Even Monkeys Fall From Trees

Singing in the Darkness

2011-05-19T21:49:00.002+09:00

One of the things we miss most about our life in Tokyo is songbirds. Oh, there are some birds of a crow variety that remind us of Alfred Hitchcock’s story Birds. But their voices are raspy and threatening, and these vulture-like creatures will attack anything—including people—if they’re provoked.

The hillside behind our house in Kobe was a different scene entirely. There a choir of the most exquisite and talented singers I’ve ever heard serenaded us regularly, filling our spirits with peace and gladness. As I said, we do miss the songbirds in Tokyo.

Needless to say, we’ve been pleasantly surprised at the birds here in Anderson. Bernie has purchased a bird feeder and seeds to coax them closer to our dining room window, and they’ve come—first a cardinal couple, a variety of titmouses and sparrows, and others we’ve not yet identified. We’re waiting for hummingbirds to discover the nectar and feeder Bernie added to our window bird sanctuary, but so far, none have come our way. Nevertheless, the song of the birds is a true gift from God to us.

Maybe it’s a cultural difference, but for some reason, the crows in Tokyo don’t sing until the new day begins dawning. Here in Anderson, I realized one morning that the birds were singing even in the early morning darkness. I’d awakened early and was surprised to hear the choir warming up already. It wasn’t long before God used the birds’ chorus to encourage and challenge me.

The news from the doctor wasn’t very good. Blood and test results showed new cancer activity, disappointing news to have to digest yet again. I felt a huge sigh escape from my lips as I began to think about the implications of what he was saying. Naturally, I wished the news were different.

But I was different in the morning. Starting a new day in the darkness once again (I do not like daylight savings time), I heard the songbirds. Suddenly I was reminded, “The birds are singing in the darkness.” As new images flooded my mind, I thought about how darkness represents the negative while light represents hope and life. Sometimes our circumstances are difficult and dark, but they shouldn’t be allowed to dictate negative responses. We can choose how we respond and whether or not we’ll sing in the darkness. My recommendation? Sing in the darkness.

Paul and Silas did (Acts 16). The prison doors flew open, their chains fell loose, and they were free—all because they chose to sing in the darkness.

The birds have made that choice. I have, too.

Coming Full Circle

2011-05-07T01:30:00.005+09:00

My parents, Bernie and me

“…for I know that through your prayers and the help given by the Spirit of Jesus Christ, what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance” (Philippians 1:19).

The foremost missionary ever, Paul was talking about his being a prisoner for Christ. That is “what has happened to me.” In my case, what has happened to me is cancer.

Paul goes on in verses 20-21: “I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”

Hallelujah! No matter what happens to me physically (though I always pray for healing), I do desire that my life and my death will indeed glorify you, Heavenly Father. A life of meaning, a life of faithfulness, a life of influence and witness for the sake of the Kingdom. This is how I’ve always wanted to live, Lord God. Thank you for giving me the courage need to do so. Thank you also that when I’ve failed, you’ve always accepted, loved me anyway, and forgiven and purified me according to 1 John 1:9.

But what of the deliverance mentioned in verse 19 above? Surely getting cancer isn’t deliverance—except deliverance into the hands of pain and suffering. Surely this isn’t a truism. Yet it is! As I was challenged to think about the other day in my conversation with my mentor and friend, Ann, the closing of doors is opportunity for new doors to open that wouldn’t be possible otherwise. What doors have been opened for me as I’ve been delivered from a very busy—much too busy—schedule because of cancer?

Doors of discovery. How many lessons you’ve taught me, Father, in these two years since my kidney was removed in April 2009. Among the most important are lessons related to patience and finding my value in being with you rather than in doing for you. Doing, I’ve discovered, was where I was finding my value and identity, despite the fact that Scripture clearly teaches that these are found in you alone.

As for the discovery of patience, though it is tested regularly through cancer, I’ve discovered I really am becoming much more patient person—something I’ve prayed about forever (it seems). I’ve been eager for the Fruit of the Holy Spirit (among these, patience) to grow in my life. Maybe, in your infinite wisdom, Lord, you knew that the only way this would develop into the desired plump and delicious fruit would be through cancer and all the related trials, especially when we’ve had to wait so long for many of our prayers to be answered. But praise God! You are answering these prayers, one after another, in your perfect timing.

And what of Paul’s assertion that, “For me to live is Christ and to die is gain,” in verse 22 above? Actually, reading this was a little hard for me this morning, especially as Paul continues n verses 22-23: “If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far . . . .”

I do desire Christ; I do desire to have fruitful labor for God. I do agree wholeheartedly with these words. But to desire to depart this body in order to be with Christ? Honestly, I shout out a resounding NO!. “Yet not my will, but yours be done,” Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane. I, too, will yield to your perfect will, Lord God—and it is perfect according to Jeremiah 29:11. But, in the meantime—before that perfect will opens new doors of opportunity—I desire to stay right here in this body, weak as it is (though I praise you for the strength you give me daily, Lord). I want to be here for others, as Paul expressed so eloquently. I want to be here in this body in order to see others come to Christ and grow in him to be like Jesus.

But I also want to be here for my family. Today is my mother’s 87th birthday. What a tremendous influence for good she’s had over the years. I’ve not always been a gracious and grateful recipient of her many lessons. (Often I’ts been years later that I’ve come to understand the value of all she’s taught me by word and example.) But I also want to be here for Bernie, Benjamin, Stephanie, Donald, Little Ben, Hosanna, and my yet unborn third grandchild who whom I will meet later this year. I want to see the three little ones grow up to be people of God. Just as others have influenced me over the years, I pray for many more opportunities to influence my grandchildren, to laugh with them and to enjoy and share in their lives. I pray for the building of many more memories. No, I am not yet ready to depart.

Still, this I know with confidence: “There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die . . .” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-2).

I praise you because you are the creator of all time, Lord. I worship you this morning with full confidence in YOU—with joy in the knowledge that whatever happens and when, you are in control and that time is in your hands according to your perfect will that desires and carries out what is best for me.

One more lesson of discovery: I don’t have to understand things in order for whatever happens to be the best for me. God is perfectly able to understand. In fact, he does understand because he is the Creator God, all powerful, all knowing—and it is his choice whether or not he explains to me in part or not at all. This is a part of my trusting him and fixing my eyes on what is unseen (God and his perfect plans) rather than only on what is seen (the world I understand around me). How freeing that I don’t have to figure it all out! Thank you, Lord, that I can just relax in you and leave it to and with you. What a peaceful way to live! And to think that “what has happened to me [my cancer] will turn out for my deliverance [has turned out for my deliverance]”, as Paul wrote in the very first verse I read from Philippians this morning.

And here I am having come full circle in my musings this morning. Thank you, Lord, for the journey on which you’ve led me through the Bible and the thoughts you’ve given me as I’ve read. It’s been a fascinating and eye-opening journey, and I’m so grateful—yes, even grateful for my cancer. What gifts you’ve given my, Lord! “Every good and perfect gift comes down from above . . . .” How I praise and thank you.

A Tale of Two Cities

2011-04-11T06:03:00.028+09:00

Spring: a time of change--for us and for Tamagawa Seigakuin

(completion of a new third-floor addition)

A new challenge

It was a hot, sticky evening in June 1976 when Bernie and Cheryl Barton accepted the biggest challenge of their lives during a national church convention in Anderson, Indiana, USA. That challenge was to move to Japan as English-teaching missionaries for two years. NEVER could we have imagined that two years would stretch into more than 30—and even more amazingly, a calling that became a lifetime.

The call has never changed; it just gets more challenging at times! This is one of those times. How do we live in two cities, not to mention two countries, at the same time? This is our new challenge since cancer entered the picture in 2009. Cheryl received excellent care in Japan, but when that option was exhausted in 2010, we were permitted to come to the US for advanced treatment. After much prayer, here we are in Anderson. We’re so grateful for this lovely furnished apartment provided by our Living Link supporting churches!

The call remains the same. We’re still missionaries in Japan, but continue working in both places at the unexpected request of Tamagawa Seigakuin girls’ junior/senior high school, where Bernie is headmaster, and Tamagawa Church, where we pastor and mentor Fujiwara-sensei as an associate. It’s not the easiest call to manage, but we’re promised in Philippians 4:13, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

As such, Bernie will be making approximately six short trips to Japan this year to carry out official functions in his continuing capacity of headmaster, things including formal ceremonies, school board meetings, and other assignments until the new headmaster can begin. Please pray for a smooth, timely transition and for our effectiveness in this “tale of two cities.” We are relying on Skype, the Lord, and your prayers to be faithful.

The earthquake

Bernie was to have flown to Japan on March 11 for the first of these scheduled working visits to Japan. Instead, that was the day the country was struck by the most devastating earthquake and tsunami in its history. The death toll currently is around 12,000 people with another 15,000 still missing. More than 150 miles away from the quake center, Tokyo was badly shaken, but things are already mostly back to normal. But the quake did delay Bernie’s return for two days. Additionally, Tama Sei’s graduation and other ceremonies were rescheduled, canceled, and/or scaled back. Pray for Japan’s recovery and that Christians will be active in compassionate service. We rejoice that the Church of God in the US has given $25,000 for relief efforts. We don’t have any congregations in the quake area, but we do have a responsibility to live out Christ’s love there.

Assignments in Indiana Thank God for answered prayers! Not only is Cheryl’s condition stable again, but she’s being able to carry out responsibilities in Indiana now that her pain is under control. Praise God and thank you for your faithful prayers. In addition to her writing, God has opened doors for some volunteer work with our local congregations’ food pantry. Park Place Church is one of the churches that has supported us in Japan almost from day one. Their faithfulness to serving God in many ways is an inspiration to us. We are grateful for this unexpected opportunity to give back to God and the church here in Anderson.

Of course, Cheryl’s main assignment is to get well. We appreciate your sustaining prayers that have seen great improvement in her physically. When M. D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston said there was little more they could do except admit Cheryl to an experimental drug program that has yet to show much promise, we decided to relocate to Anderson where we’re surrounded by great support, including our local church and family. Nearly daily we’re surprised by the care we’re receiving here—not just medical. Call it heart care, if you will. Thank God for our employer and team leader, Church of God Ministries, and its gracious, loving care. We also thank him—and you—for continuing support to face our new challenge, an unusual calling to be sure.

Prayer points

As you support us through prayer, please pray specifically for:

►a scheduled PET/CT scan on May 4. Pray the tumors will have shrunk—better yet, disappeared—and remember the angel’s words, “With God nothing is impossible!” and, ►strength for Bernie in his next trip to Japan in early May. The travel is extremely tiring and long (more than 24 hours door-to-door). Once he arrives, he has endless speaking assignments. Pray also for wisdom as we endeavor to be faithful to the call.

Sleeping Like a Baby

2011-03-24T08:14:00.003+09:00

One of the questions we’re asked frequently by Americans is, “Are you fluent in Japanese?” After living 30-plus years in Japan, I would hope so.

But the truth of the matter is that fluency fluctuates wildly depending upon the subject matter. Those subjects that I know well make me appear to be fluent; others leave me so completely in the dark and so unable to speak, participate, or understand a conversation that I must appear to others to be blind and deaf—certainly not fluent. But I get along well enough. In my own brand of fluency.

Consequently, in coming back to America for this time of medical treatment, I’ll admit I was looking forward to watching television in English. Ah! Kick back and enjoy while understanding without straining. And there were several crime dramas that fascinated me. Although I’ve never watched much TV, I was intending to acclimate back to life in the United States in part through television. Now I know the truth: “enjoy” and “television” are opposite words and should never appear in the same sentence.

One evening I nestled into the recliner and turned on the TV, eager to watch a drama that had been advertised. Although I’d seen only infrequently, I remembered that it wasn’t overly graphic in depicting crime scenes; much was left to the imagination. While enjoying the drama of solving an intriguing crime story, I don’t like blood, guts, and violence, so that was great for me. Only it wasn’t great. I spent the whole hour shivering with tension and dread. I wish I’d turned off the TV. Instead, I watched until the troubling end, following which I headed for bed.

Big mistake. That night I tossed and turned and wrestled, perhaps with the devil himself. It was the worst night I can ever remember. In the morning, I awoke feeling defeated, pessimistic, afraid, worried, and definitely not rested or refreshed mentally or physically, either. I was a prisoner in a dark, deep cloud from which I could not escape, no matter how I tried.

Although I fought it, the negativism continued throughout the day. Mid-afternoon, as I cried out to the Lord for relief from the battle of doubt and pessimism, God reminded me of Paul’s admonition in Philippians 4:8: “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

Suddenly it all made sense. These instructions on good living weren’t given just to be restrictive and because God has no sense of adventure and is a stick in the mud. They (and all the mandates and advice in the Bible) were given to protect us for they are the keys to our freedom rather than to our imprisonment.

As I contemplated this quite obvious truth that somehow had never spoken to me quite this way before, I remembered an illustration author Randy Alcorn makes in his excellent little book, The Purity Principle. He describes a winding road that runs dangerously close to the edge of a steep precipice in the mountains. Because of the risk, there are many sturdy guard rails lining the road, especially at the curves. Alcorn depicts a scene where a car collides with the rail and then asks the reader this question: Do you suppose that when the driver gets out to inspect the damage, he curses the guard rail for scraping up the side of his vehicle? No! Instead, as he looks down the mountainside that is littered with other wreckage, he gives thanks to God for the guardrail that saved him from what would have been the same tragic fate.

I’ll not forget Alcorn’s illustration. God’s instructions are wise and intended for our good, and they relate to our whole lives—even the shows we watch on television.

By the way, I’ve been sleeping like a baby recently.

Praising Now and Forever

2011-03-11T07:05:00.003+09:00

Praising God in the promise of springtime after a long, hard winter

“Let this be written for a future generation, that a people not yet created may praise the Lord” (Psalm 102:18).

What an amazing thought—God has planned for us to praise him long before we were created or even thought of! That’s how important it is for us to praise God. This is what he desires. (Could it be said he desires this most?). God desires our praises and this is planned into his eternal design. Amazing. It is not so much what we do for God as how faithful we are to be instruments to praise him as he desires.

Praise. That is my assignment for today. Beyond anything on my “to do” list, I am to praise God “[who remains] the same, and [whose] years will never end” (Psalm 102:27). Praising now and forever. It is my mandate. May I ever be faithful is my prayer.

Recipe for Peace

2011-03-05T23:33:00.003+09:00

Winter in Anderson, Indiana, our mission headquarters

The key is rejoicing

“Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:4-7).

Early in our missionary life we created a nearly monthly newsletter to connect you with our ministry in Japan through your supportive prayers. Usually we’ve started writing with some Bible verses that are particularly meaningful to us in view of current activities. This month we want to share the Bible’s recipe for peace (above) because we must confess that we’re struggling in the cancer journey and need this reminder ourselves. The key to peace and living victoriously—no matter the circumstances—is rejoicing with thanksgiving. And we have much for which to be thankful.

With thanksgiving
Despite struggling with great fatigue as a result of the cancer treatments, Cheryl was able to meet her first major deadline after turning in the manuscript for Steady Till Sunset, her month-long devotional book. Even as you rejoice with us, pray she’ll be able to meet the next deadline this month so the book can be published on schedule in June.

More encouraging, the doctor seemed reasonably pleased with Cheryl’s condition at her March 3 visit. While she needs a blood transfusion every three weeks or so, her blood condition seems to be fairly stable and her kidney function is good (remember that she is operating with only one kidney). While a follow-up CT scan has not been scheduled yet, it most likely will come within the next two months.

Join us in thanking God for what he is doing even as we present the following requests:

1) That there will be no cancer metastasis found whenever the next CT scan is performed. In fact, please pray that the existing tumors will indeed be stabilized, if not reduced in size;
2) That Cheryl may gain some weight, have a better appetite, and be able to increase muscle strength through walking around a local mall (although sometimes quite slowly) and through other simple exercises; and,
3) That we may follow the “recipe for peace” faithfully in order to overcome not only physically, but also emotionally and spiritually. Sometimes the battle seems agonizing, especially when we forget the rejoicing and thanksgiving!

However grateful we are for answers to prayer, we realize that the recipe for peace is not based upon these answers, but on God himself. How we praise him that he is near and that we can depend upon him! Thank you also that we can depend upon your prayers.

Bernie to Japan
As you pray, please remember Bernie as he travels back to Japan on March 11. His approximate 10-day trip will allow him to be at Tamagawa Seigakuin for senior (March 15) and junior high graduation exercises (March 17). Additionally, while in Japan, he will have many significant meetings with Tamagawa Church’s church board (March 20), the school board (March 16), and the school administration as they look forward to beginning a new fiscal year on April 1.

Needless to say, his schedule is going to be packed full during that quick trip back to Japan. Please pray for his wisdom and strength in important decision-making for the church and the school. Pray also for Cheryl is his absence. We’re so thankful that Cheryl’s sister, Don Deena Johnson, will be able to come from Japan during Bernie’s absence in order to help Cheryl. We would also ask you to pray for Don Deena as she concludes her assignment in Japan on March 31 and returns to the United States. Thank you that we can depend upon your prayers.

Forgot the Carrots?

2011-02-26T23:49:00.003+09:00

Look closely for the baby carrots, but mostly see the smiles

of mother, daughter, and grandmother

It was a joy to have a number of family members and some Japanese friends gather in January in Anderson. Somehow I reaped at least a little energy from our grandchildren, Little Ben and Hosanna, that has nourished me since. It was wonderful—except when Hosanna discovered her, “Give me!” voice. High-pitched, insistent, and in only one volume(LOUD), Hosanna’s voice sent me to our bedroom every afternoon for some respite. Also I had to get my ear plugs. It was the only way I could survive.

However one day, I forgot to remove the ear plugs before exiting the bedroom and joining everyone in the main room. Benjamin was the first to notice.

“Coco, why do you have carrots in your ears?” he asked before laughing uproariously at his joke. (He was comparing my ear plugs to the baby carrots with which we kept the refrigerator stocked as a snack food.)

After that, whenever he saw the plugs, he always laughed and asked, “Did you forget your carrots?”

Which is a question the Lord asked me the other day. Well, not exactly. But God did address me clearly—and surely with a smile on his face—“Did you forget me in the midst of everything going on? I’m as close to you as your ear plugs, and you don’t even seem to realize it.”

Yes, I believe that for too many days I’ve forgotten the carrots. They’re as close as “in my ears,” but still I’ve forgotten:

*All the people serving us as the Lord’s hand and feet through providing meals a couple of times a week;

*All those praying faithfully for us and believing in God’s miracles as together we walk this cancer journey;

*That God never changes, no matter what medical tests discover; and,

*That He is always worthy of my praise.

Open my eyes once again, Lord, that I may see you and experience you afresh in this day. Thank you for reminding me about the carrots.

The Battle Is Not Yours

2011-02-15T13:30:00.005+09:00

Bernie returned to the U.S. from Japan on Christmas Day.

Both of us are in Indiana currently.

The Stray Notebook

2011-01-28T02:49:00.003+09:00

“Jesus is always with you, always Jesus is with you.”

The words were printed in a child’s script and encased within the skeletal body of a fish—a large, hand-drawn fish swimming across the page of notebook paper. Perhaps this was the whale that had swallowed Jonah in the Old Testament?

In any case, that was the scene I imagined when I read the words, “Always Jesus is with you.” And I added the thought: even if you happened to find yourself in the belly of a whale. What encouragement it must have been to a cold, wet, smelly, reprimanded Jonah who was intent on running away from God and his perfect plan for Jonah’s life. What an encouragement to me as well, waking up groggily after a night that was less than satisfactory: I was not alone. It was the message I most needed.

