Monthly Archives: January 2016

Satanic Victim

Leave a reply

The director of the school brought Mayra* into my office and shared the dramatic events from earlier that day. I sat up in my chair, fully focused on the director. Having dealt with similar situations in the past, I knew that correct counseling was crucial. I didn’t have any answers, but I knew Who did, and my prayers ascended in quick succession, asking the Lord to give us understanding and wisdom in dealing with this satanic victim.

“Mayra started talking in a deep raspy voice using filthy words. We found a note she wrote covered with satanic symbols and words denouncing God. While she demonically manifested, the other children charged out of the classroom. Raul and I calmed them down and asked if they would help pray for her so we grouped around Mayra and prayed. Afterward, she sat down like a limp dishrag. Please talk to her.” The director then left the office.

I focused on our newest girl, wondering where to start in helping her. I knew some of her history based on the report from the social worker, and I grieved because of the pain this child had endured. This terrified girl told her house parents that she witnessed the death of three small girls during satanic rituals, and she had suffered sexual abuse from her pastor. Because of her behavior and demeanor, her presence in the orphanage caused fear in the children and some adults. They felt like they lived with the enemy and had to be constantly on alert. Lord, I need you like never before to reach this child. Please guide my thoughts and words.

I stared into Mayra’s dull dark eyes and told her that we at Shadow of His Wings believed in the Lord Jesus Christ and that He gave us authority over the demonic. She tossed her head and replied, “No, there isn’t a God.”

“Why do you say there isn’t a God?”

“Because there is no evidence to see,” she replied.

I flipped on the switch for the ceiling fan, and we both watched it gain momentum as it spun. “What is making that fan turn?” I inquired.

After her response of “I don’t know,” I proceeded to tell her how electricity worked. “We can’t see it, but we can see its effects. We can’t see God, but we can see His impact upon this world in many ways. Look outside at the trees, flowers, birds, and mountains. We can see God’s handiwork all around us. Do you know who Jesus is?” She shook her head no. I then asked if I could pray for her, but again she said no.

“That’s okay Mayra. We are here to help you, to love you, and to protect you. We won’t let anything hurt you. You are a special creation of God’s, and have a divine destiny designed by Him for your life now and for eternity. The devil is trying to keep you from that plan. We’ll talk about all of this at a later time. Do you want to know about truth and what is real?”

Stuck in her negativism, her reply didn’t surprise me. I continued, “We all want to know the truth. We don’t like lies, and I believe that you seek truth also. The devil doesn’t want you to know these things, because then he would have to leave.”

I saw her shudder as she told me about a man, dressed in red, who follows her around. “Can I pray for you, Mayra, so you don’t have to see him anymore?” Her answer remained the same—no.

Before she left, I hugged her tightly, and she began to cry. “Mayra, we are going to do everything possible to help you.” I felt her respond to my hug, and hope filled me. I knew the love of the Lord would be the key to winning her heart.

The next day, I visited the school to explain about the battle we faced for Mayra. I entered the classroom and saw her sitting calmly next to the director. A teacher began reading Scripture, and immediately Mayra’s hands covered her ears. After the Scripture, I gave a sermonette about the victory we have over the enemy’s tactics through the Lord Jesus Christ. As believers, we are responsible for setting the captives free. Victims need to know God’s pure love, which comes through us. I covered a lot of areas and came back to the fact that we have God-given authority over the enemy.

Later in the afternoon, while the children were in class, I went to her casita. Her house parents and I prayed over her bedroom, her bed, her clothes, and her personal items. I knew she would be won by love, and we declared it would penetrate her body, soul, and spirit. Mayra did respond to our prayers, and the reports held a promise of a calmer and happier girl, but her story continued.

Due to the sexual abuse, Mayra started bleeding from her rectum, and the doctor told us she needed hernia surgery. We went to a small private hospital in Jalapa for the operation. A smiling, quiet girl came out of the anesthesia with little pain. Pleased with the success, the doctor informed us that she could go home the next morning. Not wanting her to be alone, I stayed the night on the other bed in her room. I stared at the ceiling and thanked God for the significant changes we saw in this beautiful child.

We made plans for her to stay at my house for a week while her body healed. During this time I had the opportunity to get better acquainted with Mayra. During our chats, she confessed that she wanted to remain at Shadow of His Wings. In time, and with the input of many people at the orphanage, she accepted Jesus as her Lord and Savior, denouncing all of her past involvement in the occult. Healing and transformation began occurring in this satanic victim. She found the path the Lord had for her walking in peace and love.

*Name has been changed.

Visiting the Mayor

2 Replies

I found myself rising in my seat, somehow thinking that would help as the car dragged over the rocks that littered the road to the orphanage. I imagined the oil pan ripping open or a hole in the gas tank. The car took a beating, and the road got worse with the run-off from the rains moving rocks from one place to another. The little trenches carved into road sometimes turned into big dips making the drive a zig zag path. Others drove low cars and had the same problem, but even our vans and bus had difficulty. I decided something needed to change. When I reached the office, I called Gerber to discuss an idea about a visit to the mayor.

