"I'm sorry about your grandmother." I say it in careful, clear English before the smirking girl across the desk. She smells of incense and has cheeks painted pink from tears, and her smirk vanishes into a curt nod that pulls at my heart. That's the closest to admitting weakness I've ever seen her get.

Most of our interactions involve me saying, "Give me your cellphone please...your ipod please...your game system please..." This is one student well-versed in the art of disruption and, I think, one who is surprised that I continue to push at her. She is quieter with her cellphone in hand...but I want more than just her physical body sitting slouched in my classroom for an hour a week. I want her mind...to see glimpses of her personality and heart, her opinions, likes and dislikes, hopes and fears.

She is the student who inevitably makes me walk home from class thinking, "I am a horrible teacher...how else can I try to make this class work?" And she is the one that gives me the strongest urge to just throw my arms around my students in a hug...kids confused and frustrated and pressured and tired and taught to not question or ask why or express concern or ask for help.


One of my adult students today came in and shared a recent news story: a high school boy committed suicide, and his father went on public TV to request that the bullies who had tormented his son receive punishment for their ways. I kind of gingerly asked some questions about the situation...the final conclusion of the class was that it was too bad, but bullies will always exist...and the bullied boy should have just been mentally and physically stronger. Was it my American culture, or my faith, or some weak part of me that made me want to cry inside when I heard that? Someone is going to jump off a building because of bullying, and the best counsel to give is, "Be stronger"?!?!




Another high school student recently came into class fuming and talked non-stop about a bully at her school. She talked about being afraid, about just saying what the bully would accept, about never disagreeing... She talked about tears, and feeling helpless to stop the abuse. She talked about the senpai-cohai concept in Japan, and how the upper classmates feel entitled to bully the lower classes and sometimes take full advantage of such things. I didn't know what to say. I couldn't tell her to ask for help. Couldn't tell her to take it to those in authority. Couldn't tell her to switch schools or hop a plane and switch countries even. In some respects, my adult class was right--there will always be bullies in this world. There will always be difficulty in this world. There will be enough pain that it'll make you want to quit sometimes. 



This week during English Bible study we studied Psalm 125 and talked about the theme of security that runs through the psalm. "God surrounds His people--just like the mountains surround the city of Jerusalem." This is the answer that I want to give, what I wish I could share deep along with a hug for my kids: God enfolds us, defends us, protects us...and brings us to eternal safety.


I've been praying for the last few months about another student, who sits with a dazed expression and rarely speaks unless spoken to. In the time I've been here, I have seen her make the transition from being a girl to a young woman...watched her change from an exuberant child to pained adolescent...watched something wipe that eagerness to learn off her face and replace it with a listless, meaningless blank. Watched her body get smaller even as it has grown...bit my lip over her loss of weight and wondered if I should say or do something. I have 10 minutes between each English class in the evenings, and in the confusing inward and outward flow of bodies at the front door, I try to catch her eye, smile, offer some encouragement. I ask the Japanese leadership, adults, if they have advice...ideas for what to do. We pray.

Tonight after class, I heard that she is quitting classes. Something about not being able to get a ride. She didn't catch my eye on the way out the door or say goodbye.


I want to rail against the evilness of the Japanese system. Want to lash out at the injustice...at the suffering. Want to say that if they had any sense at all of an individual's value, the suicide rate would lower immensely. Want to yell...to cry... To shake some of the adults...parents, teachers...to tell them to stop giving empty, useless words of advice and stop looking the other direction when the bullies throw punches or hiss a low command.

I know this is bigger than a Japanese thing. I know it because of my own sinful response to it.


Tomorrow I'll go back to my smirking girl and wonder for the 100th time how to connect with her and draw her out. For probably the 40th time, I'll demand her cellphone, or something like that, so that she can pay attention in class. And I'll pray as I go to class and as I return...maybe the chance to give that hug or speak of the God who enfolds and protects His people will come sooner than I think. I'd like that.

Relief Work?

It was the beginning of April, 2011. I (Haidee) had just stepped off the plane into Narita airport and used a pay phone to alert my roommate in Fukushima that I wouldn't be making it back that night--with aftershocks, the trains were an unreliable method of transportation for such a distance. "Well, can you make it back by 1pm or so?" my roommate said. "A meeting with a local English company came up, and it'd be good if you could make it." I said I'd try, hung up the phone, and (about 18 hours later) stumbled (with my luggage still in hand) into the church for the meeting.

So began (for me) the season of relief work and rebuilding after the March 11th earthquake. I'm not sure what relief work looks like in other places of the world, but for me, it's been a season of immense change (some good, some bad), pressure to serve, and what feels like a constant flow of "crisis situations" that can only be reacted to or stumbled into, rather than planned for.

