Lots and lots of medical doctors stay at Shiloh.  They come out to Cameroon to do short term medical work with various and sundry hospitals, or to do medical mission work  directly with missionaries.  We have the privilege of providing housing for some of these doctors, nurses, and other medical personnel.  They often spend their first night in country at Shiloh, and may even come back and spend their last night here.  These are lovely people with hearts as big as all out doors.  We love to listen to their stories.  Of all the hundreds and hundreds of stories we have heard, this one tops them all.  We simply have to share it with you!

She  was coming to work in a hospital in Ngaoundere.  Her fellow German doctor friend, whom she was coming to work with, has been staying at Shiloh for years and is a good friend of ours, too.  He made reservations for her, but a few hours before she was due to arrive, emailed to say she had missed her plane and was trying to re-book another flight.  What kind of doctor misses their flight, we wondered??  But life at Shiloh is fast paced so we quickly forgot about her and moved on.  And then yesterday she arrived at Shiloh to spend her last night in country with us.  And out spilled her story.

It all started the day she was to fly from Germany to Cameroon.  As she was leaving her house to go to the airport, the good doctor discovered that her passport was missing.  Missing?  How could this be?  She's highly organized, has traveled extensively, and never misplaces her passport.  A frantic search ultimately turned up the missing passport, but by then she had missed her flight.  Since it was her fault that she was not on the plane, she got to "eat" that ticket.  Her travel agent began searching for the next available flight to Cameroon.  Her agent found an available seat on a flight leaving Germany two days later, but it was prohibitively expensive.  The doctor decided to take this ticket since she was urgently needed at the hospital in Ngaoundere.  Her travel agent said "God must want you on that flight for some reason."  Which turned out to be quite an understatement.

With five hours of flight time left to go, an announcement came over the P.A. system.  "Is there a doctor on the plane?"  Our new friend immediately identified herself as a doctor and the adventure began.  It turns out there was a young Cameroonian lady on the plane who was suddenly experiencing sever stomach pain.  Upon initial examination, the doctor realized she would need a private place to do more in-depth examining.  The flight attendants were wonderfully cooperative, and quickly set up a make shift screened off area in the first class compartment.  The doctor soon discovered that the slender young lady had a slightly bulging stomach, so asked if there was any possibility that she might be pregnant.  The lady said yes, she was 26 weeks pregnant, but had just been to see her doctor and had been cleared to take this trip.  This was not her first pregnancy, and delivery was a long ways off, so the doctor felt she had plenty of time to return to Cameroon to visit her family and get back to Europe before the anticipated delivery.  Thought she felt she "couldn't be in labor" the doctor determined that the stomach pain, that was now coming every ten minutes, was indeed labor.  Being an anesthesiologist and an emergency room doctor, this was outside her area of expertise.  While it was a true "emergency" she felt she needed some help.  The flight attendant put out another announcement over the P.A. system.  "Is there a midwife on the plane?"  Soon an American obstetrician showed up.  He did a pelvic and discovered this young lady was 7 cm. dilated.  A premature baby was indeed being born.  The American OB/GYN, with visions of "law suit" dancing in his head, was reluctant to take charge, so our German friend remained the doctor in charge.  She quickly ordered the pilot to land the plane so they could get this lady to a hospital where her soon-to-be-born child could receive all the help it was going to need.  Landing the plane involved turning the plane around and heading back to Spain.  Many passengers began shouting.  They were very angry to have their plans upset.  Our new friend was horrified at people's selfish reaction to this emergency.  The plane landed safely in Spain, the paramedics were waiting, the lady was taken off the plane, and thirty minutes later the pilot got word that she had delivered a healthy baby boy who would live.  The German doctor was so relieved to learn that she HAD made the right decision.  

Meanwhile, the pilot and crew gave her a seat in first class as their way of saying "thank you."  Shortly after she settled into her new seat, a flight attendant came and got her.  There was another medical emergency.  An older Cameroonian lady was spitting up bright red blood.   This emergency fell squarely into our friend's area of medical expertise.  She determined that the lady had one of two problems.  If it was the one, it wasn't too serious.  She could safely continue on to Cameroon and see a doctor there the following day.  However, if it was the other, she would be "dead and cold" as the doctor put it, before the plane arrived in Cameroon.  So our new friend told the pilot to order another ambulance, and the lady was quickly taken off to the hospital.  This time the pilot and crew invited the German doctor to come into the cockpit and take a seat.  She got to stay there for takeoff.  She reports that it was an exciting and memorable experience!

