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.

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.