Something that I have learned being a Hispanic, raised in Miami, is that people love stories. They love to tell them and they love to hear them. I have to admit, my husband, Leonard, is the best storyteller I have ever met in my entire life. He has this incredible ability to tell a story, whether fact or fiction, with impeccable detail and imagery that usually leaves a person begging for more. The only problem is, after knowing my husband for only six short years I have heard every…single…one of his stories at least twenty times each. And, oh how I wish that were an exaggeration. But in his defense, there are a few stories that I wish I could hear him repeat over and over again for the rest of my life. These are usually the stories that focus on salvation, grace and the immense power of the gospel. Those key concepts are the focus of my story and it is a story that I hope my husband and my children wish and hope that I too would share with them for the rest of my life.

From as far back as I can remember I have always been a “daddy’s girl”; therefore it would come as no surprise that when my father suffered a brain aneurism and then a stroke it would change our lives forever. My father survived his aneurism, but soon had to undergo the process of relearning everyday functions, such as walking, talking, reading and writing. His personality was so drastically different to the point that even his laugh had changed. He had become this person that barely resembled the man I grew to know and love. Therefore as my father spent the next few years adjusting to his new life, I spent those same years trying to figure out how to get by without the deep relationship I was longing to have with him. 

Even though my family and I were actively involved in a local Catholic Church I found myself drifting further and further away from God. As more and more time had passed I became bitter and angry with Him as I blamed Him for all that had happened. I began to search for companionship in all the wrong places. I dated as many guys as I possibly could and shut my parents out of my life as much as possible. By the age of fourteen, I had gotten into my first what I would have considered back them to be a “serious relationship” and became sexually active. It was around this time that I began to experience various symptoms of depression. I began to eat less, I continuously felt fatigued, I was constantly getting headaches and having digestive problems, I would sleep excessively, I always wanted to be left alone, and I was overwhelmingly consumed with suicidal thoughts. 

The depression began as sadness and soon grew to grief until it reached utter despair. I couldn’t explain the source because most days I didn’t know where it came from. I remember feeling so consumed with anger and sadness that all I could do was release the pain in any way possible. It was around this time that I began to self-mutilate. It started off small, as simple scratch marks on my arms, but would eventually lead to hundreds of cuts that would cover my legs, arms and torso. 

It was in the middle of my freshman year of high school when my mother took me to my first visit with a psychiatrist. Within a week, I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and severe anxiety. And just a few weeks later my first “serious relationship” ended when my boyfriend decided to break things off with me. Just a few weeks later, I attempted suicide. I consumed over fifty capsules of Tylenol mixed with alcohol and just about any other medication I could find in my parents medicine cabinet. As I rested in a hospital bed later that evening I overheard the doctor tell my parents that after everything I consumed that evening there was no reason why I should still be alive. And in my bitterness and rage I found myself asking “Why?! Why am I still alive?!” I then spent the next two weeks in the psychiatric ward at the local children’s hospital where I was diagnosed with clinical depression and was quickly put on medication and given nothing more than mere coping mechanisms. 

Upon returning to school the anxiety began to set in to the point where I could not get through a day without having several panic attacks. Each one began to feel more unbearable than the last. It felt as if someone had cut off my ability to breathe and I was left gasping for just the smallest amount of air. I was told that the medications were meant to help alleviate those feelings, but most days they only increased the symptoms. Needless to say, my depression only worsened as I began to realize that no one could sympathize with the “psycho girl,” which is what I soon became known as at school. So I searched again for love, but yet again in all the wrong places. 

I became more sexually active than I was before and dated several guys, but with each let down I spiraled deeper and deeper into hopelessness. I began taking razor blades to school so that I could cut myself in between classes and I would often come to class with blood seeping through my clothing. About three months after my first suicide attempt, I attempted suicide again when I tried to cut my heart out with a razor blade. It was not long after this that I was admitted yet again to the psychiatric ward. At this point I was more sad than angry. I could not understand why this darkness was not lifting and I felt like no one could see, feel or understand this immense pain. I was longing for attention and desperate for love. 

