Huddled on the sheet-less hospital bed, tubes in her side and nose and an oxygen mask over her face lay my Older Sister (Ukà) Kulipang. Sick with tuberculosis and pneumothorax, which caused a collapsed lung, my sister was suffering. A tiny woman, she made for a small bundle on the bed. She looked miserable as Kent and I watched her for a moment before entering the room. But when we approached her bed, she looked up and rewarded our visit with a big smile.  

It was challenging to have a real conversation with her because of the oxygen mask, but we were able to bring her comfort. Rearranging her pillow so she would lay more comfortably, propping up her knees to take the strain off her lower back, and stroking her sweaty head and hair, I wanted her to know I loved her.

She kept saying, “I want to go home.” I understood. A hospital is such a foreign place, but even more so for one who was born, raised and then reared her own family to adulthood in the remote jungle highlands. But going home wasn’t an option in her condition, not just yet.

As we started singing to soothe her, she visibly relaxed and then thoroughly enjoyed hearing one of Pastor Kent’s Bible Stories, reminding her of her home in heaven and the great reunion day with Jesus and our loved ones.

Kulipang is a sister in Christ. Baptized almost five years ago, she has been the only member of a still relatively young church plant in Amrang. She has zealously encouraged her adult children and grandchildren to attend church and small group, and some are taking Bible studies. We pray that one day soon, they will join the ranks of the redeemed.

As I continued to visit Kulipang, I witnessed her health vacillate. One day, upon entering her room, I was horrified. I didn’t recognize her. The air was not going out the tubes in her side properly, and her whole body was filling up with air just under the skin! Her granddaughter was valiantly trying to press air out of the tissues, but it was almost a losing battle. Kulipang was miserable.

I came in another day, and she was having intense seizures, causing excruciating muscle spasms. It was horrific to watch and to know how uncomfortable and frightened she was. Breathing was difficult. As we waited the much-too-long minutes for the nurse to bring the needed medication, I could only stroke her forehead, pray aloud, and, at times, sing to her. I feared she would die during the seizures that returned every few minutes.

At long last, the medication started working, and she relaxed, only to again say, “I want to go home. I don’t want to die here.” Regrettably, it did become apparent that she would not recover from her condition. We had worship with her again, Kent telling her a story of “Heaven and Homeland,” after which we sang her favorite song, “Maya Menglelkat Siyu,” (“We Have a Redeemer”). Even though she could barely talk, her breaths coming sporadically and shallowly, she was singing along with us through her mask. Her faith in Jesus was precious to behold, and each time we had worship with her, her body would visibly relax, and peace would come over her face.  

We were able to arrange a medical flight to take her to her native home and to see her children and grandchildren. She then peacefully went to sleep in Jesus that night.

Ukà Kulipang, I miss you. Even though we weren’t able to see each other frequently because of the distance between our villages, you were always so happy to see me, as I was happy to see you. I am looking forward to the grand resurrection day, after which we will meet in heaven and, just as we already agreed, be neighbors.

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