I Thought I Was Home for Good—Until God Called Me Back

For nine long years, I served as a nurse in Saudi Arabia—an Overseas Filipino Worker who built a life of discipline, hard work, and quiet sacrifice. But one day, I felt a gentle nudge in my spirit. It was time to come home. With peace in my heart and big dreams for my future, I returned to the Philippines permanently—or so I thought.

At first, everything fell beautifully into place. My husband and I rented our own space—our little sanctuary we long dreamed of. We lived simply but freely, finally able to buy groceries without checking price tags twice. It felt like a dream unfolding. But reality has a way of shaking even the most hopeful hearts.

Slowly, cracks began to show.

Fear crept in, followed by financial strain, emotional distance, and unspoken thoughts that grew louder in silence. My husband and I began drifting apart—not through fights, but through the kind of quiet disconnect that hurts even more. We stopped communicating the way we used to. We were two people living under one roof, slowly becoming strangers.

One day, we were scheduled to visit my parents—my mom’s birthday. It was a long drive. My husband was visibly tired, emotionally distant, and not himself. Still, I insisted we go. He agreed, but halfway through the ride, he asked for a moment to rest. He was exhausted. Ten minutes passed. He started the car again, wordless and heavy.

Then it happened.

A police checkpoint flagged us down. Our first traffic violation: no seatbelt. I was holding our son in front without a seatbelt—something my husband constantly reminded me about in the past. But that day, he said nothing. And I, lost in my own bubble of concern, ignored it.

They took his license.

The disappointment around me was crushing. The guilt was unbearable. Everyone scolded me. And though my husband didn’t say a word, his silence and expression told me everything: It’s your fault. Those words echoed in my head until they broke me.

The only comfort I found that day was in my father’s silent hug. In his arms, I collapsed. And in that moment, I realized the weight I was carrying—guilt, regret, fear, and shame.

Later that night, my husband held me and opened up. Finally, he shared the burden he’d been hiding. I realized then that he had been hurting too, just in a different way. And that poor communication—the kind that makes you assume the worst—can destroy even the strongest of bonds.

Fast forward to June 2024: I took my NCLEX exam, and by God’s grace, I passed. I was accepted into the same hospital where my husband worked. We felt aligned again, our dreams colliding into one shared purpose.

But happiness was layered. Beneath the surface, our finances were crumbling. Inflation spiraled. Bills piled up. And by New Year’s Day, we felt the weight of it all. No joy. No celebration. Just silence. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried like I had never cried before. I felt abandoned—even by God. I stopped praying. I stopped going to church. I was angry with Him. Why wasn’t He listening?

That night, I had a dream.

I was sitting alone on sand, wrapped in peace. No worries. No fear. Then, someone called my name. A man—about my age—held my hand, and we walked together in silence. It felt so real. I woke up sobbing. And for the first time in a long time, I prayed again. “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t understand.”

Just when I thought we were finding our footing, life threw another blow. My husband was diagnosed with bilateral antrochoanal polyps—a mass in his nose that made it hard for him to breathe. The required procedure—an embolization—would cost over half a million pesos.

It was crushing. We sold our car. We rearranged everything. Still, it wasn’t enough.

But God showed up again—just in time. We were led to a compassionate, skilled doctor who helped us navigate a way through. My husband underwent a different treatment, one that didn’t require the massive expense. And finally, he could breathe again—literally and figuratively.

Through every trial, I found myself returning to one truth: the more I drew closer to God, the more the enemy tried to shake my foundation. But I held on.

Because I’ve learned that trials aren’t punishments—they’re preparation.

God breaks us only to rebuild us stronger.

Eventually, I returned abroad. It wasn’t the plan I envisioned years ago, but it was God’s plan all along. And today, I walk with a heart full of faith, clarity, and peace—not because my life is free from problems, but because I know who walks with me through the fire.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord. “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

— Jeremiah 29:11

To those who are weary, doubting, and questioning God in the midst of hardship—hold on. I am a living testament that He hears you. Even in your silence, even in your anger, even in your doubt.

God never left. He never will.