Who had left my cheery reminder to greet me that morning? To my surprise, as I looked through the orange notebook, I realized that what I’d found while looking for some scrap paper was more than 30 years old. Even more interesting, it had belonged to my sister-in-law. (It had been a university physics class notebook for her.) A little girl named Tabitha had found it in one of the apartments missionaries share when they are visiting their supporting churches across the United States, and it had become hers for doodling, drawing, and otherwise reminding herself of life’s important lessons. Tabitha didn’t quote the Bible word for word, but the message from the Lord was indeed the same: “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.’ So we say with confidence, ‘The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid’” (Hebrews 12:5-6, NIV).

It is the message I need every day as I move through three-to-four weeks of daily radiation treatments (Monday to Friday) and continue traveling the cancer journey. I am being supported by the Lord as he works through a stray notebook, friends, family, and many people I don’t even know to bring me encouragement and the reminder that Jesus is always with me.

Obviously children can grasp and believe this vital message without difficulty. My prayer is that I, too, may have the innocent heart of a child to believe that God is walking with me and guiding me, and that he will never leave or abandon me, no matter where he leads. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

The Battle Is Not Yours

2011-01-26T22:00:00.004+09:00

Bernie and Cheryl (front row, far left)

and most of the rest of their family, January 2011:

more Bartons, Johnsons, and especially Little Ben and Hosanna Lyngdoh.

Words of encouragement, uplifting
“Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God’s . . . . You will not have to fight this battle. Take up your positions; stand firm and see the deliverance the Lord will give you. . . . Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Go out and face them tomorrow, and the Lord will be with you” (2 Chronicles 20:15, 17, NIV).

Health updates
We apologize for the long silence between this newsletter and the last one (December 2010). Much has been happening in these couple of months, although we’ve not managed to keep you updated on the cancer journey that has occupied so much of our time, prayers, and energy. Among these:

►Bernie spent November and December in Japan, successfully completing many different assignments at Tamagawa Seigakuin and Tamagawa Church, both in Tokyo. Additionally, he had the joy of baptizing a new Christian sister, Mizutani-san, at Tarumi Church, in Kobe. He arrived back in the States on Christmas Day—a wonderful Christmas gift for Cheryl after their two months’ separation;

►Bernie and Cheryl celebrated their 35th wedding anniversary on January 10. Also, it was a joy to join Little Ben in celebrating his third birthday, January 30, since Donald and Stephanie Lyngdoh, our daughter and son-in-law, were granted some time off from their work to spend with Bernie and Cheryl in Anderson. What a blessing for us! We’re also grateful for other family visits, including Big Ben’s, for one week;

►We’ve completed 10 radiation sessions in Anderson to try to arrest the growth of the tumor. (Note that in November we made the somewhat difficult decision to stop medical care at M. D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, Texas, in order to seek further treatment here in Anderson where our mission offices are located and family is nearby). We continue to look to the Lord for his miraculous intervention in Cheryl’s physical body through radiation and other cancer treatments, some of which are experimental; and,

►We’re anticipating another round of CT scans and other tests at the end of January and early February. We are trusting God’s goodness and know that the path he chooses is always the right and loving one. Please pray with us that we will see miracles.

In the midst of sometimes feeling overwhelmed by the size of “this vast army” that faces us (cancer), there is so much for which to be grateful. Among other things, pain levels are being managed better and better and that is resulting in many more “good” days than otherwise. This is a major answer to prayer. However, the road ahead is still long and the battle still arduous. Please pray for us to remember that the battle is not ours, but the Lord’s. Pray that we will be able to keep our eyes upon the Lord as we journey.

Looking ahead on the journey
Here are some specific ways you can pray with and for us on the journey:

►Bernie and Cheryl had expected to return to Japan by the end of January, but this has been postponed, creating some challenges for Tamagawa Seigakuin and Tamagawa Church, not to mention our associate pastor, Fujiwara-sensei. Please pray for all of these to be resolved in a timely fashion that will cause the least amount of disruption and concern;

►Cheryl continues working on two books: Our Hearts Burning, the 15th international testimonies book she has compiled and edited; and Steady Till Sunset, a daily devotional book, the second one she has written to encourage Christians to walk faithfully in their daily lives. Please pray that God will supply the physical needs (especially a clear head in order to think and write) so she can complete these two projects;

►With health questions still “up in the air,” there is so much still that seems to be on hold. Please do pray for us to know the Lord’s guidance as we make decisions about our future.

►Please pray for us to be able to return to Japan as quickly as possible.

Merry Christmas

2010-12-08T13:30:00.002+09:00

Several years ago, while on a writing assignment in Chiang Mai, Thailand, I visited an international church during the Advent season. Although the graceful palm trees, deep pink bougainvilleas, and warm, if not hot, temperatures challenged my expectations of the backdrop necessary for Christmas, the story I heard that day was the very essence of the true meaning of Christmas. It was shared by a guest preacher, a missionary working among Thailand’s tribal peoples.

Shortly beforehand, the missionary had traveled to a remote district to visit contacts that had been made in earlier trips there. This time, his young son—perhaps three or four years old—had accompanied him. Unfortunately, the boy had tripped and fallen as he walked alongside his father, and the resulting cut on his face was deep and required stitches. Although the missionary quickly located a primitive medical clinic, no anesthesia was available there—only the suturing materials. Despite the awful pain he knew would be inflicted on his son, the father agreed to the procedure anyway. Without it, the lad could risk serious infection and be disfigured for life.

“Daddy! Daddy!” the little boy shrieked in pain and terror as the clinician somehow managed to stitch the wound as his father pressed his muscular torso across the boy’s body to keep him still on the examining table. “Stop! Why are you doing this to me?”

How could the father possibly explain to him so he could understand that it was out of his love for his firstborn that he was allowing the pain—even participating in it? He couldn’t. Instead, his sobs shook his bulky frame and his tears wet the boy’s soft skin beneath him.

“Oh, my son, my son,” the missionary exhaled a word with each sob.

“If you only knew how much I love you. If you could only understand that I am holding you now in love, even allowing this pain because I love you. You simply can’t understand, my beloved boy. But know this: I’ll not leave you alone in your pain,” he repeated again and again in his heart.

Even the sound of his father’s voice, intended to soothe, only seemed to antagonize the boy—when he could hear it over his wailing. “If you love me, if you care, why don’t you stop?” the screams seemed to accuse. “You could stop this all in an instant.”

So the father, out of boundless, matchless, incomprehensible, even unrequited love, silently enveloped the writhing, agonizing body of his toddler until the horrific time finally passed. It was a big chance he took on the outcome—not whether the outward scar would heal, but whether the far more painful, costly, and dangerous scars to the heart would ever mend. He couldn’t help but wonder; still his faith was even stronger than this doubt that the boy would emerge knowing, without question, the truth of the father’s never-ending love for him. And on this unshakable truth, the boy would live out all the days of his life as God had ordained each one of them to be.

“The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and they will call him ‘Immanuel’—which means ‘God with us’ (Matthew 1:23, NIV).

May you know the powerful message of Christmas this year: In love, God with us—always, forever, no matter what.

Arguing with God

2010-10-25T05:43:00.003+09:00

Hanajima-san, our Japanese mother

“I have to tell you that I’ve been doing a lot of arguing with God,” kimono-clad Hanajima-san told me at the airport on Tuesday. Although mostly confined to a wheelchair, she was insistent that her son drive her husband and her to the airport so that she could see us off to the United States for our consultations at M. D. Anderson Cancer Center.

“What have you been arguing with God about?” I asked, chuckling at the image of this diminutive Japanese woman shaking her fist at God.

“About you,” she answered immediately. “I just don’t understand why my prayers for you aren’t being answered and why you have to suffer so much.”

Although I assured her that I’m not suffering, just extremely fatigued, and reminded her that whatever God allows, he allows from a heart of love for his children, this faithful Christian woman for more than 50 years wore skepticism on her face as if it were the white powdery makeup Japanese are most fond of wearing.

Perhaps this woman I call my Japanese mother will have more words with God after she gets this update:

1)Surgery is no longer an option because my cancer is now in a progressive state. A cancerous tumor (though small) is now evident on my remaining right kidney;
2)Three drug therapies that have shown the most promise with renal cell carcinoma (RCC) have failed for me in the past year, leaving fewer and fewer treatment options. Dr. Tannir, my main oncologist, now recommends an experimental combination of two cancer drugs (one oral and one administered by IV) that have shown some success (10%) in controlling and shrinking RCC. Two of his patients have even gone into remission with this combo chemo treatment. A two-month regimen will be enough time to determine whether this works for me; and,
3)Bernie and I have decided that I will remain in the U.S. for this two-month period and the follow-up checks at M. D. Anderson in early January. I will take treatment in Anderson and stay at my parents’ house while Bernie returns to Japan until Christmas.

Needless to say, we need your prayers now as much as ever. Pray especially that the new treatment will stop the cancer growth, shrink the tumors, and send the cancer into remission. Secondly, please pray that through all of this, God’s glory will be shown and we will continue to have opportunities to testify to his love, mercy, and power both in Japan and the United States. (We were encouraged that Dr. Tannir continued to affirm our calling as missionaries in Japan.)

By the way, as uncharacteristic as it seems for me—one who has never been reticent about arguing what I think is a valid point—I am not arguing with God. Disappointed with the news? Of course I am. But I cling to God’s words of promise written in Jeremiah 29:11: “For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” They were true before this visit to M. D. Anderson and they are true today as well.

New Every Morning

2010-10-18T17:05:00.003+09:00

Tamagawa Church of God, where we serve as interim pastors

God’s faithfulness . . .
“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him’” (Lamentations 3:22-24, NIV).

We dedicate this newsletter to praising God for his faithfulness. While we cannot even begin to enumerate all the ways we see God’s faithfulness—indeed, every new morning brings testimony to our faithful God—we want to share three places where we have most experienced this during the past month.

. . . At Tamagawa Seigakuin
September was an exciting and busy month of celebrating God’s faithfulness for 60 years at Tamagawa Seigakuin, the girls’ junior/senior high school where Bernie is headmaster. Since 1950, the school has graduated some 10,450 young women and has developed a wonderful reputation for being not only a school that is strong academically, but more importantly, for being a school that has remained faithful to its Christian mission. Special activities to mark the 60th anniversary included the commissioning of a song by a well-known Japanese-Korean singer/song writer that was featured on a CD of the Tama Sei choir produced by the school. Even more noteworthy about this CD is the fact that the majority of its numbers were composed by second year Tama Sei high school girls as a part of their music classes. (They chose words from the Bible, especially Psalms, and set these to their own musical compositions.)

Other special activities during September included the annual two-day school festival, a kind of homecoming-like event that welcomed well over 6,000 visitors to sample special presentations of Tama Sei’s music (vocal choir, band, hand bell choir, guitar/mandolin club, signing/praise team), sports (including kendo, traditional Japanese fencing with bamboo poles), and many examples of the arts (modern dance, calligraphy, flower arranging, and tea ceremony). Each of the month-long celebratory events was an opportunity to praise God for his faithfulness over 60 years at Tamagawa Seigakuin.

. . . At Tamagawa Church
Just up the street from the school is Tamagawa Church of God, where Bernie and Cheryl are interim pastors. This church began in classrooms of Tamagawa Seigakuin, shortly after the founding of the school. Then, 57 years ago, it moved into its own building at the present location. It was a joy to celebrate God’s faithfulness during these years in a special anniversary worship service. This was combined with honoring the congregation’s senior members in a “Silver Day” observance the day before a national holiday to recognize the same. (“Silvers,” as they are called in Japan, comprise a significant part of Japan’s population. In 2009, more than 22% of the population was at least 65 years old. Estimates are that 25% of the population will be “silver” by 2014.)

. . . In our personal lives
What a roller coaster we are riding on this cancer journey! In our last newsletter, we reported from a “high,” praising God for his faithfulness as Cheryl’s health was the best it had been in a long time. This month we are still praising God for his faithfulness, but we seem to be on the “down” side of the roller coaster. The stomach-wrenching feelings are all too real and, frankly, not particularly welcome.

In early September, after fatigue suddenly returned (accompanied by low grade fever, pain, and coughing), we decided to request a CT scan in Japan to help determine whether we should return to M.D. Anderson Cancer Center earlier than our scheduled November appointments. Scan results on October 5 did indeed support a change in plans. The main tumor is growing, albeit slowly, and there are now suspicious spots on her right kidney and liver that could be cancer metastasis, although the doctor only questioned this possibility. As a result, we will be traveling to Houston on October 19 and have tests and consultations on October 20-21. Needless to say, we ask your prayers for wisdom for the doctors and for us. Of course, we also continue to pray for complete healing for Cheryl.

Despite CT scan results that were less than favorable, we affirm what Cheryl wrote in early September as she looked back on one year since her cancer had recurred:

God is worthy of praise. Always. Forever. No matter what CT scans and blood tests show and doctors proclaim. No matter how I feel. No matter what. None of these change or challenge the always faithful, always powerful, always in control God. So I join the Old Testament prophet Habakkuk to proclaim, “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” (3:17-18).

Thank you for joining us in praying AND in praising our faithful God,

Good News

2010-10-08T08:45:00.003+09:00

We're smiling, along with our granddaughter, Hosanna.

“He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart” (Isaiah 40:11).

How we sense we are being carried close to the heart of God! Even before we’d sent out all the updates from Cheryl’s CT scan results on October 5, God was answering the prayers we’d requested be lifted up—so much so that we had to update the update and revise the prayer requests along the way.

Here is the good news about how God is already answering prayers:

1) M. D. Anderson moved up our appointments from November to October 20-21;
2) We were able to get airplane reservations for October 19;
3) Without Bernie’s asking, the executive committee of Tamagawa Seigakuin told Bernie that they would cover for him to be gone until November 5, excusing him not only from the day-to-day but also from rushing back for a scheduled trip to Korea during the last week of October;
4) Just this morning, Cheryl was able to get her ticket upgraded to business class with miles, making the long return flight much easier on her physically;
5) A pastor called last night and offered to drive us to the airport on October 19. This means we’ll not have to navigate two-three hours of stairs, trains, changes, and walking with our suitcases from our local station to Narita Airport; and,
6) We have been overwhelmed by the outpouring of e-mails and phone calls (some from people we don’t even know) that assure us of God’s wonderful care for us through his people, the church.

As you continue praying for Cheryl’s healing, please also pray for consultations with the surgeon on October 20 and the kidney oncologist on October 21. Pray especially for their wisdom and ours at this time. While we don’t know whether surgery is still an option or even the best way to respond to the current situation, we feel that we’ve come to the crux time in Cheryl’s treatment. And, if not surgery, how should we proceed from here? We desire most to experience God’s guiding hand in all decisions that will be made.

Of course, we also desire for Cheryl to be able to return to Japan as soon as possible. There is still so much to accomplish in this country that has been our home and mission field for 30+ years. Our prayer is that God is glorified in Japan through us and even through our cancer journey. Thank you for joining us in the battle through your fervent and believing prayers.

The Latest Update on Cheryl

2010-10-05T15:22:00.002+09:00

The roller coaster ride continues. Mind you, I’ve never been a fan of roller coasters.

Bernie and I met with the doctor today to hear the results of a CT scan I had on October 1. Considering how I’ve been feeling for the past three weeks or so, I wasn’t surprised with this news:

1) The main tumor continues to grow, albeit slowly;
2) A lesion in the right kidney that has been unchanged for years has grown somewhat;
3) Something has appeared in my liver but the radiologist cannot say what, although metastasis is a possibility; and,
4) My doctor says my cancer is now in a “progressive” situation (which he called serious) and he is urging me to go the States as soon as possible.

As you continue to pray for my healing, here are a few other specific prayer requests:

1) That M.D. Anderson Cancer Clinic will be willing to move up my scheduled appointments from November 8-10 to sometime in the next two weeks;
2) That we will be able to make all the necessary arrangements to enable us to go quickly;
3) That our going will not cause great trouble for those who will have to cover for us at Tamagawa Seigakuin, Tamagawa Church, and in other areas of our responsibilities here in Japan; and,
4) That the doctors will have wisdom in knowing what course of treatment should be followed at this point.

Despite CT scan results that were less than favorable, we affirm what I wrote one month ago as I looked back on one year since my cancer had recurred:

God is worthy of praise. Always. Forever. No matter what CT scans and blood tests show and doctors proclaim. No matter how I feel. No matter what. None of these change or challenge the always faithful, always powerful, always in control God. So I join the Old Testament prophet Habakkuk to proclaim, “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” (3:17-18).

Please join us in praying AND in praising our faithful God.

End of September Thoughts

2010-09-30T14:47:00.010+09:00

Bernie and Mike sing at Tamagawa Seigakuin's 2010 school festival.

September used to be one of my favorite months. Notice the past tense.

When I was a child, September meant the start of school. Not that I was eager for the summer holidays to end, but I did look forward to some new clothes, a new lunch box, and meeting my friends again for the new school year. September always spelled new and exciting to me, even if year after year our first assignment back was to write, “What I Did during My Summer Vacation.” (Although I didn’t voice it out loud, I did often wonder why teachers couldn’t be more creative in assigning paragraph topics.)

But that was a long time ago. These days I’m starting to think that it might be good just to jump from August right into October—at least if the last two Septembers are indicative of what the month is going to hold for me in the future.

It was early September 2009 that I learned my cancer had recurred. Then while waiting for test results to determine which course of treatment would be recommended, I found myself shadowboxing with fear, an opponent that was definitely present even if I couldn’t see it. In our sparring, I also discovered many opportunities to doubt God and his good plans for my life. I’m grateful that I emerged from that September stronger than ever in my faith, but I did have some scars to show from the battles.

I remember one day in particular. Despite feeling weak physically, I attended the annual school festival at Tamagawa Seigakuin. I’d be there only an hour or two at most, or so I thought. I knew I had a fever that was getting higher, but I couldn’t go home immediately. Complicating matters further, I met an acquaintance who offered to introduce me to a faith healer. Let me say it clearly: the Bible teaches that God is a healing God; it instructs us to ask him for healing; and I believe God can and does heal, even miraculously, even cancer. So there shouldn’t have been any problems.

But when I showed interest in her suggestion, my Christian friend lowered her voice conspiratorially and told me that this faith healer was Buddhist, adding, “But that’s okay. We all believe in the same God.” Do you realize what you’re saying? I wanted to shout out loud in my shock. Instead, I recoiled from her involuntarily as if she had the plague. Although I did accept the faith healer’s calling card from her, I asked Bernie to burn it later that evening. I felt strongly that I had to get rid of the evil I’d carried into my home. We also prayed together, asking God to put his shield of protection around us. As we did, peace returned to my troubled heart even as my high fever finally broke. Even now, more than a year later, I’m convinced my faith was on trial that day.

And this year? The trial continues, but in more subtle ways. After six relatively “healthy” weeks in which it was sometimes easy to forget that I have cancer, my oasis in the cancer journey has come to an end, at least for the time being. Fatigue has returned and, more recently, pain has become its companion. On top of this, I’m coughing again and running a low grade fever most days. All of this is right on the heels of my writing a victorious blog on September 4 in which I testified about the wonderful lessons God had taught me in the year since my cancer recurred. Those lessons haven’t changed, but it is definitely harder to share them jubilantly when I’m not feeling good and when doubts have begun assailing me once again. The trial is not over.

Needless to say, I’ll be glad to put yet another difficult September behind me and to enter October tomorrow. Of course, I have no way of knowing what October will hold. Yet these words of Paul renew my confidence and restore my hope:

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:16-18).

