You're Beautiful

By Christine Trujillo

This is a memoir of my life, and how God used death, loss, alcoholism, sickness, anger, and divorce to transform me through His redemptive work. I reveal how early in my life I tried to control all the events that occurred, but this only brought more pain, hurt, and heartache. I was going down a dead-end path that was leaving me stagnate in my spiritual life, and broken on the inside. However, God got my attention, and offered a way out of all the distress that I was going through. He offered me hope, love, and forgiveness, and taught me how to use what I had gone through to help others who are hurting and feeling hopeless. My life story is a living testimony of God’s love, grace, and transforming power through the cross. He took the ugliness and dysfunction that was in my life, and turned it into a beautiful gift from which others may benefit. My prayer is that others who read my story may see their value as God’s chosen child, and come to experience the most precious relationship there is.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Oct 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664205710

Christine Trujillo

Christine Trujillo is passionate to use her life as a living testimony to reveal how God’s love, grace, and forgiveness have played out in her life. She wants to use what she has learned in her life to help women who are going through struggles, and hardship. Her prayer is that her story will encourage others and point them to the Gospel of Christ. God’s love is unlimited, and her goal is to reach women far and wide so they may experience His great love for them.

Book preview

1

Growing Up

30909.png A Little Chaotic

Growing up, life always seemed a little chaotic around our house. I guess being the youngest of eleven children was a good reason for chaos. But the main reason for the chaos was because my dad was an alcoholic. Where there is alcoholism, there is most certainly chaos and dysfunction. When I think of the way things were growing up, the word normal didn’t exist in our home, or anywhere in my life, for that matter. What is normal, anyway? I don’t think God ever intended anyone to live a normal life. I believe He created each one of us for a greater purpose, far beyond anything we could imagine. I know for myself, as I look back and reflect on my life, I could never in a million years have predicted how my life would turn out. In fact, if I had any clue of what my life entailed, I would have said, No, thank you. I pass. But God always has a way of making things work out, no matter how difficult or painful it may be.

In all reality, if God asked me to repeat the difficult trials I went through, without a doubt, I would do it all over again for Him. What I’ve been through, and what He has brought me out of, pales in comparison to what He did for me on the cross and the sacrifice He made for me. There is no comparison. I am so grateful for what He did for me. He secured my salvation with Him in heaven forever. His love for me is so deep, I can’t even begin to comprehend its depth. And His sacrifice so great… There are no words that come close to the reality of the cross. There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friend (John 15:13 NIV). He calls me His beloved and friend. He chose me in my wretched sin and set me apart to be with Him forever in heaven. He does this for all who take Him up on His offer to accept Him as their personal Lord and Savior. There is nothing we can do to deserve it or earn it; just accept Him at His word. For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith- and this is not from yourselves, it is a gift of God- not by works, so that no one can boast (Ephesians 2:8 NIV).

30909.png Arthur’s Accident

I spent the first seven years of my life in a small town in New Mexico, where I was born. I don’t remember a lot from when I grew up. But the memories I do have are as clear as if they happened yesterday. We lived in a small three-bedroom house, at the front of the block. The boys shared one room, and the girls shared the other. My parents had the third bedroom in the front of the house. By the time I was six, half my siblings were out of the house and were either in college or married. My mom was a housewife; she didn’t have time for anything else. My dad didn’t have an official job because he became disabled from the uranium mines before I was born. He did a lot of odd jobs in and around town and sold firewood on the side. He was gone most of the time, trying to provide for the family and supplement his disability check.

Along with not being home a lot, he had a drinking problem. I would consider him an alcoholic. His side jobs kept him busy, which was how he liked it. This left little or no room to have any type of relationship with him. On the other hand, my mom was home most of the time. Outside the house, she could be found shopping for groceries, going to church, or running errands. The odd thing about that was, she was home a lot but so busy with cooking and cleaning that there was no real communication or conversations with her either. There were no instructions or rules in our house, about anything. I guess I just learned by example. Our family was as dysfunctional as they come. If there is no communication in a household, there most certainly is chaos. How were we to know what to live by? Well, certain things were just expected of us. We had to attend school, go to church, help prepare meals, and clean the house. On occasion, we would visit relatives who lived in town. It’s fine to follow by example, but we were created for relationships. Real, intimate, close relationships, with each other and with God. We should be connected with each other, sharing life together, laughing, crying, joking, and having good healthy emotions (along with some difficult ones). Life has its ups and downs, and if you can share them with a healthy family, that makes it all the more meaningful. But we didn’t have that in our family. Each one of us was doing our own thing. Life carried on like this through adulthood.

