Before we even knew each other, my wife, Rebecca, and I each felt the Lord calling us to a life of service and missions. That calling led us to serve with World Medical Mission in Togo, a small country in West Africa. 

Many of our heroes were missionaries on the foreign field, both past and present, many of whom gave everything for the sake of the Gospel, including their own lives and the lives of their children. In some cases, missionaries would pack their belongings in a coffin with every expectation that they would die on the field in service to the Lord.

I will never forget the morning of Feb. 8, 2022, when our oldest child died. It had been a week since our 14-year-old daughter, Arwen, had last been lucid; she had hung on longer than we had expected. Her emaciated body, ravaged by the cancer that was consuming her, lay still now, with only occasional rattling breaths.

Helpless to intervene, despite my training as a medical doctor, I sat by Arwen alongside my wife while instrumental hymns played in the background. Arwen showed no sign of pain. This was the bitter agony of death, the unnatural suffering of separation, a small picture of man’s devastating separation from his Creator. That separation from God, called spiritual death, is the reason we were serving on the mission field.

Arwen was 10 years old when she began experiencing headaches and complaining about aches in her body. On a routine exam, one of my colleagues discovered a mass in her abdomen. What we hoped was a benign tumor turned out to be Stage 4 neuroblastoma. Arwen not only had a big ugly mass in her tummy, she had cancer in practically every bone of her body. Our life and ministry in Togo came to a sudden end while we faced the glaring prospect of losing our firstborn child. 

But in this moment of utter darkness, the truth of God’s Word was not diminished. No, the Light is more splendid in contrast to the dark of night. Our merciful God had been preparing us, equipping us to stand clothed in Christ as we faced this calamity.

Despite the cancer, the Light of Christ shined brightly in our little girl. She understood the gravity of her situation. “God is going to heal me,” she said. “Either here or in Heaven, I’m going to be healed.” 

Back in the United States, Arwen underwent every imaginable treatment over the next two years: surgeries, chemotherapies, radiations, immunotherapies and stem cell transplants. Ultimately, her cancer remained, despite all that man and medicine could do for her. 

But before she knew that there was a cancer growing inside of her, before she knew that she would never have kids of her own and that her hair would never be gray, Arwen asked her Heavenly Father for something. 

Arwen asked God to give her something that she could share with the Togolese people. She didn’t speak French. She had no developed skills of her own, but she wanted a ministry to share Jesus with others. Now, facing the prospect of palliative care as a preteen, Arwen requested that we return to Togo. She said, “This is the ministry that God has given me, to share my testimony of hope and trust in God.” She told us that she wanted to live her last days in Togo and that she wanted to be buried there. 

So, we returned to Togo in January 2021. Walking through the last months of Arwen’s life, our loving Heavenly Father continued to teach us about who He is. I would spend hours in the middle of the night praying for Arwen’s healing, but I learned through bitter tears to say—and to mean it when I said it—“Lord, not my will, but Your will be done.” The Lord’s will did not exclude the death of my daughter. 

Arwen was buried in Togo, and her testimony of faith in Jesus has been proclaimed to thousands. It is a testimony of the goodness and the faithfulness of God. Arwen is a single soul who learned in her few years on this Earth to live in light of eternity. She was confronted with her mortality at an age so much younger than most. And she learned what it meant when Paul said this light and momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory. 

I have learned how to gaze upon the truth of God’s Word and to trust that it is truer than the emotions that would tempt me to doubt. Our family studied God’s Word together. It became real to us. We found that the Lord’s mercies are new every morning. We can count it all joy when we face trials of various kinds. Our Father is a Father of mercy who comforts us in all of our afflictions.

If you live with your eyes on eternity, you won’t be phased by the small-minded things of this world. Wars and rumors of wars won’t cause you to fear. Whoever is given temporary power over nations won’t perturb you. Temptations won’t entice you. Possessions and money won’t control you. Loss won’t devastate you. Though afflicted, you won’t be crushed. Though perplexed, you won’t be driven to despair. Though persecuted, you won’t be forsaken. Though struck down, you will not be destroyed. ©2024 BGEA

Dr. Seth Mallay is a career missionary at Hospital Baptiste Biblique in southern Togo.

At top, left to right: Elora, Irene (behind), Kalmar, Seth, Arwen, Rebecca, Caspian and Gwynevere Mallay. 

Photo: Hannah Strayer / ©2019 Samaritan's Purse