I leaned against the hospital wall with Miriam and her cousin, watching three doctors minister to Miriam's sister Ruth as she lay dying.I watched as one doctor checked her pulse, then declared the time of death.I watched as another gently closed Ruth's eyes.I watched as my friend Miriam wept for her sister.She and another sister, Esther, began to take baby wipes to clean off the blood matted in Ruth's hair, and clinging to her face.They carefully arranged her body and draped it in a clean sheet.They whispered prayers and words of love as their tears fell freely on their beloved sister, dead at 32 from stomach cancer.

I hovered on the fringes, feeling out of place, but privileged to be a part of this hallowed time immediately following Ruth's death.Ruth was a Christian, so we rejoiced that she was now in heaven suffering no more.She had been slowly dying over the last three months, going in and out of the hospital.The last two weeks had been especially difficult.To see her at peace, knowing she now rested in the arms of Jesus, was a blessing.

Miriam's church was without a pastor.So I stayed with her, trying my best to be not only her friend, but also to be a pastoral presence when needed.I drove her and Ruth's fourteen-year-old daughter back to Ruth's house so they could choose an outfit to dress her in for the funeral.They sat in the back seat of my car holding each other and weeping, as I tried to see the road through my own blurry eyes.

In Mexico, when someone dies, the viewing hours and then the funeral happen the same day, or within 24 hours of death. The embalming process is minimal.And, because the family usually lives within a 15-30 mile radius of each other, there is no need to wait for people to fly or to drive in from other locations.Ruth died around 4 p.m.At 10 p.m. that night, a viewing was held in her front yard.The funeral home drove the body out in a casket.I came bringing extra chairs we have on hand for ministry events, as well as coffee and cups for those who would stay awake for most of the night.I sat on a chair next to Miriam's grandfather and listened to his stories of when he was an evangelist in Baja over 25 years ago.On the other side of me, sat Miriam cuddling an infant who was her niece.Holding on to a new life in the midst of death seemed to comfort her.

The funeral was the next day at 5 p.m.Everyone convened at Ruth's house again, and then followed the hearse to the cemetery.People piled inside my truck and also filled up the bed of the truck as I joined the procession. I refused to look and see how many people were back there!I ended up behind another pick-up full of the flowers to be placed at the grave.As we drove along, I noticed a large yellow and orange butterfly flit among the flowers.It seemed appropriate.Reminding me of new life, resurrection, after the chrysalis of death.It brought hope to a day of sorrow.

At the cemetery, a young pastor shared a 10-minute eulogy.He told us that Ruth had stated she was not afraid of death because she knew she would soon see Jesus face to face.A Christian hymn was sung as 6 men lifted the coffin and lowered it into a freshly dug hole.Other men were mixing cement on the side to pour over the coffin, and then dirt would be placed on top of that to fill up the hole again.It was a stark reminder that without Christ, there is finality to death.

During these two days, I often felt inadequate.With death, came a whole new list of Spanish vocabulary that I was trying to learn and use as I ministered to Miriam and her family.But most of the time, I kept my mouth shut and just showed up.I just tried to be the presence of Christ.I wasn't sure if it was enough until Miriam told me several days later, "You were the only friend who came and stayed with me the entire time.Thank you for being there."And we hugged and cried some more, celebrating a God who walks with us through the valley of the shadow of death.

Thank you for the privilege of serving as your ABC missionary to Southern Baja.Thank you for your support through the World Mission Offering, which allows me (and also David) to reach out to people in need, sometimes with words, and sometimes without.