Water prefers to run downhill.  It's a well known fact.  The small walled in yard surrounding Shiloh slopes gently down hill from front to back. These facts combine to create an interesting phenomenon here.  When the rains come, which, living in a tropical rain forest as we do, they come in torrential sheets, a small river flows under the car gate.  It travels down the driveway and on into the carport.  Eventually the low point of the carport fills and water then spills into the draining ditch running along the back of the property, ending up at an exit hole in the far back corner of our yard.  From there it flows onto the neighbors large garden, providing more than enough water for all his plants.   But flowing water has a tendency to pick up things and carry them along in the flow.  And so the neighbor's dirt from the property up the hill from us is steadily but surely relocating itself into the neighbor below's garden.  You would think that eventually the upper property would be completely void of soil, and that the property below would be rising to new heights, but that's not what's happening.  To the naked eye, everything seems to be exactly as it was when we moved in here the better part of ten years ago.  

So why are we talking about this phenomenon, you ask?  Good question.  Today we cleaned out the lower corner of the drainage ditch.  Lots of mud and gunk accumulates there until water can no longer flow on out to the lower neighbor's garden.  It's a several times a year project.  

Thought you should know that life at Shiloh is not all glitz and glamor.  Some days are full of the mundane.  And it does not get more mundane than shoveling mud.  But whatever we do, we do it all for the Glory of God. 

They're all  gone now.  The last two left at 6:30 this morning.  Shiloh is completely empty.  For the first time all month long.  Nobody in the house.  Nobody coming to Shiloh.  Our next reservation is for Friday.  With more coming on Saturday.  And on and on it will go.  Of course there are always those surprises.  Anybody could phone at any time.  Or send an email requesting a room.  Or just show up at the gate hoping against hope that there is a room just waiting for them.  

But this moment, this quiet moment, is a gift from God.  Back in the early years I used to be troubled by quiet days.  What are we doing wrong?  Why isn't anybody here?  Should we change this?  Or maybe we should change that?  I would look back in the reservation book to see what it was like this day one year ago.  And if I found that we were crazy busy back then, I'd be all worried.  Wondering what we had changed.  What we're doing to drive people away.  Slowly I figured it out.  Those down times, those quiet days, those are rare gifts from God.  He knows when we need to be quiet.  He knows when we need to re-group.  He knows when we need to recover.  He knows that it is OK to just be Papa Jim and Mama Alice without any guests at all.  And He does all things well.

So we've been enjoying a whole day of solitude.  Hours and hours of quiet.  Peace.  No pressure.  No keeping an eye on the time.  No last minute preparations.   Nobody knocking on our bedroom door.  Nobody ringing the bell at the gate.  It's been fantastic.  What a great gift.  

Tonight we are going to do something we do on rare occasions.  We're going to check out the bed in one of our guest bedrooms.  Several guests back we had a complaint from someone.  Said the bed was too soft.  When we quarried him, he allowed as how he has a bad back.  But  bad back or bad bed, we need to find out.  And so we will spend the night in that room and judge for ourselves.  We rarely get complaints about anything, but when we do, we always check it out.  Over the years we've spent the night in every single bed in the house, tried out every single bathroom, experienced Shiloh from every angle through the eyes of our guests.  And we've learned a lot.  Made a few tweaks here and there.  So if you hear our snores coming from a strange corner of Shiloh, you'll understand why.

Things are hopping at Shiloh.  Eight Cameroonians have come in from five countries for a four day conference.  They are sleeping at Shiloh.  Eating three meals per day in our dining room.  Conducting their meetings on the balcony.  And having coffee breaks both morning and afternoon.  

This is not the first time they have been to Shiloh.  In fact we've known the leader of this group since he was in his early twenties, back when he was just starting out in full time Christian work.  We've watched him grow up in the Lord over these past twenty some odd years.  We are always blessed when he comes to Shiloh, whether he's here individually or with his group.

Yesterday while setting the table for their first breakfast at Shiloh, one of the men stopped by to talk with me.  As we introduced ourselves he suddenly said "I know you.  We met at Dorothy Ngo's wedding in Belo."  Wow!  That was over ten years ago, up in the mountains above Bamenda in the North West Region.  And he remembers me?  

