Metcha Day

Tomorrow is Metcha day. It marks the 6th anniversary of the day that Annabella and I met, the day she came home with me, first as a precious little patient and later as my beloved daughter. What a wonderful and unexpected gift God gave me in her!

Tomorrow is also, hopefully, the day that we meet with the president du tribunal (presiding judge) that will rule in Annabella's adoption case.

 

 Please pray for us.

Pray for peace in my heart.

Pray that we would rely on God in the midst of stressful circumstances.

Pray for wisdom and a spirit of justice for the judge.

Pray for safe travel to the courthouse which is about 90 minutes away on dangerous roads.

Pray against corruption in Cameroon courts.

Pray that this process, which has taken nearly 6 years already, will proceed quickly from this point forward.

Pray that God would finally cause us to be a family in the eyes of the law.

The Bondage of Lies

I just got a call from a friend in the village with more bad news. But first, let me give you a bit of background.

A family from a distant camp called Mbang came to Mayos a few weeks ago for the death celebration of an elderly relative. During their time here, the two youngest children fell ill with a virus that has been making its rounds in Mayos. The older one required antibiotics for a secondary infection, but the youngest only needed fever reducer at that time. Yesterday, a week after I first treated the children, the mother brought the youngest child, named Motɛ (Mow-Tay) with symptoms of severe respiratory distress. She had pneumonia, and had been quite ill for two days already. Others in the camp had told the parents to bring her for medicine, but they chose traditional medicine instead. This involved making small cuts in the baby's skin, sucking the bad magic out and applying a poultice of crushed leaves. Cords are then tied around key areas of the child's body for protection. It didn't work.

When little Motɛ arrived, she was already quite compromised and looked as if she could die at any moment. I did what I could medically, prayed and waited to see if she would improve or get worse. There was no improvement, but she didn't seem to be getting worse just yet. I checked on her throughout the day and gave her more medication in the evening, instructing the mother to stay put so that I can keep an eye on her and continue giving the necessary medications. But, early in the morning, while it was still quite dark, the father arrived and took mom and baby from their bed. They bundled up the child and walked the three kilometers back to Mayos in the dark on a road recently muddied from a hard rain.

I awoke this morning to find them gone. The story that I heard regarding the reason for their return to Mayos was as follows. "The father thinks the baby is sick because they stayed in Mayos too long. If they had not come here, she would not have been sick. They tried to remove the bad magic, but it didn't work, so they tried white man's medicine. They want to return to Mbang. They will stop here for another injection in the morning on their way back to their camp."

When I first arrived in Cameroon, I would have taken those words at face value and been quite confused about how a prolonged stay in a different camp could make a child sick. I would have been frustrated that they waited so long to come for help when it was obvious that the child would die if they didn't do anything. I still get confused and frustrated, but for different reasons now. You see, the Baka, like many people in this world, are enslaved to the father of lies. They believe that, in order to avoid catastrophy, they must appease the spirits. If they offend the spirits, they have to somehow make it right. If someone dies, that person's spirit can stick around and cause problems for others, including sickness and more death. Their lives are filled with animistic practices designed to restore a good relationship with the spiritual forces at work in their lives. The problem is that they can never appease the spirits. The father of lies doesn't want a right relationship. He only wants to rule and ruin their lives.

Satan's lies are the reason why this family spent precious time trying to remove bad magic. Satan's lies told them that the child got sick because she stayed too long in Mayos, where evil spirits could invade her body. Satan blinded them to the fact that the virus that infected their children and the subsequent secondary bacterial infections were things that nearly everyone has been suffering from in Mayos, and that they were treatable with modern medicine and prayer.

Don't get me wrong. I am not blind to sin's role in this whole affair. I believe that the family had a responsibility to care for their child. I believe that they have the capacity to accept the truth and do what is right for her. I believe that they neglected her. I believe that their sin of irresponsibility and neglect contributed to her sickness.

The call I got a few minutes ago was to inform me that little Motɛ Eveline had died.

Pray with me for freedom from this bondage of lies. Please pray for Motɛ's parents. Pray for their other children, especially in this time of mourning. Pray that this family would encounter the Author of Truth. Pray that they would find harmony with God by accepting the shed blood of the Truth Giver as payment for their sin. Pray that their lives would explode with truth, spreading it among everyone with whom they come in contact.

Bɛ na sepea joko doto

Something amazing happened last weekend, something that we have been praying for. Something that flew in the face of Satan's plans for the Baka. Something filled with sorrow and with hope.

I participated in a brand new kind of celebration. It was a "bɛ na sepea joko doto." Roughly translated, that means "celebration to rejoice in a life well lived." It was the first Baka celebration of its kind, and it was to celebrate the life of my friend Dali.

Let me tell you why this celebration was the first of its kind. Normally, when a Baka person dies, public mourning begins immediately. The first thing you would notice is the wailing. The family congregates in the family home around the body of the deceased and welcomes visitors. Every time a new visitor arrives, the wailing begins again. This goes on day and night. Often the grieving includes laying blame on someone for causing the person's death, or even accusations of killing them outright by sorcery or poisoning. Sometimes the grief gets violent. Drumming, dancing, singing and drunkenness take place all night long. Family members from distant villages are sent for, and often the initial mourning period is extended until they arrive, causing this period to last two or three nights. The body is usually buried in the morning or evening about 24 hours after death.

