Home for Christmas

Look who's coming home for Christmas!

Talk about excited! Our son Benjamin arrives tonight from Guam and our daughter Stephanie and her family will be here tomorrow from China. That means, of course, our ten-month-old grandson, too. I ought to be cleaning the house to get ready, though I realize things will be completely disorganized moments after everyone arrives. At least there would be some satisfaction in knowing that everything was in its right place at the start. But I’m just too thrilled to clean. I’d rather dance. Our family is going to be home for Christmas!

But not everyone. As excited as I am, I cannot forget our four daughters in India, as well as our daughter in Myanmar. These children ranging in age from eight to the mid-thirties are not blood family, but they are family anyhow. Let me explain.

When our son was born in 1979, we quickly fell into a common trap for many first-time parents. Nothing was too good or too much for our son. After all, he was our beautiful gift from God and we wanted to treat him as the treasure he was. Suddenly he had almost more clothes than we did and so many toys, books, and paraphernalia that they threatened to push out the walls of the little four-room house in which we lived.

I don’t remember what triggered it, but I will forever be grateful that one day we came to our senses. As happy as we were to have Benjamin, was our little boy any more valuable in God’s sight than children the world over who were starving to death for want of the very basics of life? The answer was obvious: No. Further, we realized we had a responsibility for other children in the world, not just those of blood relation to us.

That was the day Dipali became our daughter. And when Stephanie was born nearly three years later, Surekha joined our family. Both she and Dipali lived in The Shelter, an orphanage for destitute girls in Cuttack, Orissa, India. As our daughters left The Shelter for marriage and the work place, we added two others in their places—Namita, now 16, and Halima, now 13. And when Stephanie gave birth to Little Ben in January 2008, we honored him by adding another girl to our family—this one eight-year-old Myint in Myanmar. We have supported all these children through Children of Promise, a worthy child sponsorship organization that currently provides for the physical, educational, and spiritual needs of more than 3,450 children in 22 countries around the world (http://www.echildrenofpromise.org/).

Considering the brutal and violent persecution of Christians in Orissa that has escalated since August, we are particularly concerned about our family there. Namita, Halima, and their 60 “sisters” are safe within the walls of The Shelter. In fact, the orphanage has become shelter for another 50 individuals—Christians who homes have been destroyed or are in danger for their lives should they return to their rural villages in Orissa, where heinous crimes are being committed against Christians. But what about Dipali and Surekha? Adults now and with families of their own, we have not had contact with them for some time. Nevertheless, daughters they became and daughters they remain.

We are rejoicing that we can celebrate Christmas with Benjamin, Stephanie, Donald, and Little Ben. But our hearts will also reach out to India and to Myanmar, site of a devastating cyclone in May 2008 that may have claimed as many as 100,000 lives. (A true accounting will never be known.) After all, we have family in those countries, and they won’t be home for Christmas.

A Hand and a Cup

After a week of productive writing, I feel dried up today for more of the same, even though my deadline is too close for comfort. On top of that, because of all the extra hours spent at my computer, I’ve not done much grocery shopping. This means there’s little to eat in the house right now besides raw ingredients like flour and sugar—but who wants to bake? There’s also dried seaweed that someone brought back to us from Korea. (Healthy, I know, but . . . .) Searching through our cabinets, I also discover numerous packages of somen noodles received during the last summer gift-giving season. But who wants noodles that are always served cold when they’re wrapped up in an afghan and keeping their feet warm in an electric slipper? Not I.

So here I am feeling antsy, unmotivated, and generally just blah. Surely this accounts for the fact that its 3:30 p.m. and I’m still in my pajamas! I should be embarrassed, and I am. But here I sit anyway. Maybe I’ll raid the magazine basket and look for some inspiration among the hundreds of unread pages there.

My eyes fall on the cover of one magazine whose banner announces, “Hunger Isn’t History.” I see a handled tin cup turned face down on the packed earth pavement. Next to it, a wrinkled, black hand, palm down, extends from underneath a tarp. Did she die and so no longer needs her cup? The words of a stark question printed underneath nearly blind my eyes with their intensity: “The world produces more food than ever. So why do nearly a billion people still not have enough to eat?”

Do I dare read further? Wasn’t I just complaining about the food we don’t have? But I take the risk and venture inside anyway. Statistics like, “. . . worldwide, 25,000 people die each year of hunger-related illnesses” jump off the pages at me. I read it again and realize my mistake. That’s each day, not each year. At this rate, Bernie’s entire hometown would disappear—starve to death—in only sixteen hours.

Reading further, I learn of 35 nations around the world that are most affected by this severe food scarcity. Twenty-one of these are in Africa, a long ways from Japan—except for the fact that our small group members represent, among other countries, Kenya and Zimbabwe, two locations specifically mentioned. I learn that in Nairobi more than one million people are routinely hungry, while over five million of Zimbabwe’s 12 million people are expected to be starving next year.

I guess this gloomy blog characterizes my strange mood today. While I’m not sure how to lift my spirits, I appreciate that I cannot succumb to popular thinking which says, “The problem is too big for me to do anything that would matter.” Sometimes these people cluck their tongues, shake their heads about the world situation, and then bite into their Big Macs. But isn’t something—anything—better than doing nothing at all? Although I have never known hunger, do I bear no responsibility at all for the millions all around for whom hunger is their only reality of life. Surely this is what Jesus meant when he said, “From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked” (Luke 12:48, NIV).

If you’re reading this blog, I suspect that you are also one of the fortunate, really blessed people in the world, even if you have to budget carefully and occasionally—even often—have to choose not to buy something you’d really like. Just that you have access to a computer says much. So I want to challenge you today to make a positive difference in another person’s life. You may not be able to save the world from hunger, but you can do something.

Without advocating any one over another, here are some organizations that will assist you in knowing how to help the world’s starving millions: Bread for the World (bread.org), Feed the Children (feedthechildren.org), Food for the Hungry (fh.org), Food for the Poor (foodforthe poor.org), Salvation Army (salvationarmyusa.org), World Relief (wr.org), and World Vision (worldvision.org).

It was Mother Teresa who said about making an impact on the world, “Do the thing in front of you.” The woman’s hand is in front of me. I will not turn away.

New Eyes

The glasses I had to start wearing this year

because not all eyes are new ones!

I’m barely able to keep from falling down on the floor in an exhausted heap because of jet lag from the fourteen-hour time difference between Tokyo and the Eastern Time zone of the United States. Of course, it doesn’t help that I flew all night last night to get here at 6:15 A.M. from Thailand, where I attended a conference en route to Japan after our three-month home assignment. And then there was the more than two-hour train ride from the airport to actually get home! No wonder I’m utterly fatigued.

In any case, when I do manage to keep my eyes open for even the shortest time, I realize I’m seeing Tokyo with new eyes. How else can you explain:

The air in this huge megalopolis that is home to 10 percent of Japan’s people is known to be highly polluted from people and industry. Yet it seems fresh and wonderful to me today. I’m drinking it in like a dying woman grasping for breath;

The crowded train seemed comfortable. Granted, I had a seat on all three of the trains I had to ride in order to get in from the airport, and that helped greatly. But I’ve always complained about Tokyo’s crowded trains and there wasn’t any lack of people today, either. However, I found myself strangely comforted by the familiar words swirling around me. I felt relaxed and happy in the anonymity of being lost in the crowd without having to answer questions or express my opinions on anything. In fact, I put my head against the side of the train car and slept like a baby—until my head fell over! But I survived both the body-jarring jolt and the embarrassment; and,

I loved my visit to the vegetable stand to restock the refrigerator. The proprietor is a woman who has been, on the better days, a grump. But today I greeted her as if she were an old friend I’d been eager to meet. Amazingly, she smiled and welcomed me back to Tokyo.

