Category: The Kids

The Month of June

A Layne Post

From celebrating Jovie’s 1st year of life to solemn talks of death approaching, June has been a full month.

My sweet Jovie was well celebrated with dear friends, and she seemed to enjoy all the festivities.

Cake!

Presents!

Big girl!

She has mastered her walking skills, which has brought much relief to this Mama, as she seems more content chasing her sister and not being left behind as often – just in time for a new baby to arrive! She has brought much joy to our home, especially as her personality emerges with each passing day.

Anaya is anxious to meet her new little sister, giving sweet kisses and encouraging her to “Come out!”

Karasi will be arriving early this week. Please pray with us for safe delivery, quick recovery, and smooth adjustments to our new immediate family of 5. Last week I hurt my back, and while I have been trying to rest it, it is still noticeable.

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Casa Ahavá is now full with 2 men and 2 women – our other family members! Our dear Eliza seems to be getting worse, which is hard for all of us to watch and especially for her to endure. You can pray with us as we seek the best options for her. Her body continues to worsen despite more medication and treatment, and she desires more and more to be near family – the most ideal scenario in our minds. I am happy to hear her speak of life and death with more peace than I have heard before.

Tomás struggles to get his white blood cell count where it needs to be and as a result has gone two months without treatment. Pray with him and us as we seek to remedy this, so he can continue with his treatment plan and return to his wife and four children.

Zakarias seems to handle his treatments with ease. While still challenging, his body has such strength, and we praise the Lord for this! He spoke with the doctor about his treatment plan this week and will soon receive a scan to decide if he can return home soon, or if he needs to continue here a few more months. His cancer does not look to be treatable, just manageable, so his fighting will continue whether here or at home.

Filomena is near the beginning of her treatment, and it looks to be a long road ahead. This is her second time here with her breast cancer having returned. Pray for her small wounds to dry up and heal and for her emotions as it is difficult for her to be far from her two children at home.

We are always so grateful to you, our supporters. I hope you know that. Thanks for praying alongside of us.

June 23, 2013

Layne

Around the house, Casa Ahava, Hospital Ministry, The Kids

4 comments

He’ll Have Two Legs Soon

A Jon Post

There are some things I don’t really know how to write down.

As much as the American side of me wants to hold on to the idea that a crisis is just a lead up to a triumph… sometimes a crisis is simply a precursor to collapse. Sometimes victory does not come. Sometimes death’s mocking smile is all the reward that comes at the end of a battle. These times are neither easy to write down nor pleasant to do so. But they are important to remember. It’s important that someone is spoken for. So we write them down.

Papa Xavier arrived in the hospital in December last year. His soft smile and calm eyes were the first things I noticed. He was strong… perhaps too strong for a man with only one leg. Despite his strength, he is tender and meek. He is quick to laugh and slow to find offense or to even frown. When I offered New Testament Bibles to the men he was quick to begin reading and quick to humbly share what he was reading. We read over Matthew chapter 5 together back in March. He soaked it up.
He has five children. The youngest is 3 years old. Three boys, two girls. He loves them all dearly. He grew up in a distant village in the Mozambican province of Inhambane. He is proud of his heritage and his tribe. He loves speaking his language.
He loves my daughters. Especially Jovie. I brought Jovie to his room many times and, though initially hesitant, she soon leaned away from me and into his arms whenever we were in a room together. His tender arms wrapped around her, and he always allowed her to pull on lips, nose, or ears when she was in his arms.
He loved to play soccer with the young men of his village until his leg got too weak to keep playing. Even after he stopped playing soccer he still kept up with the Mozambican soccer league and often talked about his days of activity and sports. It was hard to go from being strong and athletic to having a leg amputated just below the knee because of a tumor growing there. When he arrived his body reflected the joy he had found running and playing. After 6 months of cancer ravaging through his system it was hard to see but, because I still remember how he arrived, I could still see the echoes of his strength.
On Friday last week Jovie and I walked into his room one more time. An ambulance was taking him home the following morning. He was going home to die. He has been fast losing this fight, and he has not seen his 3-year-old since November last year.
Jovie squealed and sat on his bed and reached for Xavier’s face. With shaking hands and barely the strength to raise his head he beamed at my daughter and reached for her waving hands. She melted into him. She threw herself onto his broken body and his weak laugh filled the room like a hymn. “Ah, Jovie” his soft voice said. We sat together for some time and Jovie soon got restless. Our prayer mingled together with tears, and Jovie and I walked away.
Over these last 3 years these kinds of goodbyes have always been hard. They should be and I hope they are never easy. I am so honored to have stood next to Xavier for these last 6 months and I look forward to standing with him for eternity. He’ll have two legs again soon.

