By Jenny Willis
Elizabeth’s mother asked if she could come to our Sunday night service to be prayed over. She told us how every time her husband leaves, she hears a voice and can’t sleep at night.
Georgina was her name. She ran a household of three generations, eight people, a rooster, a hen, a mangy dog, a duck that looked part turkey, and a parrot with not much to say. She kept a tidy home. Three full-sized beds lined the wall to the left, each neatly made. Giant calendars with the image of Jesus, Mary and various saints hung above the beds. Lacy curtains hung lifeless in the windows.
The kitchen table sat as an extended counter next to the stove. On it sat a prepared meal, covered and ready to serve at a moment’s notice. The dirt floor was free of clutter and still bore traces of just being swept. She welcomed us, and we felt at home.
We sat in red and blue plastic chairs, sharing our love for Christ and his love for us. The youngest daughter doesn’t like church. We empathized that we don’t always either, and that Jesus’ love for her is not contingent upon it. He loves her passionately regardless of the amount of religious activities she partakes in. Church serves as a house where we can fellowship, learn more and grow in our relationships with him.
The chicken tended her eggs beneath the chair and clucked every now and again, reminding us that she was there. The duck barged in one door and out the other. The dog tried to follow, but experience of being kicked around has left him timid. Time waned; so, we thought we should head to the next house.
As we got up to leave, Elizabeth’s mother asked if she could come to our Sunday night service to be prayed over. Meagan asked if we could just pray for her right then. She agreed.
We layed hands on her and began to pray.
Celina stood behind her, Meagan to her side, with Anne, Linnea and me completing the circle. Georgina stood there between us, hands clasped tightly in prayer, her lips moving silently. As one, we each cried out for the Lord to come and relieve this woman of her nightmares. Elizabeth came around and placed a small bottle of oil in my hand. It had a sweet and pleasing smell as I poured a little on my fingers. I continued to pray as I anointed the doorposts and scuffed wooden bed frames in the name of Jesus.
The younger daughter and the sister-in-law had taken the babies outside. I could see their curious faces peeking in through the window. Everything in the house was still, left just as it was; yet, something was moving. I made my way over to Georgina. Suddenly, all the hair on my body stood up.
Something in my spirit readied. Adrenaline rushed through my body. We all felt it. Celina began singing a beautiful song of freedom: “Hay Libertad… Hay Libertad…” Suddenly, Georgina began to sway violently from one side to another, resisting us. In a loud voice, she yelled at us to let her go and leave her alone! With her tightly-shut her eyes and clenched fists, an anguished expression consumed her face. Anne even saw a contortion in her features and claws that came out from behind her. We met this confrontation and raised our voices, calling upon the Lord to free her!
Amidst the heightened excitement, a strong peace and confidence washed over us. There was no fear in it, no uncertainty, just this peace.
Georgina continued to sway back and forth, resisting our prayers. Celina continued to sing more beautifully and poised than before. We joyously praised, a look of excitement and victory etched on each of our faces. I continued pacing the length of the room while I prayed. I was at the door with my back to Georgina when a huge heaviness was lifted.
It was like being caught in a violent storm at sea, when all of the sudden the rain stops, the clouds part, and the sun breaks through to reveal the most beautiful sunset you’ve ever laid eyes on. I turned to see Georgina slump down in her kitchen chair. She looked like a rag doll, leaning on the girls for support. She bent over so that her head was between her knees, then vomited on the dirt floor. She wearily sat back up and wiped her semi-smiling lips. She looked exhausted.
We sat down around her again. We asked her how she felt. Her hands flew up to her heart and with smiling eyes she replied, “Estoy tranquila. Ahora, estoy tranquila.” That is, “I have peace. Now, I have peace.”