Two days later, I pick up this blog once again. My exhaustion has abated somewhat after two very good nights of sleep. (That’s the best part of coming home—sleeping in my own bed again.) In thinking about my feelings as I resume my life in Japan, I realize that everything is the same, but all is different. I am seeing my neighborhood and my life here with new eyes. My prayer is that these new eyes do not dim or become clouded by the inevitable challenges of life I will begin facing all too soon when my normal schedule resumes. And they will come. Difficulties and challenges just go with the territory of being a Christian missionary in Japan. Despite this certainty, I’m determined that my eyesight remains fresh, alive, and alert to all God is doing and wants to do in my midst now that I’ve returned. I want to join him eagerly and expectantly as I continue to see with these new eyes.

More Americana

The kind of roads I enjoy when I'm not in a hurry.

I’ve traveled in some forty countries of the world, so I think I’m safe in saying that America’s interstate highway system is one of the best in the world—if not the best. Nevertheless, as Bernie and I have crisscrossed the United States while visiting supporting churches on this home assignment, we have chosen to get off the expressways as often as possible. One doesn’t drive state and county roads for speed, but for taste-testing America to discover who she really is. Since we’ve lived in Japan for nearly thirty years, we enjoy these treks on lesser highways. They are opportunities to reconnect with the heart of our homeland. The discoveries we make are sometimes amusing.

Take our stop in Great Bend, Kansas. It was still early, so we decided to go exploring after supper at an Arby’s. Not knowing the area, however, we asked the teenager working behind the counter, “What’s there to do in Great Bend?” She looked at us with a blank expression on her face. “I dunno,” she finally responded without enthusiasm. Then her face brightened slightly as she added, “Well, there’s Wal-Mart.”

Ah yes, Wal-Mart! How much more “American” can you get with most products made in China and sold so cheaply that many people complain this corporation is killing small town U.S.A. Despite this, we did indeed drop in at the Wal-Mart in Great Bend. Not much else was open. It seemed that this was the hang-out for the town’s dyed and spiked-haired youth, most of whom sported multiple tattoos of varying designs. I felt like a sightseeing foreigner even though I was in my own country.

Then there was an even smaller Kansas town we visited. Palco boasted one traffic light and a dying downtown that, even in its heyday, couldn’t have had more than five or six stores. We ate in the Palco Café, the only place to go out to eat in this western Kansas town. Even then, you hope everyone doesn’t decide to show up at the same time since there are less than a handful of tables in the kitchen-sized restaurant.

Looking for the “Today’s Special” menu posted on the wall, I noticed an interesting notation: Milkshakes available Tuesday and Thursday. First of all, it was Saturday, so the ice cream lover in me was very disappointed. But I just had to know why milkshakes were offered only two days a week. The waitress answered matter-of-factly, smiling at my question. “Mary works on Tuedays and Thursdays,” she told me, “and she’s the only one who knows how to use the milkshake machine.” Now it was my turn to smile.

In fact, even today a smile lights my face whenever I think of Palco and small town America. I’ll have to escape there in my mind the next time I’m jam-packed on a commuter train in Tokyo.

Americana

Meeting Halloween in the Minneapolis airport

I can’t remember the last time we were in the United States in October and November. Perhaps that’s why we were unprepared to discover just how Halloween has taken this country by storm force. If the garish yard decorations we’ve seen while traveling this fall are any indication, America is in love with spooks, goblins, scarecrows, pumpkins, and cobwebs! I’d thought those were to be swept away quickly—before anyone could see them and figure out that housekeeping isn’t one of my favorite pastimes. Instead, I’ve seen them artistically draped over the counters of fast food restaurants, displayed at a post office, and decorating bushes in even nicely landscaped yards with the same kind of pride and enthusiasm as a young teenage girl going on her first date with the most popular guy in the class.

But I’m not the only one who’s surprised. The man next door commented, a wry smile lighting his face, “This is the first time I’ve swept away real cobwebs in order to put up fake ones!”

Interestingly, we happened to be flying on October 31. We were greeted at the airport by the helpful staff of Northwest Airlines, each one sporting a Halloween costume and/or interesting Halloween makeup. This was only the beginning of the Halloween “parade” we discovered as we moved further into the airport. It was a surprise to me that costumes hadn’t been banned in the interest of security—the reason one hears for every prohibition and many questionable laws in the United States today. After all, you never know what could be stowed under a tall, black witch’s cap.

By the very next day, however, Halloween was receding into the background. In a feverish atmosphere, people were snapping up the half-off Halloween merchandise as eagerly as if their lives depended upon it. You can be sure their homes and yards will be the talk of the neighborhood next year!

Two days later, Halloween had disappeared like a ghost. In its place, Christmas had magically appeared in stores everywhere—well, the Christmas of evergreen trees, lights, tinsel, decorations, wrapping paper, Santas (edible, display models, and stuffed toy replicas), and all other paraphernalia associated with the commercialism of Christmas. As if attempting to coax shoppers into the Christmas spirit, “Silent Night” was being played over the store’s PA system. When Bernie commented to a Wal-Mart employee that it seemed Christmas had arrived rather early, she shrugged her shoulders and said, “You’d better get used to it.”

I can’t help but wonder what will materialize in the stores on December 26. While I’ve not seen any merchandising plans for 2009, I have no doubt about the strategy that will be employed: tempt customers to spend more money they don’t really have for things they don’t really need in order to fill their oversized homes—homes owned by banks that had to be bailed out for extending credit to individuals whose own parents wouldn’t have vouched for their financial well being. Excuse me for being honest, but I can’t help but wonder what’s going on in America these days.

Three Images

The crisp fall temperatures were perfect for camping. While on an afternoon hike, we’d already enjoyed the fall palette of colors God had splashed throughout the trees. Then the sun set, serenely washing the sky in pinks, oranges, and blues. Now a full harvest moon illuminated the night sky.

All the breathtaking imagery of a perfect October evening in Indiana was heightened as I glanced over at Bernie, tending the campfire in his cowboy hat, denim shirt, and jeans. Leisurely pouring himself a cup of coffee, he looked so different than the man I usually see in Tokyo, whose schedule finds him running from meeting to meeting, always clad in dress shirt, necktie, and suit, often pressured because the expectations are far greater than can possibly be accomplished by one man in one lifetime. Nevertheless, he tries, and the resulting tiredness often is as evident as his blue eyes and mustached upper lip. But I saw nothing of that this October night at the campfire. The “real” Bernie had returned and his satisfaction was as soothing as the hot cup of coffee he was soon sipping in silence.

Shortly afterwards, I met another blue-eyed, mustached gentleman. A generation older than my husband, he obviously suffered from Parkinson’s disease and the inevitable physical decline that comes with more than eight decades of life. Nevertheless, this descendent of Scandinavian forefathers had recently become the pastor of a church—not a fill-in, temporary until someone else could come, but the full-time leader. Granted, the flock he was shepherding was small, but helping people—no matter how many or how few—is never a small task. And at his age and condition? It was not the peaceful image of an evening around a campfire.

Neither was the toddler’s hand that grasped at the unyielding padlock which tightly held shut an old wooden door in a rural Indian village in August. No matter how her chubby little fingers worked at it, no matter how many times she tugged at it, the square silver lock obstinately refused to give in and open. Consequently, the door would remain closed to her.

But that’s as it should be. One cannot fault a padlock for doing its job. Yet I am haunted by that vision. The tiny, milk chocolate-colored hand on that lock paints the picture of the difficulty of sharing the good news of Jesus Christ in so many parts of the world, Japan included. Who will introduce the key to the uncompromising locks that bind so much of our world today? Jesus declared, “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me” (Revelation 3:20). But who would quickly open a door to a stranger? Not many people I know. Yet we would all warmly welcome our friends. I’d like to be that friend, bringing Jesus along with me as I visit. It can’t be left to eighty-something year-old people in ill health, no matter how willing they may be. Where are the others who will join me in this mission?

