and the little sister of a popular extroverted girl. I carried a secret; it weighed heavily on my heart. I couldn’t act like anything was wrong with me, but I also couldn’t allow others in, so I kept to myself. I was a loner with very few friends. The small group of friends I had were family to me. Not all moments in this season were bad; even though I couldn’t understand why I had suffered, I knew He was sovereign. I remember beautiful moments such as sharing the gospel with my unbelieving friends; many are believers today and even leaders of ministries - Praise God for this. At this point, God was showering me with his mercies, but I didn’t realize it; I’d often think, “He was good to whom He chose,” and perhaps someday, He would choose to be good to me. It was my only hope, and I hung on to it for dear life. 

 

At the age of 15, we moved to Homestead, FL. I was starting ninth grade and faced the big challenge of breaking the language barrier. I was determined to not be an outcast, so I studied hard and focused; by tenth grade, I was already out of ESOL and had Honors classes. My studies were strong, but my commitment to obedience to God was shaky. I was an avid churchgoer, sang in the choir, and actively participated in the youth ministry. I found temporary comfort when surrounded by fellow youth in my church. Some of my brothers and sisters in Christ had sad stories I could relate to. Some had good lives that I longed for. I remember often thinking: “If I live a good and obedient life, like “so and so,” perhaps God will be good to me and heal my heart from shame and guilt.”  

 

The time came when I was 17, and I remember we moved to Orlando, and we were temporarily staying with relatives. At a moment of weakness, I made what I thought then was the biggest mistake of my life. I told the relative my story, my secret, and it blew up in my face. I was blamed and ashamed; instead of relief, I was tormented. Even though my secret was out and my family now knew, it did nothing for the weighty guilt in my heart. I remember thinking, “Marielis, why did you bring up the past? It was too late to speak up.” Often, I felt like God was just telling me - “Give up on your pursuit for forgiveness; I already made up my mind about you and have chosen to reject you!” These thoughts weren’t from Him; it was the enemy. But I didn’t know this, so amid another disappointing moment in my faith, I felt rebellion and arrogance stirring. I was determined not to let God win. I wouldn’t give God an excuse not to save me, so I would obey even if I didn’t want to; I’d beg Him to save me even if I didn’t feel He was a good and loving God to me. I was resolute. I served Him, not because I loved and revered Him, but because I was afraid of Him and His wrath. It aches my heart to think back and tap into scars to write this. Still, I understand it serves as a reminder of how immensely loved I am by my Abba and how immensely in Awe of Him I am today. 

 

At this point in my life, what do you do when you feel you must earn grace and become weary of trying to reach it? You learn how to control life, control your emotions, and mask your disappointment. So, I controlled; I studied and worked hard to climb the ladder of success; I became ambitious and prideful; I couldn’t see God’s hands working, so I credited much of my success to myself - my happiness depended on me. I had a whole life ahead of me; the world’s bells and whistles were in full force, and I became distracted by the shiny things. God was becoming a distant memory. My heart, once beating just for Him, was now fully rebellious towards anything representing true surrender as a by-product of the pain and suffering. When I was 18, my then-pastor spoke to my father, who still lived in Chicago, and asked him to take me with him and out of Florida. I didn’t know this, but God used my Pastor. God always kept me safe, even from myself. 

 

At 19, I moved to Chicago with my father to attend college. I resented my father, and we had challenging moments. I didn’t know that I blamed Him for everything that had happened. To be fair, I blamed many people, including myself and God. Things were hard with my father; with him, I was confronted with the past hurt of when he left my mom. Remembering her pain triggered my pain. I didn’t know how to act, so I would spiral into rage and bitterness whenever things got hard or didn’t go as planned. I remember I once left his house angry and slept in my car for a while; I told my dad hurtful words and subconsciously wanted him to hurt like me. What they say is true: “hurt people, hurt people.” I regret speaking to my dad the way I did. Looking back, God felt far away; my convictions were bluntly ignored; I couldn’t see past my pain even though I wanted to escape it. 

 

During that season, I met Hector, my now husband, in my dad’s church. Hector became my friend, my confidant. He was this handsome, skinny young man who genuinely loved God. He was still, calm, steady. I admired and envied Him because I longed for that steadiness he portrayed. Everything in me felt unsteady, wavering, and fragile. He quickly became a pillar to my wavering life, a constant in my ever-changing emotions. I could tell he liked me and wasn’t afraid of my pain; he wasn’t scared of my messy emotional state; he was good to me. At the age of 20, I began having dreams I was marrying Hector. I had three consecutive dreams of marrying him. At first, I felt angry at God for not giving me what I thought I wanted in a man; after all, Hector, even with his charming smile and beautiful face, was not my typical type. I didn’t like Hector romantically. It makes me laugh now because I was so blinded to Abba’s goodness. I remember the day this all changed for me. It was February 27, 2007, and I was invited to Hector’s parent's renewal of vows ceremony. At this point, Hector and I have a beautiful friendship.

