Thursday, December 24, 2009

On a Train a Few Days before Christmas


One of our favorite pastimes in Japan (indeed, in much of Asia) is reading t-shirt messages, advertising slogans, menus, and whatever else we see written in English. Here are some samples that have amused us:

*Looking for a new menu for Christmas? How about trying one of these: harb chicken salad, casserole of cow’s intestines, or cram chowder?

*Considering a new destination during the holidays? “Fry me to the moon” in a “lent a car” might be an option.

*Still need to buy one last Christmas gift? What about rice crackers (osenbi, in Japanese) —if you can figure out this advertising description: “A rice cracker of the soy sauce taste that percentage let taste soak on purpose.” Get one for 250 yen (about $2.75) or a whole bag, a real bargain, for 500 yen ($5.50).

The other day I was making fun of yet another English gaffe—this one on a Christmas card we’d received: Be a Merry and Happy Christmas—when Bernie commented, “I rather like that mistake.” Hearing my eyebrows raise, he answered my unspoken question. “More than having a merry Christmas, wouldn’t it be great to be a merry Christmas for someone else?” he asked. The more I thought about it, the more I agreed. Yes, I thought, I would like to be a merry Christmas.

But I’d certainly failed the day before on an impossibly packed commuter train. I was first in line to board when the double doors of the just-arrived train opened. Normally at Jiyugaoka Station, after a stream of people explodes out of each car, there is space for those waiting on the platform to board. But it was different that day. After all the riders wanting to exit had, there was absolutely no open space. Where in the world had they just been riding? The inside of the car appeared no different, although a whole throng of people had just been propelled by me like human cannonballs.

Since capacity limits on Tokyo commuter trains seem to be decided by how many people can force their way onto a given train rather than by any safety considerations, those of us waiting on the platform accepted the challenge of finding the invisible space inside the packed cars. Helped by the surge behind me, I made it in. So did all those behind me, although I can’t tell you how this miracle occurred. All I know is that I ended up inside, smashed in on all sides, and standing on someone else’s feet. There was no free floor space to be found anywhere. As crushed as we all were, I doubt the unfortunate host (or hosts) to my feet even noticed, but I was certainly uncomfortable. (Okay, I wouldn’t have been comfortable even if my feet had found the floor.) All in all, as I glared at the woman whose bag was poking me painfully in the scar on my left side, I was in no mood to be a merry Christmas to her or to anyone else. All I wanted was to escape, and I honestly didn’t care who I might have to insult or injure along the way to freedom.

A merry Christmas? There was nothing merry about morning—for myself or anyone else. While I couldn’t have changed the train conditions, I could have put a smile on my face and adjusted my attitude. After all, the meaning of this season cannot be tarnished or changed, no matter what. Immanuel—God with us—even on a crowded commuter train.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

A Christmas Prayer

Coco and a sleepy Little Ben

It’s not going to be long before it takes a forklift to carry my “to do” list: Christmas cards to address, special December dinners to prepare, gifts to buy and wrap, end-of-the-year reports to write, and more. And I’ve not even mentioned the normal activities that routinely crowd the schedule—things like sermon preparation, meetings, writing assignments and correspondence, and the day-to-day tasks that keep the house somewhat organized, clean clothes in the dressers, and food on the table.

As much as I try, I’m just not keeping up, although my schedule is considerably reduced this year. One big reason for the lag is a soon-to-be-two-year-old named Benjamin, our grandson. He and his mother arrived at our house on December 3. Need I say more?

Every time I sit down at the computer, my little shadow comes calling. “Coco, book,” he says, pulling on my hand and meaning, “Read to me, Coco” (his name for me). Or, “Coco, blocks.” Translated, “Let’s play with the blocks together.” Or, “Coco, kick soccer ball.” Or any number of other invitations—actually quite persistent summons to spend time with him. My heart melts and I’m completely defenseless, pressing work or not. After all, how long will this little boy actually want to spend time with his Coco? And how many chances will his Coco have to devote herself to him? I realize that if I miss these opportunities with Little Ben, I am never guaranteed of others to come in the future. It’s now or, perhaps, never. And so I put away my tasks and get down on the floor with Benjamin, loving every minute that we have to share together.

I’m reminded of a book of daily meditations I’m reading this Advent and Christmas season. Of the 13 or so I’ve read to date, “To Be a Virgin,” by Loretta Ross-Gotta, has been the most thought-provoking. Bernie and I will soon celebrate Christmas with our son, daughter, grandson, and other family members. We’ll also celebrate our thirty-fourth wedding on January 10. How can I be a virgin, as the author suggests we must all be—men and women included—if we will truly prepare our hearts for Christmas?

Ross-Gotta writes, “The intensity and strain that many of us bring to Christmas must suggest to some onlookers that, on the whole, Christians do not seem to have gotten the point of [Christmas]. Probably few of us have the faith or the nerve to tamper with hallowed Christmas traditions on a large scale, or with our other holiday celebrations. But a small experiment might prove interesting. What if, instead of doing something, we were to be something special? Be a womb. Be a dwelling for God. Be surprised.”

The Virgin Mary made herself available to God for his purposes (to be the mother of God’s Son) when she responded to the angel, “I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said” (Luke 1:38). In her case, she literally was a womb for God. In my case, I can be that virgin in another way—by putting away my “to do” list and offering myself to God for what he wants to do in and through me not only in this season, but also during all 365 days of the year to come.

Just as my heart melts whenever my grandson, in his irresistible way, invites me to play, may it also respond passionately whenever God comes, as he did to Mary, and declares to me, “I need you.” May I never hesitate to obey from a heart of love for his gift of Jesus: babe in a manger, Savior on a cross, and the way to eternal life forever with the Father.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Brimming with Hope

Our staff taking a break from the annual fall meeting

Bernie blesses a little girl at the fall children's blessing service.

A word from the Lord
“. . . Houses, fields and vineyards will again be bought in this land” (Jeremiah 32: 15, NIV).

Thank you for your prayers for our annual fall missionary staff meeting on November 23. When we gathered at the Bartons’ apartment from three different areas of Japan, most of us were nursing colds, tiredness, and perhaps even discouragement. But as the photo shows, our spirits were truly restored through laughter, fellowship, heartfelt sharing, and prayer (not to mention eating at Sizzler’s). We were especially encouraged as Don Deena Johnson led us in considering a word from the Lord in Jeremiah—a brimming-with-hope reminder that if we respond to God in absolute obedience, even when his words don’t make sense, we can live in confidence that God will make all things new. It was exactly the reminder we needed.

Shichi-go-san
November is the month Japanese celebrate children, especially those who are 7 (shichi), 5 (go), and 3 (san) years old. Traditionally, parents dress their 7-, 5-, and 3-year-olds in new (and very expensive) clothes—for girls, often their first kimonos—and take them to a Shinto shrine to be blessed by a priest. The Japanese church has adapted this custom, which we at Tamagawa Church observed on November 15. What a joy it was to welcome 24 children, ranging in age from infants to upper elementary school, to our “kodomo no shukufukushiki” (children’s blessing service). Many of them were accompanied by their parents, who do not normally attend church, but who watched proudly as they took the offering, sang special songs, and recited Bible verses. One little boy even crawled under the pews, getting several rows away from his parents before they realized it. That wasn’t a scripted part of the program, but it was enjoyed anyhow.

As pastor of Tamagawa Church, Bernie had a message geared for the children and words of blessing for each one individually. Please pray that seeds planted in the children’s hearts during this special service will bear fruit one day. Pray also that we may cultivate good relationships with their parents that will bring them to Christ too.

Looking forward
We’re eagerly anticipating the arrival of family in December: Benjamin (from Guam); Stephanie, Donald, and Little Ben (from Central Asia); and Cheryl’s parents, Don and Betty Jo Johnson (from the USA). We’ll celebrate a family Christmas on December 28, following many Tamagawa Seigakuin and church-related activities throughout the month, including: a Christmas celebration for Tama Sei alumni on December 5; a baptismal service at Tamagawa Church on December 20; and a church Christmas Eve candle service. Pray that these celebrations will result in many life-changing decisions.