One Year Later

2010-09-04T14:33:00.003+09:00

Bernie and Cheryl, September 4, 2010

September 4, 2009. One year ago today. It was the day a doctor told me he suspected my cancer had returned. He was right.

In looking back over this incredible year, I’m grateful for so much, not the least of which is the fact that I’m much healthier today than then—and that, even though I still battle cancer. I’m also grateful for the lessons God has taught me as we have journeyed these past twelve months. Some, if not most, are lessons yet in progress. (I seem to be a slow learner who requires application after application for a lesson to really be absorbed.) Without any specific order, here are ten I’ve been learning in this past year:

1) Patience. I’d far rather just jump right to healing, but it’s been a year of wait, wait, and wait some more. I’m still waiting. After the cancer recurred, I had to wait a very long three-plus weeks before I could start taking the first anti-cancer medicine. Every two weeks thereafter I waited for the results of tests to show if the drug was being effective. When in March 2010 a CT scan showed that Sutent had stopped working, I had to wait another endless three weeks before the second drug, Afinitor, became available in Japan. What really tested my patience (and faith) was that throughout this wait my body was weakening noticeably. Most recently, I’ve been waiting since May to see whether doctors will set a surgery date as a way that I might become “cancer free.”

“Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord” (Psalm 27:14). Waiting requires patience, which doesn’t come easily to me. Perhaps this is why I’m being given so many opportunities to learn this lesson.

2) God is worthy of praise. Always. Forever. No matter what CT scans and blood tests show and doctors proclaim. No matter how I feel. No matter what. None of these change or challenge the always faithful, always powerful, always in control God. I join the Old Testament prophet Habakkuk to proclaim, “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” (3:17-18).

3) My trust is in God. It is not in percentages: the efficacy rate of a certain drug, the chances that surgery will get all of the cancer, survival rates for renal cell carcinoma, and more. My trust is in God, my Father, whose word never fails because he is “the same yesterday, today, and forever” (Hebrews 13:8).

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear . . . . Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth” (Psalm 46:1, 2, 10).

4) And a related lesson: doctors don’t know everything. Even their guesses—educated though they may be—are only guesses. Will this particular medicine work? What treatment is best? Should they perform surgery? How about radiation? How long will I live? Only God knows. I am so happy that my trust is in him.

5) My husband stands beside me “for better, for worse, in sickness, in health.” Never have my wedding vows been so meaningful; never has Bernie’s love been so real. I don’t have cancer—we have cancer. We travel the journey and fight the battle together.

6) The family of God is truly amazing. “Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not faint” (Isaiah 40:30-31). How often during this year Bernie has commented that it is the prayers of the family of God around the world that provide the updraft for the eagle to soar. A prayer partner in Missouri said it a different way when she wrote, “When you can’t pray, remember that we’re praying for you.”

7) The cancer journey shouldn’t be walked alone. It’s a journey for the whole family—both one’s blood family and the wider family of God too. Why would anyone choose to go inward, silently bearing the burden while trying to keep a stiff upper lip and a smile on the face? Why would anyone choose to walk alone? It happens often in Japan where people are so private about personal matters. Solo journeys may be adventuresome and break Guinness world records, but the cancer walk should not be attempted alone.

8) God’s Word is powerful and full of promise and hope. It is the way God has spoken to me most often this year. I have been renewed, strengthened, comforted, challenged, nourished, and sometimes chastised. Jesus quoted the Old Testament in Matthew 4:4 when he answered Satan’s temptations: “Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.” Neither do I live by anti-cancer medicines. Far more important is the Word of God—something I’ve “known” my whole life, but never as I have known it this past year.

9) What you don’t know won’t kill you. Cancer kills, of course; a lack of knowledge doesn’t. Therefore, even as I pray for healing, I pray for my doctors (who’ve studied and are knowledgeable, but only to a degree). I’ve chosen not to focus on the cancer itself. Instead, I want to focus on the Lord and on walking with him. “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things,” Paul wrote in Philippians 4:8. It is good advice for me—the very best.

10) My worth doesn’t stem from what I do. It is based on who I am: God’s beloved child. So many scriptures testify to this fact, yet I confess I’ve often acted like the more productive I am, the worthier I am. If you look at my date book, I’ve not accomplished much during this year. Instead, I’ve been with the Lord in his school of learning and I’ve come out in a much better place and with much greater understanding of God. It’s a far more stable place to be for I stand on a foundation that cannot be moved. It’s a new kind of productivity that I’ve discovered: delighting myself at Jesus’ feet even if I accomplish nothing else during the day. It is enough.

“Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him and he will do this: He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun. Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him” (Psalm 37:4-7).

Back in the Harvest Field

2010-08-24T06:32:00.003+09:00

August in Japan means neighborhood summer festivals.

The charge
“The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field,” (Matthew 9:37-38, NIV).

We don’t know if these words in Matthew inspired William J. Henry in 1897 to compose the words and music to the song, I Cannot Be Idle: “I cannot be idle for Jesus says, ‘Go and work in my harvest today; And then at the evening when labor is done, whatever is right I will pay.’ Then away to the work I will go and join in the reaping of grain. And back from the harvest with beautiful sheaves, I’ll come with rejoicing again.”

But both Jesus’ charge and the words of this old Church of God hymn are reverberating in our hearts this morning, our first Monday back in Japan after a three-month medical leave of absence. It is good to unpack and settle back into the apartment we’ve lived in for the past seven years. It is even better to be back in the harvest field God first called us to in 1976. Even though we’ve lived in four different Japanese cities since then (Saga, Fukuoka, Kobe, and Tokyo), God’s call on our lives hasn’t changed. We thank him for his grace and call, even as we thank you for your prayers and other support that have enabled us to be obedient to God here in Japan. Please do pray with us that we will see the promise of a plentiful harvest fulfilled.

An update on Cheryl
During our three months in the United States, we visited M. D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston three different times. Our most recent visit in early August resulted in the good news that Votrient, the drug Cheryl began on June 10, is being effective in the fight against cancer. For the first time since she began taking anti-cancer medications in September 2009, the main tumor in the cavity where the left kidney was is dying on the inside. We had expected the medicine to work by shrinking the tumors. (In fact, the main tumor somehow managed to grow a little, despite what is happening inside.) But God can work any way he decides—and even without our understanding—so we are looking ahead in faith that come November (Cheryl’s next visit to Houston) the situation will be even better. Could it be the doctors will discover that the main tumor is dead and there is no evidence of any of the smaller tumors that are now in the abdominal wall? Please pray with us to this end.

By the way, we reported in the last newsletter that Cheryl was experiencing great difficulty in adjusting to Votrient. Praise God that this is no longer her situation. Although she does have some digestive issues and must be careful to conserve her energy, she no longer deals with pain, fevers, and the other more distressing side effects. Praise God for answering prayer and for working in Cheryl’s body through Votrient—something confirmed again by the most recent blood tests which showed all the important numbers rising into the “normal” range. Needless to say, we are rejoicing!

For your further prayers
Now that we’re back in Japan, our focus has shifted from medical treatments to the harvest field. As such, Bernie preached at Tamagawa Church on Sunday following our arrival late Friday, August 20. We were grateful to discover he’d not forgotten his Japanese during our long time away and for the warm welcome we received (in more ways than one). Not only were temperatures nearing 100 degrees that morning (we are SO grateful for air conditioning at church and in our apartment), but the typically reserved Japanese congregants were outspoken and demonstrative in their joy at our return. Please pray for us as we continue to pastor Tamagawa Church and mentor our associate, Fujiwara-sensei, until she is ordained and can lead the church herself.

The next day—today—Bernie was in his office at Tamagawa Seigakuin. September promises to be both exciting and busy for the school as it celebrates its 60th anniversary through a number of special activities. Pray with us that these will bring glory to God and serve as a great testimony of his love to all who participate, including the as many as 6,500 visitors who will attend the annual school festival on September 18 and 20.

We also look forward to resuming our monthly home meeting, Praise Time, on September 13. We understand a new woman will join the group that day. She has recently been diagnosed with lung and brain cancer. Please pray that Cheryl’s own cancer journey will be a witness of hope for her and lead her to accept the only true and lasting source of all hope, Jesus Christ.

Finally, please pray for Will and Mandy Johnson, our newest staff members in Japan. They too arrived on August 20. Pray for their transition to life in Japan, their teaching assignments at Tamagawa Seigakuin, and their service at Tamagawa Church.

Not a Chance Encounter

2010-08-18T05:48:00.003+09:00

Emma. I met her poolside, overlooking the beautiful ocean of Mexico’s Cozumel resort island where we were vacationing. We were unlikely conversation partners: she, in her mid-twenties, on her honeymoon, and holding a can of beer in her right hand while occasionally drawing in from the cigarette in her left; me, enjoying the solitude and quiet of the sinking sun whose pink, red, and orange hues were gradually transforming the western sky into an exquisite palette of breathtaking beauty.

Actually, I wasn’t in the mood for talking with anyone, especially one so obviously “different” from myself. Only a short time earlier, I’d given into the tears that had threatened all day. It was the last day of our vacation, but more than that, it was only one week before we were to return to Japan. (It’s always hard to say good-bye, no matter how many times we do it since returning to Tokyo means facing a lifestyle and locality I’ve never yet in seven years grown to appreciate. The transition never comes easily.)

I’d been ignoring the reality of the passing days and what was coming, but with only a week remaining, I couldn’t pretend time didn’t matter any longer. So the tears had come, first only a couple escaping down my cheeks, and then suddenly a torrent was shaking my shoulders. Bernie sat with me on the couch, delaying his snorkeling to stay with me until the flood subsided. Shortly, I made my way outside to be comforted by the approaching sunset.

Alone and drinking in the peacefulness of the landscape, I was reminding myself to hold it close to my heart so that I will be able to conjure up the comforting memory when I feel irritated by 27 million people soon crowding me unmercifully in Tokyo. And here came Emma.

“Buenas noches,” she greeted me cheerfully. I smiled and responded, “Hi,” in English, signaling that I wasn’t Mexican and couldn’t converse with her in Spanish. Apparently she couldn’t have gone much further herself because she breathed a sigh of relief and immediately switched into English. Sitting down on the edge of the elevated pool area, she struck up a conversation. One topic led to another and before long I was answering an oft-repeated question when someone discovers we’ve lived in Japan for 30-plus years.

“Wow! That’s a long time,” Emma marveled at our tenure, telling me that she was only 26 years old herself. “You must have been really young when you went. Wasn’t that scary?”

“When you’re young, you never imagine there’s something you can’t do,” I replied with a laugh, even as a voice inside told me not to miss this opportunity to share the real reason we went to Japan. It wasn’t just that we were young—I was 21 and Bernie 22—and looking for adventure; the main reason was God’s call upon our lives.

“Actually, we’re Christian missionaries,” I told Emma. “That’s why we went to Japan and that’s why we’ve stayed so long.”

As I expected, there was a momentary pause in the conversation as if Emma was wondering what she’d gotten herself into and evaluating whether she wanted to go any further. To my surprise, she proceeded to tell me that she is an agnostic who wonders whether atheists just might be right about the non-existence of God. Nevertheless, she is very curious about religion and has her own repertoire of religious experiences, including infant baptism in the Lutheran church and rebaptism in a Pentecostal church as a teenager.

What in the world can I say that will make any difference to Emma? I prayed silently as we conversed. In the end, I shared with my new friend that knowing God is not about religion, but about relationship. I urged her to continue keeping her ears open because God so desires an intimate relationship that he is pursing her, even through our talk. I also thanked her for our conversation after she thanked me for not judging her.

“It was a gift to me,” I assured her. Noting the quizzical expression on her face, I added, “It’s been a tough day, but the God I believe in and trust just used you to encourage me.”

Whether or not Emma can understand, I have no doubt that this was not a chance encounter. Through a confused agnostic, God reminded me of his desire to use me as his hands, feet, listening ears, and heart—even in Mexico. And most especially in Japan.

You've Got to be Kidding!

2010-07-15T22:34:00.003+09:00

Bernie and Cheryl, grateful for times with our grandchildren

“You’ve got to be kidding!” That’s the first thought that crossed my mind when I stepped on the scales at the doctor’s office and discovered I’d lost another two-and-a-half pounds since my previous visit two weeks earlier. I wasn’t happy with the news. In fact, my shoulders sagged with discouragement and tears welled up in my eyes—a really amazing reaction, considering that I’ve counted calories and worried about my weight all of my adult life.

Despite great diligence on my part, weight has always hounded me like ants drawn to the sticky sweetness left on a picnic table after a mid-summer watermelon feed. Born with a sweet tooth, I’ve been especially susceptible to chocolate, a delectable delight that has always lured me like a siren’s song. In fact, I’ve often quipped that I’d have to die in order to lose weight. That joke doesn’t seem so funny anymore—too close for comfort, I’m sure.

And besides, I’m quite alive and well, thank you very much. But, without much appetite and battling some digestion issues (side effects of the cancer drug I began in June), sometimes even the thought of food is enough to nauseate me. Needless to say, eating has become a chore—necessary, I know, but downright hard, nevertheless. Even ice cream and chocolate no longer have allure for me!

Off the scales, I entered the examination room, had my vitals checked, and then waited for the doctor. That he was only running fifteen minutes behind schedule wasn’t the only surprise I encountered there. Being told that my blood work showed I’m malnourished and that he wanted to prescribe an appetite-stimulating drug was far more shocking than either a mostly-on-time doctor or further weight loss.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” I mumbled to myself, shaking my head in wonder. After all, I am familiar with appetite suppressors, have even tried some—without success, I might add. But appetite stimulants? They are as unknown to me as Russian or Arabic.

All of this is to say that the cancer journey continues to be one of new and unexpected experiences, only some of which I understand and none of which I control. I am reminded of the psalmist’s thoughts:

“Oh Lord, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue, you know it completely, O Lord. You hem me in—behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain” (Psalm 139:1-6).

And I am grateful that it is enough that God knows, even when—especially when—I don’t.

Lessons through My Grandson

2010-07-04T22:48:00.002+09:00

Waiting for the apples to turn red

Being a top student was always important to me in my school years. If I wasn’t going to win awards for my athletic prowess, my musical abilities, or my inventive genius, at least I could stand tall when grades were handed out. And I did.

Which is why it’s such a surprise to me that I’m so slow in learning some of life’s most important lessons—not the ABCs, but far more valuable things like trust, patience, and perseverance. The Lord, using my two-and-a-half-year-old grandson, is determined that I have every opportunity to catch up where I’m behind in my lessons.

“Coco, how’re you feeling?” Little Ben asked me as he walked into my bedroom where I was sitting, exhausted, in a chair.

“Not so good,” I responded, adding, “That’s why Coco’s a little sad today—because I don’t feel good.”

Without missing a beat and with all the certainty of an experienced and learned elder, Benjamin continued, “Jesus will help you.”

Smiling at my grandson for reminding me of such a fundamental truth—no matter the pain, how could I have lost my focus?—I hugged him and said, “You’re absolutely right! Jesus will help Coco feel better so I don’t have to be sad.”

“That’s awesome!” Benjamin returned. I wanted to hug him again, but he giggled as he escaped my reach and ran out of the room. End of the lesson, but I was left with a warm glow that, I suddenly realized, had uplifted both my sad spirit and my tired body. I knew I’d been visited by the Lord himself to restore my trust in him and his unconditional love and perfect plan for my life.

A few days later, it was time for yet another lesson. Benjamin and I discovered an apple tree at the back of the apartment complex where our families are spending the summer—and it was loaded with fruit. Benjamin wanted to begin eating immediately, but I explained that since the apples were still mostly green, it was too soon to pick them.

“Well, let’s wait,” he replied matter-of-factly. “We can wait till the apples turn red.”

“But that happens a little bit by a little bit,” I protested. To which Benjamin responded without the slightest bit of frustration as he sat down on the concrete parking block in front of the tree, “Little bit by little bit. We can wait.”

How long will you wait? I wondered to myself as I sat down beside him, facing the apple tree and its not-going-to-be-red-for-a-long-time fruit. What patience! More than that, what trust! With little concept of time, Benjamin was willing to sit and wait expectantly simply because he believed me when I told him the apples will turn red little bit by little bit. No doubts in his mind that what I said was true—just because I said so.

“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see,” we’re told in Hebrews 11:1. I think of God’s promises of healing and answers to prayer—for all of us, for me. I realize again that I need to sit quietly more often—even on a concrete parking block—and wait patiently for the Lord to fulfill his words. If a two-year-old can do it, why can’t I?

Cycling in the Mountains

2010-06-22T04:02:00.002+09:00

Johnson family reunion--first of two family reunions this summer

Words of uplifting
“Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9).

We’d lived in Japan for less than three months when we took our first bicycle road trip. Young, naive, and still believing that anyone with enough determination can accomplish anything, it never occurred to us that we couldn’t read Japanese (and thus, not a map in Kyushu, the southernmost main island of this country). Perhaps, if we’d thought it through ahead of time, we’d have considered that our lack of language and our hand-drawn (and definitely not-to-scale) map might be less than helpful during this 10-day cycling adventure through the mountains, rice paddies, and pottery villages of northwestern Kyushu. Perhaps this experience set the positive tone for the following 30+ years we’ve lived in Japan. Although we ran out of money before we made it back to Saga, our home and starting point, we discovered the graciousness of the Japanese people doesn’t allow them to turn their backs to needy strangers who appear at their front doors.

Not only did funds challenge us, but the never-ending mountains did, too. I clearly remember one day when it seemed we did little but cycle upwards. Flying down the roads once we’d finally cleared the passes was exhilarating—but this joy was always short-lived. Mostly we strained to keep up enough momentum to continue pedaling and to keep our eyes on that next bend in the road; surely the elusive crest would be just around the corner. But the vista at the turn revealed only that the mountaintop hasn’t been reached yet. Again and again, the next corner became the next goal where usually we discovered another challenging curve to conquer. Was victory even possible?

While he wasn’t on a cycling trip with us in Kyushu, Joshua certainly could have understood our feelings as we battled the mountains, exhaustion, and doubts that our hopes and dreams could be realized. Would he be able to lead the children of Israel to victory? Or would defeat be his legacy?

An update on Cheryl
Today, nearly 35 years later, we’re identifying with all these emotions and questions once again. During the month since we’ve been in the United States for medical leave, we’ve heard, “This medicine isn’t doing what we’d hoped it would” (the second anti-cancer drug), “but there’s another new medicine we can try.” Then, “We don’t think your cancer is metastatic, and surgery could leave you ‘cancer-free.’” Followed by, “This is morbid surgery—very invasive surgery with difficult side effects, including paralysis.”

At the same time, since beginning the new medicine on June 10, Cheryl has been in near-constant pain in her lower abdomen and left flank while also running daily low-grade fevers; she’s experienced dizziness, nausea, and other side effects that she’s not dealt with to date (but no mouth sores!); and general to overwhelming fatigue has become her constant companion. (A blood transfusion in Houston gave her some color once again, but didn’t do anything to restore her energy level.) Needless to say, the questions and doubts have been more evident of late. Thank you for standing with us in prayer and for helping us keep going in the midst of the sometimes confusing array of emotions and questions that we’re confronted with day by day. Please keep praying.

Looking ahead
Currently Cheryl is being seen by a local oncologist for the day-to-day questions and concerns that arise. At the same time, she is a patient at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, where she’ll be seen on August 3-4 for follow-up testing and consultations. The big questions to be answered at that time will be: Has the Votrient (anti-cancer #3) been effective in suppressing or reducing the tumors? Should surgery be scheduled to remove the tumors? If so, when? If the Votrient isn’t working, what should the next step be? Please pray for us to have wisdom in facing these (and other) questions.

