A Little Foreigner Saved by Grace

To Him who is able to do exceeding abundantly beyond all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us, to Him be the glory.

(Ephesians 3:20-21a, NASB)

The night would come early. There was no electricity in my single room house. As soon as the sun hid behind the double-pointed volcano of Chinchontepec, my mom would yell, “Everybody inside!” Elsa and I would have to obey at once. We had kerosene-fueled candles lit inside the small, one-room mud house. The candiles would light up the house until we went to bed, and the roosters would awaken us with the sunrise every morning. “Time for chores,” my mom would yell. Elsa would water the pigs; I would make sure that the chickens got enough grain to eat.

Griselda, another sister, was born when I was seven. I remember when she was born. The midwife came when I was already asleep. She laid my mom on the floor. The baby cried. Elsa brought a hot iron to sterilize the long cord that connected her to my mom. It was bloody, and I was afraid.

“Don’t be afraid, son,” said my father.

“Is she going to bleed all night, dad?”

“No, she will be all right,” reassured my dad.

I was now a “big” brother, though only in status. I wanted to help my mom in everything. My sister, Elsa, was a “big” girl in my eyes. She would make breakfast early in the morning. There was no kitchen, yet Elsa managed to boil eggs and make soup of frijoles every week. Dad would milk the cows early in the morning. We had boiled milk for breakfast and tortillas with refried beans and queso duro (salty cheese) for lunch and supper.

Then one day my life turned gray. My dad went to the hospital with great pains; he never came back. I only remember his pale face while he lay in the long, wooden, brown box. Everybody was crying.

“Why doesn’t he smile at me, mom?”

“He can’t, son.”

“Is he coming home with us?”

“Not today, son.”

“Can’t I sleep with him?”

“No!”

I did not cry. I felt very alone. At seven, I did not understand why he could not get out of the box.

Life was more difficult for us now. My mom was still nursing Griselda, so Elsa had taken a bigger role in the family. It was hard to walk the three miles to school with my sister. My cousins, who lived halfway to school, would wait for us with slingshots and chase us every day. One day they hit me on the face with a rock. I came home crying. I felt alone and empty.

Late one night, I was awakened by screams from my mom. Some burglars had broken into the house and had a gun at Elsa’s head while she held my baby sister, Griselda. My mom had managed to escape by using the back door. I was not quite awake, so I followed my teenage-cousin, Leonides, to safety outside the house. The intimidating looters departed with their prize: my family’s safety box. These crooks fleeced us of every valuable material possession my dad had worked so hard to provide for us. They took the few pieces of jewelry my parents owned; they took all the cash my parents had saved; they took all the valuable documents –birth certificates, property deeds, and family mementos. And the real tragedy of our loss involved the malevolent men who were the robbers – my cousins!

Because we felt vulnerable without dad, our family moved to the city. My mom bought a small house with a big yard in San Vicente, a midsize city of about 50,000 people in the tiny country of El Salvador. I did not have to worry about my spiteful cousins anymore. I finished first grade at my new school, Nicolás Aguilar (an all-boys’ school); my older-sister, Elsa, finished third grade at the Rosa Pacas (an all-girls’ school).

School was a refuge for me. I read everything I could get my hands on. When I was in seventh grade, my mom bought me a set of Grolier Encyclopedias. I would read every night till midnight. When I was eleven, during the school break, a nice lady invited all the kids in the neighborhood to go to Bible classes at the church near my house. I went there everyday, and I liked learning about God. At the end of the week, we had a play about Jesus dying on the cross. I was touched by how much He had suffered. I kept going to the church after Bible School was over. I went every night. On Sundays, I attended morning and evening services. My friends would tease me a lot. They thought I was crazy for going to church at such a young age. They thought church was for women or for widows. “Boys should not go to church,” they would say.

One day I was pressured to go to the front of the church and give my life to Christ, so I could be saved from Hell. The pastor asked me to repeat his prayer while he put his hand on my sweaty head. I felt as though an electrical current went from my head to my toes. I was told that I was now a child of God.