Take yesterday, for example. I was cleaning the kitchen stove-top and had spent the last hour brainstorming with Eric and typing up an adult English curriculum when my cellphone rang. I picked it up too late, but called the pastor's wife back and chatted with her regarding some English school plans and concerns. While I was talking to her...and cleaning the stove...and still had my document unsaved, open on my laptop to finish typing out the English school curriculum...there was a knock on my door. It was my pastor, who had just gotten a call from a non-profit organization who was going to pass out socks at the government housing area and was asking for more volunteers...to meet in 2 hours. And we needed to turn in some forms for the upcoming Kids' Camp (another relief program) by that afternoon, he said, so he and I needed to have a meeting and complete that paperwork.

After a year of these kinds of situations, I have a hard time reacting graciously. What I'd like to do is just yell, "One at a time! Take a number! And if I don't have time to get to you today, you'll just have to come back tomorrow. And no, don't try to guilt me into doing anything."

In the end, I saved my unfinished English school curriculum, went to an English school meeting, finished the necessary Kids' Camp paperwork, and said that Eric and I would pass things out at the government housing area the next day. Eric spent the afternoon prepping Easter baskets for the Kids' Camp. Today we went and spent time with the elderly people living in the government housing area, passing out socks and engaging them in conversation.

What is relief work? Is it doing as much as possible for as many people as possible all the time? Is it physical--handing out socks, making Easter baskets? Emotional and relational--conversations, time spent together? Spiritual--prayer-walking, worship? Is it more economical--helping the city and society get back up on its feet, helping the students get back into routines of learning? Is it distant--do we need to go to the government housing area? Is it nearby--does it count as relief work if we simply talk to our neighbors, who are separated from their families because of radiation?

We want to help the people of this city. We want to share God's love and light. We also want to make decisions as adults and be better at saying yes or no to things...not just living in a state of reaction, guilt, and stress. What is important? What is not important? How do we decide? There is so much that can be done...

A blessing is that in moments when it is all just too much, and we feel pulled and twisted and disfigured by the needs and demands, I can look across at Eric and know love...receive love...feel it.

A short summary: relief work, in all of its ambiguity and busyness, is just plain difficult. Please pray for wisdom, strength, and peace as we round the bend for year number two since the earthquake! And perhaps...some relief.

Culture and kids' books

Even though I teach at a conversationally-focused English school, I'm a firm believer in the use of books for pronunciation practice, natural grammar and sentence flow, new vocabulary, and tidbits of cultural lessons. I use books for all ages and am often surprised by what catches the attention of my adults, who reflect and discuss more than my kids. Here are just a few topics that get comments and responses from students and the books that generated them...

Family Relationships:

I wasn't so stuck on the Berenstain Bears series as a kid, but Cindy's students especially have loved them because of the family relationships and dynamics displayed in the tales. In Japan, most of the moral teaching of a child is done at school, rather than at home. I have heard again and again, "My job as a parent is simply to encourage my child." Encourage...not teach. So the little life-lessons, disciplinary actions of parents, and development of Brother and Sister Bear in these children's books surprise some of our students immensely.

Compare and Contrast:

The most recent book I used that could be classified in this category is I am a Seed, a simple science-reader comparing a marigold and a pumpkin. The students were surprised that the author spent a whole book pointing out the differences between the two plants, rather than the similarities. A collective society versus individualistic society, anyone?

Navigating Society:

Yesterday I read a simple book called Tom and Sam, which told the story of two friends who allowed competition and jealousy to ruin their friendship for a bit. The whole story outlines how each of the two men would do things so that the other townspeople would notice and praise them. My students responded to the book by saying, "Well, the other people around them should not have praised them!" I responded by saying, "Interesting. I always thought that the moral of this story is to not listen to or be controlled by others' praise or admiration." This was met with dumbfounded looks, as my students tried to consider what I meant by not listening to those around them...

I think I've mentioned before that in Japan, it is considered highly inappropriate to praise a family member in the presence of other people, because the praise will make other people around them feel bad. I always find it fascinating that the responsibility of good communication and harmony is placed mostly on the speaker, rather than on the listeners, who (in my opinion, of course) have the freedom to choose how to respond to the speaker. In my opinion, Sam and Tom could have chosen not to listen to the townspeople and focus instead on their friendship. In my students' opinions, the townspeople should simply have kept their admiring mouths shut!

These cultural discussions are always interesting, and they usually generate a lot of laughter in the classroom, where things are intentionally kept fairly light. I confess that I usually do a lot more wrestling with the cultural differences in the safety of our apartment. These discussions always raise a lot of questions for me...especially when I put them in the context of Christian learning and life. For example, I've always thought that parental instruction and raising kids up in the faith is a very Biblical concept...but is that just my culture coming through? How do I respond in a Christian way to the hands-off parenting method?

Or dealing with the topic of receiving other people's praise...it is my belief that my identity as a child of God trumps all other identities people might try to give me. They could call me amazing or call me horrible...but what matters most is God's gift of salvation and the new identity given in Christ. How do I share that message in a culture that seems always first and foremost concerned with what those around them are saying/thinking/feeling?

These are little issues, compared to some others...but always food for thought! And great motivations for prayer.

