My Life as an African Gypsy

I am a little overwhelmed as I sit here. It comes in waves. I have so many things to get done before leaving town on Monday, but I can't get her face out of my head. Her face twisted in pain, drenched in sweat.

Three days. Three long days.

She never slept. She couldn't lay down because her arm was so big, so painful.

Today when I got there she told me to stand, she grabbed me and put her head against my stomach. It was a nice height to rest her head. There I stood for hours. She would rest a bit, and then begin to squirm in pain asking for cool water to be poured down her back.

How I thanked the Lord for the moments she was still.

I won't forget her hand grabbing my waist band, gripping with pain as my hand lay gently on the back of her head. At one point she began asking me what she was going to do with her children ages 4, 13, and 19. I said I didn't know, but reminded her that the Jesus we kept calling to, He would take care of them. We trust Him.

(Honestly in my head I began to think how I could take the two youngest in myself. I still would, though I was told in order to adopt you have to have been here 2 years and stay 2 more years...)

When I would pray she would ask me just to say "Jesus. Jesus. Jesus..." I have said His name thousands of times over the past days. Oh Jesus.

After some time, with help of friends we picked her up off the metal chair she had been in for days and got her sitting on the bed. The move was painful and took so much of her energy.

I sat there on the bed with her, facing her so her forehead could rest on my shoulder and she could lean her face against my face. Such intimate moments. I whispered the name of Jesus over and over. As she would move around in pain, I asked the Lord to give me the strength to hold her up. I wrapped my arm around her and, faint from fighting, her body would lean over resting against me. This went on for awhile.

Finally her breathing slowed, her movements stopped. My heart began racing as I continued saying the name of Jesus. My eyes wear glued to her chest. She breathed a few more times and then it was over. She was dead. In my arms.

To make sure I decided I would lay her down, if she didn't move from pain I would know. She didn't. I said "Thank you Jesus" aloud... my arm still under her head I began frantically scanning the room for help. The nurses were not around. I waved at some visitors for help. I needed a nurse. I needed them to get me the nurse. I slipped my arm from under her head, and covered her legs with her skirt. When the nurse arrived I turned, and I lost it.

I walked as fast as I could through the women's room and then through the children's room unable to hold back the sobbing. I found a hallway with a bench, sat down and started to call Jon to come take me home.

The mothers' of the children came quickly after me, as they had seen me rush through. They kept wiping my face and telling me not to cry. I told them I was thankful to God, that it was better because she had suffered so much, but still I could not stop crying.

Jon got there and hugged me tight. When we got home I walked through the door and started ripping off my clothes; they reeked of sickness and death. I couldn't take it anymore. I took a hot shower and then Jon rubbed my back, sore from standing and leaning. At one point I looked at Jon and told him, "I have a feeling this will not be the last time someone dies in my arms."
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I am so thankful to Jesus for the strength of Emilia, who never stopped crying out to Him, despite her year of fighting cancer and her three days of immense pain. I am thankful she is finally at peace and resting with Him.

I am thankful for the miracles the Lord preformed in me and the strength He gave me to be His hands. It is all because of Him. There is absolutely no way I could have done this; I am far too weak.

The only way to describe yesterday would be to say it was an emotional roller coaster. A big one full of twists, turns, and flips.

Jon and I decided to drive to South Africa to pick up our packages that we have been waiting for since Christmas. We called and checked and knew they would be there, so we felt the trip would be well worth it. (about an hour and a half away)

When we arrived to the post office it was almost comical how excited I was. We stood there in line with our package slips, and I had try not to climb over the wall and get them! Jon kept telling me to calm down. Yeah right. Finally after what seemed like forever, we had them in our hands! I couldn't wait the hour and a half to go home, yet at the same time the car was too hot to sit and open them in, so we took them in with us when we ate lunch and opened them there.

Glorious!

The smells! The frills! The chocolate!

I kept touching and smelling everything. As sad as it may be, the smells of the stores were familiar and wonderful. I could picture the insides of them, imagine walking around with my coffee in hand and chatting on the cell phone. Oh it seems like another life now. (I don't mean that in a bad way for me here or anyone living that way there, just different.)

We hopped in the car, I couldn't stop smiling. I would say, "Such pretty things."

