Redeemed By Grace

I am the sixth child of eight, the middle daughter of three. I grew up a tomboy — rough, curious, and already exposed to more adult content than any child should ever be.

My parents immigrated to the U.S. after the Vietnam War, trying to find their way through a foreign culture, a foreign tongue, and often, foreign hearts. I grew up surrounded by my siblings and the neighborhood kids. We ran the streets with no curfew, feeling a great sense of freedom. But with little supervision or guidance, that freedom quickly became recklessness. 

By elementary school, I was already smoking cigarettes. I got into my first fight at the playground down the alley from home. By sixth grade, I was smoking weed and going to house parties. In high school, I stayed high and missed out on countless opportunities. I was among many misfits— yet even then, God was protecting me. There were so many moments when I could have been hurt, assaulted, or lost my life, but somehow, God covered me. I drove drunk and still got home safely. I walked in darkness, yet His hand never left me. That rebellious, careless life began to crumble during the end of my senior year. I had just come out of an abusive relationship and had no direction. 

I was lost.

So I prayed.

Fervently.

My parents had raised us in church, though they weren’t perfect. My dad did time on drug charges when I was little in California. Before I was born, he was already battling an addiction that had followed him since his teenage years in Laos. My mom — she worried a lot, and she carried so much anger. She raised eight children, endured an unfaithful husband, and bore the weight of our family’s pain. His drug addiction was his longest affair, and it left its mark on all

of us.

When my mom passed in May 2025, I saw how much of her I carried — her strength, her stubbornness, her fire. Even while living a double life, I kept going to youth group at church. And in June 2003, I made the decision to be baptized. That one decision set the stage for the Holy Spirit to move powerfully in my life. I began to pray — really pray — and seek God’s Word for guidance. And God answered.

He sent me a friend and mentor named Jim. We worked for the same company. On Sundays, I’d open the hotel restaurant at 7a.m., and Jim would be getting off from the night shift at the front desk. He’d come in for breakfast, and over time, we became friends. What I didn’t realize then was that Jim was the answer to my prayer. He became my mentor, my encourager, and eventually, a father figure. He prayed over me, guided me, and spoke life into me when I didn’t really understand what life with God really meant. Through college — a time filled with confusion about who I was and where I fit as a Hmong American woman of faith — Jim was a steady spiritual force. I was the first in my family to go to college. I didn’t know how institutions worked or how to navigate them. I just survived. Jim opened my eyes to possibilities I had never imagined. He was one of the first people to speak life over me, to show me the grace of Christ in action. Jim became the second chance I didn’t even know I needed.

When my parents began to see the transformation in me, they stopped questioning my friendship with Jim. My mom began to rely on me more, and our relationship deepened. I started to understand her better — and in doing so, I learned to love parts of myself I didn’t even realize had been starving for warmth. I also began to understand my father — his pain, his absence, his humanity. I forgave him, not because he asked, but because God was healing me.

By the second semester of my senior year, God had already started rewriting my story. He began restoring my heart and my relationships, one by one. Later, I met my husband. At the time, he was still an inmate, having served seven of a fourteen-year sentence. We started as pen pals — encouraging one another in faith. Over time, our friendship grew into something deeper. One day, the question came up — where were we headed? Was there an intention to build a life together? In many ways, we already were. We were building a foundation of prayer, accountability, and love that challenged both of us to grow. Honestly, I was already in love after a couple of years. When we finally got married, our love was tested by fire. God refined us both— stripping away pride, pain, and old habits. I discovered how much I still had to unlearn. Through it all, my husband kept loving me while I was still re-learning how to love myself.

There were many dark days — days so heavy that only the thought of my firstborn kept me from pulling the trigger. Our marriage was on the brink of divorce. But our families, especially his, grounded in faith, never stopped praying for us. Their intercession, their love, and God’s mercy saved our marriage. Now, we live a life I once thought impossible — blessed with four beautiful children and even our dog, surrounded by grace upon grace. 

God has renewed my passion for His Kingdom work. I am grateful that He would call me His own, that He would redeem my story, and that my children will inherit not just our faith — but the faith of many who will pour into their lives. I am living proof that nothing is too far gone for God to redeem. Everything I was ashamed of — every dark corner, every scar — has become a place where His light now shines.

I am free.

I am whole.

I am redeemed by grace.

Glory to God.