Grace
Today was a long day. I just got off the bus, packed with tired businessmen and high school students, and walked past the ramen shop and hair salon, around the corner and up the hill to our apartment. The moon is fuzzy now, hidden behind thick clouds; microscopic snowflakes kissed my face like dewdrops.
Outside it looks like a lunar landscape - snow everywhere, in piles, drifts, covering everything in icy, caked white. You can't tell the sidewalk from the street or where curb starts and finishes. It's just one big, rough spread of white, flat and endless like a rippled hockey rink.
As I walked home, breath misting under frosty starlight, I couldn't help thinking how my life is like these streets - sometimes so shapeless, void, nebulous. I always thought in black and white and absolutes, but now I often have more questions than answers, more choices than I know how to make.
So many times I am stepping out, like tonight, on a thin layer of faith and praying that God will direct my path and make His will clear.
He does, He does... but sometimes not until I take the first step. And with that step comes faith, which Hebrews 11:6 says I must have to please Him.
I'm used to hearing God in the loud, the gripping, the fantastic. But here I feel often so lost in the quietness of His leading. Sometimes I don't know if I'm standing on sidewalk or street or parking lot, all buried beneath mounds of ice. I think if only I could just get down on my hands and knees and touch the ground with my open hands, put my ear to the earth and hear the faintest whisper, the tiniest sound - THEN I would know!
And the mystery of it all - it is only then that I do hear, can hear, with my face to the ground and my knees bent in humility (which also comes from Him)...
Today was such a day, tiring, over-scheduled, noisy. A Japanese lesson, a university party for part-time teachers, lesson planning, an English class (all of which, of course, are on the opposite sides of town!)
The highlight of it all: I left the university meeting late, dodged through the subway station and switched trains left and right, ran up the stairs and down snowy streets for the Katsuis' house (still decorated with Christmas lights).
I burst in at 8:00, way behind schedule, with their dinner half-eaten and two new people - a Christian friend of the mother, Noriko, and the friend's daughter - who I had never met. My salad was waiting for me on the table.
Could it get any worse?
But God, God, in His grace...
I scarfed down salad and rice as they finished dessert, feeling helpless inside (not sure how to teach!), and then eight-year-old Tochinori ran to the cabinet and started rummaging through papers.
He said something in Japanese and dropped a little hand-drawn British flag next to my rice plate.
In a flash I remembered - he had drawn it for me last week, painstakingly, with blue and red markers - and I had forgotten it. But he hadn't! He was beaming.
Then he and Yui, the friend's seven-year-old daughter, who smiled shyly at me from beneath black pigtails, ran back to his room and returned with a string of paper flags from around the world.
"It's present," he said, dropping it proudly next to my plate, still beaming. Yui handed me three sheets of stationary paper, echoing his words with another beautiful shy smile.
I don't know how it happened, but the next thing I knew everyone was sitting around the table with paper and pencil and the two English and Japanese children's Bibles open to the creation story.
"Light," they repeated, working hard on their l's and t's. "Day."
Tochi and Yui copied my pencil drawings of suns and stars and gripped their pencils hard as they wrote the English letters. Tochi crossed his d's out and redid them over and over again.
Then the door opened, and in came the father from work - eating rice and stew while he watched quietly, nodding.
My heart pounded as we continued - "Darkness. Earth. God."
The father nodded. And smiled.
He even answered one of the questions and, when we closed the Bibles, bowed deeply from his chair. "Thank you so much for coming."
The other heads turned toward me politely and bowed, too. For the first time all evening it was quiet. I was speechless.
An inexperienced, impatient American girl, teaching the Bible around a dining room table to a Buddhist family of four and two friends... How else but by God's grace? Were it up to me, I would have canned the whole idea long ago and moved to Guam.
That grace silenced my roiling thoughts as Noriko walked me (with snow blowing) back to the subway station, as I watched the tired businessmen slumped sleeping on the subway, and as I thought of Tochi's British flag tucked safely in my bag.
Barrenness and lostness, all around me, curves in the road I cannot see. The way is often not clear.
But on nights like tonight I am keenly aware that wherever I put my foot, He is there...
Perhaps before I sleep tonight I will put my face to the ground and listen for His voice.
Pray that the Katsuis will come to know God as the Creator of their lives, their salvation, and their hope. Pray that by this time next year the Buddhist altar and picture in their bathroom will be replaced with Bible verses and the cross of Christ. Pray that they, too, will know God's abundant grace.
Monday, January 28, 2002
Sunday, January 27, 2002
With All My Heart...
I am sitting here at the computer still in my pajamas, my face wet with tears, trying to figure out how to say what is bursting in my heart. I came home late last night to find your package on the table and was shouting, jumping around before I realized it was almost 10 and I had two phone calls to make (one to a Japanese girl who is deciding today whether or not to move in with a 40-year-old man). It's been a rough time lately - being sick, having some "problems" with the Walkers related to my job description, not doing anything I came here to do and not seeing even a tiny piece of fruit... This morning I got up after being on the phone half the night, tired, frustrated, knowing I can't quit but not really wanting to be here, either... I was in my room praying, weeping, hen I remembered that I hadn't gotten to check out the video letter when I got in last night in all the turmoil (I'll probably hear back from my Japanese friend tonight or tomorrow).
So I came out and popped it in... And you will never, EVER, EVER, EVER know how much it meant to me! Just to see your faces and hear your prayers!! I'm crying again just thinking about it. The verses you used - oh, how could you have known that they were exactly what I needed to hear at this exact moment! You didn't - but God did! I don't think I've ever been in such a spiritual desert - and yet at noon today, a Sunday, God used you to send His manna.
I miss your faces so much, your words, your life, the unity we have together as God's children, the things we shared (and still share) together because God allowed our paths to cross...
There wasn't a minute during that video that my eyes were dry. I miss you all sooooo much! So much! I wish you knew. All I can say is how incredibly precious you all are, how much you've changed my life and guided me closer to the Father...
Oh, the treasures in heaven you have even if I can't give you much back here on earth!
I love you so much and am more moved by this than anything I can think of during my entire six months in Japan.
I wish all missionaries were as blessed as I am to have people like you in my life.
Thank you - along with all the things I can't find words to say!
jenny
I am sitting here at the computer still in my pajamas, my face wet with tears, trying to figure out how to say what is bursting in my heart. I came home late last night to find your package on the table and was shouting, jumping around before I realized it was almost 10 and I had two phone calls to make (one to a Japanese girl who is deciding today whether or not to move in with a 40-year-old man). It's been a rough time lately - being sick, having some "problems" with the Walkers related to my job description, not doing anything I came here to do and not seeing even a tiny piece of fruit... This morning I got up after being on the phone half the night, tired, frustrated, knowing I can't quit but not really wanting to be here, either... I was in my room praying, weeping, hen I remembered that I hadn't gotten to check out the video letter when I got in last night in all the turmoil (I'll probably hear back from my Japanese friend tonight or tomorrow).
So I came out and popped it in... And you will never, EVER, EVER, EVER know how much it meant to me! Just to see your faces and hear your prayers!! I'm crying again just thinking about it. The verses you used - oh, how could you have known that they were exactly what I needed to hear at this exact moment! You didn't - but God did! I don't think I've ever been in such a spiritual desert - and yet at noon today, a Sunday, God used you to send His manna.
I miss your faces so much, your words, your life, the unity we have together as God's children, the things we shared (and still share) together because God allowed our paths to cross...
There wasn't a minute during that video that my eyes were dry. I miss you all sooooo much! So much! I wish you knew. All I can say is how incredibly precious you all are, how much you've changed my life and guided me closer to the Father...
Oh, the treasures in heaven you have even if I can't give you much back here on earth!
I love you so much and am more moved by this than anything I can think of during my entire six months in Japan.
I wish all missionaries were as blessed as I am to have people like you in my life.
Thank you - along with all the things I can't find words to say!
jenny
Friday, January 25, 2002
He Remembers!
