Through the Night

I was taking a nap before lunch last Sabbath, when I woke up to Zimahoo standing over me and saying “Mahlahjee a mo thee lee.” (“Mahlahjee’s mother died already.”) When I finally woke up enough to process what she had said, I asked when she died and where the family was.

Mahlahjee’s mother had been diagnosed with cancer two or three months before, but by that time it was too far along to give much hope that she could be cured. During much of the time since her diagnosis, she lived in the girls’ dorm with her daughter. Then just over a week ago, she went to Mae Lah Camp to get some treatment. There was enough (though very little) improvement that she decided that she wanted to go home to Burma. However they (she, her husband, and older daughter) were just about half-way between Mae Lah camp and here when she passed away on Sabbath morning. Mahlahjee, hoping to see them on their way by, waited next to the road. But, instead of getting to talk to her, Mahlahjee got to see the now lifeless form of her dear mother.

When Zimahoo, Dad, and I got out to the road, a small group had gathered around. Mahlahjee squatted next to the motorbike trailer that her mother was in. Tears were forcing their way down her cheeks. Others joined us, and we had prayer together. Then the family went on their way to a relatives’ home about fifteen minutes away (where they would bury the lady), and we sent someone to call Thara Ehganyaw back from his camping trip in the hills behind our school.

A group was soon called together to prepare to go up to the funeral site. We would spend the night and have the funeral the next day. Yet even though I really wanted to go, I wanted to be sure that they would be comfortable with a foreigner being with them. Finally Thara Ehganyaw asked me if I would go, and I soon had my things in a backpack.

The evening wasn’t anything unusual, but I had yet to discover what the night would be like–although I did have some clues. Around sunset we had worship and supper together. While we were eating supper they started playing a cassette tape of some “cultural” love songs. The style of that music cannot be described, but I can tell you that I really don’t like to get very close to it.

After supper we gathered on a mat in the part of the covered building where they had the body and other people were gathering.  To our great relief they stopped their music long enough for me to get Thara Ehganyaw’s attention and tell him that we wanted to sing. And sing we did. But after an hour or so of singing, sleepiness was overcoming us. So sometime after 10:00, we concluded our singing.

But silence was not to be had. The group of villagers and non-Christian relatives soon began their pitiful songs. And they weren’t mourning songs either. With alcohol and their songs, they partied for the next seven hours at least. If I had understood their crazy words, I might have been tempted to laugh sometimes too–but not when I looked into the eyes of my grieving friend. She was one of very few who were not laughing at what was going on. Were it not for my desire to be with her, I would have taken up the offer to go somewhere else to sleep. This girl was the reason that I was there, and I was determined to be there for her even through the night.

It was only in God’s mercy that those hours passed so quickly. Only when they decided to stop around 5:30 were we able to sing and worship together.

The next several hours passed very slowly. There was food to cook and eat, a casket to get, a hole to be dug, and plenty of sitting around. When the two sons finally arrived, it was after 2:00 and we were eating lunch.

Through the course of the morning, I began to have a much fuller understanding of the sad understanding that these dear people have of the state of the dead. They were discussing whether or not she could still smell. Then her other daughter insisted that they give her some rice since she must be hungry by now.

The service was simple and sweet. We sang, and Dad shared some thoughts from Psalm 23. After they figured out how to put her in the casket, we made our way up to the burial spot. We sang some more, had prayer together, and lowered the crude wooden box into the earth.

Words don’t come to mind to describe the rest of the details. But one feeling overpowered all others in my heart–an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the honor of being there to represent our loving heavenly Father.

And one week later I find my self again spending Sabbath night with her. Only this time it’s much different. She’s had a tough week to be sure, but our friendship is growing deeper. Even better, her relationship with her heavenly Father is growing stronger. She’s finding joy even after such a great loss.

May she find that, just as I was willing to stay with her through that one dark night, her heavenly Father will be with her through every moment of this world’s dark night.

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