A Himalaya Motorcycle Experience: Part 3

The toilet plant of the Himalaya Mountains

A chapped cheeked cherub

A shepherd in front of his smoky shelter

O—Oxygen and outages. When you’re up nearly 14,000 feet in the air, oxygen is something you think about frequently—as in, is there any oxygen up here? Yet we saw children running with abandon, never tiring, and shepherds moving across the hillsides as effortlessly as leaves floating down mountain streams. Obviously, feeling like there was an oxygen outage was our problem alone. The only real outages we experienced were with electricity and water. We had neither in the “hospital” in Kaza and no electricity for two days in a row in Manali when overstretched transformers exploding into magnificent fireworks displays across the street from our guest house.

P—Picnics, prayer flags, and potholes. Our daily routine included a picnic lunch wherever we stopped along the way—sometimes in fields of barley, potatoes, or green peas. If it happened to be a windy location, Tibetan Buddhist prayer flags would flutter nearby to punctuate the landscape with bright blues, yellows, reds, and greens. Prayer flags decorate the Himalayans as surely as potholes characterize the questionable roads.

Q—Quest and quality crew. We began saving for this motorcycle trip more than 30 years ago, just after we first went to Japan as SAMs (special assignment missionaries). Our plan was to motorcycle around the British Isles on our return to the United States. However, I was eight months pregnant by the time we left Japan, so we postponed our dream. Finally our quest of long ago was realized in August. We are so grateful for our top quality crew of six men who helped make the experience possible for us.

R—Rain, Rohtang Pass, and rupee. Generally, we loved the ride—except in bone-chilling rain toward evening the first day. (We also had two nights of dripping tents, thanks to the rain.) On our return loop, the rain turned to sleet as we crossed Rohtang Pass, a tourist spot famous for beautiful scenery—or so they say. We never saw anything but clouds, food stalls, saddled yaks, and other attempts to coax rupees from visitors. (One dollar equals about 40 rupees.)

S—Sleeping bags, switchbacks, and shepherds. Not only did we snuggle in sleeping bags in our tents, but we also used them in guest houses. No doubt our 25-year-old bags were in better condition than the bedding offered us—and certainly far cleaner, although after long days of riding on dusty roads defined by switchbacks carved into rocky mountainsides, we were dirtier than the bedding. But at least it was our own personal dirt. Finally taking showers after three days on the road was as thrilling as falling in love. Every day we shared the roads with many shepherds coaxing along their herds of long-haired goats, sheep, and donkeys. No sleeping bags for them in their rocky dugout shelters and, I surmise, no showers, either.

T—Toilet, tetanus, and tingling hands. A most amazing sight was the toilet plant of the Himalaya Mountains! Too bad the canvas outhouse erected nightly by our crew only had a freshly dug pit inside. Still, it was a far cry better than the outhouse Chiyomi visited—where she cut her forehead on the rusty tin roof and ended up needing a tetanus shot. Outside of camp, it was always far better to go behind a rock or bush. In addition to the toilet facilities, another inconvenience was our morning bouts of tingling hands, one effect of altitude. Imagine the feeling starting to return to your hands after they’ve been asleep for a very long time. Then multiply the pain by 100 or so. No wonder I couldn’t force them to pick up and hold my tea mug some mornings.

U—Uno, urine sample, and ultrasound. What fun it was to play Uno with our crew. We just had to watch out for Deependra, who habitually looked at other people’s cards—but in the most obvious of ways. You just couldn’t get mad at his childlike enjoyment of the game, and you couldn’t stop laughing, either. Laughter was also our response to the TINY-mouthed jar Abby received in which to give a urine sample (see G, I, and K). Even a man wouldn’t have been entirely successful. That Abby managed a sample at all was cause for rejoicing, as was the ultrasound that showed a healthy baby, despite all.

V—Vibrating and vistas. While our hands felt like they were vibrating, especially in the mornings (see T), we felt vibrations everywhere whenever we dismounted the bikes, thanks to the roads (see E, G, and I). The government could make a fortune if it opened an amusement park in northwest India and turned those roads into a thrilling ride. They could be in business immediately upon constructing a ticket booth. Still, the vistas were breathtaking, but we women were always concerned whenever our driver/husbands took their eyes away from the cliff-hanging trails for more than a moment.

W—Waterfall, water, and wind. The vistas we enjoyed included amazing waterfalls, sometimes cascading three or four different levels from the melting glaciers above them. However, instead of crystal-clear mountain streams (picture the Rockies of Colorado), these waterways were full of silt and the color of delicious chai—appropriate for India. They were not appropriate for drinking, however, which is why we so appreciated the cases of bottled water in the supply jeep. But I didn’t appreciate the wind-burned, chapped cheeks and runny noses of children everywhere along our route, signs of the constantly blowing wind. I wish I could have handed out bottles of lotion and packets of tissues.

X—(E)xhaust fumes and (e)xtraordinary. As a word, “extraordinary” generally is positive. However, when applied to the exhaust fumes that overwhelmed us whenever we passed the road-hogging, amazingly gaudy, cargo trucks with more hand-painted designs than an art museum, “extraordinary” is not a compliment. Gratefully, traffic of any kind is light in the Himalayas, so there were only three days when we suffered. The extraordinary scenery every day more than made up for the fumes, but it did help to have bandanas to cover nose and mouth.

Y—Yellow, yak, and YWAM. Among the staples of Indian cuisine are rice and dhal, a very healthy lentil dish known by its yellow color, some of it derived from tumeric, the best known Indian spice. While we encountered the pungent smells of Indian cooking daily, we were surprised that the only yak we encountered was the poor specimen saddled on Rohtang Pass (see R). But we were pleasantly surprised to find a YWAM discipleship training center in Manali, despite the difficulty of Christian work in that part of the world.

Z—Zoo. Officially, our nine days on motorcycles didn’t include visiting a zoo. But that didn’t mean that our trip lacked animals. We could have opened our own zoo with the animals we saw: elephants, dri (a cow and yak combination), monkeys, camels, yak, vultures, an eagle, goats, sheep, fox, cows, dogs, donkeys, mules, horses, and a mouse (in a restaurant where we tried to ignore it and enjoy our food even while it scampered around the room and UNDER OUR TABLE). While I am shy of words here at the end of the alphabet, I am not lacking in emotion, especially overwhelming gratitude to God for the beauty of the world he has made and filled with such lovely people everywhere.

A Himalayan Adventure: Part 2

The magnificent Himalayas

Picking green peas in Kibber

A shy but welcoming smile in Kibber

F—Ford and fall. Although we traversed roads—in the technical sense of the word—our route was by no means easy. The “best” roads were the places where there was more pavement than potholes, but this didn’t mean that the asphalt was always visible, like the many times we had to ford a stream or melting glacier. Fortunately, there was no rushing water where I fell from my throne behind Bernie. But my bruises painfully reminded me for days that there were plenty of rocks there. Thankfully, I was able to continue riding.

G—Guard rails, Gatuk, and green peas. Some of our roads were mere passageways, little more than paths carved into mountainsides and hanging 300 feet or more above the rocky gorge floor—and no, there weren’t guard rails. Warmer memories surround Gatuk, the 22-year-old young woman with the beautiful smile who shared Abby’s hospital room. (As with the word “road,” it's a big stretch to write “hospital room,” but it’s best to leave more descriptive terms out of this blog so you won’t get sick at your stomach.) We also enjoyed the laughter of women who were picking green peas in Kibber (see K).

H—Himalayas, helmet, and horn. No matter what we faced, the scenery of the Himalayas was beyond description and worth every challenge. While we might have been tempted to ride with the wind blowing through our hair, Cheryl’s first thought when her head hit the ground was, “Thank God for this helmet” (see F). We wore them religiously. We also used our horns religiously, just like all good Indian drivers. They believe the vehicle’s horn is as important as its engine! However, our horns more often coaxed long-haired goats, sheep, and donkeys off the road rather than other vehicles.

I—“Inconvenience Regretted,” IV, and Independence Day. The mountain roads may have been terrible, but at least the Indian government felt terrible too. They politely and profusely apologized through signs declaring, “Inconvenience Regretted.” That was the most common sign we saw and we came to expect them at least several times daily. What we didn’t expect was that Abby would be hospitalized and receive several bottles of fluids and medicines through IV drips. As a result, we unexpectedly got to celebrate India’s Independence Day—August 15—in the village of Kaza (see K).