This Christmas was so much different here in Sapporo, with two feet of snow, dinner with a missionary family, seeing mail trucks come and go on Christmas Day. We had a feast at the Cookseys' house, and a couple days later I ate squid, beans and radishes as part of a New Year meal.
But you know what I missed the most?
I kept remembering our own secret family tradition of sitting around the table on Christmas Day eating all kinds of cheese, sausage, crackers, this incredible sweet-hot mustard - enough to give you a heart attack on the spot. But the heart attack never happened, so each year my family (first four of us, then three of us) watched Christmas movies and ate cheese together. Very festive. You'd have to be there.
But Christmas in Japan was different. Christmas Day came and went, then New Year's Day, and then the slump after New Year's when universities are closed and classes are finished. What to do...?
On a day like this I found a package slip with my name on it in the mailbox, and went to pick up the wrapped cardboard box from a snowy post office window.
Inside was a letter from my friend Mike, and - would you believe - six different kinds of cheese, a jar of strawberry preserves, and (I'm not making this up) a small jar labeled "sweet-hot mustard."
"My mom got these things in a Christmas package and didn't want them," Mike had written. "So I decided to send them to you since you probably don't get much cheese in Japan."
Oh, how He remembers...
This Christmas was so much different here in Sapporo, with two feet of snow, dinner with a missionary family, seeing mail trucks come and go on Christmas Day. We had a feast at the Cookseys' house, and a couple days later I ate squid, beans and radishes as part of a New Year meal.
But you know what I missed the most?
I kept remembering our own secret family tradition of sitting around the table on Christmas Day eating all kinds of cheese, sausage, crackers, this incredible sweet-hot mustard - enough to give you a heart attack on the spot. But the heart attack never happened, so each year my family (first four of us, then three of us) watched Christmas movies and ate cheese together. Very festive. You'd have to be there.
But Christmas in Japan was different. Christmas Day came and went, then New Year's Day, and then the slump after New Year's when universities are closed and classes are finished. What to do...?
On a day like this I found a package slip with my name on it in the mailbox, and went to pick up the wrapped cardboard box from a snowy post office window.
Inside was a letter from my friend Mike, and - would you believe - six different kinds of cheese, a jar of strawberry preserves, and (I'm not making this up) a small jar labeled "sweet-hot mustard."
"My mom got these things in a Christmas package and didn't want them," Mike had written. "So I decided to send them to you since you probably don't get much cheese in Japan."
Oh, how He remembers...
Thursday, January 24, 2002
Who Will Build...?
"I looked for a man among them who would build up the wall and stand before me in the gap on behalf of the land so I would not have to destroy it, but I found none." - Ezekiel 22:30
Takako and I had just spent a peaceful afternoon in her church friend's small third-floor apartment getting our hair cut. Her friend was beautiful and skilled with the scissors; she had left a beautician job to stay home with her bright-eyed seven-year-old son (one of the first Japanese children, incidentally, not to be afraid of me).
Her apartment was warm even though snowdrifts piled high outside, and it smelled pleasantly of fragrant hair rinses and green tea.
Takako and I had finished our hot cocoa and were about to leave for the evening when her friend said, "Let's pray first."
"I want to pray, too," Takako said. "I'll pray for your husband to become a Christian."
As the three of us knelt together on the rug by the coffee table, praying softly in Japanese (and me in English), I wanted to weep at those all-too familiar words: "I'll pray for your husband to become a Christian."
Something like anger rose in me as we prayed, thinking of all the radiant Japanese Christian women I know who are married to or dating non-Christian Japanese men.
Where are the Japanese men of God?
As I knelt there next to this kind beautician, her lips moving in prayer, I remembered woman after woman whose husband does not share her faith.
I could name only two Japanese Christian women dating Christians... and one of those men is not Japanese.
"I'm so lonely," I remember a new Japanese Christian guy saying after returning to Japan. "Almost all the people at church are old women."
In some Sapporo churches, women seem to outnumber men three to one. I remember the day I stopped asking, "Is your husband a Christian?" because I knew the answer would be no.
I can name only two Japanese pastors in Sapporo. But I can name three Korean pastors, three American pastors, one Mexican...
And year after year children grow up without the influence of godly fathers, brothers, grandfathers, male teachers and role models.
Who will build up the wall in Japan?
Please take a minute and pray for the Japanese Christian men you know - Keigo, Atsushi, Mr. Kenji, Masahiro, the evangelical movement among former yakuza (Japanese mafia) members, to get you started... Even if you don't know them, the Lord does.
Brothers in Christ, I ask you to search your hearts! Could God be calling you to Japan? As I write there are six journeymen in Japan - all women. Not a single man!
Who will teach the young men to love Jesus?
Who will show teenage guys that happiness is not found in alcohol and the meaning of life is not found in a corner office?
Who will be the role model for beautiful little black-eyed boys with unruly hair and a life of crucial choices stretched out before them?
Who will build up the wall and stand before God in the gap on behalf of Japan?
Christian men, generations of Japanese are waiting for you...
"I looked for a man among them who would build up the wall and stand before me in the gap on behalf of the land so I would not have to destroy it, but I found none." - Ezekiel 22:30
Takako and I had just spent a peaceful afternoon in her church friend's small third-floor apartment getting our hair cut. Her friend was beautiful and skilled with the scissors; she had left a beautician job to stay home with her bright-eyed seven-year-old son (one of the first Japanese children, incidentally, not to be afraid of me).
Her apartment was warm even though snowdrifts piled high outside, and it smelled pleasantly of fragrant hair rinses and green tea.
Takako and I had finished our hot cocoa and were about to leave for the evening when her friend said, "Let's pray first."
"I want to pray, too," Takako said. "I'll pray for your husband to become a Christian."
As the three of us knelt together on the rug by the coffee table, praying softly in Japanese (and me in English), I wanted to weep at those all-too familiar words: "I'll pray for your husband to become a Christian."
Something like anger rose in me as we prayed, thinking of all the radiant Japanese Christian women I know who are married to or dating non-Christian Japanese men.
Where are the Japanese men of God?
As I knelt there next to this kind beautician, her lips moving in prayer, I remembered woman after woman whose husband does not share her faith.
I could name only two Japanese Christian women dating Christians... and one of those men is not Japanese.
"I'm so lonely," I remember a new Japanese Christian guy saying after returning to Japan. "Almost all the people at church are old women."
In some Sapporo churches, women seem to outnumber men three to one. I remember the day I stopped asking, "Is your husband a Christian?" because I knew the answer would be no.
I can name only two Japanese pastors in Sapporo. But I can name three Korean pastors, three American pastors, one Mexican...
And year after year children grow up without the influence of godly fathers, brothers, grandfathers, male teachers and role models.
Who will build up the wall in Japan?
Please take a minute and pray for the Japanese Christian men you know - Keigo, Atsushi, Mr. Kenji, Masahiro, the evangelical movement among former yakuza (Japanese mafia) members, to get you started... Even if you don't know them, the Lord does.
Brothers in Christ, I ask you to search your hearts! Could God be calling you to Japan? As I write there are six journeymen in Japan - all women. Not a single man!
Who will teach the young men to love Jesus?
Who will show teenage guys that happiness is not found in alcohol and the meaning of life is not found in a corner office?
Who will be the role model for beautiful little black-eyed boys with unruly hair and a life of crucial choices stretched out before them?
Who will build up the wall and stand before God in the gap on behalf of Japan?
Christian men, generations of Japanese are waiting for you...
Who Will Build...?
"I looked for a man among them who would build up the wall and stand before me in the gap on behalf of the land so I would not have to destroy it, but I found none." - Ezekiel 22:30
Takako and I had just spent a peaceful afternoon in her church friend's small third-floor apartment getting our hair cut. Her friend was beautiful and skilled with the scissors; she had left a beautician job to stay home with her bright-eyed seven-year-old son (one of the first Japanese children, incidentally, not to be afraid of me).
