SOP: A Nonprofit Organization with a Heart

was born in Liberia to a Muslim father and a Christian mother. My parents enrolled me in a phonics school called Sotamo, where I acquired the skills of reading and writing, with a particular focus on cursive writing. I also learned to speak and write in Standard English, deliberately avoiding informal English. For instance, if someone addressed me in Liberian English and inquired, “Where’s your name?” I would respond, “My name is in my father’s room” or “My name is in America.” Individuals needed to communicate with me in Standard English by asking, “What is your name?” before I would disclose my name.In my view, the aesthetic appeal of cursive letters was so captivating that I felt compelled to practice writing them everywhere, every day. My father would reprimand me frequently for inscribing on the walls and floor. As I began to learn how to use these letters to form words, I became increasingly expressive and passionate about writing. By the third grade, I found myself writing prolifically, often carrying scraps of paper filled with words in my school bag. In the absence of paper, I would resort to writing on my clothing and body.

 

Subsequently, my mother took me to Ghana in the hopes of relocating to the United States; however, those plans did not materialize. I spent one year in Ghana before returning to Liberia, where my parents required me to repeat the third grade. Despite my enthusiasm for writing, I did not excel academically, having failed both the third and fifth grades twice. I often felt inadequate in my academic abilities, especially as my peers advanced two grades ahead of me. My religious belief At the time of my birth, I was the sole child of my parents.

My father named me after his mother, ‘Asatta,’ while my mother referred to me as Satta. My father endeavored to provide me with the best educational opportunities, enrolling me in prestigious schools. Although I lived with my parents in the same household, they had become estranged, occupying separate sections of the house. I resided with my father, while my mother lived with her new husband and my two brothers in another section. My father was deeply devoted to my well-being, even hiring a babysitter to care for me. When he was away from home, I stayed with my Christian mother and neighbors, who would take me to church. Regular attendance at church enabled me to learn biblical teachings and Christian hymns.

 Despite my father’s efforts to introduce me to his family, he was concerned about the lack of enthusiasm they displayed regarding my education. Consequently, he began to instruct me in the Islamic faith, which left me perplexed, as I struggled to comprehend his teachings. Nevertheless, during prayer time, I followed his lead, mirroring his actions for years.

A miraculous event unfolded in my life that I hope serves as a source of inspiration. Years later, my father married my nanny, and we entered the United States Diversity Visa Lottery Program (DV) in pursuit of a new life in America. On the eve of my 14th birthday, as we prepared to embark on this journey, I experienced a sudden loss of consciousness and suffered a seizure. Foam emerged from my mouth, necessitating hospitalization, where the doctor diagnosed me with malaria. This marked the onset of various challenges in my life. After our arrival in the United States, I continued to experience episodes of unconsciousness, the cause of which remained a mystery to medical professionals. Despite extensive tests on my brain, no definitive diagnosis was reached, leading the doctors to prescribe seizure medication.

 

In 2009, an extraordinary experience transformed my life. On a beautiful sunny day, while I was taking a shower, I heard a voice emanating from the bathroom proclaiming, “The water you are bathing in is the blood of Jesus. Repent and follow me!” My eyes were closed, and soap covered my face as I questioned, “Who are you?” The voice replied, “I am your Lord and Savior.” When I opened my eyes, I perceived that the water had transformed into blood, and the voice continued, “Do not be afraid, for you are a miracle child, and you are being baptized with the blood of Jesus. Follow me, and I will save your soul!” Overcome with fear, I screamed and closed my eyes to rinse the soap off my face.

Upon opening my eyes again, the water had returned to its normal state. My body trembled with apprehension as the voice reassured me, “You will not see the bloody water again; I only turned it to blood so that you might witness my glory.” I expressed my concern, stating, “How can I follow you when my father is a Muslim? He will be angered if he discovers my conversion to Christianity.” The Lord responded, “Do not worry; I will be with you.”

 

My conversion to Christianity caused considerable distress to my father. He questioned my decision to follow Jesus, and I recounted my encounter with the Holy Spirit. However, he implored me not to disgrace him. His family urged him to sever ties with me, even asserting that I was no longer his child due to my faith. Consequently, he enrolled me in an Islamic institution. Furthermore, I found myself isolated at home, devoid of support.

My father enrolled me in an Islamic institution. Additionally, there was no one at home with whom I could discuss my beliefs about Jesus Christ. My stepmother, a Christian, would occasionally report me whenever she observed me engaging in any activities related to Christianity. Consequently, I established a social media page and connected with numerous followers of Jesus Christ. Through Facebook, I met a young gentleman to whom I shared my testimony. His mother, a devout Christian, was introduced to me, and she took it upon herself to teach me the Bible and instruct me in prayer. This family represented the first Christian household to which God guided me following my conversion.

 

Whenever my father overheard me praying with this lady on the phone, he would become irritated. To prevent him from becoming upset, I would retreat to the closet in my room, covering myself with two or three thick winter blankets to muffle our conversation. This practice often left me sweating and with painful heels, but I felt I had no alternative. My father’s discontent stemmed from my conversion to Christianity. However, as time passed, it became increasingly evident that he could not persuade me to revert to Islam.

One day, I lost consciousness and was subsequently taken to the hospital. Upon regaining consciousness, the doctor inquired about the circumstances surrounding my episode. I explained that the Lord had granted me a revelation for His people, during which He had taken me to heaven and shown me both heaven and hell. The medical staff informed my father that I was experiencing psychiatric issues. They suggested that my ability to see and hear voices could lead to harmful actions. Consequently, I spent three weeks in a psychiatric ward, undergoing treatment with both psychiatric and seizure medications, taking a total of ten different medicines daily.

