A Gift Beyond the Grave

“As long as it is day, we must do the works of Him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work.” – John 9:4

During our missionary service, we held several Sabbath programs in our mission field, including a special Christmas gift-giving event for the community. We invited everyone, and by God’s grace, many came. We prepared simple gifts — mostly clothes — and prayed that through these small offerings, the people would feel seen, valued, and loved.

Among those who attended was a grandmother whose words I will never forget.

With tears in her eyes and a gentle smile on her face, she said to us, “All my life, I have massaged many people’s feet. But I never imagined that someone would massage mine. I never thought I was worthy of that.”

Her words pierced my heart.

She received her gifts with childlike excitement and deep gratitude. I remember how eager she was, carefully choosing the clothes, already imagining herself wearing them for many years. There was joy in her voice and hope in her eyes. That day felt special — not because of the material gifts, but because of the love shared.

But a week later, we received heartbreaking news: she had passed away.

I was stunned.

The memory of her joy replayed in my mind. Just days before, she was smiling, excited, and full of gratitude. Now she was gone. In that moment, the reality struck me deeply — life is uncertain. We make plans, we hold dreams, we assume there will be more time. But tomorrow is never promised.

A few months before her passing, we had visited her at home. She had lost her voice and could barely speak. With great effort, she expressed her desire to talk normally again. She wanted treatment, but she did not have the money. We longed to help her, yet at that time, we did not have the means to do so. That memory now carries both tenderness and regret in my heart. Her sudden death became more than a moment of grief — it became a spiritual awakening for me.I began asking myself difficult questions: Did we share enough about Jesus with her while she was still alive? Did she truly understand the depth of His love? What kind of testimony did we leave behind? 

Just a month before, her positive words had motivated us to continue serving faithfully. Now, her passing urged me even more strongly to reflect on the urgency of our mission.

Her life — and her death — reminded me that our calling as missionaries is not only to give gifts, but to give the Gospel. Clothes will fade. Material things will wear out. But the message of salvation in Christ carries eternal weight.

This experience stirred my heart in a new way. It taught me that every visit matters. Every prayer matters. Every conversation about Jesus matters. We cannot delay love. We cannot postpone sharing hope. While we still have  breath, we must speak of Christ boldly and compassionately.

Her words about feeling “unworthy” also reminded me of the heart of the Gospel — that none of us are worthy, yet Christ came anyway. He knelt to wash feet. He served. He loved. And through Him, we are made worthy.

Now, whenever I remember her smile, I also remember the urgency God placed in my heart through her story. Her life has become a quiet sermon to me: serve intentionally, love deeply, and speak of Jesus while there is still time.

Because life is fragile — but the hope we have in Christ is eternal.

Name: Ashika Rai (64th Batch Missionary)

Hometown: Nepal

Missionfield: Bagang, Simbalan, Buenavista, Agusan Del Norte, Philippines