Candles and ice

Heidi and I took a trip to Otaru, a city in Hokkaido with a beautiful winter candlelight festival every year. Cold and beautiful! Otaru is situated on the sea, so it gets lots of snow. It's also considered to be one of Japan's most beautiful cities, and the Japanese film "Love Letter" (an old popular favorite) was filmed there.

The canal runs right through the center of town and is a site for photographers and visiters. The cold was palpable; the icy wind off the sea made our noses and hands (even through gloves) sting.



Heidi and I walked up a side street to take a photo of the gate to the canal (below), and we passed a beautiful old building with a strange, rustic charm I had never seen before. As I was standing outside in the snow-filled street wondering what kind of building it was, a white man in a funny hat came out and spoke in a language I had never heard. I was so taken aback I just stared, and he smiled and repeated his sentence (showing a gold tooth). At about that moment I realized the building was a pub, and the man was probably one of the Russian sailors that frequent the area. They're known for drunken carousing and have caused foreigners to be banned from certain places (according to the reports). Needless to say, Heidi and I hastened up the street and back to the canal walk full of people!


We walked through the town and found beautiful fresh crabs for sale along the street. Hokkaido is famous for a famous kind of hairy crab (kegani) that has tender, succulent meat and is supposedly not found anywhere else.


This is an old-style street lantern you see on shops advertising ramen (noodle soup)shops, pubs, or other restaurant-like establishments.




At night the canal glitters with hundreds upon hundreds of ice and snow candles! The candles are shaped from water or snow in molds and then left out to freeze. Then the mold is cut away, leaving a perfect cylinder with a hollow for a candle. The candles are placed inside and sparkle on the ice as they burn, shimmering all along the side of the canal and reflecting into the water. The sight of so many candles and water was just breathtaking - and extremely cold! I thought I would freeze right there on the spot. After we had taken all the cold we could, Heidi and I made our way back to the train station and took a train (packed with other Sapporo travelers) back home.

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).

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!

Christmas!

Heidi and I spent the night at the Cooksey's house on Christmas Eve, and we woke up (early!) to open presents with four of the five children. Kathy fed us WELL throughout the day... There were home-baked cookies, chips and French onion dip, and all the goodies not normally found in Japan, plus a wonderful Christmas dinner.

My Christmas gift of green elephant slippers (perfect for the cold floor!) from Cornelia.


Josh (age 4) in a monkey suit, running around the living room.


Mattie (age 2), who loved ripping the paper off boxes and running around with it.


Josh, on the hunt for another new present...


The status of the living room after four children, two parents and two journeymen opening presents. Bethany, the baby, slept soundly through it all and then explored the wonders of chewing on wrapping paper.

Life

The last few weeks have been difficult here - cold, barren, a desolate wash of unanswered questions and dreams that lie like dirty snow in the gutters, almost unrecognizable. I love the call of God, the Japanese faces and prayer times with other missionaries... but sometimes there are just THOSE DAYS, the days you wake up (too early, too tired) and mull over what's been accomplished so far.

And the unthinkable: Nothing comes to mind.

Nothing, that is, except the big piece of shrimp you dropped on the floor at a friend's house or the blank look in the subway ticket lady's eyes when you try to figure out what's wrong with your subway card.

No messages in the inbox... a cheerful good-bye from junior college students you will probably never see again, girls who ended the last Bible discussion group by unanimously agreeing that they don't believe Jesus is God.

THOSE DAYS... there is just no other way to describe it.

All that and seeing friends and weddings and lives going on thousands of miles from where you are and knowing you can't be there.

"I wish I could be there," I remember saying to my sister over the phone (2 a.m. her time), "but I know this is where God wants me to be."

What hollow-sounding words, I thought. I can't say, "It's worth it because my friend got saved" or even "It's worth it because people are seeking God."

No, "but this is where God wants me to be."

I said it as a statement, but my heart said it as a question.

I left the apartment this way yesterday, cold wind stinging my face, and opened my little blue travel Bible on the bus to read. The words from Isaiah 49 surprised me:

"He said to me, 'You are my servant, Israel, in whom I will display my splendor.' But I said, 'I have labored to NO PURPOSE; I HAVE SPENT MY STRENGTH IN VAIN AND FOR NOTHING. Yet what is due me is in the Lord's hand, and my reward is with my God.

"And now the Lord says - He who formed me in the womb to be His servant, to bring Jacob back to Him and gather Israel to Himself, for I am honored in the eyes of the Lord and my God has been my strength - ...This is what the Lord says: 'In the day of my favor I will answer you, and in the day of salvation I will help you; I will keep you and will make you to be a covenant for the people, to restore the land and to reassign its desolate inheritances, to say to the captives, "Come out," and to those in darkness, 'Be free!'

