Knowing I was just taking baby steps down my new path, one day I asked my brother, Pastor Pete, how I could prepare myself for what the future might hold. Having lived through so many devastating events, part of me was still afraid of the future and I knew I needed to ground myself in order to move forward.
Pastor Pete encouraged me to enroll in Angelus Bible Institute, a multilingual Christian college on the campus of the renowned Angelus Temple in Los Angeles. Because of my speaking and preaching ability, Pastor immediately saw potential in me to become an evangelist. When he first mentioned it to me, I was shocked because I have always considered myself to be a shy person, afraid to look others in the eye. But now that I had found the Lord, I was suddenly filled with a desire to speak to anyone and everyone about His love.
The classes I took there were unlike any I had ever experienced. Yes, I had a four-year college degree and one year of law school under my belt, but I had never encountered truth like this. Being the big nerd that I am, I had always enjoyed going to school and learning new things, but at the Angelus Bible Institute, I experienced learning like I never had before. Everything I learned there wasn’t only feeding my mind; it was feeding my soul. Many days, I would sit in a lecture filled with emotion, so grateful for what I was hearing. The fact that everything that we discussed in class had such a clear and potent repercussion in the real world and in my life made me connect to my topic of study like never before. I had enjoyed classes in law school, but the truth was that deep down inside I had done it all because I wanted to get back at Trino. The classes at Angelus, however, were for me and me alone. Every day I went there, I was filling my heart with God’s love and it felt so good.
• • •
One morning, a professor read a verse from the Bible, Acts 1:8, that said, “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you shall be witnesses to Me in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”
I immediately thought, “That’s me!”
I looked up the word “witness” and found that in the late fourteenth century, Christians used the word as a literal translation of the Greek word martys or “martyr.” I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Hadn’t I made a pact with God, saying that I was willing to die to myself and live for Him?
I wasn’t sure what Jerusalem meant in all this. Was I supposed to fly over to Israel to share my story? But of course that wasn’t what the verse meant at all. The biggest mistake one can make when starting to read the Bible is to take it too literally, and that was exactly what I was doing.
So I asked God what he meant by “Jerusalem” and that was how I understood that I was to let go and die to the hatred of my past—and that “Jerusalem” in my case meant home. I was to be a witness here at home, starting with my own family, and those I love. Reaching Israel, the Middle East, and the rest of the world would come, but it was for another day. I had to start right here.
Once I understood that, I was still confused by “Samaria.” If the line said I would first have to go through Samaria, what did that mean?
I did some research on Samaria and learned that in biblical times, the inhabitants of Samaria were such enemies of the Jews that Israelites would literally travel the long way around the territory of Samaria in order to reach their destination. I understood what God was telling me. He was saying that I had to be a witness to those I loved, but also to my enemies.
My thoughts immediately went to Trino. He had been my enemy since I was eight years old and after years of trying to avoid him, I needed to prepare to face him as well.
• • •
During this time, my attention was called to another story in the New Testament. The Book of Acts records the account of the first martyr of the Church.
His name was Stephen. The man was simply bearing testimony to—or witnessing—the Lord when he was brutally attacked by a group of men “who were unable to cope with the wisdom and the Spirit with which he was speaking.”
What was amazing to me when I read this story was that Stephen didn’t even try to defend himself. Never once did he say, “Stop! I’m the good guy here! Don’t listen to them. I am totally innocent!”
Instead, filled with the Holy Spirit, Stephen looked up into the heavens and beheld God’s glory. “Look,” he said. “I see heaven open and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.”
They accused him of blasphemy and ultimately dragged him out of the city and started stoning him. Undisturbed by their violence, Stephen prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit,” and then he cried out, “Lord, do not charge them with this sin.” In other words, he was asking God to forgive them. Then Stephen laid down his life.
When I read this, I tried to put myself in Stephen’s place. Could I ever respond like that? The more I thought about it, the more I understood: Stephen was just as innocent as I was. He was targeted for no valid reason, but he stayed focused and did what God told him to do.
My problems had begun way back in my childhood. I had had plenty of time to think about them and rationalize them, yet I still couldn’t forgive the pain and suffering that had been inflicted upon me. But thinking back at Stephen, he was asking God to forgive his attackers right then at that very moment. I asked myself, “Where did he learn such compassion?” Then I was reminded that Stephen knew of what had taken place just a few months earlier, when Jesus, on the cross, cried out, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Just like the Son of God, Stephen was feeling the pain being inflicted on his body—the accusations hurled at him, and the sting of bitter hatred. But this witness made a decision to follow Christ’s example. The martyr’s story so impacted me that I wanted to have the mercy of Jesus. I wanted to be like Stephen and in order to do so, I knew I had to do one thing: forgive Trino.
