Dad's last days

Dad was with us in Lalitpur for three weeks.

He came to Lalitpur very sick.  A miracle trip across a goodly portion of our country.  Buoyed by the prayers of so many.


He and Mum's time with us was a blessing.  An intense final three weeks of daily caring for Dad.  A night and day participation in his life and pain.  An hourly opportunity to talk and pray.



And pray we did.

All kinds.  The basic one for 'healing' was definitely there.  We are after all asked to come to our Lord Jesus as little children.

But alongside that prayer were many auxiliary conversations.  Talking to God to help Dad with pain relief and strength.  Prayer for aiding in his breathing difficulties.  Thanksgiving for the many blessings that we have received over the years.

And Dad prayed too.  Prayed after he had his first pleural tap with Dr. Tony and Rahul in the hospital. Blessed people who came to see them.  His life continued to show forth love.

 Life was stripped down to the very essentials for Dad.

Sleep.  Pain relief.  Food. Toiletting.  A walk.  The Word.  Massage.

Food was an on-going challenge.  It was heart-breaking to see how little Dad ate.

This was a picture of an early meal.

Many of them went hardly eaten.  We tried to encourage him to eat - but he had the struggle of pain of digestion and very uncomfortable gas.  The legacy of a very complicated life-extending surgery done last year - and the on-going spread of the cancer.

Each day he seemed to eat less.  We were told not to force him.  His body was shutting down.  We tried to respect his need for calories and balance it with a loving encouragement to eat.

Dad struggled with breathing as the cancer in his lungs did its thing.  The fluid which accumulated in the pleural cavity started to crowd the lungs for space.   It was so hard to see Dad struggling to breathe.  You feel so helpless.

And so we took the help of our dear Dr. Tony and the medical team Dad had a pleural tap done.  Three times in the three weeks.  We knew that the cancer in the lungs would produce fluid again - but wanted to breathe as easy as possible.  This is what they took out the first time.  Almost 1 litre of fluid.

It was repeated 2 more times when Dad's breathing became hard.  We are grateful to the palliative care team that they were able to come to our home and do the procedure in Dad's bed room.   The three procedures done  really helped Dad's quality of life.

Dad did not want to die.  None of us do.  One of the things he insisted on was a walk each day.  His walks were slow and painful, but he tried hard to get out at least once a day.  As the days went on, the walks become slower and shorter.

And then finally, he did not walk outside at all.  Even the walk to the toilet was a strain and would take some 15 minutes to cross 15 meters.

Taking his medications was key.  We had a little book in which Dad wrote the doses he took and when.  He was meticulous about this.  But in his last 10 days, he had stopped writing.  His world had shrunk.

I had the privilege of giving many of the medicines to him.  We had previously had his medicines beside his bed, but since he was not taking them regularly, I stepped in and prayed each time Dad had to take his morphine.

The drug did help a lot to control his pain.  But did not leave Dad pain-free.  There was always pain in the back ground.  It was hard for Dad to keep talking about it.

One way around the pain was to distract the mind.  I read aloud the major portion of a biography of DL Moody to Dad.  We also read from scripture - covering 11 chapters of the gospel of Luke.

Mum and others would also read with Dad, and sing and pray with him.

As time went on Dad began to slip into greater and greater dependence.  I found it harder to have him stand up and sit down.  Walking took ages and required a set of instructions to keep his legs going. Dad would fall asleep talking to you.  But what a privilege to hold this dear, dear father of ours.

A few times Dad apologised for 'the trouble he was causing us.'   We were able to tell him repeatedly how blessed we were to be caring for him - and that Sheba and I were doing so on behalf of Stefan and Neeru as well as Premila as well.   Dad was reassured to hear this.

Dad's slipping into greater and greater dependence marked a role-reversal.  The hands who had cared for me when I was an infant now needed caring for.  The meticulously organised mind now needed us to write down what medications he had taken and when.  The large pastoral heart now needed encouragement and constant inputs.

Mum was such a rock of love and support for Dad.   Christian marriage is based on a promise to each other and to God... in sickness and in health... till death do us part.   Mum lived out the consistency of love over the 48 years of their life together.

I found the same in my dear Sheba who uncomplainingly supported in her quiet and efficient way. For most of the nights I slept with Dad so that Mum could get some rest too.  Sheba's love and service helped Dad so much.

As did the prayers of the saints.

Victor and Sarah were planning to come over the 13-15th weekend.

Seeing the deterioration in Dad's condition, we asked them to come the next day which they did.

