The police came late one evening with a strange acting girl. I immediately knew our experiences were about to expand. About twelve-years-old, her eyes darted around the room like a wild animal. She quivered and whimpered in fear as I held her. After many minutes of softly spoken words, I could feel her calming down. She stopped shaking and making noises, but she wouldn’t let go of me. Oh Lord, help this child. I don’t know what she needs, but it is more than the normal love and assurance.

Trying to keep the atmosphere normal for the other children, I introduced her to the girls. They smiled with greetings, but she responded with a lowered head, bottom lip pushed out, and eyes to the floor. With my pushing and the house mother’s gentle pulling, she went upstairs for the routine clean-up. At that time, there would be notes taken of any scars, wounds or physical signs that would alert us to her past situation. We needed documentation for the court of what possible abuses she might have endured before coming to Shadow of His Wings Orphanage.

After the girl had left, the children gathered around me looking for information. “What’s her name?” Lorena asked. “Why is she acting weird?” questioned Josselin.

My head buzzed with similar questions. Who was this child and what was her story? How could we minister to what all she needed? What if we can’t take care of her? “Kids, we don’t have any information about her and no name. Maybe she will tell us her name when she feels safe with us. Meanwhile, show her love and help her to know we are here to help her, not hurt her. She shouldn’t be alone, so I’m asking for each of you to take turns staying with her.”

The next day we found that the police record said that this child suffered as a victim of sexual abuse. They found her alone in a hotel room in women’s black lingerie. Without identification or contact information and her inability to communicate, there were no clues to who she was or where she lived. The girls asked her about her name, but the response of sounds didn’t make sense. However, listening to the sounds that she made, the girls decided she should be called Ana* and Ana she became.

We thought mentally handicapped described her state of mind because she would say a few words that made sense while chattering unintelligently. She would imitate and repeat one or two words that the girls said. When I looked at her, I couldn’t see the features of someone mentally handicapped. I knew this child had suffered greatly, and we needed to find out how we could to help her mentally, physically, and spiritually. The Lord said He would give us wisdom when we needed it, and I prayed for the flood gates of wisdom to open. This life had been tossed in the trash, and Ana deserved justice and love. The path I saw ahead of us went into unknown territory while the learning curve went up sharply. Where to begin, became the number one question in my mind.