It's an honor having this group here at Shiloh.  It's one of the many fringe benefits  of this ministry.  It's true that they are keeping us busy, but it's a good kind of busy.  Serving ones who are impacting their world for our Lord is what we are all about.

 

We have banded together to pray for Marie.  Individually.  In our families.  As a team.  She's on our hearts continuously.  

What a shock it was for her to be with her father yesterday when he died so suddenly and unexpectedly.  And to have to sit there by his body while waiting for Guy to come.  

Guy who was called out of school.  Guy who scrambled to make emergency arrangements.  Informing his seminary professors that he would be missing classes for the time being.  Making arrangements for someone to pick the girls up after school and care for them until whatever time he and Marie would return home.  Phoning ones who could help him financially in this crisis moment.  And finally finding a bush taxi that would take him the hours drive to Marie.  

What must she have gone through.  The numbness that comes with shock.  All alone with death.  Not permitted to run away.  Chained there by cultural constraints.  

When it was all over, when Guy had finally arrived (just as quickly as humanly possible), when the hospital had been paid so the body could be released, when the body had been transported to the closest morgue and the required deposit paid, when they returned to the village to meet with a stunned and shocked family, when they were finally able to return to Yaounde and to their girls, when Marie lowered her exhausted body onto their bed, sleep evaded her.  She tossed and turned through what was left of the night.  Thoughts tumbling around in her head.  Emotions rising and falling.  Memories crowding on top of each other. 

We are committed to praying for her.  Often.  Continuously. Unfailingly.  We are united.  We are family.  We stand together. How grateful we are that she knows the God of all peace.  The Great I Am.  The One Who alone is able to carry her through this difficult time. 

She died on January 11th after a brief illness.  Since Marie, Guy's wife, had been named for this aunt, they had heavy responsibilities to bear.  The burial  was on Saturday, January 20th, out in the village.  Aunt Marie was Marie's father's sister, and the two of them were the last remaining ones in their family of origin.  And now she was gone.  The entire clan gathered together to lay her body to rest.  Shortly before the casket was closed, Marie's father began talking to his deceased sister.  He told her that she went away first.  And then he said that she should wait for him, he would be coming soon.  Guy overheard his father-in-law's words and was troubled by them.  

And then this morning Marie's mother phoned to tell her to get to the village quick.  Her father was in very bad shape.   She caught a bush taxi to the village and walked in the front door of the house within the hour.  Marie took one look at her father and immediately went in search of a taxi.  She accompanied him to the closest hospital, some distance away.  No sooner had she helped her father into his hospital bed, than he died.  Just like that.  No advance warning.  He was in good health when the family was altogether for the burial of his sister on Saturday.  Had remained in good health on Sunday and on Monday.  And now he was gone.  

We knew this man.  He stayed here at Shiloh on two occasions surrounding the marriage of Guy and Marie.  Since his youngest daughter married our son, he was part of our extended family.  We have visited him in his home in the village at least twice.  We established a audio Bible listening group in his home.  We will certainly be at his burial.  We have family obligations.

The saddest part of this death is that the father was not the least bit interested in our Lord.  Guy and Marie faithfully witnessed to him for more than ten years.  He didn't want anything to do with God.  And now it's forever too late.  

Papa Jim answered the phone shortly after noon.  Was he home?  Could the two pastors come over for a visit?  They would be "right there".  Since they were operating on Cameroonian time, their "right there" turned out to be three hours later.  

Papa Jim was home alone when they arrived.  He sat them down in the living room.  Gave them soft drinks.  Politely chatted away with them on whatever topic they chose.  Knew that sooner or later they would get to the real reason for the visit.  Sure enough, more than an hour after they arrived, they began explaining how God was leading their church to move to a new location.  (God gets blamed for an awful lot of things.)  

Bit by bit the real story began coming into focus.  The owner of the property they had been using wanted his land back.  They were given a deadline for getting off his property, which had come and gone.  They managed to find another place where they could temporarily relocate the church.  But they were fearful of having the same thing happen to them there in the near future.  So the best solution would be to buy land and build their own building.  