By the end of freshman year I had started dating someone new. This relationship would last four and a half years and although it was a good relationship, it still did not fill the void of loneliness. For the last three years of high school I still struggled with self-mutilation and depression and I carried these things with me into my college years. In my sophomore year of college my boyfriend ended our relationship and it was almost as if I had gone back to being that lost and broken little fourteen-year-old girl again. The depression and anxiety came back with a vengeance. I was more angry and bitter than I had ever been before. So of course, yet again, I went looking for love in all the wrong places. I dated as many men as I could and just bounced from one relationship to the next hoping to fill the void that so desperately needed to be filled. 

At the age of nineteen I met a man who was different from the rest. His name was Leonard. We met at a college party and became friends instantly. At that point in time, Leonard had only been a Christian for one year, but he was visibly and passionately on fire for the Lord. We began dating and within a few weeks I began attending church with him. Although I was receptive to what I was hearing and learning from the pastor I was not ready to change my lifestyle. I was consumed by my fleshly habits and was afraid to drift away from those parts of my life that had become a source of comfort. I continued to self-mutilate and my depression continued to manifest itself through my words and actions. At a time when most people would have run away out of fear, disgust or confusion, Leonard stayed. Not only did he stay, but as I would find out years later he spent almost every day those first few months of knowing me praying for me and for my salvation. This is why I can say that in that time of helplessness, Leonard was the best earthly representation of Christ that I could have ever encountered. 

I spent the next month and a half struggling to let go of my sin. My self-mutilation had become a source of pleasure and relief, yet every time I sat through a sermon I was burdened by the pangs of conviction. I knew that I needed to let go of those things and put my faith in something steady and strong. It only took two months for the Lord to get a hold of me and shake my heart to the point of confession and repentance. I do not know the exact moment that I was “saved” or the exact time that I put my faith in the Lord, but I do remember the day that I was baptized. When the pastor put me under the water and recited these words: “Buried with Him in baptism, and raised to walk in newness of life.” On that day, something inside of me changed and the Lord began to do a miraculous work in me. By his grace, I spent the next two years consuming and learning from His Word. I became actively involved in our church and was given the opportunity to minister to children and their families. I fell in love with and married the amazing man who demonstrated Christ-likeness to me when most people were too afraid to even try. And I learned how to bow down in reverence to the God who extended his grace and mercy when I least deserved it. I struggled with depression, anxiety and self-mutilation for seven years, but that is nothing compared to the eternity I will spend with my precious Lord and Savior.  

1 John 5:9-13 says, “If we receive the testimony of men, the testimony of God is greater, for this is the testimony of God that he has borne concerning his Son. Whoever believes in the Son of God has the testimony in himself. Whoever does not believe God has made him a liar, because he has not believed in the testimony that God has borne concerning his Son. And this is the testimony, that God gave us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life. I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God that you may know that you have eternal life.”  

This is the message of my testimony, that through the Son of God I have been given life. We, who were once dead in our sins, can come before the throne of grace in complete humility and receive forgiveness; therefore it is on the saving work of Christ that my story is built. 

The impact of my story has nothing to do with anything that I have done, but everything to do with what God has done through His work on the cross. Therefore my testimony is not merely my story; it is ultimately God’s story. My story is all about Him. He creates. He restores. He redeems. He is the story!

Over the years there have been several times when I have heard the words of that doctor ring in my ear, “There is no reason why she should still be alive.” I understand now why I lived and I believe that part of that reason is happening right now, in this very moment. I believe that I lived in order that I might share my story with all who are willing to hear in order to bring glory and honor to the One who saved me and gave me new life. 

    Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark, and saw that the stone had been taken away from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” So Peter went out with the other disciple, and they were going toward the tomb. Both of them were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. And stooping to look in, he saw the linen cloths lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen cloths lying there, and the face cloth, which had been on Jesus' head, not lying with the linen cloths but folded up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the Scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples went back to their homes.