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Because of the time we returned, we decided we still wanted to go to the hospital, but that we would just greet people and promise our return the next day. One man had been sick the day before, so we wanted to say a quick prayer.

I went around making my short visits, greeting and kissing, explaining about going to South Africa and needing to get home for the evening and how many things there were to be done... then I saw her.

My friend. Maybe just for a short time, but still, I consider her a friend.

She left the hospital a few weeks ago because there was nothing else to be done for her; she went home to die there near her children. But here she was. Back.

I quickly approached, sat on her bed, and knew immediately it was not good. I wrapped my arm around her and prayed. What could I do for her? She wanted cold milk. I went as quickly as I could.

When I returned she could hardly drink. She needed to use the bathroom, but there was no way should could walk. With the help of a couple men we got her into a wheel chair and with much effort, plowed down aisles too small, banging the whole way toward the restroom.

It was horrible. I had never been inside. I held onto her, trying to support her grotesquely huge arm as we scooted into the stall. I pulled up her skirt and held on, praying to the Lord to help me keep her up... and also to keep my stomach in control as the smells were overwhelming. We got her back into the wheel chair, while she moaned the whole time and saying 'wait' every few seconds.

We decided to change beds, to get one closer to the restroom. She had no strength to make it into the bed. I knelt in front of her and together we cried out to Jesus. So much timed passed. Finally we got her sitting on the edge of the bed. We kept praying. Praying. Crying. Praying.

She vacillated between wanting a fan, not wanting a fan. Milk, then cold water, then juice. At one point she thought she may try to eat a banana. I sent Jon to buy one, but she never even tried. She was weak.

Honestly, I was praying for the Lord in His goodness and mercy to take her home. She loves Him I have no doubt, so I earnestly prayed for Him to let her end this horrible life, to stop this suffering.

She kept living.

It had been hours. I told Jon to come back for me. I kept thinking if she would lay down to try and rest, I would be okay with leaving, but for that moment I couldn't. I just couldn't.

We moved once to an air conditioned room... the process difficult and painful. I sat on the cold hard floor next to her. We never stopped praying, by this time I mainly would just say the name of Jesus. I was out of words. She started yelling, "Where are you Jesus?" between her moans. I begged Him to take her, or at least to show Himself to her, let her feel His presence.

Those moments haunt me.

She decided she wanted to try to sleep, but getting back to the bed would prove next to impossible. At one point, waiting in the wheel chair for help to lower the bed, she got up on her own and started moving quickly towards another bed, one that was already lower. In the process she fell to the ground crying out for water, grabbing at the door to prop her up.

Some men helped pour water on her back, and there she sat writhing in pain, soaked on the floor. I sat in front of her whispering the name of Jesus, still pleading for something, some action from the Lord.

We got her to the bed, but when the men laid her down, they were unaware of her arm being so painful. They laid her on that side, her full weight on top of it. She thrashed, kicking her legs, trying to get herself up. With help we got her sitting again. From then on she was afraid to lay down.

It was 9:15 and I needed to go home. I prayed again and then I left her, a little more comfortable than the previous minutes, in a bed next to a woman who seemed more caring, more interested and concerned.

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I came home, crying all the way. My husband had food ready for me, so I ate and we chatted. He hugged me. I vented about not understanding the Lord, and he listened as he does so well.

Then I went and pulled out the pretty things from the packages. I touched them and breathed in the beautiful smells. It helped. My clothes reeked of the hospital, but the lovely orange vanilla I could inhale was refreshing.

I believe the Lord knew I needed that. I needed some beautiful at the end of the day.

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I don't know if she lived through the night. I will find out soon. I pray that she is gone, at home with Jesus. I pray, I pray.

Please don't read this and think "Oh Layne! How could you do this? Oh it is so wonderful. Oh you're so compassionate." and whatnot. I am not special for being there. I am not stronger.

Thanks be to God that He has brought me to Maputo for such a time as this. That He has chosen to use someone as broken and sinful as I am. I was privileged to sit next to a woman with more strength than I, with more faith than I.


I now continue to ask for understanding, for insight into the ways of the Lord. I am full of questions.

So tonight we had two games to show for the African Cup of nations. One started at 6pm and one at 9:30pm. In order to get there, get set up, and catch a signal with the satellite, we had to leave about 3:30 in the afternoon...

