My name is Maria
My name is Maria, I am 3 years old and I see my father in his coffin. A crowd gathers around him; women are crying and my mother is sitting on the floor, staring into the distance. I don’t understand.
I am 5 years old, and since 2 and I live with one of my uncles, brother of my mother. I get up in the morning at 5 a.m., I have to wash, brush, wash clothes and prepare meals for my uncle’s children. And only after all this can I prepare for my departure to school.
I am 10 years old, I liveon the street for 2 years. I fled, unable to bear the beatings of my aunt for whom the floor was never clean enough, the bread never fresh enough, the clothes never white enough. I fled the indifference of my uncle, who saw the blows, the mockery, the bruises, but looked away.
I am 12 years old and for 4 years to survive in the street, I steal, I lie, I cheat and on occasion I sell my body. People call me rebellious child, unruly child. They say to themselves that I am one of those children who have decided to flee their homes to escape the discipline of their parents.
I am 14 years old and for a year I have been living in a shelter. I met some wonderful people there. I learn that I am a wonderful creature, created at the image of God. I learn that God loves me so much, so much that he gave his son as a sacrifice so that I could know him and experience this love. I learn my identity, not the one given to me by men, but the one God gave me long before I came into this world, before my title of orphan, parasite, rebellious child, prostitute . An identity that shows me all the potential and the magnificent and extraordinary works that God calls me to achieve.
My name is Maria, I am 18 years old and my life is filled with the light and love of God. I go from glory to glory.