I’m not really sure how to tell this story. And part of me doesn’t want to tell it. The story isn’t about me. It’s about a 86 year old woman who passed away this past week. This is her story, and I want to keep it sacred like the memory of her. As I’ve been debating about how much to write about this past week, I realized maybe the reason I was a witness to it, is to share it with other people.
So here we go. Here is Berta’s story.
I don’t know much about her life. I met her two and half weeks ago, and all I knew was that she was old and loved Jesus a lot. She had very limited mobility and wasn’t able to make the walk to church anymore. So our second morning in Palacaguina, Nicaragua, we brought church to her. We talked with her for a bit, sang a few songs, and prayed for her. We left her home and went to the next house. Thirty minutes later, Berta was rushed to a hospital.
She spent the next week in a hospital bed in a neighboring town. She was in a coma. We prayed for her, and then we went back to her house to visit her son who lived with her. He’s in his forties, and after being with him for about twenty minutes, he surrendered his life to Christ. We prayed for him and celebrated with him before leaving.
A few days later, Berta was taken off of life support and moved back home. Lying in her bed, still in a coma, we sang the same songs to her. Two days later, Berta entered Heaven.
I only new Berta for about thirty minutes, and like I said, I don’t know much about her life. But this is what I do know.
She loved fiercely. The couple of days that followed her return home, her house was packed. It was the same way at her funeral. The whole community came to be with her and her family. She wasn’t going to see her Father alone; the community was there to walk and sing her into his arms.
Her life had purpose. I know this because her death has purpose, and you can’t have one without the other. During her final days, her son turned to Jesus. And days after her passing, he was in church for the first time. It’s like she was waiting to go home until she knew her son would be okay.
God is here. I feel him during the three church services every week. I feel him when I wake up in the middle of night and can’t fall back asleep. I feel him when we’re painting pillars or picking mangos. And I felt him in Berta’s house. As the crowd was praying, their prayers turned from desperation to worship. His presence brought peace and trust and finally excitement that Berta was receiving her prize after 86 years.
I want to be like these people. I want my prayers to backed with faith that my God can heal and restore and preform the most amazing miracles. But even if he doesn’t, I want to worship him for his goodness. Like the lyrics we sang, I want him to open my eyes to see him. Even in the suffering. Even on the deathbed. I want to see him. Because life springs out of death. And Berta who is home with The Lord, will be reunited with her son one day, because even in the darkness, his eyes were opened to see The Lord.
