Wooing

Last semester was all about children; this semester seems to be all about marriage. It could be because two of my brothers are getting married...or because February lesson plans include poetry (of course!)...or because there are similarities between living together in marriage and the living together struggles of a girl and her church and a new neighborhood...but this is all hypothesizing. :) No matter the reason, there has been enough of a marriage theme running through the last weeks that when a blog entitled "How to Make a Marriage Bed" by Ann Voskamp arrived in my inbox, I laughed up at God, raised an eyebrow, and settled in for a read. Allow me to share a section with you all:

Why is it easier to earn love than simply accept it?

Sometimes when I stand skin nervous, too exposed, before the hangers and the choices, his hands find the waist and fingers around the bare that has stretched wrinkle thin six times and I cringe. He says it then in the light, what he whispers in the complete pitch with the door latch hooked close.

I doubt that word beautiful from his lips and I shake my head and I regret hurting him, but I can’t help it. To accept it would seem a lie but he says it is his God-honest truth. Why do I argue?

And why would a woman rather scrub the grime of the tile grout in the bathroom for her husband, make him plates of heaping mashed potatoes, light the candles, scour the pots, wash his underwear, rather than say yes to his wooing? Is it pride or is it shame (and maybe they are the same only by different names) or is it a symptom of a deep wound bleeding unseen or just blatant apathy and why rebuff the advances of the man who gave the ring and his promise and all of his bare male heart?

I thought of the blog during Bible study, when half of us were engaged in pouring tea rather than listening to the Bible reading. I've thought of it again during business meetings, English classes, my own Bible reading time, times of worship...so many instances when I find myself and others seemingly coming before God with the idea that we have to do something—scrub the bathroom, prepare the offerings, ready the church lunch, feverishly produce programs—to be worthwhile. Coming before Him so busily that we reject His wooing--running away from the awe and overwhelming thought of intimacy with the King of creation. (Note: these aren’t accusations of other church members as much as they are actions I find myself doing…)

Being the bold English teacher that I am, I brought an entire copy of the blog to English class and read it to my advanced students. They loved it--for both its slightly scandalous content (for a Japanese English classroom) and its honest questions. No one had ever given them permission to ask such questions before.

I wish that I knew how to ask such questions for myself, for the church members…wish I knew how to receive and communicate a freedom to rest and be loved.

Tomorrow is the annual all-church meeting, and I’m praying that there’s some wooing that goes on in the midst of excitement and the making of plans. God-and-human wooing—after all, the Church is the bride of Christ.

Lessons from the playground

Sensei! Sensei! Do you want to play too? The incredulity behind their question forces me to bite my lip to retain seriousness. These sniffling, squirming, small children that share my Tuesday afternoons still don't quite know what to do with a female, foreign adult who comes to play with them.

I often don't quite know what to do with myself. :)

But after weeks of silence, of swallowing down nervousness as I picked up my bag and headed down the street to the kindergarten that holds the after-school program, the kids graciously swallow their nervousness and ask me to join them. Ever week I think of a short prayer from The God-Dependent Life: "God, I'll take care of the shopping; and you'll take care of me." God, I'll take care of getting myself there; you take care of the relationships.

And each week He does.

We shriek, run, pelt each other with snowballs. "Cool" young men who play sports saunter up and uninterestedly ask for a dodge-ball match. The first-graders and I make weapons that range from light-sabers to machine guns and stage an all-out battle in the craft room. The girls and I "knit" scarves and fold origami, and they laugh at my inability to follow folding directions. We tickle, yell, run, sing, laugh...and sometimes I wonder if the time with these children is more a gift for me than it is for them.

Why am I connected to these 60+ children? I'm not sure. But since the relationships are in God's hands, I pray that His plan comes to pass for them.

Maybe that is the prayer I need for Sunday mornings, for this morning, for every morning--an intentional reminder that the work is the Lord's, and He is the all-knowing heart-viewer who is mighty in grace: God, I'll take care of getting to the church building; I know that you can do the rest.

Huddling in small dwelling places

Fun fact about Japan: on the main island of Honshu, various forms of heat are used in the winter, but central heating is generally not an option. The Japanese value air flow--and because their houses are built to allow air in, they're not necessarily good at retaining heat--making them impractical for central heating. We use many "tricks" to stay warm--hot water bottles of all kinds; electric, gas, or kerosene heaters; electric floor carpets under futon; hot baths, hot tea, and a lot of soup...tonight I have candles lit, which at least produce an atmosphere of light and warmth. :) The rooms in Japan all have sliding doors, which are used to "section off" the rooms in the winter to try and create a small space which warms quickly and cheaply.

Now, I'm from Minnesota, so cold winters aren't new or shocking. And using various methods of heat is kind of fun--like a game to see who can discover the most efficient source of warmth (okay, I must confess that I detest kerosene and practically forbid its use unless absolutely necessary--most of my experience is with very noxious old heaters). The sectioning off of the rooms, however, is something I can't quite get used to. Call it claustrophobia if you will--there is just something sad about trying to find the smallest space available and huddling up in it for weeks of cold and dark. Today, a day without work responsibilities, I braved the chilly weather to welcome the sun and air-out the apartment, and something in my heart was glad when the crisp air was flowing through open doors and walking and cleaning from room-to-room could be free and easy.

