🌿 Faith in the Mess: How I Found God in My Breaking Point

Because sometimes faith doesn’t find you in church — it finds you in chaos.

1. Growing Up Faith-Adjacent

I grew up in a house that believed in God — even if our attendance record wouldn’t exactly get us a gold star in heaven. In the Dominican Republic, my parents had us “presented” in church, which is basically the baby dedication ceremony where your mom gets all dressed up, your dad looks slightly confused, and everyone agrees to raise you right.

But church itself? We were more of the “pray before bed, but don’t ask what denomination we are” kind of family.

It wasn’t until we came to Boston that my parents started really looking for a congregation. We tried everything: tiny storefront churches that felt like cult auditions, mega-churches that doubled as concert venues, and everything in between.

Eventually we landed at Congregación León de Judá, and that became home. It was full of immigrants like us — people chasing the same dream, the same belonging, the same hope. My mom found her people. Her church friends became her chosen family.

The rest of us? Well… we went because she made us.

When she was out of town, my dad would casually knock on our doors like,

“So… church today?”And all the siblings would yell in unison,“Nope! Mom’s not here — it’s our Sabbath from the Sabbath!”

Even though I wasn’t part of youth group or Bible study, I always believed. My mom planted that seed early — morning prayers, bedtime prayers, little reminders to thank God for waking up and for food on the table. That foundation stayed with me long before I understood what faith really was.

2. Faith in Theory vs. Faith in Practice

Fast forward: I go to college, graduate, get into a serious relationship with the man who would become my kids’ father.That’s when faith started to feel personal — something I wanted for myself, not just something inherited from my mom’s routines.

I told her I wanted to get baptized, but the church told me (very lovingly) that baptism meant committing fully — and, well, I was “living in sin.”Translation: unmarried and shacking up. 😅

So I waited.When we finally got married, one of the first things I did wasn’t honeymoon planning — it was baptism planning.

It felt like a fresh start. But the truth? Marriage doesn’t magically turn two people into saints. It just gives you front-row seats to each other’s mess.

3. When the Bottom Fell Out

Then came 2020. Lockdown, isolation, working from home with a two-year-old — and suddenly, all the cracks that were hiding in our marriage showed up under fluorescent lighting.

Church went virtual. So did my breakdowns.

While everyone else was baking banana bread, I was on my knees begging God for clarity. Not necessarily to “save” my marriage — but to show me what to do next.

There were nights I asked Him to fix it for Abigail’s sake. And others, I begged Him to set me free.

I prayed for healing. For direction. For peace.And even though I prayed hard, my marriage still ended.

People always ask, “If you were praying so much, why didn’t God save your marriage?”But here’s what I learned: sometimes God’s answer is no — and no can still be love.

His deliverance didn’t look like reconciliation.

It looked like release.

It looked like peace I couldn’t explain.

4. When God’s “No” Was Still Love

At the time, I didn’t get it.

But years later, I can say it out loud: God's no was His protection. I didn’t just survive that season; I came out with a stronger backbone, softer heart, and unshakable faith.

Moving back in with my parents was humbling, healing, and holy — all at once.I presented Samuel at church later on, once he was born. Abigail was already in AWANA, thriving in her little Cubbies vest, memorizing verses better than I could.

And I threw myself into discipleship classes. Four of them. Two years. Countless pages of notes. If sanctification had a GPA, I would’ve graduated summa cum laude in Trying My Best.

And through all of it, I didn’t fall apart the way people expected me to. Anxiety? Sure. Tears? Every other day. But depression? Never won. Because prayer became my therapy and God became my lifeline.

5. Faith After Divorce

These days, I tell people:

“The reason I believe in God is because I literally couldn’t survive this life without Him.”

The alternative — believing everything’s random — would make the pain meaningless.

My faith didn’t end when my marriage did.If anything, it deepened.It became less about ritual and more about relationship.

I’m not a “religious” person — I’m a person who talks to God like He’s sitting in the passenger seat while I’m late for school drop-off.I don’t follow rules; I follow Him.

I still go to church, every Sunday. Even when I don’t agree with every sermon or stance.

Because church isn’t a museum for the perfect — it’s a hospital for the broken. We go not because we’re healed, but because we’re still bleeding.

6. The Baby Christian Chronicles

I joke that I’m still a baby Christian — wobbling, learning, sometimes biting the spoon.

I haven’t read the whole Bible yet (Leviticus still intimidates me), but I try.I still sin. I still mess up. I still lose my patience at bedtime prayers when my kids take 47 minutes to “thank God for dinosaurs and ice cream.”

But God’s not surprised by any of it. He’s the same God who carried me through divorce court, pregnancy, loneliness, and healing.He’s not grading me on performance; He’s walking with me through progress.

7. Faith in the Everyday Mess

I am now a volunteer teacher of a Sparks group at AWANA — a bunch of energetic six- and seven-year-olds who think glitter glue is a fruit group. And every week, when I see their faces light up as they learn Bible verses, I think:

“This. This is what faith looks like in real life.”

It’s not perfect attendance or big miracles.

It’s presence.

It’s showing up — messy bun, tired eyes, full heart — and believing that grace is enough.

I’ve learned that faith isn’t the absence of fear or failure.

It’s the quiet confidence that even when everything falls apart, God is still building something beautiful.

8. Release Is Still Deliverance

When I look back, I realize I wasn’t praying for a husband — I was praying for peace. And God gave it to me, even if it came wrapped in heartbreak.

Sometimes deliverance doesn’t mean repair. Sometimes it means release — and that’s the holiest kind of love there is.

9. For Anyone Still Figuring It Out

If you’ve ever felt unsure about your faith — or like your beliefs don’t perfectly fit the boxes people expect — you’re not alone.

Faith is personal.

It’s allowed to evolve.

And it’s okay if your prayers sound more like, “Hey God, I’m struggling again,” than “Dear Heavenly Father…”

If you’re in the middle of your own breaking point, remember:

The mess doesn’t disqualify you.

Sometimes, it’s exactly where God meets you.

🌸 Final Thoughts

I don’t have all the answers.

But I know this:

I’m loved. I’m guided. And even in my worst moments, I was never walking alone.

That’s what faith in the mess looks like.

It’s not perfect. It’s not polished.

But it’s real — and it’s enough.

💜 — Rochelly