A Layne Post
Some days the weight of reality, of new lumps, of biopsies, of extra treatments, of extra symptoms… it just all feels so dark, so hopeless.
But some days… some days are for forgetting.
For laughing.
For running.
For finding our inner child.
For joy.
For light.
So thankful for this gift of a day. The Lord is gracious.
A Jon Post
Have you ever watched a mother in labor? Have you watched her breathe through immense pain, strain muscles to prepare for the anguish of what she is about to do, and then put her head down and begin the hard and holy work of enduring what the curse of sin requires of her?
Have you ever watched a child look up a cliff face? Have you watched that child stare in wonder at the waterfall that comes down from above, marvel at the rainbow refracted off the mist in the air, then put her head down and begin the hard and holy work of climbing the cliff face, reflecting that mystery of the eternal that the Father placed in each of us to see what’s at the top?
Have you ever watched an old widow die of cancer? Watched her body fail her, her flesh begin to wilt, her pain rise above what is tolerable or humane, then see her put her head down and begin the hard and holy work of enduring what the sting of death gives, but also part of the mystery of the eternal which says to climb this hard thing and get to the top?
When that mother holds her newborn baby in her arms, the pain is not gone. Her body still trembles from its laborsong and Eve’s curse still lingers for days over that mother’s recovering body. The pain of childbirth is not relieved by simple birth.
When that child reaches the top of that cliff and looks over the edge, the torrent of water still rushing over the edge singing its hymn of creation. The waterfall doesn’t abate, doesn’t slow, doesn’t offer safety when viewed from the top, the child simply stands at the edge of dangerous places and witnesses the beauty of the difficult.
And when the old widow finally closes her eyes for the last time, maybe… just maybe… like the beauty of the birth is made sweeter by the travails of the labor, the widow’s entrance into a new home is made sweeter by the cliff face climbed through pain. Maybe, though the pain still roars by like the waterfall over the escarpment, the widow’s climb can be seen as beautiful.
There are hard and holy things that I do not understand.
Last week Isabel lay panting on our floor looking at me. Her abdominal pain excruciating and demanding. “This is suffering” she said through tears. “This hurts” she said again, as she reached for another handhold up the cliff. For a moment, through the mist created by her waterfall of pain I glimpsed the spiritual light behind it creating a riot of color and beauty.
“I see” I responded. “I see your pain.” I told her as she rolled onto her side hoping for relief.
Isabel still lives in pain here at Casa Ahavá. Her climb is not yet over, and the waterfall still rages over and through her.
But she is near the top.
And I believe the view from there is one of the things that you cannot see and live.
Please pray that we support her well in her climb and that what little strength we can lend her is enough.
A Layne Post
How is it the middle of August? Time is moving quick these days. We have not dropped of the planet, I promise. Honestly, after Irene passed away in January and Angelo in March, I think we just went into recovery mode. While we remained with lots of patients, varying from 5-10, the work load felt easy in comparison to what we had been living for the previous nine months. I think we instinctively withdrew a little from emotional connection with our other patients in order for the Lord to be able to heal up wounds. By June we felt restored.
Jon began school in March and somehow he has managed to squeeze 3 years of study into six months. (For real? He’s amazing! And God’s grace abounds!) He will be graduating with his Bachelor’s degree in Healthcare Management by the end of August! I will begin my Master’s degree in Palliative Care on the 27th and I’m feeling quite excited. Recently we have had a few situations with our patients that have highlighted the need for more medical knowledge. How great is the Lord that He has provided a way! There also have been talks of further partnering with the Central Hospital here, once I get some courses under my belt. We are excited to see all the Lord has in store!
Over the past few months I clearly felt that the Lord was directing me to rest and take Sabbath, to let Him do a restorative work in me. Sometimes that is easier said than done! Having worked so hard with Irene and Angelo, I began to feel a bit lazy, as my afternoons kept turning up with some free time. My first response was the desire to fill up that time, but there was a confirmed, “No,” from the Lord. Instead, I read some novels. Took a lot of baths. Listened to podcasts. I felt like He wanted me to purposely rest. To purposely be fed by His Word and those teaching His word. And while the past month has had some stress and emotion tied to two different patients, I am coming into this new season rested and strong. The Lord knows what we need, even before we ask!
As Jon wraps up school, he is looking forward to a slow-down and a chance for his own Sabbath. While we still have 5, soon to be 6, patients, his “norm” from the past six months will slow down. I look forward to him receiving the same restoration I’ve experienced.
Lord willing, we will come to the United States in mid-November spiritually healthy and energetic. We so much look forward to connecting with all our supporters. It is such a special thing to get to see and hear about YOU!
As for Casa Ahava, we currently have five women and one man is coming back next week. Jon and a dear missionary friend, Felix, have started doing weekly worship and Bible study with the patients. I take my girls to dance class, but join when I can. It is a sweet time that keeps our community bonded together. Felix has also begun taking our patients that feel well enough on an outing every other week. They have gone to a couple beaches, markets, downtown, etc. It has been something Jon and I have desired, but our own schedules have not allowed to be consistent. We are so thankful for Felix’s heart and the blessing he is to our ministry!
This is going to be our bird aviary! The man in the navy shirt and the man in the orange shirt (both patients) joyfully built it!
So as to not bore you with tons of text, I’ll stop for now, but here’s to a revival of the blog! We hope to catch you up with some stories from the past months.
Thank you for your faithful love, prayers, and support. We have come to know intimately our own weaknesses, but in that the power of our Lord and Savior. May it be true of you!
