Their goal was to honor us and to bless us.  They wanted us to relax and have a lovely time at their home.  They invited the pastor's mother also.  She's just a few months younger than me and we are friends.  We did have a lovely time.  The food was delicious.  The children were delightful and very respectful.  They attend an English school so even the four year old can speak in English.  They speak French at home so they are growing up bi-lingual.  They live in an apartment complex that has the obligatory dreadful stairs.  And of course they live on the second floor.  But other than that, it was a lovely evening all the way around.  They showed us pictures of their lives, dating back to before they got married.  We traveled with them to South Africa via pictures where they received special training.  And we attended his graduation from seminary.  He received the outstanding student award.  There were darling pictures of the boys all dressed up in look-alike outfits.  And they even had pictures that we had taken of them when they were at Shiloh.  It's a lovely family and we are honored to call them our friends.

It's here!  Her U.S. visa arrived!  And now the little nine year old girl (whose the size of a five year old) is just waiting for her new parents to arrive on Monday night.  She's a combination of very excited and nervous, with excited winning most of the time.  We're going out to the airport together to pick up her new parents.  They know I'm coming but she will be a surprise.  They are anxious to get here.  They will be thrilled to see her when they first arrive.  It's fun to have a small part in this adventure.

God has opened wide the door of opportunity for us to sell things for our partners once again at the U.S. Embassy.  We used to sell through four different venues there, but then with new personnel and new regulations, everything was shut down.  Our partners have suffered from the lack of steady income.  But now that has all changed.  There's a new person in charge of one of the venues and she is eager to partner with us.  In fact she's giving us a special place to sell things.  She just send a message that we have sold four items already this our first day back at the Embassy!  Needless to say, we're pretty excited.

My dear friend just phoned.  She lives in a village up in the mountains above Bamenda.  Fighting has broken out in her village between the Separatist group and the Government solders.  Shootings, much killings.  It started first further up in the mountains in the village of her late husband.  We helped her bury him in the village a few months ago.  After his death she returned to her village to care for her elderly mother.  And this morning one of her many brothers showed up to carry she and their mother down into Bamenda town where it is a bit safer.  The civil unrest that is raging all over in the Northwest and Southwest is getting worse.  We don't know where it will end.  But we know the One Who is in control.  So we cling to Him.

When I turned 70 a year and a half ago we threw a party.  He and his wife were honored guests.  And he was so impressed with all that happened at the party that he went home and shared it with his mother.  She was so moved by everything that she decided to throw her own 70th birthday party a handful of months later.  And we were invited.  Now his mother is starting to slow down.  He's noticing it more and more.  Things she used to be able to do, lift, move, or tackle, she can no longer do.  She wears out faster.  She runs down quicker.  She's slowed down.  And the aches and pains are multiplying in her body.  It's been a stark reminder to him that mom won't always be with him.  One day she will be gone.  He better appreciate her while he has her.  And then his mind wandered to Papa Jim and Mama Alice.  We too must be living with the declines of aging.  So he and his wife have decided they want to honor us.  They have created a special event at their house just to let us know how much they appreciate all we have done for them in particular, and for uncounted numbers of other Cameroonians.  They want us to feel loved and valued while there is still time, because one day we will no longer be here.  Life is like that.  It has an end.  Well, we're looking forward to Saturday.  Whatever they have planned for us will be special.

I know what you're thinking.  "How can anyone ever sleep through all that noise!"  I would have said the same thing back in the beginning.  But after living for 27 years in a country where noise pollution laws actually exist, but are never enforced, you get to where it's not so bad.

Last night one of our neighbors hosted an event.  We couldn't really tell what it was all about.  Maybe a birthday party?  Maybe celebrating a promotion at work? Maybe a wedding?  It certainly was not a funeral.  The music was not somber and there was no wailing.  Whatever it was, it began around six in the evening and went right through until six in the morning.  Full volume.  Full tilt.  Drums vibrating. Music at near distortion levels.  Outbursts of noise from happy  people.  It sounded like they were in the bedroom with us.  But you just roll over and go to sleep.  There is nothing else to do about it.  Thankfully it is not an every day event. 