When the taxi came to Shiloh to take our new friend to the airport to begin her journey back home to Germany, we wished her an uneventful flight home, the kind we always hope to have.  We've had every kind of eventful flight imaginable, but nothing that rivals her story!

 

Thought you might enjoy dropping into the middle of a conversation.  There was a lot of chatter on line today on the "Yaounde List" about a supposed technician from the electric company who was making the rounds of missionary houses, trying to get money out of people for one alleged problem or another.  In each case he ended up asking for a bottle of whiskey since he didn't get any money!  So here is our contribution to the chatter:

This afternoon, probably shortly after Dan Seely's visitor, presumably the same man came to Shiloh.  He wore the hard hat and vest, and said he was with Eneo.  He asked us to unlock the meter box because he had to inspect the meter.  Unfortunately for him, Jim Tucker is the one who brought the key outside and unlocked the box.  He looked at the meter, then asked to see our last bill.  When we produced it, he told Jim that we are listed as a "level 1 user" but that our three phase service is set at 30 amps, and that level 1 was only for 10 amps.  He opened a notebook and showed Jim that if our bill was 60.000 F at level 1, for example, at the level we were supposed to be at, it would be above 200.000 F for the month.  Jim explained to him that the Eneo technicians set our level at 30 amps, but if he wanted to reduce it to 10 amps, we would figure out how to live with that.  After some back and forth discussion, in which he discovered that Jim was himself an electrical technician, he "called" his "boss" and "explained" to him that this man knew what he was talking about.  Three times he told the "boss" that he "could not say that because this American was also a technician."  The third time he stated that this American electrical technician actually knew more than he and the "boss" both did.  So in the end the "boss" said to leave things at 30 amps, but to get a bottle of whiskey from us.  Sadly the Eneo technician left without the whiskey.  He did leave his phone number though, because he personally wanted to have a relationship with this American technician.  He said he had to have our phone number for the form he was filling out, so we gave it to him.  Does anyone know an authentic Eneo employee who could verify if this is a scam?  

Shortly after posting this to the Yaounde List, a fellow missionary posted the name, phone number, and email address of a real Eneo employee.  We will contact him in the morning to report this scam.  Did I mention that life out here on the Dark Side of the Moon is never dull?

2:50 a.m. discovered city water was back on!  Water was still off at 11 p.m.  Has been off continuously for 24 hours.  Have no idea when water was turned on. Filled with gratitude to God for this amazing gift.  Immediately turned on the washing machine. 

Woke Papa Jim who quickly dressed, grabbed a flashlight, and took off.  He's rushing outside to check out yesterday's repairs.  Went 48 hours without water.  Came back on 3 a.m. yesterday.  Slept through the event.  Guard not sleeping.  Discovered the water pipe coming into our property had finally broke.  Papa Jim has been faithfully reporting this to the water company for, oh I don't know, six months at least.  It's on their side of the water meter.  Their responsibility to fix.  Papa Jim fully qualified to do the repairs.  Could get in big trouble for mucking around with their stuff.  By the grace of God alone, water did not come back on full force and was only on for two hours.  Guard reports that it never overflowed the flowerbed where it is located.  Slowly saturated the ground, and then, thankfully, city water was shut off at 5 a.m.  

When Francis came to work yesterday morning, Papa Jim sent him off to the water company to report the problem and (hopefully) come back with one of their technicians.  Early afternoon he was back with technician in tow.  After assessing the problem, Francis accompanied the technician as he "ran all over town" looking for needed replacement parts.  (One does not give money to a stranger and naively say "bring back the change".)  At 5 p.m. repairs finished.  Discovered that while we are not permitted to do the repairs, we are obliged to pay for them.  Total bill came to 23.000 F (approximately $46). 

So that explains why Papa Jim's loving wife woke him at 2:50 a.m.  It is only when water is flowing through pipes that any and all leaks show up.  The urgency is to discover leaks and fix them before the water is shut back off.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I started washing the most urgent items in our mountain of dirty cloths, praising God every inch of the way for the absolute luxury of WATER!!!  While the washing machine was filling with water, I began filling our water barrel.  That was priority number two.  Papa Jim  said I shouldn't tell you all that we go through to get our toilet back in shape, so I won't mention it.  One does not discuss such things in polite company there in the Land of Plenty where you live and work and play.  Moving right along to priority number four, I began filling a large basin with water.  We recently discovered that we have a number of seldom used, though important items, that are moldy.  (We live in a rain forest, right?)  So I am finally able to soak them in vinegar water.  If (the BIG IF) we still have water two hours later, these items will be washed in the washing machine and come out the other side free of mold.  