But there are some less weighty things we’re also anticipating. We’ll be participating in activities of North American Convention, June 25-30, here in Anderson and look forward to meeting many of our prayer supporters there. We’re also eager to see the debut of In a Besieged City, the 15th in a series of international testimonies books Cheryl has compiled and edited since 1993, as well as publication of the soft-cover edition of Into All the World, first published in hard back in 2009. A Barton family reunion in mid-July and spending the month of July with Stephanie, Donald, Little Ben, and Hosanna will also be joyful and renewing experiences for us. Thanks for your prayers to surround and support us through all our times in Indiana, Missouri, and Texas.

A Ridiculous Raincoat

2010-05-18T18:11:00.003+09:00

It was a rainy spring day. Everyone I met on my way to the train station was outfitted with umbrellas, rain boots, and raincoats, or some combination thereof. (I didn’t even own an umbrella and rain paraphernalia until we moved to Japan. Walking in the rain is not something anyone would choose to do in the United States. Rather, Americans simply jump in a car and avoid the weather--in the process, getting fat for lack of exercise, I might add).

In any case, my story is about a particular woman I passed who was walking her dog. Nothing unusual about that. After all, dogs must be walked even on rainy days. But wearing an aqua and blue checked raincoat? The dog, I mean, not the woman. Her coat was apricot-colored.

But at least she was walking the dog in the old-fashioned and, in my opinion, correct way. Only weeks ago my heart was warmed by seeing a family of three out for a walk. With his right hand pushing the stroller, the father was holding his little son’s hand in his left. The mother was holding the toddler’s other hand in her right, while also pushing the stroller with her left. I smiled, remembering such walks when our own son was that age. It was a cozy sight.

Until I noticed that the stroller wasn’t empty as it should have been with the not-yet-two-year-old boy walking. Riding inside it was the family’s dog. My smile faded quickly, replaced I’m sure by an incredulous look. The image I’d been enjoying was completely spoiled.

So, as I said, at least the woman in my neighborhood was actually walking her dog that morning, even if it was wearing a ridiculous raincoat. The dog wasn’t riding in a baby stroller or being paraded in its own specially-made-for-doggie pram. They do make them in Japan. In fact, for a mere $250 or so, you can get one near our house at a store called Harness Dog. In the same place, you can also purchase an outfit for poochie fit for the ball. You can also buy your own matching clothes. (And our kids used to roll their eyes when Bernie and I wore matching tee shirts!)

Although I have seen a dog wearing diapers in Jiyugaoka, I didn't see any on display when I walked into Harness Dog—not to admire the merchandise but to get the disturbing facts about how dogs often are treated in Japan. Better than children, I sometimes think. After all, how is it possible to spend such amazing sums of money on dogs, cute as they may be, when children under five years old are starving at the rate of 12 per minute?

“They’re not my children,” some might argue. “If people don’t have the money to raise them properly, they shouldn’t have so many children.” It may be a valid argument, but it doesn’t change the fact that in many countries, children routinely go to bed hungry or gaze listlessly with unseeing, sunken eyes at the world around them—until they die for want of only a small fraction of the food the developed world consumes and/or throws away daily. I simply cannot look the other way.

“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,” Jesus told his followers in Luke 12:48. To ignore is to disobey.

Of course, it’s not enough to scowl at dressed-to-kill dogs carried in their “mothers’” arms on a shopping outing or a visit to a dog café to share tea. (This is not an exaggeration.) This is why for more than 30 years we’ve sponsored children through Children of Promise. (Currently we support two girls in India and another in Myanmar.) This Church of God child sponsorship program provides for the daily physical, spiritual, and educational needs of more than 3,800 children in 23 countries of the world. And there are many other excellent sponsorship programs that are also helping to alleviate the plight of destitute children in our world. If everyone would get involved and just do something—and I don’t mean dressing the dog in a ridiculous raincoat and going for a walk.

When Missions is Spelled ABCs

2010-05-08T06:10:00.003+09:00

A colleague as she teaches English to plant seeds for faith in children's hearts

“A missionary is someone who goes to another country to tell people about Jesus.”

This, or some variation of it, is what we usually hear from children in America when we visit their churches and ask if they know what a missionary is. Typically, the places they imagine missionaries go have lions, elephants, zebras, and other wild animals roaming freely, bringing an element of danger into the definition. Just as commonly, children (and many adults as well) also imagine desperately poor people begging for food, their sunken eyes and bony, stick-like frames a testimony to the dire straits in which they barely survive. Missionaries go to their lands and give them food—both the Bread of Life to satisfy spiritually and bread with calories to provide for them physically. This is the work of a “real” missionary.

We’ve been missionaries for more than 30 years and we’ve yet to see a gazelle, rhino, or such animal except in the zoo (although once there was a monkey that came down from Kobe’s Rokko Mountains and into our neighborhood, pausing shortly on our verandah to preen). It’s an entirely different world here in Japan, a nation that refashioned itself from the ashes of World War II into a modern economic miracle. We don’t fight wild animals and muddy, pot-holed roads to go to work—only unbelievably crowded trains and gridlocked highways. Every modern convenience is available at the snap of the fingers. Even the homeless of Tokyo are not gaunt for lack of food.

With Japan as it is today, perhaps some might wonder if there really is work for a missionary here. With less than 1% of Japanese Christian after more than 150 years of Protestant missions, the answer is an obvious yes. But just as obvious is the fact that methodology must fit Japan in the same way that it must fit the needs, culture, and realities of any other location and people anywhere else in the world.

Using English as an outreach tool has been one method of evangelism used successfully in Japan ever since Commodore Matthew Perry of the United States steamed into Shimoda Port on the Izu Peninsula in 1854 and demanded that Japan end its 213-year-old isolationist policy and open up to the West. From that moment onwards—with the exception of the World War II years when English was banned in all schools—teaching English has been one of the most common methods of evangelism employed by missionaries of all church denominations and sending agencies operating throughout the nation. More recently, even classes for babies and their mothers have been employed.

It’s a valid method, too. The woman Bernie baptized recently in Kobe is just one example to illustrate. About three years ago, she joined the English-Bible classes at Tarumi Church. The missionary teacher soon discovered that she had deep questions about the Bible and faith in Jesus Christ. In fact, the woman’s questions were so earnest that the missionary soon encouraged her to step over the line from being an interested spectator to becoming a Christian. (Come to find out, she’d attended such classes at two other churches before moving to Tarumi.) Finally on April 28, after years of English-Bible classes and myriads of questions, the 60-something woman was able to declare publicly her intention to live as a Christian for the rest of her life.

Church English-Bible classes taught by missionaries play an essential role in the journey to faith for many Japanese. Emphasizing building relationships with students more than the fine points of English grammar, these classes aren't the only tool for missions in Japan, but they are one that works. We look forward to playing a role in many more harvest stories that emerge from English-Bible classes in our churches in the future. The ABCs have never seemed so exciting.

A Promise for the Family

2010-04-27T17:34:00.004+09:00

The cover of Cheryl's 15th international testimonies book,

scheduled for publication in June

Never giving up
[The jailer] then brought [Paul and Silas] out and asked, ‘Sirs, what must I do to be saved?’ They replied, ‘Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved—you and your household. . . . The jailer brought them into his house and set a meal before them; he was filled with joy because he had come to believe in God—he and his whole family” (Acts 16:30-31, 34, NIV).

How many years would you believe this promise of salvation for your family without seeing some results? We once heard the testimony of a Japanese woman who prayed faithfully for her husband for 50 years before he was saved. We were amazed.

But then on April 25, Bernie had the privilege of baptizing a woman in her mid-60s named Nose-san (Noh-say-sahn). Sitting on the front row of the sanctuary to witness this joyful occasion was her 90-year-old mother (who looked 70 at most). She had prayed for Nose-san’s salvation from her daughter's birth. As the years passed, surely she was tempted to think that her earnest prayers weren’t making any difference. Still she never gave up, and her prayers were answered. Through the English-Bible classes at Tarumi Church—and particularly through conversations with Millie Michael, our special assignment missionary there at the time—Nose-san was finally able to commit her life to the Lord. It might never have happened without her mother’s persistent and believing prayers.

Also present for the celebration was Nose-san’s daughter. Perhaps she’ll be the next person baptized at Tarumi Church as a result of the prayers of mother and grandmother and their belief that Paul and Silas’ words were both for the jailer’s family and for theirs.

An update on Cheryl
We also are never giving up on the power of prayer for Cheryl’s healing from cancer. Thank you for praying with us and for us. We are so grateful that Cheryl was able to begin taking a brand new medicine, Afinitor, on April 20. (The Swiss-made anti-cancer drug only became available in Japan on April 16 and in the United States in March 2009.)

At this point, one week after beginning the daily dosage of Afinitor, Cheryl’s blood test on April 27 was most encouraging. The CRP (C-reactive protein) in her blood—which seems to be an indicator of cancer activity in her body—dropped from a way-too-high 28.29 to 15.85. (Normal is 0 to 0.2.) Additionally, although her hemoglobin count is still quite low, one week of Afinitor has helped it to rise slightly, which may be why Cheryl says she can “smell” energy just around the corner. The three weeks between drugs taxed her body quite significantly, especially her energy level, so it is wonderful to see that the hemoglobin count is on the upswing.

Please do continue praying for us, especially that we will know God’s guidance in the decisions that most likely will face us at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center shortly. Cheryl is scheduled for a consultation with a kidney surgeon on May 26 to hear his opinion about whether or not there is a surgical option for her. Then on June 2, she will have a battery of almost every medical test known to mankind. (Okay, that may be a slight exaggeration, but with tests beginning at 8:15 a.m. and going until after 3 p.m., it seems like every possible test in existence has been scheduled.) The next day, on June 3, Bernie and Cheryl will meet with her kidney cancer specialist to discuss all related consultations and test findings to determine the best course of action onwards. No doubt our heads will be spinning with the volume of information that comes our way. Truly we need God’s wisdom in order to know which way he is leading us. Thank you for your continued and faithful prayers.

Additional prayer requests
●Pray for the Holy Spirit to touch hearts during the three special Bible camps for Tamagawa Seigakuin students between May 12-14.
●Please pray for Pastor Fujiwara as she teaches Bernie’s Bible classes at Tamagawa Seigakuin while the Bartons are on medical leave from May 19-August 19. Pray also for Fujiwara-sensei as she carries full responsibility for Tamagawa Church in our absence.
●Pray for the new special assignment missionary couple who will come to Japan on August 19 to begin their new assignments at Tamagawa Seigakuin and Tamagawa Church. In the space of the next few weeks, they will be graduating from university, getting married, taking an on line course in TOEFL (teaching of English as a foreign language), applying with the Japanese government for certification to receive their visas, and more. Needless to say, they have much on their plates and would appreciate your prayer.
●Pray for the successful and on-time publication of In a Besieged City, the 15th in a series of international testimonies books Cheryl has compiled and edited since 1993. (On time means in plenty of time for its debut at North American Convention in late June.)

We are so thankful for your prayers!

For This I Have Jesus

2010-04-15T14:19:00.004+09:00

God's words to me in the desert,

"Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified;

do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you

wherever you go" (Joshua 1:9).

If I were caught up on my daily Bible readings, I wouldn’t have encountered today’s passage from Psalm 66:1-15. (I should have read this more than a week ago.) But because I am behind, I read verses about praising God and telling others of all he has done for me. It was exactly what I needed. Instead of dwelling in the land of no motivation, no energy, no enthusiasm, and a whole bunch of other negatives, I was reminded again this morning that the key to unlocking the door of this cruel prison that has ensnared me is to focus not on cancer (nor on yet another gray, rainy day) but on praising God for who he is.

The accompanying devotional piece was not lengthy—only five very short paragraphs—but they packed a tremendously powerful punch at the very place where my heart struggles more than I wish: fear, doubt, and negativity. The writer told of an evangelistic meeting in Ireland where the speaker was explaining about abiding in Christ and trusting him completely and unconditionally, no matter the circumstance. My reading speed slowed immediately so that I could drink deeply of the words I needed as much as a thirsty, exhausted traveler craves water in the desert. I was especially drawn to the speaker’s concluding thought in his message about how abiding and trusting in Jesus “means that in every circumstance you can keep on saying, ‘For this I have Jesus.’”

Some people think seeking Jesus in difficult times means that they themselves are weak. (And who likes to be weak and vulnerable?) But Jesus tried to correct such a mistaken idea by saying, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick” (Matthew 9:12). In other words, when we recognize and admit our sickness—physical, emotional, and/or spiritual—we are blessed because we know where we can find help. Reassured and comforted, our hearts resound, “For this I have Jesus.”

In my case, I am coughing (again), running a fever daily (I’m so thankful for my friend who brought me 1,500 tablets of Ibuprofen from the States), lagging in energy and “get up and go” (as my mother would say), and generally feeling quite distant from the me I used to know and be. I’m also waiting on delivery of my new anti-cancer drug, Afinitor, debuting this month in Japan. I’m in my third week between drugs, and I’ve never been good at waiting for anything, especially something that has “life or death” written into the equation. It’s hard to keep my thoughts from running ahead of what I know (I need this new medicine and I’ll get it on April 20) and what I only conjecture whenever I feel a small twinge of pain (cancer is taking over my body).

But in all of this I remember, “For this I have Jesus.” And I rejoice in God’s faithfulness in the midst of this now one-year-old cancer journey. How could I walk it alone? I'm so grateful that I don’t have to.

The Battle Is Not Yours

2010-04-07T19:13:00.003+09:00

Our missionary staff in the mountains of Gunma Prefecture

Cancer theme verses
“This is what the Lord says to you: ‘Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God’s. . . . You will not have to fight this battle. Take up your positions; stand firm and see the deliverance the Lord will give you, O Judah and Jerusalem. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Go out to face them tomorrow, and the Lord will be with you’” (2 Chronicles 20:15, 17, NIV).

Shortly after Cheryl’s cancer recurred in September 2009, a friend visited to share some verses from 2 Chronicles 20 that God had given her for Cheryl. Since then, they have become our “cancer theme verses,” especially verses 15 and 17 above. Indeed, we are seeing the Lord fight the cancer battle both with and for us. We are also seeing his deliverance from day to day. Praise the Lord!

An update on Cheryl
Although we reported in our last newsletter about Cheryl’s “deliverance” from M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston to return to Japan on March 1, the news shortly afterwards was not as we’d hoped. A CT scan on March 23 revealed that the tumor in the void where the kidney once was has begun growing again, confirming the Japanese doctor’s suspicions that the anti-cancer drug Sutent is no longer working for Cheryl. Our Japanese doctor apologized that he had only one other drug to offer us. However, since the alternative attacks the cancer in the same way as Sutent, it seemed unlikely to us that this was a good “next step” in this cancer journey.

When we contacted Houston, we learned of a new drug, Afinitor, which was released in the U.S. in March, 2009—the very month the cancer was first discovered. With some investigating on both sides of the ocean, we learned that this new drug is to be released in April (this month) in Japan. Talk about timing! Just when the Sutent has stopped being effective, the only clinically proven drug that currently exists as the “next treatment” for patients like Cheryl (where Sutent has failed) has become available in Japan. Needless to say, we are standing firm and watching the Lord deliver! We are amazed.

Please pray that Cheryl will indeed get the medicine on April 20, as promised by the drug company. (She may be the first person to get Afinitor in all of Japan, says her doctor.) Pray also that the time lag between the Sutent and Afinitor will not allow the cancer to make great strides in her body. Unfortunately, she has begun running a low grade fever and is quite tired most days, neither of which are good. However, we know that God is faithful and in control, and we are praising him. Please praise him with us.

Spring staff meeting
Thanks for your prayers for our spring staff meeting, March 29-31. We greatly appreciated the presence of Don and Caroline Armstrong (in the photo, far right, back row), our regional coordinators for the Asia-Pacific region. It was their first visit to Japan, and we think we did them well, especially in encouraging the cherry trees to be at full bloom just for them. (Since you can see the remains of winter at our retreat center in the mountains, no cherry trees were in bloom there, but for the rest of their 12-day visit, the pale pink blossoms cooperated wonderfully.) Our staff members were encouraged by the Armstrongs’ visit and by our close fellowship together.

Additional prayer requests
●Please pray for the new girls who entered Tamagawa Seigakuin on April 7. Pray that the Lord will touch their hearts in life-changing ways during their Tama Sei careers.
●The kindergarten at Tamagawa Church welcomes its new 3-year-old class on April 12. Pray that seeds planted in their tender hearts will take root and blossom.
●April 18 is Tamagawa Church’s annual business meeting. In his pastor’s message, Bernie will encourage the congregation to take some practical steps towards becoming more outward-looking. Pray that this may also become the congregation’s vision; and,
●Pray that all the necessary preparations for our 3-month home assignment/medical leave from May 19 will go smoothly and that everything will be accomplished on time.

A Gentle Reminder

2010-03-25T08:18:00.002+09:00

Celebrating more signs of spring in Tokyo

“Sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the earth. 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. For great is the Lord and most worthy of praise” (Psalm 96:1-4).

As I was walking from Showa Hospital to the train station after seeing my doctor today, the Lord reminded me that he is worthy of praise—no matter what. It was a gentle reminder, but pointed nevertheless. The news the doctor had for me wasn’t all that good: my CRP continues to rise (it’s now as high as it’s been since I first began taking the anti-cancer drug, Sutent, in September); a CT scan yesterday shows that the tumor that has grown in the vacuum from where my kidney was removed is now advancing again (3 mm. since my last CT scan on February 9); and my doctor believes the Sutent is no longer being effective enough in fighting the cancer in my body.

I would have preferred to hear much different news. But in the short five-minute walk from the hospital to the train station, the Lord reminded me that he is yet God, yet in control, yet omniscient, yet omnipresent, and still the same yesterday, today, and forever. He is indeed most worthy of praise!

As such, Bernie and I do praise the Lord even as we ask for your prayers for wisdom in the next two weeks as we need to decide what to do from here. Now that I have doctors both in Japan and Houston, Texas, it seems even more complicated to know what to do. Consultation with “both sides” is required, and I’ve not been having good luck at all with making contact with M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston during this past month. Please pray that the Lord will cut through all the bureaucracy that seems to be binding everything so tightly and shine his light clearly on the path we should follow.

Thank you for fighting this fight with us.

Now That's Cold!

2010-03-13T06:30:00.002+09:00

Spring's coming!

Earlier this month, I awoke in my bed feeling cold one night, despite four layers of covers, including an electric blanket on low. Our bedroom is unheated—in fact, like the Japanese, we don’t have central heating in our apartment and use only space heaters to warm whichever room we’re in at the time, but never overnight or when we go out. Then we dutifully switch off the heat so as not to chance an accidental fire. With city structures built more closely together than grains of sand on a beach, anyone’s fire can quickly escalate to everyone’s fire. Hence the Japanese are extra cautious about fire prevention. But our bedroom was no colder that early morning hour than ever. Dressed in two layers of pajamas and socks, I shouldn’t have been cold. But I was.

Mostly I was sleepy, but slumber eluded me. Even snuggling with Bernie and, with covers pulled over my head, nestling like a hibernating bear didn’t help me warm up and will myself back to sleep. Having just returned from the United States, my rational mind announced that I was victim to jet lag. (Japan is 14 hours ahead of America’s Eastern Time zone.) But that certainly didn’t pacify my need for sleep.

