THE ANGEL KNEW MY NAME

THE ANGEL KNEW MY NAME

With camera in hand, purse on my shoulder and extra film in my pocket, I walked out of the motel in San Salvador, El Salvador. The traffic reminded me most capitol cities in the US where buses, cars or bicycles fill the street, loaded with workers on their way home. For sure there was no bus that was filled with only its passenger capacity. People hung at the door, and stood in the aisle, and the driver just kept picking up passengers, seemingly oblivious that there was nowhere else to sit or stand.

This was my second trip into Central America and I still could not get enough of drinking in the culture and scenery. I had been invited to speak to the women of the country during a pastor’s conference. The staff from the General Office was there to encourage and train the leadership of the church in El Salvador. I was very humbled that I would be invited to attend as I was not part of the general staff, but lived in Arkansas.

My friend Elva was the staff organizer of the retreat for women, and Narcie served as our interpreter. I had found my room, got acquainted with the schedule, found the general meeting room, and the suite where the women would gather for our part on program. As Narcie and Elva busied themselves with other things, I was not needed at the time, so I decided to tour the area around the hotel.

I know just enough Spanish to maybe tell anyone my name and that “I am from the United States, and maybe even say, “How much is this? or “Dios lo bendiga” (God bless you), but that was the extent of my knowledge of the language. I felt safe that Narcie would be close or some of the precious people in the retreat could speak a little English, or for sure the hotel staff, if I got into trouble communicating.

I’d like to think I have a reverent fear necessary to keep me from walking into a trap, or to keep me out of harms way. However, I’m not sure it works every time. I have watched my grandchildren explore new things, without fear. I marvel at their freedom as I remark, “They absolutely have no fear”. I have watched as they climbed up on something just to jump off again, or tackle a new riding toy as though it was ole hat. Really, I could see myself in them, for I was feeling no fear as I leisurely walked away from the hotel that afternoon. I could not explain my feeling of freedom

I didn’t realize just how far I had walked. The ruins from an earthquake in the 80’s were still visible. I wondered if it was too big a job for anyone to tackle. I noticed how dirty the city was. I snapped pictures of the hillside here, the traffic there, the people who were busy with their lives. The afternoon sky was a beautiful blue, with a few white clouds floating here and there.

Did I tell you my visit came during the 12-year-old civil war? Try as I will, I can never keep up with all the goings on in the world, and when I received my invitation to join the staff for El Salvador, I had no clue about the daily uprising and unrest. I just made sure I prayed for inspiration and direction for the people there. I just wanted to minister and encourage them.

As in most wars, there are factions. The left wing and the right wing. One group wanting this, another wanting that. The passion to get their way results in killing anyone who gets in the way. From what I read, a peace treaty was signed a few years after we were there, but at that time, killing at the hands of the rebels was still going on. Young people who worked at the hotel and served us, were soldiers at night I was told. One night there was a commotion outside the hotel. The only word I could understand among the whispers of the natives was that we were from the United States and the pastors and leadership were very protective of our mission and us.

I had walked several blocks from the Hotel in the afternoon heat. I was lost in picture making and drinking in the culture and was in no hurry to get back, when I heard someone call my name. “Doris!” It was from a distance and I am now reminded of Mother, when as children we had strayed away, and she called us in for supper.

“Doris“. The man's voice called again. He sounded much closer this time. I looked back toward the hotel in the distance, and I saw someone waving to me (or so I thought). Then the third time I heard my name called, I figured that Elva or Narcie was looking for me, and had sent someone to get my attention, so I started back.

When I arrived, I looked for familiar faces. I recognized no one around the door or in the lobby. I went to the area where I had left Elva and Narcie working, and told them I was sorry for being gone so long. I asked them whom they had sent to call me, and neither of them knew what I was talking about. The international staff who had come with us, hardly knew me, and would have had no reason to call me. Narcie and I were there to assist Elva, as she was the International director of Women’s Ministries.

I didn’t give the incident much thought until we started home. We had a glorious meeting with the ladies. Times of fellowship, laughter, and even tears. They were so receptive and I believed they went home with some new information to work with concerning their families. I spoke privately with some of the mothers who expressed their fears about their children being taken at the tender age of 13+ to be inducted into the Sandanista army. They admitted they were anxious when they sent their children off to school each day. I had prayer with them and encouraged them to trust God and have faith in Him.

I was content that I had been privileged to be a part of the conference. I was tired but ready to start home.

On Monday, Narcie and I had to fly out before the rest of the staff so she called a cab to take us to the airport. It was in the cab that the driver asked us if we had heard about the killing of the diplomat (or some dignitary) that had happened around the area of the hotel on Friday. Narcie told him we had not.

Since then, I have scanned the internet to learn who it was, but have found nothing to satisfy my questions. I just know from my readings that our visit to the country was in a dangerous time.

I am reminded of the words from Psalms 91:7,11 “A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand, but it shall not come near thee....For he will give His angels charge over thee to keep thee in all thy ways."

Who was it that called my name that day? Was I in danger? Was I headed toward a situation that would do me harm? I’m not sure, but I do believe that whatever fate awaited me was taken care of by the “Angel” that knew my name.


Doris Thompson


April 2006