Her apartment was warm even though snowdrifts piled high outside, and it smelled pleasantly of fragrant hair rinses and green tea.
Takako and I had finished our hot cocoa and were about to leave for the evening when her friend said, "Let's pray first."
"I want to pray, too," Takako said. "I'll pray for your husband to become a Christian."
As the three of us knelt together on the rug by the coffee table, praying softly in Japanese (and me in English), I wanted to weep at those all-too familiar words: "I'll pray for your husband to become a Christian."
Something like anger rose in me as we prayed, thinking of all the radiant Japanese Christian women I know who are married to or dating non-Christian Japanese men.
Where are the Japanese men of God?
As I knelt there next to this kind beautician, her lips moving in prayer, I remembered woman after woman whose husband does not share her faith.
I could name only two Japanese Christian women dating Christians... and one of those men is not Japanese.
"I'm so lonely," I remember a new Japanese Christian guy saying after returning to Japan. "Almost all the people at church are old women."
In some Sapporo churches, women seem to outnumber men three to one. I remember the day I stopped asking, "Is your husband a Christian?" because I knew the answer would be no.
I can name only two Japanese pastors in Sapporo. But I can name three Korean pastors, three American pastors, one Mexican...
And year after year children grow up without the influence of godly fathers, brothers, grandfathers, male teachers and role models.
Who will build up the wall in Japan?
Please take a minute and pray for the Japanese Christian men you know - Keigo, Atsushi, Mr. Kenji, Masahiro, the evangelical movement among former yakuza (Japanese mafia) members, to get you started... Even if you don't know them, the Lord does.
Brothers in Christ, I ask you to search your hearts! Could God be calling you to Japan? As I write there are six journeymen in Japan - all women. Not a single man!
Who will teach the young men to love Jesus?
Who will show teenage guys that happiness is not found in alcohol and the meaning of life is not found in a corner office?
Who will be the role model for beautiful little black-eyed boys with unruly hair and a life of crucial choices stretched out before them?
Who will build up the wall and stand before God in the gap on behalf of Japan?
Christian men, generations of Japanese are waiting for you...
"I looked for a man among them who would build up the wall and stand before me in the gap on behalf of the land so I would not have to destroy it, but I found none." - Ezekiel 22:30
Takako and I had just spent a peaceful afternoon in her church friend's small third-floor apartment getting our hair cut. Her friend was beautiful and skilled with the scissors; she had left a beautician job to stay home with her bright-eyed seven-year-old son (one of the first Japanese children, incidentally, not to be afraid of me).
Her apartment was warm even though snowdrifts piled high outside, and it smelled pleasantly of fragrant hair rinses and green tea.
Takako and I had finished our hot cocoa and were about to leave for the evening when her friend said, "Let's pray first."
"I want to pray, too," Takako said. "I'll pray for your husband to become a Christian."
As the three of us knelt together on the rug by the coffee table, praying softly in Japanese (and me in English), I wanted to weep at those all-too familiar words: "I'll pray for your husband to become a Christian."
Something like anger rose in me as we prayed, thinking of all the radiant Japanese Christian women I know who are married to or dating non-Christian Japanese men.
Where are the Japanese men of God?
As I knelt there next to this kind beautician, her lips moving in prayer, I remembered woman after woman whose husband does not share her faith.
I could name only two Japanese Christian women dating Christians... and one of those men is not Japanese.
"I'm so lonely," I remember a new Japanese Christian guy saying after returning to Japan. "Almost all the people at church are old women."
In some Sapporo churches, women seem to outnumber men three to one. I remember the day I stopped asking, "Is your husband a Christian?" because I knew the answer would be no.
I can name only two Japanese pastors in Sapporo. But I can name three Korean pastors, three American pastors, one Mexican...
And year after year children grow up without the influence of godly fathers, brothers, grandfathers, male teachers and role models.
Who will build up the wall in Japan?
Please take a minute and pray for the Japanese Christian men you know - Keigo, Atsushi, Mr. Kenji, Masahiro, the evangelical movement among former yakuza (Japanese mafia) members, to get you started... Even if you don't know them, the Lord does.
Brothers in Christ, I ask you to search your hearts! Could God be calling you to Japan? As I write there are six journeymen in Japan - all women. Not a single man!
Who will teach the young men to love Jesus?
Who will show teenage guys that happiness is not found in alcohol and the meaning of life is not found in a corner office?
Who will be the role model for beautiful little black-eyed boys with unruly hair and a life of crucial choices stretched out before them?
Who will build up the wall and stand before God in the gap on behalf of Japan?
Christian men, generations of Japanese are waiting for you...
Wednesday, January 23, 2002
You Are the Gift!
"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." - Proverbs 13:12.
My hands are still shaking. I was in the middle of cooking dinner when the postal worker rang the doorbell - and handed me a package wrapped in brown paper.
I have experienced joy in my life, excitement and surprises, but after being in Japan for six months, few things rival the thrill of a postmarked package with my name on it.
Do I savor the moment or rip open the box?
I choose to RIP.
My hands are shaking so much I can hardly hold the scissors to cut the tape. Inside, wrapped in newspaper, are treasures from the United States: a bottle of vanilla extract, taco seasoning packets, a box of heavenly smelling tea, and two letters - one written by nine-year-old Lily Kubota who wants to be a missionary to Japan.
I am shouting now, jumping up and down, dancing in circles while I smell breath after breath of that beautifully fragrant tea. A package! A package!
And the most wonderful part is that YOU SENT IT!! You remembered me! I am moved almost tears as I think of the little hands that wrote the letter, the person who wrapped everything in newspaper and weighed it at the post office.
Perhaps one of my greatest blessings of being in Japan is seeing your precious love in action!
I think of so many people who shower me with their kindness: my dear friend Mike Rew who clips out and mails newspaper comics every two weeks, Vicki DeLand who is keeping my cat, Dan and Mary Lou Kline who call me and pray over the phone as I hang on their every word.
You have sent me graduation announcements (Ben and ReNee), wedding invitations, programs and pictures (too many to list!) and emailed me photos of new babies and new husbands. You have mailed me cheese and Christmas cards.
You have emailed me news from "back home," made me laugh, sent me Bible verses for encouragement, even asked my opinion even from miles away. Never in my life have those four little words "I'm praying for you" meant so much!
And then there are those of you who don't have time to email but you PRAY for me - and the Lord knows it. He hears. He answers. And I am blessed.
How can I thank you enough for your love poured out on me when I could never deserve it? What a beautiful picture of grace -and mercy - that paints a living picture for me of our Lord!
Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!
I can hardly sit down to eat my dinner (made with Indian spices given by Ani Verghese) after opening the box. I can't wait to look at it all again, and a third time, and a fourth time, and read the letters, hang them up in my room...
You, my friends, my family, those close to my heart... God has given me many gifts here in Japan, but you are at the top of the list!
* * * * *
"I have come from the darkness to the light of the Lord;
I have come from the night to the day.
He has guided my footsteps in the truth of His Word;
By His love He has shown me the way.
In the light of His presence all temptation depart,
And the shadows of doubt are cast aside.
With the radiance of sunshine He has entered my heart,
Where His Spirit of love abides.
I have come from the darkness to the light,
To the light of redemption from sin.
O my soul will rejoice in His might,
For my Savior dwells within."
-Marian Wood Chaplin, Copyright 1964 by Broadman press.
Sapporo is often dark. Even as I write those thick, marbled clouds I love so much are stretched across the western horizon, tinged with grey and violet. The weather is fickle here - sunshine for a moment, and then snow blowing the next. I have learned two things in Sapporo: Always carry and umbrella, and always, always be prepared.
When I packed up my belongings in Richmond, I tried to be prepared, too. I packed wool sweaters, theology books and an entire pound of ground red pepper. But one thing I couldn't prepare for was the darkness and despair that lies as thick in Sapporo as the layers of fallen snow.
Darkness... Because millions of Japanese do not know the Savior.