While all of this was going on, we were also planning for the next step.  Mum told us that she wanted Dad's funeral in Mussoorie, so we began getting the logistics together.

Stefan was in regular contact with us by phone and through him Premila was also being kept abreast with the situation.  Rudy called daily after he spent the first week of Dad's Lalitpur sojourn with us.

In the last week, our dear foster brother Narendra Kumar came out from Varanasi to care for Dad, which was such a great blessing to us.

 On  Tuesday, Dad became more and more disoriented, and less and less able to care for himself.  Feeding was now by spoon.  His walks had been stopped.  He started to lie in bed more than before.  Previously, Dad had insisted on sitting, even though most of the time he was dozing off.

Thursday night was traumatic as Dad slipped into a regular groan.  The groan continued the next day during his waking hours.

We had to continue to give Dad his medicines - and what food he would take.  In the end we mainly spoon fed him.  We were able to give almost every dose of his pain medications as tablets which he swallowed.   In the last days, when he was mainly sleeping we did give 2 subcunateous injections of the pain killer when the pain spiraled and he was not able to swallow.  But since we did not have much injectable morphine in stock, and since Dad did waken up most of the time, we would crush the medications, put them on a tea-spoon, mix it with fruit juice which he then swallowed - followed up by more fruit juice to take away the bitter taste in his mouth.

All through these times, it was such a privilege to care.  To look after one who had been so healthy earlier, but now was painfully thin .   We were exchanging roles.  We are now able to care for him whose loving hands and heart had cared for me, as well as Stefan and Premi and Rudy (and their spouses and kids).

The Bible tells us that "It is appointed for you once to die, and then the judgement."

Dad lived this out to the 'T.'  Even in his pain, he tried to make small jokes.  As he drifted in and out of confusion, it was not clear how much he understood, but when we sang, we could hear noises from Dad as he kept the tune, but which he could not get his mouth to sing the blessed words of the songs we sang together.

Dad was mentally and spiritually ready for death, and his failing body was taking him there.   How many times I got up in the middle of the night and wondered if Dad had been taken from us.  But each time I could hear his breathing.  Not this time, then....

The last few days were a total blur to me.

Dad's groaning and mental confusion were disturbing, but our main task was to help Dad be as at peace as he could.  We fell back on prayer and reading scripture aloud and hugging Dad and telling him just how much of a privilege it was to care for him and Mum.

On Saturday the 13th of August, we started Dad on a new set of medications.  They seemed to work a bit, as Dad's groans subsided.  But the pain did not fully disappear, and so we continued to touch and massage his feet and back, and pray for Dad.

His breathing was stronger than before, but still enough of a problem to require constant Tender Loving Care.   Dad clearly relaxed and his groans were so much softer.  After a while Dad drifted to sleep.

At 7.30 pm, Mum slipped into Dad's room and planted two kisses on Dad's forehead.  She wanted to do some journalling, and decided to do that in another room.

I had been talking and praying with bro Arbind Singh in the front room.

I quietly stepped into Dad's room to see how he was and noticed that he was very quiet.  Very, very quiet.

His breathing seemed to be quite soft.   I tried to hear his breathing or see him move, but he did not.   He was warm but I could not find a pulse.

I called up Dr. Tony and he came over immediately.  We looked at Dad and shone a light in his pupils. They were dilated.  Dad had died.

We said a short prayer and I went out to call Mum.  I brought her into the room and told her that Dad had gone to be with Jesus.

She held me and said: "Thank you Lord that Ray does not have to suffer anymore."

1 AM and all is not well

It's been a very tough day.  And we are well into the night - and early morning of the next.  1 AM to be precise.

Dad was in pain and had difficulty breathing all last night.  That continued into today.  How we wish we could have a magic button to press and have everything 'turn out right.'  Well, that doesn't happen.

We do have prayers - sometimes anguished, other times joyful.  And we do sing songs of praise and hope amidst it all.  But no magic, no-pain-at-all solutions.

The day outside was sparkling.  The recent rains cleared and we had sunshine and blue skies.  And so many hues of green...




We also had a host of ladies come to the "Van's Hall" which is the HBM community health and development department's training room.  They were here for a day-long training to get our village self-help groups more active and to continue to process of grooming leaders.

Rajkamal from Dehra Dun was our main resource person - and the day just flew by.   Each of our 18 self-help groups sent their president, vice-president and treasurer.   It was wonderful to see what God can do through these women.  Self-help groups - a form of microfinance - has huge potentials for helping create new value in situations of on-going poverty.

