@WNOPtribe

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Confession #3: Tonight I don't feel like writing, like for reals!


So umm...yeah. I kinda don't feel like writing tonight. Like not at all.  I don't care about punctuation or grammar or any of it. I couldn't think of a specific thing I wanted to focus on, not anything confession worthy anyway.

I'm exhausted, worn out, fatigued, and just plain tired. But for some reason I felt compelled to write just that. For the first time ever I'm committed to this process. For the first time  ever I'm pushing through the exhaustion to do something just for me. No deadline at work, no one waiting on a response, no one to jump my butt if I don't get it done. As I sit here and type this out, I must admit that I honestly thought it would be a couple of sentences and a meme like this one:

But to my surprise I'm coming more and more alive as I sit and type. It's weird, and fun, and amazing all at once. I feel like I've finally get what this whole writing thing is all about. It's not about being the best, most eloquent, admired, followed, or witty writer. It's not about how many people even read what I write. It doesn't really even matter if not one person does.

God told me very clearly a couple of years ago, to write. I did not obey. I allowed every single excuse get in the way. I didn't understand why He wanted me to write. What did He even want me to say? So instead of digging into prayer and asking Him, I took the path of less resistance. And oh, how I've paid for it! If only I had known the release, the healing, the rejuvenating, and freedom I am finding at this moment by just jotting down my thoughts, I would have been ALL IN! I guess God really does know what He's doing...Oh when will learn? 

So yeah...tonight I didn't want to write, but as I did God brought a little part of me back to life. Ahhh...and it feels so good!

Much Love,

Cristina

**This is part of the 31 day series: Confessions of a Faithonista**

Monday, October 3, 2016

Confession #2: I've battled anxiety ...and I took all the meds


Today's post was inspired by one of the first things I read this morning as I scrolled down my Facebook feed. A poignant status from a friend came attached to a link to an article from The Huffington Post titled, What I Mean When I Say ‘I Have Anxiety’. I was immediately drawn the title and clicked. 

Anytime I see a post on anxiety I always wonder if it will be an accurate portrayal of the hell that it really is. I wonder what voice and point of view it will be written in. Will it be the view of the person living with a loved one with acute anxiety or will it focus on children or teens battling this crippling affliction? One thing is for certain, I will ALWAYS click.

I click because my heart still feels the pain that anxiety brings. I click in hopes to share with someone who might need that sense of encouragement and hope. I click because I don't want anyone to suffer from anxiety, or anything that impacts their emotional, spiritual, or mental health. I click because it's the demon I faced for so long (starting in my childhood all through my teens and most of my adult life). 

A meme because sometimes laughing about it is the best medicine.
Maybe I'll share my story of overcoming depression and anxiety in this space one day. It's a story I love to share because I know first hand the suffering that comes with living through anxiety but I also know what the sweet taste of freedom is like. Today though, it's not about that. This confession is more about one of things that bothers me that comes along with anxiety and all mental health issues and became very apparent today as I read this article and the comments that accompanied it---the stigma.

Though we've made huge strides in fighting the stigma surrounding mental illness, there's one area where people, yes even Christians, are very vocal about judging and ostracizing people about. It's cloaked in shame and secrecy for many. It's the fact about using medication as part of the treatment and road to recovery. 

I won't use this space to debate the use and efficacy of meds. The only purpose of this post is to do my little bit of helping de-stigmatize the topic. How do you start tearing down the walls of stigma on any topic? You remove the shame, by just opening up and talking about it. When you become vocal, and say "Guess what? Me too." you slowly start the dialogue, that brings forth, the healing that brings on the freedom. And freedom, oh freedom tastes so sweet. The more that people feel freedom from the things that shackled them in shame, the more they will share and the less stigma will exist. This is true for any topic.

So today I share, I battled anxiety...and I took all the meds.

Much Love,

Cristina

**This is part of the 31 day series: Confessions of a Faithonista**

Sunday, October 2, 2016

Confession #1: I don't always go to church...and I don't feel guilty about it

Depending on how you know me this might or might not come as a shock to you. On the other hand, depending on your life experiences is how you react to which part of my statement is considered a "confession". Now before you react and either 1-)start praying for me and try to schedule an intervention over coffee or 2-) start cheering me on because you know...you can be spiritual without going to church, I ask that  you hear me out. This confession is one so faceted and complex (at least it is to me) and is not a conclusion I came to on a whim or after a bad experience, but rather a state of being after years of living, loving, thinking, and experiencing different aspects of what "church" means and who God is in my life.

