I was born in Havana, Cuba. Typical of most Cubans at the time, I was baptized, had my first communion and was confirmed into the Catholic faith. In spite of a lack of overt religiosity on the part of my parents, I was educated by the Catholic Church through the twelfth grade. On January 1st, 1959 the Batista regime fell and Castro’s forces took control of the Island. Although my father was not involved in politics and even leaned towards socialist ideology, he found himself in disagreement with the new government’s nationalization of privately-owned companies. His displeasure came to a head when in mid-1960 the local Pepsi Cola plant, where he worked as a production foreman, was nationalized. Soon thereafter he lost his job and was branded a “counterrevolutionary.” He left the country later that year for fear that he would be arrested and imprisoned.

That left me (10 years old), my sister (20 years old) and my mother stranded behind. We tried to come to the U.S. but, unlike my father, were unable to get a visa to emigrate. The point became moot by February, 1961 when the U.S. broke diplomatic relations with Cuba and the U.S. embassy closed its doors. We tried to get out through Spain but, although we acquired a visa from the Spanish Consulate, we were unable to get transportation out of the country.

During this time a massive airlift operation called “Pedro Pan” was initiated by the Catholic Church to get Cuban children out of the country. My mother signed me up with the local parochial school I was attending and, within a couple of weeks, was given permission to leave as well as a Pan Am ticket to fly to Miami, Florida. I left on April 5th, 1961 and joined up with my father. My mother and sister were able to leave Cuba few months later.

After a couple of years living in Florida (where jobs were very scarce at the time), my family moved to Shreveport, Louisiana. There my father once again worked as a production foreman for Pepsi Cola. In 1968 my family moved to New York City seeking better-paying work and a higher standard of living. I, however, remained behind to attend Louisiana Tech University.

It was during my teenage years in Louisiana and into early adulthood that my spiritual persuasions evolved. As a young teenager I was very fond of the Catholic Church and at one time seriously considered joining the priesthood as a Jesuit. By the time I was 16, however, I was more interested in girls and parties than I was in the Church (the “celibacy thing” was a clear drawback). This lifestyle of mine would last well into my early 20’s.
By the time I turned 23 I had hit bottom—not exactly skid row, but not too far, either. Most of my friends had graduated from college and were gainfully employed as engineers, accountants and such. I, on the other hand, had dropped out of college. I took a job driving a forklift in a plywood mill and, at the very least, became self-supporting.
But all was not lost. At least I was living a “clean” life (relatively speaking) and, now that my head was clear (relatively speaking), I re-enrolled in school and turned my attention once again to spiritual matters. Back in 1972-3 I had dabbled a little bit into Eastern mysticism but was too busy having a good time to pay serious attention to it. But now that I had “settled down” (relatively speaking), I turned my affections once again to the faith of my youth. This time around, however, I didn’t want to narrow my options to Catholicism. Yes, I was convinced that Jesus was the Way, but…which was the way to Jesus? I considered the Mormons, but when they told me I would have to give up drinking and smoking I said, “No cigar!” I was also proselytized by hard-line Pentecostals but, although I found them to be very sincere and loving, I was turned off by their eccentric style of worship. One day in late 1974 I was invited to “church” by a young lady who lived next door. I say “church” because they met in a house, had no priest or even pastor, and sang Bible songs set to contemporary music (a sharp contrast to my notions of “church”). I liked it even though I didn’t understand much of what was going on. Someone asked me point blank when I became a Christian and I told him I had always been one (little did I realize at the time that this was the “wrong answer”). I was loaned a Bible and told that I should read it. I agreed.

I went home that evening and began reading through the epistles. At one point I ran across Romans 10:9,10 – “If you confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you shall be saved; for with the heart man believes, resulting in righteousness, and with the mouth he confesses, resulting in salvation.” That was it for me—no “Four Spiritual Laws” or multiple choruses of “Just As I Am.” I read it, I believed it, and the next day I was a different man—a new creation!
Well, that was over three decades ago. I managed to finish my B.S. in math and went on to graduate school. In 1976 I took a job as a high school math teacher and, for the next ten years, taught high school mathematics and computer science in Louisiana and Texas. The “church” I “joined” in 1974 was part of a fledging movement which eventually became GCM/GCAC (many, many variations of Great Commission Ministries / Great Commission Association of Churches during this time). In 1980 our tiny “church” folded and I moved to Texas to be with the Great Commission church recently established in Lubbock.

In 1982 I married Hope Medellin (another long-time “Great Commission-er”). After both of us finished graduate school at Texas Tech University we moved to Albuquerque, NM to assist Pastor Don Schlichte and others leading the Albuquerque Great Commission church. In 1988 several families living in Rio Rancho started Rio West Community Church. In 1994 I was appointed as a pastor/elder of RWCC. In 1995 I was selected as the Dean of Instruction for UNM-Valencia, a position I still hold, and was elected to Rio Rancho Public Schools Board of Education, a position I held until 2003.

Hope and I now have three children. This year (2007) Gabriel turns 18, Carmen turns 16 and Gloria (last but by no means least) turns 11. And this year I celebrated 46 years in the U.S. and took time to reflect back on how good God has been to me.