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Maputo, My Home

A Layne Post

I remember like it was yesterday…

We loaded up our new Land Cruiser with all of our possessions, said ‘good-bye’ to Botswana, a land we new knew well and loved well, and headed into the unknown. We were moving to Mozambique. For how long, we did not know. We had a temporary guest house lined up in the capital city of Maputo and a contact for a missionary couple we met once over lunch while in Portugal, but other than that, only the Lord knew.

Right after buying 'The Bison'

I knew Maputo was a large city, at least in comparison to what we knew in Botswana, and I had heard rumors of high crime rates. I found myself afraid. Driving into the city didn’t calm my fears. In fact, when we got to what I thought was ‘downtown’, I settled in my mind we wouldn’t be here long, that I could not possibly like this place. The traffic was crazy, it was dirty, hectic, and not for me. I kept telling myself it was temporary, and we’d head to Angola soon enough, back to the village life.

Traffic jam that took hours to get out of

Shortly after arriving we were invited by Alice to join her at her hospital ministry for their Christmas party; she asked if Jon would play a few Christmas carols on the violin, which he was happy to do. We enjoyed ourselves so much, we continued our visits, pushing through the uneasiness with Portuguese. Soon the majority of our friends in Mozambique were patients at the hospital.

Jon with men at the hospital '09

Layne with Mommies at hospital '09

Suddenly, however, we were provided the opportunity to go to Angola, and feeling a peace from the Lord, we decided to go. With a few days notice, we packed up. We left some of our possessions with friends here in Mozambique, assuring our return, if only to get our things and say proper goodbyes.

All loaded up and ready to go

It was on our way to Angola that the Lord began exposing the passion that had grown inside of us for continuing in the ministry of visitation, especially to the sick and the lonely. During our time in Angola we sought opportunities, however, we quickly realized that Maputo (that hectic, dirty city I was determined to dislike) was uniquely set up the type of ministry we were doing. A couple months later we found ourselves trekking back across the continent, but this time a little more sure of our future.

Our Home

Our Home

Over the next year and a half we rented a house, made it a home, bought a dog, got pregnant, had Anaya, rented another house, made that one a home… we have made countless friends around the city, found all of our favorite little ‘spots’, visited nearby beaches, gotten used to police stops, learned to drive as aggressively, if not more so, than the other crazy city drivers… we have made some of the dearest friends at the hospital, loved them deeply, and lost too many… we’ve praised the Lord with shouts, wept bitterly, sang deeply, questioned endlessly, prayed earnestly, and we have found Him good.

And now, well, I cannot imagine living anywhere else. Maputo, my home.

Getting Ready

A Jon Post

In just one week we’ll get on an airplane and begin a voyage back to the country where we were born (except Anaya).

It’s exhausting getting prepared for that. Trying to put things in order, say goodbye to people here, making sure all of my responsibilities are taken care of. It’s much, much easier to simply put it off… not really think about it… and let it just sneak up on me.

I was standing next to a hospital bed this week and it hit me that João Filipe (the man on the bed) and I have this in common.

It’s exhausting getting ready for this.

He too will be taking a voyage soon. He too is faced with saying goodbyes, preparing for his children (he has 4), and passing on his responsibilities to those he can. He too is exhausted and would much rather simply rest and let the voyage come to him.

His voyage is different than mine. His has no return and his destination is much sweeter than mine. João Filipe will not long stay tethered to this earth. He too is going back to where he was born. And the Jesus to whom he often mutters incoherently is waiting with open arms.

I stood next to his bed for what seemed ages last week. Resting my hand on his younger brother Mateu’s strong shoulder who attends him day and night, I prayed deep, yearning prayers for comfort and for rest. João Filipe’s times of lucidity are short though never without a smile. When he is aware of his surrounds he lights up the room with his praise to his Savior and his gratitude for the visit (I am not sure whose visit he means, mine or Christ’s).

So this week, as I prepare to say goodbye to friends I may never see again, as I prepare my home, as I prepare my family… I remember João Filipe and his smiles. I remember his battle and his time to prepare. I remember how exhausted he is. I remember his brother’s tears…

Get ready João Filipe…

There is nothing better than your coming voyage.