Let's start with the first part of my statement: I don't always go to church. That is 100% true. No, I don't always make it on Sundays. I haven't been to a Wednesday night event or study in months. Am I proud of this? No. Am I ashamed of this? Nope. It just is what it is right now. It's what's right for me in this moment in time. Let me rewind a few years...ok, maybe several years. Let me give you a glimpse of what attending church meant to me, what it represented to me. 

I grew up in a religion where not attending church on Sunday was a sin. It was engrained, instilled, and pounded into my mind as a child. It was the type of sin that according to religion, would condemn me to hell. Scary huh? Imagine that in the mind of a child who already had the tendency to overanalyze things like I did. My family didn't always make it to church. I would obsess over the fact that we would go to hell and I had no control of getting there. So when I grew up and became an adult church attendance became sort of like a New Year's resolution. Actually, it made my list of resolutions on more than one occasion. 

In all fairness, I did not know the Lord back then. I knew of Him. I prayed (sporadically and misguided but I prayed) and knew I had "someone" watching over me. But I didn't get it. When I came to know Jesus as my Lord and Savior something inside me changed. It clicked. I realized for the first time that I didn't have to "go to church" every Sunday. Guess what though? I WANTED TO! My heart yearned for Sundays. I did not miss one, not because I "had to" but because I wanted to. I loved it so much, I would go and serve in youth group on Tuesdays, and small groups on Wednesday. I was busy, I was always driving to and from church, and I LOVED IT!

Now before you start thinking, oh poor Cristina she's fallen off the church wagon or is being led astray, I need you to know how I got to where I am now and how I love this time in my life too. I'll start by saying that I don't love Jesus any less than I did back then. I love Him more and more each day. This journey, this statement has nothing to do with my views on Jesus or the condition of my heart towards him but rather on what the word "church" means to me. My definition of church was based on the the typical definition: n. 1. a building used for public Christian worship. 2. a particular Christian organization, typically one with its own clergy, buildings, and distinctive doctrines. 3.the hierarchy of clergy of a Christian organization, especially the Roman Catholic Church or the Church of England.4. institutionalized religion as a political or social force.

Some synonyms for church are: place of worship, house of God, house of worship, denomination, ecclesial community. But what if I told you church is so much more than that? Would you believe me? What if I told you that the word Jesus that was translated as "church" in the Bible meant originally a collection of people - a meeting, a gathering or community? Would you understand where I am going? Would you understand where I've been?

The church Jesus talked about was not a building with scheduled services, a kid's club and a rocking worship band. It was not filled with pews, have a steeple, and an organ so massive that it seems to touch the sky. It was not about conferences, classes, and community service. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with any of that. I love that communities have a place where people can easily identify a community of believers. Where outsiders can look towards and know (hopefully) that when they are ready they can cross the doors and be welcomed into a family faith. All of that is an amazing testament to God's Church but it isn't The Church.


The Church is you and me. It's out there not in here. Wherever believers are gathered, is a representation of the living, breathing Church. It's that dinner with your friends when you reminisce of God's goodness. It's the coffee you have when your friend's heart is broken and she just needs you to listen. It's when you pay forward that random act of kindness at the Chick-fil-A or Starbucks not because you have to but because love flows from you. When you take that extra moment to smile at the cashier at Walmart. The Church is more than a noun, it's a verb. It is love because Jesus is love.


Now back to why I don't feel guilty about not always attending church. Little "c" church is great, it's more than that. It's important and necessary but what it is not is God. church is not God. It doesn't substitute God or a relationship with God. And though I loved going to church and serving and everything about it, in many ways it became my little "g" God. The performance driven side of me thrived on all the "good" I was doing. Don't get me wrong, I was doing good. I truly worshipped and prayed while I was there. While all of that was true, as time went by and I grew closer to the Lord, I realized I didn't "need" church to feel close to God. I didn't need to attend to serve Him or worship Him or prove my worth to Him. I had nothing to prove. He loved me exactly and perfectly. It finally clicked.


There's no reason to feel guilty for not attending a church service. Really there's not, I promise. Am I advocating not to go to church to prove this? No! Not at all. That's the beauty of true relationship with the Lord, it's unique and personal. I know many of you reading this love your church community, and that's a beautiful and awesome thing. Keep going, keep serving, keep loving, and just keep doing what it is God is calling you to do. My prayer is that you continue to thrive and pour out your love there as long as the Lord leads you.


