Will I See Her In Heaven?

Hanaan* fanned the flame of her charcoal stove with one hand and with the other she skillfully lifted the clay pot just as the coffee began to boil up through the narrow spout. 

“You must let it boil over three times before you serve the coffee,” she explained. 

Hanaan was one of my closest friends in Eritrea.  She and I were as different as two women could be. I was in my early twenties and she didn’t even know her age. I was married and she was well past marrying age and would be single all her life. I was free to make choices, she lived under the rule of her older brother. I believed in Christ with all my heart and by my own choice, Hanaan was born into the religion of her family and was bound by intense family pressure.

Hanaan and her brothers and sisters were all unmarried and all lived together in a two room house. Their kitchen was a dilapidated shack in the dirt courtyard. They lived most of their lives as refugees in a neighboring country and told us fascinating stories of having to escape in the night and travel many days on camel. 

We shared several times about Christ with Hanaan and her family. Hanaan was usually quite busy cooking and working in the house, but on the night we shared God’s full plan of salvation, she brought her portable tin stove close to where we sat so she could hear while she worked. Several days later the family requested to watch a video about Jesus. We eagerly brought our television and VCR (yes, this was before DVDs!) to their house to show them the film.

One day Hanaan and I went to the vegetable market together. Walking along the street, away from the ears of her family, Hanaan began to talk about Jesus. “Jesus is a very good man,” she said. “Jesus loved the poor people very much, didn’t He?”  I agreed wholeheartedly and began to pray in my heart for Hanaan. We walked in silence for a while and then she said, “Jesus is the Son of God.”

That day is forever seared in my memory. This young woman had dared to believe that Jesus is indeed the Son of God.  I have asked God a thousand times, “Does that count, God? Does that make Hanaan a true believer?” 

About a year later Hanaan got a splinter in her hand. She tried to use a needle to remove it, but didn’t know how to keep the wound clean. Soon, infection set in and within a week Hanaan was dead. We had returned to the United States by then, and received this news by email.

Why hadn’t I shared with Hanaan more? Why hadn’t I continued that conversation we had on the street that day? Why hadn’t I been there to help her clean the wound on her hand? And my biggest question: when I arrive in heaven, will I see Hanaan there?

*Name changed