I work for an English school that is part of a city-wide organization that was founded by a Christian man. It has Bible verses up on the walls, and the director of the school is the founder's son, and a Christian. But aside from the two of us, there are no Christians (that I know of) in the building. This is a common thing in Japan: Christians start schools but do not staff them with Christian teachers or staff. I had prayed for God to send Christians to schools like this when I was a missionary here before, but didn't imagine I would be placed right in the middle of one.
The biggest event of the year at my workplace is Halloween. Christmas is a night in a restaurant, but Halloween is a whole week of parties celebrated in every individual class. I know that Halloween can be good, innocent fun, but there is also a lot of nastiness. More and more, the holiday makes my heart feel yucky...I dread seeing the decorations, and things like witchcraft made cute. I was sad to learn what a huge focus it is for my school. So, I'd been wrestling to figure out how I would respond. Because I don't actually teach any kid's classes at my school, I wondered if I would be off the hook this year. But the beginning of October brought a thick packet of paper to my desk with instructions for us to work together in figuring out all the Halloween festivities. I continued wrestling.
In short, I approached the executive director (the other Christian in the building) and talked to him about not wanting to participate in Halloween. This created a couple of hush-hush meetings, and, in the end, I was given permission to not participate.
This opened the door for a pretty cool conversation. One of the part-time teachers casually said to me, "So, you're celebrating Halloween right now?"
I told her, "No, I don't celebrate Halloween."
"Is it because of your faith?" I had met this woman soon after coming to Fukushima and explained, when she had wondered if we were scared of the radiation, that we were here to say that there was a reason to hope.
She was surprised when I told her it was, and asked, "But, isn't Halloween a holiday for casting evil things out?" In Japan, there are holidays specifically for casting away evil things. I've always kind of scoffed at them, because it involves doing things like throwing beans to keep the demons away. But, in that moment, I realized that however bad I feel like Japanese holidays are, they actually have the idea that you should cast out evil things rather than dressing up like them and seemingly celebrating them. That was humbling.
We went on to discuss the difference between Halloween and All Saint's Day, and then the difference between All Saint's Day and Obon, the Japanese holiday where tombs are visited and the dead are prayed to. I explained that the difference is that Christians believe in a resurrection and a life after death. I thought this would be overly simplistic, but I was surprised when she responded, "I can't believe in heaven. I don't want to believe in heaven."
I've heard many people say they can't, but I couldn't believe this statement of not wanting to. Without really meaning to, I started pouring out words... Heaven isn't the same as this... Everything that is bad about this place, everything that is from sin, will be gone... I have only seen a six year old girl ever receive the news the way this woman did. Her eyes were wide. "Really?" She asked it with a kind of sincere eagerness.
Sometime in the middle of this, one of the foreign teacher's walked in wearing his Halloween costume, which was a zombie with blood all over his face and shirt. The teacher looked across at me and said, "Wakatta. I get it." I may not have convinced her about heaven just yet, but my coworker sealed the Halloween argument for me.
This isn't a story that ends with a conversion, but it did end with amazing openness as she shared across a busy teacher's room how she felt that God had been ignoring her, told about her struggles, allowed me to pray for them.
The days following that conversation have seemed to carry a lot of "work angst" for me. I know that it will be decided soon who they will offer contracts to for next year (beginning in April). Joel will be extending his (he works at a different school), and I find myself waffling between two emotions: fear that my company will not offer me one, and therefore the school will be back to zero Christian teachers...and the severe cultural frustration of working in a very Japanese environment that makes me hope I'll be done, or be working at greatly reduced hours, come next April.
But conversations like this remind me why I'm here... They remind me that I wanted to come into the middle of a very real world environment and be light and salt.
I find working in this place that, until this moment, I have given up very little for the sake of the lost. Which is why my heart is complaining lots now...stretching pains, growing pains. Giving myself to them at the expense of being able to connect with and support very dear friends who already know Jesus ... Giving myself to them at the expense of a mutual day off with my husband ... Giving myself to them at the expense of a job environment that feels meaningful, and that offers any kind of grace... Oh, Jesus, give me your heart for the lost.
Today the principal came with a smile on her face, showed me my time card and informed me that I was working for a Japanese company and that clocking in 8 minutes late was not acceptable. I am to be in my seat by the time on the schedule, which means I need to arrive at least 15 minutes early, vacuum the carpet, get my tea, and be in place so that I can look busy for the next few hours when I have no real work to do.
Later today, she came and gave me my semi-permanent schedule, and when I requested that I be allowed to keep working on Saturdays and have time off on Mondays (it gives me a little more time with Joel and helps me recover from the Sunday of church activities), I was told that it is totally unacceptable. Even though I don't have anything scheduled on Mondays at all, we can't switch the schedule. I'm so far at the end of my rope that I ended up in tears in front of the principal. Sigh.
