A Layne Post

Last night I gave a glance out my kitchen window before it was time to lock up for the night. Gates closed. Silence. My heart sank a little, and I went about the nightly routine. As of yesterday afternoon, we officially have no patients. My home feels strange with just my immediate family here… empty. Even Pedro will stay home this week and rest with his family before moving into our home for the next while. We leave for America in one week.

We were able to arrange for all of our patients to go to their homes while we are gone, except one. My dear Loice had to be admitted to the hospital again. The plan was for her and I to go to church and then I’d drop her off the hospital. Beds are hard to secure there, especially on week days, so the head nurse advised that Sunday was the best day to guarantee she had a space. All morning I could tell she was dragging her feet. Honestly, I was too. Just the night before she had asked me, “Are you sure they won’t have a bed later in the week?” My heart broke a little as I explained that we just have to do what the nurses have told us. I assured her I hated this. I told her this is the hardest part of this trip. I reminded her of all the people here I have begged to visit and care for her while we are gone. Then I told her goodnight.

She put her two small bags in the car. I kept sizing them up. Not nearly enough for three months of living, but the hospital doesn’t allow you much. She had to leave the rest with us. My heart broke a little more. I tried to keep the conversation light on the way to church, chatting about our family and what we are going to do in the States. We chatted some about her kids. Finally, we pulled into church, late from dragging our feet, and both hoping the pastor would speak a little extra. He did.

The distance from church to the hospital is short. Too short. I used those minutes to tell her the things the Lord had ministered to my heart during church. I assured her that if I am so worried about her, that I know God is even more concerned. I reminded her how God’s ways are often opposite of what we expect. Because of the that, I am praying and believing that while we expect her to suffer more in the hospital, that God will do the exact opposite, that she will experience His presence and blessing more there than at our house. (Will you pray that too?) She agreed in word and confessed that with God nothing is impossible. I reminded my soul that it is truth.

We turned into the entrance and she gave a little laugh and said, “We already here!” My heart sunk, but I laughed instead. I turned off the car, and grabbed one of her bags and headed up the dreaded stairs, pretending to happily greet people as I went. Cama 18. As we walked the corridor, smelled the bathrooms, saw the rooms full of sickness and metal, I could feel the tears rising. I willed them to stop and made it to her room. What a dreary place. All gray and metal with white sheets. It is a hospital, Layne, what do you expect? My ministry now is from my home and it has been a long time since I’ve been in those hospital rooms. Jon is the one that goes to the hospital. I’d forgotten.

I didn’t want to say “Tchiau”. I hugged her. An American hug, not cheek kissing as is normal here. I squeezed her. I told her I wasn’t going to cry. I told her I’d come visit this week.

I got in the car, shut the door, and I sobbed. My heart broke the rest of the way. I have spent years working to take people out of that hospital and I just dropped someone off to stay. What a horrible feeling.

Dear God, do what only you can do. Do the of opposite what we expect. Be GOD. Draw near to my dear sister. Bless her. Overwhelm her. Take care of her.

 

Also, our sweet Mariana, home with her family while we are stateside, is struggling with pain management. We are attempting to give advice and adjustments from here, but would you pray that she would be able to experience some comfort and rest and be able to enjoy her family while home? This is weighing heavy on our hearts.

 

Prayer points for our upcoming trip:

  • That our children will fully recover from their recent illness, including their current congestion and coughs
  • That the actual travel will be uneventful and that we would be filled with the Holy Spirit and the fruit that results
  • That the Lord would be merciful as our family adjusts to jet lag
  • That our immune systems would stay strong and that the Lord would protect us from American illnesses that our bodies are not protected against
  • That the Lord would supernaturally care for my children’s emotions and souls as this is such a big long transition and that Jon and I will have wisdom in tending to their needs

 

We love you all and are so anxious to hug so many of your necks so very soon!