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.

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.

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.

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.

Unexpected Kindness

I met a man very briefly a few days ago, but he had a large impact. Doug tends to introduce me to everyone who comes into the gymnastics office, and this man was going to lunch with him. He told John that I had lived in Japan and was going to get married in April. John had been stationed in Japan during a war and talked about working in the post room on an army base. He was one of those people I trusted instinctually because of the gentleness and sincerity of his questions. I told him about teaching Bible classes and the Japanese response to it.

It was the end of the conversation that really moved me, though. John had one of those sets of eyes that just seems to see you. And he looked at me very sincerely and said, "So you've gone from that life to getting married in less than two years. That's a lot of change."

I was relieved that he and Doug left for lunch at that point, because I was fighting back grateful tears at someone seeing me like that. It's crazy how rare it is for us to truly stop and be present, and how amazing to be the recipient of the gift of five minutes of real attention.

Community Sabbath Night

A couple weeks ago, a sermon sparked an idea for the house in my mind, which was to open up our doors on Sundays for a community Sabbath time. Yesterday was our first run at the experiment, and I have to say, it was really great. The best stories about community can't be recorded in blogs, because they're about the growth that each individual is experiencing within the community. I love seeing everyone being more fully the person that God has created them to be.

The day started at church, with my sister bravely inviting a whole host of people over. We ended up having three people from church, plus Joel, Becca's boyfriend Carleton, and the four of us who live in the house. Becca is really beginning to find her courage in making invitations, and I'm thrilled to see it!

Lexi had planned an incredible meal for the day. I haven't met anyone who plans meals quite like Lexi. We had butternut squash soup with chicken, Swedish meatballs with lingonberry, mashed potatoes, and a breaded apple dessert. All amazing, as usual.

While all of this was going on, Becca assembled our little prayer room. We have a beautiful sun room with windows on all three sides. Rachel was using it as a computer room for awhile, but she finally got a loft so her computer could go into her room and we make a space just for prayer. We spread out pillows, a keyboard, and a guitar. Becca got out colorful scarves and hung them as decorations.

I spent the afternoon planning a last minute Bible study on Sabbath, and enjoying deep conversations about what holy rest really is, and what keeps us from it. Rachel sat with me a lot of the time and helped ask great clarifying questions to help me get my thoughts focused.

Joel, in the middle of this, was making bread from scratch. I don't think he's managed it quite to his satisfaction yet, but it seems pretty tasty to me! I've been talking to Joel about how much I'd love for him to be part of ministry along with me--and it was amazing to see him really step up to it yesterday. He was in the kitchen washing dishes and supporting Lexi and Becca, out in the living room with Rachel and me adding wise comments about rest--and baking bread in the midst of all that.

Our guests arrived in time for dinner, and it was fun just to see the diversity. The leader of Macalaster's Christian fellowship, who was scribbling down questions for her group to process together that evening. A girl who had stood in front of the church that Sunday and told the congregation how she'd tried to commit suicide four years ago and been saved, and implored them to look to God for hope during the holidays. Our third planned guest is a single mom, and couldn't make it because her daughter fell asleep.

The guests were mostly only there for dinner, but there was a wonderful restful time after that. There was dancing. Community stretching. :) Fresh baked bread. Red velvet holiday milk. (I had to try it...)

The four of us and Joel got to study Sabbath in the Bible and talk about how to get into that mindset, and I was blown over by the depth that the people in our house are reaching. I don't know why it was so clear yesterday how much everyone has grown--but I feel like people have been having spiritual growth spurts recently. And it was incredible to see...Joel being willing to really engage in the community...Becca realizing that she wants to be more sacrificial with people and learn how to listen...Lexi being open to change in a way that's vulnerable and humble...Rachel growing in a desire to live without fear...me actually stepping up into leadership without my usual excuses.

We all had to laugh at ourselves at the end of the day, because we actually did a pretty lousy job of resting. It almost felt like a day when we saw what the opposite of resting was for most of us. But, despite the mad rush of cooking and cleaning and dish washing and Bible study planning, it was a pretty wonderful community day. We may learn how to rest yet one of these days. :)

Leaving things behind

When I moved to Japan, I worked on this picture over the course of a month as part of the process of letting go of my old life and embracing a new one. I drew all the things in the boxes "behind me" that couldn't come along. There was a Spanish dictionary, and my preschool Sunday school curriculum. I drew remnants of past activities: handbell gloves, a rapier sword, my baby bonsai tree, my ballet slippers. I drew photographs of family and friends, though these pictures came along with me in real life, as a reminder of the people I was leaving behind. I drew Ebony's toy bone. My favorite childhood teddy bear. I drew my college diploma on the wall behind me. The only objects in front in the picture were my packed bags and my little homemade alter, a framed "Footprints" picture on the wall to show that I was following Jesus now.

It was hard to put all of those things in boxes when I moved to Japan, but there was this rush of excitement about the whole thing too. It was so easy to love Jesus as I was taking off in this adventure with him--and so easy to feel his excitement and love at getting to bring me along with him across the ocean.