J—Jeep, Jispa, and jalebi. We six on motorcycles had a support crew of six men who traveled in a supply truck (ahead) and a jeep (behind). What a great crew! Imagine eating homemade pizza (from scratch) while camping! Our last night found us in the tiny village of Jispa where we enjoyed a fantastic dinner of roasted lamb and vegetables. I was happy it did not include jalebi, a fried, overly sweet honey treat. (My liking of Indian cuisine doesn’t include Indian sweets.)

K—Kibber and Kaza. Some of my favorite experiences were in two villages: Kibber, reputed to be the highest village in the world at 4,200 meters (13,780 feet); and Kaza, where we got to enjoy indoor plumbing, hot showers, and a bed after nights of camping. While thoughts of the hospital in Kaza cause me to shudder, the friendliness and surprisingly good English of people in Kibber and Kaza leave me feeling warm all over.

L—Lassi, Limca, and litter. Two wonderful drinks we enjoyed: lassi (a sweetened yogurt drink, even more delicious when thickened with fresh banana or other fruit) and Limca (a lemon-lime soft drink that’s easy on the stomach). Something we did not enjoy was the litter everywhere humans were. Sadly, caring for the environment doesn’t seem to be included anywhere in India’s race towards development and advancement.

M—Manali, marijuana, and mechanic. Our starting/finishing point was Manali, a small town of fewer than 7,000 people in Himachal Pradesh state. It is known for apple orchards, great views of Himalaya peaks, and for marijuana. The air was so thick with the smell of burning marijuana that you could almost get high by just taking a morning walk. I didn’t need that headache. But we did need our mechanic. All of us agreed that he had magical hands (see E).

N—Nasty and nice. Along with the litter and some odors (see L and M), the nasty: exhaust fumes from trucks (fortunately of nine days, we contended with this for only three); pit toilets (but worse yet were the places where people didn’t even bother to use the toilets); the hospital in Kaza (see K); and some of the effects of high altitudes (you’ll appreciate no details). Happily nice prevailed: “Betty” served in our tents by Deependra (see B and C) who also gave much attention each morning to our breakfast table—a tarp on the ground, to be sure, but set out with great style; breathtaking mountain views; camping where we were the only people for miles around; and wonderful friends with whom to share wonderful adventures.

Coming soon: the third and final part.

A Himalaya Motorcycle Experience: Part 1

With victory in sight, our team: six riders, six support members

Stretching our legs at the foot of a glacier,

with our trusty (mostly) Enfields in the foreground

Nine days. In reality, a very short amount of time. But what an incredible volume of experiences we packed in while motorcycling in the Himalaya Mountains of India, August 11-19. Bernie and I were joined by four friends for this once-in-a-lifetime trip. An ABC sampler of our experiences follows.

A—Acclimatization, altitude, and amazing. We’d been warned ahead of time that it would take time to acclimatize to the high altitudes of up to13,500 feet (4,551 meters at the highest pass). I’m not sure we ever fully acclimatized since headaches and tingling in our extremities lingered until we left the mountains. But the discomfort was a small price to pay for the amazing nine days during which we were swallowed up by the Himalayas.

B—Beard and “betty”. As we slept in sleeping bags and crude tents almost every night, morning routines, like shaving and putting on makeup, were eliminated. The three guys grew healthy beards that they paid to have shaved professionally at the end of the trip. Although the accommodations weren’t luxurious, we did enjoy our morning “betty” (bed tea, but with Indian pronunciation)—steaming hot chai served to us in our tents.

C—Chai and curry. I love chai (tea) so much that I’d like to continue this morning routine. Unfortunately, I’ve not yet convinced Bernie to become my chai-carrying, morning wake-up call. I just can’t get enough of it. This feeling doesn’t apply to curry, however. We’ve definitely smelled and tasted it enough for a while. Just ask Abby. She now thinks even nuts taste like curry. But morning sickness surely has much to do with this.

D—Diamox, dhaba, and dust. In case you need altitude sickness medicine, we recommend Diamox. We took our daily doses religiously—all except Abby. (See the note about morning sickness above.) We also had daily doses of dust from the arid mountains in which we rode. (Days after returning, we still had grit in our teeth!) Needless to say, we always enjoyed little “dhaba” stalls, places we could get chai, bottled water, or cold drinks to wash down the dust.

E—Enfield. For motorcycle enthusiasts in the United States, Harley Davidson is the big name in motorcycles. But for the British, an Enfield is the motorcycle of choice, although I’m not sure the Enfields we rode truly qualify to carry the name. Even before we got there, there was no original part on any of the bikes other than, perhaps, the frames. During our nine-day excursion, Dev Sagar, our mechanic, changed brakes, a brake cable, batteries, and a clutch plate, and constantly adjusted and finessed our Enfields to start and/or keep them going. Unfortunately, the brace holding the seat to the frame of our motorcycle broke when we hit one especially deep pothole and we had to surrender our chariot. Dev Sagar and Arjun, the support truck driver, valiantly coaxed the suffering Enfield through pouring rain and across arduous, late night roads for three hours in order to deliver it to a meeting place where an exchange bike was delivered. And then they had to ride back again—the next morning.

Stay tuned. Our adventures continue in our next blog.

A Very Happy Birthday

Ogata-sensei and Kinjoh Akiko-sensei, two pastors ordained

during the centennial celebration of the Church of God

100th anniversary theme
“For Christ’s love compels us . . . .” (2 Corinthians 5:14, NIV).

The year was 1908. Compelled by Christ’s love, a Japanese minister named A. U. Yajima returned to his homeland after traveling in the United States, where he had come into contact with the Church of God through reading a Gospel Trumpet magazine. His mission was to plant the Church of God in Japan.

The year is 2008. One hundred years after Pastor Yajima launched the Japanese Church of God, there are 16 congregations spread from Hokkaido in the north to Okinawa in the south. Members of each church were joined by one of Pastor Yajima’s granddaughters and two great-granddaughters, six former missionaries, and representatives of several Christian organizations and the Asia-Pacific Church of God Conference for a very happy birthday celebration, August 1-3, built around 2 Corinthians 5:14. We were especially thrilled by the ordination of two pastors, including Akiko Kinjoh, the first woman to be ordained by the Japanese Church of God. Even while celebrating the past, the church in Japan is compelled into the future by the love of Christ. Please pray with us for understanding of and obedience to God’s vision for the second hundred years.

Bible camp
Thank you for praying for the centennial celebrations and also for Tamagawa Seigakuin’s Bible Camp in July. What a joy it was for us to hear representatives to the centenary from other church groups express their appreciation for the Church of God and especially for the impact that Tamagawa Seigakuin has made during its 58 years. (The 10,000th girl graduated this past spring.) Keeping the Christian emphasis of this girls’ junior-senior high school at the forefront of all activities is a responsibility Bernie, as headmaster, takes very seriously. As such, the annual Bible camp in July is a vital part of the Christian mission of the school.

We had big expectations as we went into this year’s three-day camp. Not only had 62 girls volunteered to attend, but there seemed to be a strong spirit of excitement among students and teachers alike as the date approached. Praise God for his faithfulness, evident in the responses that girls made on a questionnaire they completed at the end of camp. Following are some of the decisions recorded. The number in parenthesis is the number of students who agreed with the statement:

*I have come to understand my sin. (40)
*I understand that Jesus’ blood forgives my sins. (37)
*I believe and accept Jesus into my heart. (19)
*I want to be baptized. (14—Most Japanese consider baptism THE most important faith step that can be taken, so this is a significant number.)
*I want to serve God. (20)
*I am willing to give my testimony at school. (6)
*I don’t know [how to respond to this camp]. (2)
*I want to attend next year. (33—This is a high number considering the many seniors who attended and will graduate in March, therefore becoming ineligible to attend again.)
*I want God to use me to help evangelize others. (1)

Not only through these responses, but we also sensed the Holy Spirit working in other ways. For example, two high school seniors said to Bernie, “This is the start of revival! We must pray for revival at Tama Sei!” Additionally, prayers voiced by both faculty and students were full of references to revival at the school, in churches, and in Japan. Surely the Lord will honor these heartfelt requests. Please continue to pray for Tama Sei and for the Church of God in Japan that in all ways we will be compelled by Christ’s love.