May 20, 2013

Jon

Hospital Ministry, The Kids

4 comments

Casa Ahavá Continues

A Layne Post

We continue to enjoy and learn about living with our sweet friends Zakarias and Eliza. What gracious loving friends we have been blessed to start Casa Ahavá with! My girls are so comfortable with their presence; it makes me smile. Jovie happily let Eliza carry her around the yard yesterday without even a glance towards me. These are such special moments and memories to store up.

Sitting with her Adopted Grandma

Zakarias, who is not used to sitting and resting, has taken an active role in the upkeep and improvement of our yard. I think by the time he finishes treatment we will have a functioning garden. We are thankful for his work and happy he has an outlet to forget his sickness, though we are often reminding him to relax a little. Eliza always offers our family whatever food she has made, and we keep reminding her that while we are grateful and her food is yummy, she only needs to cook for herself and Zakarias if she wishes. I love to look out my kitchen window and see her sitting, shawl wrapped, crocheting beautifully with Gasher at her feet in utter bliss.

We have offered on a couple occasions for them to come along when we are heading to the hospital for a visit, thinking they may be bored or missing friends there; however, our offer has been hurriedly turned down. They do not want to go back until they must for treatment. We’re so glad the rest here is preferable to returning to the hospital.

As we start this week, if they are interested, we are going to try and implement a few scheduled times of Bible study, prayer, sharing, etc. Pray for us as we look for continued ways to love on our friends and point them to Christ – the only One who truly gives comfort, peace, and strength. It isn’t that our friends don’t know Christ; we just want them to be ever reminded that it is Him providing for them right now, not some strange nice Americans.

Pray for us as well as there is much need at the hospital and currently limited space and resources available at Casa Ahavá right now. As patients become aware of Casa Ahavá, there is more interest and petitioning. Of course, we have desire to relieve loneliness and discomfort of each person in need, especially for those asking. We need discernment as we select patients to come home with us and join our family, and we need wisdom about adding beds and potentially increasing the number of patients at Casa Ahavá.

We are so grateful for your support and love. I am sure much of the ease in transition is because Christ is answering your prayers. Thank you.

May 5, 2013

Layne

Around the house, Casa Ahava, Hospital Ministry, The Kids

3 comments

Transformation

A Layne Post

I remember being a new Mama.

Somewhere after the hype and excitement of this new little person, after all the cooing and gasping over each new movement, after the adrenaline rush ended and tiredness set in… yeah, somewhere after that, I was left floundering and suddenly not sure of who I was. I thought being a missionary meant giving your life in service, but then this little person invaded every second of my life, and not only that, she was completely and utterly dependent on me. My life of service was just beginning.

As a missionary to the sick and the dying, it was easy to see how I was serving Jesus by holding puke buckets, wiping sweaty heads, and holding weary hands. It felt good to be used by God in such a way. I was obeying the obvious command in Matthew 25:35-40.

As a Mama it was far more difficult to see how scrubbing poopy cloth diapers, soothing a crying baby, or making baby food was service to Jesus.

In my mind I knew the Lord was pleased by my service to my family, but how to feel satisfied in that service wasn’t as easy. I found a place of contentment in serving at the hospital one day a week, all on my own. It was good and right, and I felt like I could breathe again. Not in the escape of my child, but in having something that was mine, that was me. If I’m honest, however, I never found the secret to that satisfied feeling that could be found in poopy diapers, dishes, laundry, etc. There were days it still loomed – discontentment and purposelessness.

And then I had Jovie.

And then I got pregnant.