I knew this was going to be a long night.

We got there and got set up, all except the satellite. Catching a signal is almost a joke. The satellite is SO picky; you have to be in the exact spot. It normally takes us close to an hour to find the signal and that is with a GPS! At our last game, after an hour and a half of trying, we called it quits concluding the clouds made it too difficult.

Tonight was cloudy.

After quite some time of trying, I remembered Jon and I had not prayed before we left the house. (Remember the blog about healing, where we decided to prepare ourselves better for ministry?) I climbed up the side of the truck, grabbed his hand, and told him we should pray. It was only a few minutes later that we caught the signal and were set for the night.

Thank you Jesus! You heard us and moved on our behalf!

The night was not a big turn out, and kind of disappointing for multiple reasons, but not worth going on about. Hopefully the few in attendance were blessed with a special treat of a big screen soccer game.

What I will chat about is the fact that soccer games are not short, and when one starts at 9:30 it won't be over until 11:30. Then we would have to take everything down and still drive home... not very close. As if that wasn't be late enough, guess what happened? They went into 30 minutes of overtime! Yep, we left after midnight. Phew! Talk about pooped!

Now about those bugs...

There was a light up above our screen; the screen I am in charge of taking up and down. It was night. We all know how bugs adore the light. Why oh why?

The screen was covered.

After the game I had help to lay it down, and then I had a piece of cloth to sweep the bugs off. If only they swept off and didn't fly. Every time I swept, they flew all around me and would land right back on the screen. I tried to stay calm, but once a large bug landed... not cool. I looked around for help, but realizing I was the only girl around, I was going to have to suck it up.

We finally turned the light off just while we folded the screen. It helped, but when we turned it back on to fold the frame, back they came. I would have to brushed them off every time I felt them crawling on my arms. Yeah, crawling. Sick. I got that frame folded as fast as possible and jumped into the car, still brushing my arms, though the bugs were no longer there.

The last couple of posts have been more serious, so this one is a tad lighter.

As we have talked more seriously about starting a family, the whole idea of having a baby has stirred all sorts of things up in me ...

From things like exercising regularly (Thank you Liz for my weights!) and eating healthier to becoming consistent in the Word, especially with my husband as well as cleaning up some bad habits. I figure pregnancy and having a child will be change enough, so I should not wait until then to get on it.

Bringing a child into this world is no small thing. It is a huge responsibility, and I want to be a good steward of that in every way possible.

Jon and I want to raise world changers, lovers of God and I want to start early in their little lives.

In the shower today I was praying to the Lord to prepare my womb and my body to be a comfortable healthy environment for a little one to grow. I am trusting in His timing, though sometimes it has to be quite deliberate since my emotions want it now now, but He knows. ;)

I have chatted with the women at the hospital about wanting a baby soon; they are all so excited for me. I think having a baby here in Africa will be an advantage for my connection with women. Right now they think it strange that I am 25 an still do not have any kiddos; it is just the way of life around here, you have babies. Even the children ask me with puzzled faces if I have any kids yet. Ha! "Not yet," I reply, "but soon, I hope!" It's as if relief washes over them.

Sure I have momentary fears of being pregnant here, but overall I have a peace. If these women can do it, I can do it. The Lord has called me to this place and He will not forget me! He will equip me with everything I need.

Now I will wait upon the Lord, for months or years, it is up to Him!

You can't really be involved in ministry with sick people and not think about the mysterious topic of healing. It is a topic that I am not sure can ever been grasped in totality. There is no formula or magic words that can be said, no 'correct' actions to be done. It just seems as though God chooses to heal some and not others according to His plans and purposes.

This doesn't make me question the goodness of God, simply because I believe we are fallen people who are not deserving of anything. Every good thing is from above, an undeserved taste of heaven, a gift. Suffering isn't necessarily because of a person's specific sin, or a lesson to be taught (though we usually grow tremendously through it), but we are living in a fallen world and suffering comes with it.

At the same time, I read in the book of John (and many other books, just most recently in John) when Jesus tells us to ask anything in His name and it will be done. Doesn't seem to be tricky or vague, in fact it seems pretty straight forward.

However, from most of our experience this doesn't always work.

