People say everyone has a story, but I think every person is a story: a living, breathing, walking, heart-beating book. Some people create their own stories while others are forced into them. My story falls into the latter category.
Some of you reading this may recognize me as “the girl from the article” or “the girl who was kidnapped.” On the other hand, some of you may not have the slightest idea who I am, so I’ll start from the beginning.
I was 7 years old when my story took its first drastic turn. Responding to God’s calling in each of their lives, my parents packed, sold or gave away our belongings and bought a one-way plane ticket to Costa Rica. We lived there one year to attend language-learning school then moved to Guatemala, where my parents still live and serve with an indigenous people group. This would change the projection of my life and would forever mark my life as different from most of my peers.
After a few years I became accustomed to life in Guatemala. In fact it became to me a fairly “normal” life as I entered my teen years. Of course, there were ups and downs, but overall I was content. My spiritual life was the same. My parents had raised me and my brothers in God’s Word and taught us that the stories it held were true. Yet looking back, I think it’s safe to say that I had not yet truly experienced God.
On the night of Oct. 23, 2006, that changed. What began as a normal trip to the grocery store for a 13-year-old girl and her mom ended in a carjacking at gunpoint. I was thrown headfirst into a sea of chaos as a man hustled my mother from the driver’s seat, removing her from the vehicle. She lay on the street, unharmed, yet in shock as she realized that the vehicle driving away held her daughter. I was still in the passenger seat. I panicked, of course, and sat for a few moments in terror, knowing I had no control of this situation.
Taken care of
My moment of panic quickly changed into a moment of relinquishment when I realized there was nothing I could do. I knew I was helpless, so I began to pray. The moment the name of God left my lips in a cry for help, the entire atmosphere calmed. I was still on edge and I still had no idea what was going to happen to me, but I knew I was taken care of because God was writing this story, not me.
The men only wanted the vehicle. They dropped me off and my family and another missionary brought me home. The trauma was past and slowly we began to move on with life.
But the story doesn’t end there because God never sets down His pen.
My family recovered from that night. I never had any trouble sleeping nor did I suffer from fear or anxiety. My struggles stemmed from the reactions I received from others. I didn’t know if I should tell people what had happened to me so for a while I kept quiet. In Guatemala and in the United States people I knew would avoid the topic. Others wouldn’t talk to me at all, they would just wonder if I was OK or if at any second I was going to have an emotional breakdown.
On the other hand some people would walk right up to me and say how proud they were of me or how my story changed their lives. I never knew how to take that. I had no control over what had happened to me, so I didn’t think I could take any credit for how it turned out.
As a pre-teen trying to figure out who I was, I wanted to fit in and be “normal” — not stand out for something unusual that happened to me. Although it was a crucial moment in my life I didn’t feel like it should define me.
There were, however, obstacles I had to overcome because of my experience. But through these I gained insight into people in need that created a unique bridge, connecting me to others in a special way.
As I left my home in Guatemala for college in the U.S., I was overwhelmingly excited as well as afraid of the new world ahead. I felt like a foreigner sometimes. I told people I grew up in Guatemala and answered any questions they had. I am slightly ashamed to say that I did not immediately tell people about the many ways I had seen God work in and through my life, specifically my kidnapping story.
Opportunities to share
I began to tell some of my closest friends at school. God was gentle with me and slowly gave me opportunities to share with people. When I was put in such a position of complete surrender, it was as if the blinds were taken off of my eyes. I no longer saw in tunnel vision. I was given a short glimpse of the big picture and the part I played in His master plan.
I have learned a lot of things about myself, about God and about others since leaving my life abroad and “settling down” in the U.S.
My experience has taught me that we shouldn’t expect to have control over our lives, nor should we want control. We think we are the authors of our stories and that if we plan enough and stick to our grand ambitions that everything will come out just how we planned. But I have realized that God’s purpose for me, for everyone, is to play a part in His plan to draw others to Him. That’s the ultimate true story, and it is His story.
(BP)
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