I wonder how much I cried when I first was born.
I wonder if the first breath I took was tough for my lungs.
I wonder if I was READY to be apart of this world.
I can picture looking into my mom’s eyes, probably in the same way I do now.
She would hold onto my hands, and brush my cheeks softly,
and my dad would probably have been beside the bed, but hesitant in holding me,
as he seems to have this fear of accidentially breaking something if the instructions
are not read as clearly as possible.
I am sure he stood there mouth wide open, saying…
” Where are the instructions to this thing?”
Then came the naming part…the name that I would have for the rest of my life.
Apparently, my mom and another family member actually disputed it.
Mom wanted me to be called, ” Marisa” but my another family member poked fun at the name,
and so instead in final ruling, I was to be called; Angela Marisa.
Angela- “messenger from God”
Marisa- “The sun and the sea”
I’m not quite sure if it was because of my name, that I chose to keep faith in my back pocket at all times, but I was a child that had a good awareness of God’s presence in situation, and things around me.
I had such deep faith, that I actually believed that when I laid on my back and looked towards the clouds in the sky; that every cloud would form for me; as if I was looking into heaven.
I believed that God was showing me secretly, things that had died, and were special to Him.
I know you may be asking where did this faith come from, because it had to start somewhere…
I was raised in a Catholic home. I went to church every Saturday with my Aunt. But I can tell you that the ” faith” thing happened naturally. I was just in awe with God from the moment I had any knowledge of Him.
I remember my mom and I had a conversation once, where she said to me,
” I’m sorry for not being there as much as I needed to be, I am sorry I was sick.”
My mom has Chrone’s disease, it affects the lower intestine of the body.
She was diagnosed after I was born.
I remember replying to her, ” Its okay mom, God was there.”
I think back in times that she was so sick, that she was just hung over her stomach holding it, or in the bathroom for an hour sometimes. She cried a lot of tears.
My dad was very distant. He was a hard worker at his job, but when it came to being the father he should have been, he didn’t participate well in that. I know now as I am older, that he was so distant, because he hated to see my mom in so much pain.
Through this, I had God. I would spend hours in my bedroom alone, just sitting there writing, or playing on the window sill, or swinging on the tire swing in the backyard, and just talk to God.
I was taught in church that He would hear me when I spoke to Him, so I took every moment I could:)
Stay tuned for more of this ” Faith Story” to be continued next blog post:)