I know there are others who maybe don't go to church, either by choice or by circumstance. Maybe you don't know how to go back, or maybe you've never been, and that's ok too. Maybe your the person that has been hurt by the church, and you just can't buy the, "church is filled with imperfect people" spiel that people want to sell you, I get that too. I've been there, at that place where you feel suffocated as you walk in the door because of the hurt and pain caused. My prayer for you as that you don't let that pull you away from Jesus, that your relationship with a church never reflect the relationship you have with your Savior.


Do I have all the answers? No. I think I've rambled on long enough for tonight. If you've read this far there's one thing I'd love for you to leave with and it's this: Jesus loves you. The Church is living and active and if you proclaim Jesus as your Lord and Savior you are a part of it, whether you like it or not. Don't let your attendance record or membership status become a badge of honor or weapon of condemnation. It is what it is, it's not who you are.


Much love,

Cristina

**This is part of the 31 day series: Confessions of a Faithonista**





Saturday, October 1, 2016

Confession #23: My Story...My Why.



This post was originally a Facebook status from January 14, 2015. The Lord had me share  bit of my story in that post and this is what I shared:


About two years ago I was at a really dark place in my life. From the outside everything looked good, Facebook fabulous at its finest. I was recently engaged with the man of my dreams, I had friends, I loved Texas, yet I was a mess. I couldn't understand why I couldn't succeed career wise, why I felt like a failure, why I was depressed, and anxious. I was paralyzed on my couch literally one day and cried a desperate prayer. I was going to church because it was "the right thing to do". I found a great job and started planning my wedding to be let go on the day of my birthday. My income was supposed to pay for our wedding. I had no answers, life didn't seem fair. So we came to the decision to stop trying to find a job. It should have been a huge relief but it wasn't. You see my identity was wrapped around achieving academic and career success. It was where I placed my worth. Without that I was lost, a nobody. Yet deep down I knew that that distant God I prayed to would come through and I would have some sort of celebration and small wedding. I was angry, I felt useless, and alone. And guess what? When I gave up and surrendered my will, my expectations, my vision...I found God. See I always knew He existed but I didn't know Him. I was going to my church every week to talk to the ladies I had "nothing" in common with (or so I thought) to talk and work through my issues. See I thought I was there to fix myself. But no, God placed me there so He could fix me. These women loved on me, prayed for me, cried with me, became my sisters. And along the way...well, my life changed. Was it instant? No. Was it life altering, irrevocable, overwhelming, and mind blowing yes. You see, that year when I thought was a waste and I was doing nothing...I got to know God. Not only know Him, fall head over heels, madly, and insanely in love with Him! Something that would've never happened if I had had my dream job. I'd would've been too busy to find Him. Did my life circumstances change overnight? No. Did all my hardships disappear? Not at all. In many ways they got harder. But since then I've changed. I KNOW THAT I KNOW who I am. I know where my worth, strength, and beauty come from. They come from God, the most High King. I am His daughter, His heir. I know joy like I've never known before. I've faced circumstances that would've destroyed me in the past and have come out of it with more joy, strength, and faith. I still don't understand it all, I still get impatient and wonder why bad things happen to good people. But I know that God works all things for good. I've seen my family be blessed by him, I have family in people I've known for so little time, I've seen miracles, healings, but above all ...I've seen God's faithfulness through it all. He will speak to you through the storm...you need just to call on Him. This is what I speaking of earlier of building an altar. This is one of my altars. When my faith is tested and I am weary, when I feel like I've deviated from my calling, or that I'm not hearing from God I will come back to this holy place. This moment in time when there was an exchange between Heaven and earth.
That's my story...what's yours? Have you built your altars of faith? You don't have to do this alone. That's why I'm here...we're in this together. Today can be the day everything changes.

Much love,
Cristina

**This is part of the 31 day series: Confessions of a Faithonista**

Confessions of a Faithonista

-- Attempt #2 of the write 31 challenge


So here I am again...October 1st with many high hopes to complete the challenge of writing for 31 days straight during the month of October. Last year I didn't fair so well on the consistency, I completed four maybe, five posts. I still consider this a win though. I had never committed to writing anything public before, and the nudge I received from my friend Larissa (go check her out at www.gr8tfulchick.com)was just what I needed at the time. And after a gentle nudge from her again this year, I decided I'm in...all in. 



