So we were sitting around talking about how we don't need to wait until somebody gives us a big, important job to do.  We can each find something to do that others may never know about.  It's important to do our small part.  And then he shared his own story.  

Some time ago he realized there were many people at his church whom he didn't really know.  I mean, they saw each other every Sunday.  And he knew their names.  But he didn't know much more than that about them.  So he decided to do something about it.  He talked it over with his wife, and she gave her approval to his idea.  Next he talked with another man at church.  Invited him to join in the adventure.  And then he approached the first person.  Decided to reach out to a lady who comes to church all alone.  Just greeted her after the service and said that he and his friend would like to visit her next Sunday afternoon.  Would that be OK?  She was surprised but agreed to let them come home with her.  They didn't spend a real long time at her house.  It was just a time of reaching out to her.  Getting to know her in the context of where she lived.  By the time he returned home to his loving wife and children, he was deeply touched.  Told his wife that he had no idea how bad the lady had it.  Shared her story.  The man she lives with (who isn't really her husband) beats her.  The poverty he saw in their home was extreme.   And then they set about finding a way to do what they could to help her.  

It's been a couple of years now since that first visit.  Every Sunday he sends his wife and kids on home ahead of him, while he and his friend visit yet another individual or family in the church.  This simple act has changed so much for everyone.  They ones they visit feel noticed and loved.  The church body is learning about needs they never knew existed.  And they are finding small ways that they can help meet those needs.  Or at least pray for the situation.  

What about you?  What are you doing in your corner of this old world?  Who are you  reaching out to?  We can all do our small part.  We don't have to wait to be asked.  Needy people are all around us.  And we receive so much more than we ever give.  It's well worth the effort.

It's not the first time they have tried this ruse out on us.  And they have been making the rounds of all the big houses in our neighborhood, too.  I guess they think we don't talk to our neighbors.  Or maybe they think we really are as stupid as we look.

It goes like this:  An official looking person comes to the gate, saying he is working for the electric company. He's even wearing the company uniform and has some "official" papers.  Says he's been sent to inspect our electric meter.  He takes a look at the meter, consults his papers, and declares that we need to buy a new meter.  And he goes on and on with a whole bunch of electrical jargon that is designed to intimidate one into thinking this is on the up-and-up.  Unfortunately Jim Tucker lives here and he's not easily intimidated by all the mumbo jumbo.  So while he goes to get his tools to test the existing meter and prove that it is perfectly fine, the official looking person shows Francis a paper that states we will have to pay 350.000 F ($900) for the new meter.  When Francis queries him, the man says he will negotiate with Jim when he returns.  But he quickly lets Francis know that, since he has had to do so much talking to explain everything to us, we have to provide him with a beer.  (Sure thing!)  When the non-dummy Jim Tucker returns with his tools and the man suddenly realizes that he has met his match, he begins back paddling.  "Well, no," he says, "your meter is not actually worn out.  But I'm in charge and when I say you need a new one, you must buy one from me."  In the end, when he sees there is no possible way of convincing Jim to come up with the money, he then tells him he will have to be paid 50.000 F ($100) in order to leave the current meter in place and go on his way.  (Indeed!)

Sadly for him, Francis ushers him out the gate WITHOUT the beer and most certainly WITHOUT the 50.000 F.  It's not his lucky day.  Francis tells us that if we had fallen for this, he would have removed our perfectly good meter, pocketed the money, taken his beer, and skipped off into the sunset with the false promise of returning right away with our new meter.  He can easily convert that meter into more beer money.

We live in a fallen world.

6 p.m. Saturday I dragged my exhausted body upstairs, leaving our guests behind.  6:30 p.m. I fell into a deep sleep.  7:30 a.m. Sunday I opened my eyes to a brand new day.  Grateful, oh so grateful for an unheard of thirteen hours of uninterrupted sleep.  

What would cause this grandma to be that worn out? Three weeks of preparation in and around the edges of Shiloh's normal activities.  Preparation for a full blown party to celebrate the ten years Francis has worked for us.  

