Author: Jon

My Hat in My Hand

A Jon Post

There are a few things running around my mind. I’ve decided to make a blog out of it.

Layne is traveling this week, I’m at home with my three girls, Casa Ahavá is empty, two of the most recent four have transitioned out.
Inês finished her treatment and is with her family, hopefully, with cancer in remission.
Pedro… well… if you’ve read the last few posts you know a bit about his story. He’s home, still alive, still paralyzed on his right side, still smiling. His newborn son has a name; Marcos Pedro Mavango. Pedro is in a good place.
Campande and Sara are both visiting their families between treatments and will be back tomorrow.

There was some work that needed to be done on the Casa Ahavá rooms that was easier done with no one in there (re-laying broken concrete and tile, re-painting the kitchen floor, etc). We spent some money on some nicer counters and cabinets for Casa Ahavá’s kitchen and are very pleased with how it came out.

And so here I sit, home with my kids, mind spinning, thinking about washing diapers, washing kids, washing dishes, washing my sins, washing my wife in the water through the word (whatever that means), washing Casa Ahavá’s floors, washing my kitchen floors (I knocked the toaster over a couple days ago, you know how all those toast crumbs get in the bottom of those things? Yeah… ALL over my kitchen).

I’ve also found myself thinking a lot about money this week. Money I spent on Casa Ahavá (paint, tile, grout, cabinets, toilet cleaner), money I spent on my family’s groceries, money I spent on a plane ticket to send Layne to America. We’ve written on here about how we’re in need of support, how our expenses are higher than our income. How does it then follow that I flew to America last month for a wedding, and that Layne flew to America this week for a birthday trip? How do I look supporters or potential supporters in the eye and say we need more help? I know that you all have entrusted me with these resources and I feel that it’s important to be honest and open about how I use them.

I went to the USA last month to be Javan and Holly Mesnard’s best man at their wedding. The plane tickets from here to Phoenix were paid for by a generous person who wanted to make sure Javan was blessed. No donated money was spent on that travel.

Layne is in the USA right now. Last year in January I decided I wanted her to go on a “girls trip” with her sisters, mom and niece for her 30^th birthday which is this year the same year has her mom’s 60^th. We’ve been saving a little bit of money every month since then to pay for this trip.

We do take vacations from time to time. We do try to rest from time to time. We feel like it’s important to find time and memories outside of our full time ministry at the hospital and Casa Ahavá.

This week, while the other two girls were sleeping, Anaya was playing with her stuffed animals. She held her stuffed bird in her arms and said in a pleading and mournful voice, “Don’t die birdie. Don’t die in my arms. Just don’t die yet. I love you birdie.”
Anaya is 3.
This not an uncommon way for her to play. She often plays at dressing bandages, helping her sisters and toys while (pretend) sick and vomiting.
Jovie often pretends that Chauncey, her stuffed elephant, is sick and needs to be rushed to the hospital.
Jovie is 2.
These are the things that keep my mind spinning and my heart questioning about how we’re doing as a family. I don’t think it’s bad that my 3 and 2-year-old are so familiar with death and sickness. But I don’t know if it’s healthy for my 3-year-old to be pretending to have a seizure (like Uncle Pedro) while she’s lying in her bed.
And so I pray.
I was in church recently and there was a guest speaker talking about the dreams God gives us and what He purposes for us to do. He started walking around the room, asking people what they wanted to be. He didn’t come to me but when I started thinking about how I would respond to that question the answer was immediately obvious. I want to be a loving husband and a righteous father. That’s all I really want. Those two things are much more important to me than Casa Ahavá.
So, we take Sabbaths. We take times to rest away from sickness, pain, and death. We try to give our daughters a world full of life and joy mixed with the pain and sorrow they see every day.
That may be hard for some people to support. Some people may prefer that I spend more time and effort on Casa Ahavá than I do on my wife and kids. That’s really, really, really fine. There are lots of missionaries and ministries around the world who are doing INCREDIBLE things for Jesus. They need your help too and I’m sure there are plenty that share your values.
For those of you who are on board with me, please don’t be offended if I splurge now and then for my family. I can’t work a few overtime hours to make some extra spending money so I can take my family somewhere nice for the weekend. I can’t work towards a promotion and the extra money that comes with middle management.

I live with my hat in my hand, hoping that my priorities are straight, that my wife feels loved, that my kids are fathered well, and my patients are served with all that’s left over.

My Kids

September 7, 2014

Jon

Around the house, Things we're dealing with

9 comments

Hope Changes

A Jon Post

I sat on the couch this week with my wife. I sat and wept for the frustration of the shattered reality that there is no forthcoming solution to the place we find ourselves.