Stretched

I'm often given the job of asking an "icebreaker question" at the beginning of our weekly Japanese Bible study, and I generally try to ask something that will lead people to share life stories or recent events or thoughts about God's recent acts. Yesterday, however, I fished about mentally for a question that would lead to discussions of the people in our lives we can share the Gospel with.

(Short mental aside: I really have been trained as a DCO, and Phil Johnson's words, "A DCO is an advocate for those not in the church yet" have stuck in my mind. Trying to figure out what such an advocate does as a foreigner in Japan has been the search of four years or more of my life. Sigh. Call me a slow learner. Some days I'm still quite at my wits' end.)

Finally, the question that came out was something like, "Let's share stories of a recent new relationship we've made or discovered, or a connection with another person. It doesn't have to be a deep connection, but just time together with a new person."

As an example, I shared about some recent conversations I've had with a girl about my age who works at a fabric and hobby shop. After I visited the shop several times we began to share stories of sewing projects, and our conversations have been the highlights of my last several weeks.

I ended my story with a chuckle at my memory of the conversations, but the chuckle quickly died as I looked at the faces around me. Maybe...I should have thought twice before asking this question? Sure enough, one by one, around the table, the stories sounded the same: "I don't have any new relationships."

As we stopped chatting and started the Bible reading for the day, my eyes were filled with tears, and I must have looked very focused on trying to read the kanji. Part of my tears, I confess, were tears of pure jealousy. I wanted to say strongly, "Do you know how many new relationships I get each week? You guys can stay with your families...can hang out with friends you know...you don't have the need to find new people, because you're comfortable, but it's my JOB to stay uncomfortable, to reach out, to be constantly thinking of the new people around me. It's my job to evaluate and get to know and care for each new student, each church visitor. In the last week I've neglected family emails, missed sending birthday wishes, haven't helped my brother move into his new apartment, and more...because I've been busy caring for the new people..."

By the time I'd stumbled through the kanji and engaged in this mental rant, I was a bit more in my right mind. Yeah, it was a bad question for people who'd lived 2/3rds of their lives in the same community. I shouldn't have moved them cold-turkey into the sphere of new relationships. And I should realize that my life will always probably be a bit incomprehensible...and that's not anyone's fault.

But the goal of my question remains a question: How do I encourage the Christians around me and myself to see faces and God's creations in the people around them?

It is a sacrifice to lay down comfortable relationships and pick up the new. A part of me often feels like quoting Bilbo from Lord of the Rings, "I feel thin...stretched...like butter spread over too much bread."

But...there is also deep joy, watching new people experience with wide eyes and amazement the warmth and forgiveness of the Gospel.

Ps. 136...kind of

I have spent quite a bit of time today preparing and planning for different worship times that will occur over the next week. One of the simple Japanese worship songs I discovered today has the repeating phrase, "The Lord's grace endures forever" (in my loose translation) in it, and tonight I had Psalm 136 running through my head because of it. Therefore, without further ado, I present to you "Psalm 136" based on today's experiences...in any order. Here goes:

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good.

His love endures forever.

He brings relief from heat and humidity and blesses us with cool temperatures.

His love endures forever.

He provides a roommate who doesn't mind cleaning mold inside the top of the toilet.

His love endures forever.

He opens a "new way"* (like youtube) and streams in the desert...

His love endures forever.

He gathers Christians together for moments of prayer and causes praise to be brought to him from many tongues, cultures, places, and people.

His love endures forever.

He pours down rain and water to bring life. And we are blessed with the beginning of nashi* season!

His love endures forever.

He draws students into conversations about himself, to show his love...

His love endures forever.

He helps in the learning of kanji.*

His love endures forever.

He created and loves these people, in Fukushima.

His love endures forever.

His forgiveness goes further than I could ever deserve or imagine.

His love endures forever.

He's faithful for the future...even when it involves meetings and confusion and illogical plans.

His love endures forever.

His gifts are abundant and good, for he is good.

His love endures forever.

It may sound glib...but it's real in my heart. :)

And here's a link to the actual song which had me thinking of this in the first place: Shu no megumi wa tokoshie made, by Daisuki Yokoyama.

Explanations regarding vocabulary:

*"New way" - I am partly responsible for worship music at the church...you'd be surprised at how useful youtube is for learning a new melody/lyrics :)

*Nashi - Asian pear

*Kanji - Chinese characters with multiple readings in the Japanese language

Summer fellowship

Fall 2006...I'd spent the last four weeks muttering the mantra "I live here. I live here. I live here. I live here..." under my breath. When I jumped away from bicycles on the crazy sidewalks near Kawasaki station...when I ran for the train...when I was overwhelmed by Tokyo's ever-moving sea of people...I would remind myself that there was no going back--this wasn't vacation. I was living in Japan.