Here in Cameroon an employer can arrange with the government to present a ten year medal of honor after their employee has given them ten years of work.  And the government will present another one after fifteen years and again twenty years of work.  Then a person is eligible to retire any time they choose after that.  It's a very big deal to receive a medal of honor for work.  And it's also very (as in very, very) expensive to do this through the government.  So years ago we decided we could change the wording and print our own certificate.  It has been a highly successful thing to do.  For example, Francis.

He was overwhelmed when we approached him about his party.  Nobody had ever celebrated anything about him over his thirty years of life.  And though he was right in the middle of the extensive planning and preparation, he was thrilled beyond belief to be honored like this.  In Cameroon you throw your own party, pay for everything, even pay transportation to and from for your out-of-town guests, and are responsible for housing and food during the time the out-of-town folk are in town.  Fortunately Francis works for us.  We covered all expenses.

Sixty guests came to Shiloh at 1 p.m. on Saturday.  Family, friends, neighbors, people from church.   There were many speeches. The Shiloh choir sang.  There were other special numbers as well.  His pastor gave a powerful message.  Each of his children recited passages of scripture they had memorized.  Even his three year old son.  Francis himself gave a very moving speech, thanking each of us for the investment we have made in his life.  Then Papa Jim presented him with a beautifully framed certificate.  And the feasting began.  Three tables were loaded with food.  Francis, being our cook, had chosen the menu and supervised every bit of the cooking.  A local bakery made a beautiful cake for him.  Pictures were taken.  Everyone wanted their picture taken with everyone else.  And everybody, or so it seemed, had their own smart phone to take pictures with.  Talking and laughing and visiting went on and on for hours.  And the exhausted grandmother slipped quietly away at 6:00 p.m.  

Papa Jim stayed 'till the last dog died at 10 p.m. and then he came to bed.  He's clearly a lot younger than I am!  Some of the out-of-town family members stayed at Shiloh on Friday and Saturday nights.  Papa Jim was up bright and early Sunday morning to feed them. Mama Alice did not wake up until they were gone.  Grateful, oh so grateful for for an unheard of thirteen hours of uninterrupted sleep.  

At breakfast they shared their story.  All four are Cameroonians.  All are English speaking.  All have graduated from university.  And all found it impossible to land a job here in Cameroon.  Their families had struggled to put them through school with the expectation that they would land a good job. They were then supposed to contribute financially to the needs of the extended family.  And so each was ready to fall for the exciting promise of a job in another country.  Without doing any research into what this was really all about, each gal jumped at the chance to get out of Cameroon and make it big somewhere else.  One was hired to teach English to  school children in Kuwait.  For another it was the promise of a good paying office job in that country.  The only hitch was that money was needed to pay for passports, visas, plane tickets, and other fees.  One young lady reported that her father sold his cocoa farm which had been in the family for many generations.  He was left penniless with the firmly held belief that his daughter would soon be sending lots of money back to him.  

Nothing turned out as promised.  As each young lady arrived at the Kuwait airport she was met by a "handler" who took her passport and rushed her off to a mall.  There she was put on display for men to see her.  Soon a Kuwaiti man would like what he saw and purchase her.  Without being allowed any time to recover from her trip or to adjust to this foreign land, she would be taken to his house and immediately be made to work.  These girls were treated as slaves in their owners homes.  They had to work for 22 hours each and every day.  They worked from 4 a.m. until 2 a.m. the following day.  During that time they were not permitted to sit down.  They could only have their phones when they were off work for those two hours.  And at any moment the man would bring them into his bed and do whatever he wanted to with them.  In fact, the wives encouraged the African slave girls to have sex with their husbands.  