This is the 12th day in a row that I have been busy, and it had been an effort to get to work even 8 minutes late this morning. I had plenty of time to get ready for my first class, so no client was affected. Also, I was proud of the idea of switching the schedule around so that I would work Tuesday to Saturday...it was far more productive and efficient on all levels. But none of that is an excuse. I'm not ignorant about Japanese culture...I know that if I want these people to think that I care about them, part of that ground has got to be won by following their rules and choosing my battles. There are some really important battles I'd like to fight in this place: battles that will open the door for the Bible to be read and the gospel to be shared. If I fight them on every rule that inconveniences me, I will lose authority and the trust I need to fight when it's really important. I know this. But my exhaustion keeps winning, and I fight and talk back and negotiate when it isn't necessary.
The principal has sounded more than willing to renegotiate my contract for less hours in the office since my teaching hours are so below the contracted amount...and I sit here thinking, "Do I have it in my heart to keep sacrificing these things for the sake of these people?" If 40 hours a week and little time to connect with my husband, close friends, and family means that I am begrudging at work...then have I overstepped myself? Is it better to step back to 20 or 30 hours so that I can enter the school filled and joyful? The escape door has been opened, and it's up to me to decide. Is switching to part time a cop out? Will I lose this opportunity to witness that Jesus so graciously entrusted to me? Am I losing it already by doing things like getting teary-eyed about not getting my way? Would I miss out on the opportunity to trust Him with something bigger than myself? Am I just trying to get this situation back in my control rather than leaving it painfully (in the short run) in His?
"How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them?"
~Romans 10:14
Pray and wait...pray and wait...Lord, please, please be glorified.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
The Flood Waters
"Here's the word of encouragement to you today: ... Whether the increase in pressure is circumstances or if it's an increase of the Lord's presence in us...I want you to know that it is God's heart not to destroy us, not to simply overwhelm us, but he desires to dig a deeper channel in our lives to increase our capacity to receive the fullness of what he has for us." ~Pr. Jim Olson, Bethel Christian Fellowship, 7/10/11
Psalm 93 NLT: "The floods have risen up, oh Lord, the floods have roared like thunder, the floods have lifted their pounding waves, but mightier than the violent raging of the seas, mightier than the breakers on the shore, the Lord above is mightier than these."
Last week felt like the final straw. I found out that my grandpa had died. He was 94, and while the death was sudden, it wasn't unexpected. But it has followed so much else...
My godfather, a close uncle--one I have danced international folk dances with, lived with on college breaks when my Wyoming home was too far away, who spoke to me about God, and was one of the ones I remember smiling with joy in me when I decided to follow God's first call to Japan--passed away from leukemia about two weeks before that.
The departure for Japan was made a thousand times more stressful by a doctor telling me that I might have cancer and might not be able to have children...a quick process followed through a diagnostic surgery that declared me cancer free but was too rushed to have time to ask any questions or get any answers about fertility.
At that same time, my dad received a new call (as a pastor) and my parents moved away from the hometown I grew up in, away from the house we built.
I've had a lot of stressful things happen in life, but I've never had so many happen all at once. All of this seems to have been accompanied by a switch in life circumstances that shuts out every way I had of filling myself...I am working full time, which I have never done well with. I miss my husband: Joel and I were together pretty much every moment all summer, and when I began working in September our schedules no longer give us a mutual day off. I'm missing time alone to recharge. I'm missing friends who help me process. I'm missing Bethel (my church in the Cities)--the ability to sit in that congregation of people with their hands in the air, worshiping Him without abandon...somewhere I can worship and cry out for healing all in the same service...somewhere where the questions I toss up to God in prayer are so often answered by a human voice speaking for Him within the same service.
In a message of Pastor Jim's that I just listened to tonight (though it's a couple months old), he showed images of flooding in North Dakota and talked about a situation where they had to let extra water out of the dikes because of all the pressure. They were worried about homes down stream from the dike, but something amazing happened. The huge influx of water lowered the flood level by making the river bed deeper. One fishing hole went from being its usual 15 feet deep to 50. He used that extra water sent through the dike as a metaphor for the extra pressure God sends through our lives.
That metaphor brings strength to my heart. I put the actual quote at the top of the blog, but the word that "it is God's heart not to destroy us, not to simply overwhelm us, but he desires to dig a deeper channel in our lives to increase our capacity to receive the fullness of what he has for us." I think of the deep realization around when I was moving to Japan, and one of the dangerous prayers* that started this most recent journey out: "God, please do whatever is necessary to make it so that you, and not my environment, are the source of my joy and fulfillment."
And I hope tonight, as I look up at Jesus, that as lots of gunk rises up in my heart from pressure, that He'll work this river bed down low, low, low. Because I want to be a river of life regardless of pain, regardless of an ability to protect my personal time, regardless of what kind of church I'm attending. Lord, have mercy! I need transforming grace. Thanks be to God...the goal of all this isn't to destroy me, nor to leave me hopeless or in despair. Please, Lord, don't let me forget it.