"...Though you were ruined and made desolate... the children born during your bereavement will yet say in your hearing, 'This is place is too small for us; give us more space to live in.' Then you will say in your heart, 'Who bore me these? I was bereaved and barren; I was exiled and rejected. Who brought these up? I was left all alone, but these - where have they come from?'"

Oh, Lord God - I have no words - only a prayer for mercy! How can a God like You have such compassion on a child of dust like me?

How can I believe that giving my life into His hands is laboring to no purpose?

I am in tears now, remembering, looking back over the wonders He has done in my life.

On that same bus I read and re-read a folded email from a dear college professor who saw me through many dark days. "(Think of) the seeds you've planted under the Lord's direction sprouting under the snow-covered earth; I'm as sure of that as I am of the sun and the Son," she wrote - and called me "honey."

After walking the snowy streets of my city between appointments, watching White Illumination lights come on against the dusky blue sky, I sat at a corner table in a bright coffee shop, alone - listening, thinking, writing, my journal and Bible and printed out emails spread out on the little round table.

I watched the people come and go - the businessmen with waxed-looking hair, the people alone with books and cell phones, clouds of smoke curling up from tables with fashionable young women in high heeled boots. Them and me, together in a warm room, separate lives lived, for the moment, within inches of each other.

Words from Christian friends poured back into my mind: "Nothing about me - not my country, not my tribe, not my ability makes me worthy to preach the gospel," one said on the phone yesterday. "Only the fact that Jesus died for me makes me worthy."

An email from another: "Give also your dreams to God. I have but one thing to say: God will provide new dreams. God will provide new memories. God will provide."

The chair opposite mine was empty, save my black wool coat.

But, in reality, my table was filled with the presence of Christ - for He lives in me! I was not alone - I, in fact, was the honored guest at the feet of the One who allows me to come near!

The other tables were the empty ones!

When I came home there were three letters waiting for me on the table: one to confirm that a college loan was paid in full, one from a new Japanese Christian girl I met at English worship, and a packet of precious, hand-drawn construction paper cards from Sunday school children in a little Virginia country church.

I was still holding the cards in awe, tracing the crooked letters with my finger ("To: Jenny Rogers in JAPAN. God bless you! Merry Christmas!") and white chalk snowflakes when the phone rang.

It was Hyun-Sook, a wonderful Korean Christian missionary I studied with at language school and hadn't heard from in a long time, calling to tell me about the language school Christmas party Friday and that she hadn't forgotten about me.

Oh, Lord, neither have You... for there in the middle of Isaiah 49 are Your words, to unworthy me, chosen not because of my ability but because of Christ:

"But Zion has said, 'The Lord has forsaken me, the Lord has forgotten me.' Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forgot, I WILL NOT FORGET YOU! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands..."

And 2,000 years ago He did, in His own red blood...
for my sake
for your sake
for the Japanese sake
and for the sake of HIS NAME, His precious name,
that still goes out to bring LIFE.

Merry Christmas from Japan, where I plead that His name will be heard.

Top Ten Ways I Knew I Was In Japan This Christmas

10. The holly berries on Christmas wrapping paper instantly reminded me of fish eggs (I covered it up).

9. I ate sushi at a church Christmas party.

8. Heidi and I stored ice cream on our porch (it melted).

7. The mail ran on Christmas Day, and most of my friends had to work.

6. The statue of Col. Sanders outside every KFC was dressed in a Santa suit and hat.

5. The only real, dressed-up Santa Claus I saw needed to gain about 400 pounds. The suit bagged around his middle, arms and legs.

4. As I was typing number six I debated on how many kilos that would be. I gave up.

3. I had a white Christmas... a white Christmas Eve... a white Thanksgiving... a white Halloween... a white...

2. I asked college students if they knew the real meaning of Christmas, and they said, with blank looks, "No."

1. I missed your beautiful faces!!! I pray God's great blessings not only on the Japanese, but on YOU - whose friendship is the greatest Christmas present I could hope for! Thank you for your love and faithfulness that warms me all the way from north Japan!

We've had an early blizzard here, dumping more than three feet of snow in some places. I've never seen anything like it! Everything is totally covered. Walking down streets is like a bizarre dream - lumps of strange shapes and sizes rise out of the snow, trees and ditches are glutted with huge globs of white. Roadsides are lined with massive walls of snow taller than my head... what do you think??



