I stood uneasily as the wooden floor beneath me creaked. It was hot and sweat was dripping off of everyone in the room. I looked around the room at this ragtag bunch of misfits. Here we stood, the banana farmer, the village mid-wife, the cook, the pastor, the single mother, and the missionary. I looked at the woman lying on the bed and knew that unless God did a miracle, that she would be dead soon. We stood, worshipped the One who knew her suffering more than anyone, laid hands on her, prayed for healing, cried, whispered words of love and encouragement from the scriptures to her, and left the room quietly to let her rest. She was a young believer in Jesus, a mother, a nurse, and a survivor. She had lived through the Khmer Rouge, she had survived the rebuilding of the nation. But here she lay dying of cervical cancer. Her husband had left her and her children years ago to take another wife.
She represented to me the young Khmer Church. The struggles that she faced I see daily in the Church in Cambodia. She had given her heart to the Lord several years ago while a group of people met with a missionary weekly for one year. After the missionary was unable to meet with the group anymore, her faith waivered and she returned to her former ways. She was going to the pagoda again. Offering sacrifices to the spirits. Her life was filled with the terrible knowledge of knowing the truth and yet, rejecting it for a lie (Rom. 1:22-23). She was trying desperately to make sense of life, to survive, and to take care of her children and now her grandchildren.
When Vutha moved to Kampot, the group contacted him and asked if he could start meeting with the few who remained. For two years he has been meeting with the small “water fall” cell group. The group remains small, but it is growing in the knowledge of Christ (Eph. 1:17). After the group was meeting again and being strengthened, the lady asked if she could return to join them. She was embarrassed that she had been so easily pulled away from pursuing the Lord and felt that she had failed when there was no one around to encourage her in her walk. The group eagerly embraced her, loved on her, and rejoiced at her return. She was still weak in her faith, like all of us, but she was growing. She had been back for almost a year.
Five days after I stood with the brothers and sisters at the foot of the bed, our sister went to be with the Lord. When I got the phone call, I cried. It was a blow to all of us. I did not cry because she was dead, I knew she was now with the Lord. I cried for her family. She was the only Christian in her family. Her children demanded a traditional Buddhist funeral and refused to let Vutha speak or share the gospel. They feared that it might bring bad luck to the family if Christians were involved in the service.
Vutha visited the family after the funeral and shared the Hope that their mother and grandmother had. He, once again, shared the gospel with the family as he has many times in the past. I am thankful that to have known this woman. Her struggle was our struggle, her strength was our strength, and her Lord is our Lord. I am so thankful that we do not have to mourn her death as others do. Though her body sleeps; she lives with her Savior! Pray for the family to know her Savior and for the young believers here to be strengthened.
“But I do not want you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning those who have fallen asleep, lest you sorrow as other who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who sleep in Jesus.” 1 Thess. 4:13-14
