With amazement we watched as Jane laid out her sleeping mat in our lounge. “I brought this all the way from Palawan!” she smiled and started to explain how to get a good night’s rest in that humid part of the world. Jane had recently returned from a year of serving as a student missionary in Palawan, Philippines. At the time, we were just beginning our mission journey, and we were expecting to serve in Palawan, so Jane kindly came to our home to give us a clearer picture of our destination and what to expect. She made us feel at ease with our decision to boldly go where few have gone before.

I remember well that day three years ago, and I can’t believe that time has gone by so quickly. It turned out that God had other plans for us. Instead of tropical Palawan, we are serving in the dry Middle East. Quite a contrast!

For months we have been trying to get some medical personnel to our city to help the refugee community. After many long discussions with government officials, they allowed a doctor and his team from our home country to come and do a needs assessment in our city.

God had other plans yet again, and it worked out that the doctor and his team were allowed to start an emergency clinic just outside a war-torn city about two hours’ drive from us. God always answers earnest prayers.

One summer night we went out for ice cream with the doctor and his team, and who should walk in with him but Jane! The same Jane who gave us a Palawan orientation three years ago! What a small world! We all laughed and joked through the warm evening as we enjoyed our cold ice cream. It was so nice to speak in our own language with Jane. We couldn’t believe the odds of us meeting again in this part of the world. God is great!

However, during our conversation that evening we could sense that all was not well with Jane. She spoke of “circumstances” that had brought her here. She didn’t elaborate, and we left it.

A couple of months later we were blessed to travel to our home country to apply for travel visas. On Sabbath we found that our home church had a new pastor. During Sabbath lunch with him we learned that he knew Jane very well, and he asked if we were aware of her illness. We were both shocked to hear that she had been diagnosed with untreatable brain cancer. Jane was dying.

A couple of months later we were able to visit the new emergency clinic. Early one morning, we drove from our city to another nearby city where we met Jane. She was so glad to see us and volunteered to take us to the clinic. She wasn’t feeling well this particular morning and had a wet cloth wrapped fashionably around her head. “It helps my headaches,” she said with a smile, and in the same breath she asked us if we knew about her cancer.

At all the checkpoints we went through, the soldiers returned Jane’s friendly smiles and greetings. After exchanging a few sentences, we would move to the next checkpoint, and the ritual would repeat.

Between two checkpoints, Jane suddenly became nauseous and asked me to stop the car. My heart broke for her as she bravely apologized for the delay. I wanted to tell her it was all okay, but I had a lump in my throat.

As we drove down the small road, the reality of war became evident. For miles we passed the wrecks of blown-up cars and abandoned, bullet-riddled houses. I could feel the heartache in the area.

Jane told us the homeowners couldn’t return because the military hadn’t yet checked the area for booby traps.

As we pulled up to the new clinic, a crowd of dusty refugee children surrounded our car. Their sunburned faces lit up when they saw Jane. I could see they had a bond with her.

Jane’s voice was full of passion as she gave us a tour of the site, pointing out where each ward was going to be built and what its purpose would be. We met with the doctor who started this whole process and acquired some good insights from him as well.

We left later that afternoon and dropped Jane at the office in the city. She was in pain—I could see it in her eyes as we said our goodbyes. We didn’t know if we would ever see Jane again this side of Heaven. It was a goodbye we would never forget.

A couple of weeks later we saw a picture of Jane sitting on one of the brand new beds in the clinic. She had an IV in her arm. The lump in my throat returned as I looked at her face—tired but still smiling.

We learned later that Jane had returned to her family in her home country, and the clinic had been named in her honor. We often send her messages of encouragement and pray for her and her family.

Please pray with us for brave Jane. She is an inspiration to all of us to keep fighting until the last day. Oh how we look forward to that wonderful day where there will be no more pain, no more war, no more bullet holes, no more tears and no more heartache. Goodbye, Jane, until we meet again.

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