I Can Still…

A Layne Post

I want to apologize for not posting last weekend. We have been experiencing some difficulties with our internet service provider and we were without for much of the weekend. When we did have it, it was incredibly slow. I chose to wait to post.

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I can still see her bow legged waddle.
I can still hear her “o-bi-ga-da”. (Obrigada is ‘thank you’ in Portuguese)
I can still see her grin and hide behind her Mama in shyness as I made funny faces at her.
I can still see her limp 2-year-old little body as her Mama tried to feed her soup.
I can still hear her Mama’s cry as she mourned the loss of her daughter, gone forever from this world.

Last week I had to practice the ministry of just standing there. There were no words. A hug. A back rub. Sitting.

Silénçia will be missed. We won’t forget her.

Pray for her Mama.

Over a Game of Checkers

A Jon Post

There it was sitting in a cardboard box marked “Free”… a small fold-in-half checker/chess board. Just the week before I had learned the Mozambican method of playing checkers using bottle caps and a tattered old cardboard box with a checkers board drawn on it in fading ball point pen ink. When I saw the plastic board I immediately thought of the men at the hospital and figured it would be a nice upgrade from their torn cardboard. The actual checker pieces were missing but the nice, bright, glossy squares were more than enough turn my eye, put my hand into the “Free box” and tuck the board under my arm.

I left the garage/home sale (some missionaries were leaving town and were trying to get rid of the things they would not be taking with them) and, upon arriving home, promptly forgot I had the checkers board. It lay dormant under the stairs for weeks until, upon a thorough cleaning of the house, I stumbled upon it again and, not thinking much about it, put it near the door so I would not forget to take it to the hospital with me.

When I arrived with it the next day, most of the men I played checkers with were already outside playing on their makeshift cardboard set. Metal bottle caps hoped across the board and turned upside-down when they finally reached the other end to become little queens.

When they noticed the checkers board under my arm most of them thought it was a strangely patterned Bible (because it folded down the middle to form a book shape). When I held it in my hands and offered it to a boy named Edson (only 13 years-old but surprisingly good at checkers) and the group finally realized what it was, grins broke out all around and the cardboard was swiftly swept away and little metal bottle caps were soon flying across our new (well… used, but new to our group) checkers board.

Today, three months later, I have played countless games (and lost nearly all of them… these guys are GOOD) and seen more smiles than I can remember from across this little piece of plastic. When the hinge broke that held the fold together in the middle, I showed up with my soldering iron and, to thunderous applause, soldered the little pin back inside to hold it together so we could continue playing.

Over a game of checkers I have heard about a lovely wife at home, and what is growing at home on the farm. I have heard men tell me about their fears for their future, and their desire to be healthy. I sat quietly as a boy told me about how afraid he was that he might never play soccer again because his leg may be amputated. I laughed and clapped a man on the back as we joked about how strange my own culture is. I wept quietly as a brother told me about his child he has never met because it was born 6 months ago… and he has been here 8. I have spoken of the love of a Savior, I have spoken of death, life, family, solitude, cancer, angels, demons, war, sacrifice, pain and peace.

What a strange job I have.

I love it.

As September Closes

A Layne Post

As September comes to a quick close, and Jon and I approach the ‘1 Month ’till furlough’ mark, we find ourselves amidst task lists, sweaty palms, and painted walls. We are working hard to get the rooms out back and the small kitchen area ready as we, Lord willing, will begin taking in friends/patients in February. I should say Jon is working hard, because he has done most of the work, and he has done so well; I cannot wait to show you the pictures. When the hard work is done, then I’ll come add my girlie touch for a comforting feel. I think I got the better end of the deal!

Mid-October Jon hopes to sit down with some leadership at the hospital and present our project for approval. We did this before, and it was welcomed wholeheartedly; however, leadership has changed, and we find ourselves praying for the same favor. Every now and again I have a freak-out moment thinking, “What if our project is shot down? Rejected immediately? What are we doing? What would we do?” Then I remember the crazy journey that has brought us here, and the faithfulness of the One who birthed this passion in us. I remember our current ministry, without the rooms, and stand in awe at His work. So who knows what will happen next? He does!

Pray with us!

We look forward to seeing many of you soon and connecting face-to-face. We’ll hug you hard and thank you properly.