We try and rationalize: Maybe it wasn't God's will? Maybe I didn't have enough faith? Maybe they didn't have enough faith? (That one is good, something you cannot possibly know or measure!) Maybe I should fast?

This post really won't answer anything for you... it is really just things Jon and I have been thinking and praying about.

It is difficult to sit by Ophelia while she is on the floor doubled over in pain as I plead with the Lord for momentary relief. Sometimes the miraculous doesn't always happen. Sometimes I have to leave her there in the bed with a strained face as she pushes through the pain. Sometimes they die alone in that dirty bed.

One thing I do believe is that it is not my heart that breaks when I see her, nor is it my compassion as I weep with her. We are selfish by nature. I believe those are feelings and emotions given by the heart of God. That is one reason I know He cares, He loves.


For now Jon and I have decided we will try and prepare ourselves better for our visits to the hospital. We will ask the Holy Spirit to fill us, to gift us, to enable us to do the works of Jesus. I think it is good to be deliberate about this.

We desire to be His vessels of comfort, of healing, of love. All the while we will keep searching and asking God for more understanding and more wisdom on this topic.

The topic has come up a few times recently and it has prompted me to look over the past ten years or so of my life and see how my "techniques" (so to say) have changed, and praise God for the things I have learned.

<Let me insert how strange it is for me to say I have been doing missions for more than 10 years... where has time gone?>

Anyways, back on topic. (note: this is all thoughts in my head, not some sort of doctrine)

I started with bold evangelism, walking up to strangers, presenting them with the gospel, pointing out their sin and need for a Savior, and challenging them to make a commitment to Christ. I would spend literally as little as 15 minutes with some of these people.

As time passed I realized more of a need for discipleship, so I would try to hook them up with churches, but due to circumstances, I didn't have the ability to do the discipleship myself. Again, it was kinda of "Congrats! Read your Bible and pray!"

Here is where I am at right now...

I believe strongly that a person only comes to Christ when the Spirit draws them. I have experienced these moments. These moments that could I could describe as "divine moments". They happen so naturally. It isn't awkward; I don't have to pre-plan my wording. I don't force some spiritual discussion. The Spirit draws them not me. As a result the person genuinely seeks Christ and begins a relationship with Him.

I don't go hunting for these moments.

Instead I love people. Right where they are at. In their hospital bed. On the side of the road. In the grocery store. And I'm not talking about loving them in some "try to save them" way, just love them. Get to know them. Earn the right to speak into their lives. "Saving" them is not my job.


Going to the hospital has been making me think about this more. As we lose people, as they pass on, sometimes without us having some sort of spiritual discussion. Is that bad?

What I have concluded is that if the Holy Spirit draws the person and we enter into that "divine moment", I'll go there. Quite excitedly! I love to be a part of God's work! I make sure my Spirit is alert and sensitive so I can identify these moments. I am available.

But if these moments don't come, I am there to be the hands of Christ, the love of Christ. Of course part of relationship is that it is two sided, so as they get to know me and what I am doing, they hear about God and His faithfulness to me. I praise Him for cooler days, for the television working in the women's room, and for easy Chemo treatments. I pray with them if they let me. My life is full of Christ... but we have to know each other to see the full extent.

It is more difficult to give your time and energy into getting to know people and waiting for the right moment... but I think it far more effective.


Thoughts? Opinions?

The other night I did my Jillian Michaels' work out video at 11:45pm... finishing after midnight.

I could not help but think that it was ridiculous. I am too old for this. Phew.

Right now is the African Cup for soccer. It is a big deal. Africans love soccer. As a ministry, we have been showing the games almost every night in the neighborhoods outside the city. During the half times we show testimonies of Christian players and then pastors of nearby churches say a short message.

Because of the times of the games and the work involved in set up and tear down, we do not return home until about 11pm or after. Then we don't get to sleep for awhile later due to showers and checking email... that means we end up sleeping quite late.

It is a strange schedule. I feel more tired.

I shouldn't because we sleep the right amount of hours, but I am off.

I am happy to do it though. It is only for a short time, and then I hope to be back to normal. Exercising at normal times. Sleeping at normal times. Eating at normal times.

And posting blogs more normally. =)

My husband loves adventure.