“Gerber, I think it is the time we see the mayor and petition him to send somebody to repair the road. It’s getting worse and destroying our vehicles.” Gerber nodded, so I continued. “I’ve decided that we will take all of the kids to his office so he can see the the lives being affected by the damage of that road. We can write a letter explaining our need and describe the many people who come here for work, for delivery, visitors, missionary teams, etc.”

Gerber made a contact with the mayor’s office, and we had an appointment. We had a visiting team from the US, and they were invited to come with us. We loaded all of the children, house parents, and team members in the bus and vans and left for our mission. When we got to the Municipalidad (municipal building), my heart sank. In front of the buildings sat bunched together tuctuc drivers and their three-wheeled taxis blocking the main street. The clambering and shouting made my blood pressure shoot up. The angry group evidently had a complaint and wanted the mayor’s attention. I heard of demonstrations like this before when people that resulted in injury or death, and here we were with all of the children from the orphanage. Lord, what have I gotten us into? Please protect us and bring peace to those men.

Not only did I have concern for the children’s safety, but we had team members from the States, who faced exposure to something that could turn into a Guatemalan type of violence. Safety Lord, keep us covered.

Since we had an appointment, Gerber went to announce our presence, and the security guards opened a side gate so we could enter in back of the buildings. The vehicles parked on that side of the street, so the team members and I formed a line from the bus door to the side-gate and rushed the children through. I could finally open my hands from the clenched fists when the mayor approached us with his winning smile, but the rhythm of my heart beat fast.

I had no knowledge beforehand that the mayor would take the opportunity to use our time together for his campaign to run a second term in office. The local TV people ran the camera for the Monjas news recording, everyone. That excited the kids, and I’m sure they felt important. At this point, we had taken precedent over the tuctuc drivers in the street demanding a meeting with the mayor.

We came with a particular goal in mind, and I needed to focus on what I would say to the mayor. Lord help me to calm down. Gerber and I had a letter to give to him, asking for his assistance in the maintenance of the road. After the formalities and introductions of the team leaders to the mayor, Gerber read our letter. I followed through with a quivering voice, “Senior we would appreciate any help you could give us regarding the road. There are many people who use it in ministry to the orphanage and these children.” Toward the end of our time we extended an invitation for him to visit the Project.

Not missing a beat, the mayor picked up our littlest girl and with the camera focused on him, declared he would send someone out to grade our road within the next few days. The camera followed him as he greeted and chatted with our girls. I knew people would be swayed to vote for him when they saw the compassion and desire he had for the children in Shadow of His Wings.

The team responded graciously to their unexpected adventure. This presented itself as a time of trusting the Lord to hide us under the shadow of His wings and He faithfully did that for us.

A “few days” here does not translate into a few days in real time. Weeks later, we heard the engine of the grader as it worked on our road. The band-aid approach left the road in good enough shape until the next heavy rain. The visit to the mayor proved fruitful and we felt grateful that he showed favor for the ministry by grading the mile of our hole filled rocky road. The mayor did get re-elected for another four years in office.“

Fight the Accusation

2 Replies

Linda*, an acquaintance, worked at a well-known orphanage. While visiting with her, she stated that she would not fight the accusation fired at her. “I’m leaving, and I’m not going to put up with any more lies.” I gave her time to gather her thoughts, and then Linda told of a disgruntled girl in the orphanage who implied that Linda had physically abused her. The dark bags under Linda’s eyes, the tight lips, and the wrinkle lines around them showed the stress and hurt Linda experienced.

“Can’t you fight this and prove you are not guilty?” I asked, mentally noting the moves I would make in the same situation.

“I am done here, and I don’t have the energy to fight anymore. I gave fifteen years of my life helping these girls get an education and providing, a safe place. It’s hard enough to have one of the girls say this about me, but it is another to be told by the authorities that I have to prove my innocence. I am guilty in the eyes of the law and have to prove that I’m not. I’m seventy years old and too old for this. I’m leaving for the States.”  A few days later Linda flew to the US.

While waiting for my Spanish teacher at Spanish class one day, my thoughts returned to Linda. This dear woman spent many years fulfilling her role working with the founder of the orphanage. None of us who worked in organizations to help children had immunity from claims of abuse. I shared her story with my Spanish teacher, who addressed my thoughts. Looking deeply into my eyes, he asked me if I felt fearful that something like this could happen to me. “Of course not!” I stated emphatically. Perhaps I spoke too quickly. What would such a scenario look like? It could happen to me. The “what ifs” paraded through my mind as I drove home.

Sometimes in our orphanage, a girl rebels and falsely accuses one of the workers for doing or saying something to her. We, in authority, investigate what prompted her reaction and then deal with it accordingly. But what if she took it to court officials? I had to confess that the possibility did cause a disturbance in my rational thinking. To hear accusations from the very ones I wanted to protect would cut a deep wound, but this is a possibility in the life of those who work in orphanages.