A few months later, the pastor asked me to get baptized, so I could begin serving in the church. Immediately the pastor asked me to serve as a secretary of the church, and not much later, he asked me to teach Sunday school. Then he appointed me leader of the youth group. At 14, I preached my first message at a Bible study at a village 15 miles away. I spoke on the Parable of the Sower (Matthew 13:1-23), despite the fact that I did not even know the meaning of the parable. I was later asked to be the song leader on Saturdays, even though I knew nothing about music.

When I graduated from middle school, I went to the capital city, San Salvador, for high school. But every weekend I came back to San Vicente for a three-fold task: (1) to help my mom in running the grocery store; (2) to take care of the many filthy and stinky pigs that we owned; and (3) to continue my obligations at the church as a youth leader. The first year I did not miss a single weekend in San Vicente. The second year I missed some weekends. The third year I dreaded coming home. I did not like the pig business. I did not enjoy going to church either because it was too legalistic. If I did not report to the pastor every Saturday for duty, he assumed I was carnal and perhaps I had committed a big sin and lost my salvation. Whenever I would come to the services, the pastor made sure that the message was for me; he loved to preach on the Prodigal Son. I was strongly encouraged to go forward to the front of the church with a contrite heart and “be reconciled” to God again so that I would not lose my salvation – just in case I had committed an unpardonable sin during my weeks of absence.

During my senior year of high school, I was given the opportunity to come to the United States as an exchange student. I lived with a great family in a rural area near Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I spent one year in high school. At that point in my life, it was certainly my greatest year. I returned home with new eyes and a vision. I thought I could change the world to make it a better place to live. I got a job as an overseas operator, working for the government-owned telephone company. I also attended the University at the same time.

The civil war between the leftist communist guerillas and the American supported right-wing military forces had risen to a peak in February 1980 while I attended the University. On February 22, a great armed combat occurred in the capital city (San Salvador). The almost one million inhabitants were awakened by large-scale sounds of gunfire and low-flying helicopters. The smoky gunpowder had filled the skies of the smoggy city. The rebellious insurgents had taken over most of the capital and the security and military forces responded by pursuing all university students who were suspected of being subversives. My university was seized and kept under military control. The left-wingers had attacked the telephone company. I had to work until 11:00 p.m. that night. The other employees and I were taken out of the building in a hurry; we boarded an unlisted company vehicle to eliminate the possibility of getting shot by leftist guerrillas. During our trip home, I saw a dozen blood-filled bodies lying in the street. Some of the victims were still dragging their wounded legs out of the main streets onto the sidewalks. Countless public buses lay on their sides in flames. Our small mini-van kept its rapid course through the garbage-filled city streets. The closer we got to downtown, the more I could hear the gunshots, then the detonating explosion of huge bombs would follow. I could smell the powder as though it had been detonated inside our mini-van. Will we get hit? Will we make it home alive? Please, Lord, let us come out in one piece, I prayed.

Suddenly, we came to a halt. A large army tank with a dozen heavily armed men stood in front of us.

“Stop!” cried out the commander, while pointing the large machine-gun at our driver.

“Everybody out!” yelled another soldier.

“We are all employees of the telephone company,” replied the driver in weak voice.

“Show I.D.!” insisted the first soldier.

The group of soldiers put their heavy and cold machine guns at our heads while they split our legs apart. Our faces were pressed against the window of the white mini-van. I kept on praying, Lord, please don’t let me die tonight.

After a few minutes of verifying our identities with headquarters, they let us go free. Thank you, Lord. Thank you, Lord, I prayed. I raced toward home. When I saw the door, I quickly opened it and rushed inside. I sat down and thanked God that I was still alive. The crossfire in the city went on all night. I did not sleep one minute.

The next day I went home and my mom was relieved to see me alive. She encouraged me to try to leave the country as soon as possible, so I called my host parents and they offered me a place to stay with them in Wisconsin. I did not have a visa; however, my prior visa had been mistakenly stamped for two years instead of one so at the time of my departure, I still had four months left to use before it would expire. I left on March 17, 1980, with a one-way ticket to Florida where some dear friends from Wisconsin waited for me. This wealthy couple tried to enroll me in college, but I did not have the proper documents to attend.

