Monthly Archives: June 2015

Sacrificial Giving

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The effects of Hurricane Wilma hit the northeastern coast of Guatemala in 2005. The storm pounded the coast, causing flooding and landslides and devastating villages. Many people were left homeless from this category-five hurricane. Various churches in our area campaigned to get items to take to the victims of the destruction. This topic of conversation moved our girls from being “receivers-in-life” to “givers.” Knowing what it felt like to be in need, these compassionate girls surprised me by their actions.

These girls came to the orphanage with only the clothes on their backs, and their utmost thoughts were to help the needy survivors. They took their possessions and piled them on their bed, deciding what they wanted to give. The items they owned were from a birthday, Christmas, or from a visiting team. I never heard words like, “I don’t have anything to give. There’s nothing I can do. I would if I could.” Instead of any negativism, these girls let the creative juices flow and thought of possibilities. I watched them pack a huge cardboard box with their treasures.

Myra* gave her precious typical guipil (blouse) and corte (skirt). These items are expensive to buy in the market and not part of the clothing distribution we gave the girls. None of that mattered to her. She said, “These are the clothes they are used to wearing, so I will give them some of mine.”

We had a tienda (store) where the girls could buy various items with points they earned. They could earn forty to forty-five points a week. Josselin*, who had saved three hundred points, made an announcement. “I want to buy six dolls to give to the children who lost their toys.”

The mother in me wanted to remind them that they didn’t have to give everything to those who endured the storm. I saw most of their possessions go into the box! However, I also said to myself that I saw real giving in action.  Lord, I think these girls are teaching me another lesson.

Giving hearts showed forth another time when a couple of the girls came home from school wanting to talk to Joanne about “something very important.” In the meeting, they shared their concerns about one of their classmates. They told how Mario* wouldn’t smile and said he hated himself. Kids made fun of him at church and school, calling him wolf because his teeth horribly crooked. These girls wanted to do something to help Mario get orthodontic help. One of our girls had a sponsor who paid for her orthodontic work because of the damage in her mouth. I knew the girls wanted us to find a sponsor for him, but a better idea came out of the meeting. The girls could make items to sell to teams and visitors. They went to work immediately, making Guatemala-style pens by weaving different colored threads around an ink pen. They even wrote words and names in the weaving. Team members from the States taught them to make typical jewelry. In time, they had enough money for Mario to start his treatment. (Orthodontic treatment in Guatemala is much less than in the States.) His mother thanked the girls with tears in her eyes and said, “Mario no longer hates to go to church, and now he smiles.”

We desired to make a difference in the lives of the girls living in Shadow of His Wings and here they made a difference in the life of this boy. The girls unknowingly taught me more about this important lesson of sacrificial giving, because I saw in their hearts that they weren’t expecting anything in return. Not only did they give out of their need, but they learned to finds ways to make it happen. I wanted to learn more about giving out of my need, and I saw a perfect example in front of me.

*Names have been changed.

Lost

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Violence is evident all around us, no matter where we live. It happens that where I live, control is minimal, which makes Guatemala a more dangerous place to live. I have to use wisdom and be aware of what I am facing when I am out on the streets or highway. I’ve learned that there are places that aren’t safe for travel, and there are times that a person should not be out of their homes. Even during the day, I keep my darkened car windows rolled up to protect myself from someone putting a gun in the window to rob me.

Even with all of these precautions, I ended up in an unavoidable situation. My friend’s church had a special service that I wanted to attend. Her church was located on the opposite side of Guatemala City from where I lived. By the time we attended church and I dropped her off, it was 9:00 pm. Not a good time for a gringa to be out alone.

I took my usual route home and found that it had been blocked. I had to travel into an unfamiliar and opposite direction. I figured there had to be a way to get back from this one-way street. There had to be another street in the direction I wanted to go. However, one can travel for miles without any side streets off the main road. I kept going further away into unknown and darker territory. I saw a turn onto a two-lane and took it, but that didn’t take me back either. I found myself in another slum area with no streetlights. I did not know where I was! I had my cell phone, but if I called someone, I wouldn’t have a clue how to describe my location. No businesses or street signs existed anywhere. The only houses visible were not where one would stop and ask for help. Lord, you will have to direct me out of this, because I am lost. I saw a place where I could turn around in the road, and I did so, thinking it would be better to go back to where I first got lost. I took this curvy street, as I fought the panic feeling welling up inside of me. Lord, show me what I should do. I am in your hands. Finally, I saw a sign, the first one in all this time, and I recognized the name of the major street that I needed. I followed the arrow, but it didn’t seem to be going toward that street. I looked at the gas level, and it showed I had less than a quarter tank of gas. Please, Lord, if this isn’t right, show me where to turn. Then I looked up from this dimly lit street, and I saw the sweetest words—Nestlé. They glowed on the back side of the Nestlé Company building, and I finally knew my location. The front of the building sat along the street that would take me home.

