Reflecting.

Breathing.

Giving thanks for God’s faithfulness through all our seasons. He remains good.

Last month we had a few sudden difficult weeks, but as always, the Holy Spirit was near. For now, we are grateful it seems as though life has calmed, at least patient-wise.

This week we got the chance to go the beach. It was a little cool, especially for the ladies, but nice to get out and get some fresh air.

Jon’s cousin is coming in December to visit and do a work project at our house to renovate a little room for bandage changes and counseling. We are really excited to spend time with him and show him our beloved country. The girls are excited to have someone else around for Christmas!

We are aiming to return to the States for our furlough toward the end of June next year. Given our big family and 2.5 months we stay, planning starts early. We look so forward to hugging many of your necks, looking into your eyes, and telling you how very grateful we are for your love.

A Layne Post

How time is passing, and those we were getting know have quickly eased into those we call family. We have grown comfortable with each other, learned each other’s ways, each other’s preferences. We have months to recall, perhaps it is not much, but progress. We can sit in silence and not feel awkward. How nice to have things to call on, things to laugh about. She likes vors sausages, he likes physical fitness and learning English, she is always serious and rarely peppy, she like yogurt when she feels sick, she always gets mouth sores and recovers slow, she is worried about her upcoming school exams, etc. On the other hand, how hard it is when difficult conversations arise… prognoses or outcomes.

The switch from patient to friend/family is not recommended by any formal education. They tell us that need for emotional separation is essential to survival. Distance is key. But what happens when God called into this? Into the impossible? Into the “you’ll never make it”? Into the inevitable burnout?

Supernatural sustenance. He does it.

We do our best at self care, at noticing our shortcomings, our short breaths. When our chests feel heavy and flashes of difficult moments become hard to shake from our minds, it usually means it is time for some nature, some family, some seeing the greatness of our God in His creation, glimpses of our Sustainer, our ever-present help in times of trouble. We are at that point.

This week we will head for a couple days to a nearby beach, made possible by the generosity of a stranger become friend. The weather looks unfavorable, yet I am assured the Lord will meet us. He always does. Pray for us! It is our desire to love and support those in our care the absolute best we can.

Pray for Casa Ahavá. 3 patients will do Chemo this week, making for a rough two weeks ahead.

We are forever grateful to you, our supporters. Your prayers and support are noticed and cherished. Thanks for being part of our team, part of making a difference at Casa Ahavá: Lucas, Imakalada, Gisella, Changue, Olinda, Luisa, and Augusta’s lives… and all those we are supporting in their homes… Madelena, Rosa, Custodio, Armindo, Eugenio, Joanna, Filomena, Rebecca.

A Jon Post

Grief is not a disease from which I recover, it is not something that I hope has a cure, it is nothing to which I will ever seek a vaccine.

This week Lurde died at home with her family. She lived in mine and with mine for a full year and we grew to know much of what was beautiful and much of what was not in her.

Just like a family should.

Lurde loved deeply at times, selfishly at times, lazily at times, and lavishly at times. She ate too much and laughed more than her fair share. She didn’t clean up after herself much and she always ensured that I knew that she cared about how my family and I were feeling. She went out of her way to ask how rested we felt each day.

Now she is gone. Now we grieve.

I’ve learned something in the eleven years I’ve been privileged to spend with the sick and dying in Mozambique: Grief itself can be a ritual.

No, I do not mean grief rituals; things like funerals, wakes, gathering in remembrance, nightly prayers, etc. I mean grieving on purpose as a ritual.

I wake up each morning and sit in the still of the darkness before the sunrise. I practice breathing, I practice praying, and I practice grieving, then I come inside and have a cup of coffee.

Breath, prayer, grief, coffee. These are my morning rituals. I do not pretend that they are the best morning rituals nor that I am any good at them but they seem to do their job of keeping in in touch with the my Father, with the living, and with the dead.

I stay connected to Lurde, to Luisa, to Mariana, to Loice, to Torres, to Manejo, to Teresa, to Justino, to Maeza, to Augusto… the ones I love and grieve from this last year. There are many more names on that list from the years prior. If I do not make my grief my own, I think my grief would own me.

So I practice a simple ritual. I breathe. I pray. I grieve. And I have a cup of coffee.  

P.S.

It feels remiss to post this without mentioning the state of the world and this virus. I can’t help but notice how I feel that much of the reaction I see en masse among those I know and those I don’t bears a striking resemblance to grief.

Questions like, “what if we had locked down sooner?” “What if we had closed this border or that?” “What if it’s not that bad?” “What if this is all for nothing?” “What if someone else was leading?”

All seem so similar to questions like, “What if he hadn’t gotten in the car that day?” “What if she hadn’t smoked for all those years?” “What if we had gotten a screening for the disease sooner?” “What if I had just called her and told her how I felt?” “What if things had been different . . . would he/she/they still be dead?”

These are not questions that lead to answers and, it seems to me, they are questions spurred by grieving without knowing it. Oh, how I wish we could learn to see and know our grief.  

One time, a man looking at his own coming death, called his closest loved ones and asked them to join him in a garden. “Stay here and keep watch with me” he said and fell on his face on the ground and grieved before a Holy Father. I like to think of that man as the one in whose steps I am trying to walk. Maybe at least I can stay here and keep watch over the dying and grieve with them when they ask it of me.

In 2019 you did a great thing. These are the 2019 patients we loved and grieved with you and the help of our loving Savior, who has now redeemed all the tears and suffering endured and made their bodies new. We are grateful that all but one was able to make it home to spend some time with their loved ones before passing to the next life.

And here are the 2019 patients that stayed at Casa Ahavá, which we are still loving on, some at our home and some now back at their homes in the north. I wish you could know them personally and that they could bring as much joy to you as they do us. It is because of your partnership we get to offer a home and family to these precious souls at one of the hardest times of their lives. We are so very grateful, and so are they.

In 2019 Jesus carried us through some lows. He gave us strength when we were weary. He also lavished on us His generous blessings and gave us glimpses of His kingdom here on earth. We had a super busy start/mid year with up to 13 patients, 5 wounds at once and 7 patients on morphine. The patients then slowed down to about 4, and we caught our breath. We crept back up and now we are 5 ladies with a handful ready for us after the holiday. We are excited for the new year!

This year my girls blew me away with their growth, education, and maturity. They have put in the work and excelled in school and their extracurriculars. They started chores this year, and they have become such helpers in the house. They do it all with a smile… all except maybe the dog poops, but I’m not sure I even do that with a smile! They love playing outside, having friends over, and coming up with extravagant games.

Jon just wrapped up his first year into his master’s degree in thanatology and has been acing it. (Are we surprised?) The content has been relevant and applicable to our ministry and we are excited for future potential. He especially connected with some professors, which has been a personal encouragement.

I am about three quarters through my master’s degree in palliative care and will finish in July! It has been a rich time of learning and connecting with other professionals, but I will also be happy to end this phase of study and have the time to put into practice some of the gems learned.

Our family is taking off on a two week journey today. We have long wanted to take to our girls to Botswana, where Jon and I met and where our careers in missions really started. So! Here we go! We will be going to from South Africa with dear friends to Botswana, to Zimbabwe to visit Victoria Falls, back to Botswana to reconnect in two different cities with friends we haven’t seen in close to 10 years, and then back to South Africa to let the girls go to a waterpark, and then home! It will be a total of about 45 hours in the car. Pray for safety and patience and the Holy Spirit to go with us!

In the meantime, Pedro, our loved colleague will be staying at our home and holding down the fort. We are so thankful for him!

Here is to 2020! And more blogging! Happy New Year!