 

When I arrived at his parent’s ceremony, I saw Him. He had a tuxedo, a fresh haircut, and a demeanor that was so secure and confident I felt attracted to him for the first time. Shortly after the ceremony, I confessed to him what I felt, and we married that same year in December. Although I loved him, today I realize that I married him for what he represented, for what he could give me: steadiness, peace, and comfort - what I couldn’t find in God, or so I thought. Hector wasn’t perfect, but I thought he was better than me; there was no denying God favored him. God was good to Him, so perhaps God could be good to me now. At that time, I didn’t see that I was also favored, and this is why God gave me a good man; I couldn’t see that part - my painful trauma blinded me. The problem with being blinded by pain is that anything remotely good one tends to laser focus on, and that is what I did with Hector, thus making him and what he represented an idol in my heart. 

 

We married at 21, and by age 22, I was a mom to a gorgeous daughter. Our first years were, to no surprise, bumpy and toxic. We had very high moments and very low moments. I was a pendulum swinger. I held him on a pedestal, and when things were good, I felt great. However, every time he would disappoint, I made sure he knew it and demanded he loved me correctly, except I didn’t even know what loving me “correctly” would look like. We were together but slowly growing apart. Having my daughter was hard; I was overprotective of my body and had so much unresolved trauma that it was hard to connect with her. I remember one time when she was little, she accidentally touched my breast, and I blacked out and pushed her off; she slipped and almost hit her head. I hated myself for this; I didn’t understand that my body was sexualized at a young age. Touching my breast represented a sexual act; with my husband, this was tricky sometimes; it meant returning to those memories I was working so hard to oppress. 

 

Hector and I were active church members and lived a busy life. The more I had on my plate, the less time I had to think and dwell on things that caused me discomfort. At church, I was a worship and youth leader, and Hector was the director of a/v. I found worthiness in service. I would tell myself I did it out of obedience to the Lord. In part, yes, but I cannot deny that while reflecting, I was also serving out of fear of man and being left behind. I was serving and helping others because I felt I needed validation from them. I needed them to owe me so I could feel entitled and worthy.

 

My motives were not founded in Him; my motives to service were founded in self-preservation. I lived a double life; I was a lukewarm Christian. I worked so hard to control my emotions that I became arrogant, unrelatable, and unkind to those I loved the most. I was calculating, manipulative, controlling, and I developed an indifferent feeling of,  “If I endured all this childhood trauma and still made it in life, so can you.” I’d help my mom and then resent helping her because I, deep inside, had not forgiven her for not protecting us. I didn’t know forgiveness; I was still trying to earn it from God. I hurt many people I loved, giving them what I was giving the Lord: mediocracy. The worst part is that I felt justified, even when it felt wrong. I felt justified because the more I had, the more I felt like I needed to protect and control; there was too much to lose—leaving me restless and resentful even after good deeds. I wasn’t selfless or loving my neighbors with God’s love.

 

Fast forward to 2019, Hector and I now have two kids, a boy and a girl. Our marriage has been through tremendous ups and downs. There is evident resentment towards each other. Hector had become passive as he was tired of my emotional roller coaster. I had become extremely cynical. We left the church we had served for almost a decade. The church leader we considered our Spiritual Father had fallen in sin, leaving the church and his family and, in a way, scattering our hearts. Careerwise, I was climbing the ladder. I was the VP of Sales for a German company and traveled the world. I had a promising career path. I was at the fittest I’ve ever been, and things were going well from the outside. From the inside, things kept boiling, and I felt like a house of cards; any slight wind or blow would make me crumble. Suddenly, at the peak of my career, I felt I was in the same prison I was in when I was younger; I was not the person I wanted to be or the daughter I wanted to be. Recently, I found a journal entry from 2010 where I recognized I was a lukewarm Christian. I begged God to help me become the daughter he wanted me to become and destroy all the idols in my heart. Little did I know He was going to answer my prayers in 2020. 

 

2020 came by, and right before COVID-19, Hector surprised me by saying he wanted to leave me. We always entertained the idea of divorce and leaving, but we knew it wasn’t what God wanted, but this time was different. He was determined, cold, unloving, and intolerable towards me. He grew tired of trying to meet an impossible standard for me, and if we’re honest, I grew tired of the disappointments. My subconscious controlled and manipulated so much of my life and home. I remember trying to control the situation. I tried many strategies and books, but this time, no amount of control or manipulation could save us. Hector didn’t love me anymore and wanted to leave me. I was about to lose my husband and the home I had worked so hard to make a reality. The winds of betrayal and hopelessness shook my foundation, and my house of cards crumbled. During those moments, my heart hardened, and my pain deceived me. How could you do this to me after all I have done for you, God? Have I not proven myself? Why do you keep making me suffer? Why are you so unfair to me? - so many rebellious thoughts, and I was in agony. I was confronted with all my fears: fear of being unlovable, unimportant, and not belonging. I had placed my home as an idol in my heart - above God. Nothing else was left. It left me hopeless, and all of a sudden, the fancy VP job meant nothing; the power and seat at the corporate table meant nothing; the color of my hair meant nothing; the car I drove meant nothing; the parties and happy hours and the surface conversations meant nothing… in fact, the thought of it being the only thing left for me made it even worse, it made me sick. 