*I define a dangerous prayers as some of those that rise up from deep in our spirits...prayers that are of great cost to our fleshy, sinful natures when God answers them. They are prayers along the lines of, "God, please do whatever is necessary to keep me humble." They are nods to the surgeon God waiting only for that consent before He will take the cancer out of us painfully, life-savingly.
Psalm 93 NLT: "The floods have risen up, oh Lord, the floods have roared like thunder, the floods have lifted their pounding waves, but mightier than the violent raging of the seas, mightier than the breakers on the shore, the Lord above is mightier than these."
Last week felt like the final straw. I found out that my grandpa had died. He was 94, and while the death was sudden, it wasn't unexpected. But it has followed so much else...
My godfather, a close uncle--one I have danced international folk dances with, lived with on college breaks when my Wyoming home was too far away, who spoke to me about God, and was one of the ones I remember smiling with joy in me when I decided to follow God's first call to Japan--passed away from leukemia about two weeks before that.
The departure for Japan was made a thousand times more stressful by a doctor telling me that I might have cancer and might not be able to have children...a quick process followed through a diagnostic surgery that declared me cancer free but was too rushed to have time to ask any questions or get any answers about fertility.
At that same time, my dad received a new call (as a pastor) and my parents moved away from the hometown I grew up in, away from the house we built.
I've had a lot of stressful things happen in life, but I've never had so many happen all at once. All of this seems to have been accompanied by a switch in life circumstances that shuts out every way I had of filling myself...I am working full time, which I have never done well with. I miss my husband: Joel and I were together pretty much every moment all summer, and when I began working in September our schedules no longer give us a mutual day off. I'm missing time alone to recharge. I'm missing friends who help me process. I'm missing Bethel (my church in the Cities)--the ability to sit in that congregation of people with their hands in the air, worshiping Him without abandon...somewhere I can worship and cry out for healing all in the same service...somewhere where the questions I toss up to God in prayer are so often answered by a human voice speaking for Him within the same service.
In a message of Pastor Jim's that I just listened to tonight (though it's a couple months old), he showed images of flooding in North Dakota and talked about a situation where they had to let extra water out of the dikes because of all the pressure. They were worried about homes down stream from the dike, but something amazing happened. The huge influx of water lowered the flood level by making the river bed deeper. One fishing hole went from being its usual 15 feet deep to 50. He used that extra water sent through the dike as a metaphor for the extra pressure God sends through our lives.
That metaphor brings strength to my heart. I put the actual quote at the top of the blog, but the word that "it is God's heart not to destroy us, not to simply overwhelm us, but he desires to dig a deeper channel in our lives to increase our capacity to receive the fullness of what he has for us." I think of the deep realization around when I was moving to Japan, and one of the dangerous prayers* that started this most recent journey out: "God, please do whatever is necessary to make it so that you, and not my environment, are the source of my joy and fulfillment."
And I hope tonight, as I look up at Jesus, that as lots of gunk rises up in my heart from pressure, that He'll work this river bed down low, low, low. Because I want to be a river of life regardless of pain, regardless of an ability to protect my personal time, regardless of what kind of church I'm attending. Lord, have mercy! I need transforming grace. Thanks be to God...the goal of all this isn't to destroy me, nor to leave me hopeless or in despair. Please, Lord, don't let me forget it.
*I define a dangerous prayers as some of those that rise up from deep in our spirits...prayers that are of great cost to our fleshy, sinful natures when God answers them. They are prayers along the lines of, "God, please do whatever is necessary to keep me humble." They are nods to the surgeon God waiting only for that consent before He will take the cancer out of us painfully, life-savingly.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Standing
"Put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand." ~Ephesians 6:13
"As you can see, this army is marching, but there will be times when it camps. The camping is as important as the marching. It is the time for planning, training, and sharpening skills and weapons...Until now when my army has camped, most of the time has been wasted. Just as I only lead My people forward with a clear objective, so it is that when I call My army to camp, there is a purpose. The strength of the army that marches will be determined by the quality of its camp. When it is time to stop and camp for a season, it is to teach My people My ways. An army is an army whether it is in battle or at peace. You must learn how to camp, how to march, and how to fight. You will not do any one of these well unless you do them all well." Rick Joyner's "The Vision", Jesus speaking
It is a strange season of life. The past few years of life in America seem like they've been filled with dangerous prayers and info dumps. No matter how I tried, it didn't seem like I could move forward. Over the past few years, all that has seemed clear is how lacking I am.
My attempts to speak truth about God--truth that is meant to set free--didn't turn people towards God, but towards themselves, so they reacted with shame or anger.
I found that I was so affected by the environment that I was in that I couldn't change it for the better, only react to it.
My persistent sense that people don't like me or understand me has caused me to hide from them when I should be loving them.
I was so fearful of affecting people and places in a bad way that I refused to risk being the one to decide, or the one to stand out, even if I was the one who had the most experience and should be stepping forward boldly because of what God has shown me.
