Nicola
My
name is Nicola Alvarez and I feel led to write about my life and what brought me
to God. Though I have always known
about God and Jesus, I am a "new" believer in Jesus and you'll understand
why I put it in that context as you read through this.
Being new I'm not sure if there are rules or guideline to follow when
writing out my life as it has been but in order to give the full view I need to
go back to my early childhood.
I
was born on September 8, 1976 to an unwed mother of 19.
Growing up I never knew my father. In
place of my father I had my sister's father.
My mother married him when I was about 2 and they had my sister when I
was 3. They were divorced about a
year later. Some of the few memories
that I have during that period of my life were of the violence that took place
in our home. When I was four my mom
met my stepfather. He was the only
"real" father figure that I really had growing up.
I remembered when my mother told me that they were going to get married.
I was so happy. I
remember jumping on my bed and spelling out my new last name in glee.
I was finally going to have a father.
My mother chose that time to become a "Christian" and a member of a
Baptist church in which I loved attending. Shortly
after that, on Halloween, my nightmare began.
My stepfather began molesting me at age 5.
Going against the threats of my stepfather I told my friends at school
what had happened. I thought that I
would be safe, that no one else would find out.
I was wrong. My friends were
devoted friends and told my teacher who in turn included the authorities.
I was made to confront my mother and stepfather.
Now you're probably wondering why I felt the need to tell you such an
awful and personal moment in my life. If
you bear with me you'll see the relevance.
My mother then included the church thinking that it would be good for me.
After I told the church's pastor what had happened it was concluded
that I was lying. It hurt me deeply
but I didn't hold it against God only the adults in my life.
Throughout the years I was removed from the house only once.
When I was seven my mother had quit attending the Baptist Church and
decided to join a strict Pentecostal church.
Pentecostals, in case you don't know, believe in speaking in tongues,
which I quickly was able to fake. I
loved the attention that I received for having "come to God".
I only mention this because, although I am ashamed for my behavior, it
supported my later opinion that religion is a bunch of hypocrites and phonies.
At nine I confronted my stepfather again.
He denied it of course but my mother said that she would pray to God and
He would tell her who was telling the truth.
I had been praying to God for years in the hope that He would make it
stop. I finally thought that it was
over. My mother "prayed" for two
hours and when I finally asked her, "Mommy, what did God say?" her response
was, "God said that you're lying. Your
dad would never do anything to hurt you."
I was devastated!! How
could the two people that I had the most faith in turn their backs on me.
How could God hurt me so deeply after my devotion and my faith
that He would make it end? From that
point in my life I turned my back on Him.
I didn't need Him. I hated
Him for his betrayal and I hated the phoniness of church.
I would have nothing to do with either.
My
life continued and when I was 13 my mother finally left my stepfather after many
more incidents on both of their parts. The
part my mother played, however, was the one that only helped in my hatred toward
God. She used Him as an excuse for
everything she did that a parent shouldn't do.
She had a scapegoat that couldn't say anything in His defense to a hurt
and confused child that had closed her heart and mind to Him.
When
I was 15 my mom kicked me out of the house.
I lived on the streets of Denver for 2 years.
During that time I endured several more "episodes" and God hardly
ever crossed my mind except when I felt the need to remind Him of how much I
despised Him. I was more concerned
with surviving. I went from being a
shy, quiet child to being an obnoxious and rude young woman.
Survival of the fittest is the rule of the street and I was going
to survive. I earned, with great
pride, the street name of Venom. At
16 I almost died of pneumonia. I
spent my 16th birthday in a hospital room next door to the
psychiatric ward fighting for my life. That
incident has never left me. Sometime
during that next year I decided that I really did believe in God and that
if I was going to die I didn't want to die hating Him.
It was a conscious decision but I never really came back to Him.
I apologized to Him for all of the horrible things that I said to
Him though.
Many
times throughout the years I have "bargained" with God.
I'm sure you know what I mean. I
would tell God, "If you do this for me I promise to do this or that".
I know that God knew that, although I sincerely meant them at the time,
the promises would soon be forgotten. I
spent the next 2 years in and out of bad relationships until I finally met my
son's father. I moved to Ventura
in 1995 to be with him. Two months
later we moved in together and two months after that I was pregnant at 19.
