Bruised but Not Broken: The Story of a Rejected Girl and God’s Incredible Grace

BRUISED BUT NOT BROKEN

The Story of a Rejected Girl and God’s Incredible Grace

Maria Opet

Compiled by Gloria Lyon

Contents

Introduction

Ch. 1: My Childhood in Colombia

Ch. 2: Encounter with Americans

Ch. 3: Coming to the United States

Ch. 4: My Teenage Years

Ch. 5: Out On My Own

Ch. 6: Firsts in My Life

Ch. 7: Marriage and Travel to Colombia

Ch. 8: Kidney Transplant Journey

Ch. 9: Relocations

Ch. 10: The Journey to Emotional Healing

Ch. 11: God Restores Relationships

Ch. 12: Fourth Trip to Colombia

Epilogue

A Letter to My Readers

Photo Section

Meet the Author

I want to thank my husband Paul, for all the support he has given me. Also, my friend Gloria Lyon and my dearest friend Susan McLarty for always praying with me and encouraging me.

Introduction

It is God’s will for you to be made whole.

Throughout my life, I’ve experienced countless bruises and pain. Not just physical but also emotional hurt. My hope is for people to realize that no matter what negative encounters they’ve faced and lived through – whether rejection, abandonment, self-hatred, or loneliness – it wasn’t God’s original intention for them to go through such pain. Along with that, I want you to know that Jesus is the one who can heal, restore, and set you free from the effects of your past. He can give you a new beginning that encompasses mental and emotional healing. Not only can he, but he actually desires to restore you to wholeness. Why? Because He loves you so much. How does He do it? Through His abundant grace. For God did not send His son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved (John 3:17 NKJV).

This may sound like a cliché to some. But to those who have lived through such hurt, it is a truth that offers supernatural hope. I pray my story will encourage you on your journey from wherever you are now to the great place God has for you.

Maria Opet

Chapter One

My Childhood in Colombia

The Village

It was the spring of 1965 in Monopamba, Colombia, South America. I lived in a hut in a tiny village of about one hundred people. Huts like mine dotted the outskirts of town and led to a jungle where most of the people lived. The word primitive best describes it. We had dirt floors and no running water. To survive, people lived on vegetables, coffee, bananas, corn, potatoes, yucca, beans, and chickens.

At that time, my name was Delia. I lived with my grandparents, because my mother, I’d been told, didn’t want me. Although she lived nearby, she ignored me. The way she rejected me left me feeling very lonely as a child. She never visited, and a part of me longed for her embrace. Instead, she didn’t even make eye contact with me. My father, who lived in the same village, also shunned me.

On one particular weekend market trip to the village with my grandmother, she saw my father and pointed to him. There is your father, she said. Why don’t you go talk to him?

As a five-year-old, I didn’t hesitate. After all, I wanted to know my father. I walked over to him, tugged on his pant leg, and looked up at him filled with expectation. I said, Hi. Are you my papa?

He looked down at me with angry eyes. Get away from me. You’re not mine.

His words stung. I can’t even describe how badly. It would have hurt less if he hit me. In fact, I believe he could have beaten me nearly to death, and it wouldn’t have hurt as much. I stood in front of him feeling unwanted. Why would he say such a thing to me? The entire village stared at me. At least, that’s what it felt like. I kept my eyes trained on the ground as I turned and hurried back to my grandmother. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t. Not in front of everyone like that. So I pushed my emotions into the deep recesses of my heart.

Grandmother asked, What did he say?

He said he is not my papa and to get away from him.

She looked at him angrily and with a stiff lip said, Let’s go.

That was the first time I met my real father. From that day on, I always wondered why my parents never wanted me. Why did other children have a father and mother? Why did I only have my grandparents? I didn’t know how to verbalize my feelings, because I was too young. Thankfully, I still felt loved and cared for by my grandparents.

My First Home

My grandparent’s tiny hut was nestled on the side of a mountain in the jungle. The two of them worked hard to clear enough land to build it. They constructed the roof from palm leaves. The walls were planks of wood about two inches thick, cut from the trees. They hammered the planks tightly together, but light still leaked through little cracks and holes into the interior. Those same little holes served as doorways for any kind of bug or other small creatures.

My grandmother cooked over a fire pit inside the hut, which doubled as a heater in cooler weather. Smooth river rocks formed a circle on the dirt floor around the pit. Grandma used a Y shaped stick to hang pots atop the fire for cooking soups or stews, and to heat coffee and milk. The smoke often climbed the windowless walls inside and lingered in a haze that chased us outside for gasps of fresh air. I guess you could say our cook fire was our only amenity. We had no refrigerator, no running water, and no electricity.

My extended family shared almost everything with one another. If one of them had a pig, they salted it, smoked it in the fire for days, and shared it with all of us. Our food had to last from harvest to harvest and salt preserved it. We had five chickens that roosted in tiny holes on the side of the mountain. One of my jobs was to feed them.

The weather was pleasant in the jungle. Temperatures often hovered in the mid-70s, with no humidity and a balmy breeze that swept through the trees. Outside of normal chores, the only time I remember leaving the hut to actually go somewhere was when we traveled to the market or church on Sundays. The church was unlike any place I’d ever seen. It was a real building with cool marble floors and big statues. One of my uncles played the guitar in church. I liked it. Even though I didn’t understand what the priest was saying.

The Waterfall

About a quarter of a mile from my hut, a waterfall gushed with fresh mountain water. Every morning, one of my jobs was to fill the wooden bucket my grandfather handcrafted and carry home water for cooking. When I walked through the jungle, I had no fear of animals. Instead, nature mesmerized me. I escaped into the trails from the hut to the waterfall. I witnessed the most beautiful butterflies and hummingbirds donned in magnificent rich colors of royal blue, orange, red, and yellow. Orchids of every variety clung to high branches and along the sides of the trees. When I searched the ground, beetles shimmered in green, purple, red, and yellow. I’d get lost in time just watching them. As a child, I learned so much from nature. Today, I am in awe of and content with the beauty of God’s creation (Romans 1:20).

When I made the trip to collect the cook water in the morning, it gave me time to play, explore, splash, take showers, hunt for crabs, and catch small fish at the waterfall. The jungle made life interesting and kept me from boredom. Bamboo grew everywhere, and I liked making things out of it. One time, I stuck a piece into the dirt near the waterfall, and water shot out through the bamboo. I was thrilled and proud of my new invention. It worked like a faucet as the water flowed through the bamboo to fill the drinking bucket. I guess you could say, I was the water girl. Even at a young age it was my job to fetch water for my family.

I’d stand quietly in the jungle listening to the monkeys in the trees. They jumped easily from branch to branch and swung across the canopy of trees. I also enjoyed listening to the way they communicated as families. Usually, five to ten monkeys comprised a group. Sometimes, my grandfather killed one of them, and it became my meal for the day.

Along with the sounds of monkeys, I enjoyed watching the loud flocks of colorful parrots feasting on berries and fruits. With so many varieties, they were a very common scene in the jungle. Some flocks numbered twenty or more. They created dazzling shades of oranges, blues, greens, and browns under the forest canopy.

Along with the jungle’s fauna, the fragrance of flowers mingled with other jungle scents to create the most wonderful smells. And with such variety, the colorful flowers created a pallet that delighted my heart. Some of my favorite plants included elephant leaf plants, ginger, and bird of paradise. And the beauty of orchids and wildflowers enthralled me.

Vision of Jesus in the Garden

Suddenly, Jesus stood beside me in a beautiful garden full of flowers. The aroma of the delightful flowers almost overwhelmed me, because my sense of smell was keener than ever. The flowers had shapes and colors I’d never seen before. Birdsongs drifted through the air like a delightful, peaceful melody. I was in a place of peace, joy, and such delight. Then Jesus asked if I’d like to see more flowers.

I said, Yes.

With a sweep of His arm, more flowers materialized around us. Such a variety. Every flower I could think of as well as many I’d never seen before. They were too numerous to count. And such brilliant colors. Red, orange, yellow, pink and purple, hot fuchsia, pinks, blues, purples, violet, and even white. I jumped for joy and clapped my hands filled with a happiness I’d never experienced in my life. I shouted to Jesus, More, more! Please show me more.

Jesus delighted in me and laughed out loud with me. He took my hand and showed me more flowers. In my heart I was so happy to be in the presence of Jesus feeling His love and light. The magnitude of it all just exploded.

