“When I prayed, I felt big arms wrap around me”… Do Angels Really Visit Children?

“I will work a work in your days which ye will not believe, though it be told you.”
~ GOD ~

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(Part 2: The Forgotten Children)

…First a little story that happened in 2015:

angel with child

Had I not been there, face to face with her, and had I only heard it on GodVine or whatever other social media forum out there, I wouldn’t have believed it. I would have concluded someone coerced her, or framed the questions just right. But when it played out in front of me, I had no choice but to believe. I tell the following story with permission from ‘mommy’.

This year I’ve traveled to numerous times to various states in USA, to offer support in difficult situations. Being a Canadian, I go solely to offer a listening ear and spiritual encouragement. I do not tell people what they ought to do, beyond encouraging them to educate themselves with the law, and fight for their children’s best interest and healing, and to get them support, help or therapy they need. Always.

It was on one such trip that I found myself sitting with a little girl…. yet again. Her blonde, fly-away hair caught in her ice cream cone, and she licked it clean, giggling. Her blue eyes sparked with mischief… until that one topic came up…

I asked if we could talk about what had happened, and explained that mommy had told me everything. Immediately, it was as if someone had turned out the light and drawn the blinds in her beautiful little eyes. With great intensity she told me that mommy had explained we would talk about it, and it was okay. Still, I could see the shame.

“What do you feel when we talk about it?” I asked.

She shrugged, then said, “Bad. Like it was my fault and I ruined his life.” My heart filled with sudden deep pain, on her behalf, and immediately I assured her it was not her fault. I told a little story, using a practical example, of a grown up wrecking some precious toy, and asked if it would be her fault. “No!” she giggled, in that ‘don’t-be-so-silly’ way, and shook her head.  The sparkle returned.

“Then, can it really be your fault when an adult hurts you?”

She shook her head, and smiled. “So it’s not really my fault at all, is it?”

“No, sweetie, it isn’t,” I said. Relief visibly washed over her. We talked about many things, and repeatedly her deep thoughts amazed me. And then I asked about fear. I remember debilitating fear surging through my body, so that I could hardly breathe, especially at night, and how there was no one to talk to about it. “Are you ever afraid?” I asked.

“Not very often, any more,” she said, “but sometimes I am.”

“What do you do when you’re afraid?” I asked.

“I pray and talk to Jesus,” she said. I nodded, contemplating where to take the conversation. I asked what she says to Jesus. “I just tell Him I’m scared, and ask Him to help me,” she answered.

sleeping girl

“Who taught you to pray when you’re afraid?

She looked thoughtful. “No one. I just do it.” She went on to tell me how the first time she lay in the dark, terrified, she began to ‘talk to Jesus’.

“Then what happened?” I expected her to call her parents into her room to hold and comfort her. Because they would. They’re like that.

“When I prayed, I felt big arms wrap around me and hold me, and then I fell asleep,” she answered matter-of-factly, as though it should have been what I expected. Whatever emotions I felt in that moment, I pushed them down. I was here to support her, and tears were out of place. So I smiled and told her how beautiful that is, and how it makes me so happy.

“I told my little brother to try it when he was scared. I said, ‘you can just pray, and these big arms will come and hold you’, but he said it didn’t work for him.”

“Have you told mommy and daddy about this?” I asked. She furrowed her brows, thoughtfully, and then shook her head, adding that she never thought about it. “Do you think we can tell them later?” I asked. “I think it would make their hearts happy.” And that is just what she did when we returned. There were tears and relief, at knowing so  that Someone had been with their daughter so intimately all along.

The words of Jesus, “…their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven…” replayed in my mind, over and over. She won’t have an easy road; it never is for victims of molestation, but she will never be alone.

God has an amazing plan for this little girl, as He does for all of us. Being molested will bring unnecessary struggle and pain into that journey, but I know this; God will redeem it. He will turn her into a dynamic young woman whose faith will be a testimony to God’s faithfulness in spite of tragedy.

I do not thank God for what happened to her. I do not downplay the wickedness because of God’s promised redemption. I am heartbroken that children continue to suffer. It should never have happened. But I will never stop believing that God will raise us up, as victims, to be the strongest voice for healing in our land, on this topic.