To be honest I wasn't even sure what I would write about. The thought of keeping a theme for 31 days can be a little daunting. Okay, VERY daunting. So as she would ask me what I was thinking, I was at a loss. All I knew is that it would be faith related, and honestly I haven't been feeling spiritual or oozing with faith as of late. So of course the enemy of our souls took the opportunity to invade and flood my thoughts on how I had no business writing anything, much less anything related to faith. As I faced this dilemma and inner conversation, I decided to do one of things I do best, PROCRASTINATE. 

For years procrastination has been my go-to reaction in facing my problems, deadlines, and pretty much any situation. It's something I'm not at all proud of. It has caused lots of shame, pain, complications, and turmoil in my life. I can trace procrastination to some of the more painful moments in my life. That's pretty sad. As I sit here and type, I had no intention of even mentioning one of my biggest demons and character flaws but I guess it goes along perfectly with the series I want to develop over the next 31 days. 
A space where I share what's on my heart. A space where I can express the vulnerable, the ugly, the beauty, the messiness, and contradictions of a faithonista.

So what's a faithonista you may ask? Faithonista was a word that I believe the Lord gave me. It means to wear your faith and wear it well. Do I think I'm wearing my faith well right now? Honestly, no. But...and there's a huge but, I know that how I perceive I wear my faith is not the way God sees it. I know He sees me. I know He sees my faith. I might think I don't wear it well, but really it's not about what I think. God never said we had to be perfect to wear our faith. He says to come as we are. God never expected us to always have a smile on our faith but He promises us everlasting joy. He never desired for us to live up to worldly or societal expectations but to rather die to self and follow Him. So right now I'm a faithonista whether I believe it or not. Guess what? So are you!

...and so do you!

Sometimes I fall in the trap of not feeling good enough, worthy enough, beautiful enough, successful enough, or **fill in the blank** enough. One thing I do believe I always am is real enough. So this challenge comes at a perfect time, a time where I can confess whatever is on my heart. Just warning you, it might not all be upbeat and rainbows (blame it on the season I'm in) but it will always be filled with hope. Real, raw, messy, beautiful confessions straight from my heart intertwined with my views on faith and God is what I will write about. Why? I'll write about that because I think we all need a little bit of real and raw as we walk out our faith. Honestly, it's exactly what I need at the moment and a faithonista has to forget about what people expect of her so she can do what her heart yearns for.

Much Love,

Cristina

*P.S. - Know that I am praying for each and every one of you as I take this journey. If there's anyway I can pray for you specifically feel free to comment below or email me at WNOPtribe@gmail.com

*********************************************

The complete collection of confessions will be posted below as they go live, thanks for joining me on this journey!

Confession #1: I don't always go to church...and I don't feel guilty about it

Confession #2: I've battled anxiety...and I took all the meds

Confession #3: Tonight I don't feel like writing, like for reals!

Confession #4: Memes are my love language

Confession #5: To all my friends that no longer are...I love you


Confession #7: No, I'm not ok.

Confession #8: I never know what I'm going to write about...until I do.

Confession #9: Last night I was too tired to write...so I didn't.

Confession #10: I have a tattoo...ok, maybe have 2

Confession #11: I travel 4 hours to get my hair done...

Confession #12: What I learned sitting in my dark closet tonight

Confession #13: It's all about the fight...song

Confession #14: You can keep your casserole...'cause I don't want it!

Confession #15: I wrote this post from my cell phone...

Confession #16: Food is the #1 thing that separates me from God.

Confession #17: How stuffing myself with food deafened my ears towards God

Confession #18: I suck at sending out thank you cards

Confession #19: I've always wondered, what would happen if...

Confession #20: Ministry was nothing like I thought it would be

Confession #21: I know my purpose...and I want you to know yours!

Confession #22: I should be writing Confession #30 today...but I'm a little behind

