I Remember That Day…

I Remember That Day…

I remember that day… It was a gloomy day, because even though it was the early hours of the day, the sky was leaden, with clouds heavy with water, and gray. I remember it very well, because my moods were very closely tied to the state of the weather and that day I felt like I was fainting.

I smiled, remembering one of my beloved sisters, who, if she had seen me like that, would say: “It’s that Scorpios are like that, selfish, sensual, melancholy…”, and I would add: Gloomy. I walked to the kitchen to look for something cold. The hangover from the day before demanded that I put something cool in my throat. The tunes of my favorite bachata still echoed in my ears: “… love medicine, I want from you…” But that day I needed something more than medicine: I needed the complete cure!

My children were not at home. Since it was the first week of spring of 1996, school was closed, and an aunt invited them to stay for the weekend. I gave her a special prize, because even though she had a four-year-old girl, she dared to ask for the company of mine (a boy of 4 and a girl of 3). So the house was dramatically quiet, and I was doubly alone…

I saw a few cans of beer left in the refrigerator. Sleep overcame me the night before; I drank alone (ignoring my husband’s recommendations that I not do it), and I could not drink them all. I took a can in my hand (they say the best thing for a hangover is to drink a beer on an empty stomach), but then I told myself, better not. I drank a glass of water, put the coffee on and waited. I sat at the kitchen table with my head down. Successions of events passed through my mind: The argument with my husband the day before still irritated me; then the images of when we met; my last years in Santo Domingo, before emigrating to New York; My career —the successful girl everyone predicted would put New York in her pocket—; The one who had spared no preparation (modeling, voice-over work, English, etc.) to be the best. The outstanding editor of the magazine planned to position itself as the first Hispanic medium specialized in writing horoscopes, recipes for good luck and sordid esoteric reports, was there…, in a miserable apartment, without a job, with two children who needed attention and care, and a marriage on the verge of failure. Some American dream…!

I began to cry. Wasn’t it better to be dead? The forecasts were that I had no way out: In debt as I was (the credit bureau even reported public record), trying to get ahead with a husband obsessed with a business that was not prospering, living in a public housing complex, surrounded by drugs and human misery. Everybody said: Poor thing! And many offered to help me, of course, me alone –the husband is always an obstacle in these cases–. The “cards” did not foretell a happier future either; aside from their mistakes, they got it right that after a “cleansing,” or a “deliverance,” I was still “salted,” because I needed more than one “little job.”

It was better to be dead. I felt that my husband did not love me and blamed me for all the failings in the marriage. I had disappointed my family, since I was not managing to do what they thought was best for me. Many of the friends we used to see no longer even called us (we did not throw parties nor can — with what money?); and the résumés sent to different media outlets seemed to have been diverted to the Amazon jungle, Indians and all…

Yes, I had no way out. Everybody was giving me the cold shoulder. Everything combined to make me feel more rejected and more alone. Alone here or alone there, what difference does it make? I know I would be alone in the midst of a crowd of people, even if they squeezed me and pushed against me. Yes, to go away and never come back. That is what I wanted: to go where nobody knew me, to forget everyone, to start over or disappear completely.

Anybody can kill herself!, I suddenly thought. But how?, I asked myself. The question did not surprise me. It was something that had been formulated in my head since my adolescence. Many times I stayed away from high places because I heard a voice that said to me: “Jump!” I remember that intention when I cried for no apparent reason, while waiting for the moment to enter Sister Marina’s sewing class, on the balcony of the Polytechnic, in Santo Domingo. Also on the Mella Bridge, when we walked in a group toward the Colonial City, to buy the materials for the class, in the stores on El Conde Street. Likewise, a couple of years later, in the hallways of the UASD (the state university), in the midst of the bustle, from faculty to faculty, in the class changes. Yes, it was nothing new, so why think about it more… But what about my children? What would become of them? Who would take care of them? Where would they go? What would they do without me?

The coffee maker signaled that the coffee had come up, so I got up and served myself a cup. I walked to the living room, and without intending to I went toward one of the boxes where I piled up books I never finished reading. Even that had changed in me. My passion for reading was already history. That hobby that had given me the reputation of a “deep” woman was now an obstacle in the midst of so many obligations. But what to read? I don’t know. I set aside the book “American Citizenship” (that unfinished project: a video and a manual for those who wanted to become citizens. What a “great business deal”! for this country plagued with immigrants who beg for an opportunity… But we never got together to make the demo for TV); “English as a Second Language” —the cassettes were scattered—, I kept searching… Photos everywhere of “happy” moments but too fleeting. The little hospital bracelet in my girl’s album that I had not fixed (the memories were already being lost); that photo of my sister’s birthday, and me dancing the merengue “La Faldita” by Cocoband. I remember they took a video that still captivates my family, when —amid the revelry of the party— I danced for them and brought back to their memories our happy moments of childhood, where I, the youngest of five siblings, entertained them doing mimicry and swaying my hips…