Much as I would have liked to attend the whole day - Dad's condition kept calling me back home.

It was a very hard day for him, as he was groaning through most of it.  Groaning because it was hard to breathe and he was distressed and in pain.  We were not able to give him tablets to swallow in the morning - so we crushed the morphine and mixed it with a teaspoon of fruit juice and give it to day with prayer.  He managed to keep it down.

But Dad did not get much relief for most of the day.   We have been taking turns to be with Dad.  But it was especially distressing today to have Dad moaning.  We tried to keep assuring him of our presence.  Tried to tell him how much we love him and what a privilege it is to serve him.  We read him a special letter from Premi.  We sang a number of times - with Dad even 'joining in' on the odd occasion with what can best be called musical grunts.

We don't have easy answers.  But we do have each other.


And we have people who have come to pray with us.   And talk and help with planning the logistics for the next steps given Dad's current condition.

We also have the intrepid Palliative Care team who all came over to help out with Dad tonight.

At 11 PM we felt that he just was in too much discomfort.  And so we did another pleural tap.  Amazing to have the team come to our door step.  Amazing to have the procedure carried out on Dad's bed - with our living room coffee table serving as a support for him.

We are humbled by the expressions of love and support that we keep getting.

So many are praying.  And do we ever need those prayers right now!

Totally out of the blue we had two chaps from our child hood.  In my growing up years, I was bookended by Romy (10 years older to me and Noel (almost10 years younger).  They stopped in - totally out of the blue - from Dubai today - and spent an afternoon with Mum and us before taking the night train towards points west.

The palliative care team of HBM did their job well, and we still have 2 members of the team with us till 1.30 AM to make sure that Dad is doing better - and to give him his morphine as an sub cutaneous injection then.

And so we live to tell our tales for another day.   But how long Dad will survive is an open question.
Each day he has been deteriorating some.  Today was hard.  It's now past 1 AM and all is not well. But we do know that the King is coming!  What a blessed hope we have.

Thank you so much for joining us on this journey.   Bon nuit!

This is my body, broken for you

These are days in which Dad is fading.  

Over the last week, each day he is less able to do the things he always has done.  His detailed medicine lists - where he made small diagrammes of each pill he took, and what dose, and when... that little notebook has not had any entries by him since August 3rd.   The last day he wrote, the marks are squiggly.

Dad has been reading less.

Previously, he would pore over his Bible.  Making small notes. Praying.   These days we read to him. He sits with eyes closed.  Hearing some.  Dozing off for other parts.

The paper used to be a small highlight - with him asking several times in the morning whether it has come.  Today it went unread.

He knows he is super drowsy and does not like it.

When he talks with people, he slips off to a kind of sleep.  The portion of the day in which Dad's eyes are closed is ever greater.

Earlier he would force himself to go out for a small walk each day.  The last 3 days have been walkless days.  The short shuffle to the toilet takes enormous energy and concentration.

So many dear ones want to come and meet Dad.   The love that the army of people around the world have for Mum and Dad is just amazing.  We see the many, many who have been touched in various ways across the decades.  People who are who they are today because of Dad and Mum's kindnesses to them at crucial times in their lives.

We are suggesting to most that their coming will be too painful - especially those who plan to travel large distances and have not seen him for many years.  Dad just is not in a position to meet people anymore.  That portion of his life seems to be swinging shut now.   But we have so much hope, since we do believe in the resurrection life - a life beyond the limits of the here and now.  A time when we will know and be fully known.

And so we are left with the remains of the day.  The opportunities that we have had over these last weeks and months to share this life with Dad.  The times of prayer and farewell.

The times of being able to serve him in small ways.   The conversations that we have had.

It struck me two nights ago:  Dad's tongue is now being stilled.

What he has spoken in his life has now largely been said.  He will not greet people on the streets of Landour as he has always done.  He will not give people small portions of Scripture in their native tongue in the trains.  He will not insist on meeting the beggar and slipping him a note along with a word of encouragement and honour - and a short prayer.  He will not tap away at his computer - sending some advice to a person in a distant land, ending it with sooooooooooooooooooo much love!

Those times are largely over.  Dad's fund of words has been largely said.  And he can rest knowing that he has said what he needs to say, and said it well.

Mum continues to love her dear husband in word and deed.


We are grateful that Narendra is with us at this time - his gentle actions and loving words are a great help as Dad slips into increasing silence.

Mum continues to sing to Dad and read from the Book of books.

