A Layne Post

I gotta be honest, sometimes I struggle to see the goodness of the Lord. In these moments, I exercise my faith; I make a deliberate choice to trust in Him, many times through tears. The past week or so has been like that for me.

Joanna, a 26-year-old friend at the hospital, died on Tuesday. I wish it would have been sooner. I’ve known her for about 5 or 6 months. When she came to the hospital this time, she was so thin, and her open wound from her amputated arm was bigger, more infected. She had been at home for two months; I’m not sure why she hadn’t come sooner.

There wasn’t anything anyone could do for her. I tried to ease some pain, make her comfortable in little ways such as bringing her favorite juice, or the red apples she liked to eat. (I couldn’t believe she could down the whole red apple! I would watch in amazement, happy for some satisfaction, though it was usually followed by some stomach discomfort.) She would say to me, “Amiga, estou mal,” which translates, “Friend, I am bad.” I would tell her understand, that I could see that she was bad, I could see that she was suffering. Sometimes someone just needs to be seen, to be heard.

She had this frown. It was Joanna. It was her being in pain. During her last few days, it was her frown I could recognize beneath the swollen face and mumbling words.

As it often does, it got to the point she wasn’t coherent. Every once in awhile she would make eye contact, and I would praise the Lord I was there to rub her arm. I didn’t want her to be alone… still I would leave her. I would sing songs over her, asking for the Holy Spirit to come, to fill her with joy, peace, and love. I would pray for visions of heaven, of good things, to be before her eyes. I would pray for the Lord to call her to Himself.

And then in the midst of those prayers, I would get angry and frustrated, not seeing any answers from the Lord. She still suffered. It still lasted a long time. I wasn’t with her when she passed.

Sometimes I struggle through the journey I’ve been called to walk. In the end, I love Him more… I really do, and I pray others have somehow felt His love through me.

This is a song we sang this week by an artist named Tim Hughes, and I feel like it expresses my current state well:

When the Tears Fall

I’ve had questions, without answers
I’ve known sorrow, I have known pain
But there’s one thing, that I’ll cling to
You are faithful, Jesus You’re true

When hope is lost, I’ll call You Saviour
When pain surrounds, I’ll call You healer
When silence falls, You’ll be the song within my heart

In the lone hour of my sorrow
Through the darkest night of my soul
You surround me and sustain me
My defender, forevermore

I will praise You, I will praise You
When the tears fall, still I will sing to You
I will praise You, Jesus praise You
Through the suffering still I will sing

A Jon Post

I know it’s “that time of year” again. To be honest, I haven’t felt it so much. I don’t want this to be one of those depressing or move-everyone-to-pity-the-poor-African posts or anything… I just want to ask you all to pray with me.
This is my prayer.

O come… O come… Immanuel.

That’s a Christmas song and I find myself praying it often recently.

…From depths of Hell Thy people save
And give them victory o’er the grave…

…Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
And death’s dark shadows put to flight…

…And open wide our heavenly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery…

Rejoice! Rejoice! Immanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

I sat with my wife with a man who just had surgery on his tumor and who lay in agony in the recovery room hundreds of miles from his family. He looked into my eyes and said “Thank you so much for visiting me. Yesterday, I saw some people in here who had family visiting them and I just looked at my empty corner of the room and cried. I knew I had no one to visit me. But you… you are my family. You came to visit me. Thank you.”

O come… O come…
Immanuel

My wife knelt next to a girl who shares her age. She is dying. She has no family except a sister who is very poor and cannot come to visit her. She cannot sit up by herself so whenever Layne comes her contagious smile lights up the room because Layne is the only one who will put her arms around her and help her sit up, if only for an hour.

O come… O come…
Immanuel

I often hold a specific little boy in my arms. He does his best to look healthy and strong but he limps, ever so slightly as he walks. He has deep black marks on his legs and his little body has wasted away from repeated yet futile chemotherapy treatments for his Sarcoma. He’s got one chemotherapy treatment left and then the doctors will send him home. They’ll send him home to die.

O come… O come…
Immanuel

See, there’s a beauty in all of this. All of these stories have a beauty. It’s told in the end of that song.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Immanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

Immanuel will come. He will come. I know it’s trite and easy to say but when we live here in a reality that is so encompassed in pain, this is our hope.
Immanuel will come.
So yes, to me, to my wife, this is a very merry Christmas. It’s a merry Christmas because we know… we know that we can follow the plea of the title of that song
O come… O come… Immanuel
With the action at the end
Rejoice! Rejoice!

Merry, Merry, Merry Christmas.

Merrry Christmas From the Hellers