Annie’s Story:
My birth in Mexico City was not without trauma. Within my mother’s womb, the devil began sowing lies in me that I was unwanted and worthless.
Mama struggled with deep self-hatred; the last thing she wanted was to bring another version of herself into the world. After having two daughters, she found herself pregnant for the third time and aborted my sibling. After my conception, she attempted to abort me, but God saved my life. He had ordained my days long ago, writing His plans for me in His book. Within the valley of the shadow of death, my Shepherd would guide me to the other side, a testament to His faithfulness.
I spent my first two years fussing in a playpen. When Daddy came home, he would rescue me from my confinement. Affectionate and carefree, he loved his girls and made life enjoyable. However, he was often away due to his international business trips; my childhood memories of him are primarily from vacations.
In Mama’s brokenness, she often lived in a bad mood and could go weeks without speaking to her daughters, only attending to our physical needs. She lacked a framework for showing affection or addressing emotional needs. We lived in fear of her angry outbursts and sometimes her unjustified punishment. Our dysfunctional family had virtually no communication except for a lot of yelling between my parents. I blamed myself for their troubled marriage. They considered divorce but decided it was too expensive, and Mama had been advised against it by her pastor.
Despite her toxic parenting, Mama raised us in the Lutheran Church. To have me baptized as an infant, she needed to find godparents. God undoubtedly influenced Mama’s choice of my godmother, Mrs. Perren, who took her role seriously by giving me my first two Bibles. She also prayed for me and kept in touch, no matter where I lived. Thanks to God’s kindness, we lived only two hours apart in Texas before she died. Jesus understood my need for Mrs. Perren’s steady support and prayers to help me cope with the ongoing heartaches in my life.
When I was six, Mama had me memorize Psalm 23. I learned that God is my Shepherd. Even though I was a confused, hurting little girl, I believed Jesus was listening, so I often talked to Him. I believed all the stories I heard about Him in church. At 13, I began reading my Bible. I knelt at the altar on the morning of my first communion, feeling God’s love for me. It felt as though we were the only ones in the church.
Our family lived in Germany for several years before returning to Mexico. As an American attending a German school in Mexico, I wasn’t entirely American, Mexican, or German. Consequently, I became an outcast at school, which only added to my childhood trauma.
My sisters didn’t seem interested in me either—until years later.
At home, one sister and I spoke a mix of English, Spanish, and German in every sentence. One day, Dad slammed his fist on the table and shouted, “You girls will become Americans, learn to speak English, and marry Americans.” That was it! She was sent to a college in Vermont while I attended a boarding school in Arizona. Years later, Dad explained that my exile to the U.S. was also a way to distance me from the drama at home.
I followed my sister’s footsteps to a college in Vermont, where God helped me better understand His love for me despite my chaotic life. One day, I sat on a branch of an old oak tree—where I often went to cry—overlooking the vibrant autumn landscape. I told the Lord I wanted to live my life for Him.
When that college went bankrupt, I transferred to a college in California, where I soon started dating a guy. After a few years, we got engaged. I always prayed to the Lord not to let me marry the wrong man. When my parents arrived for the wedding, we walked into their hotel room to tell them we’d called it off.
“Better now than later!” Daddy said.
“Well, I’m glad you got out of it,” Mama said, “because I didn’t!”
I drove home to Texas with my parents for a fresh start. Two years later, I married my God-appointed “Miracle Man” and soulmate, Paul. I always called Paul my “Miracle Man” because God had saved me from marrying the wrong guy. Over the years, we had five children, intermingled with several miscarriages and a stillborn. I struggled to raise my children well due to my emotional baggage.
Desiring deeply for my heart to heal, I sought counseling and participated in a faith-based recovery program. This journey evolved into an intensive seven-year process that helped me confront the many scars of my childhood. During this time, God freed me from many of the lies I had believed for so long. Through my numerous heartaches, including the loss of one of my adult children and my husband, my faith has grown as God has aligned my mind and heart with the truth of who He is and who I am in Him. I am a cherished and beloved daughter of the King of kings who does not need to be consumed by fear because of the Shepherd’s constant presence.
It wasn’t until my 40s that I realized the irony of how God, sovereign over both good and evil, used Mama when she required me to memorize Psalm 23 all those years ago. While Mama couldn’t shepherd me, she inadvertently pointed me to the One who would always be my true Shepherd. Jesus is my Good Shepherd who has always walked beside me through every dark valley.
Photo by Maxim Tolchinskiy on Unsplash
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