She arrived in country four short months ago.  Recently widowed, in her mid-seventies, she wanted to make an impact for our Lord somewhere in this old world with her remaining time.  Signed on for a  two year commitment.  Lovely, cultured, educated, comfortably fixed, gracious, sparkling, never met a stranger.  Didn't know a word of French.  First time in Darkest Africa.  Jumped in feet first.  One by one won the hearts of everyone she saw.  Cameroonians fell in love with her openness, vivaciousness, love of life, and love of people.

But it didn't work out.  Circumstances intervened.  Two years reduced to four months.  She leaves tomorrow.  Back to America.  Back to her home town.  Back to the life she left with such promise and anticipation.  All too common a story.  Cameroon is hard on missionaries.  Eats them up and spits them out for lunch.  We've seen many come and go down through these last 26 years.

She's different though.  Without language, without length of service, managed to catch on to cultural things remarkably well.  Decided all on her own to throw her own going away party.  Wanted to celebrate relationships.  Invited 80 people.  Those closest to her.  All were complete strangers four short months ago.  Kind of makes you wonder how many close friends she might have had at the end of two years, had she been allowed to stay.  Not sure she realizes even now the deep impact she has made in such a brief time.  Nor how utterly culturally appropriate it is to eat a last meal with friends before you travel.  What an honor to have gotten to know her and to be numbered among the eighty.  We wish her God speed as we dab tears from our eyes.