With a grandson in the hospital in America right now, we are thinking contrasts in medical care.  

The saying among missionaries is that if you have to be hospitalized while in Cameroon, get yourself quickly back to the U.S.  If you are too sick to get the the States, then go to Europe post haste.  If you are too sick to get to Europe, and you might die if you don't get to a hospital ASAP, dying is not a bad option!  (And if you have ever been hospitalized here in Cameroon, that saying takes on new meaning.)

If you want to have a sheet on your hospital bed, you will need to take that with you.  You may or may not be provided with something that is loosely referred to as a "pillow".  Want to drink any water while in the hospital?  Better bring that with you, too.  Think you might be well enough to want to eat something?  Your only option is to bring food with you.  And by all means, DO NOT GO TO THE HOSPITAL WITHOUT A FAMILY MEMBER.  Someone will need to stay by your side in the hospital at all times to take care of various and sundry needs.  And to protect you from anything bad happening to you.  Like an IV being put in your arm without bleeding all the air bubbles out first.  A large enough air bubble in an IV tube can hasten your demise.  There are a whole host of other things you will want to be protected from.  In addition, your family member will be the one going to the hospital pharmacy to buy whatever medication or medical supplies that the doctor requires.  In other words, if you need that IV we were talking about, your person has to buy it and bring it to the nurse.  Sometimes it is possible to purchase medical supplies or medication direct from the nurses.  In this case, they are selling you items that have been donated by Western pharmaceuticals for use in poor countries.  The intention was that poor people would not have to pay for said donated items.  The practice is quite different. 

All in all, our grandson is so very, very blessed to have been born in the Land of Plenty to parents who love him dearly, and are able to provide him with the finest of medical care.  Had he been the son of a subsistence farmer in Eyene, for example, he would already be in Heaven.

He had us in stitches at the dinner table last night!  Been at Shiloh for nearly a week now.  We love this man to pieces.  He's a very strong believer, a fearless witness for our Lord, kind, interested in people, helpful, just a tremendous person.  And what a wonderful story teller.  He's been in many parts of the world.  Been everywhere.  Seen everything.  Done everything.  And knows how to capture and hold the attention of his audience. 

This is a true story.  Happened some years ago up in the Far North of Cameroon where he lives.  In their area the villagers hate monkeys.  Bands of monkeys come through the area and really wreak havoc with the crops.  So the solution is to have dogs.  Every farmer has his dog.  Fierce hunting dogs.  They tie a bell around the neck of their dogs so they don't loose track of them when they are out in the bush hunting for wild game.  Monkeys learn early in life that the sound of a bell (clang, clang, clang) means one thing.  A dog is chasing them.  They  fear dogs more than almost anything else.  

One farmer was so frustrated with the monkeys ruining his crops that he decided to do something about it.  Fashioned a trap out of wire.  Set the trap near his field of corn.  Sure enough, he captured a monkey!  This clever farmer tied a bell around the neck of his prisoner, and then released him back to the wild.  Off ran the monkey, happy to be free again.  Clang, clang, clang rang his bell.  He soon caught up with his particular band of monkeys.  You know, his brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, parents, the whole gang.  Problem was, when the band of monkeys heard the clang, clang, clang of his bell, they took off running for all they were worth.  They never stopped to investigate.  Why bother?  Monkeys know that sound means a dog is chasing them, and nothing else.  

About this time, a man from a distant village took off walking towards the farmer's village.  He needed to see a man from that village about something.  When he was deep in the forest, suddenly a band of monkeys rushed past him.  And running for all he was worth right behind them was a monkey with a bell around his neck, of all things!  (Clang, clang, clang.)  The band of monkeys raced high up into the trees to get away from the "dog".  Problem was, no matter how many trees they ran up into, and how many trees they ran down from, or how far or how fast they ran on the ground, the "dog" was clang, clang, clanging along behind them.  The man watched in utter amazement as this little drama played out in front of his eyes.  Finally the band of monkeys and their clanging companion disappeared over the horizon and the man continued on his journey.  Later on, when he reached the village, he told the villagers what he had witnessed.  How could a bell get around the neck of a monkey???  The farmer came forwarded and admitted that he was the one who had done it.  And to this day, the monkeys have never come back to his farm to steal his crops!

It's 3:30 a.m.  Been lying awake for half an hour now.  Sleep is an elusive notion.  Not contending with my frequent friend, insomnia, tonight.  Have the added benefit of living in Cameroon.  You see, while noise pollution laws are on the books (surely put there under the influence of some Western nation or another) they are rarely, if ever enforced.  And so we have the opportunity of enjoying all special events right along with the neighbors.  These include paying the bride price, the rare birthday party, weddings, funerals, death celebrations, and other events.  One must have music.  Lots of music.  Very loud music.  No, you're not thinking LOUD enough!  Music that rumbles through the night.  Penetrates closed shutters and equally tightly closed windows.  Music that is several notches too loud inside our bedroom.  Music that shakes the fillings out of our teeth.  Music that begins around 8 p.m. and will continue unabated until 5 or 6 a.m.  Music that makes us pray that our guests here at Shiloh, a spiritual retreat center, are finding a way to sleep in-spite of it all.