Following Christmas, we’re also looking forward to the birth of our second grandchild—our first granddaughter—here in Tokyo. Please pray for continuing good health for Stephanie and the baby and a safe delivery around January 10.

Answers to prayer
Thank you for your continued prayers for Cheryl. Praise the Lord that her trip to the States was successful. She returned to Japan on November 7 with her second round of medicine and with the doctor’s agreement to take her as a patient during our upcoming home assignment (late May-late August 2010). Currently she is midway through the second round of medicine and experiencing only relatively mild side effects (mouth sores). We’re grateful that blood tests seem to indicate that the cancer is responding to the medication as hoped. Pray that this will be confirmed by CT scan on December 8 so that Cheryl can continue taking this medicine—one of only two options for treatment in Japan. As of yet, we do not have a long-term solution to the high cost of the medicine, but God continues showing us his faithfulness, one step by one step. For this we rejoice, even as thank God for you and for the wonderful meaning of this season: Immanuel, God with us.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Accusations

Accusations. Over our 30-plus years in Japan, I’ve heard Christians and Christianity accused of many things. Years ago in Saga, in the late 1970s, an Irishman stormed out of an English speech contest in which we’d been invited to share because Bernie was telling of his faith in Jesus Christ. Never mind that he’d obtained permission beforehand from the contest organizers. Never mind that the Irishman was a judge and that his angry outburst and sudden departure left everyone shocked and embarrassed. His accusation was that Bernie didn’t respect Japanese culture because he was trying to import his own culture—Christianity—into this Buddhist and Shinto nation.

It was a sentiment repeated by some Brits we met while on a day hike in the Swiss Alps a few years later. “Why don’t you just appreciate the Japanese for who they are?” they asked, a little more politely than the Irishman had spoken. “Why do you think you have the right to force change on them?” Needless to say, we were stunned by these encounters with fellow westerners.

But we’ve also heard Japanese accusations. “Katai, kusai, kurai.” Inflexible, smelly, dark—not a few Japanese have used these adjectives to describe Christians. In other words, Christians are too serious, no fun, and they make people around them feel uncomfortable. Often times, Jesus’ words, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one goes to the Father except through me,” are cited as exemplifying an attitude that goes against one of the most valued Japanese character traits—not making waves so that you fit in at all costs. When one believes and follows Jesus’ teachings anyway, however politely, Japanese (and perhaps others as well) often feel uncomfortable.

Not usually—being a very polite people—but sometimes they even lash out. This was evident in recent comments by Katsuya Okada, the number two man in command of the ruling Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ). I have no idea who’d stepped on his toes, but something must have happened for him to accuse Christians of being self-righteous. In his comments, reported in the news after Okada visited a Buddhist temple, he said Buddhism was infinitely better than Christianity, and even Islam was preferable. (Interestingly, no one accused him in return of showing a lack of wisdom in trumpeting his opinion when he is such a public figure, but that’s a tangent I won’t pursue for now.)

Another newspaper article I read recently also was full of accusations, although surprisingly, they brought a smile to my face. Coming out of Breast Cancer Awareness Month (October), the article accused women who’ve become involved in pink ribbon campaigns of being too cheerful! The writer groused that Christians wearing pink ribbons, pretending that they can overcome cancer with positive attitudes, are sickening and do a disservice to people who are suffering from the disease. I don’t know the history of the pink ribbon campaign—was it launched by a Christian, thereby inviting this attack? But in a world of grumpy, stressed people (especially with global economics being what they are), I for one appreciate those who are cheerful!

I can think of many accusations that have stung—like the words of India’s king of non-violent resistance, Mahatma Gandhi. A regular Bible reader, the diminutive Hindu once said that while he respected Jesus Christ and his teachings, he could never become a Christian. Why? Because so many Christians do not live by the teachings of the one they claim to follow, he explained. Ouch! We Christians ought to consider his accusation very carefully and personally.

But to be accused of being too cheerful? If that is the worst this particular journalist can sling at Christians . . . . Well, I hope one day I’ll face this accusation. I’ll respond without hesitation from the witness chair, “Guilty as charged.” And I trust that the broad smile on my face will be all the evidence required to convict me.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Thoughts at Thanksgiving

My birth family, for whom I give thanks:
(front from left) John, Cheryl, Don Deena
and our parents, Donald and Betty Jo

Not that we celebrate Thanksgiving in Japan—at least not the variety that remembers the Pilgrims and Indians while eating turkey and all the trimmings topped off with pumpkin pie and football games. Japan’s celebration is November 23, a national holiday called Labor Thanksgiving Day. In this time of global recession where the national unemployment rate in America has now topped 10% (Japan’s rate as of September was 5.3%), having work and being grateful to those whose labor supports and makes life easier for us is definitely something to celebrate.

But today I’m thinking less of work and more of sacrifice. At this holiday season when—at least for Americans—gathering with family is tradition (a tradition Japanese follow more at New Years), I’m remembering a colleague who has given up his family. Rather, I should say his family has given him up. Kicked him out. Disowned him. Disavowed ever giving birth to him. I can’t imagine it, but it happens with frightening regularity in countries where Christians are persecuted for the crime of following Christ as Lord of their lives. (There are many such countries in Asia, including China, Indonesia, Bhutan, India, and North Korea.)

Here’s what our colleague wrote:

“Today I am going to share with you about my very sad news. Last month, my family called me and said that if I do not go back to the monastery, they will never accept me as their family member. Not only that, but my parents said to me strongly, ‘This is the time to say good-bye. Don’t think that you have us here as your family and we also won't think that you are there as our son.’ This means they have totally rejected me. When I heard these things from them, I [was so troubled in my spirit]. But I believe God has a purpose for this and someday he will give me peace in my heart.

“Of course it is very painful for me to think about [my parents’ words], but I cannot do anything except pray. You know already how many years I have been suffering, but there is no end. I think God still wants me to suffer more . . . . It is very difficult to handle these kinds of situations, but I am still hoping that God will help lessen my burden.

“I am writing this letter to you with tears because I [must] make decisions for my future [while I am feeling like this]. Please pray for me to get more wisdom from God and also pray for me to have my own family—my future life partner.”

These are the words of someone who has sacrificed everything—family, country, personal safety, livelihood, and freedom—everything except his faith in Christ. Unfalteringly, he holds onto Jesus as tightly as a drowning man desperately clutches a life preserver to his chest while stormy waves crash over his head.

At this special season of the year, I am thankful for my family, always supporting and praying for me, always believing in me, and always encouraging me. But I also give thanks for this exemplary young man whose faith challenges me to withhold nothing from God. After all, it was he who first modeled sacrifice when he gave Jesus, his only son, to ransom my life.




Tuesday, November 10, 2009

All the Difference in the World

Little Ben learning who to trust

A year ago at this time, we were cheering Little Ben on when, at ten months old, he took his first steps. Although we weren’t visiting our daughter and her family at that time, we applauded our grandson’s baby steps through Skype. It was as though we were together in the very same room, encouraging him to find his wobbly way into our eager arms.

More than twenty-five years earlier, Big Ben (then the only Ben) had flung himself off a rock wall and into the outstretched arms of his father who had called up to him, “Jump!” Never mind that our son had a broken shoulder and was encased in a waist-up plaster cast that kept his left arm immobile and thrust out before him. Never mind that I was shaking with fear, imagining Ben falling and breaking the bone all over again. Our four-year-old son trusted his father completely, and when he jumped fearlessly, Bernie caught him—just as Ben knew he would.

Who you trust makes all the difference in the world. Scary baby steps can be conquered and jumping—even from high places—made easier when you trust the one who confidently holds his arms out wide before you.

Back in January, we prayed for a good hospital and doctor before we even imagined that I had cancer. Something was wrong; we had no doubt about that. But we didn’t know what. Not knowing can be a scary thing sometimes, but we were at peace as we prayed, and God answered—just as we knew he would.

More recently, I made a reservation to fly to the United States in October to consult with an oncologist. I wanted him to prescribe a round of the anti-cancer medication I’d started taking in Japan, knowing that the price in America is considerably cheaper. I bought the ticket before I was certain of the doctor’s appointment. A very busy man, he might refuse to see me because I cannot meet with him every six weeks—the expectation he has of all his cancer patients.