• • •
Although my mind now understood what I needed to do, my heart simply couldn’t follow. How could I forgive the unforgivable? How could I forgive a man who had stripped me of my childhood? Not only had he taken my virginity; he had robbed me of my youth and my dreams. He had destroyed the innocent little girl who, sitting on her daddy’s lap, believed she would one day be an astronaut, a teacher, or a writer.
And now I was expected to forgive him?
All this time I had been thinking about the effect of Trino’s actions on me but I’d never really stopped to think what was going through Trino’s mind. Was he sick? Was he deliberately evil? Was he aware of the consequences that his actions would have on the rest of my life? Could he have possibly imagined the lasting pain he would inflict on me—the drugs, the sexual issues, my unhealthy relationships with men?
Then a thought flashed in my brain. “Well, Rosie, you didn’t know the depth of your wrong when you had an abortion!”
That really hit home.
Practically my whole life, I had thought Trino had to have been abused when he was a child; something had to have happened to him for him to behave that way. I tried so hard to come up with every possible excuse for what he had done. I was trying to find a reason. But when I thought about my abortion, I realized my thought process was completely different. I was able to be much harder on myself: I knew I had plenty of excuses, but there was no reason. Nothing justified my actions, just like nothing justified his. I had to accept his behavior for what it was. I had to stop trying to explain it.
God was telling me, “Don’t diminish his actions, Rosie. Don’t try to explain them. Take sin for what it is, and forgive it. I want you to pardon everything he did, whether he knew it or not.”
“But how can I possibly do that?” I asked God.
“Forgiveness is not an emotion,” He said to me. “It’s a decision.” Then He added, “You can make that choice right now. And if you do, there are great benefits for you.”
This was a huge revelation for me. I had always thought that
if I forgave Trino, he would have the most to gain. His slate would be wiped clean and he’d never have to suffer the consequences. He would get off scot-free and there would be no justice.
I had also always thought that I had to get to a place where I could forgive him. I never thought I could simply decide to forgive. Yet soon it became quite clear to me that if I forgave Trino, like Stephen of old, the power of God’s Spirit would fill me and I could be a witness and see Heaven’s glory—which I wanted more than anything in this world.
Then I heard a voice say, “Did you notice that Jesus gave Stephen a standing ovation?” I opened my Bible and read the story again and, sure enough, upon arriving in Heaven, Stephen saw Jesus “standing” at the right hand of God. It was as if the Lord was saying, “When your brothers and sister sing at a concert, there is usually an encore. People clap, and shout, ‘Bravo! Give me more. I’m really proud of you.’ Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you heard that from Me?”
That’s when I understood that there was no difference between being a martyr of the early days and a martyr of today. I wanted to feel what Stephen felt. I wanted to show God what I am capable of. And from the moment that day in church, when I decided to die to myself and forgive what I thought was unforgivable, God promised to do the rest.
I promised the Lord that I was willing to love and forgive to such an extent that when the moment comes that I am taken home, I will be able to lie before Him and, like Mary, wash His feet with my tears and dry them with my hair.
• • •
What God asked me to do next was something I would have never considered on my own. I was to take a pen and paper and write down every count I had against Trino—as if I was a prosecutor in a trial. Then He said, “I want you to turn the list over to Me and let Me be the Judge.”
By doing this exercise a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders. I no longer needed to think about Trino. I no longer needed to decide whether what he had done was right or wrong. I didn’t need to even think about it. God was going to take care of it.
So I began writing—1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 5 . . . 10 . . . 20 . . . 30 . . . 40 counts, and the number kept increasing. When I reached 101 counts of physical, emotional, psychological, spiritual, relational damage he had caused, I turned the list over to God and told Him: “It’s in Your hands.”
“Look at the list again,” He said. “Many of these counts are Trino’s fault, but there are plenty of sins here that are the result of your own choices.”
And he was right, of course. Trino had damaged me in so many ways, but after a certain point my decisions had been my own and I couldn’t blame him for everything bad that ever crossed my existence. I needed to accept my part. And that made me ask myself: how could I ask God to forgive my sins if I wasn’t capable of forgiving Trino for his?
It wasn’t an easy realization, but it was a powerful one. I needed to forgive Trino in order to forgive myself. Once I understood that, I knew exactly what I needed to do but I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. How was I going to change a feeling that had been so deeply ingrained in my heart for so many years? Hating Trino had become part of my identity and I wasn’t sure I remembered what it even meant to be Rosie—just Rosie.
I understood what needed to happen, but in the most literal sense, I didn’t know what to do. I felt that if I prayed, “Lord, please forgive Trino,” I would be lying since I didn’t really feel it in my heart. I struggled with this a great deal. I wasn’t able to decide what to do. Until one day from deep down inside me, the realization came to me that if I had no other words, I should just say, “God bless Trino.”
I learned that saying “God bless you” just means “May God do His will in you.” Asking God to forgive Trino felt like too much of a leap for me, but asking him to do His will in him made perfect sense. All I needed was to ask God to bless Trino and God would take care of the rest. That I could live with. So it became my daily prayer: “God bless Trino.”
