I'm trying to look and act like I'm calm, cool and collected.  But it's just a facad.  We're new at this stuff and I can hardly wait to get to the part where I can start shouting from the roof tops.  Our girl is in the very first stages of getting married, and not being excited is not easy for this old grandmother!  The man in question is coming over for a meal on Saturday.  We will all be there:  Papa Jim, Mama Alice, Guy, and Francis.  We're her family.  The family God gave to her.  And we are going to interiogate this man to death.  By the time the day is over with, we have to decide if we give him the green light or if we say NO WAY, NOT NOW, NOT EVER!!!  We're all coming up will little stratagies on how to trick him into exposing his true self to us.  And everyone is sharing their stories about what it was like when they went to the girl's house to express interest in marrying the daughter.  While we all love to tease, and Doris is our favorite person to tease, we're being very circumspect.  We've reigned in our emotions.  This is all very matter-of-fact.  God will lead us.  He will make His will plain to us.  We're taking it one step at a time.  There is no rush.  But truth be told, I'm about to explode!  I love romance and fairy tales and happily ever after and weddings and all the planning and preperation that goes into it.  I can hardly wait to roll up my sleves and jump in feet first!  Enough of this calm, cool, and collected stuff already!!!

Last week I stumbled onto it by accident.  I was only in that taxi because our favorite and next-to-the-favorite taxis were otherwise occupied.  And therefore I had to settle for choice number three.  We got to know that particular driver through his Uncle a few years back.  And so it was only natural that I should get around to asking him how his Uncle is doing.  I knew they were struggling, but hadn't realized just how bad things were.  I learned that the car they bought last year was bought on credit.  In fact the nephew-taxi-driver was the one who arranged the loan through a rich friend of his.  At first the Uncle was making regular monthly payments.  And then the difficulties came, and came, and kept right on coming.  Until they were reduced to hand-to-mouth living.  The Uncle, his wife, three girls, and now the new baby boy.  It's been a struggle each day.  Finally the Uncle had to park the car.  He could no longer afford to pay the insurance, buy gas, etc.  And the difficulties continued.  The rich man who loaned the money is complaining.  It's past time for at least a good-faith payment.  Preferably the balance due.  It's negatively impacting the taxi driver's relationship with the rich man.  He surely will think twice when our friend needs to barrow money again for his own needs.  But the Uncle cannot do a thing to climb out of this deep hole.

This story tugged at our hearts.  The Uncle just happens to be a pastor.  He pastors a small village church up above Bamenda, in the  Northwest Region.  He is also a dear friend of ours.  We've known each other for a long time.  And it hurts to see our brother in the Lord in such a bad situation.  But what could we do?  Our money had run out for the month.  Well, we could pray, and the God of the Impossible could do what Only He can do.  And then our support for the month of November arrived.  WOW!  By the Grace of God alone, we found we had enough to be able to help.  We're paying the debt in full, rejoicing every step of the way.  We are also sending an additional gift to our pastor friend so he can get his car back in service, plus buy some food for the family.  God is so good.  He alone knows why He allows His children to go through dark and difficult times.  But what a blessing to be able to Help a brother in need.

We spent the day in the town of Akolalinga, visiting friends.  It was most interesting to observe the various languages flowing back and forth.  Our common language was French.  But at times our grasp of French broke down, and we reverted to English to ask for clarification.  While our friends are French speakers, at times their grasp of French broke down and they reverted to Bulu, their tribal language.  And right in the middle of the puddle was our assistant, who is fluent in Bulu, French, English, with a couple of other languages thrown in for good measure.  He's worth his weight in gold, for that and a whole lot of other reasons.  So with lots of switching of languages, we managed to communicate and have a grand time together.  They had been to visit us on numerous occasions.  Most recently for my 70th birthday party.  But this was the first we had gone to their town to visit them.  They fed us a delicious meal of catfish and boiled plantains.  What a special day it has been. 

