When Different Becomes Normal

Welcoming Millie (in yellow t-shirt) at Kansai Airport

Thirty-one years ago on another hot summer day like today, Bernie and I first arrived in Japan to begin our two years as special assignment missionaries (SAMs). Never in our wildest dreams could we have predicted that this short-term assignment would stretch into twenty-eight years! But that’s another story.

I can remember some of the “different” things I met early on in Japan as clearly as if I discovered them yesterday. There are many examples, including these:

*Driving on the left side of the road. I was sure we were going to end up as casualties in a head-on accident as the missionaries who met us at the airport drove us to their house;

*Eating cold noodles in the summer. Thinking about cold spaghetti and congealed meat sauce, I couldn’t imagine that somen, a cold noodle dish, could possibly be appetizing. I was wrong. Now somen is one of our favorite summer dishes;

*Using tissues for napkins at the table. Although this has changed, you couldn’t even buy napkins when we first came to Japan. But at least we didn’t have to make a roll of toilet paper double for napkins, a common practice in some Asian countries;

*Having bugs in our house. I used to think cockroaches meant a dirty house, but now they and other “critters” are just a part of the décor. I must admit, however, that I’m not quite as casual in my thoughts about the snake I once found in our kitchen;

*Pointing to your nose when talking about yourself. How odd, I thought, having assumed that everyone in the world points to their chest as Americans do. Now my pointer finger finds the end of my nose as instinctively as I breathe;

*Bowing to a telephone. Bowing is so ingrained in the earliest teaching of manners that the Japanese unconsciously bow to someone on the other end of the line as they conclude the conversation. I used to laugh; now I bow with the best of them;

*Being aghast at prices. Japan has one of the highest costs of living in the world. But soon you learn to quit converting yen to dollars whenever you shop and to make price comparisons within Japan rather than with the United States. If you don’t, you’ll starve to death, thinking you can’t afford to buy anything.

Four days ago, we welcomed a new SAM at the beginning of her two-year assignment in Japan. Today, as Millie sat in the back seat while I navigated some streets barely wider than our van and with inclines worthy of San Francisco, I heard a slight gasp, some nervous laughter, and the comment, “Culture shock!”

Looking back on our SAM experience of so long ago, I recall that I knew we’d survived culture shock the day we realized that different had become normal. I pray Millie will meet that day soon. In the meantime, may she delight in discovering new ways of thinking and doing, and laugh a lot in the learning process.

When Pain Brings Comfort

Not every pregnancy ends with a beautiful baby.

For those who mourn, there is Ayumi.

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4, NIV).

It was her second pregnancy. Although the first one had been difficult, even dangerous, Atsumi Nijuken delivered a healthy baby girl. She and her proud husband named their daughter Tomoka. Three years later, they were again looking forward to having a baby.

But something went wrong. One day, seven months into the pregnancy, Nijuken-san noticed that the baby wasn’t moving. Upon examination, the doctor announced dreaded news. Nothing could be done except to induce labor. Ten days later, she delivered a second daughter—once again, perfectly formed, but dead. During four days in the hospital, the grief she experienced was a taste of hell, and the sight of pregnant women and babies aroused unbelievable feelings of envy, anger, and hatred within her.

It was also a frightening time. “What is happening to me? How can I possibly think such horrible things?” Nijuken-san anguished, knowing she didn’t really didn’t want to hate anybody. She only wanted to return to life as it had been before her baby died.

“Why did my baby have to die?” The question tormented her as much as her emotions. It was a question that had no answer—until later when her inner turmoil led her to a church and eventually to Christ.

“It was through the baby’s death that I was born again. Of course, the death of my baby was very hard. I didn’t want her to die. But through that difficult experience, both prayer and God became real to me,” Nijuken-san testifies.

Today she knows another reason for the pain God allowed—pain that also included a third pregnancy that ended in miscarriage before her prayers were honored and she gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Recently, God has given her a new vision: comforting other mothers who experience miscarriages, stillbirths, or the deaths of their very young infants. Her plan is to make doll clothes-size baby gowns in which to dress these little ones for their funerals—something basically unheard of in Japan, where the tiny bodies are only disposed. Nijuken-san also wants to provide a venue through which grieving mothers can share their anguish and questions. It is her desire to “comfort those in trouble” and “mourn with those who mourn” (Romans 12:15) through forming a group called Ayumi (in English, a walk or stroll). She describes the name as indicative of walking with the hurting in their time of need.

After months of being unable to get a hearing for her plans from hospitals and clinics all over Kobe, Nijuken-san is scheduled to meet the head of a well-known obstetrics hospital on September 7. Please pray that the director may listen with open ears and grant favor to Nijuken-san’s proposal. Pray that Ayumi will be launched soon.

How to Climb a Mountain (or Be a Missionary)

O Our climbing group, ready to ascend the mountain

(Bernie, on left; Cheryl, in red jacket, in the middle)

According to a Japanese saying, everyone should climb Mt. Fuji once, but only a fool ascends a second time.

On July 30, as I struggled to conquer Japan’s signature mountain a sixth time, I was fairly sure that indeed I was a fool. During the last hour to the summit, lightning struck repeatedly and so near by that I felt the earth tremble. By the time Bernie and I got to the top of the 12,388-foot mountain, we were completely soaked to the skin by rain and sleet that turned to snow while our group attempted unsuccessfully to stop shivering and dry out before beginning our descent. Eleven hours after we stumbled back into the fifth station, where we’d begun our adventure at 4:30 that morning, my legs wobbled, my strength was depleted, and I was sure this was my final Mt. Fuji climb. (Bernie says he’s still game—just not this year.)

Amazingly, despite the difficult conditions, I reached the apex two hours faster than my earlier Mt. Fuji ascent three years before. Surely fear of the storm from which we could not hide pushed us ahead without resting. We weren’t fast, but we persevered and keep going, step by step. Five and a half hours later, we successfully reached the top.

Perseverance. This is what Isaiah was talking about when he wrote, “Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint” (Isaiah 40:30-31).

Five days after Mt. Fuji, I sat in a women’s meeting where a Japanese missionary shared about the formidable challenge of reaching Tibetan Buddhists for Christ. There are reportedly about 1,000 evangelical and 2,000 Catholic Christians among the world’s 5 million Tibetans, a people group that is one of the least reached and most resistant to the message of Christ anywhere. Her story was both exciting and challenging.

After eight years of ministry to Tibetans, her husband has baptized three young men, one of whom is now attending Bible school. The most recent convert is using his artistic talent for Christ, but sadly, the second one has returned to his Tibetan Buddhist roots. In addition to discipling these young men, the missionary couple has developed relationships with a handful of other Tibetans. Theirs is a ministry of seed-planting for a harvest they pray and believe will come one day.

Listening to my Japanese colleague, I contemplated both the importance of persevering and my own recent Mt. Fuji experience. Just as I slogged along slowly—sometimes even painfully—until finally reaching the summit, this missionary couple is persevering against all odds in ministry to Tibetans, one step at a time. Usually their work is neither glamorous nor exciting, for if one is looking for quick ministry results, their particular mission field is not the place to go. But it is where God has called them.

How well we understand the call to faithfulness in an unresponsive mission field. Despite Christianity’s introduction to Japan in 1549 by Francis Xavier, a Jesuit priest, and Protestant roots reaching back about 150 years, roughly only one percent of Japanese are Christians today. Nevertheless, we continue to pray and believe that one day Japan will be a Christian nation.

In the meantime, we are determined to persevere. We and our missionary coworkers in difficult lands will “walk and not faint.” We WILL reach the top of the mountain because God, who is faithful, strengthens, enables, and is our constant hope.