Confession #23: My Story...My Why

Confession #24: What God told me about friendships

Confession #25: Let God be the Curator, not just the Creator of your life

Thursday, August 18, 2016

Today I met a man named Bill

Today I met a man named Bill.
He caught my eye.
Something about him made me turn around.
Something about him made me approach him.
He was sweet to indulge me in my request. 
He walked with me.
He shared a bit of his story with me.
He smiled.
We laughed.
My heart grew.
I knew our time together would be brief...
And as soon as it started I knew it was coming to an end.
Then an amazing thing happened.
He let me buy him lunch.
Yes, he let me.
It was my honor. It was my privilege.
To give back just a little bit to one who gave so much for us.
You see Bill is a veteran.
Bill had so many different pins that represented honors on his cap that I didn't have time to count them.
Bill is like so many other "Bills" that I know.
Bill is kind. Bill is funny. Bill is great company.
Bill wears glasses. Bill could be someone's Bill.
But he's not.
Bill is homeless.
Bill pushes around a wheelchair that carries all of his worldly possessions.
He's not bitter. He's sweet.
He considers himself a "professional traveler".
He lit up today not because of the lunch he got to choose.
Not because of the small amount of money that I was able to give him.
Today he lit up because he was no longer invisible.
He was someone's Bill.
He was my Bill.
Bill is a veteran and homeless.
Those two words should never be together in one sentence.
Ever.
Don't be blind to the Bills living around you.
Don't be blind to the invisible people.

Monday, May 2, 2016

My Romans 8:1 Moment

This post was originally published on April 13, 2015. I share on this blog because this is one of the largest altars of faith of my life. This season forever altered the course of my walk, and because of that I share this with you:

Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death. ~Romans 8:1-2


The above statement is truth, it’s the infallible, perfect, all encompassing Word of God. Maybe you’ve heard this verse many times before, or maybe you are reading this for the very first time. In my case, I had heard it many times over the past couple of years as I started and grew in my relationship with the Lord, yet I never knew how true and real those words would become during a season which should have been the darkest of my life.

How exactly do you begin to describe what would become the perfect storm? You know the kind of storm that has the ability to shake you to the core and obliterate everything in its path. That’s what is going through my mind as I sit and type this. So my prayer is that God leads me and writes this for me, because my mind just begins to spin as I think about all the things I want to communicate to anyone who is willing to read. And once again God reminds me that this has nothing to do with me, it’s all about Him. So here it goes…

On the evening of September 26, 2014 I laid in a hospital bed, hungry, with an epidural, and Pitocin running through me. I was happy, bored (as the contractions were not progressing), hungry (yes, I was starving…don’t mess with a very pregnant woman and her food. I had not been allowed to eat since 9 am), but overall I was excited that soon our precious baby girl would be with us. All of that changed rather suddenly when the doctor came in and asked my sister to leave. I knew it was serious because throughout the day they had done everything and discussed everything in front of anyone that was in the room. Immediately I thought something was wrong with the baby. I knew the look, her face said it all. But nothing could’ve prepared me for the conversation that was about to take place. You see, none of the mommy to be websites, pregnancy books, or moms who had gone before me warned me about this. I was blindsided and sucker punched by the news this doctor (my OB-GYN wasn’t on call that day) was about to give me.

It all started simple enough; she asked me pretty basic questions about my pregnancy and lifestyle. These were the typical questions your doctor asks you at your first appointment but not 12 hours into labor. Then things got weird…Her gaze hardened and it seemed like her eyes and judgment pierced right through me as she asked me about using illegal drugs. The shock literally shook me to the core. I could barely verbalize the redundant “NO” as each question got more and more probing. I looked at my husband, just to find him just as confused as I was. All the while, in my mind I’m thinking, “just get on with it sister, get to the point!” When I thought this couldn't get any worse, it did. Then as my husband sat next to me, confused and bewildered, and held my hand, she began to ask me about my sex life. And when I say sex life, she was not referring to my sex life with my husband. She, in front of my husband and with monitors hooked up to me, asked very specific questions including whether I was engaging in “risky” sexual behavior with people other than my husband. And all of a sudden I knew where this was going,


The doctor, with a condescending tone in her voice and a look in her eyes that made me feel so tiny, said to me that my test had come back HIV+. My world crumbled, my body shook, my head was spinning. I looked at my husband, who was squeezing my hand and saw a look in his face that I had never seen before. If I were to try to describe it, the closest description I can come up with in words was that of a perfect and equal mix of confusion and disbelief. That I could totally understand, what I wasn’t prepared for was what I noticed next. I saw in his face and his eyes full and complete love and support. I saw Jesus in him. When I say that, I mean I saw perfect and absolute love, a love that could only come from God. No human being is capable of showing that love unless Christ is in them. When people talk about shining the light of God, loving like Jesus did, being the hands and feet of Jesus, this is what they mean. It wasn’t pity or compassion or the very true love that a husband can feel for a wife that I witnessed at that moment. That moment, that second, where my world should have been crumbling apart, my husband was there in person living and breathing Romans 8:1. I knew that I knew, at that moment that there was no condemnation for me because I was in Christ.