Whether or not I’d actually get the prescription was also in question. Yet I contacted a pharmacist to arrange for the medicine to be ready the night before I was scheduled to return to Japan, assuming the doctor would grant my request. (Most pharmacies do not normally stock Sutent.) After all, by then I had indeed received an appointment with him. While nothing else was for sure, I knew I must take those steps obediently. When I left the doctor’s office, prescription in hand, my smile was bigger than my face, although I wasn’t greatly surprised by the outcome. I’d stepped out in faith and God had responded faithfully—just as I knew he would.

I’d also made an appointment with the same oncologist for March and had his agreement to accept me as a regular patient when we are on home assignment next summer. Amazingly, I’d heard two nurses talking before the oncologist came in. Their conversation centered on his pending decision to stop accepting new patients as he approaches semi-retirement. And yet he took me. The Lord continues opening the doors for me to walk through—just as I know he will.

Who you trust makes all the difference in the world. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him and he shall direct your paths” (Proverbs 3:5-6, NIV).

Monday, November 2, 2009

What is in Your Hand?


A call to involvement
“Than the Lord said to [Moses], ‘What is that in your hand?’ ‘A staff,’ he replied. The Lord said, ‘Throw it on the ground …’” (Exodus 4:2-3, NIV).

When Susi Childers told God she didn’t think there was anything she could do for the cause of missions, God spoke to her as he did to Moses so many years ago, asking, “What is that in your hand?” “Only a camera,” she responded, feeling much like Moses must have. After all, it was the common instrument of photographer, much as Moses’ staff was the everyday tool of a shepherd. But when Moses gave that staff to God, it divided the Red Sea and led the children of Israel from out of slavery in Egypt. Likewise, when Susi surrendered her camera to God, “A Voice for the Voiceless” was born.

Today, the German photographer-turned-missionary heads an organization committed to helping the voiceless be heard in the world—particularly women and children trapped by such things as prostitution, sex slavery, domestic violence, HIV/AIDS, and abortion. And while being a voice calling for an end to these practices through legislation and social action, “A Voice for the Voiceless” also calls the church to pray and to seek God’s guidance in determining what is in its hands that God can use—if we are willing—to help bring an end to such exploitation and injustice. After all, the voiceless are also God’s children who cry out to him for deliverance that comes as we who have voices speak.

It was three years ago that Bernie first met Susi Childers and was introduced to “A Voice for the Voiceless.” God moved his heart in an unusual way, and he has not been the same since. Responding to the Lord’s call to involvement, Bernie has been instrumental in helping Tamagawa Seigakuin to be a venue on several occasions for the group to share in Tokyo. Additionally, last Sunday we were pleased to welcome Susi to Tamagawa Church to share about the work. Through her beautiful portraits, we were introduced to several of the voiceless of the world while hearing their stories.

As Susi challenged the congregation, we challenge you: Don’t turn away from the spiritually lost and the millions of suffering voiceless in the world. The Lord is calling you and asking what is in your hand that he can use to help bring deliverance. None of us was saved for our salvation alone, but to be the bridge others will cross on their path to Christ. We urge you to be a part of the answer the world is seeking.

Update on Cheryl
Thank you for your prayers for Cheryl. We have been aware of them as never before, and we are seeing answers to prayer in several ways. Blood work at the end of the first four weeks of medication showed some positive trends. On top of this, there are other encouraging signs: she no longer has daily fevers (they come now only when she’s overdone it and feels exhausted in the evening); her energy level has improved considerably (which is why she sometimes overdoes it); her weight loss has stabilized (and she needed to lose those seven pounds anyway); and more.

More than anything else, however, Cheryl is grateful for the many intimate conversations she’s had with God while learning to live with cancer. Surely God was speaking all along, but busy schedules have a definite way of drowning out God’s voice. Recently, with most of her typical schedule on hold, Cheryl’s hearing has improved considerably.

At the same time, we continue to need your prayers. Here are two specific prayer points: that a doctor in the United States will agree to prescribe the next round of medicine for Cheryl, something that will help the insurance picture greatly (pray for Cheryl’s meeting with this doctor on November 5 and his good favor); and that the two weeks of rest between medication (October 27-November 9) will provide enough relief for the kidney and liver, as well as an improvement in her platelet count, for her Japanese doctor to be confident that she can handle a second round of medication.

Some other prayers
►There will be a follow-up meeting on November 12 for students who attended July’s Bible Camp. Pray that the Holy Spirit will be evident in a mighty way, reminding girls about commitments they made and giving them courage to act upon those commitments;
►We will lead our fall missionary staff meeting/retreat here in Tokyo on November 21-22. Please pray that the fellowship will be rich and encouraging. Please also remember the various ministries of fellow staffers: Mike and Makiko Boyle (Hagiyama Church, Tokyo); Mike Wagner (Tamagawa Seigakuin, Tokyo); Don Deena Johnson (Nishi Kunitachi Church and Sei Ai Gakusha schools, Tokyo); Tyler Hobbs (Tarumi and Konike Churches, Kobe/Osaka); and Zonia Mitchell (Saga University, Saga).

Saturday, October 24, 2009

The Tunnel

Two of Japan's myriad tunnels

I know something about tunnels. I’m no engineer, nor have I ever joined a construction crew in boring through a mountainside to create a water supply or electricity path or a transportation route. (Each of the world’s 67 longest tunnels was created for one of those reasons.) But I live in Japan. Enough said.

Here one learns as if by osmosis many lessons in geography. Among others: a part of the Pacific Ring of Fire, Japan experiences frequent—if not daily—earthquakes, and volcanoes are to be watched and studied intently because some mountain somewhere is always threatening to blow (nearly four-fifths of Japan is mountain-covered); in this nation of 3,000-plus islands, bridges are vital connectors (actual land space is only 15 percent of its total territory; the remaining 85 percent is in the ocean); with 127 .7 million people, Japan is one of the most densely populated countries in the world (something like half the population of the United States lives in land space roughly the size of California).

And one learns about tunnels since it is difficult to go many places without passing through at least one. Most commonly, we drive under Tokyo Bay via tunnel on our way to the airport. We also make regular trips to Kobe, about 275 miles away. These are characterized by three different kinds of scenery: alongside the ocean, through the mountains, or in tunnels deep within the mountains.

Should you choose to travel by rail, the tunnels you will pass through are even more impressive. In fact, the longest railway tunnel in world is the 33.5-mile Seikan Tunnel, connecting Japan’s two largest islands, Honshu and Hokkaido. Additionally, 12 of its railway tunnels are included among the world’s 67 longest, each at least 8 miles in length. (Seikan Tunnel is the world’s fifth longest tunnel and its longest undersea passageway.)

But perhaps you don’t care at all about tunnels. Frankly, even with tunnels a routine part of life in Japan, I didn’t think much about them, either—although I must admit that I was quite impressed in 1995 when, with toppled bridges, crushed buildings, and all the other destruction of the 7.2 magnitude Kobe earthquake, no area tunnels sustained damage.

But my ho-hum attitude about tunnels has been challenged by a vision—a vision I believe was sent from God. It was back in March during the two weeks of waiting between first hearing of the possibility of cancer and having the doctor’s suspicion confirmed. Of course, we prayed earnestly that no cancer would be found. Yet one evening, even as I prayed, I felt the Lord preparing me for the news no one wants to hear. It was a surprisingly comforting message, considering that I longed to hear the words, “It’s not cancer.” As God revealed his plan to me, I envisioned a tunnel—a very long tunnel. Explicitly I knew that, while God can and does heal any way he chooses, my path to healing and wholeness was not going to be a quick flight across that tree-covered mountain range. Instead, God was going to take me through the mountains.

Momentarily, I found myself in a tunnel, one defying description because it was too dark to see anything around me. Although I should have been frightened—at least confused—by all the unknown in which I was standing, I was strangely at peace in that unfamiliar place. Realizing I was not alone, I had no reason to fear. While I couldn’t see Him, I knew He was there and that we were walking together, hand-in-hand. At times, I would stumble as we moved along the long pathway that rose and then dipped without warning, but that would only cause me to grip His hand more securely. And when I suddenly squeezed tightly, He always squeezed back reassuringly, reminding me silently that although I didn’t know the road ahead, He did; I would be fine as long as I trusted him.

He also pointed out the light at the extreme far end of the tunnel. If I kept my hand in his and my eyes on the light in the distance, we would pass safely through this never-before-traveled passageway through the mountain called cancer. Although I sensed that the road ahead would be long and difficult, I felt confident and assured about what was to come.

“I suspect your cancer has returned,” the doctor told me in early September. Admittedly, upon hearing his words, my shoulders slumped and my head fell forward into my hands, as if the news was simply too heavy a burden to bear. But it was only a fleeting response. Almost as quickly as the weariness set in, it was gone as I remembered the tunnel and Jesus’ comforting presence and peace. Yes, I was still in the tunnel, and actually, the light ahead didn’t seem any closer than it had in March. But my hand was still in His as we continued through the tunnel together.

While I wasn’t with the disciples when Jesus, in his last days on earth, comforted these closest followers and tried to prepare them for his return to heaven, it seems I’ve also heard his encouraging words: “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). In fact, I hear them often in this tunnel, and I know without doubt that all is well.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

On Knowledge


CT scans, MRIs, x-rays, blood tests, urinalyses, PET scan, bone scan, ultrasounds, even a test for H1N1 new strain influenza—which caused me to knock the nurse’s hand away from my face, flipping the offending long-stick swab she was wielding across the room. (Yes, the test had to be repeated, and no, I didn’t have the flu.) Surely I’ve had every possible medical test related to any organs from my neck to my lower abdomen—most of these in the last month. (By the way, it’s amazing that my hospital gives a 50% deduction on the cost of multiple exams of the same kind conducted within one month.)

It’s also amazing to think how well my urologist knows me—at least in terms of what he’s seen of my insides projected on the computer monitor in his examination room. But I’ve been thinking: as much as he knows, however, there is so much he doesn’t. For example, why can a persistent cough point to kidney cancer? (Actually, the urologist didn’t believe it at first; it was the respiratory doctor who suggested it. However, when the cough returned, the urologist also took note both of my case and of the fact that the Tokyo Cancer Research Institute is, among other things, investigating this very link.)

He also doesn’t know whether my cancer is genetic (my mother had kidney cancer twelve years ago) or only a fluke (after all, she’s had no recurrence since her kidney was removed). He also can’t answer whether the return of my voice to full strength is because I cut milk from my diet, or because the treatment is working, or because God is working—or because of all three. (I don’t need to know why to thank God as I again enjoy a normal voice after four months of sounding like the world’s worst case of laryngitis.)

And how about the medicine? It is still too early to say whether or not I’ll be in the 30% group for whom Sutent is effective. For that matter, even if it does shrink my tumors and scare the cancer into remission, what will be its long-term effectiveness? It’s just not that old and common of a treatment for such data to be available. And besides, data never considers Almighty God who does what he will do whenever he desires to accomplish it.

For all that my doctor does know, and no matter how skillful and educated he is, his understanding is still so very limited. I am comforted in affirming that God is the author of all true knowledge. Psalm 139:13-16 praises his omniscience and affirms that he alone truly knows me:

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”

Once again, my spirit is stilled and my heart rejoices. Known and loved this well, what have I to fear?

Friday, October 9, 2009

Different

Little Ben enjoys the talking bathtub.

I want to write about something different today. No cancer stories (although I’ve only scratched the surface), no deep insights (although my heart longs for more), nothing heavy this afternoon (I need a break). Just something different.

Jumping back several years ago, we were on home assignment in the States one summer. While I don’t remember why Stephanie needed to go to the doctor, I do recall the drug store experience when we went to fill her prescription. “What’s your address?” the pharmacist asked me dully. I wasn’t prepared for the question—what does that have to do with buying medicine anyhow? Consequently, I wasn’t sure how to answer.

“Well,” I answered tentatively, “I can give you my parents’ address here in town or I can give you our real address in Japan.”

The pharmacist looked up, suddenly interested and paying attention to us. “You live in Japan?” he deduced. “Wow! That must be really different.”

This time it was Stephanie who answered. “No,” she declared adamantly, “it’s different here.”

And so it was. After all, although American by nationality and passport, she was growing up in Japan and it was the country she knew best. America was different; Japan was normal.

Since I mostly grew up in the United States, I look in at Japan with eyes that first focused there. While I know what is normal in America (although the longer we’re here, the less I truly know my home country), I also understand what is absolutely ordinary—but different—about life in Japan. Such things as . . . .

The tofu vendor. Returning home this week, I came upon him as he pulled his two-wheeled cart behind him on a street near our apartment. Headband around his head, dressed in the traditional hapi coat of vendors and festival dancers, his feet protected by tabi, two-toed style shoes, he was playing a two-note, rather mournful tune on a bamboo flute as he announced his presence in the neighborhood. Except for the thoroughly modern city through which he slowly proceeded, hawking tofu in a friendly, door-to-door fashion, one could have imagined an earlier, simpler Japan, a Japan before refrigeration and state-of-the-art, gleaming grocery stores with plenteous imported products from around the world. The tofu vendor strolls through our streets regularly, a normal part of life in Japan, but certainly different to fully American eyes.

The mass transit system. In Japan, one could get along easily without a car—and with many fewer hassles—thanks to the amazing system of trains and buses and the use of bicycles more for transportation than for recreation. Although things are changing slowly and grudgingly in the United States, it will be a long time before most people can make that claim. Of course, things screeched to a halt yesterday when an approaching typhoon shut down the train lines. But that came as a much needed, appreciated, and unexpected holiday for many people, and who doesn’t love that occasionally?

The language. Here’s an example of just how different Japanese and English are. If you have trouble spelling in English, consider this: Japanese has three distinct “alphabets,” one of which is made up of thousands of word pictures. No sounding out spellings to come up with something relatively close that a reader will figure out somehow. It’s memory entirely. You either know it or you don’t (and mostly I don’t). The more one knows Japanese, the more one sees that the contrasts between the 26-letter English alphabet and Japanese are nothing less than astounding.

And, speaking of language, how about a talking bathtub? Two nights ago, I filled ours for a good soak on the first really chilly evening of fall. I’d forgotten the great talent our tub displays when the water has filled to the programmed (by us) level and heated to our desired temperature. Preceded by great musical fanfare, as if announcing the entry of a king, a lovely female voice emits from the bathtub control box that comes complete with speakers to announce, in Japanese of course, that all bath preparations are complete. If you didn’t know what was happening, you’d be more than startled; you’d surely gasp as you grabbed for a towel to avoid the eyes of a Peeping Tom (or, rather, Tommi) at the window. While fully enjoying the soak, I couldn’t help but smile at the imaginary scene. Different, definitely. But comfortable, too. After all, this is our home.

Friday, October 2, 2009

Being There, Here

Skype--almost like being there in person

I’ve been eating a whole bunch of vegetables and fruits lately—all that good cancer-fighting stuff—and one thing is certain: my grandma bragging rights have been nourished and are in top form. Yes, it’s another Little Ben story, but please don’t hold that against either of us, and please do keep reading.

Thanks to the computer and Skype, we’re watching our grandson grow up even though we’re separated by oceans and nations. Amazing! During our early time in Japan more than thirty years ago, we had a two-color television (purple and green, and even those colors were iffy on the set we’d retrieved from the trash); no telephone in our two-room apartment (and cell phones didn’t yet exist); and a pit toilet in an attached building. We wrote letters by hand that took seven days to reach America. If someone on the other end was an eager letter-writer (unfortunately, most of our friends and many of our family were not), we received a reply in another week on top of that. When Bernie’s grandmother died unexpectedly of a heart attack, a telegram brought the sad news in choppy sentences written to conserve words and money while still conveying the essential message. The thought of making an international telephone call was akin to dialing the moon or even going there; it just wasn’t done. Today we call our children and grandson at least daily.