Me too I guess, as long as you catch me in the right mood... but isn't that true of every statement? Ha! Anyways, Jon found a beach on Google maps and decided we should check it out. We marked the coordinates in the GPS, packed some lunches, and off we went!

We knew we probably needed to off road a bit, but according to the images we saw online, it looked as if most of the way was paved. After about 10 minutes we were on a dirt road. =)

It is fun driving through different villages and seeing how they build their houses and just operate everyday life. What they sell. What they carry. Things like that.

Finally we got to the turn off road towards the beach. It was a big low lying field that looked as if certain time of the year could be a marsh. Here we go! For the most part the little two tire track was no problem, but then we came onto some mud. Jon hopped out and switched us to 4-wheel drive and for the first couple sections, the Bison (our vehicle) took it like a champ.

We were almost through the field when we got to a bigger puddle. There was a Mozambican standing on the other side who kind of waved up in the direction we should take. We held our breath and went for it.

Opps.

We were stuck.

One tire got spinning and we were going nowhere. The guy who had waved us on came to help, and right behind him about 6 more boys from the village came running. Suddenly we had become the entertainment for the day. I didn't mind much, at least we had help! I stayed in the car while the guys tried to figure it out.

It was decided they should go get some branches for traction. Jon and one of the guys left, and I stayed chatting with some of the boys. They were quite shy at first, as I don't think they have much interaction with white people out there.


After a bit some women came up, and I decided I should get out of the car, otherwise I would look like this prissy white lady having everyone push me around in the car. I took my flip flops off, opened the door, and stepped in the mud. As I did this, the women gasped as if they were thinking, "Why would you do that?" Ha! They were standing there in the mud, but for me to get my feet dirty was strange to them.

With the branches and everyone pushing, we got out. As the car began to move, there was cheering from all of us. I started walking to where the car was now, and the women were sure to tell me where to walk so I wouldn't fall. Too funny.

We made to the small beach and observed a neat fishing community and trade area. All in all it was a great day full of adventure.

This evening as Jon and I were listening to the football game we heard what sounded like beating and moaning outside. We jumped up as quick as we could to look out off our balcony. What we saw was terribly disturbing.

A boy of about the age 10 was tied up at the hands and feet, and a group of three or four men were beating him with the soles of shoes. They were hitting him over the head and on the body. I could hear the slaps from 6 stories up. They stood him up and knocked him down.

Jon put on shoes and ran downstairs. I started yelling from the balcony, "Para!!" "Stop!!" "NO!"

My heart was racing; I was nauseated.

Finally, before Jon could get out, a woman ran out to stop it. She was quite upset and made sure the boy was untied. Jon got out there, and I decided I wanted to take water to the boy. I threw on jeans and ran downstairs... filled with furious rage.

Some adults had taken the boy by the time I got there. I went after them, but I didn't get to them in time. He was safe though. For now.

We stuck around and talked a little with the crowd. The boy, along with friends, were stealing lights and mirrors from cars. We figured. Their idea is that if they beat him bad enough, the other children will catch wind of it and won't come around to steal. The police won't do anything so they take it into their own hands.

I get that. I know they cannot just get away with stealing... But as I told them, you do not tie him up and do not beat his head. Jon argued well that we pay guards to sit in front of our building to protect our vehicles and building. Why didn't they not stop them sooner? The boys were in the light right near the guard. Jon said, "Beat the guard for not doing his job, not the children."

We felt good that we were not the only ones who thought it was wrong. We were joined by a few Mozambicans. I know we probably do things different in America, but there is a line. This was wrong. Everything, Christ in me, said it was wrong.

I am still flustered and bothered by the whole event.

When I kissed his head, I knew it would be the last time...

I had only known Joaquim for three weeks or so, but his gentle smile and warm heart made a lasting impact on our lives.

You could tell right away this man was smart; he was educated. Here, that could be cause to demand respect, something to lord over other men. But not with him. He was humble. He had his opinions on matters and was not intimidated or scared to present them, but he did so with grace, and calmly listened to the others.

Jon had the opportunity to share in many such discussions with him. I think he really enjoyed his time with my husband. The conversations they had were more stimulating than day in day out routine at the hospital. I think those moments let him shine.

He used to be a teacher... and it showed. He was eager to help with our Portuguese, and wanted to make sure we understood what was being said. I am sure he was amazing in the classroom.