Rather than carrying the goodness of the mission field back home by just BEING the truth that I had learned on the field, I hid the truth--except to use it as a weapon--attacking loved ones for not already being transformed into the part of the Kingdom that I was longing for, and never willing to actually SHOW them what that truth was.
Especially as I stepped into a marriage relationship, it became obvious that most of what I was seeking in life wasn't to love God or others, but just to be loved myself.
All of this adds up to one sin, and there was something freeing about being able to be on my face before God one Sunday at Bethel and say to Him: I am lukewarm. My love for You is so shallow. Please, please, make me passionate for you! Not in outside actions, but from the inside out.
I don't know that much has changed this time by journeying across an ocean. Fukushima is more "on the edge" than Tokyo, and there aren't easy ways to jump into ministry. Our church is a small, Lutheran church with about nine regular members, mostly over the age of 60, and then us, four foreigners in our 20s and 30s. There are a few precious moments when the people here open up and share something that feels real, but mostly the city feels busy. Not in the rushing way like Tokyo, but in a rural: we do our work, not talk. I feel sometimes like we are church planters who are missing the defined vision of being church planters. There is, as of yet, no vision to get lost in and borrow passion from. The passion can only come from knowing Jesus.
Yet, it is not a time for sitting and resting. Over and over again, it seems that I come back to this idea: just stand.
Stand in choosing faith over fear.
Stand in choosing love over self-protection.
Stand in seeking God in all things, and stand by guarding the truth that knowing Him is the treasure that can be found no matter what the circumstances.
Stand in worship.
Stand in thanksgiving.
Stand in joy that is founded in God, not the situation I'm in.
Stand in seeking truth and speaking truth in love.
Stand in serving people and submitting to authorities in order to choose humility with my actions.
Stand in praying without ceasing.
Stand in hope, both of God's ability to bring life to the present, and in the goodness of heaven that is coming.
Stand no matter what any other person, Christian or not, is doing or tells me to do.
I don't know when the time to march will come again. But it seems to be a season for stocking up oil in the lamps, waiting for when we'll see our Bridegroom, and making ready for Him.
"As you can see, this army is marching, but there will be times when it camps. The camping is as important as the marching. It is the time for planning, training, and sharpening skills and weapons...Until now when my army has camped, most of the time has been wasted. Just as I only lead My people forward with a clear objective, so it is that when I call My army to camp, there is a purpose. The strength of the army that marches will be determined by the quality of its camp. When it is time to stop and camp for a season, it is to teach My people My ways. An army is an army whether it is in battle or at peace. You must learn how to camp, how to march, and how to fight. You will not do any one of these well unless you do them all well." Rick Joyner's "The Vision", Jesus speaking
It is a strange season of life. The past few years of life in America seem like they've been filled with dangerous prayers and info dumps. No matter how I tried, it didn't seem like I could move forward. Over the past few years, all that has seemed clear is how lacking I am.
My attempts to speak truth about God--truth that is meant to set free--didn't turn people towards God, but towards themselves, so they reacted with shame or anger.
I found that I was so affected by the environment that I was in that I couldn't change it for the better, only react to it.
My persistent sense that people don't like me or understand me has caused me to hide from them when I should be loving them.
I was so fearful of affecting people and places in a bad way that I refused to risk being the one to decide, or the one to stand out, even if I was the one who had the most experience and should be stepping forward boldly because of what God has shown me.
Rather than carrying the goodness of the mission field back home by just BEING the truth that I had learned on the field, I hid the truth--except to use it as a weapon--attacking loved ones for not already being transformed into the part of the Kingdom that I was longing for, and never willing to actually SHOW them what that truth was.
Especially as I stepped into a marriage relationship, it became obvious that most of what I was seeking in life wasn't to love God or others, but just to be loved myself.
All of this adds up to one sin, and there was something freeing about being able to be on my face before God one Sunday at Bethel and say to Him: I am lukewarm. My love for You is so shallow. Please, please, make me passionate for you! Not in outside actions, but from the inside out.
I don't know that much has changed this time by journeying across an ocean. Fukushima is more "on the edge" than Tokyo, and there aren't easy ways to jump into ministry. Our church is a small, Lutheran church with about nine regular members, mostly over the age of 60, and then us, four foreigners in our 20s and 30s. There are a few precious moments when the people here open up and share something that feels real, but mostly the city feels busy. Not in the rushing way like Tokyo, but in a rural: we do our work, not talk. I feel sometimes like we are church planters who are missing the defined vision of being church planters. There is, as of yet, no vision to get lost in and borrow passion from. The passion can only come from knowing Jesus.
Yet, it is not a time for sitting and resting. Over and over again, it seems that I come back to this idea: just stand.
Stand in choosing faith over fear.
Stand in choosing love over self-protection.
Stand in seeking God in all things, and stand by guarding the truth that knowing Him is the treasure that can be found no matter what the circumstances.
Stand in worship.
Stand in thanksgiving.
Stand in joy that is founded in God, not the situation I'm in.
Stand in seeking truth and speaking truth in love.
