Despite our best intentions, every day seemed to bring a new and daunting dilemma; not only with the Africans, but also with other missionaries. Should we learn the local dialect or not spend the time on that? Do we hire unsaved workers in our homes? Do we have our babies in Tappita or in the capital city of Monrovia? Do we dress like the Africans or as an American? Do we walk the two miles to church with our children or not? To our chagrin, there seemed to be a constant cacophony in our lives, even though our hearts desired unity with the other missionaries and acceptance by the Africans. While those are, in themselves, noble aspirations, time and experience taught us that with fellow missionaries, unity was usually achieved when we sometimes agreed to disagree. We also realized after the first few years, that the Africans never placed on us the ardency to be like them; we did that to ourselves.