She tapped my husband on the shoulder and quietly said, "Tell your wife I was broken today." The woman's words ring in my head like a song. I have been replaying those words repeatedly in my head, for several days. What a bold statement. One that required no thought, simply a reaction. A reaction to one who had just been stripped, in a matter of an hour.

Behind the walls of Century Regional Detention Center, the largest women's jail in the United States, lies a wealth of misery. Women broken by this world. Women who are cheats, liars, master manipulators, lost and unwilling to be found. And yet, in this hell, amongst the filth, lies small pockets of women whose names are written in the Lamb's Book of Life. Women who have truly been washed by the blood of Christ and who will one day, with pure hearts, will sup together at the Wedding Feast of God. Behind these unforgiving walls are women who find themselves in the midst of their own personal Hell by divine order. Women who have essentially found themselves in this place in order that they might come to a saving knowledge of Christ. Women who, by divine appointment, needed to be taken to their lowest, to be broken in order that Christ might lift them up.

"Tell your wife I was broken today," the woman said, as a result of learning about the woman with the issue of blood for 12 years in Mark 5, the paralytic who had been let down through the roof in Mark 2, and the shame and guilt the Prophet Ezra faced because of the very sins of his people, including both the religious and political leaders at that time, in Ezra 9. So ashamed Ezra said, "I fell on my knees and stretched out my hands to the Lord my God; and I said, O my God, I am ashamed and embarrassed to lift up my face to You, my God, for our iniquities have risen above our heads and our guilt has grown even to the heavens." (Ezra 9:5-6)

Brokenness is necessary in the life of any man or woman who desires to know God in a most intimate way. It is necessary in the life of any man or woman that desires to be used of God in such a way that men would look at the life of a Believer such as this and marvel, saying "That could only be by the hand of the Living God."

Brokenness.

A term that is virtually unknown in this day an age. A word that is despised and rejected by the masses. A word that denotes weakness and loss in the mind of the common man. A word that very few are willing to embrace because of the heaviness that comes with it. It is a state in which a common man finds Himself before a Holy God in a helpless state of affairs. A state in which the pride of life has been stripped from him only to find himself naked and unveiled before the Lord. Brokenness is a lonely state. It is one in which the loneliness and heaviness of having a deep and intimate relationship with the Lord will be revealed. And even in a dim light, this lonely state of existence will almost be too much to bear. We find this very state in the Garden of Gethsemane when Christ sweat drops of blood from the anguish and brokenness He was experiencing, "And he went a little further, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt." (Matthew 26:39) Brokenness is necessary for any man that desires for God to do the impossible in and through His life. Brokenness can only be present in the absence of pride. It can only manifest itself in the presence of a Holy God. Brokenness cannot exist apart from the working of the Holy Spirit. It can only occur in the heart of a man that, even for a small instance, realizes his state in the presence of the Almighty.

Oh, how we need to be broken! "How often we bewail and bemoan the sad fact of broken lives, but find later that only broken things are used by the Lord and that only after we are broken are we our very best for God." (Broken Things, M.R. Dehaan)

God has been speaking brokenness into my life as of late. At every turn I find myself being given the same message. I need to be broken before the Lord if I desire to move mountains. I am not sure what this means. But He has been speaking so clearly. He desires to take a praying man or woman and take them into the depths of brokenness in order to reveal Himself, to reveal His very heart. It causes me to wonder why it is that God, very God, the Living God whom I serve is so broken. Not in a sense of weakness or loss, but why it is He mourns to such a degree. The answer is simple.

The sin of man and the love of God.

The overwhelming love of our Creator causes an overwhelming brokenness over the Creation. Deep love cannot exist without deep sorrow and brokenness when the relationship has been marred by sin. True brokenness is not a state of being that manifests itself through emotion, rather it is an ongoing state in which man is taken to the brink of sorrow over the sin of man and is yet brought back to life when He finds Himself in the presence of the overwhelming love of God. Was it not that Christ had to be broken, almost beyond repair, in order to save sinful man? What then is it that is calling us to brokenness?