She rang our door bell in a state of panic.  Arms extended, she was writhing in pain.  We pitied her ignorance as we treated her first and second degree burns.  Her story runs like this:

She put a pot of food on the stove to cook for their evening meal.  Then she went into the living room and got absorbed in watching TV.  The odor of burning food drew her back into the here and now.  Rushing into the kitchen, she discovered flames were leaping out of her pot.  In a state of panic (and being firmly convinced that demons were attaching her) she thrust her hands into the roaring fire, grabbed the cooking pot, picked it up and ran out of her kitchen.  As she entered the hallway, she slipped and dropped the pot.  Burning oil in her pot splashed out and caught a curtain on fire.  Continuing on in a high state of panic, she screamed at her little girls to run out of the house and get away from the fire.  At the same time she began dipping water out of her nearby storage barrel, and soon doused the fire out.  She quickly gabbed some money, ran out the front door and across the street to a clinic, leaving her little preschoolers to fend for themselves  The doctor treated her with something for pain and gave her a prescription for an ointment to rub on her burns.  Having used up her small supply of money, she ran to us for help.  We quickly dispatched Doris to the house to look after the girls, and  Francis to the pharmacy to buy the medication.  Papa Jim, our family doctor, put ice on the blistered forearms which immediately reduced the pain.

Her husband reports that this kind of thing happens regularly at their house.  Living with a wife prone to panic has it's challenges.  She often takes off and leaves the little girls alone.  She often burns meals because she is absorbed in TV.  She often does foolish things.  We all tried to help her learn a valuable lesson.  Only time will tell if it took.

But at Shiloh we have been having fire prevention and fire safety lessons.  We're all profiting from this ladies foolishness, even if she chooses not to.

"Could I ask a question?" I asked them.  The Pidgin came to an abrupt halt as they eagerly switched to English.  I told them my daughter had confided in me that a man is interested in her.  But I'm a white lady from America.  No matter how many years I live here in Cameroon, I still don't know all there is to know about the culture.  How should a good Cameroonian mother respond in this situation?  I am so thrilled she came to me before anyone else.  So honored to be a part of her joy from the beginning.  But I don't want to slip up and do something wrong in ignorance.  I don't want my daughter to miss out on any tiny part of what should normally be happening.  HELP!  

Twelve ladies jumped in with both feet and taught me the ABCs of marrying off a daughter.  First of all, my girl did right in talking to me first.  And my job right now is to discover who this man is.  Who is his family?  What are the family secrets?  Any skeletons that would make marriage impossible?  This is a big responsibility and I need the help of the rest of our family.  Very soon my daughter needs to inform Papa Jim and our sons.  Together we will do the investigation.

Next step is already underway.  We need to meet this man before things advance too far.  Without realizing I was doing the right thing, I had already told her we had to meet him soon.  He's coming over on Nov. 4th or 5th.  And we will interrogate him.  But in a nice way.

Then comes "knocking on the door" which he is telling her will take place in November or December.  That's when we get to present he and his family representatives with the dreaded bride price list.  And of course when all items on the bride price list have been assembled, we will have the paying of the bride price ceremony at our house.

Sometime before the wedding, I will have the all important mother/daughter talk about being a good wife.  I am also expected to set up her kitchen for her.  Buy her pots and pans and all sorts of other kitchen things.

 

When it comes to the actual wedding itself, I am very insignificant.  I'll just blend into the background.  It is the groom and his bride's day.  I have no role to play.

And when God blesses them with a baby, my role is BIG and very important.  Either my daughter comes back home to live with me the final month of pregnancy and stays with me through the birth and first month of the babies life, or I will go and live with her for those two months.  I will be the all important one, hovering over her, teaching her all there is to know about delivery and taking care of a newborn.  I will teach her how to bathe the baby, how to change diapers, and everything else there is to know.  Then I will take my daughter and her first baby back to her husband's home and turn her over to him, or I will return back home to my husband.  With subsequent babies, it is assumed that I have trained her well and she does not need so much help.

May God give me the grace to pull this off well!

Oh-oh!  It's 9:30 at night and they just found our drums!  The music is getting livelier.  This particular group of ladies comes to Shiloh a couple of times each year.  They are all English speakers from the Northwest Region, who now live and work in Yaounde.  