They started their lives together with scripture: "will you magnify the Lord with me, and shall we exalt His name together?" and have held true to their vows across these 49 years.

They continue to speak to each other - with Mum being the more vocal one now.

It is hard to communicate when the one you love does not reply much.  But love overcomes the silence and fills it with acceptance.

How much does Dad understand?  How much is his pain under control?  It is hard to say since he communicates so much less.

Mum has been so strong in so many ways.

But strength needs feeding too.  We are grateful for the tide of prayer going up on behalf of Mum as well as Dad.

We would love to see Dad 'healed' but it looks increasingly certain that his healing will take place when our Lord returns and everything is renewed.   This is no cop-out.  It is the very hope of glory.  Resurrection.

I am so grateful for Sheba's quiet and sensible love.  It is hard to be supervising your father-in-law's palliation, but the deep core of kindness in Sheba continues to play itself out in our lives.


We are thankful that we do have these days with Dad - as painful as the gradual slipping away is.

At least we are together.

At least we do have these times.

There are a host of 'what-ifs' that swarm around, but we need to hold on to the Lord and not look back.

A bitter-sweet experience for me took place the day before yesterday.

It was the Lord's day - and the family was worshipping at the RE Mission church on the HBM Campus.  I was alone with Dad at home.

Dad and I remembered our Lord's suffering and triumph together.

 "This is my body - broken for you" said Jesus to His disciples on that dark night before the darkest day.   He gave them the bread and asked them to remember Him - something Dad and I were able to do with the symbolic eating of the bread.   "Thank you Jesus" Dad said as we prayed together.

"This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever to drink it, in remembrance of me," our Lord said when He passed the cup around at the end of that meal.  We here in Lalitpur, the two of us also took part, and joined all those in the church 50 meters from us, and all those around the world who were joined in communion too.

Am I ever glad that Dad and I shared that meal of remembrance of the Lord's resurrection on Sunday.

I don't know if we will do so again in this age. 

God be with you till we meet again;

1. By his counsels guide, uphold you;
   With his sheep securely fold you.
   God be with you till we meet again.
2. (Chorus)
   Till we meet, till we meet,
   Till we meet at Jesus' feet,
   Till we meet, till we meet,
   God be with you till we meet again.
3. God be with you till we meet again;
   When life's perils thick confound you,
   Put his arms unfailing round you.
   God be with you till we meet again.
4. God be with you till we meet again;
   Keep love's banner floating o'er you;
   Smite death's threat'ning wave before you.
   God be with you till we meet again.

This picture taken this morning - inside Dad's room.... and the picture below in our little garden outside his window...

Pies in a time of Cancer

We had a pleural tap yesterday.

Rephrase that:  Dad had a pleural tap.

Dad had increasing trouble breathing the previous day and night - and so Dr. Tony Bishwas and the team came over mid-morning to drain the fluid that had accumulated in Dad's pleural cavity.  The cancer in the lungs has been producing more fluid than is normally drained from this cavity.  This fluid build up is called a plural effusion and makes it hard to breathe as the lungs are crowded in.

Dad had undergone a similar procedure a week prior which gave him much relief.  A whole litre of fluid had been removed then.  Yesterday's procedure went well.  Instead of going over to the hospital, the whole team came to Dad's room.  The blessings of being here.

While the procedure was taking place in Dad's room, another procedure was happening in another room in the house.

You can guess what ... by the blur in the picture above.

Yes, it is our 78-year-young bundle of energy - a.k.a. Christa Roesli Eicher (nee Fischer) who just cannot sit still.  Her heart beats with love and her hands live out her heart.

So I was not surprised to walk by the kitchen and see this:


In Mum's methodical way - all the ingredients and implements are ready... for the action to take place.
A few minutes later, the above had been transformed into this:

And another apple pie has been shaped with love, at such a time as this.

Apple pies in the time of cancer.  Apple pies which Dad cannot eat more than a nibble, because all food at this point just turns him off.  It is heart-breaking to bring our tiny offering of food to him, and have him eat a few mouth-fulls, and then get his signal that he has 'had enough.'

The homeopathic doses of food that he is getting these days is not enough to keep him going.  But we are not going to force him.  We cajole and smile and try to edge in another bite or two, but beyond that we let him set the pace on what he wants to eat.

The pies (and there were two of them baked yesterday) are for all of us.  An expression of love.  A statement of homely continuity in times of sorry.  A small extension of the home that Mum has lovingly crafted in the many places and spaces that we have wandered over all these years.

Mum continues to live out the life that her mother Roesli Fischer lived.  A hard-working woman with a big heart ... and who loved to bake.  

