I once thought my story wasn’t mine to share. I couldn’t discern which parts were for me to own and which were my family’s business to hold sacred. Somewhere along the line, however, I learned that not only is there power in recognizing what story God is writing in our personal lives, but that there’s also immense freedom that comes with sharing it. Both for you, and for others.
You crush evil with the blood of Jesus and the power of His story brought to life through yours.
-Revelation 12:11 (Stella’s Living Translation, SLT)
My story starts with a curious young girl, the daughter of two Nigerian immigrants and the fifth of six kids. We were raised in a home full of love in Darnestown, Maryland. It’s a small town that rests in the heart of the small state. I attended Mary of Nazareth Roman Catholic Elementary School for nine years following my older siblings and leading my little brother. We were amongst the two or three Black families at the predominately White school. Thus, I became all too familiar with being the black sheep of my friend group. Or maybe I should say friend groups. Plural being that I never truly knew where I fit in, so I just made friends with everyone.
Growing up life was pretty good. In the absence of my father who lived in Nigeria from when I was around three, I didn’t fully understand how the lack of a paternal figure affected me and my family. My mom is a super strong woman, she worked hard as a physician to support us and we never lacked for anything. Honestly, we were actually pretty spoiled until life took an unexpected turn.
In elementary school a young woman came to our home from Nigeria. She was undocumented and lived with us for years with “alien” status. She became a part of our family.
One part of the story that I tend to leave out is the abuse my siblings and I endured from her. She never hit us or anything, thankfully. But simply put, she was just cruel. For example, I was extremely terrified of the dark as a child. I can recall a few times that she locked me between two laundry baskets and shoved me in a dark closet until I couldn’t scream any longer. She always seemed to somehow get pleasure from watching others suffer—which actually leads to the part of my story that drastically steers the rest into where I am today.
In 2005, my mother and the young woman began to quarrel about her returning back to Nigeria. She still did not have papers and remaining in the U.S. was not very feasible. Naturally, she wasn’t very excited about this and in response came up with a plan that would enable her to remain in the States at our expense. She went to the police and accused my mother of enslaving her all those years. Low move, I know.
My mother was charged with three alleged offenses: harboring an illegal alien, conspiracy to smuggle an illegal alien, and the one that cut the deepest—involuntary servitude. Aka, slavery. I spent much of my fifth grade year in courtrooms listening to lie after lie brought up against a woman who, in my eyes, was infallible. While I now know my mother is not perfect by any means, I maintain that the injustice she has endured over the years would be hard for anyone to bear. Ultimately she was found not guilty of slavery, but guilty of the other two charges, and sentenced to 87 months in federal prison. That’s 7 years, 3 months if you’d rather not do the math.
The following years would go on to be some of the most challenging and formative years of my life. Though crushed by my mother absence, my eyes were opened to a side of God that I had never connected with before. Unbeknownst to me, I began to experience the Holy Spirit drastically move in my life. While in prison, my mother was supernaturally healed from metastatic cancer, I moved to Ohio with my brother Jonathan to live with cousins, and I began a journey of faith that has carried me over the years. A very jagged journey that has by no means been smooth.
Inviting people into the dark, sticky stuff is the scary part. It feels like my whole life I was put on an undeserving pedestal while praying no one would notice the grime beneath my feet. The stuff that looked like an addiction to pornography that started before I could read a full chapter book. Hangovers that made church the next morning drag a bit. Sneaking into clubs with false IDs and smoking weed in hidden parking lots. Or even the high GPAs I achieved by avoiding any class that might push me beyond my known ability.
When it became apparent that real life was far out of my control, I chose the few things I could grasp and tailored them to my liking. I learned how to put a smile on my face and say everything was okay until I truly believed that dysfunction was acceptable. I settled. I didn’t talk to anyone about what was going on in my life, not even my closest friends. It always just seemed like too much for anyone to understand. Though I did not let anyone too close, I became well known in most social circles I entered. From being elected senior class president, to landing the lead roles in high school plays, being involved in an obnoxious amount of student organizations in college, and traveling abroad any chance I got, I seemed to have it all together. But the truth is I was just extremely lost and still didn’t fully know where I fit in.