It's called human trafficking and it is going on today.  I sat at the breakfast table this morning and listened to these ladies describe unspeakable things that happened to them.  All four of them managed to escape, and through various means were able to return to Cameroon.  One of the girls has been ostracized from her family.  They do not ever want to see her again.  She has disgraced the entire clan.  But the most shocking part of their stories was the fact that Cameroonian men called traffickers enticed them into this job opportunity in Kuwait. In each case it was a man well known to the girl.  For one it was her cousin whom she had grown up with.  He not only sold her into this most despicable kind of slavery, he also sold his own sister and another cousin as well.  It is a business for these men.  They can make a good living this way.  One of the young ladies reported to me that her own pastor is the one who trafficked her.  He sold nine girls from his church to the Kuwaiti handler at the same time.  She is the only one who managed to escape and come back to Cameroon.  She immediately reported her pastor to the police.  He is in prison today, which is where he belongs.

These young ladies have formed a non-profit organization.  They are dedicated to warning young girls about this kind of thing.  They also are doing everything they can to help other young ladies to escape from Kuwait and come back home to Cameroon.  They have to pay the equivalent of  $3,000 U.S. dollars to their handler in order to buy their freedom.  Then they have to pay for their plane ticket back home.  All the time they are living with their owners, they are not getting paid.  

These four young ladies spent the night at Shiloh, ate breakfast, and were picked up at 7 a.m.  They were invited to speak to the young people at Rain Forrest International High School.  When our team arrived to work this morning we shared this story with them.  To our shock and horror Doris reported to us that she had been approached by a trafficker  back before she came to work at Shiloh.  By God's grace she did not to fall into this trap. 

A couple of weeks ago a missionary from Argentina put out the word in the mission community that she had some seashells to give away.  Well, being as how I still have saltwater in my veins from growing up on the Oregon Coast, I jumped on that wonderful offer.  Since I was the first to reply (or maybe the only one dingy enough to want seashells?) I won the prize. 

Then she came to Shiloh for her semi-frequent spiritual retreat.  Sure enough, she showed up with "my" seashells.  I was excited to receive them.  And what a gift they were!  Two whole quart size zip-lock bags full PLUS a small cardboard box!  Since I had a busy day planned I couldn't really do anything with them, so I set them aside.  The following morning, with a few idle moments on my hands, curiosity won out.  I cut the tape off the little box, eager to see the rest of my new seashells.  But when I opened the lid, I found an envelope staring back at me.  It had the missionary's name on it so I knew it couldn't be mine.  A short while later when I handed her the envelope, she let out a squeal!  And then she told me this amazing story. 

A number of years ago her mission had to move out of Chad because of the war that was going on.  They moved down to Yaounde and began what became an effective ministry, working with refugees from Chad.  They decided to rent a large truck to transport all their things down here.  She said it was loaded to the max with boxes, barrels, trunks, and lots of furniture.  Their major concern at the time had been how to bring the rather large amount of money they collectively had across the boarder.  They worried that border guards would want to look into all their stuff, and would certainly help themselves to any stash of money they would find.  So they finally decided the best way to handle the problem was to divide their funds into many envelopes and stash them here, there, and everywhere.  With much prayer they loaded the truck and headed for the boarder.  In God's wonderful providence the boarder guards were not the least bit concerned with the load of things that were in the back of the truck.  They only wanted to make sure that everyone's papers were in order.  It was one of the easiest boarder crossings they ever experienced.  With grateful hearts they arrived in Yaounde and began settling in. 

She said it took them months to find their various and sundry hiding places.  It  was kind of like Christmas to stumble across yet another packet of money weeks later.  The years have rolled by and now she is returning to Argentina for good.  Just the other day she began thinking about her Argentinean money and was wondering where in the world she had hidden it.  And here I was, handing her the envelope that contained that money!  Imagine what would have happened if I hadn't opened the little box of seashells until after she left Cameroon for good?  She only has a couple weeks left in country.  She was overjoyed to be reunited with her Argentinean money at just the right moment.  And of course, I am thrilled to have more seashells. 

So what does one do with seashells in Darkest Africa you ask?  Good question.  The most special ones will join a pretty glass bowl of seashells that graces a corner of Shiloh's dining room.  All the rest will be added to one of our flowerbeds.  Just a small reminder of where I come from.  They put a smile on my face every time I see them.

