Though at times I felt like God had abandoned me, through my experiences God taught me that he alone is in control.

My past is part of me, and there is nothing I can do about it. It has made me who I am today. My name is Christina, and this is my story.

A difficult childhood

I was born in Bangalore, India. I have two sisters, Esther Roni and Kernaph, and one brother, Augustine. I loved my family. My father was a Lutheran but never attended church, and my mother was Catholic and attended church on a regular basis. I loved helping my mother with household chores, and my father taught me how to speak and write English. My parents knew when to be strict, and they showed love to their children all the time.

My neighborhood was full of Hindus and Buddhists. Growing up was not easy. We were constantly picked on for our faith. My father was beaten by Hindus because of his faith. After the beating, he chose to become an atheist. My mother still stayed true to her faith even though we were ridiculed for it.

My father began to drink more heavily after he lost his job. My mother worked hard to support the family with the little income we had, but life was not easy. My father's drunkenness led him to beat my mother without a reason.

I was about five years old when life took a dramatic change. I will never forget the night that would change my future forever. My father came home drunk and started to fight with my mother. My mother could not handle it any longer. She was miserable and desperate for help. So she took the matter into her own hands. I sat on the floor to witness the horrifying steps that my mother decided to take that night. She took a can of gas and poured it on herself. She lit the match, but Esther slapped the match away. Then my mother made everyone stand away, and she lit another match. In a matter of seconds she was consumed by fire. My father grabbed a nearby bucket with water and poured in on her to extinguish the fire.

Immediately, my father rushed her to the hospital, and he waited there for news. When I went to the hospital, I saw my mother lying on the bed all bandaged up, looking helpless and in pain. That night, I asked God why he punished my mother for no reason. He did not answer me.

My mother lived for two weeks. I asked God for an answer. How could a loving God take a mother from her child? I wanted God to answer me, but he still kept silent. I felt like God had abandoned my family. I did not want God to be part of my life.

I spent the next two years moving from place to place. I did not have a place to call home. My father spent the years searching for a better job, but it was difficult. When my father finally found a job, it required a lot of traveling. But that became difficult too. He could not handle the stress of work and caring for four children. He needed another solution.