jon and layne heller | Casa Ahavá and our Family

Give Light

A Layne Post

Her name means ‘Give Light’. For months this little eight year old was shy and introverted. I would try to talk with her, compliment her painted toes and colorful skirts, bring Anaya by her side, etc. but I could not get much of a response. I remember thinking how sad she looked and feeling frustrated I could not break through the wall she had surrounded herself with. She seemed ashamed of the large tumor protruding from her eye, even though she was, and is, surrounded by people in the same situation. Still I tried; reminding her that I thought she was beautiful.

A couple weeks ago something changed. I do not know why, but she chose to open up to me. She didn’t have to; they never do, yet she chose, and I consider myself the privileged one. She was receiving treatment when I arrived at her bedside, and her hand reached out. My heart leapt as I grabbed it. The time passed while I sat in her bed, rubbed her arms and legs and traced her little hands. She would tickle me, slap my hands and giggle as I responded. Every now and then she would rest her head in my cupped hand, and I would take the opportunity to kiss her precious head. When it was time to go, she begged for me to stay. That is the hardest part. I promised my return and gave a few more kisses.

Now, every time I arrive, her face ‘gives light’. Her tumor is growing; however, she is more beautiful than ever, this precious eight year old girl. I do not know what the future holds for her. If I relied solely on my experiences, it does not look good. I have already cried many tears for her suffering. May the Lord be merciful.

Thank you for your support, which allows me to sit with an eight year old girl suffering in a hospital bed, to try somehow to be the touch of our heavenly Father. Thank you for the impact you are making here in Maputo, Mozambique.

His love always wins.

June 5, 2011

Layne

Hospital Ministry

7 comments

He Never Left

A Jon Post

His Splendor

Wave after wave charges toward sand dunes piled two hundred feet high. The unmitigated fury of the ocean is resisted by walls of sand solemnly holding their heads high against the fray. Thousands of years of the anger of the sea are met by the thousands of years of the tranquil defiance of those dunes. Here lies the coast of Mozambique; beauty hidden away, not by secrets or jealousy, but merely by world-wide ignorance of what is watched over safely by a land most have forgotten. I myself have simply stumbled upon it. I read no guidebook, followed no GPS coordinates, heard no “if-you-do-nothing-else-you-must-see-this”. I have stumbled upon this treasure guarded only by the distance between here and there. Here, laid up for countless years, the richness of God’s splendor is displayed in the thunderous applause of the waves and the regal silence of the dunes. Here is Mozambique.

Many may think God left this continent long ago. After reading, seeing, and hearing of countless wars, famines, diseases, many lose hope.

But I think there is depth that so many choose not to see.

God’s been here the whole time.

He is in the smile of Tomé. He is in the hug of Maninha. He is in the shyness of Emilia’s greeting.

He is in the touch my wife offers to a lonely soul. He is in the time I spend sitting next to a tired friend, who waits for treatment to end.

God has always been here.

Not just since Layne and I started doing what we’ve been doing for a year now. For one year, we’ve been doing this with the energy of God that so powerfully works in us.

But for generation upon generation, there has been God calling out, pursuing the lost sheep, offering mercy where only judgment is deserved. We, the ransomed of God, will never know how dreadful deep were the wounds that scored His hands and heart, ere He claimed us for His own.

Here is Mozambique.

Here the Father pursues, has pursued and will pursue His own.

May 31, 2011

Jon

Mozambique

5 comments

Maninha

A Layne Post

Maninha has a 3 year old little girl named Tanya. Tanya is talking more and more and loved chatting with her Mom on the phone. Maninha had been away from home (here at the hospital) for six months and was growing weary from being away from her family. She always loved seeing Anaya and watching her play, probably imagining her own little girl and the changes happening in her absence.