Instead, completely awake by now, I began recalling other cold experiences in Japan—like the time I brought in the frozen laundry from our outside clothes lines at our Tarumi house. My jeans were so stiff that they literally stood on the kitchen floor. It looked like an invisible man, minus feet, was standing directly in front of me (until the warmish room melted and collapsed the jeans in a heap on the floor). “Now that’s cold!” I admonished myself firmly for feeling cold in my toasty bed.

In that same old, drafty house where blowing wind outside moved our curtains inside--even with doors and windows shut as tightly as possible--we also found a skiff of ice on the tops of bowls or glasses left overnight in the sink with water in them. “Now that’s cold!” I chided myself years later for having become such a weather wimp.

Years before, we visited a co-worker in her apartment one winter’s day. Instead of answering the door, we heard Janet holler, “Come on in!” Doffing our shoes at the front door in good Japanese custom, we followed her voice and stepped into her freezing bedroom (no heat at all, ever). There we exploded with laughter at the sight of her. Janet was bundled under so many layers of blankets that we could hardly see any form at all in her bed. What we could see was her red face (from the cold), her head (sheathed in a knit cap), and her gloved hands holding the book she was trying to read. “Now that’s cold!” I said, trying to convince myself that I had nothing at all to complain about in Tokyo.

In quick succession, I also remembered two other experiences with cold in Japan. The Christmas following Kobe’s Great Hanshin Earthquake of January 1995, we joined church members to Christmas carol in one of the many temporary housing neighborhoods constructed after the quake. I felt like the inside of my mouth froze every time I opened it—which is necessary to sing. I was soon shivering so violently that I had the vibrato of a great opera star, though I couldn’t stay anywhere close to pitch. The now-familiar refrain repeated itself in my mind, “Now that’s cold!”

Then there was the time one early February that we attended the Sapporo Snow Festival on Japan’s northernmost island, Hokkaido. The name of the annual event that features ice sculptures of famous people, landmarks, and anime characters should have given me an important clue: it’s going to be cold. But I had no other winter clothes than those I wore in more temperate Kobe. It was only minutes—maybe seconds—after arriving at Chitose Airport that I realized next time, I’d go to the beach. “Now that’s cold!” I agreed with my head as I snuggled further down in my covers.

Several nights later, I again awoke too early this morning. Same cold bedroom. Same bed layered with the same covers. But this time, I was too hot. Instead of being frustrated, however, I rejoiced. Spring arrives one week from today. I for one am ready to bid winter goodbye.

Smiling as I Remember

2010-03-07T19:33:00.004+09:00

Traveling with Susan by boat in Vietnam

Two months ago today, my friend Susan succumbed to cancer on January 7, 2010. Within two years of age, we had many things in common: we were both fellow missionaries to Asia under the Church of God; we were from neighboring states in Midwest America; we were alumni of the same university; we both fought cancer; and we both loved photography and traveling, often together. In fact, we were traveling companions in Vietnam, Taiwan, China, India, Lebanon, and England.

Bernie and I remember our 2004 trip to China with Susan, Choki(our adopted Chinese daughter), and Rachelle(a co-worker in Japan). We had so many funny experiences together during that two-week trip, but the best one was on a sleeper train from Beijing to Shenyang. We had five top bunks in the second-class sleeping cars. Bernie and I were in the first cubicle with six bunks, Choki and Rachelle were in the second cubicle, and Susan was assigned to the third.

After the overhead lights went out for the night, Bernie, Choki, and Rachelle all went to sleep; Susan and I were reading by the light of our small bed lamps. Before she turned out her lamp for the night, Susan climbed down from the top bunk and headed past Choki/Rachelle’s and our cubicles for the toilet at the end of the car. So far so good. But on her way back, Susan got confused about which cubicle to enter—but she didn’t know that immediately. Quietly, so as not to awaken anyone, she climbed up the end of the three-tiered beds to the top and began to crawl from the foot-end to the head-end so that she could snuggle for the night. But something was strange; no matter how she pawed at the covers, she couldn’t get them pulled back. What in the world was the matter?

Suddenly, the bed lamp snapped on and Choki peered up from under the covers. “Soo-san?” Choki spoke up with surprise in her voice. (They’d only met a few days before, so how was she to know what Susan was up to?) Choki wasn’t the only one who was surprised! With apologies and surely a red face (if we could have seen it), Susan shifted into reverse, all the time trying to keep her head down low enough so as not to bang it on the low roof of the train. (It is impossible to sit up straight in those sleeper bunks.) She made as quick an exit as she could, all the time trying not to burst out laughing at her mistake. Remembering that my light had still been on, she retreated to our cubicle without exploding, but when she related the incident, we were both unsuccessful in muffling our laughter. Roused from his sleep by our giggling, Bernie was soon a part of the laughter.

To this day, whenever we are with Choki (who lives in Japan) and remember that great trip with Susan, one of our favorite lines is, “Soo-san?”

Today I’m smiling as I remember Susan. I’m also thanking God for her life.

Immeasurably More

2010-03-06T03:44:00.003+09:00

Bernie presenting diplomas at Tamagawa Seigakuin's

2009 graduation ceremonies

Giving glory to God
“Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen” (Ephesians 3:20-21, NIV).

Our newsletter is a little late this month—on purpose. We wanted to be able to give you the latest news on Cheryl’s cancer journey, a journey that began one year ago when she was diagnosed with renal cell carcinoma in March 2009. What an incredible year it has been! Following removal of her left kidney in April 2009, the cancer recurred in September, less than six months later. Since September, she has been taking Sutent, an oral chemotherapy that is proving to be effective in fighting the cancer, with a goal of sending it into remission. It will be a life-long fight, but God is proving himself faithful day by day as we live hopefully in him. Join us in giving glory to God.

An update on Cheryl
We are praising God for the wonderful result of our visit to MD Anderson Cancer Center, Houston, TX, on February 25-26. What we heard was “immeasurably more” than we had dared to hope for. In fact, the only news that could have been better was hearing that Cheryl was cancer-free We almost had to be shooed out of the doctor’s office and told, “Go home!” because we just kept sitting there and expecting the “bad news” to come. There was none (and we finally did set the doctor free by going home). In short, this is what we learned:

■The time may come when Sutent no longer works to suppress the cancer, but there is no reason to think that this is that time since all the CT scans and other medical tests continue to show no increased cancer activity;
■To help with the side effects (that seem to have increased in intensity), the doctor recommends changing the six-week cycle of four weeks on, two weeks off to two weeks on, one week off. At the end of six weeks, Cheryl will have taken the same amount of medicine—just in a way that should be easier on her body;
■One of the side effects of Sutent is heart stress, and this is showing up in Cheryl in elevated blood pressure. As a result, she was given blood pressure medicine.
■She has been accepted as a patient at MD Anderson and, assuming things continue as they are, we will return to Houston in three months for her next CT scan. (This is perfect timing as we will be back in the U.S. for a three-month home assignment from late May.) In the meantime, she will continue seeing the doctor in Japan for regular check ups;
■On the U.S. end, the doctor will consult with colleagues about the possibility of treating the tumor with surgery and/or focused radiation. He told us that this treatment is available in Japan, suggesting the possibility of it being done here (since it would be so much cheaper and because the treatment and care Cheryl’s already received in Japan has been very good);

Here’s how you can pray with us:

►For the Sutent to continue working to suppress the cancer;
►For Cheryl’s blood pressure to return to the normal range and the water on her heart to dissipate; and,
►For her energy to be restored so that the upcoming three months will be productive and ministry assignments completed before we begin home assignment.

Additional prayer requests
●On March 15, Tamagawa Seigakuin will graduate some 190 seniors in its 59th graduation ceremonies. Please pray for these girls as they venture “into the world,” that they will not forget their introduction to Jesus Christ at Tama Sei and that many will eventually give their hearts to the Lord.
●With the end of the school year in March and the beginning of a new school year in April, these are especially busy months for Bernie. Please pray that he will find the energy, strength, and inspiration for the extra load that always falls on him at this time.
●A new church year begins on April 1 at Tamagawa Church, where we will begin our second of three years in an interim pastoral assignment. Please pray for the church’s pastoral team—Bernie, Cheryl, and Fujiwara-sensei—as we make specific plans this month for the upcoming year. (This is a special challenge in that we’ll be in the States three months for home assignment.)
●Please pray for our annual spring staff meeting, March 29-31. We look forward to getting to know our new regional coordinators, Don and Caroline Armstrong, as well as to spiritual and physical renewal (and a lot of good food) at the retreat center in the mountains outside of Tokyo.

The Best Medicine, Part 2

2010-03-02T12:15:00.003+09:00

The offending--and currently empty--fire extinguisher

It must have been to test my resolve. Just how good was my ability to laugh, especially in situations that, at first glance, seemed anything but funny? Was I really taking my “medicine” faithfully? The results of this test would provide a fail-proof answer.

I’d been sitting at the hospital, waiting for my appointment with Dr. M., when I completed my last blog on a scrap of paper. Extolling the healing properties of laughter, I’d signed off cheerily with, “I think I’m due for another dose [of laughter] right now.” In retrospect, I’d clearly walked into a trap. Little did I know what I’d encounter when I got home.

Doing the laundry in Japan is no complicated ordeal even though we have only cold water for our doll-sized, but fully automatic washer and have to hang our laundry on the verandah, even in the snow—unless I hang it all over the dining and living rooms, taking advantage of the space heaters to speed the drying process. We don’t use lye soap, scrub boards or ringer washers, so doing the laundry is really no big deal. Usually.

Things were different on February 16. I’d hardly gotten home from the hospital when disaster struck, thoroughly disrupting the usually tame laundry task, not to mention the whole house. As I reached for the laundry tub on the shelf above the washing machine, I inadvertently bumped it into the fire extinguisher, whose “home” was also the same shelf. Before I could jump to catch it, the extinguisher hit the floor and exploded, shooting a cloud of gray smoke and fine particles into the kitchen. (Our laundry room—also my office—is at the end of the kitchen.)

Within moments, a cloud hung over the kitchen and dining area that reminded me of the mushroom clouds of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Certainly it wasn’t that bad, but from inside the “storm,” it did indeed seem devastating. The only thing I could think to do was to call Bernie at school, just down the street in the next block. I certainly did not think of laughing. Thankfully, Bernie was able to come immediately and help with the first clean up. (Note the word “first.”) He also insisted that I put on a mask in order to quit ingesting the fine particles that were falling as if a snowstorm had blown through suddenly.

As with Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the “devastation” in our dining room and kitchen continued long after the cloud had dispersed. No matter how many times I cleaned, particles continued to appear on shelves, floors, counters, and furniture. Frankly, I think we’ll still be cleaning up weeks from now. And to think that I used to think fire extinguishers were filled with foam!

Now Bernie and I are arguing over whether we really need a fire extinguisher. After all, we’ve never ever had a fire, but the problems wrought by that innocent-looking extinguisher were overwhelming. In fact, a friend of a friend had a similar experience and concluded that next time, she’ll let the fire have the house rather than deal with the extinguisher. But since we live in an apartment in a church that houses a pre-school, we must, by law, have a fire extinguisher, so I guess I’ve lost the argument.

And I failed the laughter test, too. I still believe laughter is the best medicine, but honestly, I hope my next opportunity to prove my words doesn’t come along too soon.

The Best Medicine

2010-02-16T15:47:00.004+09:00

Laughing it up with a manikin in China

“Better to laugh than cry, says I.” It was the motto Naomi and I tried to remember as we worked together as resident assistants in a freshman dormitory during our junior year of college. It seemed like our floor of girls had more than its share of problems, taxing both our wisdom and relational skills. They also threatened our emotional well being (both the girls and their problems). The phrase, Naomi’s brainchild, helped return smiles to our faces and laughter to our hearts (if not our lips), even in the most trying of times.

If I didn’t have cancer, I might say that my urologist is one of my biggest trials these days. Don’t misunderstand me—he’s a skilled doctor and I am very grateful for his care over the past year. But bedside manner? That he is lacking in this department is an understatement of classic proportions.

Take, for example, the day in March 2009 when he discussed my surgery options. If he removed my kidney with a laparoscopic procedure, the surgical trauma would be minimized because he would be working through four holes in my left side. (Pardon my simplifying things so greatly.) If I elected for him to perform open surgery, he would be able to see better (no use of monitors) and any excessive bleeding that might suddenly occur could be dealt with more easily and quickly. The down side, however, would be a longer recovery time and more unsightly scarring, although since I’d long ago retired my bikini, I really had little reason to care. Still, I chose the more difficult procedure as I considered a swifter recovery.

“That’s good,” my doctor agreed with my decision. “I’m not sure I could cut through all your belly fat if you’d chosen open surgery.”

I was too stunned—and embarrassed—by his words to retort, though many not-too-nice thoughts about his lack of bedside manner crowded my head. I’m sure I also shot a few daggers with my eyes. They must have missed him, though, because his bedside manner never improved.

Just last week came his latest verbal faux pas as I was discussing my rising blood pressure. According to the literature on Sutent, my anti-cancer drug, heart stress is a common side effect—which makes you wonder why this doctor has never once taken my blood pressure or even asked about it during this past year! (For that matter, he’s never checked my weight, either, although remembering my inordinate belly fat, that’s probably a good thing. But that’s another story.)

In any case, I reported to my doctor in layman’s terms that my blood pressure had risen into the 150-165 range on top, with the bottom number in the 100-110 range. With hardly a flicker of interest, he assured me that this isn’t dangerous yet. “Besides,” he added nonchalantly, “elderly people tend to have higher blood pressure anyway.”

After a year of experiencing his limited bedside manner, I was ready for this jolt to my self-esteem. “Doctor,” I responded emphatically, “I am not elderly!” “Oh, excuse me,” he mumbled in reply, his sincerity definitely questionable. Still, I let it go, covering my chagrin with laughter no more truthful than his apology had been.

Since then, however, I’ve related the incident numerous times to friends and family. Each telling is more enjoyable and the laughter is genuine. In the process, I’ve relearned the truth that laughter really is the best medicine (and it costs nothing, unlike Sutent).

Realistically, Dr. M. probably won’t change his bedside manner, even if more of his patients chide him. (Of course, no polite Japanese would ever be so bold or bad-mannered as to challenge a doctor. They leave that to the foreigners.) Nevertheless, I’m feeling much better, thanks to this wonderful elixir. I think I’m due for another dose right now.

Tears of Truth

2010-02-04T08:00:00.003+09:00

Seeing "our" babies off at Narita Airport

I don’t usually cry at airports. Goings and comings are such a part of the lives of missionaries that you get used to it. Kind of. Not that we aren’t sad to see someone leave or to go ourselves, but you just can’t cry at every departure. What a reputation you’d get, not to mention the headaches you’d have to endure and all the tissues you’d have to buy. My kids don’t allow me to cry quietly at movies or TV shows in the privacy of my own home. Can you imagine the scene they’d create in an airport?

All of which is to say that I was truly surprised at my tears the other day when we saw off our daughter and her two children at Narita Airport. I was completely unprepared when the tears welled up in my eyes as I kissed our grandchildren.

“Mama, don’t start that,” Stephanie warned me, as if I had some control and could turn the spigot on and off at will. But it was too late anyway; there was no holding the tears back. Poor Little Ben. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong with his Coco; he was obviously worried about me. Still, I couldn’t bite my lip and force the tears back inside. Trying to smile through tears, I waved at them as they disappeared into the security area. Even after I could see them no longer, my cheeks were wet with the parting.

Although this time my tears were fewer and more controlled, the scene reminded me of the first time we left Japan 30 years ago. During our three years of living in Japan, we’d made many friends and had become very comfortable. Now we were headed “home” to America and I didn’t expect to see Japan and our friends here ever again. After saying farewell to about 20 people who’d accompanied us to the airport and managing to keep smiling through it all, I started down the jet way. Suddenly the tears were as evident as the carry on bag I was wrestling to control. By the time we were seated, a few tears had multiplied into a torrent and I couldn’t stop crying.

But last Saturday? What was that all about? After all, our plans are to see Stephanie’s family again in May. That’s less than four months away—hardly an eternity. Considering all that is packed into the weeks between now and then, our next time together will be here before I know it. Why was I crying like this?

Pondering my unexpected display of emotion, I fished in my coat pocket for a tissue and found a used one to recycle; it was better than nothing. And suddenly I understood. What had happened really had much less to do with Stephanie and our grandchildren than with the uncertainties of living with cancer. No one has any guarantee that plans they make will come to pass, that they will live beyond the present moment. It’s a certainty we all know if we stop to think about it. But unless one is quite old—I’m not there yet, no matter what anybody says—it takes a catastrophic illness like cancer or a disastrous natural calamity like the Haiti earthquake to remind us of the truth we’d rather deny: life is a fragile gift that we hold only tentatively in our hands.

It’s irresponsible not to make plans and preparations for the future. In fact, I’m eagerly looking forward to May as I check date books, get airplane reservations, and take care of other related details to make it all happen. But the truth of the matter—and the attitude I want to live by—is best expressed by David in Psalm 31:14-15: “I trust in you, O Lord; I say, ‘You are my God.’ My times are in your hands.” Indeed.

The Dream

2010-01-25T12:23:00.003+09:00

Patting Hosanna to sleep in her drawer-crib

I didn’t know where I was or who was with me, but they were clear—the woman and her two children. It was equally clear to me that they had needs I was trying to meet.

“May I talk with you?” she asked, indicating with a slight nod of her head that we could go into the other room, away from the children. I followed her there, but so did her little ones, just as if they were her shadow. But unlike that permanent fixture on a sunny day, they agreed to leave us—just for a minute—so we could speak privately.

“I need a friend,” she whispered in a voice choked with tears. It was almost as if her admission had shamed her, yet she continued, “Will you be my friend?”

My heart, overwhelmed with compassion for this unknown woman, propelled me into her arms. Now tears were dampening my own cheeks. “I need a friend, too,” I confessed, suddenly overcome with loneliness, sadness, and my own neediness. “Will you be my friend?”

Then the dream was over—at least I don’t remember any more of it. In fact, I didn’t recall this scene until the next evening. In the midst of a made-for-television movie, I randomly shared it with my family although it had absolutely nothing to do with what we were watching. I have no idea what brought it to mind, but once again my eyes welled and overflowed in two single streams down my face.

What do dreams mean? I’m not an interpreter, nor do I think there is much use in dwelling on these partial scenes that fill the nighttime and occasionally spill over into the day. But I’d been held prisoner by the loneliness that permeated my dream and I couldn’t seem to shake it. It lingered not as the fragrance of a lovely scented candle long after it’s been extinguished, but rather like a persistent headache that, despite medication, is just under the surface and ready to explode into a debilitating migraine at any time.

In the quietness of the darkened room as I patted my granddaughter to sleep last night, the Lord came to me in my thoughts and reminded me not of a dream, but of reality. “My child, have I not promised never to leave you, never to forsake you?” he asked me in the kindest, most loving voice I’ve ever heard. “Why are you so lonely?”

One after another, God then recapped for me the significant ways he had shown me his presence in the past few days alone: through e-mails of concern from many people; through lunch at the home of a friend who greeted me, “You’re looking wonderful!” when I’d been suffering with the unsmiling, tired, way-too-old, way-too-soon face that stared back at me from the mirror; through unsolicited, completely unexpected checks that had arrived to help ease the financial burdens my cancer journey has brought us; through the visit of good friends who, in the midst of their busyness, wanted to say in person, “We’re thinking of you.”

And then, snatches of scripture came to mind. Although I could not recall them fully—I’ve never excelled in Bible verse memorization—enough pieces of the Lord’s message to me were there to be woven into a loosely knit shawl that wrapped itself around my shoulders and swaddled me lovingly in comfort. In that embrace, I prayed for my three-week-old granddaughter to sleep well and soon snuggled in my own bed.