After placing numerous phone calls and personal visits to several colleges, I was given a soccer scholarship from a two-year campus in West Bend, Wisconsin. I lived with my host parents and then transferred to the University of Minnesota-Duluth (UMD) on another scholarship. I can now see the hand of the Lord preparing my path.

I met my lovely wife, Amy, during my junior year of college. She was a senior in high school. I was not looking for a relationship, nor was she. I was preparing for finals and she was preparing to leave for Venezuela at the end of the summer as an exchange student with American Field Service (AFS) for one year. But before she left, we fell in love.

While she was in Venezuela, we frequently kept in touch by letters for the first four months. However, after the first of the year, she did not reply to my letters. Six months of silence from Amy caused me to turn to many student organizations at UMD, trying to forget my pain and bitterness. School became my refuge, but deep inside I was empty and lonely. Little did I realize the reason for Amy’s silence. The Lord was preparing her path, as well.

In late winter, I ran into a friend who introduced me to Campus Crusade for Christ. I attended a few meetings, but I got nothing out of them. I became lost in the shuffle again and in the spring of 1984, I met that friend again and she asked me to go to a Bible study at a small church in a neighborhood of Duluth called Kenwood. I went and to my surprise, the study was very interesting. Everyone seemed actually engaged in the study of the Bible. The teacher was a young man with a high-pitched voice named Dennis Rokser; the content of his messages was deep. He knew the Bible well, and his messages were very organized. He used handouts with blanks for the students to complete. The congregation looked young and I recognized many from UMD. I liked it very much.

I did not like, however, the personal challenges I received the very first night I attended.

“Are you saved?” asked one young lady named Cindy.

“Of course!” I replied with confidence.

“When did you get saved?” she continued.

“When I was eleven years of age, I gave my life to Christ. I prayed the sinner’s prayer. I asked Jesus into my heart, and I received Jesus Christ as my Savior,” I responded, hoping that she would drop the subject.

“How do you know that you are saved?” insisted Cindy.

“Because I know that I am saved. God has made His presence real to me throughout my life,” I replied stubbornly.

“Do you know that the Bible does not teach that you have to give your life to Christ, or to ask Jesus into your heart, or to say the sinner’s prayer in order to be saved?” insisted Cindy.

I became angry and thought: What nerve does she have to question my salvation? Do these people think that they are the only ones in the whole wide world who know the truth?

That night I took my dusty New Testament and began to search the passages that she and others had quoted to me such as John 1:12; 3:16-18, 36; Acts 16: 30-31; Romans 4:5; Romans 5:8; 6:23; Ephesians 2:8-9; 1 John 5:10-13, and many others. I had to prove them wrong. How could they say that I was not saved? I continued going to the Bible studies with the purpose of proving them wrong.

I met a friend at the Bible studies named Mike Laughlin who happened to be in one of my accounting classes at UMD. He knew the Bible quite well, so I argued with him numerous times about the fact that one could lose his salvation. He spent countless hours showing me from the Bible that salvation is free and that it cost us nothing, yet it cost God the Father the life of His dear Son. He explained also that when one receives the gift of eternal life by faith, the Holy Spirit enters into the life of the individual and seals him until the day of redemption (Ephesians 1:13, 4:30). He said that if a saved person could lose his salvation and go to Hell, then the Holy Spirit would have to go to Hell with him. I began to see the logic, but I was not totally convinced. What about the passages in Hebrews 6:6; 10:38-39; James 2:14-17; 2 Peter 2:15-22? Don’t these passages teach that a saved person could lose his salvation?

In one of the messages, Pastor Dennis Rokser explained that salvation is a gift from God and not a reward for good people. He read Ephesians 2:8-9:

For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast.

He went on to explain that salvation cannot be earned by good works nor can it be maintained by the deeds of the law because “if righteousness come by the law, then Christ is dead in vain”(Gal. 2:21).