He comes to Shiloh from time to time for a spiritual retreat.  It was day three of a four day retreat when the call came.  His teenage son had been beat up at school.  He dropped everything and ran to the hospital.  At the end of the day he returned to collect his things and go back home early.  Told us they were praying that if it is God's will his son will live.  It's touch and go right now.  We promised to pray for them.  What a dreadful thing to have happen.

Just back from the village.  It's mango season.  Brought piles and piles of mangoes back with us.  Washed them in a weak bleach solution. Removed the pealing.  Cut them into pieces.  Filled countless zip lock bags with delicious mango chunks.  Stored them in the freezer.  Will be enjoying them all year long.  We make yummy mango drinks.  Delicious mango bread.  To die for mango cake.  And we're always on the lookout for other interesting ways of eating mangoes.  You may live in the Land of Plenty, but you don't know what you are missing out on by not living in Mango Land!

She was adorable.  Trying with all her might to keep up with her four older siblings.  Full of smiles.  Jabbering.  And then she fell sick and in a blink of an eye, she is gone.  A statistic.  Malaria claimed one more life.  It's still a bigger killer than AIDS.  The very young and the very old are the most vulnerable.  

For this poor family who live just down the street from us, the light went out.  Mom was home alone with the kids.  Dad had found a temporary job that took him out of town for a period of time.  But now he has to rush back home and take charge of plans to bury his precious youngest. It's all so sad.  Death is very real out here on the Dark Side of the Moon. 

 The nine year old girl staying at Shiloh who is soon to be adopted into an American family has been a very quiet child.  She rarely talks to us.  She talks a bit more to our Cameroonian team than to Papa Jim and Mama Alice.  We're pretty white, you know.  But then a couple of days ago Doris brought her three year old little girl to work with her and did things change!  Suddenly there was lots of laughter, chattering, giggling, whispering, and other girl kinds of things going on.  Turns out this child is able to talk non-stop.  And acts pretty much like any other child you might bump into anywhere in the world.  The girls have not minded that the one speaks more Sango than French.  They have not minded that they come from two different countries.  It bothers them not in the least that their cultures are quiet different.  They're just kids being kids.  Having fun.  Playing.  Amazing!

I guess we haven't seen it all.  I mean, after establishing and operating a spiritual retreat center twelve years ago (and living right inside the fishbowl called Shiloh) we've had literally thousands of guests stay with us.  Some come for a day retreat while others may stay for up to a month.  And do we have the stories to tell!  Some publishable and some not.  For a long time now we have repeatedly declared that we have seen it all.  Nothing shocks or surprises us any more.  Until today.

I guess we're not really shocked in the strictest sense of the word.  Maybe flummoxed would be a better way to describe our reaction to what is going on. You see, we have this person staying at Shiloh who has gotten her nose out of joint because of something our cook said to her yesterday.  She has chosen to hole up in her room and not come out.  And our cook didn't say anything wrong.  He was simply describing to her the rules and regs for using our kitchen.  She's supposed to be a Christian but we don't know her well enough to know if she is real or fake.  We have both kinds here at Shiloh.  We aren't sure how long she will be on her self imposed strike.  We do know she is supposed to be with us for a number of days.  We're not entirely sure what, if anything, we are supposed to do about this if it goes on much longer.  One thing we know for sure, the next time this happens to us, we will be old pros and know exactly what to do.  But for the time being, we're groping in the dark, hoping we won't blunder too badly. 