I am currently washing the second load of laundry, Papa Jim is back in bed having done a temporary fix on the one leak he found, and we are brim full of gratitude to our loving Heavenly Father for His wonderful gift of WATER!  A group is coming to Shiloh today and all our water barrels are full.  Life doesn't get any better than this.

Funerals Manguisa style are quite different from what we know in the western world.  With the advent of morgues within the last 20 years, the deceased is no longer buried immediately.  The body can be held in a morgue for however long is necessary for widely scattered family members to return home.  And a whole tradition, called "the removal of the body" has sprung up since morgues have become common place.  This almost always takes place on a Friday.  Once the body is "removed" (in as fancy a casket as the family can afford...also a "tradition" which has sprung up in front of our eyes) it is taken back to the village for burial.  The casket is carried into the home of the deceased, or if they no longer lived in the village, into the house of their parents,  or the family head (who may be an uncle).  The casket is opened and the body "lies in state" all night long.  While close family members spend the night with the body, others come and go throughout the night.  A lot of drinking takes place.

Late morning, or early afternoon on Saturday, people start arriving.  The family has cleared a large area of jungle growth.  Plastic chairs have been rented and set up in sections.  Some sort of a covering to protect people from the sun is erected over the section for the most important people.  Traditionally, long poles are cut from the jungle, along with piles of palm fronds.  With these simple, readily available materials, a very effective shelter is constructed.  However, if the family has the means and want to show off their wealth, nowadays one can rent plastic tents which serve the same purpose.  A family member is assigned the task of seating people in their appropriate section.  If the deceased was married, the VIP section is for the deceased's father's people.  Directly across the clearing from them is the deceased's mother's people.  And there would be corresponding sections for the in-laws and the out-laws of their spouses families.  And if the deceased were a polygamist, then the sections for the clans increase in number.  If a person was not married, there are only two sections. 

Alcohol is an incredibly important part of all funerals.  It is not uncommon for fights to break out at random moments if someone perceives they should have been given a larger bottle of beer, or more bottles of beer, than someone else in close proximity to them.  Food and alcohol draw many people to funerals who might not otherwise attend.  And thus it is that a small team of family members are assigned the task of guarding and distributing alcohol.  Cases and cases of beer are kept in a locked room inside the house.  To keep everyone happy, the beer must come out early on.  It is distributed according to a fairly complex system of your relationship to the deceased, your position in the family, and how much you have contributed to the heavy expenses involved in the burial. 

Around two in the afternoon the ceremony begins.  Traditional religious practices are strictly performed.  These are largely demonic in origin and insure that the afterlife will advance according to firmly held traditional beliefs.  Then there is generally a lull in the service while the visiting Catholic priest and his entourage arrive and set up shop.  Once this part of the ceremony is finished, the head of the family and his assistant step out into the clearing.  The family head carries a long cane.  Facing the deceased's father's clan (called his "real" relatives), the family head taps the ground three times.  Then he calls out in a loud voice, requesting permission to begin.  All the men yell something like "HEY".  He then stands in front of the deceased's mother's clan and repeats the same thing, getting the same response.  If there are two other family groups, he must do the same with each of them, in descending order.  Once everyone has given their consent, he begins to tell the story of the deceased's final illness.  He stands facing the mother's clan and goes into elaborate detail, explaining all that the family has done to treat the illness.  This is extremely important.  If that clan is not satisfied that all has been done for their relative that could possibly be done, but he died anyway, the mother's clan will not give permission for the burial to take place.  When he finishes his lengthy monologue, he asks their permission.  Permission is granted by all the males yelling something like "HEY".  He then turns to the father's clan, requesting their permission.  It is given the same way.  And if two (or more) other clans are present, he must receive their permission as well.  Once everyone is satisfied, and the ceremony can advance, either the family head, or another family member will give another lengthy monologue.  This  one is similar to our eulogy of our dearly departed.  The life story of the deceased is gone into in great detail.  Following this the casket is closed and a number of male relatives carry the body out back of the house to where the hole has already been dug.  Only those members of each clan who want to (the ones who were close to the deceased) follow the casket and witness the actual burial.  A great deal of wailing goes on as the casket is lowered into the ground and covered up.  

