TRANSFIGURED – Patricia Sandoval’s Escape from Drugs, Homelessness, and the Back Doors of Planned Parenthood
Patricia Sandoval, a California-born daughter of Mexican immigrants, is a renowned, full-time, international pro-life and chastity speaker who was miraculously raised from the ashes of post- abortion syndrome (PAS) following three abortions, methamphetamine addiction, homelessness, and the horror of employment at Planned Parenthood. Now through her life-changing presentations and riveting new book: TRANSFIGURED: Patricia Sandoval’s Escape from Drugs, Homelessness, and the Back Doors of Planned Parenthood, Ms. Sandoval shares her message of God’s mercy and gift of life, inspiring and healing countless souls, and saving countless lives, with her miraculous story of redemption.
Excerpt Chapter 1
When I was a toddler, my mother bought a large picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and she hung it above the headboard in the master bedroom. In the image, which framed Jesus’ head and chest, His exposed heart was wrapped in thorns
and set aflame by love. He looked alive, especially His eyes.
They seemed to penetrate my thoughts, my feelings. Jesus wasn’t merely looking at me;
He was looking through me, and followed my every move around the room. At times, I hesitated before entering my parents’ bedroom,
wondering if He might tilt his head my way and call out my name. Fearfully, I would crawl on the floor, hoping to avoid His all-pervasive
“Who is He?” I asked my mom incessantly, wanting to hear her
answer over and over again.
“This is your Papi Dios (Daddy God) who takes care of you in heaven.
He’s with the angels,” she’d say. Although she never prayed or went to
church, my mom’s belief in Jesus was genuine. Little did she know that
her words would become a reality for her little girl.
One night at age three, as I lay awake in my bed, tummy down, I
somehow knew that Jesus was waiting for me just outside of a high
rectangular window close to the ceiling.
For reasons beyond my understanding, I could sense His arms extend
toward me, although I didn’t dare look up. My heart began to beat
rapidly, but I didn’t want Him to know that I felt scared. After all, He
was Papi Dios, and I’d been taught not to be afraid of Him.
Eventually, I mustered the courage to twist my head farther to one
side and glance upward. And there was Jesus, outside my window,
smiling adoringly at me, His arms reaching right through the glass toward
my tiny frame.
Caught up in his loving gaze, my body began to levitate off the bed.
Unable to feel my little legs touching the bedcovers, I wanted to know if
this floating sensation was real; still facing downward, I lowered my chin
toward my chest to see the front of my white pull-up diaper and my
white T-shirt. Sure enough, my legs weren’t touching the bed—nor was
any other part of me. I was hovering face-down in midair. Amazed, I
turned my head to the left and saw my five-year- old sister in her twin bed
across the room, tossing and turning in her sleep. “Oh my gosh,” I told
myself, “this is real.” I knew I couldn’t be dreaming or outside of my
physical body or my room because I was clearly still in them.
Slowly, delicately, my body began to float upward toward the window.
My little palms started to sweat and my heart seemed to stop, as if I were
at the crest of a roller coaster. Scared and confused, I remained face
down, eyes bulging, looking at my sister, wondering why she wasn’t
floating too. Then my body changed to a sitting position, facing Jesus.
As I floated closer to Him, I noticed fresh wounds in the center of
Jesus’ upturned palms. Then I saw His gown, made of three dark, rich,
and shiny colors: a magnificent gold covering His torso, an intense forest
green draping around his left arm, and a dark, burgundy red swooping
across His right. Last, I noticed His hair: brown, wavy, falling a little past
his shoulders. Each aspect of his appearance was perfectly clear. The
glass in the window had disappeared.
He didn’t say a word to me, but the warm look in his eyes put me at
ease. With great tenderness and compassion, He reached out his arms in
anticipation of holding me, and His smile expressed His pure delight in
my innocence. When I got so close as to touch Him, my arms
instinctively wrapped tightly around His neck. Next to my bare arms and
legs, His garments felt like silk, and His hands, which cupped my
sidesaddle legs, felt strong and safe.
We took off flying full force through the sky. I could feel Jesus’ hair
against my right cheek and His left arm tight and secure under my knees
as each cloud quickly brushed my face and the wind whipped by, tossing
my hair in all directions.
My arms were gripping Him so tightly that I wondered if I might be
choking Him. Finally, we stopped and hovered in midair. I let go of His
neck and turned my head to the right to see what lay before us. It was a
scene in shades of radiant light blue. Grand stairs, so wide they traveled
sideways past my area of vision, led up to a spectacular wooden door,
much like the entryway of a medieval castle. About twenty feet high and
wide with an arched top, the door was fortified with rivets and metal bars
and secured shut with an iron bolt.
Off slightly to the right on the top step, stood two angels, facing each
other and playfully conversing. In the center of the steps, sat another angel in repose,
resting his elbow on one lifted knee, his chin cupped in
his right hand. All of them wore long, light-colored tunics, looked about
twelve years old, and had wings rising from their thin frames. They were
waiting for me to arrive.
The entire scene was suspended in midair and lasted for a blink. Jesus
gave me instant knowledge that heaven was behind that door. He was
going to leave me with the angels who would take me there, and I was
going to have a wonderful time. I also knew I would remember little to
nothing of what I was about to see.
What happened in heaven and how long I stayed, I do not know. I
only recall wanting to remain there forever. My next memory is of
clinging to Jesus with my arms squeezing His neck, back outside the high
Without talking, I communicated that I didn’t want Him to leave. I
knew I had been somewhere that was a lot of fun, and I wanted to stay
with Him; but He let me know I had to go back into my room. And so
we said our sweet good-byes without words. Then He lovingly released
His arms and, touching my diapered bottom with one hand, gave me a
tiny push inside. I began to float down as though an angel were tenderly
and carefully carrying me in his arms. As I approached the bed while still
in midair, my body was gently turned to face the window and then
moved into a sitting position so that when I landed on my bed, my back
rested against the cold wall. After remaining there stunned for a moment,
I started yelling for my mom.
My mother has since told me that my screaming woke her up, and she
took me into my parents’ room to sleep in their bed. Sandwiched
between them, I talked all night about how Papi Dios had taken me to
heaven where I played with the angels and had so much fun. My parents
kept telling me to be quiet and settle down, but I didn’t sleep a wink.
In the days that followed, my parents didn’t believe me. But over
time, they realized that my tale never faded or changed or ceased to bring
me joy. By the time I was six years old, my mother was so convinced of
my story’s veracity that she began asking me to share it with friends and
Never before or since have I had such a miraculous encounter with
God, one that was not only spiritual but also tactile and embodied. I’ve
always known that it wasn’t a dream or simply my imagination. I’d never
seen the movie Peter Pan, and floating in the air or flying without a plane
had never appealed to me. Those were someone else’s childhood
fantasies, not mine. Throughout my life, this encounter with Jesus
remained such a vivid memory that belief in Him never once left my
heart. I would need this belief as time went on. Only the Good Lord
knew how much.
. . . Jesus said, “Let the children come to me,
and do not prevent them; for the kingdom of
heaven belongs to such as these.”