"Tell your wife I was broken today," the woman said. The words ring so clearly in my head, much like lyrics to a well known song. Quite a bold statement for a woman who lives behind concrete walls, only able to breathe recycled air, who day in and day out witnesses the severe consequences of sin in the life of fallen man. Quite a statement from one that you would have assumed had already been broken for some time due to her state of affairs. Quite a statement. I wonder if I will ever be able to make the same, in order that I might know God in a most intimate way. He has made it very clear, I must know Him in His suffering, as this is the very place where I will begin to understand the depth of His overwhelming love.

"I come, God, I come
I return to the Lord
The one who's broken
The one who's torn me apart
You struck down to bind me up
You say You do it all in love
That I might know You in Your suffering"

Broken beyond repair
Fearful and alone
You spend every waking moment doing,
That you may not be done away with
You deaden the pain of silence by increasing the noise

They say that silence is deafening
How very true this is
It exposes the pain of life,
The fear, the loneliness, the guilt, and the shame
Fall asleep to voices of unknown individuals who you’ve never met
And yet you find comfort in their very voices because they numb the pain

You’re not alone they say
And yet you feel completely lost amidst the crowds,
Friends and acquaintances,
Long lost lovers and companions gone awry,
Why is it then, that the pain of loneliness does not subside?

You want more and yet you’ll settle for less
Strangely, misery has become your comfort
Unsettling anxiousness your closest friend
You’ve learned to survive amongst the chaos
And Chaos is where you will continue to live

There’s more to life she says
You peer in and see there is validity to her words
And yet you find more comfort outside of the more to life
Because you have learned to find comfort in the pain

You can be made alive
And not just breathe
You can be set free
And not just bleed
You can find peace amidst the battle
And not just survive

You’ve been given the choice she says
And yet, my heart bleeds with anguish for your very life                                                                                   
You have chosen chaos,
The wider road,
Death over life.

“Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it.” (Matthew 7:13-14)

=La Chula=

Perseverance is such a trifle term these days. Most of us have no understanding of the term. We use it haphazardly to speak of that which makes us uncomfortable. According to the Google Dictionary perseverance is steadfastness in doing something despite difficulty or delay in achieving success. We see the ultimate demonstration of perseverance on Christ's road to the cross. In His 33 years of residing on earth He remained steadfast, unmovable. Even when the hour had come, in the Garden of Gethsemane, when His closest and most intimate companions forsook Him and in the heaviness of the hour He spoke:

32 They came to a place named Gethsemane; and He said to His disciples, “Sit here until I have prayed.” 33 And He *took with Him Peter and James and John, and began to be very distressed and troubled. 34 And He said to them, “My soul is deeply grieved to the point of death; remain here and keep watch.” 35 And He went a little beyond them, and fell to the ground and began to pray that if it were possible, the hour might pass Him by. 36 And He was saying, “Abba! Father! All things are possible for You; remove this cup from Me; yet not what I will, but what You will.” 37 And He came and found them sleeping, and said to Peter, “Simon, are you asleep? Could you not keep watch for one hour? 38 Keep watching and praying that you may not come into temptation; the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” 39 Again He went away and prayed, saying the same words. 40 And again He came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were very heavy; and they did not know what to answer Him. 41 And He came the third time, and said to them, Are you still sleeping and resting? It is enough; the hour has come; behold, the Son of Man is being betrayed into the hands of sinners. 42 Get up, let us be going; behold, the one who betrays Me is at hand!” (Mark 14:32-41)

Even at the most needed of all hours, when the Son of God confessed to His dearest companions, "My soul is deeply grieved to the point of death", even then, He was  forsaken and yet still willing to persevere. "He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death," Philippians 2:8 says, "even death on a cross." Perseverance, God-given perseverance, requires humility and obedience. A giving up of yourself, even unto death.

I have wanted to, for sometime, write a short ode to my sister Heidi. Over the past 5 years I have watched her battle through difficult pregnancies, surgeries, cancer, radiation, and her middle child spend the first 3 months of her life in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit with a 50% chance to live, but what reality displayed was a much smaller percentage. All that she has persevered through she has done so quietly. Without complaining, without belittling, without cursing the name of God. In quiet endurance she has and continues to persevere  "A fool gives full vent to his spirit," Proverbs 29:11 says, "but a wise man quietly holds it back."