And when we do, we hear a cute little voice, “Coco? Papaw?” (Little Ben’s names for us.) We may hear this numerous times and with growing insistence and impatience until our computers finally get in sync. Then suddenly, when Little Ben sees our faces, his voice rises with excitement as he rejoices, nearly singing, “Hiiiiiiiii.” It’s as if he’s been waiting to see us for an eternity—which, in the time understanding of a 20-month-old, it may be. His longing to see us quickly satisfied, Little Ben scoots down off his mother’s lap and is gone in an instant to other more pressing matters.

In the meantime, our hearts have melted yet again. How could we be so lucky as to be there (in China) while we are yet here (in Japan)? We’d love to run next door for a hug—if he lived that close—but considering our own experience of thirty years ago and how wonderfully different it is today, we have no complaints at all about this arrangement that allows us to be there, here.

We’re also rejoicing as we experience being here, there. What an incredible year this has been for us as the word cancer has morphed from being someone else’s encounter to being ours, up close and personal. We have obeyed the instructions of James 5:15, “Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up.”

We’ve learned that people all over the world also are obeying James’ directions on our behalf. Though proxies who have stood in our place, we have continued being here as we are there, being anointed and prayed for countless times for healing. With Little Ben, it’s technology that makes it possible to be there, here. As amazing as that is, it is nothing in comparison to the incredible family of God as it unifies to pray, keeping us here, where God has placed us, while allowing us to be there where we are supported and comforted by the loving embrace of the family. Why would we desire anything else?

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

On Trusting the Lord

Enjoying a field of cosmos, Japan's salute to fall

Omniscience defined
“‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the Lord. ‘As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts,’” (Isaiah 55:8-9, NIV).

What a roller coaster month it has been. Except for the Lord’s message to Cheryl on September 4 that she should, “Sit still, my daughter” (see the archives of this blog), this month would have been unbearable in many ways. On September 4 we were told that Cheryl’s respiratory doctor suspected her cancer had returned. Then, a couple of hours later, another doctor denied this possibility. We returned home feeling “off the hook,” but not much better emotionally. Actually, the physical symptoms that mirrored everything Cheryl was experiencing before her cancer was found in March were back in full force, so we wondered how this second doctor could be right. In fact, he misread the CT scan.

On September 15, Cheryl’s radiologist and urologist agreed with 90% certainty that the cancer had indeed metastasized into three tumors in the area where the kidney was before surgery in April. Their suspicions were confirmed on September 29 after multitudes of tests, leading us into a new phase of life: living with cancer. This translates into an oral anti-cancer medicine (Sutent) taken daily for 28 days followed by 2 weeks of rest, with the regime repeated forever. Yes, forever. Indeed, we are living with cancer.

From our relatively short experience with cancer, we’ve learned as never before the meaning of Isaiah’s words above. We cannot understand God who is omniscient. But we can trust him. And this is exactly what we have committed to doing—long before cancer became part of the picture. We will continue doing what we have always tried to do: “Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven” (Matthew 5:16). Please pray with us that the Lord may be glorified in every way as we learn the joys—and challenges—of living with cancer.

Two related praises
We stand in complete awe of God’s loving care and tenderness in preparing us for what was to come even before we had a clue that anything was wrong! (As we said already, please check the archives and read, "Sit Still, My Daughter," for the full story of a holy experience. Needless to say, we are full of praise to our Heavenly Father.

Our second related praise comes from the doctor’s office the day the recurrence was confirmed and Cheryl began the anti-cancer regime. Towards the end of the doctor’s visit, he commented randomly, “You’re taking all this news remarkably well.” Smiling, Cheryl replied, “It’s because we believe in God.” Two sentences—that’s all. But we’re still smiling because of having received this wonderful opportunity to be a witness for the Lord because of cancer. God is so good!

Some related prayers
In addition to praising God, we are also praying about several related concerns. Please join us in praying about the following:

►That Cheryl will be in the 90% group of people whose side effects are not an issue with Sutent, allowing them to lead normal lives (even including working full-time!);
►That Cheryl will be in the 30% group of people for whom Sutent is effective (meaning the cancer is kept stable or, better yet, the tumors begin to shrink and, with the help of the Great Physician, they even go away and the cancer is declared in remission);
►Assuming the above, we also pray that the next CT scan—after one or two rounds of Sutent—will show positive response within the three tumors that have been detected;
►Pray that her hemoglobin deficiency will be corrected soon to restore Cheryl’s energy level;
►That insurance questions will be answered soon and as easily as possible;
►That in the midst of getting used to this new lifestyle, we’ll be able to concentrate well, sleep well, and carry out our responsibilities well. Especially pray for Bernie who carries significant responsibilities at Tamagawa Seigakuin and Tamagawa Church; and,
►For our family, especially our children, Benjamin and Stephanie, as they suddenly feel the physical distance that separates us.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

The Fingerprint


How such a smooth, simple process could have become so disorganized and complicated was nearly unthinkable. But my serving partner seemed completely unaware that trays of communion juice and bread were stacking up against each other in the middle of the rows of benches as if they were vehicles being swallowed up in the traffic jams that so frequently characterize Japan’s highway system. No matter how I tried to catch his attention from the other end of the pew in order to help get our serving back in sync, he kept his eyes lowered reverently, seemingly oblivious to anything not immediately at his hands.

It got so confused that one row of congregants didn’t receive a plate of bread until everything was almost over. When I suddenly realized they’d been overlooked, I nearly sprinted from the back of the sanctuary to serve them before the prayers began. If the worshipful mood hadn’t already been broken, I certainly succeeded in shattering it in those frantic seconds.

Certainly the quietness of a holy moment was destroyed for me as I returned to my seat. Heart pounding and cheeks red with embarrassment, I took the bread in my left hand and the tiny cup in my right, nestling it between my thumb and first finger. It was then that I saw it: the print of my pointer finger. Amazingly, the juice was reflecting it as my finger rested on the outside of the cup. It was as clear as if a detective had dusted the vessel for fingerprints and determined easily and beyond any doubt that suspect Cheryl Barton had indeed held that glass cup on Sunday morning, September 20.

I’d just been identified in the police lineup and there was absolutely no use in denying my crimes. My fingerprint was more than the proof required.

Amazingly, rather than the remorse and the fear of punishment I should have felt at that moment, I was flooded with the most beautiful feelings of love I have ever experienced. I was enveloped in Jesus’ wholly indescribable arms as his nail-scarred hands rubbed my back gently and lovingly. It was a bear hug the likes of which no one could have escaped—but who would have wanted to flee such a comforting embrace anyway? After all, it is for such intimate moments with God that we were created; it is for these pinnacle experiences with joy that our hearts yearn as long as they beat.

And then I heard him as clearly as if he were sitting immediately beside me, whispering into the ear of my heart: “See your fingerprint?”

Of course I did. It stood out on the cup as if painted in the bold and decisive strokes of calligraphy, only in opaque ink rather than sumi, the basic ingredient of Japanese brush painting, derived from charcoal.

“This is my blood shed for you. It has your name on it just as your fingerprint does. This is how much I love you.”

I could hardly drag my attention away from the rim of the cup as exquisite scenes of nature appeared before my eyes: powerfully crashing waves on a rocky shore, a beautifully cascading waterfall amidst an evergreen forest, an awe-inspiring, serene, sinking orange ball of fire in a western sky. And from deep within, my soul rejoiced:

“When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say, ‘It is well, it is well with my soul. It is well, it is well, it is well, it is well with my soul.

“Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blessed assurance control, that Christ hath regarded my helpless estate and hath shed his own blood for my soul. It is well, it is well, it is well, it is well with my soul.

“My sin—O the bliss of this glorious thought!—my sin, not in part but the whole, is nailed to his cross and I bear it no more. Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul. It is well, it is well, it is well, it is well with my soul.” (Horatio G. Spafford, 1873)

Hallelujah and Amen!

Friday, September 18, 2009

Sit Still, My Daughter

Back when I couldn't sit still in church

I have never heard God’s voice, but he spoke to me so clearly the other day that I can describe his voice. It is the voice of love and compassion. It is the voice of peace in the middle of a storm. It is the voice I will follow for the rest of my life.

It was the morning of September 4. The theme verse for that day’s Bible readings surprised me: “Be still, my daughter.” I couldn’t imagine where those words were found in the Bible, so I looked up the reference: Ruth 3:18. Surely I had read this before, but it had never spoken to me as it did after I compared this version (New King James) with the rendering in the New International, the Bible translation I usually read. It declared, “Wait, my daughter . . . .”

Immediately I was struck by the difference in feeling between the two versions. The word “waiting” prompted me to visualize the start of a horse race. Mounted horses wait in chutes for the buzzer to sound, the gates to bang open, the bolting forward as the race begins. Although waiting, there is no stillness in this scene. Muscles are taut with expectation and there is impatient movement, even though controlled by the small confines of the chute and the jockey atop the horse. Amidst some pawing of the ground or tension-filled snorting, horses and riders are completely alert as they focus not on waiting, but on the moment they will be set free to run with the wind. There is absolutely no resting in this kind of waiting.

“Sit still, my daughter” has an entirely different feel. I pictured sitting with my mother in church so many years ago as a child. If I jiggled my legs or swung them back and forth under the pew (when they didn’t yet touch the ground), she eventually would put her hand on my leg and say quietly, “Sit still, Cheryl.” What she meant was, “Stop jiggling and be quiet. This is time for church now. Later it will be time for other things. But for now, just be still; be in this moment.”

I also remembered her hand on my tiny, feverish forehead. “Lie still, Cheryl, and rest,” she would soothe. It didn’t matter what I should have been doing, wished I were doing, or wanted to be doing as soon as possible. The immediate call was for stillness in the moment. And through this, healing would come on its own schedule.

After meditating on the passage, I wrote in my journal that morning: “Stillness goes with quietness (both of body and spirit). It implies peacefulness, rest, and renewal—all these things I am seeking in this month of intentional rest, Lord God. And so I hear you this morning, ‘Sit still, my daughter.’ I will obey. I will remain quietly in this moment, not anticipating anything to come—just reveling in your loving presence. Thank you for speaking so directly to my heart this morning, Lord Jesus.”

I had no way of knowing that later that very day my respiratory doctor would say to me, “I suspect your renal cell carcinoma has returned.”

At first, sitting on a blue-gray Naugahyde chair, awaiting the results of a CT scan ordered to confirm or deny the doctor’s suspicions, I felt numb—not good, not bad, not anything. But slowly the impact of his words began invading the protective shell that held me, and suddenly my mind was the lead car in a NASCAR race. No longer was I in that hospital waiting area. I was now three-plus months ahead and wondering whether I’d see Christmas in December or the birth of my granddaughter in January.

As my thoughts teetered on panic, I heard the gentle, soothing voice of God, “Sit still, my daughter.” Suddenly the tension and fear disappeared as I focused not on the future, but on that very moment and on the fact that God was present with me in it. Circumstances had changed, even dramatically. But the One who said, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you,” was also the One who “is the same yesterday and today and forever.” And in that moment, I heard his voice and I was comforted.

“Sit still, my daughter,” he reminded me. And with gratitude overflowing, I answered, “Yes, Father, I will obey.”

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Preparedness

Antiseptic hand wash and gargling solution: preparations to ward off the flu

I was glad we weren’t home. I’ve had my share of earthquakes, thank you, and I don’t like them. Not one little bit. But two moderately strong ones that shook Tokyo in August reminded everyone that there are no guarantees against earthquakes. To see this week’s earthquake destruction in Indonesia has only added to the ominous feeling that Tokyoites live with daily. After all, the “big one” has been predicted for years. Scientists say that when it comes (not if), it won’t be a pretty sight. I hope I’m not here, as we weren’t when the earth shook in August.

Naturally, when disaster-management exercises were conducted across the nation as a part of Disaster Preparedness Day (September 1), people took notice. The prediction is that 210,000 people in Tokyo and neighboring areas will be injured if a very strong quake hits—and this estimate says nothing of those who will die.

Although exercises were planned in 30 of Japan’s 47 prefectures, preparedness of another kind took precedence in many regions. Some were battling Typhoon #11, but others were taking precautions against H1N1, the flu strain “born” last spring. Since new flu cases in Japan had reached epidemic proportions by late summer, many government and medical officials feared a dramatic spike in infections as school reopened for second semester. As a result, numerous large public gatherings, including some Disaster Preparedness Day activities, were canceled.

Educational institutions are also wary, conscious that although many schools were closed in the spring to combat the new strain, the disease remained virulent. It was a major concession to the strength of the flu that in many locations opening ceremonies were so scaled down that in some students watched on individual classroom monitors rather than all gathering in an auditorium or gymnasium. If the threat continues, upcoming school festivals and Sports Days—staples of the fall school calendar—are sure to be affected.

On another front, preparations have been made for an expected shortage of flu vaccines in the event of a wildfire spread of the disease. The Health, Labor, and Welfare Ministry has drafted a priority list for who will receive the limited quantities that will be available. The ministry’s basic policy gives priority to 19 million people deemed most at risk. At the top of the list are 1 million medical professionals who must remain healthy in order to help the nation combat this threat. Another 10 million people with chronic diseases like asthma and diabetes are next, and on down the line the plan continues.

Even our church has gotten into making anti-flu contingencies. Anyone with a fever higher than 99.5 degrees is being requested to stay home, whether this means children in the nursery school or congregants on Sundays. Additionally, antiseptic hand wash dispensers will greet all who enter the premises from this week forward.

With all this activity at the forefront of conversations throughout the nation, I’ve thought a lot this week about the subject of preparedness. I can’t help but wonder what it will take for some people to prepare for eternity. The Bible maps out the necessary steps for preparedness, but so many take no notice at all. I’m not a doomsday preacher, but eternity is inevitable for everyone. The question that remains to be answered is this: Who will be prepared?

Thursday, September 3, 2009

While There Is Time

Bernie and Cheryl with students at Bible Camp

Three verses of utmost importance
“Teach [God’s words] to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up” (Deuteronomy 11:19, NIV). “Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come..." (Ecclesiastes 12:1, NIV). “As long as it is day, we must do the work of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work” (John 9:4, NIV).

George Barna has been called the Christian George Gallup. Consider some of his research findings related to the importance of ministry to children and youth, including the fact that up to age thirteen, children are the most open to conversion. In his book, Transforming Children into Spiritual Champions (Regal, 2003), Barna argues that “ministry to children is the single most strategic ministry in God’s kingdom [and will have]…the greatest possible impact” (p. 14). He also contends that the most critical time in anyone’s life is between the ages of five and twelve because “it is during these crucial years that lifelong habits, values, beliefs and attitudes are formed” (p. 18). Unfortunately, most American congregations devote the bulk of their money and time to adult ministries. It’s no wonder statistics show that the church is losing children and teens at an amazing—no, frightening—rate.

Without the benefit of statisticians or social commentators, the Bible spoke to this dilemma long ago. Three verses of utmost importance should cause us to look at how we are investing ourselves. While there is time, we should be asking the Lord to show us how he could use us to reach the children and youth around us. Of all the investments we will ever make, those that touch the lives of children and youth will have the most returns. God help us to do our parts.

Tamagawa Seigakuin Bible camp
Needless to say, we consider Tamagawa Seigakuin’s summer Bible camp one of our most important activities each year. As you can tell by the photo, we had a great time July 20-22. We are thankful for relationships formed between the 70 girls who attended and the 17 faculty members who were there to encourage them to move closer to committing their lives to Christ “in the days of [their] youth.”

Thank you for your important prayers. Responses at the end of the three days included the following: 28 girls made decisions to believe and receive Jesus Christ (although we don’t know whether all were first-time decisions or not); 8 girls want to be baptized; and 16 students dedicated themselves to serving God.

Your continued prayers are also very important. Seven students indicated that they “don’t really understand” what faith is all about and/or where to go from here. Please remember these girls especially in your prayers. Several will be graduating next spring and leave the nurturing environment of Tamagawa Seigakuin, so the next few months may be especially critical in their faith walk. The camp evangelist will be returning to the school on November 12 for a follow-up meeting with all the students who attended. Between now and then, would you please commit yourself to praying daily that the Holy Spirit will move in an amazing way that day? Please also pray for our deepening relationships with students through the upcoming Fall Festival, September 19 and 21, and our trip to Korea with the entire junior class, October 26-30.

Other prayers
Of course, there are many other matters that need your prayers, including the following:

►We were happy to welcome Japan’s newest special assignment missionary, Tyler Hobbs, on August 19. Please pray for him as he adjusts to his new life that includes teaching English-Bible classes at Tarumi Church, Kobe, and Konoike Church, Osaka. At the same time, Tyler will be involved in a four-month internship through Anderson University School of Theology. Pray for Bernie in his supervisory role.
►We look forward a visit by Stephanie and Little Ben from September 5-12. Stephanie is now more than halfway through her pregnancy. Please pray for the continued healthy development of the baby who will be born in early January in Tokyo.
►Please pray for our deepening relationships with the people of Tamagawa Church, Tokyo, the congregation we began pastoring in April. Pray especially for Tomoko Fujiwara, the associate pastor, as we help her move towards ordination.

Friday, August 28, 2009

Life Sounds

Exiting through a ticket wicket at a train station in Japan

The tuning up of the violin, first one, then two, then more as a university string ensemble—baroque music, no less—begins to warm up. It’s 2 p.m. on Saturday afternoon and the group is using downstairs rooms in our building. They’ll get better as the afternoon lengthens, but sometimes it’s a little screechy to my ears, especially when I want to take a nap. When solitude returns, I'll know its 6 p.m.

Beeping sounds, whirring sounds. A hospital is full of them as machinery feeds, measures, and records life. I never knew much about hospitals until this year, but its sounds are now as familiar as the quiet in and out of Bernie’s breathing beside me in the bed. Life can change momentously in a mere instant.

Putting my ticket into the wicket at the train station, I’m quite nonchalant. But when a bell begins to ring, I morph into one of Pavlov’s famed research assistants. My steps quicken as my legs are propelled into race mode just as the dogs’ salivary glands responded when Pavlov rang a bell. The doors of the train are soon to close and I must be on that train! Never mind that the next one comes in less than five minutes.

Do, mi, la, do. The tones of the xylophone ring out. I know an announcement is about to be made in a school or public building in Japan. It will conclude with the same four notes—do, la, mi, do—in descending order. Reading music in Japan requires a different skill than in America. Japanese do not read C, E, A, C. Prior to living here, I thought only Julie Andrews and the kids on The Sound of Music read music by “Do a dear, a female deer . . . .”

“Sensei, ohayo gozaimasu!” (Good morning, teacher.) The happy voices of children arriving downstairs at the preschool in the church building where we live remind me it’s 9 a.m. Now if they also could tell me what day of the week it is in their daily greetings!

"Nihyaku tasu hyaku ekuwaru san byaku." (200 + 100 = 300) The woman selling fruit and vegetables from the nearby garage sings out the prices of the bananas and tomatoes I’m buying today in a trademark singsong voice, the traditional identifier of a neighborhood vendor. I love it and am in awe of her computation skills that can carry the rhythm without a break even if my purchases are many and she must calculate into the thousands.

Mi mimimimimi. The sound of the semi (cicada), the harbinger of summer in Japan. With all the concrete in Tokyo, it’s amazing that there are any insects at all around us. Happily, there are several parks within walking distance of our apartment and the tree-loving semis have found them. Sometimes the rapturous joy that vibrates from membranes on their abdomen can be almost deafening. It’s as if they are clapping in praise of the summer. When both the tone and volume soften—as they will shortly—one knows that summer is poised to usher in fall.

And so it is that my days are filled with the sounds of life. While Jesus was advising his followers to contemplate his words carefully when he said, “He who has ears, let him hear” (Matthew 11:15), it occurs to me that much of life is missed when we walk through our days neither hearing nor seeing the “daily” that is around us. After all, who would choose to be deaf or blind? Not I. Yet I often fail to taste and appreciate life’s exquisite flavors as I rush through my days intent only upon the next “must do” on my schedule. “He who has ears, let him hear.”

Friday, August 21, 2009

Deja vu!

Helping to feed Little Ben's curiosity through books

Forgive me for yet another story involving my grandson, but this is a grandmother’s privilege.

This morning we had a call from our daughter via Skype. She had a funny incident to relate. Little Ben had gotten into her bedroom and discovered he could open the drawer of Stephanie’s night stand. Inside was a veritable treasure chest of curiosities for a 19-month-old who is intent upon discovering the world before leaving home.

One of the amazing things about motherhood is that a mother can be so different from other females of the species—those who do not have children. Among other things, a mother comes equipped with a built-in alarm system that sounds a bell whenever things have been quiet for too long. So it was with Stephanie who was doing something in the front of their apartment while her little boy was quietly at work in the back. Too quietly at work. Responding to the clanging of the alarm, Stephanie went to see what was up. Perhaps it was only a false alarm? Alas, it wasn’t to be. To her horror, she found that Benjamin had discovered a bottle of lotion in the drawer and, even worse, how to open it. It hadn’t taken him long to spread the creamy substance all over the night stand. He was looking for even more targets to decorate just as she found him.

Déjà vu.

Stephanie was around two years old. I’d been alerted to our bedroom by the same disquieting silence that causes mothers everywhere to lift their heads and listen intently—before running in search of a crime scene they know they're only moments from finding. Plopped atop our pillows, there she was with Vaseline all over her hands, in her hair, on her face, and smeared on our headboard. To be honest, the container was right there in public view for her to dip into, so I really couldn’t blame our little girl for her curiosity. Quickly getting past the initial shock, I’d started laughing. Today, twenty-five years later, with the perpetrator now the victim, I’m still laughing.

Thanks for the memories, Stephanie. Way to go, Little Ben!

Thursday, August 13, 2009

An Award-Winning Smile


Bernie and I have just returned from a morning walk with Little Ben, our grandson. This has become an enjoyable daily ritual during our two-week summer vacation. How nice! Except for the sweat, that is—which reminds me of some related thoughts I jotted down last month in the note pad I always carry in my purse:

It must be 120% humidity today in Tokyo! This is the kind of weather that makes ex-pats flee Japan for their lives in July and August. Those who must remain find themselves soaked to the skin with sweat without moving a muscle. The only antidote for this humidity—but this remedy cures for only minutes at best—is to stand in an ice cold shower. The shock effect seems to close sweat pores. However, since this positive effect lasts only a short time, the process must be repeated again and again throughout the day. Of course, one can always learn to live in damp clothes.


One tool I use to survive Japan’s ghastly and exhausting summers is the “sweat rag.” Some people more elegantly call these handkerchiefs, but that word makes me think of the lace and embroidered cloths that my grandmother used to dab her face. What I use are utilitarian, practical, unsightly but still effective squares of gauze or terry cloth material. They sop up sweat like great rags used to clean the kitchen floor after milk has been spilled. They aren’t handkerchiefs; they are definitely sweat rags.

So there I was in Naka Meguro Station, wiping my face, arms, and neck and trying to avoid looking like a drenched runner at the end of a marathon. I’d only walked a short distance and was trying to retain at least a glimpse of respectability in my appearance. Actually, I knew it was a losing battle, especially when I looked at my sweat rag and realized I’d just wiped off all the makeup I’d applied at home only a short time before. “What a waste of makeup,” I thought to myself. “I might as well not have put any on.”

Then, glancing across the subway tracks to the opposite platform, I noticed a billboard that proclaimed, “Smile is the best makeup.” I have no idea what was being advertised because my mind ran with that phrase that stood out in English against the background of Japanese words. It was a gentle reminder for the day, for the hot summer, and indeed for my life. My makeup might not survive the stifling humidity, but I could still smile. That was my choice, and unless I allowed it to do so, my choice to smile could not be affected by the weather or any other circumstances of life.

Suddenly a picture of our grandson came to mind, and I smiled. His hilarious laughing was videoed by our daughter. Little Ben was twirling and swirling (his version of dancing) with his daddy and convulsing with laughter over the sheer joy of this play. I couldn’t watch it without laughing myself. Yes, indeed. A smile is the best makeup.

