Life Sounds

Exiting through a ticket wicket at a train station in Japan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deja vu!

Helping to feed Little Ben's curiosity through books

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

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

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

Déjà vu.

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

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

An Award-Winning Smile

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Japanese Mother

My Japanese mother and me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the Coming of Light

Bernie, Cheryl, and Fujiwara-sensei during

their installation as a pastoral team

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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