Her last round of Chemo took it’s toll. Arriving at the hospital, I turned the corner into her room, and there she lay. She didn’t need to say anything; I could see it, she was sick. The sweat was beading on her forehead. “Mae de Anaya, estou mal.” (Mom of Anaya, I am bad.) I assure her I can see that, grab her hand and begin praying for relief from her pounding headache and fever.

The treatment ended, and she was weak. Without the will to eat, she became quite fragile. She concluded she didn’t have the energy to fight anymore and decided to go home. This process takes a couple of days, arranging transport and whatnot. She was unable to sleep, becoming somewhat delirious. During her last days in the hospital she just wanted to be held. She reminded me much of a little child, wanting to be cradled, not wanting to be alone. Scared. Scared of what was coming. She would whine through tears how she would never see Jon, Anaya, and me again. I assured her, with her head resting on my chest, that we would remember her, that we would pray for her, that we love her.

She is home now. Would you pray with us? Would you pray for Maninha during the days to come? Would you pray for Tanya during the little time she has with her mom, and for coming years without her?

Thanks for joining with us, for partnering in this ministry.

May 23, 2011

Layne

Hospital Ministry

8 comments

Joy in the Morning

I know it’s a relatively cliché thing to write about the little lessons about the Lord that I’m learning from being a father but that’s what you get this week. You’ve got to give me a little grace here, she’s my firstborn and I haven’t done it yet. So here we go.

I’m going to tell you two stories. One about a 15-year-old named Nelson and one about 3-month-old named Anaya.

Nelson came to the hospital about 5 months ago. He was quiet, reluctant to talk about his life, reluctant to come sit outside with me, and mostly just sat on his hospital bed waiting for the next treatment. He rarely smiled and stayed to himself. I visited him among many others and after a few visits he became a bit more friendly but still stayed quiet, still stayed sitting on his bed. Nearly every time I approached him he would offer only a blank look, eyes that spoke only of pain and loneliness and a weak handshake. I left the hospital many times wishing I had been able to connect with him better, draw him out of his suffering and see him smile when he saw me coming.

Anaya was born almost 3 months ago and for the first 2 months and 3 weeks she occasionally smiled but more often, like any newborn, she expressed herself by screaming or soft crying (MUCH worse than the screaming for a parent). She didn’t like being left alone, didn’t like going to bed, and pouted often even though she couldn’t communicate to me why she was so frustrated. I would put her to bed and whisper my prayers over her, speak my love over her and hope that she stopped crying soon. It rends my heart every time.

Something changed.

For Nelson it was about 2 months ago.

For Anaya it was just last week.

They started smiling when they saw me coming. At last they were able to express the immediate retreat of the loneliness that surrounds when they are left in their beds. Though it rips my heart to pieces to leave this child alone in a bed, I cannot express how much breath fills my lungs when I approach Anaya first thing in the morning or Nelson early in an afternoon, and see a huge smile.

Now I cannot wait to go see my daughter in the morning, to pick her up, see her eyes squint nearly closed, her lips curl out and up, her hands joyously bat the air and hear a squeal of joy to be reunited with her daddy.
And now I cannot wait to walk up to the hospital, catch a glimpse of Nelson looking out the window and hear a loud “Tio Jon!” escape from his lips, feel his arms drape over my shoulders as embraces me from behind and see his laughing smile dance across his face.

Today, loneliness lost. Today love won. Today, a child found a reason to smile. Today I was honored to represent Christ to a lonely child.

Though the sorrow may have lasted for the night the joy came in the morning.

May 16, 2011

Jon

Hospital Ministry, Mozambique

12 comments

One and a Half Years

Yesterday I heard my husband talking with his mom; he was saying, “The last time we saw Joe and Evie (our brother and sister-in-love) was when they were getting into their car on the way to their honeymoon; we’ve never spent time with them married!”

How the time passes.

We have recently passed the one and a half year mark. I feel it shows most in the children, which is one of the hardest parts about being here… missing our time with our nieces and nephews. Here is a look at the changes since we’ve been gone.