This morning, I found the rest of the message that had consoled and reassured me last night. I’m embarrassed that the words were even highlighted in my Bible:

“Do you not know? Have you not heart? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint” (Isaiah 40:28-31).

And I? The loneliness I’d not realized had vanished, like a dream at the first hint of dawn. Once again, God had proven his faithfulness.

Celebrating New

2010-01-22T11:22:00.004+09:00

Celebrating new life in our family! Celebrating new life in Christ!

Praising the Lord
“He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God” (Psalm 40:3). At the start of another year, we have so many reasons to praise God as we celebrate new: a new year of marriage (34 on January 10); a new year of life and ministry in Japan (we’re now in our 30th year); a new life in Christ; and a new member of our family. Please praise God and “celebrate new” with us as we share about these significant events.

A baptism at Tamagawa Church
December 20 was an exciting day at Tamagawa Church. Not only did we celebrate Jesus’ birth, but we also celebrated the birth of a new sister in Christ. It was a long road for Aiko Mizushima, whom Bernie baptized that day. The daughter of a strong Christian mother, Mizushima-san attended Sunday school at Tamagawa Church in elementary school. Then she entered Tamagawa Seigakuin for junior/senior high school, spending six more years learning from the Bible at the Christian mission school where Bernie is headmaster. As a third-year junior higher, Mizushima-san made a decision to give her heart to the Lord. However, uncertainty held her back from baptism. “Maybe,” she thought, “I’ll understand more later. Then I’ll be baptized.”

But later got even later. After Mizushima-san married and became a mother, she sent both of her children to nursery school at Tamagawa Church. During these six years, she participated in a Bible class for parents. But her thought was always, “When I know more ….” Eventually she stopped attending church, pulling away from all she’d been taught and believed as she struggled with depression.

Last fall, Mizushima-san finally came full circle and returned to Tamagawa Church. One decisive factor was the yet-strong faith of her 95-year-old mother. Living in a round-the-clock care facility, Nozaki-san is not in good health. But when her mind cooperates, she continues to love to sing hymns of faith, a faith that has had a definite influence on her family. Finally coming to accept the truth that it is enough just to believe John 3:16—that God so loved the world; that God so loved Mizushima-san herself—she made the decision to be baptized. Now well into her 60s, she is both amazed that her journey to complete faith in Christ took so long and grateful that God is patient and waited for her so long. Join us in celebrating new—new life in Christ.

Another new life
Join us in celebrating the birth of Hosanna Kordor Lyngdoh, Stephanie and Donald’s second child and our second grandchild (first granddaughter). Hosanna was born here in Tokyo on December 29 (one of the reasons this newsletter is so late!) and weighed in at 5 pounds, 11 ounces. We are truly rejoicing in this new miracle of life and in the privilege of sharing in her birth. By the way, Kordor means “precious” in Donald’s native tongue,
Khasi, one of the tribal languages of northeast India.

Update on Cheryl
At this writing, Cheryl is into a two-week rest period at the end of her third round of powerful anti-cancer medication. We praise God that the Sutent seems to be doing what we’d prayed and hoped for—suppress the cancer. However, we have some continuing prayer concerns. Please join us in praying about these:

●Our (former) insurance company has been very difficult to work with. Please pray that payment for the anti-cancer drug purchased last fall will be forthcoming quickly;
●As of January 1, we have a new insurance company and many new and unanswered questions. Pray we will find solutions to enable us to continue our ministry in Japan;
●We are working for Cheryl to become a patient at the M. D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. This, too, is proving to be complicated process. Please pray that we’ll be able to navigate all the red tape and requirements as expeditiously as possible; and,
●Pray that the Sutent will continue to be effective and useable for Cheryl. Although her energy level held quite well during the holidays, some of the side effects since that time have been more difficult, especially the mouth sores and the nosebleeds. Her doctor in Japan has not shown much interest in the side effects (which seems to be a common complaint of Japanese about their doctors). Pray that she’ll be able to find some remedies to help lessen the side effects.

We cannot tell you how much we appreciate your continuing prayers on our behalf—for Cheryl’s health and for our ministry in Japan. We couldn’t be here without you.

On a Train a Few Days before Christmas

2009-12-24T10:04:00.004+09:00

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.

A Christmas Prayer

2009-12-15T12:39:00.004+09:00

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.

Brimming with Hope

2009-12-01T21:04:00.004+09:00

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.

Accusations

2009-11-26T12:58:00.001+09:00

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.

Thoughts at Thanksgiving

2009-11-17T07:47:00.002+09:00

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.

All the Difference in the World

2009-11-10T05:14:00.004+09:00

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).

What is in Your Hand?

2009-11-02T23:11:00.003+09:00

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).

The Tunnel

2009-10-24T21:22:00.004+09:00

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.

On Knowledge

2009-10-15T06:52:00.004+09:00

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?

Different

2009-10-09T22:30:00.002+09:00

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.

Being There, Here

2009-10-02T15:40:00.003+09:00

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?

On Trusting the Lord

2009-09-30T12:37:00.003+09:00

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.

The Fingerprint

2009-09-24T11:24:00.001+09:00

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!

Sit Still, My Daughter

2009-09-18T16:42:00.004+09:00

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.”

Preparedness

2009-09-05T09:57:00.003+09:00

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?

While There Is Time

2009-09-03T06:27:00.004+09:00

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.

Life Sounds

2009-08-28T07:43:00.006+09:00

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.”

Deja vu!

2009-08-21T13:18:00.004+09:00

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!

An Award-Winning Smile

2009-08-13T22:31:00.005+09:00

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.

My Japanese Mother

2009-07-29T15:52:00.002+09:00

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!”

On the Coming of Light

2009-07-24T11:56:00.004+09:00

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.

Juicy Gossip

2009-06-17T07:15:00.002+09:00

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).

Even a Weed

2009-06-12T17:22:00.002+09:00

Flowering weeds paint an otherwise barren lot in Jiyugaoka

I saw him again this morning. He was sorely in need of a bath and a comb (minimally), and wearing clothes that hadn’t seen a washing machine in months, if not years. Suddenly I remembered a Sunday morning last month.

I was riding a train from Shibuya to Takadanobaba. With no seats available, I was standing, holding onto the strap in order to keep my balance as the train started and stopped at stations along the Yamanote Line. While looking out the window at the mostly building-crowded landscape that characterizes the world’s most populated metropolitan area (28 to 33 million people, depending upon the list you consult), I was surprised when a flowered slope came into view. Actually, the open space was little more than the railway right of way, but it was beautifully decorated in purple and white, thanks to the daisy-like flowers in bloom there. Although in reality they were weeds, the scene was a breath of fresh air to my dulled senses.

It’s amazing what your eyes can digest in a split second. As the train passed my new-found flower garden, my eyes focused on a bee at a nectar banquet in the otherwise unattended and unsightly patch of ground. Even a weed has a purpose, I thought, remembering the same kind of weeds I’d seen the day before on an empty lot near our apartment in Jiyugaoka. Then as well, I’d realized that even though they were only weeds, they’d brightened up the emptiness with a splashing of cheerful color.

The painted right of way was long gone by now, but my mind was still awhirl as I remembered, “He has made everything beautiful in its time,” words from the Old Testament about our Creator God. Yes, God has given everything a purpose and it is beautiful, I agreed with the writer of Ecclesiastes. (I’m always pleased when I agree with God. It makes me feel so, well, holy.)

My happy-all-over feeling was challenged quickly, however, when I suddenly remembered the homeless man in Jiyugaoka. I could see his long stringy hair, usually tied in a ponytail, and his shoes that were little more than soles. If you’re close enough to hear him when you pass by, he’s usually mumbling something incoherent to himself. But I usually don’t come that close because of his smell.

“What about him? What’s his beautiful purpose?” I challenged the Lord in my thoughts.

“That’s for you to find out,” God answered me calmly, yet firmly, his words a sword delivering a “take that” thrust into my cocky confrontation.

I didn’t like his answer. It meant I couldn’t just look the other way anymore. I’d never been unkind to this man—at least not directly. But I’d ignored him as if he weren’t there, as if he weren’t created and loved by God, even as I am. What was I to do with him now? Even as a weed has a purpose. It was up to me to change my thinking. Changed thinking results in changed actions. I’d been confronted by the Lord and I had to respond.

Today, weeks later, I realize I’ve done nothing other than to smile at this mystery man when he uncharacteristically looked my way one day. To my surprise, he smiled back. But a start is not enough.

Even a weed . . . .

Our Golden Tickets

2009-06-03T17:24:00.003+09:00

Incognito Bernie during his "quarantine"

If you’re an “American Idol” fan, you know what that coveted golden ticket means—a trip to Hollywood and a chance to become America’s next singing idol.

If you’ve recently flown to Japan from the United States, Canada, or Mexico, however, a golden ticket has an entirely different significance. It means you passed the mandatory health inspection on your aircraft and were allowed to deplane rather than being quarantined for up to ten days. You didn’t have a fever (checked by heat sensors aimed like pistols over row after row of seats throughout the airplane), so you earned your golden ticket to freedom. In our case, it took 70 minutes after landing before we were actually free to set foot in Japan.

Shortly before arriving, questionnaires were distributed so that we could inform the health department about our physical condition. Sneezing? Coughing? Fever? Sore throat? Any other symptoms that might indicate the dreaded swine flu? Unfortunately, some of the English was so undecipherable that we had to read the questionnaire in Japanese to understand what was being asked!

Once we landed, we were instructed to lower all the window shades. Was something about to happen that officials wanted to make sure couldn’t be seen from the outside? Or maybe it was so no passenger could send S.O.S. signals. Soon the plane was boarded by a team of men and women covered protectively from head to toe and wearing heavy-duty masks that might have saved them from poison gas. When we didn’t have fevers and our questionnaires were approved, we were awarded golden tickets—sheets of standard-sized bright yellow paper on which were written, “This document is to certify that you have passed quarantine inspection.” Interestingly, it was noted in bold face type that these were “for travelers [who] stayed in any country where Pandemic Influenza occurs.” We’d not heard that the World Health Organization had declared a pandemic.

But not everyone was as lucky as we were. One man in our row—four seats and an aisle from me—lit up the heat sensor. An underarm thermometer was quickly passed to him. Shortly, seven rows—three in front of him, three in back, and his—were all marked with yellow tags (a different kind of golden ticket). Apparently the aisle was enough distance to keep those of us in the middle section safe from his germs, but I was certainly closer to him than many of those tagged. He would have needed to pass right by me to leave his seat. Nevertheless, we didn't argue when we were allowed to deplane.

From that moment, although we didn’t jump and scream like “American Idol” contestants, we did wave our golden tickets at everyone we passed—most of whom were wearing masks like the ones we received shortly before deplaning. “It’s a little late to give us masks now,” I commented to Bernie, thinking how we’d just spent 14 hours encapsulated in such a tiny space that almost anyone would turn claustrophobic. But suddenly I realized my mistake. Japan wasn’t worried that we’d infect one another, but maybe we’d infect Japan. Thus the masks came after we arrived. Could anyone be that worried?

Yes. Without all the details, let me just say that Bernie was “asked” not to come to school the next day, even though the special Friday meeting was the very reason we’d squeezed our trip to the States into less than one week. In effect, we were quarantined after all—sort of—until the following Tuesday.

As a sideline, Bernie used some of his unexpected free time on research. He discovered that an average of 41,400 people succumb to seasonal flu every year in the United States. (There are 11,000 annual flu deaths in Japan.) Considering these statistics, I wonder why all airplanes from America aren’t routinely subject to the kind of health inspections now being conducted at Japanese international airports. Hmmm. I’d better be careful what I write. Someone might think this is a good idea—and maybe the next time I return, I won’t win my golden ticket.

On My Soapbox

2009-05-30T16:22:00.003+09:00

Quarantine officers prepare to inspect

an arriving plane at Narita Airport

Believe it or not, I’m not going to write about dangerously crowded Tokyo trains, amazingly inefficient Japanese banks, or the fashionably dressed dogs in Setagaya. At least for the moment, I have a new soapbox from which to complain.

It all started in April with a new outbreak of swine flu, now known as H1N1. Increasingly frightening reports in The Daily Yoimuri newspaper told us this potentially fatal flu strain was spreading wildly in Mexico and showing up in the United States, Canada, and elsewhere. Health-conscious Japan suddenly was on top alert. The Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries instructed all animal quarantine offices to make sure pigs being imported weren’t infected, inciting a feeling of panic throughout the country. Perhaps it was no longer safe to eat pork of any kind! Things calmed somewhat when the Agriculture Minister assured the nation that no one would catch swine flu from eating pork. Yet people were dying in Mexico. Surely Japan was going to be next.

As a result, procedures were drawn up whereby all airplanes coming in from Mexico, the United States, and Canada would be inspected by quarantine officers before any passengers would be allowed to deplane. Some 500 rooms were reserved in hotels around Narita Airport where people could be quarantined for 10 days if they were thought to have swine flu. Despite these and other preparations, it was a few days before Narita Airport detected its first suspected case on April 30. This unfortunate woman was escorted from the airplane with a cloth over her head and a quarantine officer on either side of her as if she were being led to her execution! However, much to the dismay of the Japanese press, her flu turned out to be only a common strain. The hotel rooms remained unoccupied.

Finally, the diligence of the press was rewarded on May 8 when three cases were confirmed. Not only were these individuals quarantined, but people seated anywhere in their vicinity also were “detained.” Large, bold headlines screamed out the long-awaited news and accompanying reports sounded almost jubilant. Japan, too, had the swine flu! It was as if the nation had won a long-awaited prize! Suddenly cold and flu masks were selling out everywhere.

Then, on May 16, the first domestic case was confirmed in Kobe. All pandemonium broke out since the infected high school student had not traveled abroad to bring the flu back to Japan with him. By May 18, 130 cases had been discovered in the area. All schools in Kobe, Osaka, and their respective prefectures were closed, and it was reported that people were stockpiling food and holing up in their homes as if the plague had infected central Japan.

So? You may be wondering what soapbox I’m standing atop and why I’m writing about Japan’s response to the swine flu. Bernie has said it time and time again: Japan loves a crisis—so much so, in fact, that if there isn’t one, they’ll create one if they can. Tune in next time for the continuation of this story. It begins for us on May 16, the day we left Japan for a quick trip to the United States. For now, suffice it to say that we should have had better sense than to travel at the height of the swine flu scare.

Validation

2009-05-09T16:39:00.003+09:00

Sightseeing with friends at the Imperial Palace

Our assignment was to help with registration for the annual Charity Runathon for Tokyo English Life Line (TELL). The NPO, operating for more than 30 years, provides both telephone and face-to-face counseling for Japan’s foreign community. TELL’s services provide vital help for individuals needing support as they struggle with mental health issues, cross-cultural stresses, marital or health crises, thoughts of suicide, child rearing concerns, unfair labor practices, and more.

Money in the bank certainly is not what validates a not-for-profit organization like TELL. But it may well be the indicator of how long such a service can operate, especially in these economically challenging days. Thus the Charity Runathon is an important fund-raising effort that helps TELL stay afloat. Knowing this, we were grateful for every man, woman, and child—more than 1,000 strong—who turned out on that beautiful Saturday morning to walk 5 kilometers or to run in the 5 or 10 kilometer races.

Following registration, and after the three races around the Imperial Palace grounds were off to a good start, Bernie and I ambled over to the start-finish line. With our assigned tasks finished, we joined a small group of people who were waiting for the first 5K runners to appear. As they came into view, we all spontaneously began clapping and cheering them over the finish line. Soon we and others were handing out bottles of water and Aquarius as we congratulated the runners and those who would come in behind them. With every bottle we passed to the parched runners, we also thanked them for their participation in the Runathon. TELL would be able to continue its valuable work because of them. Amazingly, some participants were as young as five years old!

That morning Bernie and I had to awaken early on a national holiday in order to arrive at the Imperial Palace on time. Frankly, we’d wondered why we’d been so foolish as to volunteer to give up a day when we could have slept in—something we both needed. But we felt entirely different on the return train home. We were energized as we’d not been in a long time, even without the extra sleep we craved. What was the difference? It was the joy we received at the finish line when we, without planning to do so, became encouragers. In the end, we ourselves were encouraged and uplifted.

Contemplating the experience, I recalled a YouTube video my brother was kind enough to send me recently (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cbk980jV7Ao). Entitled “Validation,” this heartwarming vignette vividly portrays why the world would be a better place if people practiced the art of validating and encouraging others. A few simple words and a smile can make a huge difference. It’s true. I experienced it at the finish line of the Runathon. I’m still glowing one week later.

When the News Isn't Good

2009-04-30T19:14:00.003+09:00

My grandson, who always helps me smile

Cancer. That was the word I heard from the respiratory doctor two weeks before the urologist asked, “May I speak straight?” When we gave permission, he bluntly declared, “You have kidney cancer.” A few minutes later after we’d agreed on laparoscopic surgery to remove the kidney, he continued—just as bluntly—“Good. You have so much belly fat, I’d have trouble cutting through it all if you chose open surgery!” (Yes, I laughed, but I shot daggers at him with my eyes. It was okay for him to be straight about my cancer, but definitely not about my fat, belly or otherwise.)

After the news, we prayed we’d be in the 10% of people who find out that, contrary to a doctor’s preliminary diagnosis by sight, the tumor isn’t cancerous. But I was in the other 90%.

The next step was the pathology. For the next two weeks, we prayed—along with family and loved ones around the world—that the pathology report would not show a “bad” cancer. (Is there such a thing as a good cancer?) But on April 22, the doctor announced the unwelcome news: although I was now cancer free, as far as he could tell, the cancer that had been removed was a cancer with high rates of metastasis. “I wish we’d caught it sooner,” Dr. Morita said with regret in his voice. There was no joking around in this visit, no talk of belly fat, just the facts. It was as if the wind had been knocked out of his sails.

But there was good news, too. My blood levels were nearly perfect, surprising the doctor greatly. Additionally, my energy level was the best it had been in months, the incision was nearly completely healed, and I was the picture of health, Dr. Morita commented—except that a highly metastic cancer had been taken from me.

My next step is a combination PET/CT scan that will be done here in Tokyo on May 8. Bernie and I will then travel to the States carrying those films, a CD-Rom of all the test results from everything that has been done so far, and even the microscope slides from the pathology, on loan from the hospital here. I am absolutely amazed at the cooperation we’ve received in helping us seek a second opinion (in English—everything so far has been in Japanese). Assuming there is no metastasis at this time, we will return to Japan and I will begin a lifetime monitoring/maintenance program. However, if there are signs that cancer has found a new home in my body, I’ll begin drug therapy in Indiana with the goal of transferring my regimen back to Japan as soon as possible. With that treatment completed, I will enter a maintenance program here.

Obviously, where we are today in thinking and planning is not where I wanted to be when I wrote the last blog. So what do you do when the news isn’t good? This question popped into my mind as I lay in bed two nights after G-3 first became part of a new vocabulary of medical words I never knew before. How grateful I am for the answer that came instantaneously in the form of the title of the thirteenth book of international stories I complied and edited just last year: Yet, I Will Rejoice.

The Old Testament prophet Habakkuk declared, “Though the fig tree does not bud and there are not grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and 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” (Habakkuk 3:17-18, emphasis added).

Contemplating Habakkuk’s words, I realize that life’s circumstances change daily. Sometimes this means that the news we receive isn’t what we’d hoped for—sometimes it is even downright bad. But bad news doesn’t change God. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8) and he has promised never to leave me or forsake me (Hebrews 13:5). Therefore, I will rejoice! Even when the news isn't good.

