A 33 year old mama is lying outside on a mattress, under the shade of the vibrant colors displayed from the bougainvillea above. A broken mirror placed beside her. She picks it up often, checking to see if the dressing covering her face is still in place. To say her tumor is large and disfiguring does not begin to describe the extent of it all.  It fills her entire mouth and jaw, displacing her teeth and making it nearly impossible to swallow or speak. Breathing will soon be her next challenge. Her mind is still intact, and she communicates through her writing. As I kneel down beside her, she writes on my hand the word “ulimi,” a swahili word for tongue. It was burning. And “mzito” she writes, the tumor is so heavy.

What is the goal at this point, for her and our team?

Comfort. We are treating her physical, emotional, and spiritual pain. In any way possible, we want her to know she isn’t alone. God sees and knows and loves beyond any of our comprehension.

It does not make this journey easy. It doesn’t take away the questions or the horror of it all. On many levels, that still remains.

My new friend, the prayer of my heart is that you will find rest for your body and soul. I pray that there will be peace from the pain and “when you dream, may it always be of home.”