My early preteen and teen years went off track

In my mid teens, I was sure that life was like a box of melty, stale, and mixed-textured chocolates. I never knew what I would get, except that it was never what was promised. So, if a church was involved in my weekend activities, I imagined that it would likely be another sour experience.

So, it might be understandable if I didn’t walk into the First Spanish Church, with positive expectations. In fact, I expected to sit and watch a hypocritical preacher say, or rather shout one thing while he obviously lived another. At the end of this experience, I was expecting to bwalk out of the building glad to no longer be bored out of my mind. 

I didn’t start out this way. I was an enthusiastic Christian as a little girl. In fact, I wept as I asked Jesus into my heart when I was six years old. I also spent time in prayer every evening of my life until I turned 11 years old. Then, I decided that I wanted to live a typical teenage life, and I didn’t want God getting in my way. So, I put my faith on hold, certain that I’d be back to serving God during my adult years, particularly when I was raising my kids. I just wanted to have some fun first. 

I moved in with my youngest aunt when I was 12. A wedding had taken me to Florida, where I spent a few days with my aunt. When I asked her if I could stay, she said yes, and suddenly, I lived in a place where grass, trees, and nature were taken for granted. From the gray asphalt of the city streets of New York, I had moved to a place where sidewalks literally didn’t appear for miles at times. It was heaven to my eyes, and my heart was feeling happy. 

At the age of 14, I had a friend who would take me to church. Eric was a sweet, interesting, wonderful young kid, and I could see myself marrying him one day. I felt God calling me to him, and I fit in wonderfully with Eric’s family. But in the end, the call to fun won out, and I decided to follow my predetermined plan. I was out. 

By the time I was 15, I was sick to death of trying to have fun. As God would have it, I didn’t get the typical experience. My life was anything but fun, and I was jaded and unhappy. I was about to turn 16 when I finally plunged into despair. Somewhere after my 16^th birthday, however, I began to feel as if God was calling me back. 

Every evening, at the time when I used to pray, I might repeat a rote list and ask God to bless my family one name at a time, but I hadn’t really sought the presence of God. In fact, the last thing I wanted was to hear the voice of God. You see, I had myself convinced that God would bring me a list of requirements, and I especially believed that he was going to ask me to give up the things that were keeping me sane. My favorite music, especially, because I knew in my heart that listening to secular music had been my first big mistake.

I can’t say that I was suicidal, but I did want to live any longer, either. Apparently, it showed. My brother began mentioning it to me. Then, my aunt Stella began taking me to church with her, and while I was there, I experienced the weirdest thing. I felt laughter welling up inside me. Now, I laughed when I played with my baby cousin, Jonathan. He was a lifeline to me, a 3 year old whose entire life revolved around the movies Rocky and Winnie the Pooh. He believed that money was for smelling (yes, really), and he had a great if somewhat narcissistic heart. We all lived to do his bidding, but his requests were so few that we enjoyed making him smile. Other than my time with Jonathan, no real laughter filled my heart. Until church. 

My aunt Stella went to an Italian Assemblies of God church. Most services and activities were in English, but once in a while, they went old school with a segment of the service in Italian. In spite of that strangeness, it was lovely. I enjoyed every minute in that sanctuary where quiet permeated the building until the minister began speaking. It was peaceful, and my thoughts quieted in that place. My heart began to soften to the things of God. One time, I took a cassette to my room and recorded a mixtape of radio music onto it, music I now know only made my despair worse. It was full of an oppressive presence.