As a young girl, Mum would tell her mother to relax and sleep on the odd day that her mother got off from her labour in the coal business (Fischer Brennverstoff in Leipzig) that her husband Willi and her ran.  But instead, she would find her mother in the little allotment plot, gardening.   A whole generation later, Mum continues to live out this drive of love in her life.  Kinetic love.  One pie at a time.

Walking together

Dad's world has shrunken.

The man who drove overland in a pasted-together-from-the-scrap-heap truck.  The man who sat in a small town on the border of Iran and Pakistan with some 10 dollars in his pocket and no real hope of making it to India. The man who took me and Stefan and Premi on countless journeys, fueled by faith that God would provide (and our Lord Jesus so graciously did - over and over again).  The man, who even just a few years ago showed up at Frankfurt airport at the beginning of a European tour with our dear aging mother - with the same princely sum of 50 Euros in his pocket... This intrepid wanderer now moves gingerly, managing the various pains that the cancer lump in him has spawned.  His journeys are geographically very limited.

Dad's main travel these days is between his bed and the chair next to it.  He prefers sitting because it is easier to manage the pain sitting.  He is on morphine - which helps.  But we are not talking about a medicine that allows him to run around and play basketball.  This med helps - somewhat - in controlling what would otherwise have him screaming.   A blessing it is.  A happy-happy-no-problems-at-all-wonder-tonic it is not.

These last 48 hours have been grim.  Dad vomitted copiously yesterday.  He falls asleep when doing simple tasks.  He is not able to keep the meticulous records of his pills and when he took them as before.  Last night was very rough.  Dad kept having to change positions.  Sometimes lying down.  Sometimes propped up seated.  Drifting in and out.  The odd phrase coming out showing the confusion in his mind.   We were wary of giving him too many drugs as he had vomitted so violently earlier in the day.  Many prayers were said at various hours.  Darkness was long.

But daybreak did come.  Dad was able to keep down his morning doses.  In the afternoon he had a long-overdue bowel movement in response to a small intervention on our side.  He listened attentively to me reading a biography of DL Moody to him.

It has been raining copiously in Lalitpur (tender mercies after 2 years of drought and many prayers), but in the late morning the clouds cleared for a bit and we got some sunshine.

Dad is determined to walk.  Each day he asks to be taken out.  When I saw the sun I suggested we seize the opportunity.  He readily agreed.

The spirit is willing, but the legs are weak.  We made it out the door.  Slowly shuffling.  We got near the small gate in our garden of Bethel Villa.  Then Dad said softly that we should probably head back.

Dad is not passively waiting for the end to come.  But he is not raging against the onset of his final days either.  It is a privilege for Sheba and me to provide some care for Dad on this part of his journey - and we do so very much on behalf of Stefan and Premi and their families too.  We are also blessed with helpful and supportive colleagues here at HBM Hospital in Lalitpur for which we are very grateful - and Dad and Mum have a huge cloud of dear ones praying for them - the winds of intercession are blowing towards Lalitpur city for sure.

In the very limited space in which Dad lives right now, I wonder at way that he and Mum are working through the frustrations of the limitations their lives now have.  It is not easy to be dependent and we keep praying and reassuring about how much a privilege it is to walk with him these steps.

We know that our Lord has already walked before Dad and knows the number of his days.  Our good shepherd is carrying his little lamb Raymond through the dark valley.  And will take him safely home.

Farewells (for now that is)

We will meet,

here,

or there,

or in the air!

Dad has always said that little ditty when he says good-bye (or God be w' ye) to folks.

It takes on a very poignant tone when he says it now.  Most of the good-byes Dad says to folks are the 'permanent' sort.  It's increasingly unlikely he will meet them again while he is still alive.

These days Dad eats so very little - and unsurprisingly has become very thin.  His pain continues to be a constant companion - ranging from the dull back-ground pain to excruciating moments.  Thanks to scaled up doses of his therapeutic morphine, he is able to see much of it controlled - but despite the meds, Dad is not living the pain-free life either.

It was a real blessing to have my brother Rudy with us for the past week.  Rudy flew in from Hawaii to spend these days with Mum and Dad - and his presence was deeply appreciated by them.

It is hard for Dad to meet people - especially those who ask him (in all innocence of course) "how are you uncle?  how are you feeling?"    If Dad has the energy, he will then give them a small loving lecture on the right way to talk to people who are sick (hint: start with changing "how are you?" to "how are you doing?")