A bizarre thing happened as I unpacked my life in Japan. I started with high hopes, praying daily for Sapporo and my apartment neighbors, too excited to sleep and certain that big things would happen any minute. I carried Japanese Bibles in my bag at all times and gave them to taxi drivers, interested teenagers, anyone I spoke to.
Now, six months later, I smile as I remember my passion. Part of my smile is at my newness and excitement, but part of it is wistful... wishing, if the truth were known, that I could have it back again - even for a day.
"Something happens to people here," I remember a foreign Sapporo friend saying over the phone. "After a while the darkness is so heavy you feel like you can't even pray."
No wonder my prayers have become like bread crusts, thin and dry. I stopped carrying Japanese Bibles months ago. Even the university clubs I loved so much are closed until April, leaving me with one-on-one English classes and quiet, cloudy, winter mornings to ponder my fate. On these moments my mind slips back to sunny Mexico and Brazil, seeing people accept Christ left and right, and I wonder...
It was on such a morning that Dan Kline, a dear Richmond friend, called me with some words of encouragement and the song listed above. The words exploded in my head like fireworks: "In the light of His presence all temptation depart/ And the shadows of doubt are cast aside. With the radiance of sunshine He has entered my heart/ Where His Spirit of love abides."
"Jesus," Dan was saying. "The answer is Jesus."
If anyone had reason to despair, it was Jesus. Not only did He leave behind the ultimate joy - the Father's presence, but He was "despised and rejected by men, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed Him not" (Isaiah 50:3).
Jesus was not what you would call, from human eyes, a ministry success. He was misunderstood, taken out of context, and even His own family did not believe Him. His closest friends repeatedly disappointed and deserted Him. He died like a common thief with His own followers not understanding His death or believing His resurrection.
Talk about darkness!
But what a revelation to see that God is not put out by darkness: "If I say, 'Surely the darkness will hid me and the light become night around me,' EVEN THE DARKNESS WILL NOT BE DARK TO YOU, the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to You" (Psalm 139:11-12).
No wonder the same Christ who dwells in us calls Himself the "Light of the World" - for light is the only thing that can dispel darkness.
And no matter how dark the darkness, a little light changes it all. But all the darkness in the universe cannot snuff out light.
As I opened my Bible to Matthew by lamplight, I was transfixed by Christ - a coming announced by angels and a desert evangelist, a life started by running from kings and learning carpentry.
The result?
Two thousand years later His name is still proclaimed.
With every beat of my heart, His light is here - here in dark Sapporo, whether I feel it or not. He gives me the courage to get up one more morning, the grace to bend to new assignments and accept disappointments, and the desperate desire to get on my knees and ask for help.
If Christ is in you, you have the Light!
His way is not easy. The narrow road demands difficult choices, giving up our own dreams, and letting go of what we hold dear.
But I would rather live a thousand lives of agony than to be without His light for a second.
"Is being a missionary here worth it?" I remember asking an American university teacher, a Christian, here in Sapporo.
"If even one person comes to the Lord, it's worth it," he said. "But what if no one comes to the Lord?"
We were both silent.
"I still think it is," he replied slowly. "Because the message is still worth proclaiming."
And what a message!
Stay true - His light WILL shine through!
"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." - Proverbs 13:12.
My hands are still shaking. I was in the middle of cooking dinner when the postal worker rang the doorbell - and handed me a package wrapped in brown paper.
I have experienced joy in my life, excitement and surprises, but after being in Japan for six months, few things rival the thrill of a postmarked package with my name on it.
Do I savor the moment or rip open the box?
I choose to RIP.
My hands are shaking so much I can hardly hold the scissors to cut the tape. Inside, wrapped in newspaper, are treasures from the United States: a bottle of vanilla extract, taco seasoning packets, a box of heavenly smelling tea, and two letters - one written by nine-year-old Lily Kubota who wants to be a missionary to Japan.
I am shouting now, jumping up and down, dancing in circles while I smell breath after breath of that beautifully fragrant tea. A package! A package!
And the most wonderful part is that YOU SENT IT!! You remembered me! I am moved almost tears as I think of the little hands that wrote the letter, the person who wrapped everything in newspaper and weighed it at the post office.
Perhaps one of my greatest blessings of being in Japan is seeing your precious love in action!
I think of so many people who shower me with their kindness: my dear friend Mike Rew who clips out and mails newspaper comics every two weeks, Vicki DeLand who is keeping my cat, Dan and Mary Lou Kline who call me and pray over the phone as I hang on their every word.
You have sent me graduation announcements (Ben and ReNee), wedding invitations, programs and pictures (too many to list!) and emailed me photos of new babies and new husbands. You have mailed me cheese and Christmas cards.
You have emailed me news from "back home," made me laugh, sent me Bible verses for encouragement, even asked my opinion even from miles away. Never in my life have those four little words "I'm praying for you" meant so much!
And then there are those of you who don't have time to email but you PRAY for me - and the Lord knows it. He hears. He answers. And I am blessed.
How can I thank you enough for your love poured out on me when I could never deserve it? What a beautiful picture of grace -and mercy - that paints a living picture for me of our Lord!
Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!
I can hardly sit down to eat my dinner (made with Indian spices given by Ani Verghese) after opening the box. I can't wait to look at it all again, and a third time, and a fourth time, and read the letters, hang them up in my room...
You, my friends, my family, those close to my heart... God has given me many gifts here in Japan, but you are at the top of the list!
* * * * *
"I have come from the darkness to the light of the Lord;
I have come from the night to the day.
He has guided my footsteps in the truth of His Word;
By His love He has shown me the way.
In the light of His presence all temptation depart,
And the shadows of doubt are cast aside.
With the radiance of sunshine He has entered my heart,
Where His Spirit of love abides.
I have come from the darkness to the light,
To the light of redemption from sin.
O my soul will rejoice in His might,
For my Savior dwells within."
-Marian Wood Chaplin, Copyright 1964 by Broadman press.
Sapporo is often dark. Even as I write those thick, marbled clouds I love so much are stretched across the western horizon, tinged with grey and violet. The weather is fickle here - sunshine for a moment, and then snow blowing the next. I have learned two things in Sapporo: Always carry and umbrella, and always, always be prepared.
When I packed up my belongings in Richmond, I tried to be prepared, too. I packed wool sweaters, theology books and an entire pound of ground red pepper. But one thing I couldn't prepare for was the darkness and despair that lies as thick in Sapporo as the layers of fallen snow.
Darkness... Because millions of Japanese do not know the Savior.
A bizarre thing happened as I unpacked my life in Japan. I started with high hopes, praying daily for Sapporo and my apartment neighbors, too excited to sleep and certain that big things would happen any minute. I carried Japanese Bibles in my bag at all times and gave them to taxi drivers, interested teenagers, anyone I spoke to.
Now, six months later, I smile as I remember my passion. Part of my smile is at my newness and excitement, but part of it is wistful... wishing, if the truth were known, that I could have it back again - even for a day.
"Something happens to people here," I remember a foreign Sapporo friend saying over the phone. "After a while the darkness is so heavy you feel like you can't even pray."
No wonder my prayers have become like bread crusts, thin and dry. I stopped carrying Japanese Bibles months ago. Even the university clubs I loved so much are closed until April, leaving me with one-on-one English classes and quiet, cloudy, winter mornings to ponder my fate. On these moments my mind slips back to sunny Mexico and Brazil, seeing people accept Christ left and right, and I wonder...
It was on such a morning that Dan Kline, a dear Richmond friend, called me with some words of encouragement and the song listed above. The words exploded in my head like fireworks: "In the light of His presence all temptation depart/ And the shadows of doubt are cast aside. With the radiance of sunshine He has entered my heart/ Where His Spirit of love abides."
"Jesus," Dan was saying. "The answer is Jesus."
If anyone had reason to despair, it was Jesus. Not only did He leave behind the ultimate joy - the Father's presence, but He was "despised and rejected by men, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed Him not" (Isaiah 50:3).