Meanwhile, a large group of female relatives of the deceased have been cooking through the night in order to be ready to serve the several hundred who attend the burial.  The cooking takes place a distance away from the ceremony.  By the time the family head is starting into his monologue, the ladies are weaving in and out among the crowds and serving people according to their rank and position in the family.  Food is given first to the mother's clan, and then all other clans in descending order.  Interestingly enough, the father's clan (though considered the "real" relatives) are fed last.  

Did I mention that  funerals Manguisa style are quite different from what we know in the western world? (That would be an understatement!)

Today we had our own "Worst Flood In The History Of Shiloh" event.  (Just trying to keep up with all the catastrophes hitting the U.S. these days.)

It actually began on Sunday morning when a Brazilian pastor used a little more force than might have been strictly necessary to turn off the sink faucet in one of our many bathrooms. To his shock and surprise, the faucet handle snapped off in his hand.  

Papa Jim, our resident plumber, was occupied with other even more pressing issues until today, Tuesday.  His creative solution to this plumbing problem, in  a country where buying a new handle means buying significantly more  plumbing parts than was strictly necessary, for significantly more money than we had on hand, was to remove the handle off the (unused) bidet in our bathroom, and put it on the broken faucet in said other bathroom.  Sounds like your typical clever Papa Jim work around for various and sundry "impossible" maintenance issues out here on the Dark Side of the Moon.  And it was a great plan.  Except for one small glitch.  

Papa Jim, along with all the rest of us, had grown accustomed to our new normal.  For the better part of two months now, city water is shut off every morning between 5 to 7 a.m.  And it stays off all day long until 7 p.m. at the earliest.  Sometimes it comes back on at 8 or 9 p.m.  Sometimes it does not come back on until midnight, or 1, 2, or even 3 a.m.  Only to go back off sometime between 5 and 7 a.m.  We've all adapted quite well to this, our new normal.  And quite frankly, we've all been lulled to sleep by it.  We have ceased to dream of the day when we might have the luxury of water coming out of our faucets 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  

Which brings us to today, and our resident plumber working on his creative faucet repair project, and the "Worst Flood In The History Of Shiloh" event.    You've probably already figured out where this story is going.  Sure enough, Papa Jim had taken off the faucet handle from our bidet, and he had been working in the other bathroom, preparing the broken faucet to receive it's new handle, when out of the blue, the city water was turned back on.  Roughly 30 minutes after this unheard of event took place (at 3:30 p.m. mind you, NOT "7 p.m. at the earliest" which we are so accustomed to) Papa Jim entered our bathroom to discover water flowing into every corner and just starting to flow out the door and into our bedroom!  Fortunately I was nearby and Francis was just a holler away.  He quickly came running with mop cloths and a squeegee and began mopping up water.  I grabbed a pile of towels out of the dirty cloths basket and started sopping up the water that was flowing into our room.  And Papa Jim began carrying things out of the flood zone and onto dry ground (also in our room).  

Since many hands really do make light work, an hour later there was scant evidence that there ever was a flood at Shiloh, and we had the cleanest bathroom floor in the entire city of Yaounde!  And the new handle?  It's working just fine.  All's well that ends well.

Our son put us in touch with her.  Said she was from his church and was coming out to Cameroon.  We began emailing even before she left the states.  And finally, now that her four months out here are coming to a close, today we found a free moment in both our schedules, and had her over for brunch.  What a delightful lady!  Turns out that this 75 year old widow and we have many friends in common.  It was amazing to sit out here in Darkest Africa and get caught up on one and then another of our friends.  What a small, small world!  Turns out that her daughter and son-in-law even go to church with another of our sons and his family.  And the world shrank some more!

It's been a  very, very interesting week here at Shiloh.  We have been providing housing for a dozen people who have flown into Yaounde from literally all over the world.  They are part of a much larger group who have come to Cameroon for their church denomination's bi-annual mission conference.  We love it when this group takes over Shiloh.  Two years ago they housed the Cameroonian missionaries to the United States here at Shiloh.  This time they gave us people from four other countries.  Some spoke Portuguese, some spoke Spanish, some spoke French, others spoke English, and we even had three who spoke Russian.  