Last Month

Last month Layne posted that Pedro had an MRI and we were waiting for the next step to be determined based on the results of that MRI.
The results came.
Placed up against a florescent light to show the contrast between bone, tissue, cerebrum, artery, and tumor, this thin film of plastic brought with it ugly words.
Tumor, extensive re-growth, malignant, invasive, terminal.
An apologetic neurosurgeon sat in front of me and explained her inability to even close the surgical wound left behind by his first surgery.
“…only thing left to do is help him manage pain and dress the wound.”
And she left me with the honor/dread of telling Pedro his prognosis… of cutting the spidersilk thread we all had held on to that maybe surgery could help… of telling him that his seizures and loss of muscle control were only the beginning… of telling him that there is a God who loves. A God who loves. A God who loves.
Now… 1 week later, he sits in a wheelchair in my back yard.
Unable to move his right arm or leg.

Laughter

And I sat on my couch and wept. In this situation, because of his rapidly deteriorating health, we would have hoped to bring Pedro’s wife and children to him here at Casa Ahavá. But just three weeks ago Pedro’s son was born. His forth child, not even a month old, waits for his daddy to come home. A daddy who cannot hold him, cannot stand tall with him, cannot wrap him against his chest and tell him how proud he is. This 3 week old cannot make the journey to Pedro.
Pedro’s health means he cannot get on a bus or an airplane to get home. His family cannot get on one to come here.
Let’s get Pedro home.
Thursday morning at around 4 we will help Pedro into the car and I’ll drive him the (depending on road conditions) 12 hour trip to his home village. His home is in a bit of a remote area but we’ll make it.
So our hope has changed.
It’s changed from hoping for long months, even years, to hoping for enough days to get home. Just two more days. And it’s changed to hoping for more than just what this broken body can offer. Our hope has changed. Pedro’s hope has changed.
A God who loves. A God who loves. A God who loves.
Please pray for us as we drive to Muxúnguè on Thursday to get Pedro home.

The Route

Pray that our hope is not deferred but that Pedro’s longing to see his son is fulfilled.
Please pray with us for Pedro’s heart.

August 12, 2014

Jon

Casa Ahava, Medical, Rock Climbing, Travel

10 comments

We Can’t Forget That We Are Dying Here

A Jon Post

I’ve sat on that same spot of grass many times. I’ve felt my emotions rise there many times. This day was no different. There I sat, out in front of Oncology, spinning a twig in the dirt, chatting and listening to a group of ladies who live in the cancer ward.
They live there.
There is no where to go for them. They know no one in this huge city of 2,000,000 inhabitants, they have no family within 1000 miles of this place, they have no transport, they have no money.
They live in a cancer ward.
Wake up at 3 AM. Take a freezing cold shower. Take 200 mg of ibuprofen for the pounding headache resulting from late-stage cancer and an IV chemo treatment. Crawl back onto a thin mattress under a ratty sheet. Try to rest. Eat. Sleep. Take 500 mg of paracetamol (generic Tylenol). Eat. Try to rest. Watch a day crawl by and blur into the weariness that chronic pain and vomit inducing treatment bring in their dance of suffering.
Every day.
For 6 months.
So there I sat, spinning a twig in the dirt. Pedro, one of the two men who is staying in Casa Ahavá, came to visit with me that day. He too sat in the grass, visiting and chatting along with me with this small group of ladies.
“We have no where to go. We have no way to forget that we are sick. We can’t forget that we are dying here.” Regina said, smiling at me through the pain of the truth she was telling. “At least Pedro and the others there at Jon and Layne’s house can forget about being sick.”
Pedro smiled, nodded, and the conversation continued in another direction.
But I kept thinking about what Regina said. I smiled and we kept chatting but inside my heart broke. Oh, how I wanted to say to Regina and the 6 other women there, “Please come to my house! Please come stay with me and let Christ help you forget that you are sick! Please come live in my home with my family and live the truth that you are not running out of life! Come to Casa Ahavá and run into life with us! Please… come forget that you are sick.”
And inside God said, “Be faithful with what I’ve entrusted to you and your family.”
Then we walked upstairs, into the cancer ward itself, and sat with some men in one of the men’s rooms. I talked to Papa Benjamin who sits on his bed all day.
Waiting.
Waiting for his body to be ready to drip a toxic mix of chemicals through a vein in his wrists meant to prejudice his cancer just a little more than his body.
Waiting.
Waiting to go to a home 1600 miles away and bury his 3-year-old daughter, Anita, who died last week with a high fever.
Waiting.
Wishing he too, could forget.
And my heart broke.
Because I have no room for Papa Benjamin. I have no room for Regina. I have no room for Anna. I have no room for Orlando. Casa Ahavá is full with our four patients.