The really good news is that special events do not occur every Friday night.  Not even every month.  They come along without warning at infrequent intervals, for which we are grateful.  And yes, we have actually learned how to snatch a handful of hours of sleep in-spite of the noise.  It's just now, during the wee hours of the morning, when we must find creative ways to get back to sleep.  Listening to a sermon is a good idea.  That way, even if our bodies are not renewed with adequate sleep, at least our souls are refreshed. 

I've been away for a handful of days.  It's a secret.  Can't tell you where I've been.  Like Master Chief Tim always says "I could tell you [and usually there's a 'Dad' tucked in here] but then I would have to shoot you."  

Got back to Shiloh yesterday afternoon.  Shortly thereafter Jim received a phone call from a fellow missionary.  Felt compelled to explain to me after that call that he was giving his air compressor to said missionary.  GIVING HIS AIR COMPRESSOR AWAY???!!!!  My favorite hubby would sooner give his wife away than any of his precious tools!

"OK, who are you, and what have you done with my husband?" was my first thought.  Followed immediately on the heels of that was an audible question, "Are you planning on dying tonight?" 

Now that's a weird thing to say!   Or maybe not so weird if you know the context.  It has happened not once, but twice over these last 48 years of marital bliss that friends of ours have gotten their affairs in order, and then died.  

In once case (back when we were newly weds) the man was a notorious (albeit well loved) slob at work.  His desk always looked like a bomb had just exploded.  Then one Friday, quite out of the blue, he industriously spent the day clearing work off his desk, straightening things up, completing long over-due tasks, and in general shocking all his co-workers.  Then he went home, had a relaxing evening with his wife of many years, went to bed, and slipped quietly into Glory.  

Fast forward a good number of years to the second case.  This was a dear retired couple.  They spent that Friday returning things they had borrowed from various and sundry people (including my sewing machine) and in general, tied up a lot of loose ends.  After work they drove into town to do their weekly grocery shopping.  On their way back home, they were hit head on and ushered into the presence of our Lord.

Because Jim's wife has a twisted sense of humor, we have joked many times in recent years that if he were to ever get his workshop in order (he's a slob of the highest order) then I would know he was planning on dying.  And indeed, he's not ALLOWED to die and leave me with all this mess to deal with!

So now I'm worried.  He's given a tool away.  What next?  Well, as long as he doesn't give ME away, I guess we're OK.

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.

Did you hear what he just said??  He recounted an incident that took place maybe 22 or 24 years ago!

This morning we had occasion to be with a group of people we rarely see.  After the meeting, various friends from years back flocked around us to greet us and reminisce.  This one talked about when I visited them in their home when their third daughter was a baby.  He proudly reported that the baby I held is 20 years old now!  (Not possible!)  We were told by one man that he still repairs lawnmowers.  He  reminded Jim of all the lawnmower repair lessons he had given him so long ago.  Another talked about the time Jim spent two days with him teaching him how to repair his wife's old stove.  The local repair man said it could no longer be repaired, but Jim showed him how to take it all apart and make it work again.  

Just as we were saying good-by to this group of friends whom we may not see again for some time, one man turned to me and said "Madame, I will never forget Mr. Tucker.  He is the only missionary who helped me out when my father died.  None of the others did anything to help.  But Jim brought me a case of soft drinks.  That was such a big help for the burial dinner.  I will never forget Jim Tucker as long as I live!"  

How amazing!  Sometimes it's the little things that we do and quickly forget that make a deep and lasting impression on another. 

 

Last week, someone in America linked us up with an organization whose mission is to provide New Testaments and tracts in French (and other languages) for FREE.  Only those who live out here in Darkest Africa, and who have been struggling to find French tracts can appreciate our amazed reaction to this news.  We have found it next to impossible to find French tracts for sale, let alone for free.  

Yesterday we had an appointment with the National Coordinator for Cameroon.  Francis, Doris, and Mama Alice drove across town to reach his office.  When we arrived, we discovered that his secretary is someone we know.  She has been to Shiloh for a spiritual retreat on a number of occasions!  When she ushered us into the National Coordinator's office, to our complete surprise, we were face to face with a man who comes to Shiloh once a year for a spiritual retreat!  Amazing!

While the National Coordinator knows us well, and benefits from the ministry of Shiloh, he knew nothing of all the other aspects of our ministry.  And while we have known him for years, we knew nothing of what he is involved in.  Because of the long standing relationship, he did not hesitate to "load us up with" tracts and New Testaments in French.  He even told us that he would be happy to deliver more to Shiloh whenever our supply is running low.  

Our years of struggle are over.  What an amazing God we serve!!