Jesus was not what you would call, from human eyes, a ministry success. He was misunderstood, taken out of context, and even His own family did not believe Him. His closest friends repeatedly disappointed and deserted Him. He died like a common thief with His own followers not understanding His death or believing His resurrection.
Talk about darkness!
But what a revelation to see that God is not put out by darkness: "If I say, 'Surely the darkness will hid me and the light become night around me,' EVEN THE DARKNESS WILL NOT BE DARK TO YOU, the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to You" (Psalm 139:11-12).
No wonder the same Christ who dwells in us calls Himself the "Light of the World" - for light is the only thing that can dispel darkness.
And no matter how dark the darkness, a little light changes it all. But all the darkness in the universe cannot snuff out light.
As I opened my Bible to Matthew by lamplight, I was transfixed by Christ - a coming announced by angels and a desert evangelist, a life started by running from kings and learning carpentry.
The result?
Two thousand years later His name is still proclaimed.
With every beat of my heart, His light is here - here in dark Sapporo, whether I feel it or not. He gives me the courage to get up one more morning, the grace to bend to new assignments and accept disappointments, and the desperate desire to get on my knees and ask for help.
If Christ is in you, you have the Light!
His way is not easy. The narrow road demands difficult choices, giving up our own dreams, and letting go of what we hold dear.
But I would rather live a thousand lives of agony than to be without His light for a second.
"Is being a missionary here worth it?" I remember asking an American university teacher, a Christian, here in Sapporo.
"If even one person comes to the Lord, it's worth it," he said. "But what if no one comes to the Lord?"
We were both silent.
"I still think it is," he replied slowly. "Because the message is still worth proclaiming."
And what a message!
Stay true - His light WILL shine through!
Tuesday, January 8, 2002
Antibiotics and a Surprise
I've been sick for about two weeks straight now, so yesterday night I gave in and went to a Japanese doctor (after hearing horror stories and how they can charge the equivalent of a hundred dollars for one visit). Kathy, a missionary in our neighborhood, said she had gone to a good one, so she drove me to the clinic.
(Incidentally, nurses wear pale pink, not white, here. Or at least at this clinic).
The doctor was, as Kathy said, gentle and polite. He spoke softly and smiled when he talked. He asked me all kinds of questions about allergies, my sore throat, and then, seemingly out of nowhere: "Are you a Christian?"
"Yes, she is," Kathy said in Japanese for me. "She's a missionary."
He nodded and made a note of it on his medical chart.
He then pulled out some sheets about allergens in Sapporo (particularly cedar trees) and prescribed antibiotics and a good anti-allergy medication. I was still puzzling about his "Christian" question.
"Are you a Christian, too?" Kathy asked the doctor.
His face was kind. "Oh, no," he replied. "But I have friends who are."
He gave me a bottle of drops for my ears, and the visit was over.
Out in the lobby (still sniffling and coughing) I waited for the receptionist to call us to pay. Kathy took the sheet to the front, spoke to the lady in pink, and nodded.
"We can go," she said to me in English. "He didn't charge you."
Here's something I wrote for a ministry team in Tokyo (hence the trip in November) that was recently published in the Texas Baptist Standard, a Southern Baptist newpaper in Texas. You can see it here:
Texas Baptists urged to tell Japanese students about Christ while in U.S.
I love writing sooooooooooo much!! And about JAPAN!
jenny :)
I've been sick for about two weeks straight now, so yesterday night I gave in and went to a Japanese doctor (after hearing horror stories and how they can charge the equivalent of a hundred dollars for one visit). Kathy, a missionary in our neighborhood, said she had gone to a good one, so she drove me to the clinic.
(Incidentally, nurses wear pale pink, not white, here. Or at least at this clinic).
The doctor was, as Kathy said, gentle and polite. He spoke softly and smiled when he talked. He asked me all kinds of questions about allergies, my sore throat, and then, seemingly out of nowhere: "Are you a Christian?"
"Yes, she is," Kathy said in Japanese for me. "She's a missionary."
He nodded and made a note of it on his medical chart.
He then pulled out some sheets about allergens in Sapporo (particularly cedar trees) and prescribed antibiotics and a good anti-allergy medication. I was still puzzling about his "Christian" question.
"Are you a Christian, too?" Kathy asked the doctor.
His face was kind. "Oh, no," he replied. "But I have friends who are."
He gave me a bottle of drops for my ears, and the visit was over.
Out in the lobby (still sniffling and coughing) I waited for the receptionist to call us to pay. Kathy took the sheet to the front, spoke to the lady in pink, and nodded.
"We can go," she said to me in English. "He didn't charge you."
Here's something I wrote for a ministry team in Tokyo (hence the trip in November) that was recently published in the Texas Baptist Standard, a Southern Baptist newpaper in Texas. You can see it here:
Texas Baptists urged to tell Japanese students about Christ while in U.S.
I love writing sooooooooooo much!! And about JAPAN!
jenny :)
Friday, January 4, 2002
Dark Night of the Soul
I borrowed (read "stole") the phrase from dear friends Dan and Mary Lou Kline, who wrote me a few days ago my difficulties here, but it seemed so appropriate in view of the experience I had last night.
This will be another of those long narratives, but it's so crucial for you to see what really goes on in Japan... and it's a strange, unsettling one... but please bear with me.
Last night I had what I think was the worst night of my life, all 25 years. It started out fine - I had spent the day with my good Japanese friend Aki, wearing a real kimono (!) and having traditional New Year's food with her family. I even met her grandparents and we got down on our knees on the tatami floor, still wearing kimonos (not as easy as it sounds), bowing with our faces to the ground, palms in front like a triangle in the formal position. Wow.
As Aki's mom pulled out the boxes full of kimono pieces and layers, she had me come stand in the tiny tatami (grass mat) floor in a room I had never seen before. The room was small, with white paper doors, and as she slid the doors open I gaped at the huge butsedon lining one entire wall. A butsedon is, as best as I can describe it, a shrine of sorts prepared for someone who has died. Living relatives buy large, expensive wooden or lacquer boxes sort of like bookshelves that hold (as in this case) carved Buddha statues, jars and ceramic bowls for incense, incense sticks, along with pictures of the deceased person. Usually the butsedon has an urn for the dead person's ashes, along with things the person liked. This one had Aki's father's watch, two packs of Cabin cigarettes, unopened New Year's cards, and all kinds of Buddhist charms and amulets. There were vases of fresh flowers and a purple cushion (obviously used) for praying in front of the Buddhas.
Quite a foreboding site.
It was a shock to see the butsedon because I had never, ever, in all my three months of visiting Aki's house seen even a hint of anything Buddhist, anything that even remotely smacked of spiritualism in any form. Butsedons are so common that I was surprised NOT to see one and thought maybe Aki's family was more open to non-traditional things (i.e. the gospel) than I had imagined.
Apparently not so...
As Aki's mom patiently dressed me in the beautiful kimono, straightening and tying on each silken piece with precise detail, I couldn't get the butsedon out of my mind. There was a big photo of Aki's smiling father, and the smell of incense was soft but powerful. I stared at the open pack of Cabin cigarettes.
I forgot about everything but kimonos and snow and tea shops during the day... until we were all sitting around the table watching Japanese TV. Aki's mom went into the tatami room and started pulling out blankets and mats for my bed. It still didn't register to me until I realized she was laying them out against the wall in the little tatami room - right in front of the butsedon.
How can this be happening? I remember thinking, panicking. She can't really think I would be able to sleep in there with Aki's father's ashes!
But yet there she was, rolling out mats the floor. There were two mats, one for me and one for Aki. I was slightly relieved to know that Aki would be in there, too, but when we turned out the lights, it was like a scene from a horror movie - orange lights around the Buddhas that shone eerily, the black silhouettes of altars and charms. I couldn't bring myself to look at her father's picture or any part of the shrine itself.