 

I can see now that God answered my prayer through my biggest storm and suffering; I begged Him to teach me how to truly love Him and let go of control. One night, after the biggest fight Hector and I had, I remember settling my heart and telling God, “Okay, you win. I cannot control anything, and I desperately need you.” That night, something shifted in my heart, and I felt at peace with the thought of losing it all only because I knew I wouldn’t lose Him. In the loneliest season of my life, the binds of my eyes were slowly being lifted. The first thing I could see clearly was how much I needed to surrender to God and how little I knew about true surrender.

 

I started praying daily, asking God to have His will in my life and Hector’s despite what we wanted; only God knew what we needed. Figuratively, I let go of Hector and all the pretenses. I was no longer trying to control anything. As I continued to pray and seek God during this dark and uncertain moment, the binds continued to fall; this time, I saw idolatry and rebellion in my heart for the first time. I could see how wrong I was about God and His love and mercy towards me. I wish I could say that at that moment, all my problems were solved, all my wounds were healed, and my anger towards God was made nothing, but God’s timing is not like ours. I once read a book that says, “God loves me too much to answer my prayers at any other time than the right time and in any other way than the right way.” - Lysa Terkeurst. Wounds and trauma take time to heal; recognizing God's goodness and our hearts' wickedness is the first step. God has been working in me all my life, but it wasn’t until 2020 that I became aware of his working hand throughout. For so long, I felt alone and rejected by Him, and I could now finally see how close He kept me. 

 

To my surprise, God wasn’t done with our marriage. God wanted us together. When I let go of trying to control my life, Hector was able to lean in and not feel overwhelmed by me, and I was able to see Him as a fellow human rather than God. Hector could hurt me in ways I no longer have to imagine, but my faith was no longer in him but in God. After months of seeking God separately, we decided to stay together and seek counseling. The pain and fear were still present, but I knew God was up to something.

 

It is Fall 2020, and we have decided to return to church. God places us with a community that would later become family to us. The thing with community is that it is meant to sharpen us, to provide friction to our flesh and sinfulness. The light inside my brothers and sisters shined into my darkness. I didn’t like that, but I didn’t want to depart; somehow, my soul was healing. God was doing something, and I could finally see Him working. I knew I wanted to get closer to God, I wanted to leave the mediocre Christian life that I was living, I wanted complete surrender, and I knew I had a big idol left in my heart: my ambition for self-preservation. In the Winter of 2021, I felt his calling for radical obedience. I decided to leap into faith and leave my lucrative and secure job. I knew I needed to walk in faith, choosing to trust Him. My career was an identity that provided a false sense of safety, and I knew in my heart God was calling me to His order. 

 

Hector and I spent 2022 together doing community with our brothers and sisters, doing life together almost daily. We lived out the Church in Acts. We disagreed, cried, hurt each other with our uglies, and repented. We learned what God’s will was for our lives. We all loved God and sought to please him as one body. Through community, I found strength in letting go and surrendering. I was discipled for the first time in my Christian life. I learned how to properly read the Bible and understand its context. As I began a lifestyle of being in the scriptures, suddenly, my fears didn’t seem so scary anymore compared to the truth of God’s word. The God I was experiencing wasn’t the temperamental God I knew when I was younger. The God I experienced in the Bible was good, loving, and slow to anger. God delivered me from all idols, and I wasn’t afraid to speak to my brothers and sisters about my sinful actions. Every single time, God used my community to strengthen me. 

 

The year 2022 was a beautiful season that I will always cherish. It was the year of healing and forgiveness I had longed for. I asked God to help me forgive everyone who hurt me, including myself. He answered my prayer, and I forgave; in doing so, I felt forgiven by Him and experienced His freedom. The freedom to love my parents and the person who hurt me without bitterness. Freedom to pray for them and long to see them in heaven with me. God took the bitterness in my heart and gave me a new song. I finally saw how good God had been to me over the years. Where the pain blinded me, He made me see and feel He never abandoned me.

 

Today, my identity is no longer tied to this world but to who He says I am. I am God’s Daughter, co-heir with Jesus Christ. Beloved and wonderfully made. I am imperfect; I still struggle with rebellion and sin, and my pain sometimes overwhelms me. However, I now understand that my trauma is a daily cross I must carry, and sometimes the scars bleed. Unlike in the past, I no longer have to struggle alone; I have Jesus, and He’s perfect. In fact, his power is made perfect in my weakness. I can invite Jesus into my pits of sorrow and wait on Him patiently as He faithfully picks me up, over and over again. It’s surreal how much my life has changed these past few years; what used to be essential to me are things I no longer desire. He has changed the fleshly desires in my heart and placed desires pleasing to Him. I have fewer material things and pleasures, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I have gained so much more in Him, and I praise God for the work He continues to do in our lives. In my pursuit of escaping from the pain, I found His joy despite the pain. Jesus is teaching me how to uncomfortably be confident in His finished work. Now, I commence the journey of living a surrendered life where I rejoice in the trials that test my faith. I no longer fear what tomorrow will bring but look forward to the glory to come with Him.