The VYM program that I served in from 2006-2009 had business meetings and retreats that happened in the fall and spring of each year, and it was fall retreat of 2006 when I first met the whole VYM group in Japan. I remember sitting in the back corner on the floor during one of our group worship times, lips pressed tightly together because I couldn't honestly sing the lyrics to the song the group was singing:

"We delight ourselves at your table, O God.

You do all things well; just look at our lives."

Look at my life, with my silly mantra to get me through day after day that seemed overwhelming?! Yeah, right. (Note: I know that God is good. Sometimes, I just like to pout about my life for a moment. :))

As I got to know my fellow-missionaries better, the song's lyrics took on special meaning. Not one of the missionaries "had it all together." No one was feeling necessarily competent or efficient. When we got together, we definitely did talk about exciting things God was doing...but we also talked about the darker things, like loneliness and doubts and culture questions and clashes. We talked about the ugliness that comes out when we are stressed, about the disappointment we feel toward ourselves and those around us.

And I realized that when we were singing, we hadn't been singing necessarily about gifts of wisdom, beauty, language skills, respectability, peace, goodness, etc. We had been mostly singing about grace. Yes, look at our lives--look straight at the realness of our pain and questions and struggles--and praise God whole-heartedly for His grace.

Summer 2011. This last weekend in Fukushima, we gathered together again. Many of us have left Japan and then returned. Several of us have gotten married and came with spouses. We have new ministries and new homes in new parts of Japan...new memories and stories of earthquakes and aftershocks and culture shocks and life. New experiences of grace and God's "doing all things well."

With this group of people, I can talk about both the elusiveness of hope and the miraculous doors God has opened...all in one breath. We mourn, cry, comfort, laugh, pray, praise...and love each other with a loyalty grown in honest difficulty, desperation, and experiences of grace. We end with hugs and talk about next time we'll meet...America? Japan? Only God knows...

And today, the first day of our fall semester, I was thinking of my dear friends, and of experienced grace...present grace...and the promise of grace to come. What a blessing! The lyrics ran through my head:

"We delight ourselves at your table, O God.

You do all things well; just look at our lives..."

Summer conversations

"Why do you ask God for help?" my friend, visiting from Tokyo, asked as we leisurely stood outside my apartment swatting mosquitoes and watching the sunset. "God can't be everywhere at once. If he is helping you, then it takes him away from other people who need his help. So you are just being selfish."

We talked about God creating everything, knowing each sparrow that falls, and each hair on our heads.

"Do you really believe that?"

Yeah. Yes, I do, and I don't know how to communicate to you that God knows you. Loves you.

"I think that God sits up in heaven. Sometimes he sends angels, if you are in trouble. But mostly, he is just saying 'ganbatte'--do your best. So I should do my best."

No. Your best...my best...isn't good enough.

"You really believe that God is one, but that God is everywhere? That's illogical."

Yeah. Yes, I do. Yes, maybe it is.

We say goodbye, finally--friends who have spent the last 5 years conversing about religion and God's character...and I sigh as I give a last wave. We've covered topics (generally brought up by my friend) like Jesus' death and salvation, praying to Mary, pain in the world, living good lives, certain biblical parables...but conversations always end in illogical places to eyes without faith. I wish that I had CS Lewis' ability to reason...with that I could know Japanese culture better, so I had better ideas of the presuppositions the people I talk to are holding...

One thing I do feel keenly--that my friend wants to be known and loved by God. Heading back to the apartment, I send up a prayer for God's presence to be real to those who feel Him far away...and for His truth to be revealed.

Fukushima summertime

As I sit here and eat my third batch of ice-cubes for the day, I thought I'd share a short dialogue between my roommate and I which, at the time, did not strike either of us as odd...

H: "So, I can run to the store. I'm guessing I should pick up liquid of some kind..."

C: "Yeah, that'd probably be good."

H: "Anything else? Should I get any ice cream for the computers?"

C: "Hmm...probably."

"Wait!" One might say. "Computers don't need ice cream." Let me explain...

It's a little warm here. :) I pulled up a heat index calculator earlier and discovered that the humidity and temperature adds up to feeling like about 130 degrees Fahrenheit. This does not bode well for either our bodies or our electronics--in the middle of working on my laptop a few days ago I began to smell something burning...followed by a heart-rending scream from my speakers...and my poor Toshiba froze solid (well...had a meltdown).

Because of this, we've recently been using the dry ice that we receive freely at the grocery store with an ice-cream purchase to help cool down our computers. :) The dry ice goes on top of a plate or bag and is placed inside a basket, upon which the computer is set. Then the rotating fan blows air over the dry ice...and hopefully provides a little cool air under the laptop. Our other electronics either fend for themselves or receive cold-water baths from time to time (particularly the refrigerator).

I confess...Cindy and I do actually eat the ice cream. But really...it's for the sake of our laptops that we bought it in the first place... :)

Studying the Sermon on the Mount

²¹ “You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘You shall not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ ²² But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to a brother or sister, ‘Raca,’ is answerable to the court. And anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell...

