The pain that led to wholeness

As a young girl, I felt unseen unless I did something bad. My parents worked hard to provide for me and my siblings, and we had the privilege to go places. However, I never felt liked, heard, and accepted, so I rebelled. Negative attention was better than none. I didn't understand that until I divorced with two kids of my own, desperately read parenting books and sought counselling.

Shameful identity

Every time I saw Jesus' face on the large crucifix on the front wall of the church I lowered my gaze as the shameful thought came "You and all the bad people made me suffer." Every Sunday felt like a funeral, with monotone speaking and seniors singing hymns with lyrics I couldn't comprehend. The statue of Mary had a melancholy face expression. Around the age of nine I had dressed up in a white gown for my First Communion, further ingraining in my mind that I had to try to act and look perfect in front of God. I had to go to a priest for confession a couple times a year, which frightened me. I'd wait quietly in a line, rehearsing all of the sins I could recall. When my turn came I sat inside a room with the priest, anxious to get it over with, I'd let him know the same sin I was guilty of last time.

In conclusion, the priest would pray and give me a "penance" act. I was told to pray multiple hail Mary's and Our Father's. These type of repetitive prayers were familiar in my family's daily bedtime routine. A few years later, I was dropped off for evening classes in the church basement to prepare for another Catholic sacrament called Confirmation, where I was given a task of memorizing the Ten Commandments and Seven Deadly Sins. I did what I was told, but all along the emptiness in me remained. I had no desire to be close to a God who I believed was always pointing at and judging everything I did wrong.

Rebellious patterns

I longed to experience love from a man, and I gave up on trying to please my dad, who only seemed to approve and show me his smile when I played violin for him. I didn't hear the words "I love you" instead I really felt like a burden to my parents.

I responded when I noticed the boys in school becoming excited and intrigued by the girls' emerging curves, by dressing in tighter and lower rise jeans and shirts. The comments of shame I got from my parents didn't stop me from flirting with risky behaviors. I escaped the chaos of regular arguments without any resolutions at home, and chased pleasure, even if it meant lying to my parents. The sex talk with my mom was short and uncomfortable. Since I understood from media that men wanted sexy women, but that was bad in my parents and the church's view, I believed my desires were evil. When they found out about my secret boyfriend I had traveled out of country with after my high school graduation, my parents were enraged.

I was hooked to my manipulative "bad boy" partner, and saw him as everything I needed to be happy and free. The condition to being his long-term partner was to convert to his religion. I researched Islam instead of doing my college homework and was deceived into believing it was spreading worldwide among peace-seekers (many videos I watched were from people who had unresolved church and family trauma). I argued with my parents regarding my choice to no longer eat pork or attend church with them. This increased their fear and resulted in heightened pressure on me and my siblings to pray the rosary.

Ignoring red flags

I moved out when I couldn't take it anymore. Every conversation with my family went something like "You're naive and stupid, he's from a terrorist religion that oppresses women." I was blindly in love, and I lost respect for my parents who looked down on me with disgust. I also ignored red flags with my boyfriend. I felt betrayed when he threatened to get his sexual appetite filled with someone else if I was unavailable.

So, being hungry for his charming words and attention again, I ran from home to move in with him. I didn't even tell my closest friend how scary his behavior was toward me. A few months later he surprised me with a wedding planned by his sister across the world. His words and actions confused me more every day, when he used to say he'd do anything for me. Yet, my choice to wear a headscarf religiously, beyond the Friday mosque, built a wall up between us. I was torn between worshipping Allah or the man I lived with.

Pit of despair

I was extremely lonely, requiring my husband's permission to go anywhere, and he said I was "overreacting" when I spoke up to him about isolating me, verbally and sexually abusing me. I memorized verses from the Quran as I learned was necessary for the five daily prayers (I found it very difficult to adhere to all of them and perform ablutions beforehand). I frequently recited a verse that sounds like “rabbi zidna ilma” which translates to: "Lord increase me in knowledge".

Every apology from my abusive partner's mouth was aimed back onto my failures to be more like his mom. I left my husband and stayed with a friend for a few days. I still hoped he would change, and gave him another chance when he said all the right things. His promises were empty. The challenge to pretend I was in a good marriage became more difficult when we started a family. In attempt to attain forgiveness (or perhaps to his parents), we went for a ritual pilgrimage to Mecca (or Makkah) in Saudi Arabia, where the Kaaba is located (a focal point for Muslim prayer). I did not sense any peace or resolve as we circulated around the black structure among the crowd, with my young child in arms in a hot humid climate.

Nothing improved in our marriage, so I went to a counsellor alone as my husband wouldn't acknowledge his need for help. I was never outwardly bruised, but my heart and soul were being ripped up and laughed at. "Your mom's crazy!" he told our young child in the back seat of the car, as I cried after my appointment. I was envisioning how terrible it would be if my kids would grow up expecting the same from their future relationships.