When my son was born we suddenly decided that we needed to start
attending church. I wasn't
religious and my son's father is Catholic so the choice of what church we
would attend was obvious. My son was
baptized against my better wishes at 11 months.
I left my son's father two years ago and have been a struggling single
parent ever since. My son attends
"church" on Sundays with his father and although I "believed" in God I
still didn't want any part of church. I
believed that as long as I was a good person and lived my life the best I could
that God wasn't going to send me to hell and if He did He wasn't the kind of
God I wanted to spend eternity with anyway.
Now
I may seem like I'm heading off on a different path but bear with me.
I have a best friend that I met when I first moved out here six years
ago. She is married with two
stepchildren whose father is Jewish. For
his birthday this year someone gave him the book "Left Behind".
I'm sure many of you know of that book.
Well, of course he wasn't going to read it and so it sat in the
same place that he had set it, on their living room table, for at least two
months. While I was visiting one day
I decided that I felt like reading something and saw that sitting there.
I picked it up and read the back. It
seemed interesting enough not to bore me to death and so I asked if I could
borrow it. I brought it home and
read up to the second chapter. I
didn't pick it up again for three weeks and when I did, I couldn't put it
down. By the end of the book I was
in tears. I didn't want to be left
behind. I cried and prayed for
forgiveness. I asked God to come
into my life. I expected it to be
like in the book. This feeling of
peace and knowing that God loved me but all I felt was this hallow void inside
of me and the doubts of, "Did I do
this right?" "Am I saved or am I still going to be left behind when He comes
for us?"
I
felt the compelling need to attend a church, to learn what it is that God wants,
needs and expects from us, but I didn't know where to turn.
I couldn't stand to listen to my music any more and the hunger
that I felt led me to find a Christian radio station.
Listening to this station one Sunday on my way to work I heard a pastor
speaking on parenting (still a big mystery for me) and I was immediately
impressed though I thought nothing of it until I heard that the church was in
the neighboring town. As I turned
off my car and went into work it was quickly pushed out of my mind.
The next week I was still dealing with the dilemma of where I was going
to start attending church and then I remembered the pastor that I had heard on
the radio the week before. I had no
idea of what denomination the church was but I hurriedly got ready for church
and looked up what I thought was the church in the phone book.
I drove for an hour and a half trying to find the church while listening
to this pastor over the radio, when, I finally gave up and started to head home.
As I
reached the freeway the address came over the radio but being from a different
town my first thought was, "Where exactly is that?"
As if answering my question the radio concluded by pinpointing the area
for me. Excitedly I drove home
thanking God for His help and guidance. I
dropped my son off at his dad's and drove back to the town and straight to the
church that I had been seeking. That
day after services I spoke with the pastor and once again prayed for God to come
into my life. This time I didn't
fill empty as I left. I felt new and
loved. Wanted and accepted.
Now
you're probably thinking that was when I was saved by God's grace and it
probably was, however I was still having doubts.
Not if I wanted Jesus in my life but if He was real or myth.
Though I have attended church religiously since that Sunday two
Sundays ago and have started attending the Bible study, I still felt false.
I just had to know if He was a real man.
I read "More Than A Carpenter" and although it helped, it didn't
fulfill my curiosity. I turned to
the encyclopedia. It took me three
tries. I first read on Jesus but it
only confirmed what the Bible said. Then
I tried John the Baptist but that didn't help much either.
I needed someone that could tie Jesus into the events and people that I
knew from history books. I looked up
Herod. There was my proof.
Among other things, the key people that it mentioned were Julius Caesar
and Cleopatra. If I hadn't been
sitting already I probably would have collapsed in shock.
Jesus was a real man and if He was real then so were His teachings.
God left me no out this time. I
have no excuse not to believe in His Son, Jesus.
I became a true believer [that] day.
[The next] night as I attended the Wednesday service I asked God to take
away this dullness inside of me and allow me to feel something.
It didn't take 10 seconds before I was crying uncontrollably.
I felt so touched, blessed and yet more unworthy than I have ever felt in
my entire life. How could God love
someone like me so unconditionally? I
have to be honest when I say that I don't know but I am more grateful than I
have words for, for His love and devotion to the child that has slapped Him in
the face more than once. I know that
I'll live my life for Him from this moment on and will never doubt Him again.
Nicola Alvarez
August 16, 2001
Email
Nicola