One Bible study that I teach is with some lower-level English students, and we generally use all methods of communication available--English, Japanese, facial expressions, gestures, sounds, visual aids of various kinds, etc. I have, at various times, hopped across the room and played dead on the floor in an attempt to communicate meaning. :)

We have just begun studying the Sermon on the Mount in this Bible study, and it's...not easy. After several attempts yesterday to explain the section above in both languages and still receiving confused looks, I realized that my brother was actually sitting right next to me. The poor boy had to undergo some rough words for a bit, as I tried to depict what it might mean to call a brother a fool and have that be equal to murder in God's eyes. :) I was in the middle of a tirade against him when a student broke in by asking incredulously, "Wait...so if this is against God's law...you guys never fought or yelled at each other as children?!"

After laughing, we explained that of COURSE we'd yelled at each other as children--that was pretty natural. Jesus' message showed us that we can't follow God's law perfectly--that even in the deep places of our hearts and minds, we are sinners needing a Savior. The punishment that we deserve to receive was taken by Jesus on the cross, and it's only when we recognize and realize that we are forgiven that we begin to start realizing what it means to have hearts of love for others as well.

Something clicked together: THIS was why we were always talking about Jesus' death and resurrection...THIS was why we celebrated Christmas and Easter... After a few questions, silence with a look of deep pondering settled over the faces and room.

I think most Japanese people who have heard of Jesus describe Him to me by saying, "Oh, yeah, I know Jesus--He told us that love is most important, and we are supposed to love our enemies." Then a lot of people I have met have followed that statement with a comment along the lines of, "Jesus is the same as Buddhist teaching. It also teaches us to be kind to everyone."

I confess that even as I respond with, "Oh? Can you tell me more about that?", inside I'm thinking, "There is more to the story than being kind..." I've been praying that as we study the Sermon on the Mount, we'll learn where the power to love enemies and where kindness really comes from...

As I stacked the Bibles and put things away, I overheard a student speaking out-loud to her child thoughtfully, "We learned something important tonight...what should we do about it?"

"Believe," my heart begged. God, give life and faith to believe...

Snapshot from morning prayer

Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.

- Ps. 90

We stumble into the church with our pajamas and "morning head" hair, and maybe because of such authenticity--realizing clearly that we are loved in the unlovable, un-beautiful moments--there is a deep sense of awe, joy, and gladness. Hope does not disappoint us...because God's love is unfailing and deeper than we can even grasp.

Summer prayer

We were all in the car, trying to retrace our steps since the earthquake and coming up with words that spilled out in ache and fear and deep tiredness. The question was raised, "What is a joyful activity right now? What do you look forward to?"

The car was suddenly silent. I know there is joy here. Some days...many days...I choose it because I must, and because God says it's free for the taking in Him.

Later, people passing by must have wondered at our rag-tag group in the parking lot--some pajama'd, rubbing sleepy eyes...some holding landscaping tools used during the day...some whispering translations in English, some stumbling through Japanese. Bursts of laughter bringing quick light to serious faces.

The day had thrown wild punches...and it was just a reminder of all of us, trying to give our best and having our best be...not good enough.

My best English class can't bring relief from fears of radiation.

Pastor's best sermon can't free people's grasp on old wounds.

The best and most carefully planned time of prayer doesn't automatically prove God is worthy of praise for those who doubt.

Maybe it's a bad thing that I always try to give everything I can do before I just settle down and give times of prayer. Why does prayer always get put as a "last resort" on my list of job skills?

Freedom, healing, peace, faith, joy, hope...I know the Source from which they come.

So in the dark, in the parking lot, after sharing about the attempts and failures that pile up and take the breath right out of us, we decided to pray through these next weeks.

Pray thanksgiving, to lift our eyes and see the Provider.

Pray repentance, to grasp awe of His Holiness.

Pray life and hope, because the One we call Father is also the Author of Life, making streams in deserts.

Wish to join in?

6:30am (Japan time)/4:30pm (MN time), Tuesdays through Sundays for the next three weeks, following the three prayer themes listed above...or anytime, holding this place and its people up before the King and Father...

Of rings and things...

It was April of 2009, and I had just stepped into my family's kitchen after finishing my first two and a half years in Japan. My arms ached from carrying luggage, back ached from airline travel, and my heart ached from goodbyes. The familiar, warm kitchen could have been the moon for how much I felt like an alien. I had lived and grown and loved in another world for a bit, and I knew it would take awhile before I felt part of this American one that had been my home.

My mother was stepping around the luggage on the floor, chatting about life updates and news. "Hey, Eric called yesterday," she said. "He wanted to know when you were flying in and said he'd call back later."

I went from feeling alone to suddenly realizing that I had friends...and more than that, a history of friendship and shared growth. I think some deep part of my soul smiled big. And I don't think I'll ever quite forget that moment.

The phone call took place...a friendly conversation filled with updates on life changes, processing of faith and difficulties, and obscure references to CS Lewis quotes. :) And I hung up the phone with a heart-felt, "Thank you, God, for the grace you give through friendship with him..."