A friend took notice when I mentioned that no matter how hard I tried to make my husband happy, my efforts were never good enough. She saw the fear when I had to rush home to cook for him before he returned from work. She gave me a book on domestic violence, which I devoured in a few hours over a couple visits to the gym locker room. That phone call from my abuser yelling "Why are you taking so fucking long?" as he was not enjoying parental duties and diaper changes, clearly matched the description of abusers in the book. A few weeks later, I packed a few things and got my children and myself to safety while he was at work.

Woman of dignity

My kids and I were warmly welcomed into a women's shelter, where I got busy with legal documents and managed to get respite, while rediscovering everything.

I didn't know who the woman looking at me in the mirror was. I regretted many things. I blamed those who insisted, "We told you not to be with a Muslim, that's how they are." I was introduced to new age and self help ideas, but they didn't work unless I did. Some days I was too depressed to think positively. My abuser still had a chance to play his power and control game in the legal battle and visits with the children. I was desperate and felt like I was drowning. I tried to soothe my pain with alcohol, new partners, night clubbing, and TV. I felt worthless and guilty of mistakes as a mother, and couldn't agree when a friend said I was a "Woman of dignity". Yoga and Eastern meditation had me feel good about myself for a while, until a concerned family member warned me that these practices could connect to evil spirits.

Curiosity and research led me to a testimony online (link here). Jessica Joy shared her testimony in occult practices which opened up encounters with demons. She was saved through prayer to Jesus. I was truly amazed that prayer could be that powerful, that simple.

The invite

Around the same time, I opened up about my doubts and childhood perceptions about Jesus with a relative who was willing to listen without judgment. Her and a friend prayed for me out loud with eyes closed using their own heartfelt words, which brought tears to my eyes. The friend offered me an invite card for a nearby non-denominational church. I wasn't interested in church.

Within a month later I had a divine meeting. A woman about forty years my senior approached me in a public setting while I sat down for a bite after work, before picking up my kids from daycare. She sat on a chair beside me, and asked if I worked nearby, then told me about her grandchildren, and a personal health issue which ended with a miracle healing. A healing from Jesus himself.

Doubts vanished

I had so many questions, and I talked with this woman for a couple hours because she had answers. I told her I had left my abusive husband a year prior, and wound up confused by both Catholicism and Islam. I asked, "Why did Jesus have to die? Couldn't God forgive us without a sacrifice?" The woman used her phone as an analogy.

She placed her cellphone in front of me, and said if she gives it to me, it becomes mine. Then if I choose to give it to the person next to me, it belongs to them. 

When Adam ate the forbidden fruit he gave up his gift from God to Satan, so it became Satan’s. From that day on, Satan has lured people to his side. Satan works legally. God gave us free will. Sin is a choice. In order for God to get back what Satan took from Adam, God had to do it legally. Since the first man, Adam was human, God came as a man to make it legal. Satan tried messing with Jesus, and Jesus kept strong and resisted all Satan’s temptations. He fulfilled the plan God had, and after dying he went to the gate in hell and took 2 keys: the keys to death and hell.

I let Jesus in

My response to the elder woman was that I had never heard about Jesus in that way before. Suddenly I was able to understand why I needed a Savior. The woman asked me if she could pray for me, my children and former husband. She suggested I forgive him when I was ready. She also touched my forehead and prayed for me to be baptized, and I began weeping uncontrollably. She told me the Holy Spirit of God helps us and gives us gifts, and I can pray and ask him to give me gifts too (for example prophecy and speaking in tongues). I wasn't sure what she meant then, but smiled and thanked her, and we exchanged contact information to keep in touch. I found out she was traveling approximately twelve hours from my city!

I faced challenges maintaining employment at the restaurant, as my children's father wasn't honoring his parental time and they often got sick. I looked for the invite card for church and I decided to watch a few services online. It was easy to understand, and I wanted to see more, so one Sunday we went in person and my kids happily went to rooms for their age group. The environment and service was very different from Catholic churches. Anyone could participate, as there were no traditions and rituals to follow. The worship songs were modern and the lights dim, and the pastor taught a lesson based on present day life, referencing Bible verses. In the following weeks, the Sunday messages spoke directly to my situation and life. More tears of healing flowed.

I started talking to Jesus like I talk to a friend. I cried about my frustrations and burdens. I told him I just wanted a hug from him. The next moment, I felt peace like never before wash over me, and I slept wonderfully, knowing he heard me and loved me. Another night I had a dream that I prayed on a few occasions, and each time when I ended with "Amen" a fountain of water sprayed out from my head! Later I found a verse in the Bible that explained this dream:

On the last and greatest day of the festival, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.” By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive. Up to that time the Spirit had not been given, since Jesus had not yet been glorified.

John 7:37-39 NIV