I often wonder what it is that sets men apart from others. Those that have become the humblest of servants and yet know God in such a way that I will never be able to understand. I have been a witness to these great men and women of God and yet still to this day it humbles me. Ten years ago I saw my mom, a mighty woman of God, slowly lose her life to Lou Gehrig's disease. Never a complaint, never a lament, but always a quiet prayer uttered with the little life she had in her. I have seen my husband endure Lymphatic Cancer and hours upon hours of chemotherapy and he too never once uttered a word of disdain, a grown, or complaint. And there also sits my sister Heidi, even after 5 years she still battles cancer to this day. How foolish I have been to think that battles were ever created to be loud,tumultuous events. I have learned from the cross, from the very words of Jesus, from the lives of these dear saints that have graced my presence that battles were meant to be fought in the quietness of the hour. Battles were meant to be fought on our knees and often times than none, on our faces.

Heidi and I have grown apart over the past few years. I have thought about the reason why. What it is it that has caused the distance? My only thought, in reading the Scriptures, is that she is at a different place than I because she is living in the midst of James 1:2-4, "Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, 3 knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. 4 And let endurance have its perfect result, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing." She has learned only to be still in the eye of the storm. A quietness that I nor any other human being will ever be able to understand or relate to unless you too have been given the ability to pass into the eye of the storm, the only place amidst the chaos that everything quietly stills itself. The place where you meet God face to face in the storm. The Psalmist David wrote of the eye of the storm so eloquently, and although this Psalm is so often read at funerals it was in all actuality written for those that are alive, for those battling the storms of life:

The Lord is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside quiet waters.
3 He restores my soul;
He guides me in the paths of righteousness
For His name’s sake. 4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil, for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You have anointed my head with oil;
My cup overflows.
6 Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.


I have come to the realization that God has placed these dear saints, my mom, my husband, my sister in my midst to teach me by example how to be still. The reason why I find it difficult to relate is because I have never been afforded the opportunity to endure such great trial that I would know God in a different way. Nonetheless, instead of growing apathetic towards the distance that has occurred it is my upward calling to learn from it. To sit quietly by and watch these dear saints interact with the Living God, learning as Christ so exhorted His disciples to "Keep watch and pray." Time is short to lose out on the lessons I have been called to learn from those that have learned Christ-like perseverance.  This is an ode to my sister Heidi, an ode to that which God has done in your life. May He reci

The very presence of God is often times too much for me to handle. There are times where His very presence causes me to lose my breath almost completely. Times where the breath is literally taken from me because of His very presence. The times where I can feel His very breath shallowly against my cheek. When I can faintly whisper, "Tis Thee O Lord, Tis Thee. I see Thee in the secret place of my heart, I feel your presence, I recognize your very hand." Those times when the presence of God is all-encompassing, all-consuming, humbling, and sobering. Those times when I wish but for a moment that it would not pass and yet realizing that it was but for a fleeting moment. Those times when my heart leaps within me and sinks to the depths of my soul all in one breath. The sweet, sweet times of fellowship with my intimate Savior.

Sadly, my most intimate encounters with God have not transformed me, as they should very well have. It is not for lack of the transforming grace of God, but for lack of want in my own life. Some time ago I sat quietly in the early morning before God. I could sense His presence near and I simply asked, "Speak Lord, thy servant is listening. Reveal to me the sin that exists within my own heart that I might leave it at the cross." While yet uttering the last of my words the Lord spoke to me as clear as day. He revealed to me John 10:27, "My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me." In an instant I was confronted with my lack of intimate Trust in the Lord. Brought before my eyes was my inability to recognize my Savior's voice. How often do I question if He is speaking. How often do I find myself faintly whispering, "Tis Thee O Lord? Tis Thee?" Before my eyes flashed the many times that God had spoken to me in the quietness of the hour and I had questioned His very voice. How many times I have pleaded with Him, "Speak Lord, Thy servant is listening!" And yet, how often He has beckoned near and I have ignored His still small voice. Not out of a malicious heart, but out of an inability to recognize His voice.