Word has reached us that a village grandmother whom we knew has died.  Four of her grandchildren (all teenage boys) came to know the Lord as their Savior while the team was here from American back in July.  Three of the boys were being raised by Grandmother as their dads had all died.  But now she too is gone.  What will happen to these boys?  We are going out to the village for her burial.  We want to be there to encourage these young people.  They have been faithfully studying God's Word with Damien.  We know that whatever happens to them, our Heavenly Father is right there with them.  He promises to never leave us nor forsake us. 

He's in his early thirties and he's dying.  We've known him for the better part of ten years.   This wonderful man of God is always cheerful, always encouraging, always talking about his Lord and Savior, always thinking of others.  To know him is to love him.  Though he wanted to get married and have a family, the right girl never came along.  And now it's too late.  Sadly, he was born with a genetic defect that has already robbed extended family members of life in their 30s and 40s.  Now it's his turn.  We are weeping on the inside as we watch his life slowly slipping away.  He's in a lot of pain, but his eyes are fastened on Jesus.  There is a sweet aroma of the Altogether Lovely One about him.  Though hope is all but gone, nobody wants to loose this model of godliness.  His church,  which is just down the road from Shiloh, has taken up a collection for his medical needs.  We have added our gift to theirs.  Monday a brother in the Lord will carry him to the hospital for one more round of tests.  Maybe his doctor will find a way to beat death.  We're clutching at straws.  And praying for God's perfect will to be accomplished. Whether by life or  by death, he only wants to glorify God.

Doris was in fine shape when she arrived at work this morning.  She and Francis prepared breakfast for us and then we spent an enjoyable time around the table.  She was assigned the task of cleaning a room that was vacated last evening.  Next she was to return to the Spring cleaning work.  Meanwhile Francis and I took off for town.  We had a list of errands to run.  Not long after we left Doris fell deathly ill.  Jim was heading back to our room to get something when he heard a weak cry for help.  He found her wrapped in a blanket in the room she was to have been cleaning.  She was shaking with cold.  He put another blanket on her, took her temperature, gave her aspirin, and phoned to see when we would be back home.  By God's grace we were just pulling up to Shiloh's gate.  We quickly got her into the taxi and Francis accompanied her to the hospital.  Because of the severity of her condition, there was none of the usual delay in getting to see a doctor.  She was immediately put on  IV medication for malaria.  And then they drew blood to confirm that diagnosis.  Doctors out here treat for malaria first and ask questions later.  It's deadly stuff.  She is spending the night in the hospital.  In the morning they will run other tests to see if there is anything else going on.  Malaria is an opportunistic disease.  It often comes out when we are run down for any other reason.  Life here in Darkest Africa is fragile.  If one is not prepared to die, one is not prepared to live.  And that's all there is to it.  In all probability Doris will be sent home from the hospital tomorrow afternoon.  She should bounce back in a few days, depending on what other disease they may find.  Sometimes it feels like we live from one medical crisis to the next.  If it's not Francis getting typhoid, it's Guy's daughter spiking a high fever.  We never take good health for granted.  And we cling to the Great Physician.

When I was three years old my family moved into a house that was just one block from the beach.  Every evening during the summer months our Grandma, who lived with us, would take my sisters and I on a walk after supper.  We would push our doll buggies and our favorite dolls that one block to the sand where we would watch the sun sink into the Pacific Ocean.  And then we would push our buggies back home, take baths, and go to bed.  It was our nightly ritual.  To this day I still have salt water in my veins.  The sand, the ocean, salt water, the cry of seagulls, and collecting sea shells, are a large part of my childhood memories.  

Which explains why at Shiloh you will find a special collection of seashells from the Oregon Coast and other coastal places where we have wandered over these many years.  Today we washed those seashells.  It's all part of our annual Spring housecleaning.  An amazing amount of Harmattan grit and grime was washed away.  But the memories can never be washed away.  I carry them in my heart forever. 

