On a Journey Marked by Uncertainty, a Mother Discovers the Power of Humble Love

BY BEVERLY FAUSTINELLI,  GUEST RESOURCE SPECIALIST

​I used to live by the mantra, “my way or the highway.” I thought I had life figured out—until my son was born. Slowly, I began to see that life—and God—operates differently than I do. His plans demanded something I had never fully embraced: surrender, trust, obedience—and a love that serves, even when it costs.

When I prayed for my next chapter, I didn’t ask for ease. I asked for God to open every door I needed and close those I didn’t. And He did. In early June 2023, I arrived in Lebanon, Pennsylvania, leaving behind everything familiar in Puerto Rico—family, friends, the life I had built. I came because God called me to a place with more resources for my son, a child with autism, trusting that His provision would meet us even in uncertainty. I had nothing but a single suitcase of clothes. And faith.

Almost immediately, a member of Calvary Chapel opened their home to my son and me. In their hospitality, I glimpsed the kind of love Jesus modeled on Holy Thursday—the love that bends low, that washes feet, that lifts the burden of another simply because it is needed. Weeks passed without steady income, and I searched tirelessly for a job that would allow me to care for my son as a single mother. Each rejection, each anxious night, reminded me of the humility required to trust God’s timing.

In His perfect timing, He placed me at LCCM, a place where I could truly be “someone’s somebody.” On June 26, 2023, I began my journey there. I met many remarkable colleagues, but one woman stood out—a fellow Puerto Rican, also navigating life with a child on the autism spectrum. God’s hand was unmistakable: our sons, and even our birthdays—July 6—aligned like a divine footstep.

At first, she was simply a coworker. But God was orchestrating something far greater. Today, she is my supervisor, my friend, my sister in Christ. She has guided me through challenges I could not have faced alone. She coached me, connected me to vital resources for my son, for my own health, and held me accountable. She has shown me the beauty of selfless love—washing feet in the modern world, carrying another’s burdens, serving without expectation of return.

Looking back, I see how every closed door, every struggle, every moment of uncertainty, was God shaping me into someone capable of that kind of love. Like the disciples whose feet were washed, I am learning that true strength is found in humility and in serving others.

His way—His love—is always better than mine.

Because even here—in the surrender, in the kneeling, in the quiet acts of love—there is a promise:

Sunday is coming.