"Why Lord?!", I pleaded, "Why have I not been able to recognize your voice?" And He answered. It was a very painful answer. A very sobering one at that. One which took the very breath from my lungs. "You do not know me intimately as you should." My heart dropped. Everything that I had assumed myself to be crumbled around me in one instance. In the answer to one question I found myself realizing that I am not who I thought I was. More so, I am not who everyone perceives me to be. "O wretched man that I am," I whispered, "Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death?" (Romans 7:24-25) The very thought of this revelation even until today takes my breath away. It breaks my spirit. It causes me to wonder who I am. What is the true me? Not what people perceive of me, not who I perceive myself to be, but who am I in all honesty and truth?

I am not a fool. I realize that the majority of people who will read this, if any, will not have an understanding of what is grieving my heart. In fact, most will stop at my description of the presence of God and write me off. I humbly accept that. I have always lived my life in the shadow of common man. I have always lived in contrast to what is right or pleasing, to what man deems to be acceptable. I have always veered from that which is popular, that which is acceptable, that which is known. I have never wanted to be that person that receives any acceptance, any praise. I have never wanted to know those that are known. In fact, I have naturally, from the time I can remember, despised those who search out popularity, those that deem themselves to be part of something that seemingly makes them something.

And thus, it was quite an anomaly when I was approached some time ago by a small group of people from a fashion magazine. In the middle of the Pomona Swap Meet, having been up since 3:30 am, as the day was coming to a close I was approached by two women who themselves appeared to be someone who I would easily identify as fashion-industry bred. It was evident that they were in search of something, what that something was I had no idea.

As they approached me I realized that I was a specimen to behold. "Excuse me!" the blonde with the white moon boots cried out, "Excuse me!" I paid no mind to them as I realized they were not alone. There were two men trailing along. "Surely," I thought, "They are not calling to me." As they approached I realized that it was, in fact me, that they were calling after. The other half of the duo, Shay, introduced herself to me and quickly began sharing her agenda with me. As she spoke my thoughts quickly raced in my head. In and out of the conversation, I can recall hearing words coming from Shay's mouth like chola, iconic, neighborhood. All I could think of as Shay spoke was that yet again another mainstream fashion magazine was on a crusade to popularize the way of life that has remained sacred to the barrios for so many decades. "Another movement by the mainstream media to pervert the beauty of the barrio, the beauty of the women who have graced the neighborhoods for so long. The beauty of the las reynas del barrio, our neighborhood queens. She asked if her photographer could take my picture, explaining that they were looking for the iconic chola, that which you would find in the neighborhoods and porches of any well-respected barrio. I agreed, knowing that I in fact was not who they assumed I was. "Why did I agree?" The thought quickly raced through my head. "I agreed," I reflected, "because I did not want any of them to mistake our encounter as something trifle. I did not want to appear to be rude, pretentious, or arrogant. I wanted them to realize that the exterior is a representation of something much deeper." There is a beauty that exists in the ways of the barrio and it has not been lost. Moreover, I wanted them, most of all, to see the love of Christ within me. To not give waste to any opportunity to be an example of Christ. My life is an open book, and the pages I write can be for His glory or to the detriment of myself and others, if it is for my glory.  I want my book to have the hand prints of God all over it. So much so that when you read it you simply say, "This is a book about the steps of God, not of man."

I never intended it to go past that day of taking impromptu photos of me in the middle of the Pomona Swap Meet. Never would I have ever agreed to anything more for fear of extorting that which has never been for sale. That which the media has perverted and twisted to its own demise. That which I know, deep down inside, I am only a representation of, but do not have the scars to be the real thing.  I walked away that day purposing in my own heart not to be a part of any of it.

But God had a greater plan...

Days later Shay emailed me. And called me. And called me repeatedly until I finally responded. Intermittently, unbenounced to Shay,  I had already taken this matter to prayer. In the midst of this I had been learning, and continue to learn,  what it means to give God my all. To submit myself wholly and completely to Him. To empty myself in such a way that He fills me and uses me as a vessel for His honor. A person of low-estate, humble, learning to answer quickly to His beckoning call. To truly say with a pure heart, "Not my will Lord, but Thy will be done." This then is how I learned what Proverbs 3:5-6 truly meant. For so long this had been a verse that simply graced the bottom of In-N-Out cups, imprinted on sympathy cards, and gracing plaques in Christian homes across this nation and abroad. It was the type of passage that had become so familiar to me that it had no meaning left.


Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding, in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight. (Proverbs 3:5-6)


God had been speaking to my heart. He was telling me to learn to trust Him, even when there are great uncertainties. When things make no sense whatsoever, I needed to learn how to trust Him without trying to reason through the situation. To understand that there is always a bigger picture in mind. That never do events exist in isolation but that there is always more than the eye can  behold, "For now we see in a mirror dimly," 1 Corinthians 13:12 says, "but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known." In most instances I will never see the greater outcome nor understand the reasoning behind what is occurring when I am in the midst of the event. I am learning that often times it is far beyond the occurrence that God, in His infinite wisdom and grace, shows me small parts of the puzzle and begins to piece them together small bits at a time. It is a way in which I have learned to know Him intimately and to recognize and respond to His voice at the initial beckoning.

Nonetheless, I agreed to do a photo shoot for this magazine because God had made it very clear that this was His plan. In the midst of this, I encountered someone who I did not know but that immediately was recognizable as a kindred spirit. It was a person who exonerated the beauty of the barrio and the breathtaking presence of humility in a world that deems humility as something to be abhorred. It was as if  I knew this person my whole life. It was one of those rare moments in life where you share a quiet resolve with another human being, a laugh, a smile, and you feel for an instance the joy of the innocent days of your youth so very near. A snapshot in life that left a lasting impression in my heart. One that I look back at now and realize it was the very hand of God in the stillness of that hour. It was His presence, His sweet aroma.

I feel like I met a friend for life that day. I am not sure if I will ever see her again. But in the small instance of the hour I met someone at a God-appointed time and it was breathtaking to behold, the very presence of God. It was as if the love of Christ was poured out in that moment and I will forever have the sweet smelling aroma of that moment in my lungs. It almost seems strange, even to me. It was the beauty of the neighborhood, the joy of our younger days, the place where Heaven and earth met and God was seen but for a moment in that place.

I look at this specimen of a person that God put before me and I crave that innocence in my own life. I crave the humility that I saw in her. I crave that sweet spirit. In hearing from God that morning, in the stillness of the hour, I realized I am none of those things and yet He has been so gracious to place people in my life from which I can learn to be those things. The Word of God became very real that day and I am forever grateful for what God revealed to me.

C/S Homegirl
God knows you by name
You have not been forgotten

Getting ready to head up north to meet the good people up in San Jo. Check it out:

The character of a lowly man, one who is humble and contrite of heart. One who, though He has the strength, the aptitude, and the fortitude to react, to make a defense for himself, to state his case and win, he does the complete opposite. In humility of soul, humility of mind, humility of character, this man allows his actions to speak for themselves. Never needing to utter a word. The pinnacle of a lowly man, a description of perfect humility, can be summed up in one name:
Jesus
The Son of Man, the Messiah, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, the Risen One, the One who conquered Sin and Death, the Alpha, the Omega, the Son of God, the Lamb Who Takes Away the Sins of the World...
Jesus, though He was fully God, lived His life in perfect obedience to the Father as fully man. According to Philippians 2:6-8, "...Christ Jesus, who, although He existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men. Being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross." The King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the One whom the Bible speaks of as being clothed in Majesty, whose face we are unable to look at because of the holiness that exists in one place, whose presence we falter at, prostrating ourselves before Him even at His passing. God incarnate, came as a servant. One in which the world did not behold nor exalt, He was born in a lowly state amongst animals and died amongst thieves. And yet, even on His journey to the cross, as He celebrated His last Passover on earth with the very men He had come to know intimately, more so who came to know Him intimately, He humbled Himself through the washing of their feet. I often wonder what He thought as He humbly bowed himself before each of His twelve disciples. Judas, the servant of Satan, knowing that He would betray Him for very little money. Peter, knowing his zealousness, who would deny Him, not once, not twice, but three times. Each man would cower at the perverseness of the floggings, at the pain of the cross. No one would come to His defense, no one would remain loyal. And yet, knowing this, Christ stooped down and washed the feet of these men. This is not a simple act of true character, but an act of perfect humility. Love unbridled, love unmeasured, agape- Godly love.
Even more miraculous than the washing of the Disciple's feet by God, very God, is what Jesus says a bit further down in the same passage, "If I then, the Lord and the Teacher, washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.  For I gave you an example that you also should do as I did to you. Truly, truly, I say to you, a slave is not greater than his master, nor is one who is sent greater than the one who sent him." (John 13:14-16)We are called to have the same character, unbridled humility. "Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus..." (Philippians 2:5) And more times then not, my attitude is the complete opposite. I exist believing that I deserve something, that I have a right to be treated well. That I have a right to my opinions and to my thoughts. That I have a right to live as I want to live. More so, that my Christianity deserves me the right to live without bridles. And yet, according to the Scripture, I am a δοῦλος, a slave. I have no rights! I am to serve as Christ served. I am to love as Christ loved. I am to give up of myself as Christ gave up of Himself. So that just as the Father was glorified in the life of Christ, others can marvel at this phenomenon and understand that the life I live has been given over fully to God, it is no longer mine, and thus it is Christ and Christ alone that receives the glory.
What is it that defines my character? What is that is being written on the epitaph of my own life? Is it humility and lowliness of mind or is it pride and self-righteousness? Who is that I serve? Myself? Or  My Great and Terrible God?