But suddenly, out of there, amid the dust of books and loose papers, came the black folder of the book that changed my whole life. It imposed itself. The black of its vinyl cover shone more than usual, and I took it in my hands, absentmindedly. My old Bible, I smiled. I was surprised to find it there buried among so many things. I have never kept it open, gathering dust at Psalm 91, but mixed among rubble? It was not a place where I had consciously put it. I had brought it from the Dominican Republic. I had read it from Genesis to Revelation on repeated occasions, since my childhood. It was in its stories that I had delighted, also reciting the verses of its Psalms and Proverbs. But not today… I could not stand Jesus’ airs with that business of the perfect man, or the impossibility of the “you must be born again.” Nor that parable of the sower that saddened me so much, but that I always read wishing to be the good soil. And not to mention the Sermon on the Mount and its beatitudes. No, what for? What good would it do me at this moment to read a book that I saw had no efficacy in this life, only demands? Where has God been in the midst of so much pain? No, it’s not worth it… Not today.

I stretched out my hand to put it on the furniture, while I looked for something more interesting to read, when I realized that I was sitting on the sofa, book and all. I did not reflect much on this impulse, and I stayed there, sitting, not knowing where to begin. I opened the Bible… But what to read? It seemed to me a book of fables all divorced from my reality. That “Come to me, all you who are laboring and heavy laden, and I will give you rest…” even made me laugh. But it stayed there, stuck to my hand. I leafed through it. Perhaps reading Ecclesiastes —my favorite book— would distract me somewhat from this deathly idea that still hovered over my head, I thought.

Then I read: “Vanity of vanities, says the preacher; vanity of vanities, all is vanity.” Bingo! —I told myself—, at last I find one that says a great truth, and I laughed sarcastically. I kept reading, skipping from line to line, like someone reviewing a speech already learned… And it was then that these words resounded in my mind: “… And I set my heart to inquire and to search out by wisdom concerning all that is done under heaven; this painful task God has given to the sons of men, to occupy themselves with it.” A slap in my face would not have had the devastating effect that this verse produced in my being. Wow! –I exclaimed– Is this what I am alive for, my God? Is this why You created me, to consider with wisdom all the hardships that man goes through on the earth and to learn? What have I done until now, what have I done!!, I exclaimed.

My heart was racing, a host of thoughts crowded my mind, and what I was discovering was hard for me to understand. The words stood out before my eyes, as if they had a life of their own, the pressure in my chest made me sense that something great was about to happen. Thank God that in my family we do not suffer from heart attacks, I consoled myself. A current of heat began to run through my whole body, coming out of my ears and my eyes. I got up from the armchair and began to pace, I could not stand still or be quiet. Then I continued reading: “I looked at all the works that are done under the sun; and behold, all is vanity and affliction of spirit.” I don’t know when, but I could not stay on my feet and fell on my knees on the floor and burst into tears… I cried, with a loud weeping. I cried with groans, with shrieks. I cried from my innermost being, I cried with my whole being, I could not stop! I cried the way one cries for the dead. I cried like one who has no comfort. I cried… Yes, I cried…

The memories came back to my mind, critical moments of my childhood, my parents’ divorce, beatings, domestic violence, Santería, spiritism, betrayal, manipulation, abuse, deceit. The feelings of rejection, of loneliness weighed on my chest. The pain, the infamy, the betrayal, my unforgivable mistakes, my great frustrations, failed dreams, my married life, my indebtedness, knowing that I had no way out, everything came out, through my tears, in gushes.

I opened the Bible again, which I had dampened with my tears, and drank in its verses avidly again. I read fast, as if desperate: “Again I turned and saw all the oppressions that are done under the sun; and behold, the tears of the oppressed, with no one to comfort them; and power was in the hand of their oppressors, and for them there was no comforter.” I broke into tears again. Where did these words come from? Wasn’t this the Bible I knew from cover to cover? These words speak of me! They speak of me!, I moaned. But something strange was happening, an invisible presence was invading the whole house, and in the distance I heard my inconsolable sobs. Yes, I was not alone, now my forehead did not feel the hardness of the polished wooden floor as at the beginning, but was in the lap of someone who gave me peace. Someone was with me there, in my pain. I felt His hands caressing my hair. It was Jesus! It was Jesus!

I don’t know how I managed to articulate a word, but it sprang from my lips on its own, and I heard myself say: “Forgive me.” Forgive?, I asked myself doubtfully. Yes, I told myself, forgive me, Lord! Something I cannot explain paralyzed my body, as if my life depended on that word. My mind remained wide awake, but my body had been abandoned by its strength. Something terrible was uprooted, because in the midst of that pain that split my heart, I felt a great peace. Thrown on the floor as if beaten, but at peace; Crying like a desperate baby, but at peace; With the impression of having lost a battle, but at peace; with the certainty that I no longer belonged to myself, but at peace…

I don’t know how long I stayed lying there, but when I got up from the floor I felt an indescribable happiness. I looked around and the house that I had seen before as gray and dull, I now saw illuminated, with radiant colors. Even though tears kept coming from my already swollen eyes, I was no longer crying, my mouth was laughing, and murmuring a song. I wanted to sing one of those hymns I learned in catechism, but the notes came out out of tune and I could not even sing the brief refrain of an “amen.” I had forgotten them, they had been erased from my mind. I coughed to clear my throat, I needed to praise Him… I have to sing!, I told myself, but what? Which one? How did that one go, about the boat that was looking for another sea…? I started the tune but could not finish… And this was only the beginning of a path that I could not decipher.