Stand in serving people and submitting to authorities in order to choose humility with my actions.
Stand in praying without ceasing.
Stand in hope, both of God's ability to bring life to the present, and in the goodness of heaven that is coming.
Stand no matter what any other person, Christian or not, is doing or tells me to do.
I don't know when the time to march will come again. But it seems to be a season for stocking up oil in the lamps, waiting for when we'll see our Bridegroom, and making ready for Him.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
What are you doing here?!
Cindy and I were crossing the train tracks when a man pulled his car over, got out and called from behind us, "What are you doing here?"
In India, people frequently called out from behind me: "Hello! Where are you from?"
But I don't think this kind of thing has ever happened to me in Japan. Yet so many foreigners have left Fukushima. Many mothers and children have left Fukushima too. Sometimes it seems like Cindy and Haidee learn of more young students leaving every week. Fukushima, as a missionary friend in Tokyo put it, is the most unpopular city in Japan.
The man came up to us, and I listened and prayed for his heart to be opened as Cindy told him in Japanese, "We're here because we believe in Jesus. He can protect us. And if we are harmed, even if we die, we will be with Him. He is the real God who created the world. You'd better believe in Him too!"
I thought of coming over prayers...prayers that God would allow our presence in Fukushima to be a witness of his love that is not lost with the shaking of the ground, or with the invisible danger of radiation. I think of Proverbs 10:25, "When the storm has swept by, the wicked are gone, but the righteous stand firm forever." We live in the middle of many storms...some are very personal struggles that are very painful, some seem to just be huge storms we are swept into along with many other people.
Either way, I am blessed (sometimes bittersweetly) when God allows me to stand through it and witness that He is the rock that can be trusted. Some days this feels very weak to me...tears in public, spilling out the yucky inner parts and how God is dealing with them, letting people see (willingly or not) how I cling to Him when I can't find any other strength. But it's fun to have the other side of it too...of being able to smile in the face of radiation, of knowing that my unseen protector is far and away above the unseen danger, and being able to express joy in passing on the good news from Jesus: "In this world, you may have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world," (John 16:33) to those people who think that the world's troubles have the final say.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Joy in Tokyo
"There's nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered." ~Nelson Mandela
When I returned to the States two years ago, it seemed that this quotation was always in my head. Fitting into American culture, or being useful, or appearing loving seemed absolutely impossible. I feared a little as I crossed the ocean back to Japan that it would be true again.
We spent our first two weeks in Japan in Fukushima, which is where we will be living. This past week, God blessed us with a trip back to Tokyo, my old stomping grounds. Joel will be in Tokyo until July 9th getting training to be an English teacher. I get to stay with him in Tokyo until my English company calls me back to Fukushima for visa or teaching purposes (so, it could be tomorrow or not until Joel comes back on the 9th).
This quotation has been in my head again as I've wandered around Tokyo for the first time in two years. Not because it describes me this time, but because of how markedly it doesn't. I feel as though I've been reunited with the Pamela I lost when I crossed the ocean last time. The one who is passionate, extroverted-ish, and warmly loving. (I have many flaws too, but these stayed with me when I crossed the ocean, so I didn't need to reclaim them. ;) ) The past week in Tokyo has been a time to rest by remembering.
Over the past few days I've sat around meals with a few of my dearest friends from the Hongo. Etsuko was still as fiery as Japanese women come, speaking passionately about her hopes that our student center would result in baptisms and in people coming to know Jesus. We got to sit and brainstorm how to keep their ministry alive if funds are cut. Ken quietly and sincerely talked about his hopes for the future. All of them questioned Joel about when he knew he wanted to marry me and what he liked about me--I think it was the fiercest interrogation the poor guy has received during our relationship.
A past student, one who came very close to being baptized, ate with Joel and I later. At one point he had seemed very open to Christianity, and then suddenly something had changed. He had been at every church activity, and then suddenly he vanished. Conversations about God that he had hungered for suddenly seemed an unbearable strain to him. I hadn't known if I would see him again. But Joel and I got to sit with him and hear about his life. He's in the same stage as many friends from the last time around, which is trying to pass major exams that will qualify him for his desired job. I think he's busy enough that he won't think much about God for the time being, but being able to encourage him, gently remind him about God, and reconnect was a blessing.
This afternoon, I got to sit with another friend for a few hours, and the conversation has left me just bubbling over. My dear friend Ayumi was baptized a little more than a year ago, and I hadn't heard from her since then. I emailed her to find out we could meet, and it turned out that God carved out about three hours in her busy medical residency life for us to see each other. We both rejoiced in the miracle of time. I got to hear her whole story about how she came to be baptized. She has always been a joyful person, but hearing her express joy about God instead of doubt was amazing. Some people convert because other people convince them to, but Ayumi shared a story that was one of those, "I came because I met Him" type stories. I cannot express the joy that I feel at seeing God call Japanese people to be rock-solid for Him.
