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Category: Personal

We Are Still Here!

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!

 

 

Letter to an old friend

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.

Reflecting on 2017

Layne Post

As the year comes to an end and I reflect on 2017, I think of the extremes the this year held. My heart swells and aches as the memories pass.

The first half of the year was finishing the construction of our new home and place of ministry. It was stressful and busy, yet full of excitement and anticipation. A vision begun some three years prior was being birthed before our eyes! We had a handful of ladies with us, but our hospital ministry felt slow as the new house demanded so much attention. In reflection, the months feel like a blur; they went fast and furious and just like that we were living in new place. Now, it is difficult to imagine that we’ve only been in our home around 7 months, being that we feel so deeply settled. What grace!

Towards the end of May we received our first round of new patients at the new place. I remember being briefed on a lady named Irene and feeling a bit concerned about the care she might require. When Jon pulled up with the car full of ladies the girls and I went out to greet them; it felt good to see the rooms fill up, a vision become reality. Irene seemed to make regular improvements and the house felt abuzz with life and community, including disagreements and conflict, but balanced with laughter and song. God’s grace was evident, and our hearts overflowing.

August brought with it suffering and a heaviness of spirit. One of our patients passed away suddenly, which shook our community to the core. We received multiple terminal diagnoses for multiple patients and the weight of it all seemed to hover. Irene had taken a turn for the worse after a short trip to her home up north and now her condition demanded more than we had ever given. We felt wearied as the days passed slowly. God’s grace was sufficient, though at times it felt only moment by moment.

The following months could best be described as a roller coaster, mainly in our care for Irene. Our lives felt lived hour by hour, never knowing what the future held. It was unsettling, disruptive, and painful. We found strength and endurance we could not have fathomed possible in the quiet, consistent pursuit of a Savior who bears our burdens. (Psalm 68:19) We learned to find peace in a Person, not a circumstance. (Ephesians 2:14) And we learned to be still, knowing He is God, and we are not. (Psalm 46:10) We attempted the best care we could offer to the other patients, as well as being parents to our precious littles. In hindsight, I am able to see there was truly grace for all.

December has brought with it such unexpected refreshing. Irene has been thriving at home with her children, bringing such peace to our hearts, while most of our other patients were able to get home to their families for a short time to celebrate. We have had the sweetest time just being with our own children and with each other. Sitting here reflecting on the last three weeks is a bit overwhelming looking at the lavish grace of a Good Father, who knew exactly what we needed. Who could have thought that we would enter 2018 with such full spirits and souls? Praise be to our Father!

 

From our depths, we thank you for your continued love and support. We are so very grateful.

Daily Bread

A Jon Post

Kiss

Is this what starting a ministry is supposed to feel like? My wife and I left the United States 8 years ago (November, 2009) to come here. I still have to pinch myself and make sure I feel all of this and not slip into the daily exercise of bare minimum missions.

 

Each day up early to administer medicine.

Each day in the car driving to the Central Hospital to coordinate with docs, patients, blood labs, radiology departments, and others.

Each day the administrative nit picks of property ownership, non-profit registration, ministry accounting, employee taxes, and bills to pay (personal and ministry).

And none of that feeds me.

…Give us this day our daily bread…

Each day when I wake up (after administering medicine to a strictly regimented hour), I pray a prayer Jesus taught me and repeat the words He gave me;

…Give us this day our daily bread…

I pray for daily bread knowing it’s so much more than flour, water, yeast and sugar mixed and baked.

The daily bread Jesus told me to ask for must mean more than that.

Saint Teresa of Calcutta wrote often about needing bread and water from her precious Jesus. She wrote about how much she hungered for something more than flour, water, yeast and sugar.

…Give us this day our daily bread…

When I feel the “each days” start to weigh on my soul…

When I begin to succumb to bare minimum missions…

When I’d rather stare in silence at the road than engage with my patient about Jesus…

When I’d rather sit on my couch than go wash a car with an old man recovering from cancer and asking me for a bucket and soap to do it himself…

…Give us this day our daily bread…

My soul cries out to a Merciful God whose mercies rise new each day with the sunrise.

…Give us this day our daily bread…

And it is there.

Maybe not enough to gorge myself or to become overfilled with its abundance.

But enough.

Saint John of the Cross wrote about the winnowing of the soul that the Holy Spirit wills for those He loves. He talked about the plant that grows on the dry and windy mountainside being stronger and more resistant than the lush green stalks that flourish in the soft soil next to the river. When the roots of each are put to the test, the plant in the arid and harsh places with little to no sustenance is the one with the deep and strong roots.

So when His mercies are doled out sparingly, I must remember that craggy and ugly plant growing on the side of a lonely mountain.

I was never called to be beautiful or to look fresh and lush and draw eyes to myself.

I am no water lily filled to the brim with all that is needed for its decorations.

But maybe I can learn to be a short and hardy Rocky Mountain Juniper, surviving in dry places and putting roots deep enough to find the mercy of God where there seem to be only high and hard things.

Rocky Mountain Juniper

Maybe I can find my daily bread in those places.

I truly think so.

He is Faithful

A Layne Post

My fourth-born daughter’s name is Selah Janelle. We named her that because it was a reminder to pause and reflect that God has been gracious. Sometimes when we are in a season of repeated loss, when bad news hits in steady sequence as waves crashing on top of sand bars, we need to put our emotions on pause, take a moment to breathe between sobs, and remember that God truly has been gracious. A couple years ago when I was doing a Beth Moore Bible study, she taught how God’s faithfulness fuels our faith. When we take time to remember His faithfulness in the past it gives us the ability to have faith for the situation at hand.

My family in the States has been going through a really difficult season, an excruciatingly slow tearing. And while the process of tearing is over, we are all left in shreds and in need of repair. We are desperately digging for treasure, attempting to find Christ in this pile of ashes. I hope in what I cannot even fathom to see right now, a future of redemption and beauty for all involved. I have to remember that God was the gracious Giver and Sustainer of life, and He will not abandon His children. He is faithful.

Also, the new year brought with it delays with the house, multiple mistakes to be remedied, relationships to mend, and a soul trying time of finding the balance between generosity and stewardship. Recently the project has felt like a burden on top of ministry with patients, and instead of a straight path to the top, a slow pace of tedious switch backs. And yet, when we find those moments to sit and remember where we have come from, the generosity and abundance of provision the Lord has poured out upon us is beyond evident. He  faithful.

Regarding our patients, we started 2017 with some painful blows, cancer growth for one, a second mastectomy for another, and a decision that the hospital cannot do more for another. The graciousness of the Lord has been found in doctor appointments that would have never been scheduled without the favor of the God, Chemotherapy arranged on a day anyone else would have been turned away, smiles emerging after the wiping of tears, and one patient going home cancer free. He is faithful.

Judite, patient still living with us

Helena, patient still living with us

Pulena, patient at home, cancer free

Falgeira, patient living at home

Please pray for my family stateside, the new Casa Ahavá, our patients, and our immediate family. We appreciate your love and support and are so grateful we do not do this on our own.