Looking ahead in prayer
This Friday we’ll be on our way to India for a two-week trip (August 8-22). Our main purpose in going is to encourage ministry colleagues there. Please pray for our safety in travel (by airplane, car, and motorcycle) and that we will all be renewed as the Holy Spirit moves in our hearts in what will surely be a once-in-a-lifetime experience for us.

Three days after returning from India, we'll leave Japan again (on August 25) to begin a three-month home assignment. Although our schedule is still being arranged, we know that we will be visiting Living Link supporting churches in Washington, Illinois, Indiana, Colorado, Oregon, Oklahoma, and Missouri, in addition to other churches in Tennessee and Ohio. We are eagerly anticipating a more relaxing home assignment than we had two years ago and are especially looking forward to special family times in Canada, Florida, Indiana, and Missouri, where Bernie expects to go deer hunting. Please pray with and for us that we will return to Japan in late November spiritually, emotionally, and physically recharged to resume our ministry here. Please also pray that we may soon have a clear vision of what God is asking us to do in ministry beyond the walls of Tamagawa Seigakuin.

Thank you for standing with us through prayer.

The Art of Urban Living

Crossing the street safely is one of many urban skills required

for living successfully in Tokyo.

I have only been to Tanzania once, and that was quite a while ago—back in 1992, to be exact. Nevertheless, I retain some deep impressions from that trip sixteen years ago.

Among these, I remember wondering how my colleagues knew their way around the vast, mostly uninhabited, semi-arid countryside that was marked only occasionally by an acacia tree or scrub brush. We were delivering bags of rice to families suffering from drought and famine. My friends drove without hesitation, arriving at each thatch-roofed hut as if road signs had guided them rather than particular rocks or perhaps the incredibly huge ant hills. I was amazed at their skills that had been honed for living in the bush.

Other skills I saw demonstrated included big game hunting; riding atop huge bags of produce in the back of pick up trucks and not falling off even when vehicles bounced into huge, crater-like potholes in the road; and cooking over an open fire—three times a day and not just for fun while camping.

Living in the huge megalopolis of Tokyo requires an entirely different set of skills. I was reminded of this as I rode on a tourist bus a few days ago and felt admiration for our driver as he navigated two-way streets that could barely accommodate one car at a time, much less our bus. Successfully turning corners with houses built to the very edges of these narrow lanes was another skill that required several minutes of successive rounds of inching forwards and backwards before the bus could clear the space. Although he came to within a hair’s breadth, the driver never scraped the bus, not even once. I was awed.

The experience got me to thinking about the art of urban living—and it most definitely is an art. While Japanese don’t specialize in hunting of any kind nor balance themselves atop trucks for rides on bumpy, dirt roads, they do have their own set of survival skills. In addition to driving on the narrowest of streets, they also are amazingly adept at talking on their cell phones while walking, driving cars, or riding bicycles; growing vegetables in gardens tucked away in tiny spots under verandah clothes lines; and sleeping while standing up on trains. This art seems even more astonishing in that Japanese manage to awaken just in time to get off at the correct stop. (This is one skill I have yet to manage. As a result, I’ve traveled some places I never intended to go as I caught up on my sleep!)

Then there’s the whole issue of trash. Reportedly, in less than 30 years there won’t be any land left in Tokyo for garbage, so trash is a serious issue here. Currently, Tokyo has 17 factory-sized incinerators that burn trash around the clock in an attempt to manage the 2.4 pounds of trash each of its citizens produce a day. (By comparison, Americans generate twice this amount daily.) Recognizing this difficult problem, Tokyoites seem to have developed an inborn sense of how to separate burnables, non-burnables, plastics, cans, bottles, electronic goods, and more. This special DNA also programs them to know which days which particular trash must be carted to neighborhood pick-up spots. (In our neighborhood, burnables go out on Mondays and Thursdays, non-burnables on Fridays, and cans, glass, newspapers, and cardboard on Saturdays.)

By contrast, foreigners lacking this special trash sense get in trouble routinely, especially if they don’t find the right trash pile! Five years ago, upon moving to Tokyo, I made the mistake of going to the wrong trash spot. Suddenly a woman raced out of her house to inform me, not even all that politely, that I was committing a grave sin in disposing of my trash in the wrong place. Never mind that I was only half a block down the street from the right pile and that both locations would be collected within minutes of each other. There is a clear-cut right and wrong to trash in Japan, and I definitely was in the wrong.

There’s so much more that could be said about the art of urban living. But based upon this short course, how do you think you’d fare if you lived in Tokyo?

The Softer Side

On Japan's softer side:

a little girl dressed for a summer festival

By now, you can well recite my pet peeves about living in Tokyo, especially the people who treat their dogs better than children and the crowds that assail no matter where you go. But one experience of a few days ago reminded me that there is a much softer side to this country. It is this side of Japan that I love so much. It is this softer side that has made possible our living here for nearly 30 years. We’ve not only survived, mind you, but we’ve really lived in Japan because of this element of its character.

We were en route to Kobe when we decided to take a break at a rest stop with a beautiful view of Mt. Fuji—if it’s not covered in clouds. It was, so we missed the mountain, but I’ll remember the stop anyway. As we approached the restrooms, I wondered at the caution sign and the significant pile of bird droppings between the entrances to the men and women’s sides. My initial reaction—why don’t they clean this up?—soon changed to one of appreciation as I heard the cute cheeping of baby birds and looked up. There, on top of a light fixture, a nest held a couple of babies calling to their mother to hurry up and bring dinner. (My translation, of course.) Then it dawned on me: some very kind-hearted janitor had elected not to clean away the nest and its precious cargo but to allow it to remain until the babies were hatched and out on their own. But to make sure that this didn’t cause any problems for passersby, he or she had conscientiously posted warnings and placed drop cloths appropriately. I smiled as I recognized this signature of a softer side of Japan that I don’t commend often enough.

I’d also been cushioned by that softer side the day before when I went to have the tires changed on our Toyota van in preparation for the seven-hour drive to Kobe. Bernie had loaded the other set of wheels and tires into the back of the vehicle that morning, but had forgotten to include the bag of nuts and bolts. When the mechanic came to the waiting room to tell me, the car was already hoisted into the air. It would take me an hour on foot to go and come again, but I felt awkward asking him to lower the van so that I could drive to retrieve the needed parts more quickly. “No problem,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. “I’ll have someone drive you to get them.” And he did. The softer side of Japan, evidenced when people go out of their way to be helpful, touched me again.

I notice it in other ways as well: when you’re given slippers to use in airport security, IF you have to remove your shoes, so your socks and feet won’t get dirty while you’re being inconvenienced; when the electrician comes to repair something and apologizes for troubling you, as if you didn’t call him to serve you in the first place; when an obento shop (Japanese fast food) gives you a ten yen coin to pay for calling them with your order; when a refrigerator shelf breaks and the shop cuts and sands a new piece of glass to replace it—all for free just because you’ve sometimes given them business over the years. “How unlike America,” I’ve thought innumerable times through the years.

It is this softer side of Japan that I experience day in and day out. It has taught me much about kindness and about making and taking time for the little things, for it is often those easy-to-overlook details which frequently determine the quality of life lived to the fullest—whether in Japan, the United States, or anywhere else in the world.

Confessions of a Sometimes Worrywart

"And why do you worry . . . ? See how the lilies of the field grow.

They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon

in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. . . .

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow. . . . Each day

has enough trouble of its own" (Matthew 6:28, 29, 34).

Now there’s something else to worry about.

Last week on the 14-hour ride back to Japan, it was the fact that I was on the window side of three seats in an every-seat-filled airplane. How was I going to get out to the bathroom? (No gritting my teeth and holding it for that long.) I refrained from bothering my neighbors until the whites of my eyes were yellow, and then I crawled over them and back again—literally. To make matters worse, I had to do that twice during the long flight.