And now, here I am in China, getting to play every day with the little guy. Even as we eagerly applaud any new developments and the signs of his maturing, there’s one thing I hope never changes: his award-winning smile. It’s his best feature. I’ve decided to switch to his brand of makeup.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

My Japanese Mother

My Japanese mother and me

After we moved to Japan in 1976, it didn’t take much time at all for me to discover what I love about this country:

♥the prominent, craggy mountains that play hide and seek with wispy clouds, a scene that characterizes Japan’s horizon with an exclamation mark (assuming you’re not sandwiched between buildings in the cities);

♥rice planting in May, and later the amber stalks of rice grains that dance in the fall breeze while awaiting harvest in October;

♥the impeccable manners of the Japanese. These emphasize politeness and social order so much so that three lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic can, if necessary, meld into one lane without anger, frustration, or even the presence of a policeman (although, to be honest, the incessant traffic jams are not among my favorite parts of Japan);

♥the regularity, dependability, and cleanliness of the mass transit system;

♥the arts traditions of pottery making; bold calligraphy and even bolder taiko drumming; elegant silk kimonos; sliding paper doors that often feature paintings of Japan’s four seasons; willowy dancing that is graceful even to the fingertips; and much, much more.

But certainly what I most love about Japan is its people, a sentiment shared by many people, including Bernie’s parents. My father-in-law was on a U.S. naval transport ship docked in Yokohama Harbor when the peace treaty was signed at the end of World War II. After he was finally discharged to return to his Missouri home, Sandlin had no desire ever to visit Japan again. So as we prepared to move to Japan thirty-three years ago, he wondered out loud why we didn’t do our mission work in America. Perhaps, if he’d been honest, Japan was still enemy territory to him even thirty years after the war. That all changed when Sandlin and Margaret visited us in Saga. Suddenly Japan took on the wonderful personalities of the people they met who welcomed them warmly.

Hanajima-san is characteristic of the gracious Japanese who have blessed us so often during our long tenure here. My mother’s age, she worries over me as if I were her own daughter. Preferring a kimono to western clothing, she preserves many other traditions in her daily life as well. As a result, we are often the recipients of her homemade jams and jellies, moisturizer distilled from the plants and herbs she grows (it does wonders for my skin), and lately, advice on how to survive an unusually hot and humid summer (her mint tea is an amazing antidote).

Speaking of which, I think I’ll pour a refreshing glass of that delicious heat elixir right now. Mmmm. It isn’t Mother’s Day, nor is it Hanajima-san’s birthday, but remembering my Japanese mother with a smile, I just want to say, “Okaasan, arigato!”

Friday, July 24, 2009

On the Coming of Light

Bernie, Cheryl, and Fujiwara-sensei during
their installation as a pastoral team

Prophecy fulfilled and coming yet
“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned” (Isaiah 9:2, NIV).

More than 700 years before Jesus was born, Isaiah prophesied the coming of the Messiah, the child who would be called “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6) and “Light of the world” (John 8:12). When John the Baptist met him, he rejoiced in the fulfillment of the prophecy, declaring, “This is he who was spoken of through the prophet Isaiah . . . ” (Matthew 3:3). What joy there was among those who realized that the long-awaited prophesy had been fulfilled!

On June 14, Bernie, Cheryl, and Tomoko Fujiwara were installed as the pastoral team of Tamagawa Church of God in Tokyo. After attending the service, a friend encouraged us greatly when she handed us her bulletin on which she’d jotted the following note:

“While I was praying during the service, I saw a picture of a rope dipped in oil lying on the ground and spiraling over all of Japan. Suddenly it caught fire and spread [quickly] down the rope. I felt it was God saying that with each bit of work and service you do for him, you are laying another strand of the rope. [Let’s be] ready when he sets it alight!”

In this 150th anniversary year of Protestant missions in Japan, it is our prayer that we may indeed be privileged to see the Holy Spirit set this nation on fire as never before. May it be, Lord God, is our prayer. Will you pray with us to this end?

Comings and Goings
Thank you for your prayers for Cheryl as she traveled to the United States to participate in the North American Convention and speak in several Living Link supporting churches. She returned to Japan renewed in spirit on July 14 (one reason for the lateness of this newsletter). Not only was she inspired by the 100th anniversary celebration of the organized missions efforts of the Church of God in North America, but she also excited as she returned because she was traveling with her sister, Don Deena Johnson. During the convention, Don Deena was commissioned as a missionary to Japan—a great answer to prayers we’ve all been praying for a replacement for the Nishi-Kunitachi position, a concern we’ve mentioned several times in newsletters this year. Praise God for answered prayer! Needless to say, we’re also excited that we’ll be living near Don Deena for the first time in 25 years. Please pray for Don Deena’s transition.

Please also pray for Millie Michael as she concludes her two years as a special assignment missionary in the Kansai this month and returns to the United States. Finally, also pray for Tyler Hobbs, also commissioned at NAC 2009, as he prepares to come to Japan on August 19 as Millie’s replacement. Comings and goings are always bittersweet times of excitement for the church in Japan generally and for the Bartons specifically. Thank you for your important prayers.

More prayers needed
Please continue to support us with your faithful prayers about these matters:

►For a harvest from seeds to be planted during Tamagawa Seigakuin’s Bible Camp, July 20-22. We’re excited that seventy girls will be participating voluntarily, and we’re expecting the Holy Spirit to move in amazing ways. Please pray that the fires of revival in Japan will be lit at Tamagawa Seigakuin.
►For our annual summer pastors’ meetings (July 29-31) and national summer convention (July 31-August 2). How we pray that revival fires also will be lit within our 16 Church of God congregations in Japan. To be honest, we sometimes wonder whether this will ever happen. Surely, the Jews wondered the same as they waited for Isaiah’s prophecy to be fulfilled. We also wait not very patiently, but always with expectation.
►For refreshment and renewal as we visit our family, Stephanie, Donald, and Little Ben, in China from August 4-18.

We covet your prayers for the fulfillment of God’s promises in Japan.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Juicy Gossip


No matter what you read from here on in this blog, remember this: I am 100% healthy. Anyone who says anything else is feeding you some juicy gossip.

To refresh your memory, Bernie and I went to the States on May 16 for a second opinion about the kidney cancer treatment I’d had in Japan and to hear any recommendations for the future. There was the possibility that I might remain in Indiana for further treatment, but since the results of a PET scan in May showed no metastasis, the likelihood of that was very slim. As anticipated, the American doctor concurred with my clean bill of health and agreed that I only need to have regular checkups from now. Feeling like gold medalists in a marathon, Bernie and I returned to Japan according to plan and made my next appointment with the same doctor who removed my kidney on April 6. I’m feeling great and last week started exercising regularly once again. It’s almost as if I never had cancer at all.

Imagine my surprise when I called a friend in southern Japan and discovered that the news she’d heard was completely different.

“It must be really difficult, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice full of concern. I had no idea what she was talking about and told her so.

“What?” she replied, obviously startled by my puzzlement. “Where are you?”

“In Tokyo,” I laughed, wondering where the conversation was going.

“I thought you were in America getting treatment,” she explained. We were both completely confused by now.

Slowly I began to unravel the puzzle. Yes, there had been an unexplained spot on my lung, and yes, it had concerned me a little. But the doctor in Indiana identified it immediately as the aftermath of histoplasmosis, an environmental disease common in my birth state and its neighboring state to the east, Ohio. In most cases, like mine, the “victim” never even knows she’s contracted it since the body heals itself. The only evidence is calcium that is left behind after healing. Although this news had been shared happily with friends all around the world, somehow the story hadn’t been able to travel the 565 miles (900 kilometers) between Tokyo and Saga without morphing into a new version: I was battling for my life in the United States. Would I ever be able to return to Japan? I could only shake my head in wonder.

In my case, what happened with my cancer story was completely harmless. In fact, it made for a good laugh. But it’s not always so simple. Careless words and juicy gossip often wreak havoc and can cause pain for a lifetime. No wonder the Bible cautions, “Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark. The tongue also is a fire . . . [and] no man can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison” (James 3:5, 6, 8).