Fast-forward with me to another conversation almost a year later, while I was in the middle of paperwork and plans for Fukushima--a conversation about friendship and more...and could we talk about what us might mean?...and the seeming finality of the words, "But Eric, I'm going back to Japan. For a couple years."

I don't even remember Eric's response to that statement. I do remember months of asking God why He would open two different doors in front of me that seemed to go in opposite directions. Why would He call me to both travel and stay with someone?

I moved to Fukushima...and Eric and I kept talking. And the year that has passed has taught me a few things:

1. The same God that I trust in Fukushima...I can trust to lead and guide and work anywhere. And in any context. Single? God is trustworthy. Earthquake? God is trustworthy. New job? God is trustworthy. Health concerns? God is trustworthy. Married? I'm guessing that God is trustworthy. :) I am dependent on His grace.

2. The most important travel, discovery, and culture-sharing takes place in the context of relationships. (You should check out Andrew Peterson's "World Traveler"...he says it much better than I. :))

And finally, maybe, I learned over the last year...that the respect, admiration, and care in my friendship with Eric really has grown to love...that I am so blessed to somehow both receive and give.

A short visit to MN for my second brother's wedding this last week involved some time with Eric...and a ring, a question...and an answer of yes. And now I'm back in Fukushima, still not quite able to grasp it all or wipe what I'm sure is a silly smile off my face... :)

Thanks for well-wishes and prayers! It's been a blessing to share the news with people!

This kind of feels like the start of a new journey...and I'm so excited... :)

Love,

Haidee

Adult class

Six of us ladies sat around a box of kleenex and smiled at each other--real smiles, the smiles that come after tears and yells and frustrated words and whispered memories and murmured compassion.

We'd been working through bits of Montgomery Gentry's "Something to Be Proud of"--a random song pulled off my ipod that I thought would be a good springboard for discussions on pride and success and encouragement. In Japan, the comment "I'm really proud of my ____" is just not considered polite, and pride generally (it seems) has negative associations. In the midst of earthquake cleanup and the place trying to pull itself together, I thought pride discussions might be good.

For those of you unfamiliar with the song (as I was, three weeks ago!), it starts out with a father telling his son about past life experiences that he is proud of--hard work, sacrifice, risk, service, family, etc. Then the song goes on to share some of the son's processing and questions involving his own life goals and achievements, ending with the haunting question: Is my life something to be proud of?

The kleenex came out when we started sharing about what that question meant to us...what kinds of things we were proud of. Forget the test scores and skills perfected and high-ranking jobs received--we talked about times of care for others that took every particle of mustered-up energy, dark thoughts and desperation, and times when identity was crushed beyond what we thought fixable.

What were they proud of? They were proud of the breaking and dying that ended up bringing growth and refining love.

I'm thankful for God creating safe places and openness for such discussions. I'm thankful for the bravery shown in sharing. And I'm thankful for the growth and life God brings out of pain and darkness and questions.

Open hands

I turned from where I'd written my name on the blackboard, hands dusted with chalk, and faced my eight high-school freshman with a gulp. Opened my mouth...then closed it. Normally no matter how I'm feeling, I can force words to come out when teaching, but those eight aloof faces, masked and locked away, brought up a fear that left me speechless.

That first class ticked by slowly. I went home from my company that night and laughed with Cindy at the irony of life--Cindy, who has studied and worked in youth ministry and who usually teaches my high-school classes while I teach anyone else.

It took a few weeks of them looking at me like I was crazy and me wondering if they understood anything at all, but now it seems like we're in a good place. We talk about school, friends, schedules, fashion, travel. I've learned that they come from a full day of school and sports practice to study English until the late evening hours and if they have faces locked in a sleepy glaze, it's because they really are fighting hard to stay awake.

Next week is my last class with them. Last night I sat through evening prayer with tears dripping down my face, feeling ridiculous for always crying over impending goodbyes--especially goodbyes with students I've only taught for a total of 6 weeks. I wonder where they will go, what they will end up doing. Will they survive their last years of high-school, go on to college, and end up in a company that makes them work 80 hours a week? Will they take their place in society with their heads down in submission, ready to accept the bullying that is expected from those in leadership above them? Will they succumb to depression, end up hidden away in a room somewhere, or will they somehow receive freedom and confidence? Who will impact them, for good or for ill?

Blah. I feel overly-dramatic and overly-protective--and I really have nothing to say in my own defense. Living with limited language competence--I can do that. Living knowing that there will be daily cultural clashes and pains--it's hard, but I'm okay with sorting through it all. Continual, continual goodbyes with people that I have fought with and for, grown together with, prayed for, and tried to invest in--that feels like dying. Bit by bit, person by person, a continual reminder that nothing is certain and I am only a steward of that which God gives for the day--or for the hour. I wish that I could--I hope someday I'll learn how to--relinquish people to God with trust and hope. But for now, this is me feeling wrinkled-skin old, broken-down, and calloused with bitterness from countless goodbyes.

