by Esmeralda Haver
My father passed away when I was three years old. When I was six, we emigrated to the border city of Piedras Negras, Coahuila. It was in this city where my mother left me in a Christian children’s home. There, my new parents treated me as a beloved daughter and made me feel I belonged to a family. My father always said the moment a girl stepped onto the property, she became a beautiful daughter.
Knowing I am loved, I am His daughter, and my heavenly Father always desired a daughter like me gives me the confidence to trust he will guide me and I will be okay. It is this security in him that allows me to take the steps he asks of me, even when I cannot see the full path or the destination.
When I was seventeen and just about to graduate from high school, I needed direction. I was considering the possibility of beginning a relationship with a young man and continuing my university studies.
One night, after a long day of studying and working, I arrived home. I laid down on my bed, thinking, “I just need to let my feet rest.” A deep sleep fell over me. I found myself in a congregation with wooden pews, filled with standing adults. On the platform in front, I could only see the pastor, and I felt great respect for him. At the back of the building, there was just one entrance—only the frame, with no door. In the doorway stood a young man who seemed to be in need. When that young man and I locked eyes, I woke up.
As I awoke, I wondered what I had just seen. That was when I heard, repeated three times: “Take My Word to the nations.” That was all I needed to hear. The next day, I ended my relationship with the young man. I began the process of enrolling in a Bible school, and when I graduated from high school I moved to Nuevo Laredo, Tamaulipas where I studied and later served for twenty years.
When God speaks to us—whether through a vision, a word from someone, or through the Scriptures—we should recognize him as Lord and obey.
In the place where I studied and served I met Joshua, and together we started a family. It was one of the poorest areas of the city, marked by the daily conflict of drug cartels. In the midst of it all, we lived in a community where each day we gathered for worship, prayer, and praise—with a constant focus on evangelizing to our surroundings and the city. It broke me, in the best sense of the word. Because I learned to let the gentle but firm voice of the Lord carry more weight than all the external noise.
There is nothing outside of God—he fills everything. We are here for a purpose greater than ourselves. No matter the moment, every situation is an opportunity to glimpse heaven. We are vessels of light for his glory.
Over the years, I continued to remember the vision that changed my life direction, and now I knew the pastor I had seen was Josh. When Josh told me he felt we were going to move and he was going to be a pastor, I responded, “I know.” Twenty years earlier, God had already told me.
As I reflect on the idea of liminality and consider everything I have lived—abandoned, adopted, ministering in the midst of violence, crossing cultures, and distinct life transitions—I realize that this space, or this way of living, is not so complicated. It is only complicated if I am trying to be in control instead of surrendering to him.
God speaks to us, his Spirit guides us, we surrender our will, and we enjoy the adventure. His grace is sufficient. There is peace in the midst of his will. Though the storm may roar around us, his peace whispers louder.
And so, we choose to always rejoice, to give thanks in everything, while always recognizing we live under his authority. Jesus is the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords.