JOURNEY TO FORGIVENESS
BY
NURKA SOTO-VALENTINE

As told to Pat Banta Kreml

As an eight-year-old growing up in Lynbrook, New York, I was a happy child. I loved to laugh. I was always respectful to my elders. I loved to play with my dolls, play dress-up, giggle—all of the usual stuff. Just a normal little girl. Then one afternoon, my half-brother, Edgar, took me into his bedroom, locked the door, and changed my life forever. When I told my mother what Edgar had done, she was furious. My father whipped and punished him, but that did not stop Edgar for long.

Soon, I became an angry person, disrespectful to others—especially my parents and those in authority. I also became sexually promiscuous. When I was twelve, I came home with a hickie on my neck. My mother could not take any more.

“What am I going to do with you, Nurka. Do you realize how dangerous this is?” She pointed to my bruise. “Do you know what could happen? How far have you gone?” she demanded.

“It’s no big deal, Mom. It’s my life…”

“No,” she cut me off before I could say any more. “This has to stop. You hear me? It has to stop.”

That night she started making plans. In a few months, I was on a plane to Panama, to attend Maria Auxiliadora, a Catholic girl’s school. On the surface, I resented being sent away, but deep inside I wanted to change; to become the happy little girl I’d once been. Maria Auxiliadora proved to be a blessing in disguise. Since it was an all girl’s school, there was no temptation to be promiscuous. I was safe. I could relax. No one would harm me there.

In catechism classes I learned more about God. I began to show sincere respect for others and myself. In time, puberty transformed me from a flat-chested child into a curveatious young woman. I thought my past was far behind me, but I was proven wrong.

During the years I attended Maria Auxciliadora, I spent every weekend with my mother’s best friend and her husband. I considered them my aunt and uncle. One Saturday afternoon, my uncle made sexual advances. I told my aunt immediately, but she did not believe me. At eight, I could not stop what had happened to me. At fifteen, I did not. I was so angry: angry at my uncle, at myself, and most of all, at God. I believed He had once again “tested” me, and once again I had failed. Failed, because I did nothing to stop the advances. I thought, what’s the use? There must be something wrong with me if this keeps happening again and again.

From then on, anger, bitterness, and resentment became my constant companions. By the time I returned to the States, I had no moral restraints. I saw myself as used and a user. There was no chance for me to ever be pure and clean again. I figured I’d hit rock bottom. Nothing could hurt me any more than I’d been hurt. But I was wrong.

One day, while visiting my real uncle—Uncle Rafael—I sat out on the back patio alone. My uncle approached and molested me. I was shocked. Astounded! How could this be happening again? It seemed that God had once more put me to the test, and once more I had failed. I allowed the deed. I did not resist.

I can’t begin to tell you how many times I cried out in anger, “God, why? Why did you do this to me? Why did you keep testing me if you knew I was going to fail? Why do I keep failing?” Many times I wanted to end it all, take my own life, but something deep inside would not let me. I know now that it was the Holy Spirit working in me.

As years went by, I met Christians who told me about Jesus and salvation. Because I’d driven such a wedge of anger and unforgiveness between myself and God, I did not believe His salvation could be mine. But God was bigger than my attitude. He sent a woman I’d never met to tell me, “God is going to use your voice to touch lives.” I thought she was crazy. How could God use me? I wasn’t even a Christian. But God’s plan moved forward.

I met a handsome young Christian named Dayen. We were attracted to each other, but he made it clear he could not consider a serious relationship with a non-Christian. I really cared for Dayen, so I started attending church with him. As I heard the Word and learned about God, a flicker of hope ignited deep in my heart. But every time hope sparked to life, my anger towards God snuffed it out. You see, I blamed God for all the men who abused and molested me. I thought He had devised these tests and set me up to fail so He could judge and punish me.

Finally, in spite of all my reservations, I did accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior, but that wedge of unforgiveness kept me from drawing as close to the Lord as I wanted to. Then one Sunday I attended a service where the minister was flowing in the Holy Spirit. He walked up to where I was seated, called me out, and said, “God is not responsible for what happened to you.” This man did not even know me, so his words really impacted my heart. A great burden lifted off of my life and forgiveness flowed. God was innocent. He had not tested me at all. It was Satan who orchestrated those situations to destroy me. Satan was my enemy, not God.

Forgiveness has a way of burrowing deeper and deeper into the core of your being if you let it. That day I let it. My anger towards God vanished, and I opened my heart to Him. For years I felt like I had been imprisoned in a concrete cell with no sunlight or fresh air. Now suddenly I found myself free. It was as if God Himself ushered me out into an endless field of clover on a clear spring morning. Everything felt fresh and bright and new. But forgiveness didn’t stop there. It bore deeper still.

Sometime later, I heard my Uncle Rafael had been diagnosed with cancer. Final stages. Nothing the doctors could do. The Holy Spirit began to deal with my heart about forgiving him. My uncle had asked to see several family members so he could make things right before he died, but he never asked to see me. I had to fight resentment. If there was anyone he should have asked for, it was me. I did not want to forgive Uncle Rafael, but I knew it was God’s will for me.

Finally, I gave in to God, and went to the hospital with my mother and aunt. As we drew closer to his room, my palms turned damp and clammy. My heartbeat drummed in my ears. I paused just outside his door and took a deep breath. The antiseptic smell filled my nostrils as I opened the door to Uncle Rafael’s room.

My uncle looked so frail and helpless, his face grey against the pristine white pillows. Oxygen tubes curved into his nostrils and an IV line snaked over his left arm. I knew I was doing the right thing, but I still did not feel the forgiveness I’d come to offer. My uncle looked up at me. Our eyes met. I saw a question in his, maybe a little fear. I bent down and whispered in his ear, “I forgive you.”

When I pulled back, tears streamed down his face. “Thank you,” he said through pale, cracked lips.

I left that hospital room feeling light and free. I had forgiven God, and I had forgiven my uncle too. Now, only one more act of forgiveness remains—to forgive myself. That’s the toughest of all, because I know what I thought and felt and did. Yet I also know that God’s Word says if we confess our sins, He forgives and cleanses us from ALL unrighteousness. His grace is sufficient for me.


Nurka is a member of the Winter Haven Worship Center Choir and Praise Team. As prophesied, she is using her voice to touch people’s lives. She is also wife to Dayen Valentine and the mother of two sons. Serving God with her gifts is Nurka’s greatest passion.