I have some vivid memories as a child. As the youngest in our big family, there are many stories to be told. In this day and age, not many families have eleven children. I believe having children is the greatest blessing from the Lord. But along with blessings come struggles, disappointments, and hardships, which came often in our family. We had our share of the latter, to say the least.

Like the time when my brother Arthur, who was only seventeen years old and about to start his senior year in high school, was in a motorcycle accident. He and a friend were out playing basketball, and his friend asked him if he wanted to ride his brother’s motorcycle. They went to his brother’s house, and his friend took his turn, riding down the street and back. Arthur had never been on a motorcycle before and had no experience riding one. He got on the bike and took his turn, but the cycle slid on some gravel. He skidded, lost control of the bike, and flew into a guardrail. He sustained serious injuries, and was rushed to the local hospital.

Weeks passed, and he wasn’t getting any better, so my parents decided to transfer Arthur to a different hospital in Albuquerque, where they were more equipped for the trauma he had sustained. Mom and Dad spent most of their time at the hospital, and the younger kids stayed at home. My older sister Barbara lived around the corner from us, and she helped out at home while my parents were gone. Traveling to and from Albuquerque to be with Arthur took a huge toll on my parents, so they decided to sell our house and move closer to the city.

The next thing I remember was moving into our new house in Albuquerque. My brother Joe and I measured the distance in our hallway by how many steps it took to get to the end of the hall. The house seemed bigger, but we were just being kids. I guess we were also excited to be moving to a new house, and our parents wouldn’t be gone as much. It did make things a little easier for them. They could rotate being with Arthur at the hospital and take turns being at home with the rest of us kids.

Day after day, we hoped for a full recovery for Arthur. During his stay at the hospital, the doctors performed several surgeries; he developed gangrene in his abdomen. He would make some good progress and start getting better, but then he’d relapse, and his health would decline again. This happened a few times. Each time, it looked like he was out of the woods, but then ended right back where he started.

One day, my parents arranged for me to visit Arthur in the hospital. They had to get permission for me to be on the hospital floor because I was only seven, and visitors under the age of fifteen were not allowed. I remember seeing him being pushed out of his room in a wheelchair. He tried as hard as he could to put a smile on his face, but I could see his pain and discomfort; his body looked so frail. Fear gripped me in that moment because he didn’t look like himself. I couldn’t even get any words out of my mouth. He finally said hello to me, and I said hi. It was a sad moment for all of us. This wasn’t the same funny, good-looking brother I remembered. Before the accident, he was very active, played basketball, and was involved with school activities and friends. Things were much different now. His frail body and face were now drawn in.

That was the last time I ever saw him. He fought the good fight, but after several unsuccessful surgeries to remove the gangrene, he lost his life. We thought he was going to make it. Shortly after moving into our new home, my dad started an addition onto the back of the house. It was going to be a bedroom for Arthur. They wanted him to have his own room so he could come home and recover. But God had other plans.

His death was a tragedy and a devastating time in all our lives. After his passing, I recall being in the Catholic Church for his funeral. The church building was packed. And directly up front, in the middle of the aisle, was his coffin. I didn’t understand death, but I felt death amongst my family. I knew he was gone and never coming back.

That tragic accident turned our lives upside down. Life was very grim for all of us, especially my parents. We started our new lives in Albuquerque: Mom, Dad, my two sisters, my brother, and me. A new city, new school, and new friends. Life was forever changed, even for my other brothers and sisters, who had their own lives and families. We were now ten siblings, seven girls and three boys.

30909.png Pressing Forward

After the funeral, the days pressed forward with our new lives in Albuquerque. We were no longer living in a small town where everybody knew each other and where most of my dad’s family lived. We no longer had the support of our close friends and family. I think my parents were feeling out of sorts and became withdrawn from the pain of their loss.

How do you cope with life when one of your children precedes you in death? I can’t imagine what they went through. We were all going through an immense amount of pain and sorrow in our own way. Everyone in our family had a difficult time. I was too young to understand what was happening or comprehend the depth of our loss. I vaguely remember someone explaining to me what was happening. I don’t recall all the details, so I can’t say for sure. But I can tell you that this experience still resonates with me, from the eyes of a seven-year-old.

So those were the cards that were dealt to each one of us in our family. We could only move forward from that point on; just one day at a time. Living in a household with dysfunction, you didn’t talk about your feelings, concerns, thoughts, or emotions; you just suppressed the hurt, pain, isolation, and insecurities. Or, if you were my dad, you drank your sorrows away. And if you were my mom, you lived a normal life, with each day the same as the next. She made sure her kids had food and clothing, but the emotional part was missing. The connection of loving and nurturing her children wasn’t there.