I tried not to think how close I was to it. One hand in front of me reached the wall, and my feet could touch the shrine. I curled them up and tried not to think about it.
But as Aki slid the doors shut and then fell asleep, I was overwhelmed at the presence of... something indescribable, something dark. The orange lights reflected on the white walls. The family's four dogs snored loudly in the other room, sometimes rising in crescendos of frightening sounds like a growl. I smelled incense.
I couldn't bring myself to look at the butsedon, not even for an instant, and thanked God my feet were to it and prayed to fall asleep.
Sleep did not come.
I was not afraid, as such, since I know that Christ who dwells in me has already conquered Satan, demons, anything evil. He is in me, and I need not fear.
I remembered His words in Luke 10 when the seventy-two returned "with joy" and said, "Lord, even the demons submit to us in your name" (v. 17)
Jesus replied, "...Do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven" (v. 20).
But in that eerie stillness, broken by snarling snores of the dogs in the nearby living room, I did rejoice! For the only thing standing between me and evil was Christ, who died so that I might enjoy His peace, His protection, His promises.
I remembered also, with relief I have never experienced, the words of the apostle John: "...The one who was born of God keeps (the believer) safe, AND THE EVIL ONE CANNOT HARM HIM" (1 John 5:18).
As minutes turned into hours, I lay awake, unable to sleep.
I begged God.
I bargained with God.
I confessed sin.
I argued with God.
Still no sleep came.
I mentally sang hymns, quoted verses in whispers, tossed and turned from side to side in an effort to do something, anything, that would bring precious sleep and let me forget the wickedness I felt.
I was angry; obviously the spirit world was, too, at this intruder into their home. The orange light flickered on the walls, sometimes as I whispered the name of Jesus. Aki murmured Japanese phrases in her sleep. The dogs moaned, nails clawing the floor. Sometimes their sighs sounded like words, phrases, clipped and unintelligible. I heard other voices, far off, with inflections that sounded unlike Japanese. Whether they came from Aki's mom and sister down the hall, the dogs, or families below or above, I do not know... I just know that I lay there, eyes closed, thinking prayers and thanking God I could not understand the voices.
Never in my life has the power of God been so real, so desperately real, the only thread holding me together. I clung to it with everything I had.
Then the unthinkable happened - Aki left. I heard her wake, dress, and get her car keys for her part-time newspaper job. "I'll leave at three in the morning and come back at four," she had told me earlier.
And she left. I was totally alone in the dim light of the Buddhas.
The sound of the dogs' claws echoed in my mind.
I felt abandoned by everyone, even God. How could He do this to me? How could He leave me alone in this room with a dead man's ashes and Buddhist talismans lining the wall?
But praise Him for never taking His spirit from me as He promised: "I am with you ALWAYS" (Matthew 28:20).
I crawled over to my bag and dug out my Bible, without looking at the shrine, and carried it back to my mat. The light was too dim to read, but I held it there in the dark. Biblical images leapt into my mind: "the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God" (Ephesians 6:17) and "the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword..." (Hebrews 4:12).
Buddha may have his amulets, but I have the Sword that "penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow" (Hebrews 4:12).
New visions of light and darkness came to mind. "If I say, 'Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,' EVEN THE DARKNESS WILL NOT BE DARK TO YOU; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to You" (Pslam 139:11-12).
And from 1 John: "God is light; in Him there is NO DARKNESS at all" (1:5).
I pleaded with God to save me, to save Japan, to save this precious family that slept within these walls. Aki's mother had so lovingly dressed me, a foreigner, on her knees in her own kimono... now I was on my knees for her.
The isolation was unbearable, so I prayed out loud. I sang hymns. The dogs snarled and moaned louder.
Minutes ticked by like lead... I asked God to deliver me from this hellish place, where darkness wrapped around me like a tomb. Still no sleep.
This verse ran through my mind in the hours of darkness that followed: "The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid" (Psalm 118:6).
I prayed for God to give me the "power, love and sound mind" He spoke of in 2 Timothy 1:7 instead of fear. He had used those words to bring me to Japan; Keigo's hachimake with "fighting spirit" emblazoned in white hangs in my room.
I would have given almost anything to be in my own room, Heidi's and my apartment, filled with the peace of God that shines from every corner. Sleep comes gently there. I am not afraid.
Aki returned after what seemed an eternity, and I was comforted by her presence. But the comfort didn't last long. She fell asleep instantly; I continued to lie awake.
As the sleepless hours crawled by, I cried out to God. This was too much. I have had it with Japan. I am ready to go home.
I did not sleep until sometime around six in the morning when I heard Aki's sister get up and make tea in the kitchen. When I opened my eyes again, sun was pouring into the room. Beautiful, beautiful, bright sun.
Somewhere during the night I had begged God, if He would not let me sleep, to let there be a reason...
In the blur of meeting friends, catching buses and going to the doctor I pushed the dark images of the night away - until I set my bags down in my own genkan, in my own wonderful, peaceful, God-filled apartment.
I poured out my story to Heidi, and as we talked, I had my answer: God had let me taste the sinister underside of Japan's spiritual void.
Japan's darkness is so real, so thick you can almost touch it. It permeates everything. But it's subtle, deceitful, hiding in the shadows so you would almost think it isn't there.
It is hidden behind the gloss of new subways and fancy cameras, crisp suits on businessmen and clean, crime-free streets.
It is hidden behind lovely traditional dances and on the lips of those who criticize missionaries, saying, "Who do you think you are to tamper with culture? Leave the Japanese alone! They have their own ways, their own gods."
It is hidden, as it was at Aki's house, in the corners, behind closed doors, the places no one wants to look.
But it is there. Oh, it is there.
Aki, who lay there on the mat no more than a foot away from me, does not have the comfort and protection I do as a child of God. I noticed her nails, bitten down so much they looked like they would bleed. Worry does that. Anxiety does that.
But, oh, the peace that could be hers to look into the eyes of Christ, who made Himself nothing on her behalf, and hear Him say, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I WILL GIVE YOU REST. Take my yoke upon me and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and YOU WILL FIND REST FOR YOUR SOULS. for my yoke is easy and my burden is light" (Matthew 11:28).
That same Peace could restore Japan's shattered families, take the glass from the hand of the alcoholic, stop the young men and women who throw themselves in front of express trains.
Pray, as you never have before, for God roll back the darkness of Japan and flood it with His LIGHT, His radiance, so that His glory would fill the islands like the sunrise.
I plead with those of you who are brothers and sisters in Christ to be ON YOUR FACES BEFORE THE LORD ON BEHALF OF JAPAN. Christians are rising up like armies in countries all around Japan - China, Korea, Cambodia, Vietnam, Russia, Australia, even Muslim Indonesia. Despite persecution, their numbers grow.
And yet today, in the dawn of 2002, Japan's percentage of Christians number LESS THAN ONE PERCENT.
Less than one percent.
There is religious freedom here. There are enough resources to evangelize all of Asia here. There is virtually no persecution of Christians. The Bible, the JESUS film, Christian books and materials have been available in Japanese for years.
Yet they gather dust on shelves because Japanese are "closed to the gospel."
Are they really...?
From these dark shores, His light still burns.
Please, please pray fervently for Japan's deliverance. Pray for the Japanese to "ARISE, SHINE, FOR (THEIR) LIGHT HAS COME!" (Isaiah 60:1).
I borrowed (read "stole") the phrase from dear friends Dan and Mary Lou Kline, who wrote me a few days ago my difficulties here, but it seemed so appropriate in view of the experience I had last night.
This will be another of those long narratives, but it's so crucial for you to see what really goes on in Japan... and it's a strange, unsettling one... but please bear with me.
Last night I had what I think was the worst night of my life, all 25 years. It started out fine - I had spent the day with my good Japanese friend Aki, wearing a real kimono (!) and having traditional New Year's food with her family. I even met her grandparents and we got down on our knees on the tatami floor, still wearing kimonos (not as easy as it sounds), bowing with our faces to the ground, palms in front like a triangle in the formal position. Wow.