We fall into the most fascinating conversations around the breakfast table.  This morning is a case in point.  Someone said something.  A question was asked.  The conversation shifted a bit.  And soon Francis our cook was telling us about one of his aunts.  She's been after him since his oldest child was a baby.  And she's at it again with his third baby.  Insists he must bring his little one to her.  He steadfastly refuses, but she never stops trying.  You see she's a sorcerer.  In their particular tribal tradition newborn babies must have certain incantations done over them to give them protection against bad spirits.  It is incumbent on parents to have their babies initiated into their practices shortly after birth.  The aunt is well known for her ability to perform these necessary rituals.  Her house is often overrun with young mothers and their little ones.  Traditional religion in all  it's varied forms in the over 270 tribal groups out here in Cameroon is fear based.  People live in fear of the spirits and what they will do to them.  The local sorcerers provide the only protection available.  Apart from having a personal relationship with the living risen Lord of lords and King of kings, theirs is a hopeless existence from cradle to grave.  It's why we are here.  These people desperately need the Lord. 

This getting old stuff is for the birds.  What is it that they always say?  Growing old isn't for sissies?  Well I'm feeling like a big fat sissy long about now.  

It happened like this.  I somehow got it confused in this aging mind of mine that I was taking off for my monthly R & R get-away tomorrow morning.  Told everyone about those plans.  Packed my bag and everything.  Did all the extra things I have to do in order to be gone for a few days.  And then my eyes fell on the calendar late this afternoon.  Guess what?  It was written right there in black and white.  I don't leave until Saturday.  Monday...Saturday...they don't even sound the same.  How could I have messed up so badly?  Now I have to back pedal.  Admit to all sorts of people that I messed up good an proper just like your average old lady routinely does.   Would rather crawl in a hole and die, but I have to own up to my mistake.  Eat humble pie.  Put on a big smile.  Joke about it.  Give the allusion that I'm growing old graciously.

My one and only consolation is the certain knowledge that it gets worse from here, but on the other side is Glory.  So I'm OK with that.  Eagerly looking forward to the Fullness of Life as a matter of fact.  And yes, I'm learning to accept all the eccentricities of old age.  Viewing it as the passageway to Heaven and Home.

None of us could have imagined what would happen.  Last month when our village landlord asked permission to put his mother's casket in the living room of our village house during the wake and the day of her funeral, we really had only one option.  We simply had to say "yes".  But even though we didn't know how it would turn out, God did, and he protected us at every turn in the road.

You may recall that Guy's father-in-law was buried in another village on the same day as our landlord's mother's burial. It was that funeral that kept us from being in the village of Eyene at that time.  And how very, very glad we are that God kept us far away from the event!

Ndzana Damien shared with us that it was a very large wake and an even larger funeral.  Andrea, our landlord, approached him at the last minute with a desperate plea.  Could he please use our house as sleeping quarters for some of the more prestigious family members who were coming back to the village for this occasion.  First he wanted access to Jim's tool room.  Damien wisely told him that he had never been given access to that room.  Even when Andrea demanded that he give him the key, Damien stood up to him and protected Jim's tools.  Next he wanted to use one of the bedrooms as a place to store the incredibly large quantity of alcohol that the family had purchased for the event.  Damien unlocked our small kitchen and let them use that space.  We had warned him that this request would be coming his way and had asked him to empty the room of our stove, gas bottle, metal storage boxes containing dishes, silverware, glasses, kitchen utensils, pots and pans, and etc.  Andre's brother tried to pressure Damien into simply turning the entire house over to them so they could do whatever they wanted.  By God's grace, Damien was able to resist the enormous pressure put on him  from every quarter.  Eventually he told Andrea that he would unlock Guy's bedroom with the condition that Andrea himself sleep in that room with whoever else he wanted to share the space with.  And he finally gave permission for them to bring their own mats into the living room and line the relatives up like cord wood on the floor.  