Amazingly, the young Thai couple in their twenties didn’t get up even once throughout the half a day-plus that we were at the mercy of Delta Airlines. (I believe this must have something to do with the difference between our ages, but if I think about that too long I’ll have something else to worry about, so I’ll just ignore that thought and return to the original concern that prompted this writing.)

So what has me stewing? It’s the headline in this morning’s newspaper: “Dementia afflicting more younger people.” Suddenly I recall that I can’t get through my day without my “to do” list to remind me of all the important activities I might forget were it not for the memo—if I don’t lose it first. Just in case, I also have the family calendar where both Bernie’s schedule and mine are written, my personal desk calendar, and the absolutely vital date book I always carry in my backpack much as a drowning person grasps onto a floating object in the water to save her from going under. Unless I forget it on the kitchen table, of course.

According to the article, a report from the Health and Welfare Ministry based on data collected in fiscal year 2006 indicated that 3.7 people per 10,000 in Japan are suffering from juvenile dementia, defined as that which affects individuals under 65 years old. I’m barely into my 50s, so I smiled, knowing I was safe—until I read further. Other data collected from 2,000 medical and welfare institutions showed that 302 men and 159 women with an average age of 56 had been diagnosed with juvenile dementia. Ouch! Someone was coming way too close, invading my personal space, and stepping on my 53-year-old toes. Worse yet, the youngest sufferer was 21 years old!

Oh dear! Now those sentences that I can’t complete because I don’t remember what I started to say are blaring at me like the siren of the emergency vehicle that suddenly appeared right behind us yesterday on an impossible-to-pass, bumper-to-bumper Tokyo street. And there are also: misplaced items that show up eventually, but not when I most need them; words—both Japanese and English—that are on the tip of my tongue but refuse to make an appearance; and many times I want to retrieve something in another room, but can’t recall what it is by the time I get there. (I wish I could say that’s because we live in a huge mansion, but three rooms and a walk-in closet just don’t qualify.) Could I be the next card-carrying member of the Juvenile Dementia Club of Japan?

My blood pressure is on the rise and my palms are sweaty—until I remember a very good question Jesus once asked, “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?” (Matthew 6:27). The answer, of course, is obvious. Properly chastised, I determine yet once again to quit worrying. There are far more enjoyable things to do with my time.

Eyewitness to the World

Bernie, Cheryl, and Little Ben on his baby dedication Sunday

Tell your story!
“Go back and report to John what you have seen and heard: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor,” (Luke 7:22).

When the disciples of John the Baptist approached Jesus to ask whether he was the promised Messiah, Jesus responded, “Go back and tell your story: the story of what you have seen and heard!” Well, he didn’t say that exactly—his precise words are above—but this is what his reply meant.

We are grateful for the opportunity we had last month to tell stories during the North American Convention of the Church of God in Anderson, Indiana. Not only did we share personal stories of God at work in our lives, but we also rejoiced in telling other people’s stories through the “Eyewitness to the World” conference we led; through the Kid’s Place children’s program in which Cheryl was involved; during the Asia-Pacific Conference that Bernie chaired; and in the publication of Yet I Will Rejoice, the 13th international testimonies book that Cheryl has compiled and edited for Church of God Ministries. (By the way, this book is available for sale from Warner Press, Inc. and/or through the Global Missions department of Church of God Ministries.)

While some of these are annual activities, the “Eyewitness to the World” conference was a first-time event. What a joy it was to share stories from Japan, India, Tanzania, Cuba, and Lebanon to the glory of God. While the room was difficult to find, the conference scheduled right after lunch (a dangerous time for afternoon nappers), and with many other choices at the same hour for convention-goers, response was very positive. We hope we’ll have the chance to share again next year. After all, we’ll run out of stories to tell when God runs out of miracles to perform. May we encourage you to open your eyes and ears to what God is doing in and around you so that you can also tell your story?

Kid’s Place: China
As always, participating in the Kid’s Place program was especially thrilling for Cheryl. It was fun to help the children look forward to the Olympics in China next month. Our hope is that whenever they see any coverage, they’ll be prompted to pray for China. Our special joy was to take Choki, our “Chinese daughter,” with us to the convention so that she could become China in person to the children. Since she “only” speaks Chinese, Korean, and Japanese, Cheryl served as translator during the three-day program and was really pleased with the kids’ great questions. They were particularly impressed to learn about the underground church and how it is prospering, that there are 60,000 written characters in the Chinese language, and the fact that Chinese parents place much emphasis on choosing names with special meanings to bless their children.

Perhaps they were most moved by the sharing about China’s tragic earthquake in May. Many children had heard news of this horrific event that killed more than 70,000 people and displaced millions, and they expressed their genuine sadness to Choki. We encouraged them to turn their sadness into prayers for the nation and believe that they will do this. And, as always, we encouraged the kids to remember that God has a special assignment for each one of them—perhaps even for some to become cross-cultural missionaries. It truly is a highlight of Cheryl’s year to share with children at Kid’s Place.

Looking ahead in prayer
Please remember these matters in your prayers:
1) That the Holy Spirit will move in an exciting way on students who participate in Tamagawa Seigakuin’s Bible Camp, July 21-23;
2) For the Church of God in Japan as it celebrates its 100th anniversary August 1-3. Pray that the Holy Spirit will infuse this church with a new vision for the future;
3) For Bernie and Cheryl as they travel in India, August 8-22. Pray that they may be a blessing and encouragement to colleagues there;
4) For our upcoming home assignment, August 25-November 23. Pray that our travel schedule will be worked out smoothly and that these three months will both encourage us and the churches and individuals we visit;
5) For Shigemi Tanaka as she prepares for baptism at Tarumi Church;
6) That all details related to the Sakatas becoming pastors at Tarumi Church will be worked out smoothly and quickly;
7) That summer visits to the States for two special assignment missionaries (Alina Croall and Millie Michael) will encourage and refresh them for their work in the fall; and,
8) For our grandson, Benjamin Donbor Lyngdoh, whom we had the joy of dedicating to the Lord on June 22 in Anderson. Pray that he will grow to become a man of God. Pray also for his parents, Stephanie and Donald, as they begin their third year as special assignment missionaries in Central Asia in August.

What Time Is It?

Japan's famed high-speed Shinkansen,

traveling up to 170 miles per hour--

the very essence of punctuality

Wristwatches. I have three if you don’t count the brown-strap one that doesn’t have a battery and, therefore, doesn’t work. Bernie doesn’t have as many watches as hats—not by any means—but he has several for the wrist and two for the pocket, not counting the one on his cell phone since he usually forgets that anyway.

And clocks. We have at least one in every room of our apartment, even one in the walk-in closet that provides overflow sleeping when overnight guests exceed the capacity of our small place tucked away in the back corner of a church.

But there are at least three times a day I don’t need even one of these various time pieces to know what time it is—as long as I’m home, that is. Twice a day, at 6:30 A.M. and 4:30 P.M, we hear the somewhat mournful gong, gong, gong of the cast iron bell at nearby Kuhombutsu Temple. Rain or shine, 365 days a year, a dark-robed priest approaches the pavilion at these times, climbs the few stairs to its base, and comes face-to-face with the huge bell under which he and three of his colleagues could stand shoulder to shoulder and still have more personal space than if they rode together on a Tokyo train. But you wouldn’t want to do that. Some trickster with a bad sense of humor might just draw back the log-like mallet that is attached by a chain and let it go. From inside, the sound would be deafening.

I also don’t need a clock to tell me when it’s 9 A.M. The cheery voices of children calling out, “Sensei, ohayo gozaimasu!" (“Good morning, teacher!”), tell me that the four- and five-year-olds are eagerly awaiting the start of another day of kindergarten downstairs in the church. They are so prompt in arriving at 9 o’clock on the nose that you wonder if they’re being paid off with treats every day. Training that has produced such punctuality, conformity, and order in Japanese society certainly begins early in life.

