“Feeding the woman who fed me…” Volunteer Jessica Martell on Why She Supports God’s Love We Deliver

Volunteer and donor Jessica Martell shares her personal connection to God’s Love We Deliver.

Me and Mama

I was born and raised in East Harlem, in the same building where my family has lived for generations. This neighborhood shaped who I am—it’s where my parents settled after coming from Puerto Rico in the 1960s, where my sisters and mother still live just blocks away, and where my mother-in-law lives to this day. East Harlem raised me, but it was my grandmother who made me.

While my mom couldn’t be around much, it was my grandmother who got me to school every day, loved me fiercely, and made sure I was clothed and fed. Food was her love language and her kitchen was her home within her home. She cooked every day for me, my aunt and uncle, and anyone who might walk through the door. We all watched in awe as she pulled together masterpieces from whatever ingredients we had. She made it look so easy, and she made everything flavorful and nourishing. You could feel the love in the way she prepared food.
My grandmother was careful with what she cooked, and in particular with what she ate. For her to eat something, she had to believe it was prepared with care and love. That’s why God’s Love meant so much to her.

When my grandmother became sick in the late 1990s, our world changed. At first, I was told by doctors and my family that she had cancer. Later, I learned the truth: that she was being treated for HIV. Her condition was kept from me, as HIV was surrounded by silence and stigma at that time.

I was young and I was so scared of the idea of losing my grandmother. So, when God’s Love We Deliver came into our lives and delivered to her door, I felt such relief for her and for our family.

I remember being at my grandmother’s house for meal deliveries from God’s Love. They were short, taking less than a couple of minutes, but they changed her entire day.

The drivers were gentle and patient, and they asked her how she was doing. The food, just like her time with the drivers, was just what she needed. It was seasoned perfectly and was very healthy. Most importantly, my grandmother ate it. For someone as particular as she was, that told me everything. She trusted the cook who made the meal, and the driver who delivered it. She felt safe, and respected.

I was in college upstate during her illness and came home on school breaks when I saw the deliveries. I could return to school knowing that the woman who had taken care of me my entire life was now being taken care of. I could concentrate on school and not worry as much about her. Even on days when no one could visit, I knew she wouldn’t be hungry. There would be good, nourishing food waiting for her. Delivered with love.

My grandmother passed away in November 1998, the same year I became a full-time teacher in New York City. Education was my calling, and teaching is my way of caring for others. There’s nothing like helping young children grow and learn. Even on the hardest days, teaching connects me to life.

Years later, after my second son was born, I struggled with postpartum depression. A friend suggested running, and in 2009 I ran my first Mother’s Day race. The second race I ever ran was the Race to Deliver. It felt like the perfect fit. By that time, I’d done the work to undo the shame and silence around my grandmother’s diagnosis and was able to talk about it with family and friends. I could talk about God’s Love We Deliver and why it has been so important to myself and my family. And when I ran the Race, I shared with my community just why I was doing it.

Being part of God’s Love has always felt personal, and I continue to get more involved. Whether I’m sponsoring birthday cakes, decorating holiday cards, participating in the Race to Deliver, or delivering meals on Thanksgiving, I’m forever grateful to have this opportunity to give back to the organization that has given my family so much. Every act felt like a continuation of the care my grandmother once received.

For a long time, I didn’t share her story openly. I only began talking about her HIV diagnosis about five years ago. Today, I don’t feel shame. I feel compassion. I feel understanding. I feel love. I wish my younger self had known she could feel that way—but I’m grateful I do now.

God’s Love fits into my life as the legacy I want to leave behind. I don’t have endless money or influence, but I believe deeply in taking care of each other, especially when illness can make people feel invisible or alone.

Feeding someone who is sick isn’t just about nutrition. It’s about dignity. It’s about being seen. It’s about saying, you matter.

Now, my family and I deliver meals on Thanksgiving. One year, my husband and son arrived on a redeye that morning, and we went straight out to deliver. It felt exactly right. This work is how my children will know their grandmother. Though she never met them, they will meet her through her values—through care, generosity, and love.
God’s Love once fed the woman who fed me. Being part of this mission feels like honoring her, every single day.