You are Daddy

This is one of my favorite Cameroonian worship songs. We sing it in French, so I've provided a translation. If you'd like to hear it, send me an e-mail and I can attach a recording of myself singing it. Dieu d'amour, Tu es Papa. Le Tout-Puissant est Papa. Le créateur est mon Père. Dieu d'amour, Tu es Papa. Mon Dieu je t'aime. (3x) Tu es mon Papa. God of love, You are Daddy. The Almighty is Daddy. The creator is my Father. God of love, You are Daddy. My God I love you (3x) You are my Daddy.

Why manna's only good today

Every week before our staff meeting, we have devotions. This week, one of my colleagues shared a blog post from one of his favorite Christian singers. You can read it here. The post is about God's provision of manna for the Israelites. Every day, he sent food for them, and they just had to gather it. They had strict instructions to only gather enough for that day--just their "daily bread" (except for the day before the Sabbath, when they gathered for two days). Despite that warning, the Israelites sometimes tried to gather extra. Just in case. Perhaps they thought that God was generous and trustworthy that day, but maybe he wouldn't be tomorrow. The problem was, manna wasn't just manna, and their reactions weren't only a sign of physical need. What they did with what God gave them showed their underlying beliefs about God. Gathering enough for one day showed they believed God was an everyday God, the Father who would cared for the sparrows and would certainly feed them. Gathering ahead warned of a belief that God was capricious, changeable. Ironically, when they tried to gather ahead, the manna rotted the second day--so much for trying to out-plan God. God doesn't give me literal manna. I have to send my househelp to market for the delicious starches here--plantain, sweet potatoes, rice, potatoes. But he does provide for me through the partnership of my brothers and sisters back home, who support me financially. Even though I know that, I'm not that different from the Israelites. Sometimes I realize how few things I actually own. I live in a furnished, rented apartment. Even most of my kitchen tools are rented. I don't have a house or a car. This makes me more mobile, more willing and able to accept ministry positions anywhere in the world. But sometimes it's also unsettling. Bingo. That's what makes me a sister to the Israelites. Like them, I have a tendency to rely on created things rather than the Creator. To trust in my cattle, rather than the God who owns the cattle on a thousand hills. To think that through my work, perhaps I can sustain myself, even store up a bit for the future. Not that it's bad to plan or to save. But God says to seek first his kingdom, and the things that we need will be added to us. Please pray for me, that my heart would seek the kingdom of God and trust him to provide my daily bread.

Hello baby Nina!

This little girl, Essama Crossley Ann Nina, was just born to two of my best Cameroonian friends, Essama Alain Didier and his wife Chimaine. During her last two months of pregnancy, the doctors put Chimaine on bed rest, so many people prayed fervently for a safe delivery. Our prayers were answered on Tuesday, and this beautiful baby arrived. Yesterday I visited her and was amazed at her tiny perfection. She and her mother will come home on Monday. Thank you to everyone who prayed for her and her mother. Please continue praying that God will bless this family with his love and provision.

What I do all day

To give you some idea of what my job is like, please indulge me as I run
down my Thursday. Thursdays are my busy days at school, so perhaps
they’re not the best picture of my work, but frankly, every day is a
busy day at RFIS.

6:45 Get on the teacher van to travel from my apartment to the school
site, about 15 minutes away

7:15-8:30 Prepare lesson plans while sipping a cup of coffee

8:30-9:30 Check in the middle schoolers for weekly chapel, sing while
students lead worship, listen to a parent guest speaker

9:30-9:40 Break—eat local peanuts and a tiny wedge of cake, drink a bit
of coffee

9:45-10:45 ¡Teach Spanish!

10:45-11:45 Teach Algebra 1

11:45-12:45 Teach a hybrid English language/literature class for a few
Korean students

12:45-1:20 Lunchtime—I supervise campus on Thursdays, so I ate my
cabbage and plantain lunch in between making rounds

1:20-2:20 Supervise study hall, which includes helping seventh graders
with their math homework

2:20-3:20 Grade algebra homework, tell a colleague her seventh graders
struggled with their math homework, give an Ewondo literacy primer to a
friend and colleague who’s hoping to learn to read his mother tongue (he
already reads in French and English)

3:30-4:15 Spend time in a small group with ninth grade girls, talking
about our favorite verses and singing

4:20-4:50 Meet with two algebra students, learn they didn’t understand
class expectations, explain grading policy, give them a chance to bring
up their progress report marks

4:50-5:05 Try to go for a walk, get foiled by the mud

5:05-6:00 Check e-mail and facebook, write a blog post

6:00 Go home to make dinner, maybe read a bit or watch a TV episode with
my neighbors

Celebrating a year of adventure

Last Saturday, August 20th, marked the one-year anniversary of my
arrival in Cameroon. Feeling both blessed and accomplished, I decided to
throw a small party for myself on Wednesday after school. I invited a
motley assortment of friends: my boss, neighbor, and close friend Lois;
the Korean PE teacher who recently moved to my area of town; the new
Bible teacher at RFIS; and a good friend from Cameroon who coaches
basketball at RFIS. Only after making these plans did I realize that I
was the only U.S. citizen who would be there; my two Canadian colleagues
formed the majority.

