Category Archive for "Hospital Ministry"

Merry Christmas

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

December 19, 2010

Jon

Hospital Ministry, Mozambique

5 comments

Christmas Party in Oncology 2010

A Layne Post

One year ago, Jon and I visited the Oncology department at Maputo Central Hospital for the very first time; it was the their Christmas party. Little did we know how the people, the place, would captivate us. Little did we know that the Lord would tell us to stay, to give our hearts and our time right there in that hospital.

Jon playing Christmas carols last year A year ago

And yet here we are.

I am so grateful, so fulfilled, so satisfied. The Lord knows what He is doing. A year ago, I felt lost. I felt unsettled and in a temporary location, but the Lord knew otherwise. Thanks for being a part of the journey thus far. Thanks for trusting along with us and for sticking around to see the faithfulness of our God. To Him be the glory.

Christmas party in Oncology 2010

Jon and Tomé as Pai Natal

Lucia enjoyed her hat as well

Lucia feeling Miss Anaya kick

Jon playing Christmas carols, much to everyone's delight

Enjoying music... her smile is contagious

Yet even amidst the celebration, their little IV ports remain taped in place, not allowing us to forget the looming fact that we’re all together because they are in Oncology being treated for cancer.

IV ports

Tomé on treatment

There are so many to love, so many to comfort. May the Lord continue to use us.

December 11, 2010

Layne

Hospital Ministry, Mozambique, Personal

5 comments

What It’s Like

A Jon Post

I asked Javan today what he thinks of our lives here in Maputo. I am always little anxious to hear thoughts and get reactions to how my wife and I live our lives. Maybe there’s something in me looking for the validation that we’re doing something right. Maybe there’s something in me looking for a fellow American to tell me that life is pretty challenging here and all the effort I put into just living is worth it.

Maybe it’s all a reflection in my heart of a deeper desire.

Maybe… I just want to rest a weary head on my Father’s shoulder and here a soft “Well done, good and faithful servant. Come and share your Master’s happiness!” (Matthew 25:23). I really, really want to share my Master’s happiness.

Javan got the opportunity to share from the Bible at a men’s Bible study that I lead on a weekly basis at the hospital with some men who live there as patients. He spoke of perfect and complete joy. I think that scene in Matthew, where the Master says “Well done, come and share in my happiness” is one that describes what I think perfect and complete joy is.

Maybe that’s what it’s like.

I see so much that is broken and incomplete all around me. I see a broken joy in the patient Jonathan at the hospital (he and I smiled and spoke at length at how happy we were to share a name), whose tumor above his right shoulder looms over him like a death sentence. I see incomplete joy in David, a soft-spoken man whose chemo-therapy treatments sap every bit of strength he has, to where his shell of a body simply breathes and waits for it to pass.

Maybe Jonathan, David and countless others here and scattered throughout the world are all just waiting for that moment.

We’re waiting for our Master to invite us to share in His happiness.

Maybe that’s what it’s like.

So Javan, try as he might to share what he sees in our lives here in Maputo, didn’t fulfill that longing in me. That longing that I have for the Master to smile… look into my eyes and say… “Well done. Come and share my happiness!”

Perfect… Complete… Joy

I think that’s what it’s like.

December 4, 2010

Jon

Hospital Ministry, Mozambique, Personal

7 comments

How Fast it Changes

A Jon Post

Javan came in last night. What a joy and a privilege to have our good friend and brother join us here, be a part of our ministry, see our lives and share our Thanksgiving day this week. I went to the airport last night to pick him up. I was pretty giddy with anticipation. He is our first visitor and has been my best friend for many years. I really cannot express how much joy I had in my heart last night as I anticipated Javan joining me in my life, even for just the few days he’s here.

We took him to the Oncology ward with us today. Smiles, hugs, children and friends running around, eager to meet our good friend and try out any English phrase they may know.

And then it all changed.

Marcelino… dear, precious, 13-year-old Marcelino… is dying.

Last Friday, he was walking around, laughing, enjoying a new ultrasound image of Anaya, and all around getting better. Today was much different. Today he lay in a dirty hospital bed, deliriously moaning and holding the side of his head in tremendous pain. Today he could not muster the strength to get out of bed to go to the bathroom. Today… Marcelino’s weary body teeters upon the cusp of eternity. The pain in his body is the last thread that holds him to it.

This morning, I laughed, I praised God, I thanked Him for His blessings in my life.

This afternoon, I cried, I praised God, I thanked Him for Marcelino… and asked Him to take my friend quickly.

How fast it changes here. How quickly the joy of life is tempered by the sting and victory of the grave.

How fast it changes.

November 22, 2010

Jon

Hospital Ministry

6 comments

One Year Ago Today

A Jon Post

One year in Africa. A month in Botswana, two months in Mozambique, two months in Angola, one month in Namibia and finally, 6 more months in Mozambique. Twelve months in Africa.

And today, one year in, a painful reminder of the reason we are here.

Today, Oombi died. The three-year-old son of my good friend Albano entered the hospital 10 months ago with a cancerous tumor in his eye. Albano brought his son to the Maputo Central Hospital and lived with him, slept in the same bed, spent every long day caring for his son and waiting to take him home. He goes home on Wednesday in a casket.

We knew and loved Oombi. We visited him and his father. Over the last 6 months I’ve sat countless times with Albano, praying over his sick boy, waiting on the hand of our Lord. I’ve studied the Bible with Albano while he held his tired son in his lap. And I’ve smiled and held Oombi as he toddled over to me with a shy smile.

This is our ministry.

One year in.

We have a vision. It’s not huge for now. It’s not to reach hundreds at a time. It’s to see the one. To love the one. To bring a smile to the one.

One at a time.

Our vision is to use the house the Lord has blessed us with as a place of hope. A place of love.

We’ll call it Casa Ahava. Casa simply means house or home in Portuguese and Ahava is a Hebrew word for love. It’s used in the Song of Solomon 8:7 when speaking of a love that cannot be washed away or quenched by a torrent of water. A love that sees all the depth of suffering and pain that will come as a result of choosing to love and yet chooses anyway. Ahava sees pain and misery and chooses to love.

Casa Ahava will see pain and loneliness and offer hope and rest.

One at a time.

This is our ministry. This is our vision.

November 8, 2010

Jon

Hospital Ministry, Mozambique

5 comments