Many passages in God’s Word bring encouragement, and I knew I couldn’t leave behind the calling God had placed on my life. I resolved not to walk in fear but in the trust that the Lord would go with me through whatever the enemy threw my way. There are Scripture verses that speak of His protection from the wickedness of the enemy. There are also promises indicating that God will use for a good whatever the enemy intended for evil (Genesis 50:20). We at Shadow of His Wings Orphanage determined we would fight the accusation instead of letting it destroy an association designed to help needy and hurting children.

*Name has been changed.

My First Guatemalan Christmas

Leave a reply

Scan 5My first Guatemalan Christmas loomed in front of me, as I pondered how the orphanage would celebrate this special time. I had many questions about the cultural traditions and thought of my favorites in the States. Should I introduce some US traditions, or should we follow the Guatemalan ways? Perhaps a blend of the two would make this time memorable for everyone. I started asking our workers about their ideas for Christmas and learned that Guatemalans observed this time without the pomp and circumstance seen in the US. Decisions needed to be made and soon.

In 2002, Christmas displays, decorations, and the traditional items were rarely found for sale. A few stores sold artificial trees and some decorations, but it was nothing like the choices available in the States. That didn’t deter me because creative people surrounded me, and we could make what we needed.

I bought a five-foot artificial tree and some ornaments, with plans in my head flowing. My excitement increased because nobody in the orphanage had ever displayed a Christmas tree. This would be their first, and they could hardly conceal their anticipation when I set the tree in the living room.

While learning more about Guatemalan Christmas traditions, I found that the focus revolved around a church service on Christmas Eve, a feast of tamales and chuchitos, and fireworks. What, no Christmas gifts? Gift giving didn’t dominate this holiday, and perhaps the money went toward the traditional fireworks used for the festivities.

On the twenty-third, after making the necessary purchases, the cook informed me that we should start preparing the tamales and chuchitos. “Mama Carroll, it takes a long time to make each ingredient.” Having knowledge about cooking made me wonder how something so simple-looking took two days.

“Okay, I’m willing to help any way I can,” I told the cook. I didn’t realize that some of the cooking had to be done the old-fashioned way—over a fire outside. An enormous pot of corn kernels and another of rice stood boiling above the wood fires on the patio. Inside the house simmered garlic, onion, tomatoes, sesame seeds, and pumpkin seeds forming a lovely red sauce that created a mouth-watering smell. I wanted to learn how to make tamales and chuchitos, but I had to learn in person because these ladies used the “pinch of this and a handful of that” method. At the end of the day, ninety tamales snuggly wrapped in banana leaves sat in a huge pot ready to cook over the fire Christmas Eve. A repeat of this day followed on the next to make the chuchitos. Instead of singing, “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,” we would be singing “tamales and chuchitos.”

Ponche, which is a hot drink made from diced fruits, sugar, and spices, added to the delicious foods. After my first cup of this, I couldn’t get my fill, and it wasn’t even Christmas Eve. The cook indulged me by giving me a thumbs up when I went for refills.

A Guatemalan worker spread pine needles on all the floors and patio of the house. The piney scent launched me into the memories of the fresh mountain pine trees we decorated in Montana. I felt a tug in my heart as I thought of home in the states and my family. I would miss being with them. When I slowed down long enough to look at the tree, decorations, and lights, and then smell the aromas from the kitchen, I thanked the Lord for giving us the opportunity to celebrate His birthday in such a marvelous way. We had combined traditions, at the urging of my Guatemalan family, and I felt pleased to see the happiness in everyone’s eyes.

At 8:30 p.m. the feast began, and we gobbled down two days’ worth of hard work. Firecrackers sounded like continuous pistol shots all day long, but at midnight, the world exploded. Above Guatemala City, we could see fireworks from horizon to horizon. The sky lit up with colorful sparkles of light as the sound of bombs dropping echoed in the valley. Of course, we had to add our own combination of color and sound. The deafening noise and thick smoke didn’t distract from the love Guatemalans have for fireworks. A required firework in this celebration is a long rope of connected firecrackers that rapid fire from one end to the other for five to ten minutes, the longer the better. During this racket, people hug and greet one another.

When it quieted, and the smoke drifted off, we filed back into the house for the next phase of the celebration. Presents!

“Maria* why are you crying?” I inquired.

“Because I’ve never had a Christmas gift before,” she answered as she pulled off pieces of tape and carefully folded the paper for safe keeping. With moist eyes and a shy grin, she held up a journal for the year. I received a typical white top called a huipil with lovely purple embroidered flowers around the neckline. The girls had heard my hints. Everyone agreed that presents would be part of the orphanage’s tradition.

With another cup of ponche and some apple pie, we watched a drama on TV on the birth of Christ. At 3:00 a.m. my body dropped in bed. I thanked the Lord again for the family He’d given me and the love I felt as we carried out a mixture of traditions for my first Guatemalan Christmas. He put me in a unique family when I couldn’t be with my own. The loneliness I expected didn’t exist, because I lived with people who shared God’s love.

*Name has been changed.