The Mute Speak

I recognized her immediately as soon as she pulled up, sitting on the back of a moto behind her father. It was obvious that she was the one that was sick. She was the reason they had come to the hospital this evening. 

I was already at the hospital, waiting for Rebeca to arrive so that she could show me some test results for her daughter who had been sick. In the meantime, I recognized this little girl as Marie, the sweet and smart young lady of about eleven years old who has a light skin tone and a beautiful smile. She comes to kids' club every Wednesday. 

I peeked my head into the consultation room where they took her. She sat in the middle of the room on a metal chair, shaking and trembling uncontrollably. Anytime anyone tried to touch her, she flinched like it hurt or like she didn't want anyone to touch her. She could not speak. 

"What has happened?" I asked her father. 

"She's in a crisis. This has never happened before." 

As the doctor began assessing her and asking questions, it became clear that she was perfectly conscious and aware of her surroundings, yet she was also completely terrified. I saw fear, yet knowledge in her eyes. She was able to explain exactly what happened using perfect signs and gestures - she went to her classes at school...had a perfectly ordinary afternoon...was on her way home...fell and started trembling...her friends brought her to her house...and her father brought her to the hospital. When asked other questions about her signs and symptoms, she shook her head as if she had no other complaints - no pain, no problems breathing, no nothing. 

It reminding me of descriptions in the Bible of demon possession. It was like she was possessed by a spirit that caused her to tremble and refused to let her speak. 

That's when she saw me with my head poking through the doorway. I wasn't sure if my presence as the white lady would make things better or worse. But she made eye contact and signaled for me to come in the room. She motioned for a pen and began to write, scribbling as fast as she could on whatever scrap paper she could find. 

It was upside down and at a distance to me, so I could not read it, but I watched the doctor's eyes follow the tip of her pen, and when she stopped he looked at me. "She wants to pray."

I explained that she comes to our house every Wednesday to play, sing, pray, and study God's Word. 

I knelt at her side and touched her back, and she did not flinch for the first time. I told her that we were going to pray. 

At this moment, Rebeca arrived and I explained the situation to her. Rebeca, too, knows Marie from kids' club. She took one look at her and said, "This is a spiritual attack. We must pray. It is something that only prayer can heal." 

While this is going on, another patient arrived by ambulance and took over the consultation room, so we were sent to the hallway, where Rebeca and I gathered around Marie, placed hands on her, and prayed. Rebeca's prayer was so powerful, proclamatory, and convicting that the whole hospital heard it, and I know the spiritual world heard it, too. 

Because after praying Rebeca asked Marie to open her mouth, and she slowly began to speak. It was as if her tongue was swollen and her words were slurred, but she was speaking! Her mother was at her side during the prayer, and Rebeca and I took the opportunity to encourage her to put her faith in God. "What church are you from?" she asked, and Rebeca explained our church movement, Église Evangelique du Christ, and how we would be starting a church in our city very soon. Marie had calmed down and was about to be seen by the doctor again, plus it was getting late, so I left the hospital but she did not leave my mind. I prayed for her as I fell asleep that night. 

The next day, Rebeca informed me that Marie had been discharged home shortly after I left the hospital, but she had been crying out my name and saying she wanted to come home with me. It was as if something was keeping her from going home, as if something dark waited for her at her house and she didn't want to face it. It was at this point that I thought about the possibility of abuse and the darkness and demons that come with it. I could not get her out of my mind. 

I searched for her house so I could visit, but was not able to find anyone who knew exactly where she lives. I was disappointed, but still supporting her in my prayers. When the evening guard found me after dark to tell me that a woman and her daughter had come to see me, I almost jumped for joy. Sure enough, it was Marie and her mother! Her mother explained that Marie had been asking for me all day, and I explained how I had been searching for her all day, too. It was a joyful reunion and I was relieved to have a moment to talk with her again. She still didn't talk much, but when I had her alone, she responded to my yes and no questions. She said that everything was fine with her father and her mother, that she had no problems at home, and that she was not afraid to go there. I told her that she could always come to me whenever she had any problem or any need, and I reminded her to pray when she feels discouraged and to put her faith in Jesus. "He is always at your side," I told her, "and I am here for you too if you ever need a place to come."

She left on the back of her mother's moto, looking back at me the whole way, smiling and peaceful, until she disappeared in the quiet darkness of the night. 

I am constantly reminded of the reality of spiritual warfare in this place. We can have two responses: we can shake and tremble in fear when we realize how real it is. Or we can choose to not be bothered because we take hold of truth that Jesus has already overcome and that he is immeasurably more powerful than any dark force. The demons are real, but they are powerless in the presence of Jesus. Therefore, we have no reason to fear. And we have every reason to pray. The war is already won, but the battle rages on, so we engage and fight with everything we've got. 

The next afternoon, Marie came to kid's club as always. When we asked the children who could recite the memory verse from last week, her hand shot up and she was the first one to respond.

With the most beautiful words I've ever heard, she clearly proclaimed like her tongue had been let loose, "Luke 19:10. The Son of Man came to seek and to save those who were lost." 

From the lips of infants and children, you receive glorious praise. Indeed, the Son of Man, our Jesus Christ, has sought out and saved those who belong to him, and he will keep seeking and saving until the last battle is fought and the enemy is completely destroyed and cast out forever. In the meantime, we will pick up our swords and our prayers, and we will fight. 

We will fight, not against flesh and blood, but against the spiritual forces in the heavenly realms. We will claim victory in the name of Jesus and we will destroy every stronghold placed against any child, mother, father, man, woman, or family. 

The darkness is present, but powerless in the name of Jesus, the Son of Man who came to seek and save the lost!