As the day went on, I slowly succumbed to the dropping temperatures and the evening darkness, and now my doors are all shut with shades drawn, and the heater is at my feet. And as I sit here, surrounded by barriers and walls, I find myself thinking of how I feel sometimes so shut-in--so separated by my American-ness and my Minnesotan-ness and my pastor's family-ness and my introversion and my love for music and books and...all of the things that sometimes seem unwanted or in-the-way. Yesterday's failures...and the seemingly endless weeks of relational failures...are lingering in my thoughts, and I'm wishing that I could open the psychological doors placed around my identity here and step into fresh air and life and just be and feel as though that was okay. Relational ministry is not for the faint of heart--it so often feels that part of one's job is to fulfill everyone's expectations and keep them happy. How can I step out of those doors, those walls? My light and warmth is found in a God much bigger than my little heater--I have no need to stay in the small space of judgments and failures to receive warmth and love! Why, oh why do I stay? And how can I get free?

Logically, I know that after the first 6 months of being in a place, all of my original push to connect and be happy is gone...and it usually takes me a full year to begin feeling connected...so the second half of the first year is just a "slogging through the mud" time. Or "battering down the walls" time, if I stick with my metaphors. :) But though I can be logical and even remember past experiences, tonight the walls loom large and my heart can only haltingly repeat the old truth:

"Lord, you have been our dwelling place

throughout all generations.

Before the mountains were born,

or you brought forth the whole world,

from everlasting to everlasting, you are God." (Ps. 90)

My dwelling place is spacious...and secure. These human and relational walls...they carry the illusion of power, and there is pain in tearing them down, but they do not have to be where I reside.

Please, God, keep reminding me of this during this time of pounding on walls. And please, God...could you please run me into someone here who can help with the tearing down process?

A history lesson

"Sensei, do you remember the story of how this church started?"

The question was meant to serve two purposes: 1). shorten the feel of our drive to Koriyama and 2). discover information that can be shared with prayer supporters in America. Because of the second reason, Cindy says I have to post this with a spoiler alert. SPOILER ALERT: This will at some point be verbally communicated in some section of America. :)

The story begins with an orphanage in the outlying areas of Fukushima city. I don't know what image comes to mind with the word "orphanage," but I know that even when I imagine a clean, safe place or program for children who have been orphaned, I still sense a gaping void where I would like to imagine "family." Family is...the origin of a person's "home culture," a huge factor in shaping a person's eyeglasses with which to see the world...where and how a child learns about safety and danger, love and pain, the guidelines to follow to be valuable or worthwhile...

This is all me hypothesizing here, but when I type the word "orphanage," does it mean the absence of all of...that?

Anyway, so our church starts with an orphanage. A woman from America would send Christmas gifts every year for the children of the orphanage, and through her action, the head of the orphanage became interested in learning about God and finding a church. (I wonder who the lady was, and what she was like...why was she connected with Fukushima City? But those questions were bypassed for more direct history...) The orphanage director wrote to the woman, asking for advice about what church to attend and how to learn about faith, and the woman responded with directions to seek out a Lutheran church. Sadly, the Lutheran synod in Japan was not interested in Fukushima, and so the nearest Lutheran church was in Niigata (yes, Niigata--where I was previously working!), a 3-hour drive away. Being a busy director, the head of the orphanage sent his wife and a boy staying at the orphanage to Niigata to investigate, and soon the seeking woman and boy were baptized.

They then decided that a 3-hour drive to church wouldn't work well for every Sunday, but the Lutheran synod was already busy in other places and couldn't spare resources for full-time ministry in Fukushima. The group from the orphanage, with the help of the American woman and others, decided to raise money and build the church building, hoping that a pastor or missionary would be sent to them after the place for worship was set up.

Then followed years of pastors coming and going...sometimes commuting from Tokyo, sometimes living in the small parsonage connected to the church. The building saw new editions, people coming and going, various mission projects, and the fights and struggles that arise from questions of faith and truth.

Sitting curled in front of my space heater at this moment, at this point in the timeline of this church, I find myself still reflecting on questions of family, worth and value, safety and love, etc. I know, in some way, history defines who we are. I also believe that God's healing, grace, and new life can free us from chains our histories hold. How has this history impacted the church? How does this church experience living as the "family of Christ"?

Hmm... It feels like those questions are just the tip of the iceberg.

Never-failing fruit

“But blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD,
whose confidence is in him.
They will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
and never fails to bear fruit.”

- Jeremiah 17:7-8

Am grateful tonight for the promise that it is God's life which fills and produces fruit, no matter the season or circumstances...

2011

The new bulletin board items are waiting to be personalized by the students and hung up. New class materials and discussion topics are sitting on the table. A song that I want to focus on with the children over the next few weeks is in the songbook in my bag. Two Bibles are laying on the floor (I'm not sure why...), open to the places we'll study tomorrow in English Bible study.

My planner already has the first week and a half of January, 2011, filled with blessed experiences like traveling to China, spending time with dear friends from Tokyo and America, and even a surprise Japanese-Chinese wedding. I've already been able to spend time in 2011 learning new words from a new language, cuddling amazing children, and experiencing moments and memories that remind me of the gracious abundance of God. And yes, the first week and a half of 2011 has already included miscommunication, frustration, even death.

Looking at the last week and a half and preparing for tomorrow makes me thankful that God's plan is bigger than my 2011 calendar. :) And it reminds me of God's incredible giving--not just once, or yearly, or weekly, or daily...but in each of my living moments.

Taking a deep breath and looking forward to seeing God's action in this next semester and new year...