"WHAT DEFINES OUR CHARACTER IS HOW WE TREAT THOSE WHO CAN DO NOTHING FOR US, THOSE WHO HAVE DONE SOMETHING AGAINST US,  AND THOSE WHO WE KNOW WILL BETRAY US"

In the presence of greatness. Amongst a Los Angeles County Detention Facility of more than 2,000 female inmates sits a small office approximately 20 square feet in size, with no windows and a metal door leading to the lobby of  one of the largest jails in the world. On any given day you will find boxes overflowing from this small enclave, spilling out into the hallway. In the back corner of this office sits a small cluttered desk, filled with paperwork, books, and binders. From the looks of it, this office is inhabited by an individual drowning in work, in the mundane things of life, in the demands of a detention facility overflowing with women in which society has lost all hope. Unbeknownst to the world, this office is home to a former drug addict, who began prostituting as a young girl, a person who for well over 20 years was devoid of life, devoid of love, and found herself trapped in a vicious cycle that allotted her jail time, misery, and addictions that raped her of any hope of freedom. This is the office of a missionary. A woman who was saved from the depths of Hell. Who was freed from the misery that she found herself in for more than half of her life. This is the office of a woman who more than eight years ago heeded the calling of God upon her life, who left a stable job to serve in a place where society dumps the lost and dying women of this world; prostitutes, drug addicts, murderers, abusers, thieves, the list goes on and on. Century Regional Detention Center of Lynwood, home of 2,500+ female inmates and the battlefield of a Mighty Woman of Valor, A Woman of War, a humble servant of God.

There are very few times in my life that I have found myself in the presence of greatness. In the presence of an individual who, like Moses, can genuinely be called a Servant of the Most High. A person who exudes the presence of God in and around them. A quiet spirit, a humble servant, one who takes so very seriously the things of God that His Word flows from them like milk and honey. An individual who has given so much of themselves to the work of the Lord that there is faintly a sight of them left, rather, looking at them is like seeing a glimpse of the True and Living God. His presence radiates from them like the early morning sun.

How could one fathom that such greatness could exist in a humble enclave in the city of Lynwood, California at a Detention Facility that is home to the hopeless women of Los Angeles? And yet to have been given the privilege of stepping behind the doors of this jail and witnessing the work of the Lord through a humble woman of God who was obedient to a call on her life is breathtaking. The hand of the Lord is at work in this place. Hope has been given to the hopeless. Life and liberty has been afforded to those who were once dead in their trespasses and sins. The hand of the Living God is very apparent in this place. And to think that it all began with a woman who too had probably been written off by this world, who found herself in a personal Hell that afforded no way out, and yet by the grace of God was freed from her sin and given a second chance at life, a life in Christ. This is a woman who labors endless hours for the Gospel, day in and day out. A woman who spends countless hours in prayer, countless hours in worship and in the study of God's Word, countless hours in battle for the Lost Souls of Los Angeles. This woman is living testimony that God is not dead, but very much alive, very much still working, and very much wanting to give life to the lifeless. This is a testimony of a missionary who lives on very little, who has committed her life to bearing the burdens of others, one who is living out the truths and miracles found in God's Word. This a testimony of a humble woman who has been used of God to make a way in the wilderness when there was no way to be found. A woman who has been used by God to dig up streams of living water in the desert when all that was seen in seasons past were vast wastelands of dry and rotting land. These are the chronicles of Chaplain Sandra Evans, a Mighty Woman of God, a Mighty Woman of Valor, a humble servant of the Most High.