Sitting at the table, eating a meal with them, is like attending a ping-pong tournament.  First one bursts out in a dialog in rapid fire Pidgin.  Then another overtakes her with more Pidgin.  Sometimes two or three talk at once, each vying for the attention of the dwindling group of listeners.  I can understand every English word spoken, but it's all those in-between words that throw me.  I strain to pretend that I'm getting the gist of the conversation.  And sometimes I really do catch on to wisps of dialog.  But no sooner to I think I'm understanding, than the threads of a story take an abrupt turn away from anything intelligible to my weary brain.  But I love it!  I dream of understanding them someday.  Will I live long enough, I wonder?

And then they traipse upstairs to the library to begin their night time vigil.  I can't describe how much I love falling asleep listening to their music.  So let the drums roll!  I'm drifting off to dreamland with a smile on my face.

An amazing thing happened about a month ago.  She was visiting her good friend when her friend's friend showed up.  They spent a bit of time together.  Had a nice visit.  That's all.  Nothing to it.  

And then it happened.  She went back to her place, but he stayed to talk to her friend.  About her.  "WOW" he said.  "Who is that girl?  Tell me all about her."  Turns out this friend of her friend is looking for a wife.  He's around 30 and it's time to settle down.  He has a good paying job as a journalist.  He's traveled to France and to Israel.  Has a business trip to the U.S. coming up real soon.  Was born and raised in a godly home.  He's graduated from Bible School.  And he is continuing his studies.  Wants to become a pastor. He realizes just how important a wife is for a pastor.  He must choose carefully.  

But WOW!  She is something else!  Could this be the one?  He got her phone number from their mutual friend and called her up.  Every night.  For an entire month.  Told her he wants to go slowly and carefully.  Wants to make sure she's the one God has for him.  Cannot afford to make a mistake.  And night after night, the interest is growing.  

I'm the first person she has told about this new wonder in her life.  I feel so honored to be able to pray with her through this important step.  She asked for advice.  When is the right moment to tell the rest of our family about him?  To invite him to Shiloh so he can meet her family.  We're it.  A white Dad whose old enough to be her Grandpa.  A white Mom who is 70.  A black brother who is from her same tribe.  Another black brother from an entirely different part of Cameroon.  This is the family God graciously put together for this unwanted orphan girl.  We're as close as any family could be.  We love her deeply.  And we're fiercely protective of her.  We won't give our girl to just any old guy who comes asking for her hand in marriage.  We don't care how rich or how handsome he is! 

At the risk of appearing to be lazy, I'm just cutting and pasting a paragraph from an email I sent to dear friends who are in the throes of changing ministry, with all the resulting ambiguities.  Maybe this might somehow apply to your life.  Or maybe it will just give you a greater insight into the realities of being a missionary.

As for being led out from one ministry and into another, with lots of ambiguities and uncertainties (when we just want a clear blue print to follow), we've certainly been there.  I am reminded particularly of when we were given the "left boot of fellowship" (as contrasted with the "right hand of fellowship") from our former mission.  We knew that God had given us a deep love for Cameroon, in spite of all the difficulties of our then ten years out here.  We knew that we were not ready to give up on Cameroon.  But we didn't know what, or even if, God wanted us to do.  So we decided to take an exploratory trip out here, asking God two questions.  And expecting Him to answer in a way we could understand, because we firmly believe He speaks our language.  We asked Him if He wanted us to be in Cameroon, or was this just our desire?  We asked Him, if He wanted us here, to show us what He wanted us to do.  And He did.  The answers didn't come all at once, in a nice little outline, with step two following step one in a clear way.  But His leading was clear.  As we took what looked to us to be step one, He began unfolding step two to us.  And He will do the same for you.  Sometimes He fills our hearts and minds with longings and desires that are very real, but rather obscure and unclear.  We can rest confident in Him that when it is time to take step 2, He will make that clear.  Often it is only as we glance back over our shoulders that we see His plan that was so clearly there all the time.  Rest in Him.  He has a future and a hope for you.  He knows the cry of your hearts.  He knows your human weaknesses and limitations.  He knows all about you and He is wonderfully able to lead and guide you into this new adventure in His time, in His way, and for His Honor and Glory.  

Today's question is:

"How much would you pay for a bottle of Johnnie Walker?"  Let's make that two bottles.

Would you be willing to trash your life for two bottles of Johnnie Walker?  End up in prison?  Have your picture posted all over town along with your name?  Have your reputation ruined?