In college I decided it was time to start taking my faith walk more seriously. This came with a lot of barriers that prevented me from fully surrendering to God. Deceit had became such a norm in my life that when God started to break through its walls, I panicked. At one point I denounced my faith in Jesus and decided it would be a lot more simple to practice Universalism and live whatever lifestyle felt most comfortable to me. Under Universalism, every religion balanced out and coexistence was the goal. While I still hold deep value in honoring, understanding, and living in harmony with others of different belief systems, I realized I was only leaning in that direction to run from the convictions that rose up from living a double life. You see, I never stopped going to church and kept my doubts mostly to myself. All the while, I justified things like having premarital sex, living complacently in an identity crisis, and holding onto my loose beliefs. It didn’t work. Jesus kept tugging me back to Him. He had a grip on me and wouldn’t let me go.
These four years were extremely confusing and simultaneously groundbreaking. One day I was speaking in tongues (yeah, some real charismatic stuff) and the next day I was testing how many tequila shots I could take in one hour. A few days later I was dunked in cold water getting baptized and the next Sunday I was sitting in a pew questioning every word coming from the stage.
It wasn’t until my senior year that God began to rewire everything I thought I knew about Him. I ended up in a big auditorium at this strange and very loud church in Cincinnati called Crossroads. They were in a series called “Death to Religion”…bold, I know. It was all about breaking free from the institution of religion that pigeon holes what it means to follow Jesus and finding a true relationship with the God of the universe. I started to understand the the guilt I was feeling as a result of my decisions wasn’t condemnation, but rather the Father trying to speak to me and offer alternatives to the lifestyle I was choosing. And it’s not because He’s a dictator. He just genuinely loves me and knows His way of living offers the beauty of experiencing heaven on earth. There’s nothing like it.
I didn’t change overnight, but over the next year I went through a process of pruning away the ugly confusing stuff in my life and entering into an intimate two-way relationship with God. I stopped running away from my calling into ministry that I had rejected since my Sophomore year. And I got redunked in a cold pond but this time, I meant it.
Don’t get me wrong though, there was still a lot of that grime stuck under my feet that had accumulated over the years. But I started to understand the freedom in bringing all my junk to the light and inviting God to help me work through it. I stopped being “okay” and admitted I’m in desperate need of rescue.
We often make the mistake of leaving our stories in the past tense but the truth is it’s an continuous journey as long as we’re still alive. My mom came home in September, 2012. Since being home, it’s been an ongoing battle to keep her in the United States in lieu of deportation. It has by no means been easy. But while my response to pain in the past has been to hide and give into destructive behavior, I’m learning to surrender it to God everyday and trust He’s writing a better story than I can. I’m also learning that our family’s story is not one to hide or be ashamed of. We have witnessed extreme redemption; like forgiving my father, forgiving the young woman, and answered prayers for my mom time and time again, just to name a few. God has been so good through all of the struggle; and the struggle’s been real y’all—like for really real. But we’re all stronger because of it. Especially my mom. I can’t even begin to put my feet in her shoes even as I have walked alongside her. But if you knew her you wouldn’t even realize it. She’s been through so much yet continues to hold her head high and has more faith than any person I know. She’s my favorite person in the world and she diserves just that—the world.
Three years ago, I started working at Crossroads as a video producer with a focus on sharing people’s stories. Stories of heartbreak, redemption, and freedom. Stories just like mine. My greatest desire in life has become to make the story of a God who’s real, interactive, and full of love known. He’s inspired me to do this through telling the testimonies of those who are living proof of His existence.
Everyday he invites me to participate in His story because it’s my story too.
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QUICK LIFE UPDATE
Today I’m leaving Swaziland and heading to South Africa. I’ll be serving alongside a ministry called Impact Africa and I’m super excited. Most of my last month was spent training to be a Squad Leader and it was pretty exhaustin. So me and my coleaders (Madison and Cody) get to spend the first few days in Cape Town for a little break. PTL! Then back to Johannesburg to get to work. Training was intense, but I learned a TON this month and I’m excited to put it all into practice.
Thank you for reading my story. It was a little difficult to write and I questioned what to include. There is sooo much more to it all but the through line is that God has been extremely kind and patient with me. It is so so good to know Him. I would trade anything for others to experience the Love that I have come to know from following Jesus.
I’d like to invite you in praying for my family. Please pray for discernment, endurance, and unity as we continue fighting for my mother. Her name is Stella too, so that makes it easy. Please lift her up!
Much Love Always,
Stella
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Thanks for following along!
IG: @stellaagee
YouTube: Stella Udeozor
