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God is so wonderful that the remembrance of the moments when He has touched me forces a bubbling of laughter from my heart. The first time that God touched me; I was a child of maybe eight years of age. First of all my biological father abandoned me when I was a baby and then the stepfather bound by alcohol was very cruel at times. During a drunken episode, he would tell me that he did not love me. I could not comprehend how a daddy couldn't love his child. The fact that he was not the biological father was kept secret until I was a teenager.

As I recall that memory, I see that petite child lying on her bed sobbing uncontrollably into her pillow; while she is praying out loud in a conversation with her maker. "Please God, take your eraser and wipe my life away," she said, "I am so unhappy. Please, it would be so easy for you. See how small and skinny I am, too insignificant for anyone to miss me" that was her prayer. While the sobs filled the loneliness, a small hand touched my head and instantly my tears dried up and I felt a seeping breath of love with wisdom fill me. It's like the eyes of compassion were opened and I understood why my stepfather mistreated me. The hatred and bitterness that had been growing inside of me dissipated and I felt a swelling of inner emotional strength sustaining me followed by a great peace and I fell asleep.

The next morning, I was a new person. I could smile and sing. Subsequently, I prayed that my mom and her husband could love each other. My parents had enrolled me in a Catholic School in hopes that the racial tension in that neighborhood would not affect me, and there I was taught to pray to Mary, also. So I did just-in-case because I did not want to offend her but after seeing a woman praying to a big statue with tears in her eyes and rolling her finger around its big toe; I realized that the poor woman's prayer could not be heard by the statue and I felt sorry for her. I'd read the bible and pray but the fights and the abuse continued. By my eighteenth birthday I gave up and in my despair, I said, "God why don't my parents love each other? You permit all this suffering, then maybe you do not exit"; yet, in my stupidity God loved me.

God as a loving father continued to protect me; I would feel the call of God inside my heart. In one occasion I was at the beach and in a pensive mood; so I walked alone along the beach and I distinctly, audibly heard my name called. It was so real that I looked toward the horizon and said, "God is it you"? Several years later, in a small church I responded to the altar call and while waiting in the prayer line, I felt the hand of God touch me on my head again. I opened my eyes and looked to see if someone was behind me but no one was physically there; yet the hand of God remained there until the pastor put his hand. Another transformation happened similar to the one when I was a child. The laughter of joy and peace returns as I thank God for touching me, again.

Learn more about this author, Granela Eloisa.
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