HENNING WITZEL / UNSPLASH
I am the reflection of my people, those émigrés who believed in the intrinsic rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. My mother’s family moved to the United States from Puerto Rico. An immigrant herself, my mother fell in love with an immigrant from Mexico, and the two stretched into creating a life in the concrete jungle of East Los Angeles.
My father supported our family by working multiple jobs. Whether it was laying tile, cutting down trees, or working as a cook in the cafeteria of Azusa Pacific University, he did what he could to provide for our family. But feeding a family of six on one income—especially one as meager as my father’s—was hard, and we needed a straight-up miracle to make ends meet. And because of our large family, we often needed a Jesus-feeding-the-masses-with-five-fish-and-two-loaves type of miracle.
The call to ministry runs deep in our family, and when my father planted a church in Montebello, the whole family chipped in. His dream became our dream and we committed to loving people in our community. Most people avoid the ghetto, but my parents desired to create an oasis of hope amidst the streets of East L.A. It was difficult and burdensome, but my parents served the church well. I watched them juggle the responsibility of leading people, providing for their family, teaching God’s Word, and raising their children (and all the other crazy kids of church).
In those early years of church-planting, God provided in amazing ways. We were not millionaires, we didn’t own a house, we didn’t even have a car, but we were in the presence and fullness of God and knew that was far greater than three gourmet meals a day in a mansion with a Bentley in the garage.
My Greatest Fear
Amidst the tension of want and need, we knew God would provide. Life was beautiful, but difficult; difficultly beautiful, I suppose. Through taunts and jeers I was often mocked or marginalized for my lack of stylish clothes that some of my friends from church had. I remember being in Sunday school and all the cool kids were decked out in their LA Gear shoes and trendy clothes. I dreamed of being popular and cool enough to sit with LA Gear Crew and begged my mom for a pair of the stylish sneakers, but I was told, time and again, we could not afford them.
I kept hope alive for those shoes, and one magical day at Pic-n-Save, I spotted a pair of white, studded, triple-laced Michael Jackson LA Gears on an empty shelf. These shoes were the living dream of what I imagined cool people to wear and they were in my size. It was as if the celestials had opened; Michael the archangel moonwalked down from heaven and placed the coolest shoes on the clearance rack just for me.