I look forward to coming home from school on Wednesdays to a kitchen
full of fresh fruits and vegetables, purchased at the market and cleaned
by my very efficient househelp, Doris. This week, I added chicken to my
usual items including papayas, carrots, onions, and tomatoes.
Cameroonians often serve chicken at celebrations, as it's more expensive
than fish or beef, so I decided that I would follow that cultural norm.
However, this was the first time I had asked Doris to buy a whole
chicken in the market, and I wasn't sure what to expect. I've been to
the main market a few times and smiled at the vendors gripping docile
chickens by their feet. My stomach is strong, but I still didn't want to
deal with feathers, so I wrote "1 whole chicken, cleaned" on my list and
hoped for the best.

When I came home from school, the chicken was in Ziploc bag in my
freezer because I still haven't explained the difference between the
fridge and the freezer to Doris. Immediately, I shook my head-it still
had its feet. "Okay," I calmed myself, "There's a lot of meat on the
feet. Maybe I can boil them for broth." I pulled the chicken out, hoping
it wasn't too solid yet, and started thawing it in the sink while I
chopped and liquefied chiles for its sauce.

With the sauce ready, I steeled myself to hack the chicken into chunks
that would fit into my frying pan. While maneuvering the bird so that I
could chop off the feet, I flipped it over and jumped back, yelling to
no one in particular, "It still has a head!" Only slightly disturbed, I
continued my dismemberment, discovering along the way that the organs
had been left in along with the head and the feet. I slipped them into a
plastic bag with the head and feet and left Doris a note that she could
take them home if she wanted them. It wouldn't be that hard to learn how
to prepare and eat them, but sometimes I don't have the energy for such
undertakings.

With the most unpleasant task over, I browned and simmered the bird,
boiled rice with herbs, sliced an avocado and set out the table for my
friends. Bursting with Mexican flavor, the chicken was a hit--one friend
who doesn't even usually like chicken complimented me on it. It looks
like this little adventure may need to be repeated.

A Saturday in my Cameroon life

Saturday started in the wee small hours of the morning, when the crescendo of a rainstorm pulled me out of bed to close my windows, then to lie awake listening to the rising cacophony of thunder that sounded like it had wrapped itself around my apartment.

I got up early and spent more time on my Bible reading than usual, comparing two passages from Genesis and Romans. Next I showered, marveling at the excellent pressure and warm water that I quickly had as a result. For breakfast I got out a mango, a slice of wheat bread with cream cheese and raw honey, a glass of fresh pineapple juice, and a cup of hot coffee. A Cameroonian friend and her daughter stopped by before I had finished eating, and I visited with them for a few minutes before they left to pick up her daughter’s report card.

When I had finally finished eating and collecting everything I needed to go out and about, including my ID, phone, keys, a sunhat, and a length of fabric, I headed down the road to a nearby tailor. He sewed my favorite dress for me in December, but because my French wasn’t very good at the time, I paid more than I meant to and hadn’t been back since. The fabric that I have today is a burgundy with gold and pink embroidery and elaborate edging, and I like it too much to give to a tailor I don’t trust, so I’ve decided to try him again. This time his bilingual assistant was there and could help me communicate my concerns. After expressing my monetary limits and admiration for the quality of his work, I pulled out the fabric and we decided on a dress that he could sew within my price range. I am very hopeful that the dress he makes will be both beautiful and practical. If it does turn out well, I may have just found a consistent tailor to go to, a feat that is similar to finding a hairdresser in the States.