Papa Jim and Mama Alice discovered that there are still some Spanish words, and even entire sentences buried deep in their  memory banks.  So we could limp along with the Spanish speakers and carry on limited conversations, to their surprise and delight.

While we enjoyed each and every person, probably the Russians stood out to us the most.  They shared with us that their language has many, many references to God embedded in everyday usage words.  For example,  there is the word for Sunday.  We would say, "I'll see you on Sunday."  But in Russian you say "I'll see you on the day Jesus arose from the dead."  Imagine that!  And then when someone gives us a gift, we are supposed to say "Thank you."  But a Russian says "Glory to God!"  They told us that in this post Communist world, one shares the gospel by simply using their own language.  "Let me tell you about this 'Jesus who rose from the dead,'" is a wonderful lead into the gospel.  Amazing!  Simply amazing!

It turns out that our Russian brother is a professional photographer.  He told us that he cannot permit his picture to be taken. There is always a risk that his picture might show up on social media, in some newspaper somewhere, or in a magazine.  If that were to happen, he would immediately loose his job.  You see, he is one of the photographers who is invited into the Kremlin during big state events.  He must remain anonymous in order to keep his position.  And yes, he has photographed Valdimir Putin many times.  Interesting.  Very interesting.

He's a godly Cameroonian medical doctor turned pastor.  He's written many, many books in English, all of which have been translated into French.  Shiloh's library contains several of them, and we highly recommend them to one and all.  He's been to Shiloh numerous times down through the years.  Comes as the speaker for various and sundry events taking place at Shiloh.  Have heard him talk to newly-weds, parents of teens, women on their issues, men on how to understand their wives, etc., etc., etc.  This is a gifted brother with international recognition.  He and his wife have traveled literally around the world, speaking in conferences everywhere.  

In one of his books he makes the statement that it takes three years on average for a new believer to really begin to go deep into their newfound faith.  That captured my attention.  Could this really be true?  I began challenging this in my mind, trying to prove to myself that he was mistaken.  

First I thought of Joseph, our night guard, who came to us a brand new believer.  We never questioned his salvation.  He clearly knew the Lord.  But he was just as clearly a newborn baby.  He didn't know much.  Needed to grow spiritually.  We all began investing in his life.  Growth was slow.  We longed to see him become mature.  We committed to pray for him and to be salt and life in his life.  And guess what happened? After three years of investment, he has suddenly taken hold.  Now he's the one encouraging us in the Lord.  He takes our breath away.  What a joy and a delight to spend time with him. 

Next I thought of Papa Pollycarp and Mama Clair.  When we first met them, she was a brand new believer.  He had not yet believed.  It was obvious who was who.  By God's grace alone, very shortly thereafter he gave his heart and life to the Lord.  We saw the "before" and we see the "after".  But these people have needed a lot of care, spiritually speaking.  They have stayed "babies" for a very long time.  Mama Clair in particular has been easily tossed about by every wind of false doctrine.  But the wonderful good news is that both of them are finally taking hold.  They are growing strong in the faith.  They are a sight to behold.  Guess what?  They accepted the Lord just over three years ago.

My thoughts then turned to many others whom we have known over the years.  In case after case I realized that it took just about three years for a new believer to become a strong believer.  Maybe our doctor friend is right.

But then I thought of Romeo, our fill-in night guard.   A mere three months after he gave his heart and life to our Lord, he began soaring.  Week after week as I meet with him for our Bible survey study, he astounds me with his strong faith.  

And my thoughts turned to a few, very few, whom we have known down through the years, who began running deeply into God, practically before they could walk.    

So my conclusion of the whole matter is that normally, it takes time for each of us to grow up in the Lord.  But as with every rule, there are those rare exceptions.  The point isn't how long or short a time it takes for us to mature in our faith, but that we allow God to change us, and that we become more and more just like Jesus.

Though this story took place over three years ago when we were last in the U.S., in good Cameroonian fashion it is only just now being told to us.

Our assistant Guy was in a bush taxi, heading out to Eyene.  Since we were in the U.S. for a few months, he had the Shiloh phone with him.   A Cameroonian pastor who lives in Germany phoned, wanting to reserve a room at Shiloh.  Guy told him that he was actually on his way out to Sa'a on an evangelistic trip, and not at Shiloh.  He would have to phone the man back later.  

"Sa'a!"  exclaimed the pastor, "That's where I'm from.  I'm a Manguisa.  I need to warn you that the Manguisa have hearts of stone.  I'm telling you, their hearts are made of stone."  

