sometimes i weep involuntarily

social justice or the lack there of; fear so deeply engrained in us that it leaves us completely paralyzed - incapable of being open-minded to even hearing new ideas or exploring the real meaning of someone's words before labeling her/him some kind of "-ist", especially one that threatens "Americans"; the idea that one country is powerful enough, influential enough, ignorant enough and arrogant enough (a potentially catastrophic combination) to claim the name of two entire continents as "its name" 

these things move me to tears. thoughts of these things cause passion to well up inside me and spill over into salty droplets running down my flaming cheeks.

thrills and spills, mostly the latter

In an earlier post, I promised I would report the first time I fell off my bike. Allow me to do that now:

     A few weeks ago, I got off work early and decided to go for a bike ride. I rode through the city and through this little park along a river. There are lovely curvy stone paths that unfold alongside the river. Now this park has an artificial waterfall about 40 feet from the river bank, and the water flows through little man-made concrete channels back down to the river. The curvy paths daintily cross the small waterways with quaint little concrete overpasses, only since I have been in Moka, the waterfall has been inactive and the waterways have been dry.

     On this particular autumn afternoon, there were several pleasant elderly Japanese people in the park, many with canes or walkers. One such woman was walking toward me at a pace that would put us on the concrete overpass at the same time. Let me explain that these overpasses are not much wider than the average person, and they are far too charming to have obtrusive handrails. They are simply walking paths that cross waterways, no guardrails, no barriers.

    Now, when I saw the woman approaching the "bridge" and calculated her approximate time of arrival at the narrow walkway to be the same as my estimated time of arrival, I kicked it into high gear. I pedaled like the wind, agilely dodging a cute old man and his dog. Only I wasn't so agile, and, as I approached the overpass, my front bicycle tire swerved off the path, and down went my trusty steed, Chessboard, into the barren manmade waterway. Lucky for me, I have catlike reflexes. I ditched the bike mid air and, unable to change my trajectory, landed on two feet and one hand in the dry cement river basin. It was definitely impressive acrobatics (although the best acrobats would have been able to avoid the situation entirely).

And that my friends, is how I fell off my bike for the first time here in Moka.

And the old woman I was trying to avoid just stared.

digitalized mind wanderings

Disclaimer: this post is not meant to relay any fantastic anecdotes about Japan.

I aspire to do nothing more than spill out the thoughts that are sloshing around in my head right now. 

I live in Japan, and I'm happy. I love the students I work with. I have great co-workers. My living situation is quite comfortable (despite the occasional feather-ruffling caused by gokiburis). I'm content. I smile a lot. I joke with my students. I say hello 250 times a day, but I enjoy it because the students smile at me. I ride my bike for 30 minutes a day. I eat well. I have a comfortable bed. I like my living room. I enjoy being around my roommate. I get to wear sweatpants often. I always have chocolate on hand. I talk to my parents often. Many of my friends email me frequently. I am learning Japanese. I have Japanese friends. I like Japanese food. The language barrier is very rarely a factor in my life. I have students who speak Spanish, and even though they are too shy to speak to me in Spanish, I can't hide the joy that wells up in me when I see them. I admire them so much for speaking such a beautiful language at home, attending Japanese school and taking English classes. I have access to good music via the internet. I watched Once this weekend. It is one of the best movies I have ever seen. My friends often cook dinner for me. I'm well loved. I'm well taken-care of.

     I do not, however, hunger for intimacy with Christ. I do not yearn to know the cries of the heart of the Father. I do not burn with passion for the God of the Universe. I have before, and I think these are beautiful things. I think these things are the very essence of life. I look at the lives of people who do these things, and I admire them. Yet I remain content without these things. I don't know the balance between forcing things - being very legalistic about time spent in prayer and reading the Bible - and a complete lack of discipline. I imagine the amount of time I spend actively pursuing the heart of God for selfless reasons puts me on the complete lack of discipline end of the scale. But the idea of forcing myself to pray seems tragic. I feel like I have too much respect for God to force myself to sit in God's presence. If I don't long to be there with everything in me, what can I possibly have to say to God? And if I'm content not seeking God's face, why do I deserve to see it? 

     For now, I think I am in a season of contentedness. I know I am deeply loved by the Father of Heaven and Earth. I pray for those around me and care deeply for their well-beings. I, however, don't feel my heart and flesh cry out for the presence of the living God. (though I have woken up with that song in my head several times since arriving in Japan... "my heart and flesh cry out, for You the living God. Your Spirit's water to my soul. I've tasted and I've seen. Come once again to me"... interesting) Is this okay for a season? Will it pass? Is it part of getting accustomed to life in a completely different place? I am hopeful that the flame within will soon be re-ignited and it will burn with a fire that can only be fed by intimacy with the Almighty. But there is a tiny question in the back of my mind that says, "Are you sure it's okay to be comfortable waiting here?"

Glorious Day.

Today I taught at Kameyama Elementary School for the first time. I thought 2, 3, and 6th grade. If every day were as wonderful as today, I would stay in Moka, Japan for the rest of my life! 

The teachers and staff at Kameyama are amazing. They were so kind and so genuinely excited to have me at their school. They encouraged me so much in my feeble attempts at speaking some Japanese. The students were so cheerful and eager to learn. It was perfect - every teacher's dream!