Fortunately Damien's wife came out to the village for the three most critical nights.   At nine o'clock each night she went to bed in his very crowded room where all our things had been stored.  Five hours later she woke up and took over being the guard of the house while Damien slept for a handful of hours.  As a result of their vigilance, only one mop cloth was stolen.   Since mop cloths are not part of American culture, you may not realize that this is a very minor thing indeed. 

Another little detail that Andrea neglected to tell any of us ahead of time was that their tradition required that they stay together for eight nights after the burial.  On that eighth night they had some kind of ritual for the deceased.  This is all part of Manguisa traditional religion.  What this meant was that our village house was overflowing with relatives for well over a week.  It was not safe for Damien to return to his family in Yaounde until after the last person moved out.  Imagine if Jim and I had been there!  How we praise God that He spared us from this adventure.

But in among all the chaos and confusion of that time, God was at work.  Damien and his wife had numerous opportunities to talk one on one with many of the several thousand people who were there.  They gave gospel tracts and scripture portions to well over 250 people who expressed an interest.  In fact people were coming to them asking for tracts.  Amazingly, not one single tract was thrown away.  And so we are asking the God of the Impossible to transform hearts, as only He is able to do.  It became abundantly clear to Damien and his wife that these people desperately need the Lord.  Night after night large numbers of them drank themselves into oblivion as they worshiped the false god of their ancestors.  We never question why we are here.  It's in our face every day.  People need the Lord!

Today is her big day.  We have a granddaughter who is celebrating 113,880 hours of life on planet earth today.  That's right...she has become a dreaded teenager!

Do you remember back when you finally turned thirteen?  As old as I am, I have not forgotten.  It seemed like that longed for all important date would never arrive.  My two older sisters had been letting me know in no uncertain terms that I was a "little kid" and my opinion didn't count until I were to reach the lofty position of "teenager".  And so I thought of little else for a very long time.  Truth be told, when I finally turned 13 way back on October 6, 1959, nothing magical happened.  Though I would never admit it to my sisters, I still felt the same as yesterday's "little kid".   

113,880 hours ago Grandpa and Grandma Tucker were in the United States.  In fact we had been with Corianna's parents and older brother, plus her other grandparents, at the time of her due date.  We were all hovering around, waiting expectantly for her arrival.  But she chose her own time as babies always do.  We had a speaking engagement in another state, and the other grandparents had to get back to work, so we all drifted off to our non-grand-parenting lives.  And then she came!  She was still pretty little when we met her for the first time.  How we hugged and rocked and held close this our very special second granddaughter who doubles as our fifth grand-baby.  We knew our time with her would be all too brief and then we wouldn't see her again for a very long time.  

In spite of the Big Pond that separates us  and the infrequent visits every two, three, or even four years, we have managed to build a relationship with this precious young lady who is turning 113,880 hours old even as we speak.  And so we dedicate this Blog to Miss Corianna Jane Tucker, the newest teenager in Arizona!  Keep walking with God.  That is all we ever ask of you.  And never ever forget that we love you with all our hearts.

The lights went out at 5:30 p.m. but it would be another hour before we learned why.  Power outages are fairly common around here.  We all jump into action, passing out solar lamps to our guests, making sure certain things are unplugged to protect against surges whenever the electricity might come back on, being extra vigilant because thieves love to climb the wall in pitch darkness, etc.  Lights go off whenever they will and they come back on when they feel like it.  We seldom learn why.

But last night was different.  When our 17 year old son Theirry came home from school around 6:30 p.m. he had a story to tell.  He reported that traffic was snarled up out beyond belief, and by the time his taxi was approaching MVAN, things were at a dead standstill.  There was only one thing to do.  He paid his fare, got out of the taxi, and started walking. Countless others were doing the same.  When he arrived at the intersection called MVAN and turned left, heading towards Shiloh, he was soon able to see the problem up ahead.  Partway down the big hill two electric poles had fallen down.  Thankfully they had not landed on cars or pedestrians, but they did fall across the heavily traveled road, blocking all traffic in both directions.  Since one of the poles had a transformer on it, firemen, policemen, and repairmen were there in numbers.  Clearly it was going to be a long night for them.  But Theirry was able to safely make his way around the mess and within a half hour of leaving his taxi, was back home at Shiloh.  