Joaquim had previously lost two children. In my heart, I like to think he was joyously reunited with them, and now they are living pain-free, running and jumping without limitations.

I honestly do not know where Joaquim stood with the Lord. It is hard to know sometimes here... or really anywhere. When we talked about the Lord he agreed; he hadn't become embittered toward the Lord for his current situation. He always eagerly welcomed prayers. I just don't know. Guess I don't have to.

I was chatting with the Lord yesterday, and I told Him that I fully believed He could heal Joaquim. Jon and I had just read about Jesus raising Lazuras from the dead, and my soul was full of faith. But at the same time, I told Him that if Joaquim knew Him and would be going to heaven, then let him go. Let him be released from pain. Let him quit fighting.

This world was never meant to be our home.

I was blessed to know Joaquim, and I thank the Lord for his time on this earth.

It's been cold! Okay..."cold" may not be the word you would use, but for me, it has been cold.

The past two days were cloudy, rainy, and in the 70's. I pulled out my long sleeved shirts, sweaters, and pants, as well as walked around the house with a blanket wrapped around me. We also decided we needed to pull out our slippers!

(Yeah, yeah, now that I uploaded the picture, I realize I am in a tank top, which defeats convincing you that it was cold, but when I was on the couch, I had a blanket on. Promise!)

I am a little sad that the sun is back out today and I think it will be in the 80's. Boo. Better than 90's though!


Tomorrow we leave for South Africa. We can only get 30 day visas at a time here in Mozambique, so we must leave and come back. I kind of feel as if it a forced vacation. Ha! We also have a interview with a potential partner for Angola on Friday in Bethlehem, South Africa. Hooray! Please pray with us, and we'll update you soon.


Anna, and others, my hubby now added a place where you can subscribe to my blog and receive an email when I post. Look to your right, and simply put your email in where it says "Subscribe". Thanks Jon! You're the best!

Spending time in the Oncology ward has stirred up something in me. Changed me.

In many ways it is good. I have discovered a new found compassion and love within myself, a strength that can only come from the Lord. I normally do not do well around blood, shots, pain, etc. but in there with those ladies, I am okay.

The other day I held a woman's hand as she got a pain injection that puffed up the skin on her arm. It reminded me of the TB shot I had a few months ago where I had to lay down in the office and nearly passed out. (Ridiculous I know, but it is how I am.)

But this time, with her, I was okay.

These women have stolen my heart. In just a few weeks I feel attached. I told Jon, "If this thing works out and we go to Angola soon, I think I will have a hard time leaving them."

One lady is in a lot of pain. She has been there for a year now, had both breasts removed (quite grotesquely, not like would happen in the States, and is still not healed), and one of her arms and hand has swollen so big she cannot use it. They don't know why, and have given up trying to find out. The only reason she is still there is to receive pain injections. She has been left to die. Her 3 children will be left without a mother.

That is one story. There are many. So many.

The Oncology ward is being remodeled, so they are in a "temporary" location. "Temporary" meaning it has already been a year with no end in sight. It is hot. It is dirty. No private rooms... or even semi-private. There is one big room for women, one for the kiddos, and one for the men. They all share a bathroom and washroom. Men, women, children... all of them.

Just imagine being so sick from Chemo. Vomiting. Diarrhea. With people you don't know. Of the opposite gender.

I know God is good. I just do. I trust Him. I trust He has not forgotten these hurting people. I have to.

But what do I say? What do I do? When the lady who has been left to die begins weeping uncontrollably... when I can only hug her head because every other part of her body hurts. I am at a loss. When I pray my words come up short. What do I pray for? Honestly, I think sometimes dying would be better for them. What do I pray?

I don't know.

For now, I will keep going. I will take their faces in my hands and kiss their cheeks. I will have conversations with them about their families, about home. I will hold their hands when they get shots. I will will pray... whatever comes out.

There is just something about having pictures on the fridge that makes a place feel like home. Am I right?

Well, thanks Mom for the magnet photo holders you gave me a year ago! I loved them in Arizona, and I knew they were an item I should consider priority for my bags coming over. Turns out they made the cut... or better said the cuts.

And now they have done their job. It feels much more "homey" in the kitchen.