As Aki's mom pulled out the boxes full of kimono pieces and layers, she had me come stand in the tiny tatami (grass mat) floor in a room I had never seen before. The room was small, with white paper doors, and as she slid the doors open I gaped at the huge butsedon lining one entire wall. A butsedon is, as best as I can describe it, a shrine of sorts prepared for someone who has died. Living relatives buy large, expensive wooden or lacquer boxes sort of like bookshelves that hold (as in this case) carved Buddha statues, jars and ceramic bowls for incense, incense sticks, along with pictures of the deceased person. Usually the butsedon has an urn for the dead person's ashes, along with things the person liked. This one had Aki's father's watch, two packs of Cabin cigarettes, unopened New Year's cards, and all kinds of Buddhist charms and amulets. There were vases of fresh flowers and a purple cushion (obviously used) for praying in front of the Buddhas.
Quite a foreboding site.
It was a shock to see the butsedon because I had never, ever, in all my three months of visiting Aki's house seen even a hint of anything Buddhist, anything that even remotely smacked of spiritualism in any form. Butsedons are so common that I was surprised NOT to see one and thought maybe Aki's family was more open to non-traditional things (i.e. the gospel) than I had imagined.
Apparently not so...
As Aki's mom patiently dressed me in the beautiful kimono, straightening and tying on each silken piece with precise detail, I couldn't get the butsedon out of my mind. There was a big photo of Aki's smiling father, and the smell of incense was soft but powerful. I stared at the open pack of Cabin cigarettes.
I forgot about everything but kimonos and snow and tea shops during the day... until we were all sitting around the table watching Japanese TV. Aki's mom went into the tatami room and started pulling out blankets and mats for my bed. It still didn't register to me until I realized she was laying them out against the wall in the little tatami room - right in front of the butsedon.
How can this be happening? I remember thinking, panicking. She can't really think I would be able to sleep in there with Aki's father's ashes!
But yet there she was, rolling out mats the floor. There were two mats, one for me and one for Aki. I was slightly relieved to know that Aki would be in there, too, but when we turned out the lights, it was like a scene from a horror movie - orange lights around the Buddhas that shone eerily, the black silhouettes of altars and charms. I couldn't bring myself to look at her father's picture or any part of the shrine itself.
I tried not to think how close I was to it. One hand in front of me reached the wall, and my feet could touch the shrine. I curled them up and tried not to think about it.
But as Aki slid the doors shut and then fell asleep, I was overwhelmed at the presence of... something indescribable, something dark. The orange lights reflected on the white walls. The family's four dogs snored loudly in the other room, sometimes rising in crescendos of frightening sounds like a growl. I smelled incense.
I couldn't bring myself to look at the butsedon, not even for an instant, and thanked God my feet were to it and prayed to fall asleep.
Sleep did not come.
I was not afraid, as such, since I know that Christ who dwells in me has already conquered Satan, demons, anything evil. He is in me, and I need not fear.
I remembered His words in Luke 10 when the seventy-two returned "with joy" and said, "Lord, even the demons submit to us in your name" (v. 17)
Jesus replied, "...Do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven" (v. 20).
But in that eerie stillness, broken by snarling snores of the dogs in the nearby living room, I did rejoice! For the only thing standing between me and evil was Christ, who died so that I might enjoy His peace, His protection, His promises.
I remembered also, with relief I have never experienced, the words of the apostle John: "...The one who was born of God keeps (the believer) safe, AND THE EVIL ONE CANNOT HARM HIM" (1 John 5:18).
As minutes turned into hours, I lay awake, unable to sleep.
I begged God.
I bargained with God.
I confessed sin.
I argued with God.
Still no sleep came.
I mentally sang hymns, quoted verses in whispers, tossed and turned from side to side in an effort to do something, anything, that would bring precious sleep and let me forget the wickedness I felt.
I was angry; obviously the spirit world was, too, at this intruder into their home. The orange light flickered on the walls, sometimes as I whispered the name of Jesus. Aki murmured Japanese phrases in her sleep. The dogs moaned, nails clawing the floor. Sometimes their sighs sounded like words, phrases, clipped and unintelligible. I heard other voices, far off, with inflections that sounded unlike Japanese. Whether they came from Aki's mom and sister down the hall, the dogs, or families below or above, I do not know... I just know that I lay there, eyes closed, thinking prayers and thanking God I could not understand the voices.
Never in my life has the power of God been so real, so desperately real, the only thread holding me together. I clung to it with everything I had.
Then the unthinkable happened - Aki left. I heard her wake, dress, and get her car keys for her part-time newspaper job. "I'll leave at three in the morning and come back at four," she had told me earlier.
And she left. I was totally alone in the dim light of the Buddhas.
The sound of the dogs' claws echoed in my mind.
I felt abandoned by everyone, even God. How could He do this to me? How could He leave me alone in this room with a dead man's ashes and Buddhist talismans lining the wall?
But praise Him for never taking His spirit from me as He promised: "I am with you ALWAYS" (Matthew 28:20).
I crawled over to my bag and dug out my Bible, without looking at the shrine, and carried it back to my mat. The light was too dim to read, but I held it there in the dark. Biblical images leapt into my mind: "the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God" (Ephesians 6:17) and "the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword..." (Hebrews 4:12).
Buddha may have his amulets, but I have the Sword that "penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow" (Hebrews 4:12).
New visions of light and darkness came to mind. "If I say, 'Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,' EVEN THE DARKNESS WILL NOT BE DARK TO YOU; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to You" (Pslam 139:11-12).
And from 1 John: "God is light; in Him there is NO DARKNESS at all" (1:5).
I pleaded with God to save me, to save Japan, to save this precious family that slept within these walls. Aki's mother had so lovingly dressed me, a foreigner, on her knees in her own kimono... now I was on my knees for her.
The isolation was unbearable, so I prayed out loud. I sang hymns. The dogs snarled and moaned louder.
Minutes ticked by like lead... I asked God to deliver me from this hellish place, where darkness wrapped around me like a tomb. Still no sleep.
This verse ran through my mind in the hours of darkness that followed: "The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid" (Psalm 118:6).
I prayed for God to give me the "power, love and sound mind" He spoke of in 2 Timothy 1:7 instead of fear. He had used those words to bring me to Japan; Keigo's hachimake with "fighting spirit" emblazoned in white hangs in my room.
I would have given almost anything to be in my own room, Heidi's and my apartment, filled with the peace of God that shines from every corner. Sleep comes gently there. I am not afraid.
Aki returned after what seemed an eternity, and I was comforted by her presence. But the comfort didn't last long. She fell asleep instantly; I continued to lie awake.
As the sleepless hours crawled by, I cried out to God. This was too much. I have had it with Japan. I am ready to go home.
I did not sleep until sometime around six in the morning when I heard Aki's sister get up and make tea in the kitchen. When I opened my eyes again, sun was pouring into the room. Beautiful, beautiful, bright sun.
Somewhere during the night I had begged God, if He would not let me sleep, to let there be a reason...
In the blur of meeting friends, catching buses and going to the doctor I pushed the dark images of the night away - until I set my bags down in my own genkan, in my own wonderful, peaceful, God-filled apartment.
I poured out my story to Heidi, and as we talked, I had my answer: God had let me taste the sinister underside of Japan's spiritual void.
Japan's darkness is so real, so thick you can almost touch it. It permeates everything. But it's subtle, deceitful, hiding in the shadows so you would almost think it isn't there.
It is hidden behind the gloss of new subways and fancy cameras, crisp suits on businessmen and clean, crime-free streets.
It is hidden behind lovely traditional dances and on the lips of those who criticize missionaries, saying, "Who do you think you are to tamper with culture? Leave the Japanese alone! They have their own ways, their own gods."
It is hidden, as it was at Aki's house, in the corners, behind closed doors, the places no one wants to look.
But it is there. Oh, it is there.