Well, I know one man who is languishing in prison today who's rethinking the high price he paid for two bottles of Johnnie Walker.  I only know this story because it played out right in front of my eyes.  Five days ago.  In downtown Yaounde.  It happened like this:

I had to be in town on business and decided while there, to stop by Mahima  to pick up a couple of items that we needed at Shiloh.  Mahima is our Safeway, Frys, Bashes, look-alike grocery store.  Sort of.  Well anyway, our version of your favorite grocery story.  

I got out of the taxi and walked across  the parking lot.  As I was innocently pushing my shopping cart towards the entrance, all of a sudden I noticed a commotion going on inside the store.  A police officer was just clamping his arms tightly around a nicely dressed man.  The man was not struggling.  Obviously he knew they had him dead to rights.  Two policemen rushed to the scene from opposite directions.  The first to arrive rushed to the front of the man and clamped his arms around the thief.  The second officer took the side position.  As they held the thief sandwiched between all of them, the store owners (five or six very nice Middle Eastern men whom I am acquainted with) rushed up and got involved. One pulled out his phone and began taking pictures of the thief.  

I was impressed with the level of security that I saw throughout the entire incident.  Soon six or more police officers were rushing into the store.  Customers, clerks, box boys, and other employees all came rushing to that part of the store to witness the action.  I quickly went into the store and stood a safe distance away until they removed the thief from the store.  They took him into an alleyway outside and interrogated him.  (Which included ripping his nice shirt off of him.)

By the time I had purchased my few items, he was being led out to the police van in handcuffs.  I asked the store security officer what he had stolen.  Two lousy bottles of Johnnie Walker.  One stuffed down the left leg of his trousers, and the other down the right leg.  He was on his way to jail where they would hold him for a few hours.  With all the solid evidence they had on him, he most likely was sent to prison to await trial.  That will take months or longer.  

In the meantime, within a day his picture will be posted so that all store owners can recognize him if he should ever enter their establishment.  His reputation is ruined.  If he had a job, he could easily no longer have one.  His family is disgraced.  Maybe he realizes that he paid too high a price for his two bottles of Johnnie Walker.  

When Jim learned that she wanted to learn to cut Western hair, he immediately promised to teach her how.  With MY HAIR!  Being the perfectionist that he is, I really wasn't worried.  So the day finally came when I needed another haircut and she came for her first lesson.  While she has training in styling Cameroonian hair, weaving in the synthetic hair they are so fond of, making the tiny corn rows that have been popular for generations, and etc., she had never even combed Western hair before.  In case you didn't know, our hair is quite different.  She was enthralled with all that Jim taught her.  But he only actually let her do a tiny bit of cutting.  It will take a few hair cuts to bring her up to speed.

And then it was my turn.  Jim took his turn in the chair and I showed her how to cut using electric clippers.  This was not so foreign to her.  Since she was catching on quite quickly, I let her do all but the finishing work on his haircut.  She went back home well satisfied with lesson #1 and eagerly looking forward to next month.  Someday she will be able to earn a living with this new skill.  

Missionary friends of ours recently took us to lunch.  A Cameroonian lady from their church recently opened a restaurant a brief walk from Shiloh.  While we were vaguely aware that this new business was there, we rarely if ever have extra money laying around for eating out.

In well under five minutes, our leisurely walk ended on the small veranda of the new establishment.  Three tables seating four each were set up there.  While we didn't attempt to go inside, surely there must have been other tables there, too.  The owner came out to greet us and tell us the only menu item for the day.  She sometimes serving Cameroonian spaghetti (which is an oily version of Italian spaghetti), but her specialty is bush meat.  We landed on antelope day.  Though it could have been wild pig, snake, monkey, a nearly extinct type of anteater, or a whole list of other delicacies.  

We are happy to report that the tomato based sauce and the meat were delicious.  It was served with a plate of Cameroonian sweet potatoes.  On other days she might serve rice, or plantains, or various root type vegetables whose names I forget.  The serving size was generous and the price was reasonable.  

Our friend's intention was to introduce us to this restaurant so we could start advertising for their friend, the owner.  And we are happy to do that.  It is not uncommon for our Cameroonian guests at Shiloh to ask for recommendations where they can buy some food.  Will we eat there again?  Probably not.  Though if you were to come visit us, we would be delighted to treat you to a taste of bush meat in all it's variety.