I can't explain it--why don't I just get used to this life rhythm?

Where did I first hear this phrase: "Live with open hands"? I'm no longer sure. But...I guess this is another day to learn what "open hands" might look like. And I know I learn of grace in the process.

Off to class...

Rainy day

Rain falls, and we pace inside looking longingly out the windows, wanting to escape the truth that togetherness makes us face: we are not nice people.

There have been stormy quarrels over colored crayons. Tears have fallen, and even mothers' lips have trembled. Fears voiced by the young have been left hanging in the air, as the old could not find words to comfort.

"I'm sorry." We have all said those words so many times today--when roads have been confused, schedules challenged, hurtful words or glances slung across the distance between us. When children pound angry fists and raise wails of frustration.

There is only tiredness. Even birthday congratulations, meant to speak hope and joy, are shadowed by future fears and unknowns.

"Why can't this get better? Why can't we be better?" On rainy days, the gnawing questions and disappointment remind us that sometimes our best efforts come out so hopelessly short of love. Come to think of it, they come out that way on sunny days too.

We have studied Easter, Jesus' death and resurrection, and we have studied the Christmas story, and students ask if we can please go back to Christmas and study more about Jesus' life. After clarifying together what is known and unknown, we are all slightly surprised to start back in Matthew 2--back with the Magi and Herod, and Joseph and Mary fleeing to Egypt, and the settling down in the ill-reputed Nazareth.

And maybe it is the Living One knocking on our hearts, along with the rain pounding on the roof, that leads us to see Herod with understanding eyes. Killing children in a futile effort to protect himself and his throne. Just like he killed relatives, others... On this day, how well we understand how far we all go in an effort to achieve success and protect ourselves! The Light is born into the world, and the darkness is threatened and fearful and very, very black.

And this living together also brings out the undeniable fact that we are naturally part of that darkness, regardless of the goals we have or resolutions we make. We hurt and yell and tear and lack and, together, we groan because of it all...

"What must I do to be saved?" the Philippian jailer's plea is ours.

And that is grace, because we are not left unanswered.

From the classroom...

When I lived in Niigata, I had a class of 6-year-old boys who would tramp in on a Friday night for their English lesson. They would answer my cheerful, "How are you?" with a continual, "I'm hungry!" Between extra-curricular activities and the extra lessons deemed necessary by most caring parents in Japan (in my experience, at least), the boys had at least five 10-hour days a week. I felt bonded to those boys simply because I felt so sorry for the small, tired faces and the squirming bodies still too small for their desks.

Fast-forward to the present. The most common answer to my opening "How are you?": "I'm sleepy." And I still feel sorry.

The students' stories can't be blogged because they are personal, but the theme of the stories remains one and the same: Just need to push a little longer, a little harder, a little more...can't stop now.

Is it American or the Christian in me that wants so often to say to them, "Stop. Rest. You're okay."...? Probably some mix of both.

Cindy and I often talk about how all cultural values or traditions have sin in them, because there is no one perfect culture. I wouldn't say that Americans have the perfect education system, or really wonderful methods of encouraging and giving grace and meaning to students. Neither does Japan. And so, as a Christian teacher who is flawed working within a flawed system...how do I respond to my sleepy sixth-graders? The high-schoolers who walk in a monotonous haze of tiredness and hunger? The students who speak at a whisper and refuse to speak louder because they have been taught to never stick out and are so fearful of making a mistake?

Sometimes I spend the whole class period wanting to bluntly say, "You are more than the grade you get. Than the hours you put in studying. More than the opinions of your teachers, your classmates, your parents. More than the fear you have of failure or the successes you take pride in..."

Even said bluntly, I know those sentences would not communicate what I want them to say. Grace and love are not easily understood--for all of us flawed people with flawed cultures. They are illogical concepts to minds that only understand the cold logic of rewards won and punishment deserved.

I believe that the small things communicate. Smiling. Laughing. A high-five or a "good job!" Sometimes I get impatient with the small things and just wish freedom, hope, and confidence could be given in gift-boxes to my students as they go out the classroom door into the pressures of life.

So...we pray for those things.

Heading back to the classroom. :)

Love,

Haidee

When fields lie fallow...

This past week held the annual "Golden Week" vacation--several national holidays in a row that make up a sort of "spring break" here in Japan. When I lived in Niigata, Golden Week was the customary time for rice planting, and the week was marked by flooded fields becoming home for frail-looking green shoots with a special sort of beauty. Once the rice was planted, I would take note of the quickly-changing shoots of green, marking their development and enjoying the obvious productivity and life.

This year is a little different here in Fukushima. At first I couldn't put my finger on the difference--was it cooler weather, or the strong winds from the mountains? Why did it not feel quite like spring yet? Then Cindy commented, "They didn't plant the rice fields."