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I will share this interview with Boz Tchividjian, on each of these ‘Forgotten Children’ posts, because it is worth watching. Boz is a man of great wisdom on the topic of sexual abuse. He is a Christian and a former prosecuting lawyer in child abuse cases, who speaks with insight, compassion and offers balance. If ever you find yourself wondering if something is ‘sexual abuse’ or ‘normal curiosity’, have a listen.

Boz interview with CBN

To be Continued….

Love,
~ T ~

© Trudy Metzger

The Forgotten Children: Would Jesus Drive Out Child Molesters With a Whip?

Cattle wander. Sheep. Oxen. Doves. Each animal contained and constrained. Obedient. People. Everywhere. Rushing about. All wanting top dollar; highest bids. Each one scrambling, greed rushing through their veins like black poison. Money changers. A little extra here, withholding a mite there. No one will miss it. No one know. Except for the well-lined pockets of slippery fingers.

One hand reaches in, jingling the extra. A wicked smirk. A little security. Selfish hand wrapped around coins…

A whip cracks, piercing the air…

The man startles, ducking; hands flailing, coins scatter. Cuss words. Yelling. He dives greedily after rolling promises, breaking from his reach. Takes cover under a table. Cattle, oxen, sheep… they all charge carelessly; owners flee.

Tables topple with violent force…. the man crawls, bumps his head, stumbles to his feet and flees. Still cussing at the man, whose descent on the lucrative heaven, disrupted and brought utter chaos. Who in all the world would have the gall?

He pauses at the sidelines, looking back… and then he sees Him. He squints in disbelief. It’s the gentle Rabbi, “teacher”, as they call him; those foolish ones who trail after him like lost idiots. The whole irresponsible lot of them, a nuisance.

Children dart out from hiding, snatching coins. “My coins,” he mutters grudgingly, under his breath. “Those bratty little rascals!” The same little ‘bratty ones’ that the teacher defended in one of his teachings, he recalls. Yes, the teacher declared boldly that anyone who dared offend one of them–these bratty little ones–would be better off with a mill stone about their neck and cast into the sea. And something about their angels always being in God’s presence; some warning for the offender and a promise of comfort and care for the little ones, it seemed. Well, didn’t He see them here, now, stealing coins? Were they not asking for a little ‘offence’!? If I could get my hands on them, they’d get it good! But then, there was He, the teacher, the ‘Master’, and what kind of example was He for the children?

“Little brats,” he mumbled one last time, slinking away. It was useless. The whip cracked. dangerously. The cattle, sheep, oxen, and doves; a chorus of confusion.

And above the noise, a voice of authority echoes for eternity, through the land: “This is My Father’s house! And you have made it a den of thieves! You have taken what was not yours!

The words echo deep in a young man’s soul. “You have taken what was not yours“… They burn the heart of a young woman, “Den of thieves… You have taken what was not yours...” … An old man hobbles away, the words stinging deafened ears… “You have taken what was not yours“…  The woman, bent and crooked, led by her grandson, feels her heart splinter in two, til she can’t breathe, “You have taken what was not yours“…

The young man, the young woman, the old man, and the old woman, hunched and blind, see them there, the chorus of little one crying eerily, “You have taken what was not yours“.

Their soul blood cries from the dry ground of devastated hearts, seeking justice. Naked child bones, whose flesh was ripped away in that one selfish moment, lie lifeless…. Without lips, without tongues… they cry. Without tears or eyes… they weep.

But their lifeless hearts begin to warm and soften, with His light, beating as one with the Master’s, at the cry of His voice, “This is my father’s house and you have made it a den of thieves…. You have taken what was not yours, but I will keep my promise…  I have not forgotten the children… I will enter this valley of dry bones! I will replace hearts of stone with hearts of flesh, and bring these bones to life, covering them again with fullness and life. I will rebuild the ruins… I will restore ….

canstockphoto18748720 c

To be continued….

Love,

~ T ~

I will share this interview with Boz Tchividjian, on each of these ‘Forgotten Children’ posts, because it is worth watching. Boz is a man of great wisdom on the topic of sexual abuse. He is a Christian and a former prosecuting lawyer in child abuse cases, who speaks with insight, compassion and offers balance. If ever you find yourself wondering if something is ‘sexual abuse’ or ‘normal curiosity’, have a listen.

Boz interview with CBN

 

© Trudy Metzger