Although I got a later start at it since we didn’t come to Japan until I was 21 years old, this emphasis on punctuality has had an effect on me, too. Most people I know comment on how fast I walk (or, in the case of my family, complain is a more accurate word). It seems I’m always running late since I try to pack in “just one more” chore before leaving the house. The result is a mad scramble out the door, down the street, and to the train station or wherever else I may be going. Interestingly, I usually end up arriving early since I’m so focused on not arriving late.

So, with all this talk about time, what time is it now? Time to slow down a bit, I hope. I’ve been in a frenzied dash against the clock all year with a major writing deadline facing me this month. Thankfully, I’m just about there now, which is why I’ve allowed myself to take a few moments to write this blog. I do wonder, however, if I really will be able to slow down after I cross the finish line. Wouldn’t it be horrible to discover that my internal mechanism is all messed up and I’m stuck on fast forward?

On Singing and Praising

Bernie and a new friend in South India

Our marching orders
“Sing to the Lord, praise his name; proclaim his salvation day after day. Declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous deeds among all peoples” (Psalm 96:2-3).

Our marching orders are clear: praise, proclaim, and declare. How are you doing at it?

We’re grateful for the opportunity we had to be the speakers at the annual convention of the Church of God in South India, April 30-May 4. Thank you for your prayers! God answered them marvelously. The above verses from Psalms were the theme of the five-day convention during which time we spoke 12 times rather than only the 3 times we’d been assigned! Not only did God use us to minister to the nearly 400 people who crowded into the grounds of the Asian Bible College, where the convention was held, but he also ministered to us through the love people expressed to God (in very lively worship) and to us. It was also thrilling to celebrate the baptisms of 16 individuals and the completion of Bible studies of 13 students, including 3 women, and very moving to join in a feet washing and communion service. Please pray for Brother George and the Church of God in South India as it continues the vital work of evangelizing in a difficult location where the strength of both Islam and communism seems to be growing daily.

Other reasons to sing
We have many other reasons to sing as we write this newsletter. For one thing, Cheryl completed the main writing of the missions history book project on which she has been working with her father for nearly two years—and she finished two days ahead of the May 31 deadline! We are praising God for his faithfulness. Thank you also for your prayers on which we depend.

An even bigger reason we’re singing is that it appears that Tarumi Church has found its pastor! June 1 marked five years since we left Kobe to move to Tokyo. It has been a very long and difficult time of waiting for the congregation. Please pray for Mr. and Mrs. Sakata, as the congregation moves towards calling them. A lifelong businessman, Mr. Sakata retired at age 65, entered seminary, and graduated this spring. We are observing complete unity of spirit about a potential pastor for the first time in these five years. This speaks volumes to us! At the same time, Tarumi Church seems a little nervous about making this move. Pray that they be able to walk confidently into the future that God is opening to them.

Other prayer concerns
Pray also for the following:

1) Tamagawa Seigakuin Bible Camp, July 21-23, that the Holy Spirit will cause revival to break out there. (We had hints of it last year.) Already 60 students are signed up for this completely voluntary camp experience. We’re expecting great things!

2) Preparations for the 100th anniversary celebration of the Church of God in Japan at the National Summer Conference, August 1-3. How much we also need revival in the Church of God and a new vision for what God wants to do in the next century;

3) Tokyo English Life Line (TELL). Cheryl was elected in April to serve as the clergy representative on the board of this NPO. Originally started by missionaries in Tokyo, TELL is Japan’s only English language crisis telephone counseling line. (The organization also encompasses a face-to-face counseling center.) Pray for her work on this board; and,

4) The successful completion of Into All the World, the 130-year history of Church of God missions. Although Cheryl has finished most of the writing, the next four months will include further discussions on content, appendices, index, proofs, and more before the book is published in the spring of 2009.

We're grateful to God and to you. In fact, we're singing and praising!

Too Many Bests

Bernie, Cheryl, and South India church leaders

This isn’t to solicit your cards or presents (although, if that would make you happy, be my guest), but my birthday is coming up later this month. This has got me thinking, even in the midst of a major writing assignment whose deadline is bearing down upon me like a runaway train. Rather than continuing this charade—that I’m making good progress on my book today—I’ve decided to put that aside and write from my heart for a while.

Four years ago, at the end of our first agonizing year of living in Tokyo, we were celebrating my 49th birthday at a Chinese restaurant with friends. One of them queried, “What was the best thing about this past year?” I replied quickly and without even thinking, “Nothing.” And I meant it, too. All I could think about what how hard it had been to move to Tokyo after 21 years in Kobe. I had come to understand all too clearly why native Tokyoites had the reputation of being cold and unfriendly while folks in the Kansai were known for quick smiles and openheartedness. Frankly, I wasn’t happy at all about living here, and that melancholy infected everything—even my birthday party—like germs spewed out in an uncontrolled sneeze.

But my friend wouldn’t accept that answer. She called me on my miserable response and pitiful attitude and didn’t let me off the hook until I’d come up with at least one way God had blessed me during that year. Interesting thing was, once I got out of my rut and started looking at the positives, each good thing I recounted gave birth to another and another and yet another, until I was surprised to realize that, despite the very real difficulties I’d faced, it had indeed been a good year overall.

So here I am approaching another birthday. While it’s no longer painful to live in Tokyo (most of the time), I’ve discovered it’s still a very good practice to think back and contemplate the ways I am blessed. Here are three things at the top of my gratitude list this year:

1) I became a grandmother. Got a minute? I’d love to show you some pictures. I can’t get over the wonder of new life—always special, but in this case, we weren’t sure Stephanie could ever have a baby. So welcoming this perfectly formed little boy into our family was all the more breathtaking and miraculous.

2) I also got to participate in Little Ben’s birth. I rubbed Stephanie’s back so much during her long labor that I nearly wore a hole in her robe. I couldn’t take her pain away, but I walked with my baby girl as she gave birth to her baby. Although I consider myself something of a wordsmith, I am dumbstruck to describe this beautiful gift given to me.

3) Bernie and I visited South India together in April-May (just one of the reasons I’ve been unable to keep up with this blog). For the past five years, our work has taken us in different directions more often than it has brought us together. I can’t even begin to count the number of times in India that I thought, “At long last, Bernie and I are serving together again. I am so blessed.”

In just a few days I’ll be 53 years old. If my friend asks me, I know that once again I won’t be able to answer her question. But the reason is different this year. In this case, there have been just too many bests to choose only one.

Two Letters

Encouraging his Papaw with an award-winning smile

Somehow I sensed it—bad news. I’d heard nothing to make me suspect this, but perhaps it was because we don’t normally get a letter from her except at Christmas. But here it was April. Whatever the reason, I opened the letter and was surprised to read her first sentence of congratulations on the birth of our grandson. She has 14 great-grandchildren of her own, so she knows how precious these little ones are. I relaxed and smiled, savoring the warmth of her good wishes while I envisioned our little grandbaby who recently discovered how to wrap us around his finger with an award-winning smile.

But there was bad news after all. She didn’t share it until the third paragraph—and not until after she had praised God for his never-failing goodness. But I’d been disarmed and the news took me by surprise. “I have heard that the greatest grief parents can bear is to bury their own child,” she penned in somewhat shaky handwriting, telling about the unexpected death of her daughter. “I will agree. It still is hard to believe I’ll never again lift the phone and hear, ‘Hi, Mom.’”

If I could have, I’d have thrown my arms around her neck and hugged her tightly, though I know my embrace could not replace her daughter’s loving touch. Nor could it take away her pain. But, with her in the United States and us in Japan, it wasn’t possible anyway. No matter how wonderful modern technology is that allows us to see our grandson daily by web cam and hear him coo, laugh, and even cry, I still can’t pick him up. Although we reach out to touch his face on the monitor, we can’t feel it, nor can he sense us. It was the same with her. So I simply sat, holding her letter in my hand, wondering what I could do.