It's been seven years now.  Seven years of waiting, praying, hoping, wanting, leaning heavily on God.  And now at long last, they are expecting their first child.  Wish you could know this dear couple.  They are a joy and a delight.  Their walk with God is breathtaking.  They have always said "If God gives us a child, we will praise Him.  And if we never have a child, we will praise Him."  And praise Him they have, in every way and on every day.  For seven years.  The praise that flows from their hearts today is no different that it has always been.  We're rejoicing with them.  And continuing to pray for a healthy baby.  But mostly for a precious child who will grow up to bring great honor and glory to God.

P.S.  This blog went silent due to internet problems.  Hopefully they are all solved and we can live happily ever after.

Yesterday a young missionary couple invited us out to lunch.  They had been having some R&R time at Shiloh and wanted to do something nice for us.  Turns out there is a  restaurant a short walk from us that opened for business six months ago.  We were vaguely aware the place was there, but we have neither the time nor the money to eat out, so didn't pay any attention to it.  

Well it turns out the owner of the restaurant is from the young couple's church.  She's operating a very traditional Cameroonian eating establishment.  That is to say, her specialty is bush meat.  Bush meat can be anything from wild game purchased from hunters, to road kill.  The menu changes daily, depending on what she is able to buy.  It can be snake, wild pig, a type of anteater that is on the endangered species list, or a whole host of other delectable items.  Yesterday we ate a type of antelope.  It was delicious, though very bony.  We also had the local variety of sweet potatoes.  The servings were very generous.  In fact, I asked for a doggie bag.  When we got back to Shiloh, I gave my leftovers to all our workers.  Four people were overjoyed to taste such yummy food.  Bush meat in all it's varieties is considered quite a treat here in Cameroon.

The following is not original with me.  Very descriptive of life out here in Cameroon.  Descriptive and informative.  Thought you might enjoy reading it.

You May Live in Africa if You...

· Wash and dry Ziploc bags, and reuse them many, many times.
· Have bay leaves in every cupboard, closet, and footlocker in your house to repel cockroaches.
· Put a sweater on when the temperature drops below 75 F.
· Re-roll used duct tape, because it’s still sticky enough to use again.
· Feel profoundly blessed by a washing machine and running water.
· Are happy when power outages only interrupt the laundry twice, and it comes back on in the same day.
· Use celery stalks and folks find it odd. Folks here use celery leaves in soups, and toss the stalks.
· Receive a bunch of bananas fresh from the tree as a parting gift when you visit friends.
· Have a large auxiliary water tank for when the water is cut off.
· Order fresh chicken delivered to your door, still warm, with the head and feet stuffed inside.
· Freeze flour to kill insects and larvae, and carefully sift it before you make bread, cookies, pancakes, etc.
· Can “attend” two church services simultaneously without leaving home because the churches nearby are so loud…

 

It was a last minute, urgent request.  Was there a Cameroonian French speaking lady at Shiloh who could help them out for a few minutes?  The team of four men were finalizing recording some stories from the New Testament.  While their equipment allows them to raise a man's voice and transform it into a woman's voice, it just wasn't sounding authentic.  They needed a real female voice for the part.  Unfortunately, Doris, our only "Cameroonian French speaking lady" is on vacation right now.  But wait...there might be a solution.  Maybe Nadege, Joseph's wife, might be at home.  She works, but it was late enough in the afternoon, she just might be back home.  It was worth a try.  Well, she was home, and she was willing to come and help out.  A few minutes later she showed up and saved the day for the recording project.  We told her that her voice was going to become famous now! 

We've learned about a blind man who is coming to our church now.  He's an older man, probably even older than me.  Lives alone in rather deplorable conditions.  But full of the joy of the Lord.  Don't know how he manages to get himself to church, but the pastor's nephew always walks him back home.  Sleeps on the floor in a tiny, one room place.  No electricity.  Doesn't need to be able to see.  Lights a little bush lamp when visitors come after dark.  Other than his mattress on the floor, he has an old sack of cement that he uses for a chair.  Not sure how he manages to eat.  Now that we know he exists, we are talking about ways we can help him.  We have an old blanket and an extra pillow to share.  We're in the process of learning more about his needs.  And about how we can meet some of those needs.