To this day, that vision is a gift from the Lord that I still treasure. I enjoy flowers and plants of every variety. When He formed me in my mother’s womb, He gave me a gift of horticulture. It is only natural that the Lord chose to show me something that gives me such pleasure.

Therefore, the Lord [earnestly] waits, [expecting, looking, and longing] to be gracious to you. And therefore He lifts Himself up, that He may have mercy on you and show loving kindness to you. For the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed, (happy, fortunate, to be envied) are all those who [earnestly] wait for Him, who expect, look and long for Him, [for His victory, His favor, His love, His peace, His joy, and His matchless, unbroken companionship]! (Isaiah 30:18 AMP).

Hunting and Gathering

My grandfather taught me how to hunt crabs and fish by building a dam in shallow water. Doing so, made the crabs and fish visible. I scooped the small fish with my bare hands. It wasn’t easy. I had to move very fast, but I could do it. But sometimes the small crabs pinched me. Ouch!

I used a rock to crush them, and then I handled them. After that, I rolled the fresh catch in ginger leaves before I brought them home to my grandparents. I was so proud of my catch, even if they were only the size of goldfish. My grandfather pierced them with a long stick and cooked them over the fire. We knew they were done when their guts burst. Then I ate them with delight.

My grandparents also taught me how to harvest beans by climbing down the side of the mountain near our hut. My grandfather cleared the path for us with a machete. I learned how to harvest an amazing variety of potatoes, corn, and beans into a basket without falling down the mountain. Plus, at harvest each summer, we picked beans from vines we planted in the jungle. Each year, we cleared an area and planted the beans. At harvest time, all the children picked the beans of various colors. Our baskets overflowed with black, white, grey, pink, and even beans that were both black and white. We picked the beans as a family, returned home, and shelled them in preparation for dinner. It was fun to eat what we gathered.

Clothing and Church

My grandmother made clothes for our family. I had one church dress and two everyday dresses. We didn’t wear undergarments, because we went to the bathroom outdoors. In the jungle, I had to look carefully for a safe place to squat to avoid snakes, ants, and other dangerous things. I used ginger or other leaves to wipe. In fact, I never heard of toilet paper while living in the jungle.

Worms and Lice

I weighed about thirty pounds by age seven. My stomach was distended, because I had worms. The remedies administered to me didn’t remove them completely, and the worms often irritated me.

I also had lice. It caused my head to itch constantly. Sores and scabs formed on my head from scratching. It wasn’t just me either. My grandparents had lice as well, so my grandmother taught me how to pick out the lice. We took turns picking lice from one another’s hair by pulling them out and squeezing them dead between our nails.

Grandma Was a Midwife

My grandmother was in her sixties and a very strong woman. She was a practicing herbalist and midwife in Monopamba. Grandmother traveled across the mountains to help women deliver their babies. Few people had money, so she accepted whatever method of payment they offered. It could be items like pigs, chickens, fabric, beans, potatoes, or some other odd item. She and my grandfather made good use of whatever payment she received.

The Bamboo Basket

When I was about seven, my grandmother wove a basket for me out of bamboo. She crafted it to fit my back and told me it was time for me to start going to my Aunt Sarah’s house to bring back food. She lived about three miles away. I had been to her house before, but didn’t feel welcome there. In fact, I actually felt ignored. Whenever we went to her house, I kept to myself instead of playing with the other children. My cousins were cruel, and I didn’t trust them. As a result, I preferred to stay alone.

When my grandmother asked me to go to Aunt Sarah’s by myself, I was instructed to bring back some vegetables and a canister of milk. I carried an empty half-gallon, aluminum container with a twist lid. My aunt poured fresh cow’s milk into the container and loaded fresh vegetables from her garden into my basket. With my basket and the container filled, I walked back to my grandmother’s hut with the goods. Once filled, the basket was heavy for me, but I couldn’t stop to rest because my grandmother insisted I go straight there and back. I was not to stop or play anywhere.

I felt ashamed as I walked through the village, because women and kids stared at me and talked about me. I couldn’t even look them in their eyes. I wondered why I felt so ashamed and kept my eyes trained straight ahead as I walked past them.

My grandmother was very proud of my first successful solo trip to Aunt Sarah’s. At only seven years old, she