I grew up in a very religious home; all of my family in the PNW belonged to the Hispanic Seventh-Day Adventist Church. We would keep the Sabbath, follow the diet, knock on doors to teach the world about God, study the Bible and all of the books the SDA Church provided, as if I was studying for the biggest test of my life. I remember in Bible class and youth service, they would quiz us on the chapters we were supposed to read that week and made sure we had those Bible verses memorized. At service, they would ask us how many diamonds would be in our crowns? Have you brought enough people to Jesus to earn that crown and get through those pearly gates when Jesus comes? Had I?
When I was really young, I would stay up wondering if I was good enough that day. Did I do enough for God today? Is He proud of me? I would pray and sing and beg for Him to hear me; I wanted to make sure God loved me. We would have service specials, and I would sign up with friends or family. We would practice and practice; I was about to give a concert to the church, but not just to the church, but to God and His angels, and because of this, He would be kind to me. Because of this, all the sadness I was going through would disappear. But the sadness didn’t leave.
I got to the age where I could be baptized, and my “dad” would not let me. He said I was too young. As soon as he left our family, I got baptized. I came to the realization that my sins needed to be forgiven. My dad must have left because I was a sinful child; I needed to wash my sins away. If I was good enough and was baptized, God would bring back my “dad” and we would be a happy family. I prayed and prayed and sang and sang; I did what I was supposed to do. My mom would cry; she missed him, my brother would cry and ask for him, but he was gone. I needed my mom to stop crying; I needed to end my tears. Me getting baptized did not bring him back, and the tears still flowed.
I learned the violin in school; I pushed myself to learn as much as I could. I wanted to play the violin for God, in His church. I wanted to praise God with His music. At church, the elders would call me “the violinist.” They would praise me and tell me to use my talents for God; He had given me these gifts, and I had no choice but to use them for Him. That’s what I did; anytime they would ask me to play a special with my violin, I would smile with nerves and say, “Yes.” I felt special; God was telling these leaders of my church to tell me to play. God knew I was doing everything I could to show Him I loved Him; surely God would fix my family and bring my “dad” back. He didn’t come back.
I was obviously not doing enough, and I could not do more. I began to rebel against the church. I stopped studying the books they gave us; I stopped knocking on doors; I stopped doing specials for the church and God. What was the point? He was not listening to me. But during my toughest days, I would always come back, crying, begging God to show me a sign that He was there. But He has never responded in a way I could say, “Yes, that’s Him, that’s God giving me a sign to come back to Him.” He never brought my dad back, no matter how hard I tried. He didn’t even help us mend our relationship, no matter how hard I tried; He never moved my “dad” enough to make him have a relationship with me.
My church family had always told me if I prayed hard enough, my prayers would be answered. If I was involved enough in the church, if I taught the world about God, if I sang for Him, performed for Him, He would answer my prayers. If my prayers were not answered, it was because I did not have enough faith. “Si tuvieras fe como un granito de mostaza,” i.e., “Faith the size of a mustard seed.” That was a lot of pressure for a child, a teen, me.
This is when I began to question religion and my church.