Also, as Ayumi is possibly becoming an ob/gyn, so we were able to talk about childbirth in Japan and America, and doulas in Japan. It sounds like it might even be possible for me to work as a doula if I were in Tokyo. So, not now, but maybe someday. I was greatly encouraged by this.
In addition to childbirth, we talked about abortion in Japan, and possible Christian responses. I'm super passionate, though I haven't had the chance to live the passion out, about ministries that counter abortion not through political tyrades, but through supporting the expecting mothers. Ministries that are both truthful and merciful. Abortion is not an often discussed subject in Japan, but Ayumi confirmed much of what I suspected. There are many, many abortions performed here. I was surprised to learn that the biggest group is not teenagers or college students, however, but women in their 40s. Ayumi suspected that affairs (she said it more subtly and gracefully than that) might be the reason for it. We didn't come to many conclusions about how a ministry might reach these women, as the abortion is usually kept ultra-secret, but being able to begin to brainstorm possibilities brought so many things I'm passionate about together. I would need Japanese about 5000 times better than my current Japanese to do anything with a ministry like this, so maybe now this will remain just something to pray about. But I hope someday I can do more.
The hard part of being in Tokyo is realizing how different it is from Fukushima. I'm very excited to have the opportunity to serve God in a place where people are scared, and hope that by being there I'll be able to share some of the peace God has given me when facing things like death (and radiation, and earthquakes). But the journey into Fukushima is a journey even deeper into Japanese culture. I had no idea how much I ministered in English until this trip back to Tokyo. It suddenly makes sense why the amount and level of Japanese needed in Fukushima has been a bit overwhelming. And then there are simple little things like the fact that all the food in Fukushima seems to be Japanese. Tokyo, which once seemed so homogeneous, suddenly has turned into a diverse city in my mind. There are ethnic restaurants here. On a bigger scale for me personally, Tokyo is diverse enough that I could possible continue to pursue my doula career while living in Japan.
But really...language barriers, and getting used to new levels of Japanese eating are smaller barriers than they seem. And while it hurts to give up the immediate chance to work comforting mothers who are delivering babies, God has blessed us with many things in Fukushima too. There is a "pre-assembled" Christian community. We've been praying many times a week with Haidee, Cindy, and the Nomuras--all old friends and people I love seeking God alongside. I've also learned that traveling to a new city with a husband is drastically less lonely that appearing somewhere new all alone.
Then there is the feeling that I can't operate or communicate at the needed level to reach people in Fukushima as I want to--truly, this is the same feeling that led me to fall on God in Tokyo at the beginning of my ministry there. But God transformed it: it is so clear now that I am back in Tokyo after two years. God has done and is still doing much in the lives of the Japanese people I came to love. That initial feeling of inadequacy led to God showing me that Tokyo, and my ministry here, with all its weaknesses, could be holy with His presence. Perhaps inadequacy is the place that all true ministry flows out of: that realization that God's plans are impossible for anyone but Him to carry out, but somehow He has invited us along to be His body anyway.
Joel and I are still waiting in many ways...waiting for visas, waiting for His vision for how He wants us to serve in Fukushima, waiting to see what dear friends He will bring into our lives this time around. But I am strengthened as I remember what God has done before. And strengthened to learn that sometimes, when you return to a place that remains unchanged, you find old parts of yourself that you desperately hoped were still alive.
When I returned to the States two years ago, it seemed that this quotation was always in my head. Fitting into American culture, or being useful, or appearing loving seemed absolutely impossible. I feared a little as I crossed the ocean back to Japan that it would be true again.
We spent our first two weeks in Japan in Fukushima, which is where we will be living. This past week, God blessed us with a trip back to Tokyo, my old stomping grounds. Joel will be in Tokyo until July 9th getting training to be an English teacher. I get to stay with him in Tokyo until my English company calls me back to Fukushima for visa or teaching purposes (so, it could be tomorrow or not until Joel comes back on the 9th).
This quotation has been in my head again as I've wandered around Tokyo for the first time in two years. Not because it describes me this time, but because of how markedly it doesn't. I feel as though I've been reunited with the Pamela I lost when I crossed the ocean last time. The one who is passionate, extroverted-ish, and warmly loving. (I have many flaws too, but these stayed with me when I crossed the ocean, so I didn't need to reclaim them. ;) ) The past week in Tokyo has been a time to rest by remembering.
Over the past few days I've sat around meals with a few of my dearest friends from the Hongo. Etsuko was still as fiery as Japanese women come, speaking passionately about her hopes that our student center would result in baptisms and in people coming to know Jesus. We got to sit and brainstorm how to keep their ministry alive if funds are cut. Ken quietly and sincerely talked about his hopes for the future. All of them questioned Joel about when he knew he wanted to marry me and what he liked about me--I think it was the fiercest interrogation the poor guy has received during our relationship.
