Category: Personal

Back in the Swing of Things

How is it possible that we’ve been home over six weeks? I am sorry for the silence. Here is an update!

When we arrived home, it was only a few days later that Loice and her Mama came to our house. Many of you heard me talk about Loice and urge you to pray for her. The Holy Spirit was so tender and sweet and spoke to Loice and her mom while they were at our home. It was only about a week later, with peace in their hearts, they made the journey home so that Loice could have some time with her three girls. Please continue to pray for my dear friend, as the days are not easy. May God’s mercy keep pain at bay and may many memories be made.

Such a gift to get a picture of these two together.

This Mama right here is gold. She cares so well for her girl.

Once Loice and her Mama were gone, our house began to fill up with new and former patients. Meet our newest family:

Luisa, mother of 10 and grandmother to many!

Rosa, back with us from last year. Joyful and God fearing.

Maria, mom to one 5 year old girl. Young and full of ambition.

Lurdes, Mom of two teens. Full of spunk and always ready to chat!

Torres, back from last year. A grandpa figure here at our home. Well loved.

Maeza, full of energy. Dad of 3. Ready to work. Loves the Lord and prayer.

I am missing a photo of our last patient Manejo, but he hasn’t been feeling well. I told him we’d wait. We also have a new man coming Monday, which will put us at 8 patients. And towards the end of the month we also will welcome back two men during their short stay for what we call “control”… a check-up! That will be our first time with 6 men! It is so nice to have a lively community out back.

Big thank you to Dr. John Singer, who so generously organized and donated some wigs for our patients! What joy and fun it brought them in the midst of sickness and sorrow.

As for our family we are doing well. The girls spent hours outside the first day we got home. They are enjoying climbing trees, building things with their tools, dressing up the cat, and other things kids do. They have slipped back into schooling without much trouble. They are extra busy these days as we have added Portuguese class three times a week at a nearby school! Time to buckle down and learn the language. They are enjoying it, but it does have this Mama running around more than she is used to. They also have ballet and swimming, which makes for going to “school” everyday!

We are so very thankful for your love and support.

Prayer points:

Loice and her mom taking care of her. Her 3 daughters.

Rosa and Manejo’s pain.

Maria to gain some strength after her last cycle.

Our community to bond. And for people to not feel lonely.

My girls acquisition of Portuguese.

March 14, 2019

Layne

Personal

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The Dying

A Jon Post

It has been 45 days since I’ve lived with the dying. 45 days ago I drove away from the dying and entered once again the homes and communities of the living.

While it’s been comfortable, joyful, loving, and restful to be with the living, I still miss the dying.

I have spent 45 days thinking and praying over the dying I left there. My friend and brother Torres, whose lymphoma darkens his veins and thoughts but not his spirit. My daughter and precious Loice, whose advancing breast cancer throws its tendrils from corner to corner of her tired and young body while she hopes for more time with her young children. My sister and cherished Mariana, whose metastatic breast cancer sears her with pain and weariness while she boldly looks at the difficulty of her coming days. Rosa, Eugênio, Armîndo, Joana, Custódio, and so many others dying or with whom I witnessed death…

All of them left the land of the living and welcomed me into theirs.

I’ve come to revere and love the company of the dying. I’ve come to appreciate that, though most of us would rather not, we will all be a part of adding to it one day.

Most of us are afraid of that day. Most of us are afraid of being one of the dying.

Why is that? Why are we so afraid of dying?

When I say dying I do not mean the moment your heart stops, when brain activity ceases, when cardio-pulmonary activity has not been detected for however many minutes the doctor in the room deems necessary to declare a time.

I mean dying as an active verb. I mean dying instead of living. No one I have ever met has been afraid of being one of the living. Not that I’ve known of, anyway. Nearly everyone I’ve met, however, is afraid of being one of the dying. We are afraid of that time, be it years or days, in which we go from living our lives to dying our deaths. In fact, I believe most of us pursue every medical option possible, no matter how painful, how detrimental to relationship, no matter how much it ruins our ability to be wise, caring, loving or faithful, in order to stay in the land of the living.

Maybe, and I’m not sure on this, but maybe there comes a time for each of us where entering the land of the dying is the wisest, most loving, and most faithful thing we can do.

Christ seemed to think so.

His last week before his death seems to have been in the land of the dying, no matter how much his friends and disciples wanted him to remain in the land of the living. Maybe even more than a week. When he knew his death was coming, he spoke freely and often to his friends and disciples about it. He prepared them for it and, in the context of the coming of His own suffering and death, prepared them for theirs.

Through shortness of breath I have heard deep truths and seen profound wisdom. Through the lips and hands of the dying, I have begun to understand how to prepare for my own. By the example and encouragement of the dying, I have learned a deeper peace in Christ than I have ever known.

If you know someone who is dying, do not go to them in pity or thinking that you offer some great sacrifice by visiting them or seeing them. Go to the dying and try to learn from them what Christ tried to teach his disciples. Try to learn how to suffer well. Try to learn how to hope for home. Try to learn and be sustained by the dying, rather than offer sustenance or gifts of your own.

If you are one of the dying, know that I love you and wish I could learn from you. Please take this time that you are dying, the only one you’ll ever have, and teach it to those of us who are not in it yet. Help sustain the rest of us, who badly need sustenance, with your wisdom given to you in your dying. Please show us how to transition from living your life to dying your death and doing that in a way that knows Christ and the fellowship of His sufferings.

January 3, 2019

Jon

Personal

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Hard and Holy Things

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.

September 5, 2018

Jon

Casa Ahava, Rock Climbing, The Kids

7 comments

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 27^th 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!

August 18, 2018

Layne

Casa Ahava, Personal

1 comment

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.