Words for a Friend

How young you were when Nestor took you as his woman. I remember asking someone if you had even reached puberty yet.

Hearing your laughter and singing. You rarely missed an opportunity to dance and sing and tell stories and laugh with the young people late into the night.

The way you took care of your own Chancéline. You sang to her, carried her everywhere, did cute things with her hair until she was old enough to become a little mama to her cousins and her little sister.

How you fought a battle with tuberculosis, and won, though it left your body weak and worn down. The pregnancies you lost and the pain, frustration and disappointment because your body wouldn’t keep a baby.

Hearing your cries and wails as your husband beat you because you “wouldn’t listen”. Seeing your marriage grow and your commitment, love and support for your husband as you both learned what it meant to follow Komba and His Son, Yesua.

Seeing you clearly communicate how you gave your life to Yesua and wanted to be baptized. Watching you down in the river publicly witness to others in obedience to Christ.

Watching you in church raise up song after song. How you encouraged your sister & her kids, your mother and your brother to be a part of the church body.

How you always had a baby in your arms, always smiling and talking and cuddling those nieces, nephews and kids of neighbors and friends.

Your hard work, whether it was gathering from the forest, planting your own fields, odd jobs for money or preparing meals for discipleship retreats or other community gatherings.

Your faithfulness to learn more about Christ. How you attended the Oral Storying Workshops and learned some of the OT Likano by memory. Your faithful attendance and participation in our weekly women’s Bible studies.

Your quiet humility in talking to Komba in prayer. How you went from praying general prayers of blessing and health to praying for specific neighbors in need. The time we met, just the two of us, and talked and prayed for a specific Baka sister in need.

How you courageously tried hosting your own Bible studies with neighborhood kids and leading health lessons during a leadership seminar. How you prayed with your own household every evening. How you showed and taught other women what it looked like to follow Christ.

How you took in anyone who had need as if they were your own, including your husband’s 3 nephews. How you & Nestor built your house big enough so that you could host visitors.

Seeing your faith be made real by refusing forest medicine and trusting God to give you a healthy pregnancy. Being in awe of finding that out after Debora was born. Seeing the joy that little Debora’s life gave to you. And seeing you cling to your faith even when she passed away before her first birthday.

Being known to you as “Nathan’s wife”, then “Wife-of-my-husband’s-friend”, then “My friend” and finally “La La”.

How this doesn’t sum up all the sweet memories I have of you. How my heart is torn up knowing that on this earth I’ll never hear your laughter, see your smile or hear your voice giving a testimony to what God has done in your life. How I hate the pain and the empty hole your death has left in the hearts of your daughter, your husband, your mother, your family and your friends.

How joyful I am that you are no longer suffering. How your body is no longer in pain. How you no longer suffer from fatigue. How you no longer will catch every virus and sickness passing through the village. How you are with Jesus! How you are having a face to face conversation with our Creator…in Baka!!!  

You are free. You are at peace. You are who you were created to be without any restrictions of this world. I can’t wait to see you again, my friend.