I let out a deep breath, praised God for His goodness, and unclenched my teeth. I’m sure a mirror would show that I had aged five years. I thanked the Lord all the way home for guiding and directing me during such a frightful time. My trust in the Lord grew tremendously that night.

Question Answered for God’s Calling

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With my nose to the grindstone and pure determination, I dealt with the changes in our Shadow family structure as each new girl came in. Our little team of people pitched in when they could. However, the question of my calling got louder as I pondered if I should stay or return to the States. I had to sort all of this out in my fatigued state of mind while life in the orphanage continued.

Josselin* and Lorena* suffered a major disagreement, with yelling and threats. They talked to the other girls, looking for supporters for their side. The division developed into a Hatfield-McCoy type of situation, and retaliation took place behind my back. I called a family meeting. With all of the girls present and wearing questioning looks, I drew a pretend line along the floor.

“Any of you who want to be part of this family and to serve in the love of the Lord, please come to my side. Those of you who don’t want to be part of this family, move to the other side.” I knew that they would come to my side of the line, but I also knew that they had to see this for themselves. It became a choice for them to make. The expected happened with lowered heads and tears. Suddenly, nobody could remember what caused the disagreement. Lorena looked at Josselin and gave a little grin. Others picked upon this action, and the girls broke out into giggles. We formed a circle, held hands, and prayed. The girls went to one another asking for forgiveness. It felt good to have unity again, even though it ended up being short-lived.

Two girls went into trances on a regular basis. It took a lot of talking and praying to get them to look me in the eye and for them to repeat the words, “I am a child of God.” Whatever had a hold on them broke when someone spoke these words aloud. These trances happened at school and at home, sometimes several times a week, requiring constant attention.

The difficulties in the Home took their toll upon me physically and mentally. One particular day, I stood on the second-floor landing, looking down into the living room at some of the girls playing. My body cried out for some sleep. Discouraged and exhausted, I wanted to curl up in a ball somewhere and block everything out. I felt like the love and counsel I poured out was rewarded with lies and complaints. I slipped into feeling sorry for myself. In the midst of my thoughts, I heard the Lord say, “Carroll, where would each one of these children be right now if they weren’t in this orphanage?” That got my attention. My eyes scanned over several of them, and the reality hit me like a sledgehammer. In my mind’s eye, I saw two in prostitution. Another being sexually abused by the mother’s boyfriend, and another passed around like a toy among the street-gang members. Tears came to my eyes. Lord, please forgive me for my selfish attitude. You said you would give me what I need, and I think I need a heavy dose of strength and energy now.

My attitude took a turn that day. When I felt like I had come to the end of my rope, I looked at the girls around me and pictured where they might be if they were not with us. I wanted to be here with them. I hadn’t made a mistake hearing the call from the Lord.

With a larger population of girls, came time to hire a married couple to share the responsibility of the children. I took eight of the older girls and moved to an apartment below the big house. The additional help allowed me to find valuable time for rest.

*Names have been changed.

Questioning God’s Calling

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The administrative requirements of Shadow of His Wings Orphanage multiplied, along with the requirements of being the mother of this growing family. Legally, each girl was required to attend three audiences at the children’s court, which fell on my plate. There were doctor appointments, visits to the psychologist, the purchase of clothes and shoes, the preparation of menus and the weekly shopping at the Guatemalan market and supermarket, banking requirements, the purchase of school supplies, and the list went on. I lived with these kids on duty 24-7, with little time away for rest. Each day seemed to go by filled with the same pressures. I began questioning my calling.

The problems grew with the size of the family. “Mama Carroll, Josselin* wore my shoes when I told her three times that she could not use them,” whined Maritza*.

“Maria* is in the bedroom crying because Ester* hit her again.”

Lorena* decided she wanted to wear a short revealing t-shirt. She refused to take it off, and it ended up being a battle to break through her stubbornness.

Two girls were caught in bed with each other in inappropriate actions. This is a common occurrence in orphanages, and we added bed-checks to our list of night-time duties.

One girl took another girl’s underwear off the clothesline and threw them over the wall. Of course, nobody knew who did it.

Leti* decided she didn’t have to obey any of the rules and pushed her idea by eating supper in her bedroom. I marched in and declared, “Leti, you are part of this family, and you will eat with this family.” After a few minutes of glaring at each other, she picked up her plate and cup and moved to the kitchen table, to the quiet snickers of the other girls.

Constant problems weighed me down in my tired frame of mind, to the point that I began to wonder if I needed to go back to the States. Perhaps I had overlooked what God had said to me. I reached out for counseling, and the message came back the same, “Get some rest.” How does one do that with such a huge responsibility? I dug in my heels, determined to be the mother of these children and still carry out the duties for the orphanage. I just needed to put my nose to the grindstone, and with the help of others, we could make a difference in the lives of these children.

I later learned that putting one’s nose to the grindstone does not equal success.

*Names have been changed.