After this initial time of mourning, there is a second death celebration called the 6th day. It is celebrated sometime during the weeks or months that follow the death. This celebration is characterized by spirit worship, drunkenness, carousing, marital unfaithfulness, fights and general evil.

My teammates and I wanted something different for Dali's funeral. Dali was a woman of God, and this kind of celebration would not honor her or the God she served so faithfully. We presented the idea of a different kind of celebration to her husband and he was visibly relieved at the possibility. He immediately took us to Dali's family to formally present the idea to them, and they accepted! We set the date and made the preparations. And then, we prayed. My specific prayer was that God would strengthen the faith of believers in our little village and that He would add dramatically to our numbers.

On the day of the celebration we arrived to find a palm leaf shelter erected in front of the home of Dali's mother. The food, to be shared after the service, was already prepared, and people were beginning to arrive. The service started off with prayer and singing. People were joyful. There was a spirit of fellowship. Nestor had asked me to testify about how Dali had placed her life in God's hands, so I had prepared a little message about the cross of Christ and how Dali had faithfully carried her cross, trusting God through good times and bad. I challenged those who were present to live a life of faith in God as Dali had lived, and I was overjoyed to hear Dali's mother, father, and brother commit publicly to trusting God. Barry also shared a message about “how beautiful are the feet,” which was encouraging and challenging to all. Others shared testimonies and commitments to live for God. There was more singing, more prayer, more celebration of a life of faith. Food was served, and people stuck around for a bit more fellowship. God was glorified. Our prayers were answered. Dali's life and trust in God were truly celebrated. The faith of the believers in Mayos was strengthened, Dali's family decided to follow Christ as well, and our hope is that the number of believers in our little village continues to grow.

This celebration was the first of its kind, but I hope it will be the first of many. As God's hope spreads among the Baka, traditions will change for the better and God will be further glorified among the Baka.

A Prayer of Hope in the Midst of Sorrow

Our little congregation lost a dear saint this week. Dali had a gentle, playful spirit. She was youthful, in spite of chronic illness. She was steadfast in her faith, trusting God in the face of immense trials. The day before she died, she said, "If this sickness is going to kill me, I wish it would hurry up and do so." But her words were not words of one who has no hope. She knew that when she died, she would enter glory. She knew her suffering would be finished. She knew that she would finally meet her Savior face to face. Her unwavering trust in God has served to strengthen my faith.

Dali's husband, Nestor, is equally steadfast in his faith. He and his wife have been shining lights in our little community. We can never be absolutley sure of another's salvation, and I often wonder how many true Baka believers we have in our little church, but because of the fruit I have seen in their lives, I have no doubt that Nestor and Dali's faith in Jesus is sincere. Though Nestor is my little brother in the faith, he has been in the position to instruct me on more than one occasion. His knowledge of the Word of God and his wisdom are true gifts to the church. He is the only qualified elder in our area, and he joyfully and faithfully completes his pastoral duties day after day.

It strikes me that, humanly speaking, Dali's death does not make sense. Why did God allow her to suffer so much? Why did she have to die? Why couldn't she experience more earthly blessings? Why did God take her away from her husband and her daughter so early?

This seeming inconsistency is not lost on the members of our little church. Nestor, pastoral even in his immense grief, told me that some of the members of our congregation are experiencing destructive doubt. They have been saying things like, "Look how she trusted God. She refused traditional healers and forest medicine. But how has it benefited her? Now she is dead. She was never truly healed. Who is this God anyway? God who!? God who!?" Some of them are experiencing a crisis of faith. Others seem to have completely lost their faith in God. Nestor has a genuine concern for his congregation. He desperately wants them to understand that God's ways are higher than ours, His thoughts are beyond our comprehension, His love for us is greater than we can imagine. He desperately wants them to trust God wholeheartedly. What an example of unwavering faith! In the midst of his sorrow, his concern is for his sheep.

Could it be that Dali's suffering is the very reason that her faith was so very strong? Did her illness and sorrow give her a better perspective on the temporal nature of this fallen world? Did she understand better than most that there are much greater things waiting for us after this earthly life is over? We know that Dali is finally healed. She is at rest. She is with Jesus. It gives me great joy to know that my friend has finished the race, that she is finally home. Her labors are over. Her pain is finished. She has no more tears to cry. Sorrow is but a distant memory for her now. It is my hope that others also enjoy the peace of knowing that Dali is not lost in death, but rather alive in Christ!

Dali was an exceptional person. She was one of only a handful of committed Christians among the Baka. Her loss is a huge blow to the ministry here. ...or maybe not. Perhaps God will use the doubts and fears of those who knew Dali to bring them closer to Himself. Perhaps loosing one who's faith was so strong will serve to strengthen the faith of others. Perhaps sorrow and doubt can be turned upside down.

Now is the time to pray for hope. The Baka live lives filled with hopelessness. God wants to give them hope. My fervent prayer is that sorrow and doubt would be turned upside down, that they would be transformed into hope and steadfast faith in the Faithful One.

I already miss Dali's laugh, her smile, her love for babies… I miss the little things like the way she would rub her feet together when she was sitting. I miss her steadfastness. I miss my friend. But I will see her again when we are reunited in Christ. Oh glorious day!!