Teen Angel Magazine, since its first publication in 1981, quickly became el voz del barrio, The Voice of the Barrio. One artist’s rendition of our humble calles undecidedly spoke volumes of our Chicano culture. A small publication that was meant to portray the art and poetry of the neighborhood was the catalyst that brought together a generation of youth that was in search of an identity. Teen Angel Magazine exposed the beauty of an art form that was once looked at with disdain. It united a generation of lowriders, artists, and Chicanos, revealing our plights as a forgotten people, so that in one voice we could proclaim without shame, Barrio Si, Yonke No!

Teen Angel, for us, has always been an icon of the glory days of lowriding. When people did it for more than just an image, when it was a way of life, a bridge that brought people together, a family affair, of sorts. And yet, just as all good things eventually come to an end, Teen Angel Magazine slowly faded from existence. Gone were the days of cruising Whittier Boulevard, of car clubs coming together to celebrate a culture and an art form that spoke volumes about the beauty of our neighborhoods, of our families, and the rich history that the barrios contained. When Teen Angel fell from existence we lost a vital part of our voice. Our documented history of the beauty of prison arte and the pictures of our gente that told stories in the faces of every person that found themselves on the pages of this magazine ceased to exist. And yet, we are are proud to say that from the hands of a tremendous group of artists Teen Angel Magazine has found its way back, 32 years after its birth.

To open Teen Angel and to find ourselves on the pages of this magazine was but a surreal moment in our lives. One of those moments, though it may be but for a blink of an eye, will forever be impressed in our hearts as a monumental occurrence. A parting of the Red Sea, of sorts. A time in our lives that we will build, as the children of Israel did in the Old Testament, a pile of memorial stones in remembrance of all that the Lord has done for us, "and Joshua said to them: Cross over before the ark of the Lord your God into the midst of the Jordan, and each one of you take up a stone on his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the children of Israel, that this may be a sign among you when your children ask in time to come, saying, ‘What do these stones mean to you?" (Joshua 4:5-6) This magazine will serve as a memorial stone for us. A remembrance of all that the Lord has done in the past year. As He took us from the filth of this world and transformed us into vessels of honor for His glory. How He has, time and time again, heard the prayers of His saints, us, who He calls His children. How, in a matter of ten months, He birthed Ponte Trucha and not only allowed us to be in Teen Angel Magazine, but gave us a two page spread in which we were able to proclaim the goodness and grace of God. Moreover, not only did He bless us with an article, but He put one of our own on the cover of the magazine. "Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable his judgments, and his paths beyond tracing out!" (Romans 11:33)

We are humbled and yet very honored. We know that we don't deserve the goodness and kindness of the Lord. We know that it was simply because of the Lord's favor upon our lives that we have been given this opportunity. And so, just as the children of Israel set up memorial stones in remembrance of all that the Lord had done for them, we too will save this magazine as a memorial stone in our lives. So that when our children and children's children open up the pages of Teen Angel and ask us, "What do these stones mean to you?", we can proclaim with humility the wonderful works of the Lord in our own lives. We are living testimonies that God does, in fact, exist and that He has made Himself known in order that He might be found. There are never coincidences in God's presence nor does He ever make mistakes. You have been put here for a reason. You are reading this for a very marked purpose. Quiet your soul now that you too may hear the whispers of God. For He is not dead, but very much alive. And His desire is to commune with you.

This is a short testimony from Chano, one of the founders of Ponte Trucha. You will hear of how God has transformed this man from the inside out, healing him from cancer, and giving him freedom from his burdened soul. Stay tuned for more testimonies coming to a calle near you.

Check our newest video on the Testimonials page. You can also find it on YouTube by searching Ponte Trucha Documentary. We hope you enjoy it. Be sure to check back periodically as we have more projects in the making.