My name is Maria Villanueva and I am seventeen years old. I was born in the Dominican Republic. It’s a bit different over there. Society and its concerns are everything. By the age of ten I had mastered the art to be, well, anything people around me wanted me to be. I had mastered the fake smile, the gracious walk. I knew how to be anyone but a child. This became my foundation for my self image and worth. I had nothing to hold on to, nothing that was truly mine. I built my life on shaky grounds. After my tenth birthday, my parents decided to pack us up and move the family over to Sunny South Florida. I rebelled. I refused to pack any bags. This anger towards my family lasted a couple of years until I started falling in love with the sunsets and smiles that Florida welcomed me into.
My parents and I still never got along. Silent car rides and “how was schools” were our daily routine. Nothing more. Over the course of my middle school years, I experimented with every “clique”. Sixth grade I was on the smart team and my friends made it quite obvious. I was a nerd and proud. That was short lived, though, when I transitioned into my friends in the cheerleading team, the ones who never were single, leading me to my boy stage. I was boy crazy. Everything I did or wore or said was to please a boy’s mind. Silly ol’ me.
My parents freaked when they saw that I was running towards the world’s indulgences a hundred miles an hour and decided that we ought to move back to my hometown because of the person I had turned into. Ouch. I pleaded and bargained and reluctantly agreed into going to youth group if it meant we got to stay. I showed up a Wednesday night alone, nervous, and unhappy.
Surprisingly, I experienced love as an atmosphere. I felt love in my lungs as I breathed in the warmth of those “Christians.” In some way that I can’t really explain, I, for the first time in a long time, felt at home.
It wasn’t until years later, though, that I surrendered my life to Christ. I knew the Christian lingo and do’s and don’ts and I abode by what I saw as acceptable in the church; my heart, though, was dirty.
Escalating situations that became immense blessings in disguise stripped me from my everything-best friend, freedom, voice, trust. This is when the Lord shook me. This is when all the bible verses I had accidently memorized over the years spoke directly to my heart and I fell, am falling, in love with my Lord. Grace stooped me out from my wickedness. From my diminishing self value, from myself, from my lies, from my chains, from my anger, from my secrets. Grace awakened me.
So I ran. I ran full speed at that old rugged cross and I found love in its most humble display. At that cross I laid my life down only to be risen up in grace. At this cross, the arms of love picked me up and held me dear.
God is near, I am safe; all is well.
He took me, empty handed, and made me beautiful. He is making me beautiful every day. Although I still suffer from repressed memories and traumatic events, my God has been faithful all the way to remind me that there is a greater purpose for everything and my life ought to bring Him glory.
Nothing has happened in my life that hasn’t been allowed by God. He loved me enough to put me through the fire. He cared. He will never stop caring. What sweet love. I am forgiven. ME! God lifted a wretch like me and uses me as his vessel and that just brings me to an overflow of thanksgiving in humility. We serve a good God, guys. So although I am a hot mess sometimes, a lot of the time, grace suffices. He shows me His strength in my weakness. Brokenness provides growth, and truly truly, all is grace. Oh, I’m a great sinner in the hands of a great Savior. I am blessed because I know the Lord and his infinite mercy. I won’t waste my life. Nope. No can do. Future glory waits.