Aki, who lay there on the mat no more than a foot away from me, does not have the comfort and protection I do as a child of God. I noticed her nails, bitten down so much they looked like they would bleed. Worry does that. Anxiety does that.
But, oh, the peace that could be hers to look into the eyes of Christ, who made Himself nothing on her behalf, and hear Him say, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I WILL GIVE YOU REST. Take my yoke upon me and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and YOU WILL FIND REST FOR YOUR SOULS. for my yoke is easy and my burden is light" (Matthew 11:28).
That same Peace could restore Japan's shattered families, take the glass from the hand of the alcoholic, stop the young men and women who throw themselves in front of express trains.
Pray, as you never have before, for God roll back the darkness of Japan and flood it with His LIGHT, His radiance, so that His glory would fill the islands like the sunrise.
I plead with those of you who are brothers and sisters in Christ to be ON YOUR FACES BEFORE THE LORD ON BEHALF OF JAPAN. Christians are rising up like armies in countries all around Japan - China, Korea, Cambodia, Vietnam, Russia, Australia, even Muslim Indonesia. Despite persecution, their numbers grow.
And yet today, in the dawn of 2002, Japan's percentage of Christians number LESS THAN ONE PERCENT.
Less than one percent.
There is religious freedom here. There are enough resources to evangelize all of Asia here. There is virtually no persecution of Christians. The Bible, the JESUS film, Christian books and materials have been available in Japanese for years.
Yet they gather dust on shelves because Japanese are "closed to the gospel."
Are they really...?
From these dark shores, His light still burns.
Please, please pray fervently for Japan's deliverance. Pray for the Japanese to "ARISE, SHINE, FOR (THEIR) LIGHT HAS COME!" (Isaiah 60:1).
Tuesday, January 1, 2002
Happy New Year!
The last sun of 2001 is going down over snowy rooftops and deepening blue shadows, shining gingery-gold over mounds of snow and lacy trees. The basil plant Heidi planted this summer is a skeleton, blanketed in freshly fallen snow. Thick clouds gather in the west, shimmering like mother-of-pearl against a pure blue sky.
Outside a drainpipe drips, drips... melted snow from yesterday's fubuki (blizzard). In an hour the sun will be gone and the dripping will cease into rivulets of soundless ice.
This time last year I spent half of New Year's Eve at the home of my adopted parents, the Kellys', playing Jenga with Brittany and Jenny, eating chocolate chip cookies with some of my favorite people on earth like Shannon, Michelle, Atsushi, Mike and Greg, arguing with Atul, practicing French with Mario, learning strange Korean phrases from Young Jin.
I spent the other half with a houseful of happy, partying Brazilians (Luis being the foremost) and watching fireworks over the ocean at Rio de Janeiro on Brazilian TV.
This year is different. This world is different. In January I sat in a cold hallway at Grove Avenue Baptist Church and marked on a sheet of paper, "First choice of missionary service: [Northern] Japan."
In February ReNee and I sang hymns with Mexican believers in Guadalajara, Mexico; in the spring I packed boxes and finished last articles at the IMB. During hot summer days I studied cross-cultural relations and church-planting movements at the missionary training center, and in August I spent my first days in Japan. On September 11 I watched from the TV in our living room, in bilingual broadcasts, as the World Trade towers crashed down in clouds of smoke. I saw Sapporo's first snowfall and celebrated Christmas with five missionary children.
Eight weddings have come and gone since I played Jenga at the Kellys' last year with Brittany, including her own.
What hope do I have to give to the coming year?
I have none, but Christ has many - His promises that ring true year after year.
It is at this time every year I am tempted to look back over the days gone by, the opportunities taken and lost, things I wish I had done or finished or never said or had the courage to say, people whose faces bring tears to my eyes... and I am tempted to despair over the way things change.
After all, "you can't go home again," the old proverb says.
But if you're following Christ, should you WANT to go home again?
For if you have Him, you ARE home!
I did not chose this verse randomly: "But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of KNOWING CHRIST JESUS my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may GAIN CHRIST and be found in Him..." (Phil. 3:7-9).
Is there anything I can look back to that is worthy to stand up in the presence of Christ?
Is there anything I had, or enjoyed, or gained that I could trade for the salvation of my soul (and life)?
No, there is none but Jesus... He was there with me on my first New Year, and He will be with me at my last.
"But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I PRESS ON TOWARD THE GOAL TO WIN THE PRIZE for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus" (Phil. 3:14-15).
Press on!
It is dark outside now, completely black, speckled only with the bright lights of the city - amber, red, green, blue, white. The bottom of the drainpipe has congealed, as expected, into a rough claw of icicles.
Thank you for making this year for me be one of joy, of wonder, of the realization of God's great blessings through memories of YOU - memories I can treasure and run with when my own strength grows weary. Thank you for your prayers and words that sustain me daily. Thank you for being there with me, for growing with me, for pressing on at my side.
I close 2001 as Paul closed Philippians - with much love, and with a prayer: "The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit. Amen."
May God bless you more this coming year than He ever has before!
Outside a drainpipe drips, drips... melted snow from yesterday's fubuki (blizzard). In an hour the sun will be gone and the dripping will cease into rivulets of soundless ice.
This time last year I spent half of New Year's Eve at the home of my adopted parents, the Kellys', playing Jenga with Brittany and Jenny, eating chocolate chip cookies with some of my favorite people on earth like Shannon, Michelle, Atsushi, Mike and Greg, arguing with Atul, practicing French with Mario, learning strange Korean phrases from Young Jin.
I spent the other half with a houseful of happy, partying Brazilians (Luis being the foremost) and watching fireworks over the ocean at Rio de Janeiro on Brazilian TV.
This year is different. This world is different. In January I sat in a cold hallway at Grove Avenue Baptist Church and marked on a sheet of paper, "First choice of missionary service: [Northern] Japan."
In February ReNee and I sang hymns with Mexican believers in Guadalajara, Mexico; in the spring I packed boxes and finished last articles at the IMB. During hot summer days I studied cross-cultural relations and church-planting movements at the missionary training center, and in August I spent my first days in Japan. On September 11 I watched from the TV in our living room, in bilingual broadcasts, as the World Trade towers crashed down in clouds of smoke. I saw Sapporo's first snowfall and celebrated Christmas with five missionary children.
Eight weddings have come and gone since I played Jenga at the Kellys' last year with Brittany, including her own.
What hope do I have to give to the coming year?
I have none, but Christ has many - His promises that ring true year after year.
It is at this time every year I am tempted to look back over the days gone by, the opportunities taken and lost, things I wish I had done or finished or never said or had the courage to say, people whose faces bring tears to my eyes... and I am tempted to despair over the way things change.
After all, "you can't go home again," the old proverb says.
But if you're following Christ, should you WANT to go home again?
For if you have Him, you ARE home!
I did not chose this verse randomly: "But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of KNOWING CHRIST JESUS my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may GAIN CHRIST and be found in Him..." (Phil. 3:7-9).
Is there anything I can look back to that is worthy to stand up in the presence of Christ?
Is there anything I had, or enjoyed, or gained that I could trade for the salvation of my soul (and life)?
No, there is none but Jesus... He was there with me on my first New Year, and He will be with me at my last.
"But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I PRESS ON TOWARD THE GOAL TO WIN THE PRIZE for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus" (Phil. 3:14-15).
Press on!
It is dark outside now, completely black, speckled only with the bright lights of the city - amber, red, green, blue, white. The bottom of the drainpipe has congealed, as expected, into a rough claw of icicles.
Thank you for making this year for me be one of joy, of wonder, of the realization of God's great blessings through memories of YOU - memories I can treasure and run with when my own strength grows weary. Thank you for your prayers and words that sustain me daily. Thank you for being there with me, for growing with me, for pressing on at my side.
I close 2001 as Paul closed Philippians - with much love, and with a prayer: "The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit. Amen."
May God bless you more this coming year than He ever has before!
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