Campande

But for now… We can help 4 precious people forget they are sick. We can watch World Cup games, we can go to the beach, we can go get ice cream in the park, we can go to the huge open air market and buy shawls for the ladies, belts for the men, we can sit in my back yard and watch three little girls play on swings and plastic cars and watch a big slobbery dog run around with a rubber chew toy in his mouth.

Inês

We can sing to Christ of His love with a guitar and read the Bible in lawn chairs and smile together. We can help Pedro, Inês, Campande, and Sara forget they are sick. We can help them run into life.

Pedro

That’s Casa Ahavá.

That’s what you’re a part of.

Sara

July 13, 2014

Jon

Casa Ahava, Hospital Ministry

8 comments

After a Year

A Jon Post

In April, last year, I got a phone call from the doctor who leads up the Social Services department of the hospital. We had spent years submitting papers, meeting with hospital doctors/leaders/administrators. We wanted to do it right, we wanted to wait for timing and favor to come together so that we could know, know, that it was ready. Last year in April my phone rang. It was a short conversation, by I hung up with a shaking hand. The director of the largest hospital in the country had approved us to partner with the Oncology ward at his hospital and house some of his patients. We called this fledgling project, Casa Ahavá.

It’s been a little over a year since our first patient came to stay with us. We’ve had 7 more since. Each has stayed at least 3 months, some up to 6. Each has become an intimate part of our family for the short time they are here.

Zacarias

Eliza

Tomás

Filomena

Anita

Inês

Pedro

Rosa

And more to come.

I was looking back over our blog and wanted to share something with you… mostly just a bunch of names. I’ve listed these names once or twice before but I wanted to give some scope to what we feel God gave us to do. We arrived here and felt God stir our hearts to minister in this way back in 2009. It’s been almost 5 years since that time and we’ve chronicled a lot of stories we’ve been privileged to know. Most of them are filled with pain. Most, but not all, ended in death.

I know I’ve asked you to pray with us before and I’m asking again. My faith has been growing in regards to prayer recently and I know I don’t do it enough. So I need help. Would you pray with me? Would you pray that we continue to be given the strength to serve?

Below is a list of names of people we’ve met and told a personal story about here on this blog. Don’t go reading all of them. But if you recognize one or two, would you open that story and read it again and pray. Pray that God gives what is needed to invite any future stories like it to share in the story of Casa Ahavá.

Pray with us please.

Tomé here and here

Lúcia here and here

June 6, 2014

Casa Ahava, Hospital Ministry

3 comments

Learning to Create Family Out of Brokenness

A Jon Post

There is much brokenness here. There are broken families, broken spirits, broken bodies and broken hearts. We swim in it.
One shares about a faithless husband who brought a deadly virus into the bed with him which only adds to the mountain that she must climb to find health…
here is brokenness…

Rosa

One shares about the family that sent her away because they were afraid of her cancer and her tumor, thinking it was infectious and that the plague of cancer must be driven from their house…
here is brokenness…
One shares of a child not 5 months gone… lost to malaria, tuberculosis, or some other preventable sickness… and now cancer is ravaging the child’s mother…
here is brokenness…
One shares of a 6 year old son who misses his father beyond words… and while the father sits in my back yard his little son cries out to his mother to please let me talk to daddy on the phone first!!!
here is brokenness…

But there is still life.

There is life when Anita comes out of her room singing praises to God in the morning.
There is life when Pedro plays checkers with me and doesn’t want to stop.
There is life when Inês laughs.
There is life when Rosa finds her appetite again.

Though these small things seem inconsequential and minor in comparison to the agony that threatens… these humble signs of life are the driftwood that we find in this tempest of cancer.

Pedro

So this is our broken little family; Jon, Layne, Anaya, Jovie, Karasi, Anita, Inês, Pedro, Rosa and Gasher.

Pedro and Rosa just joined it last week.

We need help.

Our family is running out of money. Pedro and Rosa both need some special care (they both have open wounds that we clean and dress every day) and that only adds to the speed that our bank accounts are drying up.

We need help.
I know there are a lot of people who read this blog and pray for us. The biggest focus of this blog is to keep those who already DO give to us informed and to try to help them feel a part of what is happening here with Casa Ahavá. But beyond that, I know that there are many people who read this who haven’t given.

Please. We need help.

Family Dinner Time

Would you share this on your social networks, tell your friends, tell your church, try to find someone who can do what we cannot: Fund this thing.

We need about $1000 more per month to keep this family going.

We will continue to try to be the hands God uses to heal the brokenhearted and bind up their wounds.

Would you help those hands keep working?

To those of you who are already helping; thanks. We really, really, really do know how much of a sacrifice it is. We do. It’s not small. It’s not forgotten.

Thank you.