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.