He began trying to talk Guy out of his evangelistic efforts. This pastor assumed that Guy had never shared the gospel with the Manguisa.  He wanted to make it very clear that the Manguisa would not accept the gospel.  

"Pastor, you say that you are a Manguisa?  And you know the Lord?  Since God changed your heart of stone, I think He can do the same for other Manguisa," Guy wisely told him.

Then Guy proceeded to explain that this was not his first trip out to the Manguisa tribe.  He had gone out many times with his patrons.  And furthermore, his patrons, who were currently in the U.S., had been making evangelistic trips out to the Manguisa for many, many years.  And yes, they were well aware of the fact that the Manguisa do indeed have hearts of stone.  But our God is in the business of transforming hearts of stone.  And so we move forward, leaning on Him.

He's a Cameroonian Pastor.

He's our brother. 

A dear brother in the Lord to be precise.

He's a fellow missionary.

Left the pastorate to found a ministry to Muslims shortly before we founded Shiloh.

Been coming to Shiloh for spiritual retreats all down through the years of our existence.

And he blesses the sox off of us every time he comes.

Claims he has learned much from us.

We KNOW we have learned much from him.

Recently shared a proverb from his tribe:

     "If you want to learn many things,

      spend time with little children under six,

      and with old people over sixty."

Wow!  No wonder we love living out here!  These people respect age, revere age, consider people who have lived a long time as ones who have accumulated a lot of wisdom.  Maybe those of you who are approaching retirement age might want to consider joining us.  You too  could enjoy the respect for age that is often lacking in the Land of Plenty. Just a thought.

 

 

 

Don't you just love it when God makes Himself so visible that even old grandmothers such as myself can clearly see Him?  It happened once again when we were recently in Eyene for our monthly visit.  

But to back up a bit and put things in context, this is a tight month here at Shiloh.  That is to say, with ever increasing ministry expenses in Eyene, we're pinching every penny twice.  And we are counting on our Faithful Father to carry us safely through to the end of the month.  He always does.  

Normally we should be buying lots of bananas and letting them get over ripe.  Then we peel them and freeze them.  That's what we do every year in the month of October.  That way, when November rolls around, we are all set to begin making banana bread and freeze it.  The end result is that we are good to go in December when we visit all our neighbors.  Each family gets a loaf of banana bread and either a gospel tract or a portion of scripture.  We figure it's an opportunity to use our white skin for the glory of God.  If we just passed out tracts, few would take them.  But American banana bread (not a part of Cameroonian cuisine) handed to the neighbors by a white lady, well that's a different story.

Now you can understand why I've been wondering how we were going to be able to freeze bananas this month.  But the Most High God, the True and Living God, the God Whom we serve, is so everlastingly faithful.  

As usual, we recently came into Eyene through the village of Polo, and stopped to visit Jean Claude and his family.  We were eager to see that new little boy who was born while we were in the village in September.  Ndzana II had told them we would be coming on that particular day, so everyone was waiting for us.   The new baby is adorable.  He weighed in on his birth day at a whopping 4 kilos.  That's 8.5 lbs. which is a big baby by American standards.  It's enormously huge by Cameroonian standards.  They named him  Emanuel.  What a great, great blessing this new little one is.  And to be born into a godly family.  He is blessed beyond measure.  We had the joy of presenting them with baby cloths which the team had brought out to us back in July.  

It is difficult for us to adequately describe the life of a subsistence farmer to those of you who live in the Land of Plenty.   They work extremely hard, but it is nigh unto impossible to get ahead in life.  Never in their wildest dreams did Emanuel's Papa and Mama imagine that their baby boy would be wearing high quality, brand new cloths from America.  They were overwhelmed with our gift to say the least.  And they said their "thank yous" in the only way they knew how.

While Mama Chantal and big sister Nadine were exclaiming over each little outfit, Papa Jean Claude left the room.  Soon he called Nadine outside to help him.  And in they came, bearing a large regime of plantains.  They set it down on their dirt floor in front of Papa Jim and Mama Alice, and turned and walked back outside.  Soon they came again, bearing a regime of bananas, and then a basin of avocados, and then came tangerines, and  finally, papayas.  WOW!  We learned long years ago that you cannot out-give a Manguisa.  Don't even try.