Telltale Signs

2009-04-19T09:22:00.003+09:00

After surgery, visiting a lovely Japanese park with my sister--

following doctor's orders for a daily walk

The coughing started sometime last September. Not that it was any big deal. When I talked with the doctor about it as a precautionary measure in October, I could only estimate when it began. “It’s probably allergies,” he responded easily after listening to my lungs, looking in my throat and ears, and noting that Indiana was in the vice-like grip of an especially horrible season for allergy sufferers. Since Bernie and I were headed out to visit churches in Colorado and Oregon, he added, “It’ll probably clear up when you get out of Indiana.”

Only it didn’t. As we looked at returning to Japan in November, following our three-month home assignment, I visited the doctor again. Although the doctor still was not concerned about the coughing, he agreed that treating me more aggressively could eliminate the increasingly aggravating cough and at least ease my mind. He prescribed a heavy-duty cough syrup that brought on a spasm of uncontrolled coughing when I saw the price, gave me an inhaler to sample in case this was asthma related, and ordered an x-ray of my lungs. I was satisfied and happy when the x-ray was clear, and I returned to Japan confident that everything was fine, even though both the syrup and the inhaler did nothing to alleviate my coughing.

In fact, the bouts of coughing were becoming more frequent. In December, they were joined by heaviness in my chest—at times, pain—when I exerted myself to walk up a hill. Gradually, my energy began to flag as well until the January day I began crying as I spoke with my father on the telephone. “Dad, I’m just so tired,” I admitted to him. “I can’t seem to do anything without resting, and I don’t have time for these daily naps and this lack of energy. I’ve got two book deadlines on me, and I’ve just got to keep going.”

What would a girl do without her father—even a girl as old as I am? I’ve been married 33 years to a wonderful, loving, and caring husband, have been blessed with two children of my own, and love to “talk” with my 15-month-old grandson nearly daily via Skype. But at that moment, it was my dad who picked me up, brushed away my tears, prayed for me, and comforted me as all loving daddies do when their little girls trip and fall down. Never mind that he was half a world away in the United States.

But still the coughing didn’t stop. Finally, when the books were off to the publisher, I began a month of weekly visits to a respiratory doctor. Gradually, using x-rays, strong antibiotics, and bronchial patches, he eliminated all the usual: pneumonia, bronchitis, whopping cough (making a resurgence here), and asthma. Yet the coughing continued. In fact, it was getting worse even as my energy was dangerously low. Blood work showed anemia and a highly elevated CRP (C reactive protein, whatever that is). Something was definitely wrong, but all we could see were telltale signs. Two weeks before a sonogram of my left kidney finally brought the diagnosis, Dr. Yamamoto told me carefully, “I think we are dealing with something very difficult.” In Japan, where the word cancer can hardly be whispered for the impact it carries, I realized immediately what he was suggesting: there was a strong possibility that we were dealing with the dreaded disease.

Today, two weeks after my hospitalization, I am at home resting, less one kidney, and awaiting the pathology report in three days. Amazingly, my coughing ceased the day after the surgery (and maybe even sooner, but I don’t remember much about my recovery time in ICU); I no longer pant when walking up the slight inclines Tokyoites call hills (there’s a reason this area is referred to as the Kanto Plains); and my energy level is returning (hence the fact that I’m at the computer to begin to unravel some of the jumbled and even incoherent thoughts that crowd my head).

Although the untangling of my mind and heart is going to take a while, I’ve already exceeded my self-imposed one-page blog limit. So for today, I’ll let it go at this: I am overflowing with gratitude for telltale signs that led me to a good doctor and a good hospital and for the amazing care that I received there. But most of all, I have been buoyed on the wings of the love of friends and family—and especially the family of God—from all over the world. I am speechless with wonder for I know I have done nothing to deserve this outpouring of love. In fact, as the emotions well up in my heart, I realize I have seen the invisible God. His name is Love (1 John 4:8).

But Take Heart!

2009-03-20T11:30:00.004+09:00

Bernie presents a diploma to a graduating Tamagawa Seigakuin student

Words of encouragement
“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).

Some of you have read our recent electronic “Call to Prayer” for Eriko and Wangyal. Others of you have received e-mails or letters regarding some instances of spiritual warfare confronting us and Tarumi Church. In more private e-mails, some of you are aware of some health difficulties Cheryl has been facing since last fall (a nagging cough and, of late, a lack of energy). It’s not difficult to figure out that these words of encouragement have meant much to us over the past few months.

They are such powerful words and speak to every difficult situation. Therefore, Bernie recently chose “But Take Heart!” as the theme for Tamagawa Seigakuin as it begins its new school year in April. We pray that these words of encouragement will also speak to you in your own situation. Among our prayer partners, we are aware of supporting churches facing great financial difficulties; of pastoral searches that seem to yield no results; of significant health concerns; of prayers that have been voiced for years but have yet to be answered; of deep discouragement and great tiredness; and more. Please know that we are praying for you, even as you pray for us.

How to pray specifically
In addition to the prayer concerns we have shared recently, especially the “Immediate and Continuing Prayer Concerns” of November, we would ask you to pray about these:

►Resumption of small study group—Because of some all-consuming writing projects, Cheryl two years ago stopped leading a study group for Japanese Christian women. Although they continued meeting for a little while, the group eventually decided to take a break until Cheryl could rejoin them. On February 24, we will begin our study of Philip Yancey’s book, Prayer: Does It Make Any Difference? Please pray for this group and its nearly weekly Tuesday meeting. We are all seeking a deepening walk with the Lord.

►Tamagawa Seigakuin high school graduation—On March 16, Bernie will have the privilege of speaking before 177 graduating seniors, their parents, faculty, staff, current second year high schoolers (so they’ll know what to expect when they graduate next year), and others at the 59th graduation exercises of this Christian mission school where he serves as headmaster. Needless to say, this is a significant opportunity to share the gospel and to challenge the graduates to remember what they’ve learned during their Tama Sei careers. Please pray that the Lord will empower him with words that are truly the “Bread of Life.”

►Spring staff retreat—Our missionary staff in Japan will gather in the mountains March 24-26 for our annual retreat. We’ll do a little business, but mostly our time together is for renewal. Pray that we will indeed be refreshed as we enjoy this time, despite the fact that we have no special leader this year.

►Missionary staffing needs—For whatever reason(s), it seems that recruiting for missionaries is an increasingly difficult task. We are so grateful to Riverchase Community Church in Birmingham, Alabama, for releasing their children’s pastor, Christy Snowden Van Dam, and her family to come to Tokyo for ten weeks from January into March in order to help fill a special assignment missionary (SAM) position with several pre-schools and one of our congregations. (Christy and Terence formerly were SAMs in this very position, so it has been a kind of homecoming for them to return, along with their three sons: Willem, Tai, and Xavier.) But the family returns to Alabama on March 22, after which we have no one to fill this long-standing SAM position. Needless to say, there is great concern and discouragement on this side of the Pacific Ocean. Please pray with us that the Lord will provide the right individual at the right time (which, from our perspective, is NOW) to serve this two-year term in Tokyo.

Answers to prayer
Thank you for praying for Cheryl in her writing assignments. Currently, Into All the World: A Century of Church of God Missions is in the final production stages before going to press. This 500-page volume that combines a revised reprinting of Lester Crose’s Passport for a Reformation with three chapters, many appendices, and other materials gathered and/or written by Cheryl and her father, Donald Johnson, will be off the press by North American Convention in June. Additionally, we’re happy to report that Cheryl did make her deadline for River of Delights, the 2009 international testimonies book—the 14th in this series of books that she has written. God is so good!

On Accidents, Baseball, and Curses

2009-03-14T17:08:00.002+09:00

Exhuberant Hanshin Tigers fans in action

Sometimes there are little mistakes; sometimes there are fatal ones. Bernie nearly made a fatal one years ago when we were living in Saga. Our bathroom was in the back part of a building we didn’t live in. To access it, we had to cross a covered breezeway and enter what had once been the back door of a house—an old, wooden, drafty Japanese house. Needless to say, it could be a shockingly cold adventure to take a bath or use the toilet in the wintertime. (By the way, to add insult to injury, our toilet was the pit variety. Winter was frigid, but the smells of summertime were even worse.)

One morning, when Bernie went to shower and shave, he discovered that water had frozen inside the instant hot water heater above the sink. So he turned on the gas burner for a few seconds and then turned it off again before repeating the procedure several times. His hope was that the freeze would gradually thaw, clearing the pipe and allowing hot water to emerge. It was perhaps a nice idea, but it didn’t work. Without warning, an explosion shook our small apartment across the breezeway. Momentarily, a visibly stunned Bernie stumbled into our entryway. The build-up of steam had blown the pipe off the bottom of the heater. A fatal accident was averted when the flying projectile narrowly missed striking Bernie’s head. Nevertheless, the force of the explosion blew Bernie out of the bathroom, leaving him deafened for several minutes. Even today, when I think about it, I shudder at how easily I could have been widowed that day.

Actually, Bernie made another one other near-fatal mistake during our Saga days. While fatalities are a common outcome of explosions, we were totally unprepared to discover that something as simple as wearing the wrong baseball cap might be fatal.

It was perhaps our first visit to the Kansai district of central Japan from the southern island of Kyushu, where Saga is located. My hat-of-all-kinds-loving husband was wearing a Tokyo Giants black cap decorated with distinctive orange-colored lettering and logo. He’d purchased it shortly after we arrived in Japan, perhaps hoping for some point of connection with a culture that had been, up to then, entirely foreign to him. But he loved hats and he loved baseball. This was a good combination for making relationships in a new country where, we were to learn, baseball may be more popular than sumo, the traditional national sport of Japan. But he didn’t know that you take your life into your hands when you wear a Tokyo Giants cap in Hanshin Tigers country: the Kansai.

“You should take off that cap,” a woman helping host our visit in the area said to him bluntly, almost skipping over the mandatory and generally protracted greetings for which Japanese are famous.

Bernie thought she was joking and returned a joke in kind. The only thing was that this woman was serious—dead serious, as in Bernie was going to be dead if he didn’t take her advice seriously! We were brand new to Japan and knew little of the language other than some words of greeting. Perhaps she forgave him for not understanding her order and, consequently, for not obeying. But for whatever reason, Bernie managed to keep both his cap and his life. Nevertheless, when we moved to the Kansai six years later, he stored the Tokyo Giants cap. In the meantime, he’d learned of the rabid nature of Hanshin Tigers fans and that this woman, as unusual as she was, really couldn’t be counted as being among the most lunatic of Hanshin supporters in the area—and there are many.

Still, were she alive today, I believe that Maetani-san would be among a passionate group of loyalists in Osaka that is determined to wipe out the “Curse of Colonel Sanders.” According to the newspaper, two sections of a life-sized plastic statue of the founder of Kentucky Fried Chicken were salvaged from the bottom of the Dotonbori River earlier this week. Twenty-four years ago, overly exuberant Hanshin fans kidnapped the statue from a local Kentucky Fried Chicken establishment and threw it into the river as they celebrated the Tigers’ Central League pennant victory in 1985. Much to their delight, their beloved team went on to capture the Japan Series that year (equivalent to winning America’s World Series). Apparently Colonel Sanders was not amused, however. The fact that the Tigers have failed to win the Japan Series since then has given rise to “the curse” theory. Now that the Colonel is back in his rightful place, Hanshin Tigers fans—eternally hopeful anyway—believe that this year may be/will be/must be their year.

I’m not really a baseball fan, but as Japan’s baseball season opens shortly, I’m going to keep one eye on the Tigers and one eye on Bernie. Though he doesn’t have a history of making near-fatal mistakes, I’m not eager for him to start any new habits in 2009.

More for March

2009-03-07T14:32:00.003+09:00

A well kept family grave plot in a Buddhist temple near our home

More for March? More of what? I can hear your brains working and see your furrowed brows. Be perplexed no longer. As in February we shared some Fun Facts for the month, we have More for March in today’s blog.

First in the month, on March 3, is Hina Matsuri (in English, Doll’s Festival). Also known as Girls’ Day, this celebration honors daughters. Elaborate, kimono-clad ornamental dolls representing the Emperor and Empress and their court are displayed in tiers with prayers for girls’ health and happiness. Often grandparents purchase these extremely expensive doll sets upon the birth of a granddaughter or at least in time for her first birthday. (As an aside, unlike Boys’ Day in May, Girls’ Day is not a national holiday.)

White Day on March 14 is the male counterpart to Valentine’s Day. On White Day, men are supposed to return to women white chocolates and other white candies in appreciation for the Valentine’s chocolates they were given a month earlier. Some cynics say this was concocted in the 1970s by scheming candy makers looking for ways to increase sales. Could be. After all, we hear that with automobile sales plummeting in the United States, car dealers are offering all kinds of amazing incentives to potential customers—almost anything for a sale.

March 20 will be remembered in a much more serious way than White Day is observed—if it is observed. (It hasn’t quite taken root like Valentine’s Day.) This year marks the fourteenth anniversary of the sarin nerve gas attack on five Tokyo subway trains during the morning rush hour of March 20, 1995. Twelve people were killed and thousands were injured (some of whom are still in comas or remain completely debilitated). Shoko Asahara, leader of the Aum Shinrikyo cult, is on death row and awaiting the sentence to be carried out for these crimes that shocked the nation to its core—and, I might add, resulted in a profound suspicion about religion of all kinds in the hearts and minds of not a few Japanese.

Spring Equinox Day also falls on March 20. The most important obligation for this national holiday is that people clean up their family graves, even if this means traveling considerable distance. Generally, these graves are small plots with black or gray granite stone markers into which all names of the persons whose ashes are interred are carved. Sometimes as many as ten names appear on a single marker. When the markers are washed, grass clipped, and fresh cut flowers arranged in vases at the gravesite, a black-robed Buddhist priest arrives to recite okyou, sutras to the dead, while incense is burned. It is said that the length and elaborateness of the chanting depends upon the amount of money a family is willing to pay for the priest’s services. While there are many devout Buddhists who also keep their ancestors’ memories alive at their home butsudan (family altar), this obligatory visit to the family grave on March 20 fulfills one-third of the year’s minimum requirements for Japanese Buddhists. Wilted flowers will be left in vases until a windy day carries them away, until the biggest annual Buddhist festival called Obon in August, or perhaps until Fall Equinox Day in September.

From my perspective, however, March 20 signals that the cherry blossom-viewing season is just around the corner. And with that, spring is indeed on its way to Japan.

On Farewells

2009-02-28T23:15:00.003+09:00

Papaw and Little Ben: not looking forward to saying good-bye.

As if it were yesterday, I can still hear the anguish in Benjamin’s voice as he asked, “Why do we always have to say good-bye to Grandpa Don and Grandma?” We were at the airport and our three-year-old son was resisting the inevitable parting from his beloved grandparents who were returning home to the United States. We would remain behind in Japan. As many times as that scene was repeated over the years, farewells just never got any easier.

More than 25 years later, saying good-bye continues to be an unwelcome but predictable part of our lives. Recently it’s been especially difficult, beginning with seeing off our now grown children and grandson at the airport after their Christmas-New Years visits. Then this month we got the surprising news that part of our Tokyo small group “family” will soon return to their home country—permanently. Only weeks earlier, we’d learned that another founding member of this group was being reassigned to a different nation. And on Thursday, yet another member announced she’s leaving Japan by the end of March. Such is life in an expatriate community: lots of comings and goings. But this knowledge doesn’t make it easier.

And then there’s little Rebecca in Zimbabwe. Touched by the story of this infant born with hydrocephalus, our small group tried to help her. Despite our best efforts which, unfortunately, were just too late, the doctor’s evaluation is that her little brain is irreparably damaged and that she cannot survive even six months more.

Death is a farewell of a different type. Although I’ve never met Rebecca, her situation (and all these farewells of late) have caused me to do some serious thinking. Without sounding morbid—believe me, I have no death wish—I’m slowly realizing yet again that confronting death should help me to live my life better. But the truth is, most of the time I resist thinking about death, especially my own. It’s as if I assume it can’t happen to me. Never mind that way down deep inside I know this is absurd. I just don’t go to that deepest place often and, as a result, I can pretend that life and death are not inexorably intertwined into one and the same package. But my foolery doesn’t change the truth.

“Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom,” Moses of old prayed wisely (Psalm 90:12)—a pray I echo today. When I stop avoiding the truth and remember that my days are limited, I will indeed live them differently. With gratitude to God for each hour he entrusts to me, I resolve not to squander my time or grasp it selfishly for myself. Instead, I determine to spend my days in people and activities that will outlive me. Only in doing so can I know without doubt that my time has been invested in ways that really matter. With this assurance, I can approach my own farewell confidently, knowing that it is far more than simply a good-bye to this earth. It is the arms-wide-open, ear-to-ear smiling welcome to an eternity where farewells are banished in the forever presence of God, my Father.

Three Strikes, I'm Out!

2009-02-21T06:40:00.004+09:00

Trains aren't the only crowded places in Tokyo.

It wasn’t until after 7 p.m. that I struck out on Thursday. It had been a way-too-busy day, but thanks to a two-hour nap in late afternoon, I was managing.

I’d endured a crowded-beyond-capacity commuter train into Shibuya first thing in the morning. Such trains are perhaps the part of living in Tokyo that I most detest. But there was nothing I could do about it but ride the Toyoko Line if I would make my appointment. Fortunately, I was at the front of the queue when the doors opened, so I was able to worm my way a little further into the car than those at the end of the line who needed the help of pushers to make it onto the train—and then, faces crammed up against the door and one another, they managed to stay breathing, but only barely. I had clear space all around my head and the closest person to me was wearing a mask, for which I thanked him silently, grateful he would share no cold germs with me. So, I’d made the 10-minute express ride into Shibuya not horribly worse for the wear and decided I wouldn’t write a blog about the indecency of having to tolerate yet another commuter train. Despite everything, I was feeling pretty good.

But then came the bank. Actually, it’s a tossup as to which I loathe more: jam-packed commuter trains or Japanese banks. Just as the presence of so many uniformed train pushers on the platform should have warned me that the trains were especially crowded that morning, I should have known that the presence of a new bank clerk would mean two things: I would be “lucky” enough to get her and I could expect problems. But, as I said, I was feeling pretty good.

Until she called me up to the desk. I handed her my properly endorsed check and my driver’s license and told her my business, adding, “I come here every month and do the same thing every month.” To which she replied, “Do you have an account at this bank?” “Yes, look at the check, please. I come here every month for the same business.” I was getting a little warm under the collar, and it wasn’t because I’d not yet unzipped my coat or loosened my muffler. Somehow smiling, but still with a quizzical look on her face, she thanked me and asked me to wait in a chair while she processed my check.

No sooner than I’d sat down did she call me back again. She wanted to know about my name. Which was the first name: Cheryl, Ann, or Barton? “It’s just as it’s written here on the check I want to cash, the same business I do here in this bank every month,” I responded. “And how do you pronounce these names?” she asked. “What difference does it make?” I wanted to reply, but didn’t. Finally, after an English pronunciation lesson, she invited me to sit down again.

I did, but only for a split second. My name was being called again. This third time at the counter I was asked how my name is written in katakana, the Japanese phonetic alphabet for foreign words. When I protested that I do this same business every month and with the same driver’s license (no katakana there) and with the same check written to me from our account (no katakana there), she continued, “Well, don’t you have something written in katakana?” By now I was sweating profusely and, although I did indeed have some katakana identification in my wallet, I wasn’t about to admit to it. My reply instead was, “Every month I show my driver’s license,” which is true. Finally, the clerk gave up and cashed my check—the same way it’s done every month. My irritation was definitely on the rise. But I swallowed it, took a deep breath, and walked out of the bank with a smile on my face, thankful I’ll not have to go there again until next month.