Of course. Almost every morning I walk or run out by the river near my apartment--right on the riverbank, where there are many fields and orchards...now brown, dusty clay. I guess this year, because of the radiation levels, the government had at first told the farmers here that they could not plant crops...and now they can, but it is too late to prepare the ground. I've also heard whispers like, "We probably couldn't sell anything anyway..."

I was out walking this morning thinking of life and productivity and the future and meaning and all of the questions that I'm constantly asking God in terms of guidance and direction...and my eyes stopped on the dry fields. They look so barren and empty at the moment. And I thought of the farmers asking, "What are we going to do?"...and I thought of my newly-adopted coworkers and students, asking "What are we going to do?"...and I thought of myself, so often asking, "What am I going to do?"...and today it struck me that maybe now is the season of patience and waiting...to stop our human attempts at productivity and let God produce what He will in our dusty, hopeless-looking fields. And that is scary.

When farmers leave fields fallow, it is not because of hopelessness. It is because of a belief in a future of produce and growth.

And this makes me think of redemption--that our barren, empty, meaningless places of futility are filled with Spirit and future and fruit. I believe in redemption. I believe in God's grace and His gift of rest. But my heart joins in the ache of desolate waiting for life, and I hear the whisper, "Not dead, but asleep," and I wonder why something like sleep and rest and the lack of productivity is so frightening. Do we really feel so self-dependent that a year of lying fallow shakes us to the core?

Easter pictures

We were able to celebrate Easter twice this year with the two churches and schools!

The first gathering was in Fukushima with some of the kids from the English school for the Easter story, a craft, songs, and an egg hunt. The cross craft and egg hunt gave us the opportunity to talk freely about Jesus' death, his burial in the tomb, and the tomb breaking open as death was defeated...

The celebration moved to Koriyama the following week...

The pictures don't quite capture the squeals, running, singing, and smiles of the kids...they were pretty excited about finding their Easter eggs. :)

Even though the eggs were pretty exciting, we were more excited by the kid's questions and comments when they heard the Easter story. Our older kids at Fukushima pondered the story thoughtfully, while our young kids at Koriyama demanded to know whether Jesus is really alive now or not. The boys at Koriyama are still talking about Jesus finding them when they went missing a few weeks ago, and I think the experience, followed by Easter, has given them new thoughts about God seeing, hearing, knowing, responding--being alive. Good stuff... :)

I'm also thankful for so many people who prepared the many eggs, messages, candy, and gifts! Many of the pieces of our Easter celebration were gathered while I was in America for my brother's wedding, and it was a blessing to be able to share that with the kids and moms as well--that part of this new life in Christ involves the mysterious "family of God" that spans continents and time.

Boundless life. Easter. :)

Celebrating

Freedom's calling, chains are falling,

Hope is dawning bright and true.

Day is breaking; night is quaking,

God is making all things new!

- "Jesus Saves"

Blessed Easter!

When students go missing...

Koriyama, I've heard, has higher radiation levels than Fukushima. In both of these areas, schools are not letting children outside for recess. In Koriyama especially, however, the families seem worried for their children's health and are not letting the kids be out and about very much.

Can you imagine being a 4-year-old boy, kept indoors for over a month while waiting for radiation to clear? The kids aren't so happy about it all.

Partly because of this, we all tramped outside to wish a family farewell from English classes yesterday afternoon (seize any opportunity to get some air!), and the boys decided to run races around the block for a bit. The mothers and I were still chatting, and because the boys would run around the block and come back to us, the moms decided to allow them a few minutes of running free before we all had to come back indoors again.

Long story short, running around the block led to all of us scouring the neighborhood for an hour or so, realizing that the boys had gone missing. As the minutes and streets went by, my thoughts changed from, "They're probably just around this corner..." to "Wow...God, please help us find these boys. Please keep them safe!" to "God, they could be anywhere!! Please guide my steps..."

I should comment that I get lost in this neighborhood OFTEN, and at the time of the last prayer, I didn't really know where I was even...but my eyes spied a small alley, jutting off of the main road I was walking on...that alley led to another, curving around a corner...and to another...and brightly-colored playground equipment came into view. And there were our two small, dark-headed boys, calling to each other and romping together, relishing their freedom and enjoying time with friends.

Whew. Thank you, God.

I called to them and they came running, asking first whether everyone was mad at them and then asking how I had found them. "I prayed...and I found you. God helped me." The answer was the truth. The boys then asked if I'd been to that park before. "Nope, never...now, who knows how to get back to church?" was my answer and question. One boy paused in the street and looked at me thoughtfully. "When you prayed, did God answer right away?"

Yeah. Yeah, God answered pretty quickly when I asked Him to guide my steps.

The boys and I both paused then--all of us, I think, struck by very tangible God-presence and the miracle of answered prayer.

We made the phone call back to the others, letting them know the lost had been found. And then we prayed and talked our way back to the church. There were hugs and scoldings and reassurings and tears...and then we trooped in for a prayer of thanks and evening Bible study.

I'm thankful for a living God, who is not just part of a book or story...but who hears and sees and answers.