Did you see what I saw?   The Most High God, the True and Living God, the God Whom we serve, gave us an entire regime of bananas!  That's way over and above the 4-5 hands of bananas we should be buying this month.  And He gave them to us in October.  Not September.  Not November.  But exactly on time, just when we needed them.  Great is our God and greatly to be praised!

Her name was Dr. Mary.  She was invited out to Cameroon by the largest mission in the country.  Her task was to test little MKs (missionary kids) with learning disabilities.  Test; diagnose; help parents and teachers find solutions to problems.  And by God's grace alone (here is neither the time, nor the place, to go into the details of that) she tested ME.  You see, I have had a "learning disability" for all of my life.  Long years before the term was coined.  Back in the Dark Ages where I grew up, these things were neither known nor discussed.  I just had to limp along the best I could.  But now, finally, after all these years, and after having developed coping mechanisms that have kept you (John Q. Public) from knowing anything about it, I could be tested, diagnosed, and a solution could be found.  And maybe, at my [then] advanced age, I could overcome this hurdle and begin to memorize all those French verb conjugations, and could learn how to know if a French word was masculine or feminine, and all those other things that trip me up and limit my level of French.  (And incidentally block me from hiding my learning disability from John Q. Public in the French speaking world.)  

But God had another plan.  How sad Dr. Mary was when she had to tell me that, while my learning disability was fully diagnose-able, there was absolutely nothing that could be done to help me overcome it.  No medication; no strategies; nothing.  I tried to explain to her that just knowing was extremely helpful for me personally.  The lack of a solution was OK.  I was greatly helped to finally know what my problem was.  But for her professionally, this was a failure.

In all the years that have come and gone since Dr. Mary tested me, I have had endless opportunities to praise God for the way He chose to make me.  He Who makes no mistakes, hand selected me to have the challenges of my learning disability. Lest you think I’ve finally lost my mind, let me share just one little example with you.

Language school was extremely difficult for me. I repeated the “debutant” class three times in two different schools, in two different countries, and I still tested “debutant”. Finally, instead of being a “debutant” for the fourth time, I opted to attend a French Bible school. The idea was that if I sat and listened to good French flowing past my ears five days a week for an entire semester, maybe something would stick. Well, that was my theory anyway. And it wasn’t altogether a bad idea. My French comprehension soared, and remains high to this very day. And I developed deep relationships with each of the eight other students in my class. Their love for this lady, who was older than all their parents, profoundly impacted my life.

But something else happened that semester. Something I wouldn’t be able to “see” for many, many years. You see, as a Bible school “student” I received textbooks. Written in French. Which were of no value to me. But I saw their value for Cameroonians, so they came back to Cameroon with us and became a part of our 2,000 volume library at Shiloh. And if anyone has ever read any of my textbooks, it hasn’t been obvious to me. Until now. When Romeo, our fill-in night guard, selected the next book he wanted to study with me, he picked one of those textbooks. Though by now an old book, it was in pristine condition. It’s a Bible survey book. Starts in Genesis and ends in Revelation. It is deep. It is profound. It is rich. It is an outstanding book. And I never would have been able to know that since I cannot wade through all that written French. But Romeo reads half a chapter (they are quite long) each Thursday night, and then he tells me what he has learned. We discuss it and I answer his excellent questions. And week by week I have the high honor of watching Romeo grow in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord.

My point is this: Romeo only gets to study this Bible school textbook because Mama Alice has a very real, diagnose-able, but un-treatable, learning disability. All glory and honor and praise to my God and King, Who does all things well.

Well it's official.  I'm seventy-one years old now!  To all of those who are looking at me from a younger vantage point, that's getting up there in years.  To all of those who are looking at me from an older vantage point, that's not all that old.  It's all in our perspective, right?

For me personally, it feels so good to be growing older.  Each day God gifts me with life here on this earth place brings me one day closer to Glory.  I can hardly wait to go Home!  

Rather than having a birthday party with cake and ice cream, rather than going out to a restaurant with my husband to celebrate, we are leaving shortly to go back out to Eyene.  I can think of no better way to celebrate my birthday!

The Shiloh Family (minus Francis who stayed home to guard Shiloh) went to visit dear friends of ours.  The wife had given birth to an adorable baby girl just two weeks prior.  In fact the man was at Shiloh on retreat when she phoned to say labor had started.  We brought a gift of lovely baby cloths that the U.S. team had brought out with them last July.  While we took turns holding this precious little girl who is so blessed to have been born into a godly Cameroonian family, we sat spellbound, listening to the following story.