I was up at 3:30 and we were still in darkness.  Jim woke at 5 to discover that our bedroom light was shining down upon us as we slept.  So we are once again living in the lap of luxury with electricity, water, AND internet connection all at the same time!  Life doesn't get any better than this!!!

He's been a deacon at his church for a number of years now. Has a real heart for his brothers and sisters in Christ.  His wife sings in the choir.  He sits in the back of the auditorium and notices every new person who attends the services.  Always the first to greet them when they arrive.  Makes sure he visits with them afterwards.  It's a good sized church for here.  Maybe 250 men, women, and children.  

His behavior could be considered strange to the uninformed.  Each Sunday when prayer requests are taken, it's not uncommon for him to quietly slip out of the church and disappear for a period of time. Since he always returns long before the service is over, few notice his absence.  But the new pastor noticed, and the new pastor was upset with this deacon he had inherited when he agreed to pastor this congregation.  After a few weeks of observation he finally called the man into his office for a good dressing down.  What kind of a deacon was he anyway?  His highly unusual and irregular behavior had to stop.  It's a bad testimony to those sitting around him.  They will soon take faithfulness in church attendance just as lightly as the deacon does.  He simply cannot have people in his church popping in and out like tourists! 

When the new pastor finally wound down, the deacon quietly asked him "Do you know why you sometimes see me disappear?" And he proceeded to unfold his story.  If a prayer request were given for a particular member of the church who was sick, and whom he knew would be suffering all alone at their home, he went into action.  Quietly slipping out of the church building, he would drive to their home and check up on them.  He's one of the few in his congregation with a car, so going to their house and returning to church as quickly as possible was not a challenge for him.  Sometimes he would discover that the sick didn't have any water in their house.  Collecting all their water containers, he would drive to their nearest water source, fill them all, and transport them back to the home of the sick.  Maybe the sick hadn't eaten anything all day, so he would snoop around in their cook house and find something he could warm up for them to eat.  He would stay with them long enough to insure that they didn't need him to help in the feeding process.  But always, each and every time, no matter what, he would pray with them.  And when he slipped out of their house and quickly returned to church, he would leave them feeling loved, cared for, and special in the eyes of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  

He did it all with no fan fare, without the knowledge or permission of a soul, with a heart full of love for his brothers and sisters.  And now he was being called on the carpet by his new pastor!  Needless to say, the pastor who jumped to hasty conclusions without knowing the facts was duly chagrined.  And the deacon?  He's going right on being the hands and feet of Jesus.  Nothing has changed except his new pastor's perception of him.

What a story!  What a man of God!  What an honor to count this dear brother as one of our close friends.  There's nothing like a Cameroonian who is sold out to God.  They put us to shame every time.

We've gotten the official word now.  Harmattan ended on February 11th this year with that terrific storm that blew in out of nowhere.  That's waaaaay earlier than anybody can ever remember.  Normally we battle Harmattan dust and grit until mid-March, give or take.  But hey!  We're not complaining!!

And yes, we are knee deep in Spring housecleaning here at Shiloh, which  is still one of my very favorite times of the whole year.  (I know, I know, I'm a little bit crazy.)  Last year we declared that our sheer curtains in the living room and the dining room could last one more year, and then we would simply have to break down and buy some new ones.  So on Monday I'm trekking across town to my favorite market, which is also the largest market in all of Yaounde, and doubles as a thief's market. You can get absolutely everything there.  (Well that's not strictly true, but you get the idea.)  I'm taking Guy's wife Marie with me.  She's real good at bartering.  I'm not too shabby myself, but it's always best to go with someone.  A white lady walking through a crowded market all by herself is an open invitation to every thief for miles around.

We also promised ourselves that we would buy new curtains for the office doorway and for the upper hallway doorway, too this time around.  They are really shabby looking after ten long years of good, hard use.  But that will have to be another month.  One thing at a time.