    But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb, and as she wept she stooped to look into the tomb. And she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” Having said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary.” She turned and said to him in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not cling to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father; but go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”—and that he had said these things to her.

    On the evening of that day, the first day of the week, the doors being locked where the disciples were for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples were glad when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, even so I am sending you.” And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you withhold forgiveness from any, it is withheld.”
   
(John 20:1-23 ESV)

Then Pilate took Jesus and flogged him. And the soldiers twisted together a crown of thorns and put it on his head and arrayed him in a purple robe.

They came up to him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” and struck him with their hands. Pilate went out again and said to them, “See, I am bringing him out to you that you may know that I find no guilt in him.”
So Jesus came out, wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. Pilate said to them, “Behold the man!”

When the chief priests and the officers saw him, they cried out, “Crucify him, crucify him!”

Pilate said to them, “Take him yourselves and crucify him, for I find no guilt in him.” The Jews answered him, “We have a law, and according to that law he ought to die because he has made himself the Son of God.” 
When Pilate heard this statement, he was even more afraid. He entered his headquarters again and said to Jesus, “Where are you from?” But Jesus gave him no answer. So Pilate said to him, “You will not speak to me? Do you not know that I have authority to release you and authority to crucify you?” Jesus answered him, “You would have no authority over me at all unless it had been given you from above. Therefore he who delivered me over to you has the greater sin.”
    From then on Pilate sought to release him, but the Jews cried out, “If you release this man, you are not Caesar's friend. Everyone who makes himself a king opposes Caesar.” So when Pilate heard these words, he brought Jesus out and sat down on the judgment seat at a place called The Stone Pavement, and in Aramaic Gabbatha. Now it was the day of Preparation of the Passover. It was about the sixth hour. He said to the Jews, “Behold your King!” They cried out, “Away with him, away with him, crucify him!” Pilate said to them, “Shall I crucify your King?” The chief priests answered, “We have no king but Caesar.” So he delivered him over to them to be crucified.

    So they took Jesus, and he went out, bearing his own cross, to the place called The Place of a Skull, which in Aramaic is called Golgotha. There they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, and Jesus between them. Pilate also wrote an inscription and put it on the cross. It read, “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.” Many of the Jews read this inscription, for the place where Jesus was crucified was near the city, and it was written in Aramaic, in Latin, and in Greek. So the chief priests of the Jews said to Pilate, “Do not write, ‘The King of the Jews,’ but rather, ‘This man said, I am King of the Jews.’” Pilate answered, “What I have written I have written.”

    When the soldiers had crucified Jesus, they took his garments and divided them into four parts, one part for each soldier; also his tunic. But the tunic was seamless, woven in one piece from top to bottom, so they said to one another, “Let us not tear it, but cast lots for it to see whose it shall be.” This was to fulfill the Scripture which says,

    “They divided my garments among them,
        and for my clothing they cast lots.”

    So the soldiers did these things, but standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son!” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother!” And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home.

    After this, Jesus, knowing that all was now finished, said (to fulfill the Scripture), “I thirst.” A jar full of sour wine stood there, so they put a sponge full of the sour wine on a hyssop branch and held it to his mouth. When Jesus had received the sour wine, he said, “It is finished,” and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.
   
(John 19:1-30 ESV)

Embrace is a ministry of the Baptist State Convention of North Carolina that seeks to encourage women to walk humbly with Christ in their world and build strong families capable of creating a legacy of faithfulness.

Embrace is a comprehensive, Bible based women’s ministry of the BSCNC that seeks to equip women to pray for and minister to women of all ages, their families and future generations for the building up of Christ’s Kingdom. Embrace intends to engage women with the Gospel of Jesus Christ (Evangelism); educate women to prayerfully study and apply God’s word in their lives (Discipleship); and equip women to do Kingdom work through service locally and globally (Missions).

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