Sherry slapped at the back of her neck hoping to end the irritating buzz of a mosquito. Returning her attention to the four women standing before her, she resumed the training and addressed them in French.
“Now, if you turn the cake as you spread the icing and hold the spatula like so,” she demonstrated how to smooth the frosting around the circumference of the cake, “it will have fewer bumps. Just try not to push too hard or the cake will break beneath.”
The African heat was not helping as she attempted to smooth the first layer of icing. Sherry persisted. This cake was not simply a training exercise, but the wedding cake of Mariama and Amadou, beloved members of their church who had come to know Christ two years ago. Guinea, West Africa, was a hard place to work as a missionary, but celebrations like these lifted Sherry’s heart and reminded her of God’s faithfulness. God had called her and Tom, along with their four boys, to Guinea and she had reminded herself over the years to never look back, especially when things were tumultuous, which they often were.
“Mom?”
Sherry peered behind her shoulder and spotted her third son, Scott, leaning against the concrete doorframe. He would be fifteen next month and the way he got himself into trouble, Sherry thanked God daily for keeping him alive. Catching sight of his appearance however, she furrowed her brow.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, setting down the icing spatula.
“I think I’m getting sick.” Scott pulled his arms around his middle and shuffled in the direction of his bedroom.
“Go, madam. Take care of your son. We can come back later,” offered one of the women.
Sherry glanced down at the slightly melting cake and sighed. “That might be best. The cake needs to return to the refrigerator before we do anymore icing. Let’s pray the electricity stays on today!”
The women chuckled and helped Sherry clean up the cake decorating supplies. It would take a little more practice, but the goal was for the women to open their own businesses and make a little extra money for their families.
Waving goodbye to the women, Sherry left the small workroom and smiled to herself. She was made for work like this. Sewing, beading, baking-these were some of the gifts God had given her and it made her heart sing to watch others learn these skills too. Having grown up in Liberia, Africa was more her home than America. She spoke the languages, understood the culture, and loved these people. Her people.
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