Those were three of the toughest words I ever remember uttering, especially because they did not bring instant relief. Evidently, the anger that had built up over the years was like a huge boulder that had to be chiseled away one strike at a time. At every church service, I would be at the altar crying those words. I thought the Lord would grow tired of hearing them, but of course He never did. I repeated them and repeated them until slowly, their sharp angles started to soften and I was able to utter them without tears or hatred or pain. They became words.
With the passing of time, my prayer changed and it became more like Christ’s: “God forgive Trino, for he knew not what he did.”
After several weeks of this, my spirit began to feel a release. I could breathe easier, and while I could never erase what Trino had done, slowly, my thoughts were starting to center on reflection and introspection instead of hatred and bitterness. The storm that had been in my soul tempered down to a calm, peaceful lake.
When I did think of Trino, it now included a dream that one day he would be totally reconciled with God. I had read the story of Saul, who once inflicted harm on Christians, including Stephen. He eventually became the Apostle Paul, who spread the gospel to the nations. I envisioned such a change for Trino. I imagined that he would become a man who, after being an abuser, someone who was capable of inflicting such pain on other human beings, would become a new man and a powerful witness: a man of God. His reconciliation would show millions of people across the world that God loves each and every one of them, no matter what they have done.
It is a dream that I hold on to until this day.
I was so grateful to have received God’s guidance during this transformative time, for I needed all the strength I could gather to face what was coming.
eleven
face-to-face
One day in January 2006—just a few months after I turned my life over to God—I was having lunch with my friend Gladyz at NORM’s on Lakewood Boulevard in Bellflower. I hadn’t seen Gladyz in a while and we were catching up. I was still in the middle of dealing with the aftermath of my relationship with Pedro, and Gladyz, who has been with me through thick and thin, was helping me sort through my feelings.
Suddenly my phone rang. It was Pedro. I picked up and soon enough we were in the middle of an argument. As I was talking to Pedro, I looked up from our table for a moment and right then and there I just froze. I felt all the blood drain from my face and I could barely breathe. Gladyz noticed that something was going on and quickly she asked me:
“What’s wrong, Rosie? What’s the matter?”
I couldn’t speak.
Just a few tables away, I had seen Trino.
He looked different, but it didn’t take more than a split second for me to know it was him. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t say anything. All I could do was stare. I couldn’t believe my eyes. His nose was different, he had shorter hair, and in general he looked thicker. But it was him, I was sure.
Pedro was screaming his head off through the phone but I could no longer hear him. I sat there, frozen, for what felt like hours but must have been seconds. Trino must have felt my stare because suddenly he looked up and stared me in the eyes. He must have recognized me immediately because right away he got up, pulled some money out of his pocket, and set it on the table. There was a woman sitting at the table with him and he didn’t even stop to say a word to her; he just got up and left, walking right past me. I think I held my breath the whole time, I was so shocked.
“Are you okay?” Gladyz insisted.
It wasn’t until Trino was out of sight that I managed to finally say something to her: “Go get his plates, go get his plates, Gladyz.”
“Why?”
“That’s Trino. We need to get him.”
Gladyz ran to catch him but it was too late—he had already left the parking lot.
I was so angry. I was convinced that I had made so much progress. I thought I had gotten bette
r but the truth was, I wasn’t ready just yet. I was still that little girl who froze. Just like I did as a child in the mobile home. I thought I was over it but I really wasn’t.
I started to cry. Like in so many difficult times of my life, the only person I wanted to talk to was Lupe. I called him right away.
“Rosa, what’s wrong?” he asked as soon as he heard me sobbing on the phone.
“I’m so dumb, Lupe. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” I couldn’t stop crying.
“It’s okay, Rosa. Just tell me. What happened?”
“I saw Trino. . . . But I froze. . . . I froze and . . . I couldn’t catch him,” I sobbed. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
Lupe tried to calm me down. “It’s okay, Sister, it’s okay, baby. Don’t you worry,” he said. Then after a pause, he asked: “Do you know if the restaurant has security cameras? The good news is that now we know he’s in the area and you know what he looks like.”
Lupe. Always so smart. Of course he would think to ask whether there were any security cameras.
While Gladyz went to find out, I phoned Chay. As ashamed as I felt for having missed the opportunity to catch Trino, I had to tell her.
“I’m so sorry, Sister,” I said as soon as she picked up. “Please forgive me!”
“Sister! Sister, calm down,” she said. “Why would I need to forgive you? What happened?”
I explained.
“Don’t cry,” she said once I told her the whole story. “Everything happens for a reason. Do you remember his face?”
“Yes, clearly,” I told her. “He looks younger. I think he’s had a face-lift. His hair is cut shorter and is pitch black. And he is thicker.”
My Broken Pieces : Mending the Wounds from Sexual Abuse Through Faith, Family and Love (9781101990087) Page 14