And then reality hit. Snapped out of that sense of security, I was ambushed by information, medication I had to take, the possibility that I passed this on to my daughter. All of this swirling in my head and I had no decisions to make because the doctors had made all of them for me. Questions, bewilderment, shock, sadness, anger, all hit at once. And then began my self condemnation. What did I do to put my husband and daughter at risk? I read all the books, pinned all the pins on Pinterest, went to all my appointments, it did not make sense. The doctor then told me it must have happened in the past three weeks because I had been in the hospital to screen my blood pressure and unbeknownst to me they had done an HIV test, along with the one they did at the beginning of my pregnancy. None of this made sense. No, I hadn’t done intravenous drugs and no, I hadn’t had risky sex outside of my marriage (at 9 months pregnant there was no action going on period). Did any of this stop me from going on an internal witch hunt of every sin I’ve ever committed? Nope.

No assurance from the doctor that it must have happened in the last 21 days (and later on that there was a slim chance that it was a false positive) stopped me from thinking of every single sexual encounter I had before meeting my husband. Every kiss, every stupid mistake, every drunken night, every party, it all came flooding back to me at once. I had repented, been born again, been made new from the inside out by the grace of God, but I got sucked into the sin of condemnation. God didn’t see me like that, whether I was HIV+ or not. He had forgiven me but that moment I realized, I hadn’t forgiven myself. Oh how sad and dark those few seconds were. And I say seconds, not because I had this miraculous breakthrough on the hospital bed, hours into labor, tired, exhausted and confused. I say seconds because like they say, “Ain’t nobody got time for that!” There were decisions to be made, medications to start, and a secret to cover up.

            Don’t get me wrong, God was present there every step of the way, I literally and physically felt him in the room with me throughout the whole ordeal. He worked miracles and showed up in so many ways that I could write pages and pages about, but at that moment nothing was washing the condemnation I felt away. I felt ashamed, isolated, dirty, unwanted, and alone. I made the choice to put on a mask to the outside world, family, friends, church, everyone. I always thought I had no stigma in my heart about people living with HIV and AIDS. I knew the facts, I knew people with HIV, heck I even had a friend whom I lived with when I first moved to San Antonio that was HIV+. I thought I was good, what a heart check I got when I heard the test results.

            I lived two weeks walking in the shoes of a new mother diagnosed with HIV+. Yes, to the dismay of the doctors that wanted to study an early detection case with a child, all confirmatory test came back negative. I could write about the hell of living through messed up test orders, being promised an answer in 3 days, then 5 days, then that they sent my blood to California, and no answers. I could write about the doctor who threatened to call CPS if I didn’t go to the free AIDS clinic with my newborn baby, or the stress of having people around constantly and hoping the doctors or nurses wouldn’t say something that would tip anyone off, or the fear that people would treat my baby different because of my status. And the most laughable now but one of the most painful things at the moment, I could write about the judgmental but well intentioned women who couldn’t understand why I wasn’t breastfeeding. But I’ll leave all of that for another time.


Today the one take away that I believe God wants to share through this story is that there is, there is now no condemnation  for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death, Romans 8:1-2. There is no one, no sin, no diagnosis, no conviction, no label, NOTHING that can separate you from the perfect love of God.  If you know Him and have accept Him as your Lord and Savior there is NO CONDEMNATION. He died for it all, for our sins, for your sin, He sees you new and white as snow. No matter how the world sees you, or in my case how I thought the world might see me you are loved, accepted, and royalty in His eyes and out of the outpouring of His love is that we can love others like my husband did that night, with no condemnation.
            

I looked up the statistics and the chances of having a false positive diagnosis were 1 in 250,000. Going through this I knew there was a purpose and reason for all of it. I prayed and prayed for God to show me once I came out on the other side of the diagnosis, no matter what that looked like. I can say I am blessed and know that I was chosen by God to go through all of this. How many people can say that God broke their hearts for what breaks His in such a real and raw way? My heart breaks for the woman sitting across from her doctor being diagnosed today, for the woman whose test isn’t a false positive, whose baby and kids are also living with this disease. It’s not like any other diagnosis because it comes attached with a stigma of sin and that somehow they did something to bring it among themselves. It’s not the type of thing you immediately go to your prayer warriors, family, or friends with. So, I share this with you not for me, but for Him. I don’t know exactly what God wants to do with my story but I do know He wants me to share it with you, today.

********

If you would like to read how God is moving me to serve women living with HIV please click here.

Much love,

Cristina