My Testimony

I grew up on the mission field. My parents left their cushy careers and bright futures in our capital city of Manila and traveled to the northern mountains of the Philippines to pursue God’s call for their lives. The call was to the Cordilleras, specifically to the Igorot people.

My dad and my mom carrying me.

I was their “miracle baby”, because my mom had an ectopic pregnancy. It was a severe case that was undiagnosed and untreated for weeks before she arrived in Manila where it was finally properly addressed. She should have died. Her internal organs were barely recognizable by the time she reached the operating table. The doctor told her she shouldn’t expect to have children anymore, because her other fallopian tube had also been affected.

A year after that, I was born.

Spiritual Birthdays

When you are raised a Christian, you often hear people testify about their spiritual birthday or the day they accepted Christ as their personal Lord and Savior. Both my parents knew their spiritual birthdays.

Me? I have no clue.

I accepted Christ as my Lord and Savior in multiple altar calls and personal prayers. In hindsight, I really just believed it all by default. I knew the Bible stories. I knew Nebuchadnezzar before I ever had a clue who Cinderella was. I memorized the verses. I was a good Christian girl. Mostly.

I didn’t meet Jesus in a single moment. It’s more like I grew into a relationship with Him, reaching out to Him inch by inch, season by season — like roots reaching toward water I somehow always knew was there.

First batch of our church school, God’s Lamb Academy, in 1994. My mom is rightmost, my dad is center. I’m the girl left of the Rejoice banner. 7 years old.

I was a brat.

Growing up an only child, I struggled a lot with getting along with other kids. I was bossy and stubborn and was always a bit of an anti-conformist. Always been the kid who danced to the beat of my own drum, so to speak. Other kids tolerated me because I was the pastor’s kid or they didn’t have a choice, because there was no one else to play with. My childhood best friend and I joke that we became best friends only because we had no choice. (We’re still best friends to this day, by the way. Hi, Nhof.)

I actually had a very lonely childhood. I was with adults more than I was with kids just because of how transient our lifestyle was back then.

At the church we were starting in Hong Kong. Only kid in the picture. Me with the balloons. 9 years old.

This was a point in time when my parents were focused on ministry. My dad was almost always overseas. My mom had just started a school and was busy with that. It was up to me to find ways to entertain myself, and most of the time, I did that by going to the library and reading every single interesting story I could. Chicken Soup for the Soul. Stories for the Heart. A Divine Revelation of Hell. Peace Child. – Just some of the titles I read before I turned 12 years old.

I believed in Jesus with all my heart, but He always seemed distant to me.

I knew about God. I didn’t know Him.

Don’t get me wrong. I was a Christian. I believed it all, defended it, spoke about it, but did I have a real relationship with God? Did I have a story of how I met Him, why I believed in Him, how He has come through for me personally in so many ways? I probably did, honestly. In hindsight, I can say God was working in my life even then. But my eyes weren’t open to it. He was at work, but I barely had a clue who He was.

It wasn’t until I was sixteen that I remember truly encountering God. I was already in my senior year of high school at that time. It was a Jesus Revolution night. This movement was sweeping through the nation at that time. The idea of this nameless, faceless generation. I remember just sitting at the carpeted floor of the Baguio Convention Center with tears in my eyes, knowing full well how much of a sinner I was. I recognized my pride, the rebellion within me, the sinful nature that clung to me. All I could say was “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”

I could see myself kneeling before the cross. An empty cross. A symbol of a sacrifice made so I could be free. His blood washing over me.

My strenuous relationship with the church.

If you’ve ever read any of my fiction books, you already probably know that I don’t have this shining, shimmering, splendid view of the church. I grew up a pastor’s kid, feeling like I’m always under a microscope, and let’s just say that I have a lot of a hurtful experiences with the Body of Christ. I know we are broken. I’ve seen it firsthand.

For a long time, all I could see was the hurt and the brokenness.

I struggled a lot with loving God’s people even as I was learning to love God. But you know what? As broken as God’s people are, it’s all really just a reminder of how beautiful God’s grace is.

My Tita Alice

I had a relationship with God throughout college, but it wasn’t until I was already working as a software developer in Manila at 20 years old that I really fell in love with Jesus. And a lot of it is thanks to my aunt, who discipled me and took the time to answer my questions and point me to God every chance she got.

It is because of her that I believe so much in the power of mentorship and pouring into the lives of others who are willing to receive. We lost her quite suddenly last year, and I miss her. (In memory of Alicia Alonzo, 1953-2024)

A Call to the Nations

I was 21 when Isaiah 19 jumped at me during an overnight prayer watch at our church in Manila. I knew then that God was calling me to the nations, that I would eventually “go”. It seemed so impossible back then, but it did happen at some point. In 2014, almost 7 years after that initial call, I went to Thailand and then to China. In 2017, I got to visit both Egypt and Israel for the first time — my first step into the Isaiah 19 highway. In 2018, I went to Israel and volunteered at a house of prayer for 27 months.

The call to the nations isn’t over yet. There’s much still to be done. I know that at some point, I will “go” again, but this season is for establishing the work of my hands. It’s also a season when God is allowing the church to help heal me.

A Church that Heals

I didn’t really expect that this is what this season will be all about. My mom always tells me that the church might hurt you, but God will also use the church to heal you — if you open your heart to it. I believe that to be true. This season of my life has been such a period of forgiveness, healing, and reconciliation, and I feel like that is necessary, because God is in the ministry of reconciliation.

Jesus came to reconcile us to Himself and to the Father. This is what we’re here for. To keep reconciling humanity to our Creator.

A Testimony of Legacy

Oftentimes, when we grow up in church and didn’t really stray away (too much), we feel like we don’t have a testimony but that’s not true. We have a testimony of legacy, of how faithful God is from generation to generation, of how He is Father to the prodigal son and the other brother.

Honestly, at this point in my life, I thank God almost every day that I am a Christian. I thank God for how faithful and intentional He is with us, how He sets the right people in our path at the right time. He is why I write, why I breathe, why I have joy and peace and love — regardless of whatever circumstance I am in.

I would follow Jesus anywhere.

I can’t imagine life without Him. I pray that if you’re reading this, if you haven’t experienced life with Him yet, that you open your heart to Him. Seek to have a relationship with Him. It’s everything. If you let Him, He will transform you in ways you never once thought possible — transformation in all the ways that matter.

If you’re reading this and you already know Jesus, then hello there, fellow kingdom citizen! May you abound in all good things, in that which is true, noble, of good report.

As for me, I walk on. With Him. For Him. Through Him.

I have decided to follow Jesus.
The world behind me, the cross before me.
No turning back, no turning back.