“They couldn’t see any cancer on the scan!” Lava exclaimed.

Just the day before, I had taken Lava and her mother and brother to a little nearby clinic. Lava had been unable to eat because of severe abdominal pain. While she was there, they had taken another scan of her cervix. And now Lava’s face was wreathed in smiles, and so was mine. “I have even eaten a little,” Lava said hopefully. “I’m still weak, but as I eat more, I will gain back my strength. Soon I will be out in the fields harvesting rice. And I will visit you at your house!”

With all my heart I wanted to believe it was true. Lava had been suffering from cervical cancer for some time, and she had grown weaker in recent weeks. Perhaps the Lord had chosen to heal her. We had fasted and prayed with tears for our dear sister. We often shared with her and her family that Jesus still had power to heal. My heart wanted to rejoice but dared not.

The next day, a friend mentioned to me that she had just come back from visiting Lava. “She’s doing better, isn’t she?” I questioned.

“No. She is sicker than ever. Her extended family is coming today. They think she won’t live long.”

My heart sank as I made my way to Lava’s house. Relatives were arriving from various villages, and concerned friends sat around talking and sipping tea. I found Lava lying on a mat, propped up on pillows. Between moans, her breathing was labored. Pain was written across her face. Her sisters sat around her, massaging her legs, shoulders and arms, trying to bring relief.

“She is very sick,” Masah, her mother, said with a sigh.

I touched her gently. “Is your heart sad, Masah?” I asked softly.

“Allah is good. He knows what is best. We can’t complain,” she replied. But behind Masah’s brave words I could see deep grief. It radiated from her glistening eyes and wrinkled brow.

Grief overwhelmed me. I tried to hold my tears back, but I could not. “I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I have a sad heart.”

Mijeep quickly tried to comfort me, telling me Allah was sovereign. I nodded but continued to sob silently. Mijeep picked up her book of prayers from the Quran and began a singsong, chanting prayer. Lava reached out her hand for me. In a whisper, she told me not to have a sad heart. Allah shouldn’t be questioned.

“She is crying.” The whispers spread around the room with nods and pointing. Soon others picked up prayer books and began to chant prayers. I wondered what sin I had committed with my tears, but somehow it seemed right to let them flow.

The next day as I visited Lava again, she beckoned for me to come close to her mat. She grasped my hand and held it tight with both of hers. “I love Hope very much. Hope cried for me! I love Hope so much,” she repeated several times.

“When Hope cried, it was beautiful,” Lava’s sisters said. “It wasn’t sinful the way she cried. It wasn’t loud like she was questioning Allah. Her crying was because of love.”

Across the crowded room, I could hear a similar discussion among the men. They, with Philip, were all talking about my tears.

Lava’s condition quickly worsened. Around the clock, the house was crowded with friends and loved ones. All day and night they took turns giving Lava constant care. Six or seven people took up posts massaging her neck, shoulders, arms, back, legs and feet. Some stroked her hair, some wet her lips with water, and some fanned her. Many chanted prayers from their prayer books. I took my turn massaging and fanning, sending up my prayers with the others. I pled with God to work a miracle in front of all these people. Imagine the impact! “But if not,” I prayed, “please lay her to rest from her misery quickly.”

But the days dragged on. Six days later, Lava seemed to be in particular agony. The words of comfort from her friends and family sounded so strange to me. “Be strong, Lava. Don’t complain. Soon your sins will all be gone. Allah loves you. He is giving you this long suffering to take away all of your sins.”

If at any time it seemed Lava was on the verge of complaining, people would say, “Quick, get the Quran and chant a prayer.” Masah explained that when they were afraid Satan would come in, they chanted the Quran.

Masah brought out a bottle and explained that it contained special water from the spring where Ishmael had been saved from dying of thirst. Carefully, she spooned tiny drops of it into Lava’s mouth.

That last night, as Lava writhed in pain and struggled for every breath, I prayed that God would give her rest. At last, she seemed to fall into a deep, undisturbed slumber. Not long after that, she breathed her last breath.

The next day, I watched the ladies prepare her body for burial. How strange her face looked without the spark of life and love that had once been there. My tears were not the only ones that day.

The saddest part of the funeral was the fear—fear of hell and torture that might await their beloved daughter, sister and mother. Fear of the unknown.

Early that morning, a sad voice drifted up from the mosque next to our house. It was Lava’s brother pleading with Allah to have mercy on her. It was unusual. I had never heard anyone pray anything but memorized Arabic words they did not understand. But loud and clear, in his native tongue, the petition arose. “Oh Allah, she followed in all of Your pathways. She had lots and lots of merit. Look at all of her merit, oh Allah. She was a good woman.”

Now Lava is resting in her grave, with her head pointing toward Mecca. Is this simply the end of another sad story? I pray that it is only the beginning of a very beautiful story that will end, “and they lived happily ever after.”

Since coming back from furlough, we have lost many dear brothers and sisters in a short time. It has given us a deeper longing than ever to communicate the love of Jesus to our friends. Barriers and walls are slowly coming down. More and more, we have opportunities to share about the merits that only the blood of Jesus can bring.

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