Category: Personal

We came home from furlough into a whirlwind of challenges, pain, and grief. It wrapped us up and nearly blinded us to its effects. Only stumbling out the other side and reflecting, we realized that since coming home in February, we have lost five friends. Thankfully, each of these made it home to their families before their deaths, something we count as grace. We have also delivered the terminal diagnosis to another three and sent them to their homes to spend their last days with family. As we wait, we still carry them in our hearts. No wonder it has felt heavy.

We had a season with every bed full and not just full, full of patients with intense suffering. It is true that every patient with cancer suffers, however, sometimes the stages of our patients’ sickness are different, and those stages and the number of patients determine the atmosphere around here. It was a hard season. The morphine and wounds kept us tethered to the affliction of those we were trying to love, demanding our attention, our compassion. Really, we’d have it no other way. It is why we chose this… or better said, were chosen for this. When we stop breaking with those around us, it would be time to quit. It is Christ alone that carries us, enables us, humbly uses us. Your prayers have meant so much.

Even still, I feel like we are just beginning to catch our breath and beginning to feel the atmosphere changing. We have let the number of patients dwindle a bit, as we currently have 8 patients and a couple of those soon to be going to their homes. In reality, the hospital does not have patients to send to us right now and that feels like God’s blessing on our season of slowing… recovering.

Our girls are growing and thriving. It is such a wonder to behold such intense joyful moments of life alongside such pain. What a gift these four daughters of mine are, not just to me, but to the Casa Ahavá community.

We cherish your support and love for us and for our patients. Here are some current pictures

Maeza

Augusto

Moises

Lurde

Luisa

Madelena

Olinda

Heller girls

How is it possible that we’ve been home over six weeks? I am sorry for the silence. Here is an update!

When we arrived home, it was only a few days later that Loice and her Mama came to our house. Many of you heard me talk about Loice and urge you to pray for her. The Holy Spirit was so tender and sweet and spoke to Loice and her mom while they were at our home. It was only about a week later, with peace in their hearts, they made the journey home so that Loice could have some time with her three girls. Please continue to pray for my dear friend, as the days are not easy. May God’s mercy keep pain at bay and may many memories be made.

Such a gift to get a picture of these two together.

This Mama right here is gold. She cares so well for her girl.

Once Loice and her Mama were gone, our house began to fill up with new and former patients. Meet our newest family:

Luisa, mother of 10 and grandmother to many!

Rosa, back with us from last year. Joyful and God fearing.

Maria, mom to one 5 year old girl. Young and full of ambition.

Lurdes, Mom of two teens. Full of spunk and always ready to chat!

Torres, back from last year. A grandpa figure here at our home. Well loved.

Maeza, full of energy. Dad of 3. Ready to work. Loves the Lord and prayer.

I am missing a photo of our last patient Manejo, but he hasn’t been feeling well. I told him we’d wait. We also have a new man coming Monday, which will put us at 8 patients. And towards the end of the month we also will welcome back two men during their short stay for what we call “control”… a check-up! That will be our first time with 6 men! It is so nice to have a lively community out back.

Big thank you to Dr. John Singer, who so generously organized and donated some wigs for our patients! What joy and fun it brought them in the midst of sickness and sorrow.

As for our family we are doing well. The girls spent hours outside the first day we got home. They are enjoying climbing trees, building things with their tools, dressing up the cat, and other things kids do. They have slipped back into schooling without much trouble. They are extra busy these days as we have added Portuguese class three times a week at a nearby school! Time to buckle down and learn the language. They are enjoying it, but it does have this Mama running around more than she is used to. They also have ballet and swimming, which makes for going to “school” everyday!

We are so very thankful for your love and support.

Prayer points:

Loice and her mom taking care of her. Her 3 daughters.

Rosa and Manejo’s pain.

Maria to gain some strength after her last cycle.

Our community to bond. And for people to not feel lonely.

My girls acquisition of Portuguese.

A Jon Post

It has been 45 days since I’ve lived with the dying. 45 days ago I drove away from the dying and entered once again the homes and communities of the living.

While it’s been comfortable, joyful, loving, and restful to be with the living, I still miss the dying.

I have spent 45 days thinking and praying over the dying I left there. My friend and brother Torres, whose lymphoma darkens his veins and thoughts but not his spirit. My daughter and precious Loice, whose advancing breast cancer throws its tendrils from corner to corner of her tired and young body while she hopes for more time with her young children. My sister and cherished Mariana, whose metastatic breast cancer sears her with pain and weariness while she boldly looks at the difficulty of her coming days. Rosa, Eugênio, Armîndo, Joana, Custódio, and so many others dying or with whom I witnessed death…

All of them left the land of the living and welcomed me into theirs.

I’ve come to revere and love the company of the dying. I’ve come to appreciate that, though most of us would rather not, we will all be a part of adding to it one day.

 Most of us are afraid of that day. Most of us are afraid of being one of the dying.

Why is that? Why are we so afraid of dying?

When I say dying I do not mean the moment your heart stops, when brain activity ceases, when cardio-pulmonary activity has not been detected for however many minutes the doctor in the room deems necessary to declare a time.

I mean dying as an active verb. I mean dying instead of living. No one I have ever met has been afraid of being one of the living. Not that I’ve known of, anyway. Nearly everyone I’ve met, however, is afraid of being one of the dying. We are afraid of that time, be it years or days, in which we go from living our lives to dying our deaths. In fact, I believe most of us pursue every medical option possible, no matter how painful, how detrimental to relationship, no matter how much it ruins our ability to be wise, caring, loving or faithful, in order to stay in the land of the living.

Maybe, and I’m not sure on this, but maybe there comes a time for each of us where entering the land of the dying is the wisest, most loving, and most faithful thing we can do.

Christ seemed to think so.

His last week before his death seems to have been in the land of the dying, no matter how much his friends and disciples wanted him to remain in the land of the living. Maybe even more than a week. When he knew his death was coming, he spoke freely and often to his friends and disciples about it. He prepared them for it and, in the context of the coming of His own suffering and death, prepared them for theirs.

Through shortness of breath I have heard deep truths and seen profound wisdom. Through the lips and hands of the dying, I have begun to understand how to prepare for my own. By the example and encouragement of the dying, I have learned a deeper peace in Christ than I have ever known.

If you know someone who is dying, do not go to them in pity or thinking that you offer some great sacrifice by visiting them or seeing them. Go to the dying and try to learn from them what Christ tried to teach his disciples. Try to learn how to suffer well. Try to learn how to hope for home. Try to learn and be sustained by the dying, rather than offer sustenance or gifts of your own.

If you are one of the dying, know that I love you and wish I could learn from you. Please take this time that you are dying, the only one you’ll ever have, and teach it to those of us who are not in it yet. Help sustain the rest of us, who badly need sustenance, with your wisdom given to you in your dying. Please show us how to transition from living your life to dying your death and doing that in a way that knows Christ and the fellowship of His sufferings.