Mum continues to amaze with her love and dedication.  She is no spring chicken, but continues to serve with such zeal and tenderness.

Ever learning - she is currently reading a Hindi Bible, with an English one next to it to help understand the context.

Dad's energy levels are very low now.  He spends most of his time sleeping or sitting in his chair - reading the Bible or a biography (he is currently working through the life of DL Moody)... and that too slowly.  Over the last two days he has fallen asleep repeatedly while talking to you.  Occasionally he wakes up disoriented about where he is.  Loving words and touches and prayers make such a big difference.  And the meds help too!

But on the positive side, over the last few days he decided that he wanted to go for walks again - and so goes on small walks, while holding on to the shoulder of a companion.  He moves  s  l  o   w   l   y.

The walks are mostly short.  And also help Dad sleep better at night.

This evening we had two more good-byes.

Rudy is travelling back to Hawaii.  It was a blessed and tear-filled time to say good bye and pray with each other.   Dad repeated what he has been saying all through his life... we will meet, here, there or in the air...

The second good-bye was with Vicky.   Vikram has worked with Mum and Dad since Shanti Kunj was rennovated and rebuilt in the mid 1990s.  Now a man, Vicky has been so faithful and good to Mum and Dad - and is very much another of their many sons.

We are so amazed by the love that Vicky shows them - how good that God has brought someone like Vicky into their lives - and for his long and faithful service and devotion to Mum and Dad.  It was Vicky's caring for them at home that allowed them to stay in Mussoorie till last week!

Vicky went back to Dehra Dun - to be with his wife Sunita and their 2 girls - and then will go up the hill to continue the challenge of looking after our beloved Shanti Kunj again.
  

Good-byes are hard.  Esp. when you are unlikely to meet dearly loved ones again in this life.

It's all very new for us.

Thanks for all of you who have walked with us on these paths.

We really don't know what the future holds - but we know who holds the future!

Give Thanks...

Give thanks, with a grateful heart

Give thanks, to the Holy One

Give thanks, because He's given 

Jesus Christ, His son

And now, let the weak say I am strong,

Let the poor say I am rich

Because of what the Lord has done, for us

Give thanks

We give thanks

We do give thanks.  We live in amazement for the good things we receive in the middle of deep challenges all around.  For God's patience with us despite things being less than what we would like many times.  For light in the midst of darkness, and courage to be honest with each other and hold each others hands.

All is not well.  But the King is coming.

We are grateful to have Mum and Dad here with us at Bethel Villa on the campus of the Harriet Benson Memorial Hospital in Lalitpur.

We are grateful to have a visit yesterday and today by Dr. Tony Bishwas - the medical superintendent and head of the palliative care work that HBM hospital does here (one of the very very few palliative care units in rural North India ... make that all of North India!  What a privilege to have a home visit!

We are so grateful that Vikram Singh (who everyone calls "Vicky") came down with us from Mussoorie.  He has over the years become such a deep part of the family - and would have cried buckets (his words) if he were not able to come with Mum and Dad and spend at least a few days with us in Lalitpur.  

Vicky's cheerful presence and kindness shines through beautifully.  We are so thankful to God for him.

We are grateful for all those who have been praying for us.  Your prayers are so very precious - they express you concern for us - and are heard and answered personally by our saviour Jesus.  What a glorious hope we have in Him!

We are grateful for my brother Rudy Gomez who has flown in from far off Hawaii to be with Dad and Mum for some time.  We last had a significant time together in 2005 when he was stuck with us in Thane for an extra week because of the great Mumbai monsoonal floods (the few hours in 2013 do not count).

And who should show up today but the indomitable Vasu Vittal.  What a joy to have him here too and we are grateful for his love for Dad and Mum - and for the fruitful discussions we are having about some of the anti-human trafficking work that we would like to do more intentionally here at the HBM Community Health and Development Programme.

At the end of the day the men were immersed in reading.

Sheba is at the Chhatarpur Christian Hospital for 3 days of training in Neo Natal Survival - and so we have a bit of an empty nest here - but we are so grateful that she is able to take this training.

Most of all, we are grateful to have Dad and Mum with us here.  These are challenging days.  Dad is working through the pain - and we are upping the doses to discover what the current sweet spot is.  At the same time, Dad does have breathing difficulties for which we are praying and which makes sleeping at night difficult.  Each day is a challenge - and each day a blessing to be able to share together.

We are grateful for the here and now - with all its messiness and complications.  And all its beauty and serendipity too!

Praise God from whom all blessings flow!