After the tailor, I headed up to the administrative center, stopping to say hello to a couple young women with roadside stands just before the entrance. One in particular has taken to greeting me very warmly and saving an avocado to give to me. After speaking briefly with them, I continued on my walk. I kept my eyes out for anyone else that I might want to greet, from Silvan, who sewed a skirt for me once, to a fruit vendor nearby that I call “Mama,” a title of respect for any older woman. Neither of these women are out, so I briefly greet the guards on my way into the center and begin my exercise, walking on the gravel path. On my second loop I check the guava trees for fruit, thinking that it would be nice to have a small gift to offer in exchange for the avocado. Last night’s rain has knocked down several, so I examine them for bugs and place the clean ones in my purse. On the other end of the loop, I stop to greet several Cameroonian friends who are playing volleyball at a weekly ministry targeted toward athletes.

Realizing that I have work to do, I head home shortly, handing out guavas to a couple of the women that I greet regularly. Once at the apartment, I take an hour to answer e-mails, then fry up some plantains to share at my Canadian neighbor’s typical Saturday lunch gathering of volleyball players. After a somewhat exhausting but enjoyable visit filled with French jokes that I don’t understand, I head back to my apartment for a quick nap. The next item that I must address is the final exam for my Spanish students, and I spend a couple hours immersed in all the grammar, culture, and vocabulary that I’ve covered this year, finally giving up without finishing so I can wash the dishes.

With the dishes done, I realize I’m almost late for dinner. A couple friends have invited me to meet a pastor from Equatorial Guinea, the only Spanish-speaking country in Africa, which also happens to border Cameroon. I came to Cameroon looking for possible other ministry positions, and have been very interested in the prospect of being able to apply my Spanish in Africa. We spent a rather bizarre linguistic evening, as Pastor Endje spoke several African languages, French, and Spanish, but no English, one couple spoke good Spanish and English, another spoke only English and French, and I speak good English and Spanish and somewhat workable French. Translating for each other as needed, we managed to discuss what God is doing in Equatorial Guinea. The pastor has recently begun preaching to his people in Bassek, their mothertongue, and has seen great responses. The language group has a bilingual school in the works, as well as a church and an alphabet. At the end of the evening, we prayed for these projects, that God would be praised through all of them. You can pray with us for more workers for all of these projects so that the Bassek can fully worship God in their own language by having the Scriptures in their mothertongue.

Arriving home from this inspiring gathering, I set to work making a birthday cake for a friend’s surprise party tomorrow. After getting the batter in the pan and lighting the oven, I realize that my gas is out, which leaves me here. I’m going to bed. Tomorrow I will bake the cake before I go to church.

Je Suis dans la Joie

This morning at a women's breakfast, we sang my favorite French worship song. It was the first time I had seen the words written down, which meant it was also the first time that I understood the first half. I wanted to share it with you, especially as we approach the celebration of Jesus' resurrection and our life and joy in him.

Je Suis dans la Joie

Je chanterai de tout cœur le merveilles de mon papa Yahweh
Il m’a ôté des ténèbres, il m’a délivré de tout pèche.
Mon Papa est fidèle ; il ne m’abandonne jamais.
Je n’ai plus rien à craindre car Yahweh m’a libéré.
Je suis dans la joie, une joie immense.
Je suis dans l’émotion car Yahweh m’a libéré.

I am in the joy

I will sing with all my heart the wonders of my dad Yahweh
He has removed me from darkness, he has delivered me from all sin.
I no longer have anything to fear because Yahweh has liberated me.
I am in the joy, an immense joy,
I am so excited because Yahweh has liberated me.

Peanut Butter Ice Cream

My apologies for my absence from the blog; I was enjoying a delightful school holiday. Beyond a trip to the beach, lots of reading, a few days planning for this semester, and learning to clean and cook fish, I also made some delicious peanut butter ice cream using a super-easy recipe. I love using local ingredients in creative ways, and high-quality peanuts are abundant and affordable here. Here goes:

Peanut Butter Ice Cream

1 14-oz can sweetened condensed milk
1 14-oz can unsweetened condensed milk
1 cup dry, roast peanuts (out of the shell)
1 tablespoon vanilla

In a blender, combine the sweetened condensed milk and the peanuts. Gradually add the unsweetened milk until the mixture is homogeneous. Blend in the vanilla.

Pour this mixture into a freezer-proof bowl and place in the freezer. Allow to sit for 3-4 hours, or until the ice cream is soft-set. Remove from the freezer and use a mixer to beat until about double the size. Put in a freezer container and allow to completely freeze. Serve with your favorite toppings!

I am wonderfully made

This week was Special Emphasis Week at the school, with a focus on Self Awareness. Within this theme, we shared a lot from Psalm 139, praying that the students would understand that they are created by God and very much beloved by him. On Thursday, the female teachers spoke to the girls about our worth in Christ, especially regarding our beauty. We read them Psalm 139: 14 "I will praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; marvelous are your works, and that my soul knows very well."