Adoption.  It's an interesting subject.  There are pros and cons.  It's viewed differently in different cultures.  For example Cameroon.  They are strongly against adoption in the Western sense of the word.  They have their own form of adoption, however.  When a person dies leaving behind children to be finished being raised, the large extended family holds a meeting.  This meeting traditionally takes place in the village the day after the burial of the child or children's parent.  They collectively decide the fate of the newly orphaned child.  Maybe the child will be handed off  to a widowed grandmother, or to an uncle who is gainfully employed and thus able to take on another mouth to feed.  Or maybe the child will be given to an aunt who does not have any children of her own.  After a period of time when this person no longer wants the orphaned child, it is handed off to another member of the extended family.  And in almost every case, the orphaned child is treated as little more than a slave in the home of whomever he is living with.  The child belongs to the tribe and the tribe does not want to loose the future potential of that child.  If it is a girl, she has the potential of bringing a obscenely large bride price to the extended family if marriage is in her future.  However if it is a boy, he is even more valuable when he grows up.  He and his generation are the ones who will carry the tribal traditions into the next generation.  He will produce heirs who will keep the tribe vibrant and alive.  This is their age old system.  And though it is not perfect, it is their system, and it does work for them.  Cameroonians are not happy when Westerners invade their tradition and adopt their orphaned children.  

We have an adoption going on at Shiloh right now.  It's a nine year old girl from the Central African Republic, one of our neighbors.  She arrived at Shiloh on Sunday night with the house parents from an orphanage in CAR.  They will be with us for three weeks, taking care of all sorts of things such as a medical exam.  Then when all the final things are in order, the adoptive parents will arrive from America.  They will stay with us at Shiloh for 2-5 days, depending on how long it takes to finalize everything.  Over the years we've had all sorts of children and their care givers stay at Shiloh.  And we've had all sorts of adoptive parents join them, overlap for a couple of days, and then fly off to America or Canada to begin their new life together.  And we do what we can to help them transition into this major change. 

She called yesterday morning.  Wondered if we would let her come in the afternoon and maybe take some cuttings from our plants.  Sure!  No problem!  We've given cuttings of our lovely plants to many, many people.  They've even been carried to the country of Central Africa Republic, and to all sorts of towns in Cameroon.  Besides which, most all of our plants began life as little cuttings we begged off various and sundry missionaries.  So why not pass it on?  Well, she came. We gave her a tour of our plants.  Answered all her questions about how to care for them, how tall they grow, etc.  She selected the ones that caught her eye and went back home to begin sprucing up their yard, too.

And then today an amazing thing happened.  Someone else showed up this afternoon bearing four exotic plants in hanging baskets.  They're all different varieties of tropical orchids from a neighboring country, sent to us by a fellow missionary.   Amazing!  One simply cannot out-give God.  That's all there is to it!

I entered the bank at twenty minutes after ten this morning.  Walking through the lobby, past lines of people waiting to see the tellers, I opened the door to a small side room and went inside.  Three bank employees were in their regular place, sitting behind glass, waiting on customers.  There was a Middle Eastern man sitting in front of the last window, and an older Cameroonian man sitting in front of the first window, in the only other chair.  Two other younger Cameroonian men were standing off to the side.  The older gentleman immediately stood and gave me his chair.  I'm always impressed with the level of respect that is given to an older person in this culture.  It didn't take many seconds for my attention to be drawn to the Middle Eastern man.  I tried not to state.  In fact, we all tried to avert our eyes and at least appear circumspect.  After all, we were in this little side room because we were either making large deposits or large withdrawals.  Large sums of money should not make us stare.  But we couldn't help it.  It took two employees to wait on the gentleman in question.  He kept producing large bundles of money and piling them up in front of one window and then the other.  The ladies kept reaching for one bundle after the other, removing rubber bands, and putting them in their counting machines.  As soon as one mound of money was counted, re-banded, and put off to the side, the gentleman removed more bundles and set them on the counter. The entire thirty minutes I was in the small side room, it never stopped.  Finally I realized that he had a large back pack on the floor next to his chair.  He kept removing endless stacks of money and handing them off to the ladies to be counted.  When the money I was withdrawing (all the support we have received for this month) was handed to me by the first employee, it looked so paltry in comparison to the unending supply of money that was flowing out of the back pack.  As I walked out of the small side room, back across the lobby, and out of the bank, all I could think of was Heaven.  That excessively large amount of money I had spent the last half hour staring at was absolutely nothing in comparison to what awaits us in Glory someday.  As the song we used to sing says "This world is not my home.  I'm just a passing through.  My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue."  You can have everything this world has to offer, just give me Jesus.