The Lord appeared to me multiple times in my dreams, declaring that I was a miracle child and should be named Miracle. This message was further confirmed during a prophetic session on a Prayer Line I attended, where it was stated that the Lord desired for me to be called Miracle. At that time, I was fasting and praying regarding this name. However, out of respect and fear of my father, I chose not to change my name immediately. In 2019, I was involved in a car accident during inclement weather.

 

As my car skidded off the road and onto a bridge, the Lord asked me, “Are you ready to be called Miracle?” I officially changed my name from Asatta to Miracle in early 2022, upon obtaining my citizenship.

I have experienced significant embarrassment due to seizures, which I hesitate to label as such, given that medical professionals have been unable to identify a cause within my brain. On one occasion, while my father was cooking, I experienced a fit. In a state of confusion, I picked up a pot of boiling water, holding it for approximately three minutes, while my father refrained from approaching me, fearing I might scald myself. Once I regained my composure, I placed the pot back on the stove. My father rushed to me, checking for burns, but none were present.

 During some convulsions, my stepmother would observe as I struck my head against hard surfaces, taking no action due to her superstitious belief that my condition was

 

During some convulsions, my stepmother would observe as I struck my head against hard surfaces, taking no action due to her superstitious belief that my condition was contagious and that the saliva from my mouth could transmit it to her. Consequently, I faced domestic discrimination, with utensils such as spoons, cups, and plates designated for my exclusive use being stored separately in my father’s household.

Due to the mistreatment I endured at the hands of my stepmother, I decided to leave my home and relocate to Philadelphia. On the day of my departure, my stepmother ominously predicted that within six months, I would become pregnant, drop out of school, and become a burden. This was profoundly painful for my father, who cried and pleaded for me to reconsider my decision, yet I felt compelled to pursue my path. I left my father’s house with determination, prepared to confront whatever challenges life would present.

Although I continued to take seizure medications, these drugs adversely affected my memory, rendering it difficult for me to retain information while studying for exams. Consequently, I graduated with a low GPA. After a decade of taking seizure medications with no improvement, I chose to cease this treatment and place my faith in God Almighty for healing. Gradually, my seizures diminished from occurring daily to once a week, and eventually to once a month.

After two years of living with a friend who had encouraged my move to Pennsylvania, she betrayed my trust and abandoned me, leaving me on the brink of homelessness. Fortunately, my cousin graciously offered me shelter for two months until I secured my apartment, thereby saving me from destitution.

Upon moving into my new place, many advised me to drop out of school, prioritize work  to cover my expenses, and reconsider my education later. Some even expressed skepticism about my ability to manage alone. However, I firmly disagreed with this perspective; I was determined to attend school full-time while also working full-time. I have never considered dropping out, even if it meant enrolling in just one class. I consciously chose not to live with a man or have a roommate, fearing that they might abandon me as my friend did.

 

Through all the challenges I have faced,  My unwavering faith in Jesus Christ has been my cornerstone throughout my myriad challenges. Had it not been for His guidance, I would not have achieved the progress I have made in life. He is my source of strength and the impetus that empowers me to persevere. As an emerging inspirational writer and speaker, I am driven by the belief encapsulated in the phrase “Never Give Up,” which God has instilled within me to fortify my resolve. Regardless of the adversities that may assail me, I  will rise and continue to strive, for I am a confident woman who firmly believes in her aspirations.

Pregnancy

When I thought that the challenges of my life were only coming from seizures, God decided to show me his miraculous work. In 2022, I got pregnant with triplets. That was my first pregnancy. Eight weeks into my pregnancy, the doctor discovered twins but saw something else in me that they weren’t show about, so they sent me to a bigger hospital.  At ten weeks, when they said that I was having triplets. That was the last year of my bachelor’s degree, and due to the lack of stress and no support, I had a stillbirth at five weeks.

 I almost lost my life in that hospital. I came from a class that day, with no experience on how to birth a child, I thought I wanted to use the restroom, but it was my babies coming. I started bleeding, my stomach was hurting. I craw out of my apartment to the hallway, my neighbors drove me to the hospital. When I got there, they told me that I was 10cm, I had to give it to the babies.

After two of the babies died in me at four months, which was in December of 2022, and January of 2023, I gave birth to one alive, but he only spent ten seconds in my arms and left. The alive baby was the first to come out, the two other babies were in the placenta, and the placenta took 1hr 45mins to come out. At that moment, I was losing blood, my heart was burning, and I was dying slowly.

There were ten high-risk doctors in the room with me, and just when they were cutting me to get that placenta out, I screamed JESUS with a heavy push, and that placenta came out. All the doctors looked at me and said, “Your name is truly Miracle.” After that trauma, when I came home, I was evicted from my apartment. I became homeless. The loss of my  heart was burning, and I was dying slowly.

There were ten high-risk doctors in the room with me, and just when they were cutting me to get that placenta out, I screamed JESUS with a heavy push, and that placenta came out. All the doctors looked at me and said, “Your name is truly Miracle.” After that trauma, when I came home, I was evicted from my apartment. I became homeless. The loss of my babies left me with two years of grief. With the help of God, I am proud to say, that God had been faithful to me.

Now, with all the many larches life has given me, I didn’t give up. That brings me to what inspired me to start this non-profit organization. I started this organization because of my story. After having many seizures at work, and being unsafe to work at my job, I decided to start my thing. I believe that there were many like me with similar stories who were going through emotional and mental challenges. Due to this inspiration, I came up with the vision of Stories Of Passion. A passion where people can share their stories, and not just get financial support, but also emotional and mental support.