A past student, one who came very close to being baptized, ate with Joel and I later. At one point he had seemed very open to Christianity, and then suddenly something had changed. He had been at every church activity, and then suddenly he vanished. Conversations about God that he had hungered for suddenly seemed an unbearable strain to him. I hadn't known if I would see him again. But Joel and I got to sit with him and hear about his life. He's in the same stage as many friends from the last time around, which is trying to pass major exams that will qualify him for his desired job. I think he's busy enough that he won't think much about God for the time being, but being able to encourage him, gently remind him about God, and reconnect was a blessing.
This afternoon, I got to sit with another friend for a few hours, and the conversation has left me just bubbling over. My dear friend Ayumi was baptized a little more than a year ago, and I hadn't heard from her since then. I emailed her to find out we could meet, and it turned out that God carved out about three hours in her busy medical residency life for us to see each other. We both rejoiced in the miracle of time. I got to hear her whole story about how she came to be baptized. She has always been a joyful person, but hearing her express joy about God instead of doubt was amazing. Some people convert because other people convince them to, but Ayumi shared a story that was one of those, "I came because I met Him" type stories. I cannot express the joy that I feel at seeing God call Japanese people to be rock-solid for Him.
Also, as Ayumi is possibly becoming an ob/gyn, so we were able to talk about childbirth in Japan and America, and doulas in Japan. It sounds like it might even be possible for me to work as a doula if I were in Tokyo. So, not now, but maybe someday. I was greatly encouraged by this.
In addition to childbirth, we talked about abortion in Japan, and possible Christian responses. I'm super passionate, though I haven't had the chance to live the passion out, about ministries that counter abortion not through political tyrades, but through supporting the expecting mothers. Ministries that are both truthful and merciful. Abortion is not an often discussed subject in Japan, but Ayumi confirmed much of what I suspected. There are many, many abortions performed here. I was surprised to learn that the biggest group is not teenagers or college students, however, but women in their 40s. Ayumi suspected that affairs (she said it more subtly and gracefully than that) might be the reason for it. We didn't come to many conclusions about how a ministry might reach these women, as the abortion is usually kept ultra-secret, but being able to begin to brainstorm possibilities brought so many things I'm passionate about together. I would need Japanese about 5000 times better than my current Japanese to do anything with a ministry like this, so maybe now this will remain just something to pray about. But I hope someday I can do more.
The hard part of being in Tokyo is realizing how different it is from Fukushima. I'm very excited to have the opportunity to serve God in a place where people are scared, and hope that by being there I'll be able to share some of the peace God has given me when facing things like death (and radiation, and earthquakes). But the journey into Fukushima is a journey even deeper into Japanese culture. I had no idea how much I ministered in English until this trip back to Tokyo. It suddenly makes sense why the amount and level of Japanese needed in Fukushima has been a bit overwhelming. And then there are simple little things like the fact that all the food in Fukushima seems to be Japanese. Tokyo, which once seemed so homogeneous, suddenly has turned into a diverse city in my mind. There are ethnic restaurants here. On a bigger scale for me personally, Tokyo is diverse enough that I could possible continue to pursue my doula career while living in Japan.
But really...language barriers, and getting used to new levels of Japanese eating are smaller barriers than they seem. And while it hurts to give up the immediate chance to work comforting mothers who are delivering babies, God has blessed us with many things in Fukushima too. There is a "pre-assembled" Christian community. We've been praying many times a week with Haidee, Cindy, and the Nomuras--all old friends and people I love seeking God alongside. I've also learned that traveling to a new city with a husband is drastically less lonely that appearing somewhere new all alone.
Then there is the feeling that I can't operate or communicate at the needed level to reach people in Fukushima as I want to--truly, this is the same feeling that led me to fall on God in Tokyo at the beginning of my ministry there. But God transformed it: it is so clear now that I am back in Tokyo after two years. God has done and is still doing much in the lives of the Japanese people I came to love. That initial feeling of inadequacy led to God showing me that Tokyo, and my ministry here, with all its weaknesses, could be holy with His presence. Perhaps inadequacy is the place that all true ministry flows out of: that realization that God's plans are impossible for anyone but Him to carry out, but somehow He has invited us along to be His body anyway.
Joel and I are still waiting in many ways...waiting for visas, waiting for His vision for how He wants us to serve in Fukushima, waiting to see what dear friends He will bring into our lives this time around. But I am strengthened as I remember what God has done before. And strengthened to learn that sometimes, when you return to a place that remains unchanged, you find old parts of yourself that you desperately hoped were still alive.
Friday, June 3, 2011
One Hundred Thousand Changes
I don't know how many people read this blog who don't know about what is going on with me already. It's been awhile since I've had words to update. Here are the cliff notes:
In January, God told Joel and I that we would go back to Japan this year. We believed Him just enough to think about it for a couple weeks and then continue with life as normal.
In February, I decided to take a doula training course and experiment with the career path of helping moms birth babies. The Christian community house and I prayed about whether to stay together after Joel and I got married.
In March, "the big one" hit Japan. Wedding preparations seemed to take over life. But the question hung behind the busyness...would this earthquake mean that God actually was going to send us back to Japan this year?