I've been thinking about this because the past few days my relationship with Joel keeps putting me in tears. I hate it when that happens. Joel is one of the biggest blessings in my life--and my sadness always feels like ingratitude. But I realized today that I think it is a normal part of the transition. So I've been trying to figure out what part of it is healthy.

This is what life has looked like the past few weeks: there are so many huge decisions to be made with Joel, and we approach major (and minor) decisions completely oppositely. In fact, we approach life in general completely oppositely. So, we end up having intense conversations about these decisions and life long into the night. Then, we manage to reach a resolution and find the way we're going to love each other in the midst of these intense differences--and it creates the sweetest love (at least emotionally speaking). And for a period of time we are mushy and inseparable with joy at the victory.

In the midst of that, I usually have about a 30 item to do list for Spirit Gymnastics--I've helped Doug make some major financial victories over the past few weeks, and the business is much healthier than it was. I have admin meetings three mornings a week now. When new people come into the office Doug introduces himself as *my* administrative assistant, and he's only half joking. I'm also still trying to create a healthy Christian community in the house I started, though that mostly involves fighting guilt because of how little energy I have for it most days, unfortunately. But, we now have a really nice time three mornings a week. We wake up at 7 on Monday and Wednesday to spend time with God individually together. And Thursdays at 7 we pray together. And I keep processing and praying about ways to try to lead the girls and myself deeper and further with Jesus. And then processing and praying about how leadership works in my head vs. how it actually seems to work in reality. Somewhere in the middle of my relationship building with Joel, doing admin for Spirit, and attempting to lead the House, I'm also finding and settling on a caterer, potential reception site, photographer, and florist . . . and figure out this whole cake / pie / whatever dilemma for the wedding.

Sheesh. I don't have nearly enough praying hours in my week to manage that kind of busyness. Having written all of that down, I'm not as surprised that I found myself researching plane tickets this afternoon so I could run away to India or Japan. Yes, of course the whole time I knew that I couldn't go, and that I wouldn't go, and that I didn't even really want to run away from everything right now . . . but I was still surprisingly and honestly disappointed when I realized that, even if I wanted to run away and just take care of sick people in India, or go process life with some of my good friends in Japan, I couldn't. My passport has been MIA for about two moves now. And the plane ticket would wipe out pretty much every cent I have.

But somewhere in the middle of my silly freaking out today, I ended up at an internet page talking about the emotional aspect of getting married. There were a few really freeing quotes (I've kind of pasted them together here):

Why would a bride feel fear and sadness in the months preceding her most cherished day? In order to answer this question, we must look at the wedding as a rite of passage. ... Simply, a rite of passage is a major turning point in life where we experience a change in identity. It is a time of transition where the old way of life ceases to fit and the new life has not yet taken hold. ... A change of identity involves loss; and loss always, no matter how beautiful and bountiful the gains, involves grief. ... The problem is not the sadness or fear; the problem is an ingrained cultural belief that equates these feelings with the notion that you are making a mistake. ... This realization of all that [you're] giving up is an essential part of the letting go and grieving process. In order to prepare the ground for the new identity to take root, the old identity needs to be weeded and grieved.

So, I was thinking about my picture from moving to Japan, and how it had been nice to draw it and acknowledge what was being left behind. It was a part of the weeding and grieving. The move to Japan was wonderful--and terribly painful. But it didn't take very long before I saw that the boxes behind me were things I was ready to leave behind, and was overjoyed at some wonderful new additions to my identity.

This time my boxes feel a little more abstract. It's "Pamela the Missionary" who feels like she's fading out of existence. And to put "Pamela the Missionary" in a coffin feels like it would mean not following God anymore. Needless to say, I would not be cool with that. But I also don't think it's true. At least, I don't think that giving up the job title of missionary has anything to do with following God or not. But I haven't figured out what following God is supposed to look like at this stage of life. And the tension between the old way of following him and this new, unknown way is painful and confusing, and is resulting in me feeling guilty nearly perpetually as I am not living up to my old expectations.

Regardless of how abstract the boxes are, though, it was nice to realize that all that's going on is that I'm moving again--only this time there will be no ocean to cross and no literal suitcases to pack. It's a time to sort out the old life from the new. A time to cross into just as much of an unknown territory as a foreign country was--existing as a person who is being made into "one flesh" instead of being a single person. If that were the only identity shift, I don't know if it would even be as intense as it is. But I suppose this has been a triple whammy. I've gone from living in Japan to living in America. From working as a church worker to becoming an administrative assistant in a sports institution. The past year and a half has been the identity lobotomy of a lifetime. Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself...I don't know.

But it was nice to read the article and finally feel like there is permission to cry over the self that I'm losing--and permission to sit back and contemplate which parts of me that feel threatened need to be protected and supported, and which parts I can pack up and put into storage or throw away. I may not really have as much control of the process as that, but it always puts me at ease if I can see my emotions in a context of healthy transitioning, rather than as a mysterious, destructive force. :) It's funny how looking at it that way seems to make me feel much more free to experience both sadness and joy in my upcoming marriage all at the same time.