And here is the deal. I still have the privilege of serving once a week on my own, and usually I get to go another time in the week with my girls, putting me at the hospital twice a week. Those are cherished sweet times I never want to give up, but somewhere over the past couple of years I’ve transformed, thanks be to God, into a Mama. It is who I am. Recently as I felt myself holding a woman’s dying head close to my chest, as I stroked her hairline and kissed her forehead, I realized I do that because I am a Mama. It is so very natural because I am a Mama. I haven’t lost who I was; I’ve become a better me, a more selfless me, a me that looks more like Christ. Sometimes the process of learning selflessness feels like you are losing everything that makes you you, and that is scary. We need to trust our Creator, who fashioned us in our mothers’ wombs. Perhaps you are becoming more you than you knew possible.

And over the last couple of weeks the Lord has been doing some more transforming. He has come full circle and begun to whisper that secret I was searching for a few years back. His tool has been Ann Voskamp’s devotional One Thousand Gifts Devotional: Reflections on Everyday Graces. What I’ve learned is that I’ve been ungrateful. Not purposefully, but neglectfully. In my new-found habit of keeping a “thankfulness journal” I have discovered contentment in caring for my children and husband. Joy that has been found in giving thanks to the Giver – for tan lines, mango salsa, laying in the grass watching clouds, crawling, singing with my children, a home to clean, a rare late morning in bed, etc. As I read on Ann’s blog today:

And “Give thanks IF you are happy” is in reality:

“If you want to be happy — give thanks.”

Giving thanks is what gets you joy.

I have found it true in my life, since I’ve begun purposeful thanksgiving. So reader, give thanks to Him and discover the joy and contentment He has to give.

March 13, 2013

Layne

Around the house, Personal, The Kids

6 comments

Dancing on Rusty, Splintery Pallet Tables

A Jon Post

My computer is on my lap, a word document is open and I’m sitting here watching my almost-two-year-old daughter playing on a wooden table made of old splintery nail-split pallets. The slats are coming up, the rusty nails are failing in their job of holding mushy, rain ruined wood together and my daughter is dancing on top. Gasher, my huge dog, is pushing at her with his nose and I can’t tell if he’s concerned for her or wants to get up there and dance with her (and probably push her off to a painful landing on the concrete below).

As I write this I’m realizing that there are few things I’d rather do than make unsafe, FDA non-approved, child hazardous pallet tables and watch my daughters dance on them with my dog. I don’t want to watch them fall off those tables or step on one of those splinters or nails but those risks come with dancing on rusty, splintery pallet tables.

Watch The Fall

So when I take my daughters to the hospital with me, like I did yesterday, I have to remind myself, some times it’s ok to let my daughter dance on pallet tables.

See, yesterday we spent some time laughing and playing with Papa João. João is a wonderful grandfather who speaks of his family with immense pride and misses them fiercely while he sits here waiting to finish his 6 months of chemo treatment. From everything I can tell he is as healthy as I could hope for having the cancer he does and we hope together that in 2 more months, when he finishes his 6^th and final treatment, he can go home to that family he loves.

But for now, I take my daughters and they laugh and play with Papa João. They are still getting to know him so they want me around when we’re there and yet they are getting more and more comfortable.

So where are the splinters?

Papa João will, one day, stop being there at the hospital. I hope and pray that it’s because he will be home with his family in Mozambique, but there is a chance it will be because he is home with his family in heaven. And, as hard as it is for me to understand death and it’s gruesome victory, I know my young daughters do not yet know why Dad gets scared when, after repeated treatments, the lump hasn’t gone down like it should. My young daughters don’t always see the rusty nail coming when a friend at the hospital is spending more and more time in bed rather than outside laughing.

Yesterday, when we were leaving, I was holding Anaya and we were walking to the car saying goodbye. Standing there with Papa João I said, “Tá tá Papa”, which in her perfect-two-year-old voice Anaya repeated, “Tá tá Papa”. João smiled and replied, “Tá tá Anaya”. Anaya took this as a good reason (with coaxing from me) to try to say “Tá tá Papa João”. Her perfect-two-year-old voice mangled it beautifully and it come out “Tá tá Papa Jollaw”. João loved it, smiled at me and told me how big she was getting and we walked away.

So what scares me about all this? I don’t think my girls understand that there will come a time when they won’t have the chance to say “Tá tá Papa” anymore.

So watch out for those splinters, rusting nails, and nasty falls my precious girls. And keep dancing. I’ll keep making tables for you, you keep dancing, and we’ll trust together that our Savior will kiss the splinters and cuts when they come and make them all better.