The rest of the day went well until after dinner. Bernie and I were walking to an evening meeting and came up behind a woman pushing a stroller on the side of the road. There were no sidewalks or wide shoulders for pedestrians, so a line of cars with patient drivers was beginning to back up behind her. Finally, I decided that since the cars were waiting, I’d dash into their lane and move around her. Fully expecting to see a cute, gurgling baby as I passed—maybe one the same age as my grandson—I was totally unprepared to find the young woman pushing two cats in the baby buggy! The annoyance with daily life in Japan that had apparently been building all day suddenly boiled over as I ranted on to Bernie about how the woman was holding up traffic—not to mention us—because of CATS!

“Three strikes, I’m out!” I thought to myself later. It’s not because I’m the only person who’s ever been exasperated by being a foreigner in a different culture. It’s because that very morning I’d been memorizing Philippians 4:8 on the train: “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” How ironic! How badly I’d failed to implement this wonderful advice for successful living. No wonder I had a headache and suddenly felt exhausted.

On a Corner in Aoyama

2009-02-14T09:49:00.003+09:00

Outside Children's Castle in Aoyama

Surprise. That was my first reaction when I saw him. Not that there aren’t any homeless people in Japan. In fact, the numbers are growing as even large, seemingly well-to-do and insulated companies like Toyota, Canon, and Sony announce factory closings, work slow-downs, and employees being let go as positions are eliminated. One headline this week publicized Nissan’s decision to slash 20,000 jobs worldwide.

Even some unlucky upcoming (March) university graduates have learned that the jobs they’d been promised have been retracted. Now they are at the bottom of the heap of people scrambling for work, with all predictions being that things are only going to get worse. Toyota, for example, recently revised its economic forecast for the fiscal year ending in March. They are expecting a loss three times larger than what the company had feared. This will be the first ever fiscal year loss in the company’s 71-year history.

In Japan, those feeling the immediate crunch of the worldwide recession are temporary workers. Although they are the lowest class of workers—the employees that are both hired and fired first—these people make up one-third of Japan’s labor force. According to the government, some 85,000 temporary workers will lose their jobs between October 2008 and March 2009. While not all will end up in shelters or on park benches, there is no doubt that the number of homeless in Japan is on the rise.

Still, I was surprised to see the man that day—not because he was homeless, but because of his location. He was not keeping warm in the underground metro approaches where men can often be found lined up head to feet, sleeping on cardboard, newspaper, or directly on the ground. Nor was he in one of the large parks in Tokyo in makeshift cardboard or tarpaulin tents. He was on a corner in Aoyama, considered to be one of the most popular entertainment and fashionable shopping areas in this city, the place where Tokyo’s “beautiful people” hang out. This man was dirty and anything but beautiful, but there he was anyway, sitting on a curb next to his raggedy suitcase. He had a cold, and I cringed to see him blowing his nose into some scraps of newspaper.

I was on my way to a meeting and, as usual, running late. Assuming there was nothing I could do for him, I hurried on past. But, to my surprise, I stopped several feet beyond him and began fishing in my purse. I’d just received a tissue package at the train station. I could give him that so at least he wouldn’t have to use newspaper. So I turned back, handed him the packet, and heard a grateful, “Thank you” in response.

Actually, it was an embarrassingly little thing I did. What sacrifice is there in giving away a free package of tissues? This act didn’t cost me anything other than a minute of my time, at most. But there was definitely a new spring in my step as I continued on my way. I was so happy that I’d done something rather than just walking on by as usual. Recently I’ve been praying that God would open my eyes to the needs around me and use me to touch people with his love and little acts of kindness. I have no illusions that my little tissue packet will change this man’s life, that suddenly he’ll get up, bathe, put on clean clothes, get a job, and become a contributing member of society. But maybe, just maybe, even for an instant, he realized that he is a valuable human being worthy of someone’s notice in an upscale part of Tokyo.

In fact, I want to notice more. I pray that stopping on a corner in Aoyama was only the start.

February Fun Facts

2009-02-07T08:29:00.004+09:00

My Valentine and I enjoy the New Years Sumo Tournament in Tokyo.

Six more weeks of winter! That was the big news from Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania on February 2, 2009 when Punxsutawney Phil, the groundhog, emerged from his burrow on Gobbler’s Knob and supposedly saw his shadow, scaring him enough to run back inside.

According to legend, the same Punxsutawney Phil has been about the weather-predicting business for 120 years! This year 13,000 people gathered for the momentous news event. Some who have endured one of the most vicious American winters in their recent memories went home very disappointed to learn that the famous groundhog predicts it’s going to be some time yet before they can retire their winter coats for this season.

In this country, rather than watching for Phil on February 2, Japanese are watching out for roasted soybeans and evil spirits on February 3, the month’s first eventful day. Called Setsubun, this day marks the start of spring—no matter what the weather is like (and no matter what Phil says). Setsubun is best known for the ritual of mamemaki—walking through your house to throw handfuls of the hard beans at any evil spirits that might be lurking in order to drive them out. Often times, parents of younger children will don paper devil’s masks to give their little ones a moving target and a little more fun. But you have to watch out. Those little beans can pack a mighty punch (in more ways than one!).

February 11 is the month’s only national holiday—Foundation Day. Emperor Jimmu is said to have founded Japan on this date back in 660 BC, but it took until 1872 before the country decided to make it a national holiday. Then the day was called Empire Day, resulting in it being banned after World War II in response to Japan’s imperialistic fervor that had emerged and subjugated much of Southeast Asia. The national holiday was reintroduced in 1966 with new softer emphasis on the nation’s founding.

Finally comes Valentine’s Day on February 14. But the Japanese have “Japanized” this celebration of love. In Japan, it’s only the women who are expected to mark the day by giving chocolates to at least some of the men in their lives. Interestingly, while they probably won’t give chocolates to their husbands, they’ll give some to their male co-workers. Lest you think they’re having affairs at the office, they’re most likely just upholding the tradition of giri choco, which translates as “obligation chocolates”.

For this wife at home, Valentine’s Day in Japan means that on the evening of February 14, Bernie will bring home a lot of delicious chocolate from his female faculty and staff at Tamagawa Seigakuin. I won’t mind it one bit, though my waistline will probably groan. But don’t worry! I’ve long ago perfected the solution: eat it all as quickly as possible so that the “pain” is kept to a minimum of days. Mmmmmm! I can’t wait.

A Lovely Fragrance

2009-02-02T18:04:00.003+09:00

Hanawa-san making her pledge before being baptized.

The aroma of Christ
“For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one we are the smell of death; to the other, the fragrance of life. And who is equal to such a task?” (2 Corinthians 2:15-16, NIV).

Paul asked an important question as he reminded the Corinthian Christians of their vital task to represent Christ with a lovely fragrance: who can do it? Truth is, without total reliance on the Holy Spirit, we’re more apt to be a sickening odor than a pleasing and compelling fragrance.

Bernie had a shocking reminder of this during a recent presentation at Tamagawa Seigakuin. The lecturer, a researcher/analysist at one of the two Shinto universities in Japan, shared two especially hard-hitting statistics: only 50% of Japanese trust Christians; and an increasing percentage of Japanese young people don’t see religion (any religion) as significant in their lives. As Philip Yancey wrote in Disappointment with God, one of the biggest risks God ever took was to put evangelism into the hands of the church. And yet he did. God help us to be the pleasing aroma of Christ in our worlds.

Also at Tamagawa Seigakuin
Another recent thought-provoking discussion at the school occurred this week when the Bible Department hosted a question and answer time on the theme, “If God Exists then Why ….” (Why war, hunger, social inequality, and so on.) The voluntary forum attracted eight high school students, four junior highers, and four teachers. One non-Christian teacher asked an interesting question: “Since these things are going on anyhow, what difference does it make if God is or not?” The planned hour-long program stretched another half hour longer and may have continued on if it hadn’t gotten to be 6 o’clock, the mandated time senior high girls must leave school. (Junior highers must leave by 5:30 p.m.) Please pray that the discussion will bear fruit in the hearts of participants.

Please also pray for high school graduation on March 16, a significant day in the lives of the 181 girls and their families. Taniguchi Hall, named for the school’s founder, will be packed with as many as 700 people and Bernie will have the privilege of sharing the gospel with them during the ceremonies. One graduating senior wrote in her Bible class notebook that she expects to put away her Bible for good as she leaves Tama Sei. Please pray that seeds planted at the school will indeed be harvested one day.

Two encouraging stories
In fact, we know this happens. Recently, a retired staff member shared with Bernie a postcard he’d received. The writer graduated more than 10 years ago and hadn’t been to church in the intervening years. However, as circumstances in her life changed, she knew she would find the answers she sought in the faith she’d learned about during her six years at Tama Sei. Now she is going to church again.

Last Sunday we worshipped at Tamagawa Church of God. There we met a woman whose daughter had taken Tama Sei’s entrance examination two years ago. After she failed, the mother wrote to Bernie, thanking him for the school’s good impact on her family throughout a year of attending school introductory meetings and special showcase events. “We’ll never forget Tamagawa Seigakuin,” she wrote in what was surely the only letter of its kind Bernie has ever received—thanks despite failure. Last year, in the midst of severe depression, Tanaka-san (not her real name) seriously contemplated suicide. Suddenly, she remembered the school and nearby Tamagawa Church and decided to visit. Our Sunday was her second time there. While talking with Bernie, she prayed to receive Christ. Certainly other seeds were planted in her life over the years (her parents are faithful Christians), but most recently it was seed planting and watering at Tamagawa Seigakuin that finally helped Tanaka-san choose Christ in her 40s. Please pray for her to grow in faith. Pray also for Tamagawa Seigakuin and for many harvests to come.

More on Hanawa-san
Last month we wrote about Keiko Hanawa, a woman who finally accepted Christ and was baptized in her 70s at Hagiyama Church of God. Here are some of the many seeds planted over the years in her life: Sunday school as a child; attending English-Bible classes taught by a missionary after her own children were grown; the prayers of the class for her adult daughter as she suffered severe post-partum depression, prayers that were answered miraculously; attending the monthly evangelistic small group meeting in the home of a Christian member of the English-Bible class; and being impressed by this woman’s smile, caring heart, and the Bible verses which decorated her home.

Remember: God wants to use us all to plant and water in a world that is watching and sniffing. The harvest WILL COME if we are faithful and do not give up.

Just for Fun

2009-01-28T21:03:00.004+09:00

Miyako, the Asian elephant of the now-famous poop?

For those who have, on occasion, lovingly suggested that I lighten up, today I’m writing just for fun. Even I have realized that recently I’ve shared random thoughts on a number of quite serious topics, so maybe I can balance it a bit today, even as I pick up my last topic related to entrance examinations and carry it further (in fun, of course).

Monday and Tuesday, February 2 and 3, Tamagawa Seigakuin will conduct entrance examinations for approximately 750 current sixth grade girls who will begin their junior high school careers in April. (80 percent of those registered for Monday are also registered for the second day.) About 50 percent of them will pass the exam. Of these, Tama Sei expects to welcome 168 new first year junior high girls. (Many students take exams at several schools and, if they succeed in more than one, will enter their first choice.)

This weekend will be a time of great pressure in many homes as Monday and Tuesday approach. Actually, the stress has been building for some time. Some of these girls have been studying intensely for months in preparation (we hope)—if not by their own choice, then by the will of their parents. One father of a sixth grader who will take Monday’s exam told me late last fall that he and his wife had lowered the boom: no more special events and outings on weekends from then until exam time. “Weekends have become your study time,” they announced to their daughter who apparently hadn’t been taking her studying very seriously. They also were threatening to take her cell phone away, if necessary, in order to keep her on track. This would be, according to the daughter, the worst possible thing they could do--a fate nearly worse than death.

So where’s the fun in this blog? In case you’re wondering, I offer another solution to the entrance examination dilemma in Japan—a “mucky charm.” I read about these special amulets for passing school entrance or employment examinations in the Daily Yoimuri newspaper. Handmade from the dung of an Asian elephant named Miyako, the charms are an opportunity to attract luck (un in Japanese) and are a pun on the word unchi, which means feces. I was happy to hear that the staff of Utsunomiya Zoo, in Tochigi Prefecture, first sterilizes the poop before dealing with it. Then they boil it to produce fibers that can make paper. This paper is then stamped with some words of good luck and slipped into clear plastic pouches for free distribution during the examination season, December to March.

So there you have it: elephant poop charms, the latest is new products in Japan. Which reminds me of another new product I read about in the paper this month—brassieres for men. While the vast majority of Japanese men are not built like sumo wrestlers who possibly could benefit from a bra, the developer says that wearing these will help men get in touch with their feminine side to enable them to respond to the world more kindly and gently. Even though this blog is just for fun, I promise you I’m not kidding! What will they think of next?

Why Do They Do It?

2009-01-22T19:02:00.003+09:00

Atop the chapel at Tamagawa Seigakuin

“Why do they do it?” I thought to myself as I read a Daily Yoimuri article earlier this week (January 20). The headline, “Parents rush to submit kids’ entrance exams” and the photo of a long queue of parents (mostly mothers) waiting to turn in admission applications for a private elementary school in Tokyo grabbed my attention because Bernie had gotten up early that very morning in order to be at Tamagawa Seigakuin before 6 o’clock. His eagerness to get to school so early was because the school staff would begin accepting applications for the upcoming junior high entrance examinations from 6 o’clock that morning. (Later, I was surprised to learn that the first parent had arrived at 4:30 a.m., besting both the staff and Bernie.)

I could understand why Bernie wanted to show appreciation and encourage the school office staff in their sometimes thankless work, but I was confused about why parents would brave the cold and dark morning (and not just at Tamagawa Seigakuin, but all over Tokyo—indeed, all over Japan) to turn in applications that are, mind you, only to take entrance exams.

“Aren’t all applications accepted that are submitted within the specified application days?” I asked Bernie, to which he responded affirmatively. “And do they affect their test scores at all? Like, the first so many parents get extra points added to their daughters’ scores so they have a better chance of getting into the school?” I queried further.

“Not at all. There’s no lottery and the order applications are submitted means nothing at all,” he assured me.

“So why do they do it?” I was back to my original question.

“Standing in line means absolutely nothing,” he answered, then paused and added, “Unless it shows a child her parents’ love and support.”

In fact, that’s exactly what the newspaper reporter had concluded after interviewing several principals. They, like Bernie, had declared that there is no advantage for a parent to stand in line and that application order has no effect whatsoever on the results of entrance exams. “Parents form such lines at schools … because they are indicative of the love they feel for their children …” the reporter wrote, wrapping up the article.

As a mother, I certainly made many mistakes as I helped raise our two children (and I’m not immune from mistakes today). But as often as possible I did whatever I could to show my love to Benjamin and Stephanie and to encourage them. Looking in from the outside, someone might have concluded on occasion that my attempts were foolish and meaningless. But I’d rather be guilty of such silliness than of even once allowing my children to doubt my love.

So now I know why these parents do it—for love. And I say, go ahead and stand in those lines. Just be sure to bundle up, please.

On Doing Good

2009-01-14T05:31:00.004+09:00

A small shrine in the snowy mountains of Gunma Prefecture

Our family celebrating Christmas together

Taking every opportunity
“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers” (Galatians 6:9-10, NIV).

Paul encouraged the Galatian Christians to take every opportunity to do good—and not just to some people, but to all. But let’s be honest. Sometimes this is downright difficult to obey, especially when it seems that no matter what you do, nothing ever changes. The overwhelming challenges and needs seem to defy any efforts to encourage change and promote forward momentum, no matter how earnestly you try. At times, it seems easier just to give up. That’s the weariness Paul was referring to. But he was determined not to give in to this weariness. Instead, he said we should believe that the harvest will come eventually, because IT WILL. So take every opportunity and expect God to do his part because HE WILL.

The above verses have been a life jacket for us during our nearly 30 years of ministry in Japan. As such, it was easy for Bernie to speak from this text on January 8 during opening ceremonies for the third trimester at Tamagawa Seigakuin. He wanted to remind students that even one person CAN make a difference for good in the world. It was a good reminder for us, too, as it is sometimes easier to believe what we see (small, weak churches that struggle for survival, new leadership, and vision) than to believe what God promises. Please pray for us and the nearly 1,100 junior and senior high school girls that they will be inspired by Christian faculty and staff to make our world a better place.

Rejoicing in the harvest
Needless to say, it is encouraging when we do see some harvest for faithful labors. One example is Keiko Hanawa, a woman baptized on November 30 at Hagiyama Church in Tokyo. Seventeen years ago, she was working in a boutique where Mrs. Namerikawa enjoyed shopping. As they became acquainted, Namerikawa-san invited her to attend the monthly evangelistic outreach held in her own home. Curious, Hanawa-san soon became a regular participant. Still, it was many years after that before she accepted the invitation to join in worship services at Hagiyama Church. What if Namerikawa-san had given up and stopped expecting a harvest?

As is the custom in Japan, new Christians share a testimony with the congregation just prior to following the Lord in baptism. Typically, these tell the journey of the young Christian from first learning of Christ to finally being able to be baptized. Often years pass between the two, which was the case with Hanawa-san. Now in her 70s, she first learned of Christ as a Sunday school child! In fact, her testimony was to sing a song she had learned years before in Sunday school. What if faithful Sunday school teachers had given up on praying for the children in their care when they didn’t see any response from their efforts? As Paul said, we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Praise the Lord!

Reporting on prayer requests
Thanks for your prayers for Bernie as he spoke on Christmas Day at a small church in the mountains of Gunma Prefecture. Attendance exceeded expectations and included a number of first timers, and reports are that many people were blessed by the message. We will not likely see this harvest since we are not nearby, but we believe that God as at work, and we are grateful. (And, for those who prayed, we had a great visit with our family as well as a WHITE Christmas night. In fact, we had almost a blizzard of snow on December 26. It was Little Ben’s first snow and we all enjoyed playing in it together. It seems Little Ben, who turns one on January 30, especially loves eating it!)

With regard to the “Immediate and Continuing Prayer Concerns,” dated November 2008 (but not posted on this blog), please pray especially for P in his studies in the Philippines. Apparently his English isn’t advancing as quickly as he’d hoped. Please pray that the Lord will bless him with language ability and keep him from becoming discouraged in this time of preparation for eventual ministry among Tibetan Buddhists.

We were happy to visit Tarumi Church in Kobe in early December after an absence of nearly six months. It is obvious that the Sakatas are a very loving pastoral couple and that a good relationship between pastor and people is being built. However, attendance continues to be very low—the result of five years without pastoral leadership. Please pray that the Sakatas and Tarumi Church can remember the truths of Galatians 6:9-10.

Finally, please pray for Cheryl as she tries to make up for lost time to meet two book deadlines. Pray also that Into All the World: A Century of Church of God Missions and Rivers of Delight will glorify God and encourage missions efforts around the world.

Home for Christmas

2008-12-20T06:16:00.004+09:00

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

2008-12-13T06:57:00.003+09:00

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

2008-11-24T19:06:00.004+09:00

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

2008-11-13T14:38:00.002+09:00

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

2008-11-05T09:46:00.003+09:00

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

2008-10-30T03:16:00.002+09:00

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

2008-10-17T06:17:00.005+09:00

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

2008-10-03T00:13:00.008+09:00

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

2008-09-30T10:10:00.009+09:00

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.