My name is Angelica, and this is my story.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt unwanted. My brother passed away from SIDS at just three months old, and I was conceived not long after. As a rainbow or hope baby, I couldn’t fill the void left by my family’s heartbreak. Brokenness seemed to follow my family like a shadow.

My life continued to shatter as I witnessed substance abuse and physical abuse from the adults around me. The emotional and sexual abuse I endured left me feeling confused, insecure, isolated, and abandoned.

At the age of eight, I entered the foster care system. I remember that day so clearly. I had just returned from a field trip to the Monterey Bay Aquarium and was excited to share my experiences with my family. But as soon as I got off the bus, I heard my name called over the loudspeaker, asking me to go to the office.

In the office, I was told I would be riding in a police car to see my sisters. We arrived at a building I had never seen before, and the male officer told me that my parents had died, but new parents would take care of me. I was suddenly an orphan, entering a shelter without time to process any of the information I had been given. I was taken to a room to receive immunization shots; I remember screaming and being strapped down as they injected me. I was assigned a locker with clothes that weren't mine and given a bed to sleep in. That’s when I was finally reunited with my two sisters. Embracing each other, we cried long into the night.

How can an eight-year-old process any of that?

From there, my life was entrusted to strangers who would determine where I would go and who I would become. My first foster home was a place where you spoke only when spoken to, did what you were told, and never shared what happened with anyone. After all, who would believe displaced kids over adults? My voice was silenced, fear became second nature, and the idea of choice was foreign to me.

Then, one day, everything changed again.

Months later, we had our first supervised visitation. As I entered the room, I froze, too terrified to go near the people in front of me—my parents. I was stunned and confused. I didn’t understand why I had been lied to about their deaths. I assumed it was to protect me in case they didn't fight for custody. But there they were, alive, and I still couldn’t be with them. Silence became my comfort because it didn’t matter what I felt or said. “Be a good girl and do what you’re told” echoed in my mind.

A little over a year later, my sisters and I were rescued from that first foster home, which had been marked by malnutrition and emotional trauma, only to be placed in a temporary home. Then came a third home, where we almost got adopted. But my parents fought for custody, and we were eventually returned to them. Our family was back together, but far from whole. This led to my teen and adult years being marked by a struggle for identity and belonging. Little did I know that God had His hand on me the whole time.

I was a miracle baby chosen by God, who knew me well. Throughout my journey, He sent people who planted seeds of hope—seeds that I held onto, believing in better days ahead. Before entering the foster care system, my biological parents sent my siblings and me on a white school bus to North Valley Baptist Church. That’s where I began to hear about this God who formed me in my mother’s womb, who created me perfectly and wonderfully. I still remember my bus leaders, Leanne and Bruno, telling me that God was with me, that I could call on the name of Jesus and be saved, and that there was a God who loved me.

In my second foster home, I went to church and accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior, and I was baptized at the age of 10. My third home didn’t attend church, but God continued to send people who brought moments of grace and kindness into my life. As my great-grandmother, Combs often told me, “Anything can grow if you put a little love into it.”

God sent messengers of hope to remind me that I had a purpose. As an adult, I began to search for a community, and I found people who prayed over me. I surrendered everything to God, knowing I couldn’t navigate life on my own. Through this, I received physical and emotional healing.

God transformed my feelings of being an unwanted orphan into feelings of being adopted as an heir to His kingdom. I became hungry for His Word. Despite living in Oakland and working in San Francisco, I made it to Wednesday night and Sunday services at a church in San Jose. I longed to know the One who had saved me and redefined the labels and statistics that the world had placed on me. I started to serve in the children’s ministry because I wanted to share the hope that had been given to me. I met my husband through the church, and we were blessed with a miracle baby of our own. Together, we have raised our son in the church and served in various capacities, from children’s ministry to prayer teams, life groups, women’s ministry, community outreaches, and more.

But God didn’t stop with just me.

My birth family received the healing they needed, and God opened doors for us to serve together and testify to what the Lord had done. If God can restore my family, He can do it for you too.

Today, I serve alongside men and women who love God and love people here at Gateway City Church. If we haven’t met yet, I hope to meet you soon.