On April 2nd, Joel and I got married. :D
We drove to the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee and had a lovely time of a honeymoon. And, on the way, got an email from a good missionary friend. She was seeking Christians who would fill English teaching positions in Fukushima City and praying that God would send witnesses and build Christian community there.
Despite all of my longing to go to Japan, I found myself wrestling a lot before I could say 'yes'. It was hard to imagine how my single missionary life and my new married life would come together. And was it best to put this kind of pressure on our relationship right at the beginning of our marriage?
Our car broke down while Joel and I were avoiding the questions. We got it to a shop, and a repairman drove us to a park where we walked in circles, laid in the grass, watched the river flow, and asked each other what we thought about this opportunity for the three hours while our car was fixed. We realized that, while we had much to be afraid and worried about, we had seen little to show us that God was *not* calling us to Japan, and much to suggest that He was. Surrender together as a couple is a pretty cool thing.
I think for awhile I thought having a husband would mean that there would be someone who would pull me along...someone who would ease the burden when those hard surrender moments come so that I didn't have to dig deep into my unwillingness and turn my heart over to the Living God. Not that I ever would have said it in words like that. I more would have said, "I want him to encourage me! And be bold in following Jesus to draw out my own boldness and courage!" But then, there is the realization that it is somehow sweeter to be scared together and to lay our lives in His hands, neither one of us knowing or understanding fully what it will mean.
May has given us quite a few more curve balls, which I don't seem to have words for right now, but all of those aside, we are flying to Japan on June 13th. We'll be living and working in Fukushima City, which is a little bit outside of the evacuation zone from the nuclear power plant. We've both been in touch with a different English school, and are working out the final details to be employed.
It's kind of funny to think about Joel and I wandering through the park on our honeymoon, afraid of what might come. A chance to love on the Japanese people during one of the greatest trials they've known. A chance to live our own lives and struggles towards God, not only because I need His goodness and provision in my life, but because I have the chance to show that to a people who are also much afraid, and whose lives have also been shaken. A chance to continue watering the seeds in Japan I have already sown and prayed over. A chance to shake my heart out of the complacency of ordinary life and back into a life where the need for urgent prayer is right in front of my face. A chance to see God's light shining in darkness, yet again.
I cannot help but smile. God is good.
In January, God told Joel and I that we would go back to Japan this year. We believed Him just enough to think about it for a couple weeks and then continue with life as normal.
In February, I decided to take a doula training course and experiment with the career path of helping moms birth babies. The Christian community house and I prayed about whether to stay together after Joel and I got married.
In March, "the big one" hit Japan. Wedding preparations seemed to take over life. But the question hung behind the busyness...would this earthquake mean that God actually was going to send us back to Japan this year?
On April 2nd, Joel and I got married. :D
We drove to the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee and had a lovely time of a honeymoon. And, on the way, got an email from a good missionary friend. She was seeking Christians who would fill English teaching positions in Fukushima City and praying that God would send witnesses and build Christian community there.
Despite all of my longing to go to Japan, I found myself wrestling a lot before I could say 'yes'. It was hard to imagine how my single missionary life and my new married life would come together. And was it best to put this kind of pressure on our relationship right at the beginning of our marriage?
Our car broke down while Joel and I were avoiding the questions. We got it to a shop, and a repairman drove us to a park where we walked in circles, laid in the grass, watched the river flow, and asked each other what we thought about this opportunity for the three hours while our car was fixed. We realized that, while we had much to be afraid and worried about, we had seen little to show us that God was *not* calling us to Japan, and much to suggest that He was. Surrender together as a couple is a pretty cool thing.
I think for awhile I thought having a husband would mean that there would be someone who would pull me along...someone who would ease the burden when those hard surrender moments come so that I didn't have to dig deep into my unwillingness and turn my heart over to the Living God. Not that I ever would have said it in words like that. I more would have said, "I want him to encourage me! And be bold in following Jesus to draw out my own boldness and courage!" But then, there is the realization that it is somehow sweeter to be scared together and to lay our lives in His hands, neither one of us knowing or understanding fully what it will mean.
May has given us quite a few more curve balls, which I don't seem to have words for right now, but all of those aside, we are flying to Japan on June 13th. We'll be living and working in Fukushima City, which is a little bit outside of the evacuation zone from the nuclear power plant. We've both been in touch with a different English school, and are working out the final details to be employed.
It's kind of funny to think about Joel and I wandering through the park on our honeymoon, afraid of what might come. A chance to love on the Japanese people during one of the greatest trials they've known. A chance to live our own lives and struggles towards God, not only because I need His goodness and provision in my life, but because I have the chance to show that to a people who are also much afraid, and whose lives have also been shaken. A chance to continue watering the seeds in Japan I have already sown and prayed over. A chance to shake my heart out of the complacency of ordinary life and back into a life where the need for urgent prayer is right in front of my face. A chance to see God's light shining in darkness, yet again.
I cannot help but smile. God is good.
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