Amazingly, a search for vacant land in that part of town turned up a wonderful opportunity.  The parcel of land was way bigger than their little group of 20 would ever need.  But just think what they could do!  Once the land was bought and paid for, and a lovely, modern church building was built, they would have plenty of room left over for a school and even a hospital.  

At this point in the conversation the senior pastor pulled out a rather elaborate letter that they had had printed up.  It talked about all these wonderful, visionary plans.  And Jim Tucker's name was printed on the letter!  Would you look at that!  They had even selected how much money Papa Jim would of course be willing to contribute to the initial land purchase and how much he would then give for the church building.  It seems that Jim Tucker was to be the main benefactor for their elaborate vision.  The implication was clear.  Once the church was built, said Jim Tucker would continue producing money from his bottomless supply of funds to build the school and then the hospital.

Sadly, the two pastors left Shiloh empty handed.  But they will be back.  They simply have to come again and see if they can find Mama Alice at home.  Surely they will be able to convince her to convince her husband to get on board with this vision that is straight from God.  

I DON'T THINK SO!  But nice try guys!!!  Life is seldom dull at Shiloh.  (Did we mention that before?)

We were already in bed.  Grateful to have been able to get an early start on the night.  Our guests had been invited out for dinner which is why we had such luxury.  I was pulled back to semi-consciousness by the doorbell.  Reminding myself that the guard was on duty and would let the guys back in the house, I rolled over and settled in for more badly needed sleep.  (We've been meeting ourselves coming and going for endless busy days...loving every minute of interaction with this great group of helicopter mechanics, but wearing down to a frazzle.)  

Just as sleep was claiming me, the doorbell rang again.  Now who could that be??  Before long there was a knock on our door.  Stifling a groan, I rolled out of bed and threw on some cloths.  

"Mama Alice, there is a man at the gate who is looking for a room for the night," Joseph reported.

"Tell him it's late.  He can come back tomorrow at 8 a.m.  No, wait...there is someone else coming in tomorrow.  Tell him the house is full," I replied.

"But Mama Alice, there is a white man with him."

"A white man?? At this time of night??  OK.  I'll come down with you."

Taking Joseph's flashlight out of his hand, I began shining it in the crack between the metal gate and the cement block wall.  That crack has saved our bacon more times than we can count.  We conduct all kinds of business with people who are trying  to  seduce us into letting them inside Shiloh through that crack.  We love it!

OK, there are his eyes.  That's what I've been searching for.  The strategy  is to blind him with the flashlight.  Actually I only saw one eye, and I kept the light aimed on it the whole time.  

"Good evening.  I'm Reverend (whatever) and I need a room for the night.  I'm sorry to be arriving so late, but I've been walking around for a very long time, looking for a room for the night.  I've been going all through the neighborhood searching and searching.  Finally I found someone who talked about Shiloh.  But they didn't know where Shiloh was.  So I began asking everywhere if someone could direct me to Shiloh.  Finally I met the Koreans.  The Koreans told me they know where Shiloh is.  The Pastor (you know...M.E.C.K) tried to direct me to Shiloh, but I couldn't figure out where it was.  So he sent his son to guide me here.  I'm here with his son.  So please open the gate and let me have a room for the night."

This may not seem like a flaky story to the uninformed, but I could drive a Mac truck through the holes in his tale! At that point I needed to be extremely careful how I responded.  Any information a thief can inadvertently collect will be most useful for him next time around.  And the eye I was blinding clearly belong to a bad guy.  No question about it.  Won't bore you with the list of indicators in his narrative that screamed he was up to no good.  Suffice it to say, we've been around the block a time or two and can't be so easily taken in anymore.

I simply let him know that it was very late and we don't open our gate to anyone at this time of night.  It is dangerous for him (well, not HIM in particular...HE'S the dangerous one!) and it is dangerous for us, too.  

Once inside the house, Joseph told me that he had already told the man that it was too late, but the man insisted that he had to talk to the person in charge.  And that is what confirmed that our suspicions were correct.  Only a "bad guy" would act like that.  If he was on the up and up, he would have politely apologized for disturbing us and gone on his way. 

And the white person Joseph saw??  We have no idea who that was, or what that was all about.  I only saw the eye of a non-white person.  We're just grateful that God once again protected us from what would surely have been a theft, or worse.