A Jon Post
It’s been a busy couple weeks. My parents arrived in Maputo on September 15th, ready to spend some time with our family and see our ministry. They spent our final 1 and a half weeks with us in Maputo before our two month furlough. They got to see us running around, trying to tie up all loose ends, getting our home, Casa Ahavá, ready for two months without us. Patients to and from the hospital, to and from administration records buildings, and seemingly endless errands all led up to leaving our home on Tuesday the 17th and arriving, 40 hours later, in Layne’s parents home. It was exhausting.
So my dad reflected on his trip with my mom and he/they wrote this guest blog this week. They/we hope you enjoy.
A Dan Post
Names That Have Faces
Have you ever had the experience of meeting someone and thought, “finally a face with a name”. Maybe a relative or a friend of a friend or just someone you have heard about. Vicki and I, after visiting Jon and Layne, met their first patients. Papa Zakarias, Eliza, Filomena, and Tomás are not just names anymore but faces; real people that were not just names but became “friends”.
We would like to offer a picture through our camera lens of who they are, so you might know their faces:
Papa Zakarias
(Papa Zakarias) A 53-year-old diminutive man sits in comfortable solitude in a plastic chair. The sun’s intense rays cannot
reach him here in the shade of Casa Ahavá, where Papa Zakarias lives with his fellow patients. We often see him in this pose, playing his made-up chords on Jon’s guitar, of which Zakarias has become the unofficial keeper. We want very much to come close enough to hear as he softly sings the words he has written to his wife and young children, the loved ones he has not seen these many months of cancer treatments; but we dare not disturb his privacy, and besides … the language barrier would prevent our understanding of the words. But there are other glimpses into his tender father-heart: the way he looks after the other Casa Ahavá patients; his smiling eyes blessing Jon’s and Layne’s little ones; the longing in his voice – “Ahhh, ….. Jovie …” – embracing the name of Jon’s one-year-old daughter as he cradles the top of her head in a good-bye gesture, knowing it is possibly the last time he will see these children as well. Papa Zakarias is easy to love. And we do – hoping, praying for the good news that he has been deemed a candidate for potentially life-saving surgery to remove the hateful tumor that has banished him to a place so far from home.
Auntie Eliza
(Eliza) We love her Mozambican style: the artfully arranged head turban covering her chemo-bald head, the beautiful wrap-around capulana skirt, the fringed shawl. Eliza’s communication and facial expressions vary from day to day, depending on the level of pain or discomfort she is experiencing. It is a relief to see that she freely trusts Layne with her needs and her pain. We have been in Jon’s and Layne’s home for several days before we see an easy smile on her countenance. We are happy that she, a grandmother herself, has been here at Casa Ahavá for all these months, hugging and cheering our precious grandchildren in our stead. Who, we wonder, is loving on Eliza’s grandchildren for her? Occasionally, and comically, we try to communicate with words, hoping that our body language will come through for us; it often doesn’t and we find ourselves looking to Jon or Layne for interpretation. It is not until the day before Jon and Layne will leave for their 2-month-long furlough, that we see the full expression of Eliza’s love and gratitude toward them. We do not understand her words, but her tears say it all. Again, we pray and hope for this one: God have mercy; help Eliza learn to know You in “the power of an endless life” (Heb. 7:16).
Filomena and Vicki
(Filomena) Quiet. Fragile. Recently bereaved of her 16-year-old son. These words pass through our minds as we think of the short time we knew Filomena before she left 10 days ago to return to her village in the north. Her fellow patients firmly believe that being at Casa Ahavá saved her life – at least for a little while longer. On the day of her home-going, she is happy, excited to be returning to her two young children. In spite of her shyness, she seeks Vicki out for a hug and poses for a picture with her. Somehow, the photo reminds us that, just as He sees the sparrow when it falls, God sees her. That He knows her name and her story. That even though we will never see her again, she leaves her mark. For reasons beyond our understanding, God chose Filomena to live at Casa Ahavá for a few months, to love and be loved there. And it was good.
Tomas
(Tomás) One would never guess from looking at Tomás that he is sick. Strong and handsome with an easy smile, he says little, but he knows. For one of our dinners with the patients, he proudly prepares, in Casa Ahavá’s little kitchen, a delicious Mozambican dish of cooked greens. He enjoys an occasional game of Jenga or checkers with me, Jon, and Papa Zakarias. We wonder what he is thinking on Tuesday morning, when he and Eliza board a bus for a two-month sojourn in South Africa for radiation treatment. Will he see his Casa Ahavá friends again?
Casa Ahavá is Real – A House of Deep Love because of your generosity and prayers.
A place that provides comfort to the sick and dying; a place that forgets cancer; a place that is filled with music; a place where games are played; a place where the women hold little Karasi and remember their own children or grandchildren; a place where life abounds even with the protector and guardian of the house – Gasher the dog! A place of sharing meals together, trying to understand different languages (Vicki and I); a place of realizing that our hope in God is the anchor of our soul and the only answer to life’s challenges; a place of gratitude, listening to the patients express with tears how thankful they are for Jon and Layne and all they do, one in particular saying she would have died earlier if it had not been for them. This is what our prayers and generous giving are supporting.
We walked away knowing that Life is being discovered in the Face of Death.