In the afternoon, I met with my small group, which is composed of four Cameroonian students, one Korean, and one American. As we talked about the message in the morning, two of the Cameroonians mentioned that the verse reminded them of a song. I asked if they would sing it for me, and was almost in tears by the end at the beautiful way it summarized everything we had been talking about this week. I wish I could sing it for you, but the lyrics are as follows:

I am joyfully made.
I am wonderfully made.
I resemble God.
I belong to him.

That is why the devil trembles
Whenever he hears me say
I am God's own
and the apple of his eye.

Friday Rhapsody

It’s 4:59 on Friday afternoon; time for the communal teacher bus to leave. I pack my computer, pick up a couple textbooks that I need for planning over the weekend. Not everyone is ready, but I am done working, so I step out onto the balcony outside the office. A burst of red orchids draws my eye and I step closer, inhaling, hoping for an exotic aroma. Instead, I notice a small brown beetle, inching down the wire that suspends the orchid pot. He crawls down gingerly, pausing when a breeze causes extra turbulence. Past him, the sun paints the palm trees a buttery yellow.

Finally we are all ready. The van is only half full; many of the teachers left an hour earlier to start their weekends. The van opens like an oven. Hot air rolls over us, and we quickly slide open windows as we pile in. The crickets and birds beat a rhythm, God’s soundtrack to our departure. With windows open, the red dust flies as we pass the gate, waving at the guard. The sun has sunk and the light is more filtered as we pass dark-headed children bathing at public wells, their mothers washing clothes or peeling manioc. As the palm trees pass and the breeze stirs my hair, the moment reaches perfection.

We reach town again and pass more women in intricately patterned fabric. Squeezing through the narrow streets, we come to the corner market, smelling beignets and grilled fish, me looking for the sour, pitted vegetable that Cameroonians call a plum. I avert my eyes from the drivers as we pass the motorcycle stop. Today I do not want to field marriage proposals. The familiar tailor shops are hanging out new dresses. Many celebrate the upcoming International Women’s Day, when women will march and wear the same fabric to show their solidarity.

A dozen bars and beauty shops later, we are turning into our street, and my stomach jumps at the bump from paved to unpaved road. I look around carefully, checking to see if any neighbors are out so that I can greet them. When we pull in, I wait for my neighbors and we walk back to our building, meeting a friend who sells fresh juice along the way. She carries up my bottle of papaya nectar and I hunt for exact change to pay her.

Later I will venture out to look for a Malta, a beverage I’ve been thinking about for the last few days. I will not find it. All the little shops have run out. On the way back, I will stop by the fruit vendor outside my apartment, who is saving me a sweet pineapple. For now, though, I just want to change into some lighter, looser clothing. It has been a full day.

Psalm 86

Life is hard and God is good. Those words have been my song through the last couple weeks. Sometimes I feel my "to do" list looming over me, waiting to crash down on my head if I miss planning for a class or responding to an e-mail, if I forget to pick up money or pay my househelp, if I miss an appointment or don't plan well for a speaking engagement. Psalm 86 expresses so well what I feel in those moments:

Psalm 86
A prayer of David.

1 Hear me, LORD, and answer me,
for I am poor and needy.
2 Guard my life, for I am faithful to you;
save your servant who trusts in you.
You are my God; 3 have mercy on me, Lord,
for I call to you all day long.
4 Bring joy to your servant, Lord,
for I put my trust in you.

5 You, Lord, are forgiving and good,
abounding in love to all who call to you.
6 Hear my prayer, LORD;
listen to my cry for mercy.
7 When I am in distress, I call to you,
because you answer me.

8 Among the gods there is none like you, Lord;
no deeds can compare with yours.
9 All the nations you have made
will come and worship before you, Lord;
they will bring glory to your name.
10 For you are great and do marvelous deeds;
you alone are God.

11 Teach me your way, LORD,
that I may rely on your faithfulness;
give me an undivided heart,
that I may fear your name.
12 I will praise you, Lord my God, with all my heart;
I will glorify your name forever.
13 For great is your love toward me;
you have delivered me from the depths,
from the realm of the dead.

14 Arrogant foes are attacking me, O God;
ruthless people are trying to kill me—
they have no regard for you.
15 But you, Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God,
slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.
16 Turn to me and have mercy on me;
show your strength in behalf of your servant;
save me, because I serve you
just as my mother did.
17 Give me a sign of your goodness,
that my enemies may see it and be put to shame,
for you, LORD, have helped me and comforted me.