Amazingly, despite her pain, she knew what to do. Her letter continued, chronicling the birth of a new pair of great-grandchildren—twins, a boy and a girl—with another due in May. “We are thankful God has allowed us these extra years to enjoy our families,” she wrote, also sharing about their sixtieth wedding anniversary. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the Lord.”

What to do when the pain is greatest? Praise the Lord.

I read Psalm 148 in my devotions this morning. It contains 14 verses of who and what should praise the Lord—everything in all creation, including sun, moon, stars, heavens, water, all creatures, lightening, hail, snow, clouds, and winds, mountains and hills, fruit trees, animals, kings, princes, all rulers, young men and maidens, old men and children, all should praise the Lord. In my journal, I’d quipped that the only specific listing not there is for old women to praise God. But my friend in Colorado knows better.

So does another older friend. She buried her youngest child in March, having already outlived two other adult children and her husband. Only a few years ago, already in her 90s, she also survived a tornado that completely destroyed her home. Most recently, area-wide flooding left some neighbors without electricity for a week. “Ours was out only twenty-two hours,” she wrote in another letter I am treasuring. “I’m thanking God for his goodness to us all. I learned years ago that the sun will shine after the darkest cloud. So I thank God daily for his love and mercy.”

Two letters. They have reminded me that the call to praise God in Psalm 148 is for all seasons, all circumstances, and all people. May the song in my heart be amplified as I learn from two women who live joyfully and victoriously, despite the tears that wet their cheeks.

A Broken Record

Beautiful Japan--anywhere but the trains

After this morning’s commute, I just have to write about the Tokyo trains (again, I know). They and dogs that are treated like children—or even better than—are my two major pet peeves about life in Japan’s capital city. Nevertheless, at the risk of sounding like a broken record . . . .

The train from Jiyugaoka to Shibuya was definitely the most packed one I’ve ever ridden, and I’ve endured some amazingly crowded trains up to now, when I honestly wasn’t sure I could get on. But I was at the front of the line this morning, and there was no way I could have changed my mind about riding because of the surge that came from behind me.

When my glasses cleared from the steam engendered by all the people breathing in such a small space inside that first car, I discovered I’d been pushed right up to the back of a man in a gray pinstriped suit. I was so close to him that there couldn’t possibly have been anything or anyone between us. Only there was. I don’t know how she survived suffocation.

My umbrella was hanging on my arm. (Adding insult to injury, it rained all day today.) I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there because I could feel it, like a ball and chain, anchoring me to the floor. Every time the train lurched, the wooden crook dug deeper into my flesh, like an iron vice determined to break through my arm. Finally, at the only station where there was any significant movement of people either in or out of the train, I was able to pull it up and hold it above my head like a lightening rod. My arm survived, but is sore to the touch this evening.

Then there was my backpack. I always wear it on my front when I get on a crowded train in order to preserve a small sheath of privacy for myself. Although the train was moving and I was swaying with it, my feet were locked into a permanent encasing between what seemed like hundreds of other feet, so I had no way to right myself. I felt like the Yogi Bear punching bag my brother had when we were young—those life size inflatable figures that are weighted at the bottom so that they move back and forth as they are pummeled, but always from the same place on the floor. Which is to say, I found myself swaying several people to the right or left, depending upon the train’s movement, but my feet never moved a quarter of an inch. Somehow, my backpack got left three people away from me on one of the lurches. Nevertheless, it was still strapped to my arms. Figure that one out!

Good thing I was using this morning’s commute to memorize Psalm 73:26: “My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” Indeed, I was experiencing what the psalmist was talking about, although he never rode a train in Tokyo (or anywhere else, for that matter).

I haven’t solved the problem of overcrowded trains since I can’t avoid them as long as I live in Japan. Nor has my question been answered—which is, how is it that a train can always take on more passengers, no matter how packed it already is? But I feel better having written this blog today. And, I must say, the Toyoko Line employees were kind enough to apologize profusely for arriving 12 minutes late into Shibuya Station. The only problem was that, as the doors slowly inched open, it was too crowded to get off!

P.S. I learned later that a fire had been discovered near the electric relay station of the Chuo Line. That entire system was shut down for seven hours, funneling everyone to other train lines in a ripple effect. It helps knowing the reason riding my morning train had been nearly as dangerous a proposition as jumping off a cliff and hoping for the best. But what about next time?

From the Heights

Bernie congratulates graduates on March 4.

Rejoicing in the Lord
“Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior. The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to go on the heights” (Habakkuk 3:17-19).

These verses are among our favorites in the Bible, but they are especially meaningful to right now as we write to you from the heights. Let us share the reasons we are rejoicing.

2008 international testimonies book
“Yet I Will Rejoice” is the title of the 13th international testimonies book that Cheryl has compiled and edited. Currently in the production stage, it will be published by Warner Press in June. Needless to say, this year’s title comes from the Habakkuk passage above. Of all the writing Cheryl does, these annual testimony books are her favorite. Not only do they encourage her in gathering and editing the stories (and occasionally writing her own), but it is a thrill to know that their publication uplifts so many other people, too. It is our prayer that the Lord will use this book to its intended purpose and that the Church of God will be energized to greater faithfulness in its international mission as a result of this book. (Naturally, we hope you purchase copies for yourself and others who need the encouragement this book will bring to them.)

Tamagawa Seigakuin
Verse 19 above is the inspiration for the current Tamagawa Seigakuin school theme: Walk the High Places. As such, the entire three verses are the text of Bernie’s entrance ceremony message on April 4, when nearly 170 new seventh graders will begin their Tama Sei experience. Not only will the girls hear this message of Christian hope and encouragement, but so also will many of their family members. (Typically, 700-1,000 people attend this ceremony, considered to be one of the most important in a girl’s Tama Sei career.) Think about this awesome opportunity for Christian witness! It is even more astounding when one remembers that the average Christian church in Japan only has about 30 people. What an amazing opportunity God has given Tama Sei. Please continue to pray for the school. Pray also for Bernie in his main responsibility of helping to keep the school focused uppermost on its Christian mission.

Not only are we in a high place as we think about the incoming new class of students at Tama Sei, but we are also rejoicing in thinking about the girls who just graduated from high school on March 4. This was an especially significant milestone day in the 58-year history of the school: the 10,000th girl was graduated (and nearly 200 more after her). We cannot help but be excited when we think of all the seeds that have been planted over the years. We continue to trust God that he will indeed bring a magnificent harvest.

Spring staff meeting
Thank you for your prayers for our annual missionary staff meeting, March 25-27. Despite the fact that Rod and Donna Stafford were unable to join us at the last minute due to a family crisis, we enjoyed a lot of laughter, shared tears, prayed together and for one another, and were indeed refreshed by the opportunity to get out of the big cities, where most of us live, and into the snow-covered mountains about three hours by car from Tokyo. Some of our staff are facing quite difficult experiences (or are in the midst of them), so please pray for all of us: Zonia Mitchell (serving in Saga); Millie Michael (Kobe-Osaka); Mike and Makiko Boyle, Alina Croall, Mike Wagner, and Cheryl and Bernie Barton (all in the Tokyo area). Please also remember Jason and Abby Kuiper, new teachers at Tama Sei from April, in their adjustment to life and ministry in Japan.

Please also remember Rachelle Bargerstock and Abby Spear, two SAM staff who have just left Japan after four years and one year, respectively. Pray for their transition back to the United States—more daunting than most people who’ve never experienced it can believe—as well as for them to understand the doors God is now opening for them.

Other prayer concerns
Two other prayer concerns are weighing heavily on us (and are the reason we will not have a May newsletter). Please pray for us as we travel to India to serve as speakers for the annual convention of the Church of God in South India (April 26-May 6). Pray that God will guide our preparations and use us to his glory at the convention. Also pray for Cheryl and her father, Donald Johnson, as they continue working on the Church of God missions history book project. The main deadline is May 31, but the race is on to see whether or not they can actually meet it. (The book will be published in 2009 as part of the 100th anniversary celebration of the organized Church of God international missions effort.) Certainly we are depending upon your prayers that we will be able to have praise reports on both of these matters in the June letter.