He added that salvation does not come “by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to His mercy He saved us” (Titus 3:5). Moreover, salvation is by grace (unmerited favor) offered by God to bad people. He explained the difference between salvation [a gift] and rewards for believers at the Judgment Seat of Christ (1 Corinthians 3:11-15).

Now the message of grace had begun to make more sense. Two key passages penetrated my thinking:

He that believeth on the Son of God hath the witness in himself: he that believeth not God hath made him a liar; because he believeth not the record that God gave of his Son. And this is the record, that God hath given to us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. He that hath the Son hath life; and he that hath not the Son of God hath not life. These things have I written unto you that believe on the name of the Son of God; that ye may know that ye have eternal life. (1 John 5:10-13)

He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that sent me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation; but is passed from death unto life. (John 5:24)

During a glorious Easter morning in April 1984, the light finally came on. I stopped trusting in my own works and placed my entire confidence in what the Bible declares. I finally could see that although salvation is free, it cost Jesus Christ His own life; He died so that I could live forever with Him. I could see that it was not a matter of giving my life to Christ, asking Jesus into my heart or saying the sinner’s prayer. Instead, it was simply a matter of trusting Jesus Christ alone who died for me and rose again. As a result, God gave me eternal life and regenerated me into a new creation. How wonderful to be a child of the King! The familiar verses that I had memorized as a child now had a new personal meaning, “For God so loved the world [Edgardo], that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever [Edgardo] believeth in him [Edgardo] should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world [Edgardo]; but that the world [Edgardo] through him might be saved” (John 3:16-17). What amazing grace!

Though I was a “little” foreigner at only 5 feet 4 inches (the Zacchaeus of El Salvador), God lifted me to great heights and set my feet upon the Rock–Jesus Christ. Now I finally could say without a doubt: “I am a son of God, saved by Grace.” I felt as though a great burden had been removed from my back; I was free forever.

I could also see why the Lord had allowed my relationship with Amy to not go well. First, I needed to turn to Him instead of her and deal with the biggest problem in my life, my eternal destiny. He even glorified Himself in not only causing me to see my need of Him and get saved but also to cause Amy to see her need of Him and get saved as well. I was flabbergasted by God’s amazing display of His matchless grace. We both were now saved and on our way to heaven. I wanted desperately to walk with the Lord and have Amy by my side for the rest of my life. I proposed to her within a couple of months of her spiritual birth. We were married the following summer, June 15, 1985. Today we are privileged to serve the Lord together as blessed parents of five beautiful children – Amanda, Alicia, Josué, Esperanza and Eliseo – gifts of God for His honor and glory.

Soon after my salvation, the Lord began another work in my life, conforming me to His image (Romans 8:28-29). He has had to tear apart every bit of me and reconstruct me in His own way for His own purpose and glory. The task was immense, like making a Cadillac out of a rusty bicycle. His conforming work is not complete but ultimately I know that “He which hath begun a good work in [me] will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ” (Phil. 1:6).

Currently, I am enrolled in the Grace Institute of Biblical Studies program at my church, Duluth Bible Church. After a decade of wondering about God’s purpose for my life, I realize that He wants to prepare my family and me for a ministry of reconciliation as an ambassador for Him – not only in Duluth but also abroad, to the lost people of El Salvador, my home country.

The six years of training at the Grace Institute of Biblical Studies have been hard and laborious, not only for me but also for my family. We all have had to sacrifice something. Yet we know that “our labor is not in vain” in light of eternity. My dear wife and I are excited and humbled to recognize that the Lord has been working in our lives to prepare us for potential ministry towards those in the Spanish-speaking world or wherever He leads. Only God knows how, when, and where He wants to use this specialized training in my life, the life of my family, and the lives of my people.

To God be the Glory for the great things He has done! ¢

Edgardo Carranza is a G.I.B.S. student who will be graduating this year. Edgardo was born in El Salvador and moved to the States in 1980. He is currently on staff at Duluth Bible Church as a clerical assistant as well as heading up the Hispanic ministry.