My parents had their hands full, for sure. All my siblings were involved in school and sports. There is twenty-two years between my oldest sister Leona and me, so you can imagine the struggle to keep up. My brothers played basketball and football, and they ran track. Several of my sisters were cheerleaders, in honor society, and worked on top of all that. All these things were going on simultaneously, plus academics. That didn’t include shopping, cooking, cleaning the house, and going to church (and sleep, if you could find time for that). You can see how they could have been overwhelmed and deprived of much-needed sleep. For one, my mom was up with a newborn eleven times, for at least four months each, which adds up to almost four years. Not to mention, being pregnant for almost nine years of her life. And then came their first grandson, one year and three days after I was born; wrap your brain around that one. I don’t think you can stay sane through all that without having a personal relationship with our Lord and Savior. And that wasn’t the case for my family, sad to say; I wish it had been.

Being the youngest, and seeing so much pain and suffering, is what brought me to the cross. I couldn’t imagine my life without Christ. Living in despair, and not knowing what your future holds, is a scary place to be. But we don’t have to stay there because Jesus took that place for us. He loved us so much and wants us to give Him that burden: For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give is light (Matthew 11:30 NLT). There is peace that can only be found in Jesus. He is the only One Who can get us through life’s hardships and challenges. His Word says, I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world (John 16:33 NIV).

We will have hardships, but He can help us because He understands firsthand what we’re going through. He faced rejection, pain, and heartache, and He can relate because of the trials He faced on our behalf. We can be encouraged because He sits on His heavenly throne on our behalf, interceding for us, so we can, Run with perseverance the race marked out for us (Hebrews 12:1b NIV). Jesus, our intercessor and cheerleader, is our biggest fan. And we can rest assured that He will always be there for us, just like His Word says: I know the Lord is always with me. I will not be shaken, for he is right beside me (Psalm 16:8 NLT).

After Arthur’s death, life around our house seemed a little dreary. There was never any love, safety, or comfort in our home, even before the accident. But now, it was even more stark and cold. Each day seemed to resemble the next. Dad was away from home, doing odd jobs; Mom was doing her household duties, and the rest of us kids, well, we lived in a new neighborhood. Most of the kids in the area came from broken homes. They lived with their divorced parent, and some had a stepmom or stepdad as well. Most of the teenage girls in the area ended up getting pregnant, and then their parents helped raise their kid so they could finish school. This was the norm in our neighborhood.

And then there was our family, which was just as dysfunctional. Yes, we had a mom and dad, but that didn’t change the toxic dynamics of our family. My parents had a mutual relationship; they lived together, but I don’t recall seeing any love or affection between the two of them. They both shared the same household and had eleven children together. They didn’t seem to communicate with each other. Maybe they loved each other, or maybe they just tolerated being together for forty-three years. I can honestly say I didn’t see either of them demonstrate affection toward each other or any of their children. I know they loved us; they just never expressed it. All the activities necessary to stay alive were performed on a daily basis, to clothe us, feed us, and keep us safe. Our family merely lived in survival mode. I’m not sure why love couldn’t be shared or talked about, from at least one of my parents. I don’t remember ever hearing my mom or dad say, I love you.

My dad was a disciplinarian and ruled with an iron fist. It was Do as you’re told, and don’t ask any questions. He didn’t like weakness, and he surely didn’t like weakness showing in his family. We never talked about our emotions, struggles, or hardships, although we had our share of them, just like any normal family. I believe that’s why he turned to liquor: to hide his pain and to convince everyone he had things under control, when it was clear that he did not.

30909.png Living in Albuquerque

We made it through the terrible tragedy in our lives, and a new school year was about to start. My sister Rita was starting her junior year in high school; my sister Annette was in seventh grade, Joe was in sixth grade, and I was starting second grade. The trauma that each one of us had been through was challenging enough, let alone starting a new school year, in a new school, with new friends and teachers. But we managed to do our best. When I say that, it looked good on the outside for each one of us. But deep within each of us was pain, hurt, heartache, and scars starting to take root. These scars would last a lifetime and affect every relationship we would ever have. It would affect our marriages and our future children. But we weren’t allowed to face these feelings because it showed weakness and insecurity. We didn’t do those things in our family. But the damaging effects were going to reach far and wide, and some of them had eternal consequences.

I actually looked forward to school, when the time came. I could escape the reality of life at home, the reality of chaos, drinking, having no set boundaries, and a life of merely existing. I looked forward to school, but when I was there, my mind wasn’t focused on learning; it was focused on escaping the dreariness of home life. When you don’t feel love, comfort,