When our friend went to a local church run hospital to confirm that she was indeed expecting their third child, the doctor ordered a battery of tests.  It had been four years since she had delivered her last child at the same hospital. She was frankly overwhelmed with how many more tests they were requiring now days.  As she stood outside the examination room wondering where all the money for these tests was coming from, a nurse approached her.  The nurse very kindly asked if she could help.  When she learned the financial dilemma our friend was in, the nurse knew a solution.  She said she would be able to reduce the price for her.  Our friend was grateful.  And so it was that  our friend gave her the money and the nurse proceeded to do the lab work herself. 

Upon returning home and sharing this news with her husband, he wanted to see the receipt the hospital had given his wife.  It was then that they realized there was no receipt and therefore this was a scam.  In other words, the money landed in the nurses pocket.  The following day when our friend returned for her lab results and another consultation with her doctor, she went directly to the nurse and asked for the receipt.  The nurse explained that in cases like this the hospital does not issue a receipt. Our friend informed her that in cases like this the nurse was obviously stealing from the hospital, and as a Christian, she wanted nothing to do with this kind of behavior. She handed the nurse the balance due for the medical exams and told her to put it with the money from yesterday, take it to the finance office, and come back with her receipt. The nurse reported that she was also a Christian, and that this is how they do things at the hospital.

“What kind of a Christian are you?” our friend asked. “You are stealing from your employer. Is this what Christians are supposed to do?”

The nurse was embarrassed to have gotten caught, but began justifying her behavior. She told how her husband had lost his job, how they were struggling with only her income, how she had to engage in this practice to make ends meet at home.

“You don’t know this,” our friend replied, “but my husband and I are close personal friends with the doctor. As soon as I finish talking with you, I am going into his office. If I decide to tell him what you are doing, I cannot promise you what will happen, but there is a good chance you will loose you job. Do you want to get fired? Then both you and your husband will be out of work. Is that what you want?”

Tears began to flow as the nurse begged her not to report her. She promised to meet our friend at the finance office tomorrow with the stolen money and would get the receipt for her. Our friend agreed to this.

Unbeknown to her, the nurse took the rest of the day off, pleading sickness. She fell on her knees in her bedroom and in tears spent a long time confessing the dreadfulness of her sin to our Lord and Savior. When her husband returned to the house that evening, she confessed everything to him. Not only was he not unemployed, he just happened to be a well known pastor of a large church here in town. Turns out this nurse had been sealing from her employer for a very long time. It had started small one day when she “really needed” extra money for something. As with all sin, it very quickly grew into a routine habit. Her husband would notice her coming home with a new pair of shoes, a new dress, or a new purse, when it wasn’t pay day. He would ask where the money came from, but she had a plausible answer for him.

“You know dear, how I’ve told you that sometimes we treat rich patients at the hospital, and how sometimes they appreciate our work so much that they give us money. Today we treated an elderly man and he gave me 10.000 F as a thank you, so I bought this new purse.”

Her husband always fell for this lie, and so she sank further and further into her new lifestyle. Until the day Almighty God sent our friend along to catch her in her sin and confront her with it. You can be sure it was a very tearful and humiliating ordeal that she went through as she confessed every detail of her sin to her pastor husband. By God’s grace alone he quickly forgave her, but told her she would have to confess this to his superior. Amazingly, this dear nurse, who truly is God’s child (her actions prove that to us beyond all doubt) chose to obey her husband.

She experienced even deeper levels of humiliation as she confessed all to the pastor who is her husband’s boss. And she experienced the healing balm of God’s mercy as this pastor also forgave her. He prayed for her and then told her she should confess her sin once again to God in prayer in front of him. She left his office feeling cleansed and pure; a feeling she had not felt in a very long time.

Every single time our friend returned for her next prenatal visit, this nurse would thank her over and over again, from the bottom of her heart, for rescuing her from the awful trap she had gotten herself into. And then the day came when the nurse arrived at work and discovered that our friend had just delivered the baby. She went straight to the recovery room to see our friend. She new their visits were coming to an end. She could not thank our friend enough for confronting sin when she saw it.

“I could so easily have gotten caught, lost my job, and ended up in prison, if it hadn’t been for you.”

Wow! What a story! What an Amazing God we serve! He is ever ready to forgive us of our sins and to bring us back into His loving arms.