A Jon Post
I see you standing there in the corner of the room. I’ve been noticing you more and more these days. Yesterday, you didn’t come around until late afternoon, but I noticed you looking over my shoulder as I played the guitar.
You are welcome here, old friend.
Yes, some days I tell you to leave us alone. To wait days, months, years. Some nights your presence is unwelcome as it is unavoidable.
But today,
Old friend,
You are welcome here in this room.
I saw you peek around my arm as I changed sheets, waiting to see if he would forget.
I wondered myself.
But then he remembered and his chest rose and fell and you moved a bit further back and kept waiting.
You are welcome here, old friend.
I saw your hand resting on his leg as I lifted both and moved him to a more comfortable position (Yes, I know that you already touched that one many days ago). I did not bat it away as I would have with another friend here in my home.
Today,
You are welcome here, old friend.
He’s so tired.
Are you? Do you get tired of coming to my house? Waiting for another friend of mine to forget? Watching to see if their chests will keep heaving back against the invitation you keep offering?
Are you a good dancer?
I bet you are.
I bet that’s one of the first things most of my friends want to do when you help them stand up. Maybe that’s why people have written so many times about “dancing with…” you.
Anyway, I bet you’re a good dancer.
My friend here has tried so many times to simply put his weight on his frail bones. What I would give to know his smile when he doesn’t need to worry about that. Do my friends often smile when you help them stand? Do they often laugh when you dance?
You are welcome here, old friend.
I know, I know… I’ve not been fair in that welcome. I have been so angry with you before in how quickly you showed up at my house. Can you forgive a young fool who thinks he knows better than you? Can you do me this favor today?
Can you come help my friend stand up and dance?
Some days I rail against you and hold you responsible for your timing. But I know… I know… I know you are just waiting for him to forget. Your hands do not hold the power to help him.
You wait for the One who does hold that power.
The power of life.
And yours.
I see you standing against the wall. Is it windy where you are? It’s windy here in this room but you seem as unmoved as the wall. With these windows open, this cool, clean air is brushing past and into my friend’s tired lungs. Do you feel it like I do? Like he does? Does it bring that fresh, new feeling to you too?
I see you there almost at the foot of his bed. I don’t wonder why you won’t meet my eyes. You stare so intently at my friend. You’re closer to him today than you were yesterday. Almost holding him. Will you pick him up tonight? Will he see your eyes the way you see his?
Hello, old friend. I may not have been a good friend to you these years. I may have cursed you, avoided you, accused you, or offended you. I hope you can forgive a young fool.
Because today,
You are welcome here,
Old friend.
A Jon Post
There is much to say and much to show.
I worry that we’ve lost many who may have read this blog and prayed for us over the last many years because we have nearly stopped updating here. There are few things I regret more than our loss of consistent communication with so many.
While we have been so unfaithful in writing here, so many of you have continued to show your faithfulness in prayer, words of encouragement, and support over these many years. We have said it many times before, but we are so proud to be a part of the Kingdom of God. You show us always how wonderful a family it is.
2018 has come fully into its own here at Casa Ahavá. As many of you know, our precious Irene walked her final steps on earth last month. Her journey of cancer ended in her bed at Casa Ahavá. When she arrived to live with us in May of last year, we expected 4-5 months of life at best. When she visited her family in July and called us panicked and in pain, we rushed to bring her back and expected only weeks. It is a testimony to the grace of God and His favor on Casa Ahavá that she stayed alive through the end of the year, was able to spend Christmas and New Year’s Day with her daughters and was able to return here to Casa Ahavá to spend her last days. The December month was such a dream of hers to reach. Her heart was satisfied by her time with her 3 small girls and she returned to stay with us with a smile. Her last day had little pain, she was able to see the sunshine, speak with our daughters and then went to spend her final hours doing the hard work it is to die well. She endured the pain of metastatic breast cancer and, after some hours of that struggle, laid down and stopped. She finished. It is well.
We have 4 other women at Casa Ahavá. Three, Joana, Isabel, and Isaura, carried over from last year and one, Ana, has just arrived last week. Joana, Isabel, and Isaura all continue to make our hearts smile each day. We are looking to schedule a surgery for Joana soon with hope that she recovers quickly. Isabel has finished her treatments and we rejoice with her that she will be reuniting with her family within the next few weeks. 
Isaura has struggled with her health and we are praying with her that her body respond well to treatment and, if not, that we see clearly how we can best walk with her through that. Ana speaks almost no Portuguese so we are left to practice the little bit of Ndão (her language) we know and smile and gesture and laugh with her. Pedro speaks Ndão well so he has been invaluable to Casa Ahavá in helping Ana feel welcome.
There are two men here as well. Armindo and Guerra. I’ve been able to play some checkers and even installed an outdoor speaker and music system in our thatch area where we can sit in the shade and listen to current events and music. It always makes me smile to see them relaxing there and enjoying the outdoor breeze.
Last week all four of our daughters and I (Jon) got the flu together and we are working hard to recover from that. It has been a frustrating many days of staying inside away from all of our patients where a flu infection could be serious and even life-threatening. Selah, especially, loves to go see her “tias” (Portuguese word for Aunties) and even wandered out there a couple days ago while we weren’t looking. It is hard to keep away from everyone but we don’t want to bring unnecessary risk to our patients’ health.
We continue to look for ways to best serve our patients and make Casa Ahavá more a home. We continue to look for ways to bring Christ into this family and focus on His kingdom instead of our own.
Thanks for being there with us through all of this.