From that moment on I was not the same. With those I could, I reconciled… And I told everyone: God is real! The Lord is alive, just as His Word says! I told my husband when I had the chance, my sisters, friends. I wanted everyone to know that something supernatural had happened to my life. Nobody told me read the Bible, or seek God, but there I was, unable to stop reading the Scriptures, and every day I had more reasons to ask Him for forgiveness and at the same time to exalt His greatness.

I, who before did not understand, who did not see, who found nothing appealing in God and did not think His intervention was essential in my life, now could not be without Him. Something arose from my being, a conviction that something was born in me, that day. I no longer acted or thought without my thoughts going to Him. I longed to be alone to speak with God, and I yearned to praise Him and I only wanted to seek Him, for I told myself: How much time I have lost outside His Presence! If only I had known Him sooner…

Nobody preached that to me at my door, nor did He come to me because I was fed up with bachata and revelry. Not even because I never liked the saints or because “you have to believe in something.” NOOO! This is not an isolated or casual event, but Christ is real in my life because He so willed it. God is no longer a Sunday habit from time to time, or the “beloved ‘I AM’ presence” that they taught me to call upon through empty affirmations. No, it is the presence of a Living God who fills my whole being, who wanted to manifest Himself to me, by His great mercy, giving me a new nature that I now live every day in Him.

Some said: “What madness has gotten into her? Such an intelligent girl…” Others: “She is so frustrated that she has taken refuge in religion” or “She’s not even the shadow of what she was before, her joy has died.” But I say as the blind man said: “… one thing I know, that though I was blind, now I see” (John 9:25). And I know that this is a new and living way, in which I cannot and do not want to turn back.

That book that at one time I thought was pretty “inspirational” verses, I now find my life portrayed there, and it is the map by which Jesus, my Lord, leads me. My sign is no longer Scorpio, but the blood of Jesus Christ that cleansed me from my sins, and the characteristics of my personality have been suppressed under the enormous weight of a perennial joy. Because now, my joy does not depend on my mood, or on stirring up the admiration of others, but on the peace and security in my eternal salvation. God is no longer for me merely the occasional reading of an epic passage, of a Daniel in the lions’ den, of an Esther in the palace of King Ahasuerus, of David facing Goliath, or the pharaoh’s horses drowned in the Jordan. God lives in me! I have been born again and now I do not have information or a reference about what God is, but I have a relationship with Him in which every day, with the Power of His Spirit, He sculpts His character in my heart by revealing His Son to me. Since then, I cry out with joy what only God can do, saying like the psalmist:

“I waited patiently for Jehovah, And He inclined to me, and heard my cry. And He brought me up out of the pit of despair, out of the miry clay; He set my feet upon a rock, and established my steps. He then put a new song in my mouth, praise to our God.… Sacrifice and offering You do not delight in; You have opened my ears; Burnt offering and sin offering You have not required. Then I said: Behold, I come; In the scroll of the book it is written of me; To do Your will, O my God, has pleased me, And Your law is within my heart” -Psalm 40

Yesterday I thought I had no way out, but I have seen in His Word that “… the base things of the world and the despised God has chosen, and the things that are not, to bring to nothing the things that are…” (1 Corinthians 1:28). In the world I had affliction, but today, only He gave me faith to trust in the One who has overcome the world: Jesus Christ. My life now has meaning, for I know who I am in God. My faith does not rest on positive thinking in the face of problems nor on denying my reality, but on the certainty that even in the face of adversity and with my difficulties, I am grounded in Christ who strengthens me. Therefore, I no longer look at the things that are seen, but at those that are not seen, for as the inspired writer said: “… the things that are seen are temporal, but those that are not seen are eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:16-18). Therefore, I do not claim to have already attained it; but one thing I do, as the apostle Paul said: “… forgetting indeed what lies behind, and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal, for the prize of the supreme calling of God in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 3:13-14).

Beloved, if you have paused to read this testimony of my life it is because the Lord has the purpose of healing your wounds also and giving you a new life in Him. This is the Gospel of grace, in that we who had nothing have received everything, because Jesus died for us to give us abundant life. Do not make His sacrifice vain in your life. Come just as you are, run to His open arms, rest in Him, for if there was an opportunity for me, there is a way out for you too. Just prepare your heart, and He will do it.

Marítza Mateo is a journalist with a bachelor’s degree in Social Communication Sciences from the Autonomous University of Santo Domingo (UASD), Dominican Republic, from where she emigrated to the United States in the spring of 1990. Upon arriving in New York City, she married and continued her career in the media, as a television reporter for a cable program in her community. Likewise, she worked as a producer and editor on other editorial and television projects. At the time of her conversion to the Lord, she went on to work as a bilingual teacher in the New York City public education system, for almost five years, from which the Lord called her, to make her part of His purpose among the nations of leaving an editorial legacy to future generations of what God has revealed to us. She is currently a happy mother of three children.