The teachers also sent me home with homemade popcorn that the 1st graders made today and a strawberry pastry because they found out I like sweets.  To make the day even better, they sent my home at 2:00, which gave me time to go to the bank and the post office, and then relax at home. While at home, listening to good music and drinking a fruit smoothie, I re-discovered an email from one of my students at CBA (the school I taught at in California). Her name is Chi. She's 16, and in January, she came to my classroom straight from Vietnam, where she had only studied English for 2 months. She is now able to write a full length email telling me how much she misses me and how much she learned from me. What an amazing testimony to the way God uses me. And to think, 2 years ago, in Seville, Spain, I sat and argued with God, telling Her I wanted to be anything but a teacher. My how little I understand about God's plans, and how beautiful it is to be wrong.

May the joy I feel as I write this spill into your lives as you read it. Praise God. Amen.

Rice Harvesting Home Stay Weekend

Friday I left work an hour early to race home and meet Josiah, a fellow Moka AET. Together we would catch a bus to Ishibashi, train to Ujiee station and meet another bus that would take us to our home stay families in Nakagawa (a city smaller than Moka, still in Tochigi prefecture). There were 23 foreign people signed up to spend the weekend with Japanese families and participate in rice harvesting and a harvesting festival. 

Harvesting looked like this:

The foreign home stay participants and several members of the community gathered around the 

outer edges of a rice field, armed with small, curved, serrated knives and began cutting. It's 

fairly easy. The rice grows in clumps small enough to grasp at the roots using one hand. The procedure is to grab the stalks near the root and

 then use the small knife to cut completely through the clump. 

The next step is to tie together a large bundle of cut stalks using old

 dried stalks. Finally, the tied bundles are hung upside down on a makeshift wooden stand, where they will dry out and later be used for sake ("sa-kay")! 

The home stay was another story...

Somehow there was a mistake translating my documents and I was reported to have been in Japan for 1 year, which puts my expected Japanese language abilities much higher than the actual skills I have acquired in the mere one month I have been here. So, I was put with a host family that didn't speak English. Luckily, I had a roommate named Emily who is from Seattle and teaching English in another city. She has been in Japan for 6 months and can carry on basic conversation. Unfortunately for me, Emily's language abilities did not include the ability to translate. So the first night was a rough one. While Emily and my host mom chatted away, I plotted out all of the possible ways I could get back to Moka: fake sick, run away, fake a family emergency, break the law...

However, things took a positive turn Saturday morning when I woke up refreshed and eager to bridge the language barrier. I decided to completely disregard any fear of making mistakes or looking foolish. 

In the morning, we were dropped off at the rice harvest festival, where we could speak English with all the other foreigners (though they were from ALL over the world, they all spoke English). This definitely encouraged me to be my usual, outgoing self.

After the festival, I was ready to chat it up, however primitive my means of communications might be. And it paid off. Through gestures and simple English and Japanese, my host mother and I were able to communicate in the most basic form! It was a glorious accomplishment for both of us. 

My host mother's good friend was also hosting a foreigner for the weekend, so we met up with them and spent most of the weekend together. (The other homestay participant, Chee Tuck, is from Malaysia, can speak 5 languages and helped me translate just about EVERYTHING. He has a special place in my heart.) The Japanese host families had some really great things in store for us! 

We participated in a traditional Buddhist meditation class, where we sat cross-legged for 40 minutes meditating in the dark peaceful shrine (praying to and worshipping Jesus in my case!), with the understanding that if we slouched or dozed off, the instructor would hit us with a stick and chastise us. It put a new spin on my prayer time... It is also note worthy to mention that my entire left leg, from hip to toes, fell asleep about 5 minutes into things, and there was one specific moment where I told Jesus that if he didn't make my leg work when meditation time was over, I was certain I would never be able to walk again.

After the meditation time, we participated in a traditional Japanese tea ceremony, or "sado." It was really cool! After the tea party we had a traditional Japanese Buddhist monk meal. 

I'm not sure I would ever have the chance to experience these things apart from this homestay weekend. It was a fantastic experience. It was really beautiful to see how much time and effort the host families put in to making this weekend something really special for us.

All in all - Home Stay Weekend in Nakagawa gets rave reviews!

oh the similarities

If you've heard/read me say that I've moved to the "Lake in the Hills of Japan," know that the feelings have only intensified. Today, instead of teaching, I watched my students play in their soccer tournament. Now, many of you know that two of my brothers played soccer from pee-wee through senior year in high school, so I'm no newbie on the soccer sidelines. It felt at home pacing back and forth, calling out things I thought the ref might miss.  (I, however, wasn't actually helping the ref at all since I was yelling at him in a foreign language...) But, to add to it, there is a cornfield right behind the soccer field, just like all those fields in Algonquin. Several times during the game, I wondered if I had somehow morphed back to Illinois - perhaps at some ALITHSA  game (for those of you not from A-town, that stands for Algonquin-Lake in the Hills Soccer Assoc.). Luckily, I was able to snap out of it before I assumed my old familiar role as ball girl. (Although my students would've been highly impressed by my ball-shagging abilities.)