Snow, snow, and snow!

It began to fall yesterday evening, and during the night snow accumulated to about five feet. It was piled on top of cars, completely covering everything. I've never seen anything like it!

This morning it was still snowing lightly, so while Heidi was having a women's class in the apartment, I decided to get out a bit. I did the unthinkable: I dressed for snow and went outside, to the local park, for a walk. There was nobody out "walking"... obviously during the end of a blizzard isn't a good time for a stroll, but I needed to have some rest and the solace of nature. So went, carrying nothing but my camera plus some writing paper and a pen.

The park was completely choked with snow - it was so deep that it was even impossible to walk through unless a path had been made first. It stretched across the empty field like a white canvas that someone had elevated - showing only tips of takenoko (bamboo shrubs) and small trees.

I found a spot under a little covered shelter and just sat there, in absolutely solitude - the only soul for what seemed miles. It was great. I listened to the tiny "clink-clink" of snowflakes as they hit my down jacket (they do make a sound), and then noticed how the extreme cold began to leak slowly through the openings - where my sleeves met my gloves, for example, or around the collar of my coat. I sat and wrote, listened, watched the white continue to fall, and then got cold enough to leave.

I was just about to leave when I was greeted by a construction crew, wading through waist-deep snow on their way to their parked cars for lunch. I don't know who was more surprised - them or me! After all, it isn't every day you see a white foreign girl in the park in the middle of a blizzard...

Snowy morning

This is the place for snow! Sapporo gets lots of snow because it's near the ocean, but it actually doesn't get as cold as it does in other places in Hokkaido (like Kushiro on the eastern coast). Snow starts falling in October or November and keeps falling until April or even May, when it finally starts to melt. This is my first winter in Sapporo, so we'll see how it goes! So far I LOVE the snow!




Winter in Sapporo is something to behold. Snow can fall fast and furious for a few minutes or all night, leaving blankets of white that cover everything - trees, plants, sidewalks, roads - leaving them all but indistinguishable.


A modern tool for getting traffic through busy roads is this road-heating system. Metal coils are buried below the asphalt, and when activated, they heat up and melt the ice and snow off the roads. They're remarkable! Everywhere you look the roads are covered with white, but then sometimes you'll see a long black strip of slush and melted snow, doing its job to uncover the road. They're expensive, so they're only used on major roads. But to see this is like a dream come true. You know those things you say, "What if somebody made a..."? Well, this is one of them. And it really works!


It's cold out! Many Japanese ladies use these warm tea-cup shaped hats in the snow and cold. For the younger girls, though, it's not very hip... so you don't see as many of them wearing them. They usually just stand there and let snow fall on them (as I do on occasion, when I don't want my hair messed up).


I'm waiting at the bus stop to go to church on a cold, cold morning. Don't go out with your hair damp - it'll freeze! I know this from experience... The bus stops are generally tiled little buildings like this one. They keep out some of the wind, but not much else, as they have open windows and doors - and they're colder than your freezing brain can imagine inside. Usually we just huddle inside (unless it stinks from trash, which people actually do throw in the bins) or just from old age.


Heidi, being accustomed to Montana snows, is used to the cold.


Can you believe people actually drive in this? The roads are heavily laden with salt, and the main roads use road-heaters. Drivers of buses and cars often use chains, but the undercarriages get VERY dirty, as you can imagine. The funny thing is that the road gets completely covered by snow until it's indistinguishable, and then it sort of hardens into a hard, compacted layer of multiple snowings and icings and meltings. The new snow falls on top of it, and no one stops - or is more worse for the wear.


A street crossing button all laden with snow. When you press it to stop traffic and clear the crossing, you'll hear a distinctly Japanese "chirp-chirp" sound that sounds like a pretty good rendition of an electronic bird call.


Riding a bus! This is something we do every day, but they're usually more crowded than this! Today is Sunday, which is why the bus is nearly empty. The red, lighted characters in the front tell the upcoming stops (which are also announced verbally by a recording in a nice-sounding, high-pitched woman's voice) and the price. To pay, you take a slip of paper with a number on it when you enter the bus. DON'T LOSE IT! When you leave, you hand the driver the ticket and pay according to the time/distance you were on the bus. Your coins go into a machine, and out drops your change. Then you thank the bus driver (who wears a dark blue uniform, cap, and white gloves) politely ("Arigatou gozaimashita") and then go down the steps - carefully! they are slick from melted snow! - and into the cold. Oh, and the buses are heated (notice the steam on the windows).

Notice that the bus driver is on the RIGHT!

Snow!

A winter day