Advent thoughts, Mt.Fuji style

It was August, but we could see our breath, and fingers shoved into cozy mittens still went numb from the cold. It was 3am. Pitch black. Walking in an endless row of people zigzagging up the steep mountainside; awkwardly plodding along, occasionally climbing up rough portions of the trail on all fours. This probably sounds like the beginning to some horrible nightmare, but it was actually fantastic: my younger brother and sister were visiting from the states, and we were going to make it to the top of Mt. Fuji in time to see the sunrise.

We brought flashlights, but they were weak and the small stream of light quickly faded. If we tried to make the hike in the dark we probably would have tripped and found ourselves tumbling down to the base, or at best been stuck in the freezing cold until sunrise. But in the pitch black, even that puny penlight of a flashlight would have been enough to kind of get by. Not ideal, maybe a bit unnerving, but enough. But because we were surrounded ahead and behind with people who came prepared with powerful flashlights and headlamps, we hardly needed our flashlights at all. Thanks to their light, I could see reasonably clearly. Navigating the path in front of me, deciding where to step, was no problem.

But if that had been it: climbing up a mountain in the dark, then carefully making our way all the way back down in the dark, just to say we did it…there is no way I would have gone, much less invited my siblings along. What made it worth it, was hiking on with confident hope of the sunrise. Because it happens every day! We knew that after all the hiking and waiting and freezing, that glorious orange disk was going to slice through the clouds, paint the sky with beautiful colors, and warm our chilled faces and fingers. Not only was the sun itself gorgeous, in its light everything else was beautiful too. We see the path clearly, and the black sky and black mountainside and black valley of the climb up were transformed into a beautiful landscape of reds and greens and blues.

This advent season, it’s dawned on me that life is kind of like climbing Mt. Fuji. Sure it’s wonderful, great times, can be lots of fun and all, but it can also feel ridiculously hard. And sometimes what I am equipped with feels like a puny little flashlight. But it’s more than OK. Because the light is all around, behind and ahead, and we are far from being alone. And best of all? Well, like the sunrise, that’s yet to come. But I can hike, zigzag, awkwardly plod through life with joy, peace, love, and confident hope. Because it happens every day!  Christ is risen. He came. He’s coming again. He’ll never fail to show up. Emmanuel!

Creation

“In the afternoon, Ellie made cookies. Now the countertops were bare, the oven empty and cold, and the Spirit of God was hovering in the kitchen. And Ellie thought “first I need butter”. And she found some in the fridge and it looked good. She measured and softened it and called it ready – the first step… and Ellie tasted the cookies she had made, and they were very good.” 

OK, so that was ridiculously cheesy, maybe even inappropriate. But as I stood in the kitchen with flour on my shirt, washing the dishes stacked in the sink, the aroma of cookies wafting from the oven, a glass of milk and temporarily-empty plate waiting for me, thinking through who I could share the cookies with the next few days…I felt immensely pleased, satisfied. And when The Creation story popped into my head, I couldn’t help but find comparing it to my own feeble “creation” highly entertaining. Imagining God with smudges of dust on his hands, looking down at just-created Adam as he takes that first breath, feeling pleased, satisfied with His work, thinking “Mmhhmm. This is really good”.

When I’m feeling inferior (or superior) to another musician, or person of any vocation, I like to take a step back and remember: compared to God’s creating powers, my peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and Bach or da Vinci’s greatest works are not all that different. Nor are the works of the nurse, the banker, the administrator, the pastor, the parent, the little old man who sweeps up the trash and leaves from the park. We find beauty and declare it good and enjoy it, we bring order to chaos, we serve each other.

I am not saying we should all think of ourselves as artists, “creators”, or “creatives” (I don’t even consider myself one). Instead, I’m beginning to think it’s much grander and much simpler. I’m beginning to think that whether we realize it or not, we all just want to be more like Our Heavenly Dad. At least, I know I do.  How about you? What have you made/seen/been a part of today, that reminded you of Him?

"Sabishii!"

“Sabishii!" I can't count the times I have heard (and said) that word this month as short termers, Jacob, and the Lowthers all left for the US (not to mention all the families going on 1 - 3 month trips to the US next month, and a family returning "home" permanently). "Sabishii!" The dictionary says it means “lonely”, “desolate”, or "deserted". It is a one-word exclamation that we are going to deeply miss them. That our world will not be the same, will be lonely, without them in it.

I found myself this morning with a chance to be still, to face the fact that short-termers are gone, Lowthers and Jacob left yesterday, and I feel like I am all alone. They are my coworkers, my friends, my “Japan family”. With MTW Tokyo now officially its own team apart from Chiba, and CAT it's own...thing, I’m technically the only member of my team. There are churches and groups we work with who are still here, and I love all of them…but still I feel alone. Where do I belong? Who will be my "Japan family" now? Who will keep me accountable? Who can I go to to talk about what’s on my heart, in my head; who will assure me there is a reason I’m doing this, that God is working through arts, through us; who will help me with the practical details of having events; who will encourage me to take rest, who will answer all those random little questions, who will be my translators, my mentors, my visionaries? I was crushed by the feeling of loneliness; desolate; deserted.

Feeling sorry for myself, I looked up the kanji for “sabishii”, trying to use study to distract myself from the unpleasant emotions. But God had better plans…

The parts of the kanji commonly used for this word didn't seem particularly interesting. But as I checked the kanji details I saw the other meaning which uses this same kanji is “the death of a priest”. Interesting, right? I looked down at the other kanji option for "sabishii", and was surprised by the simple parts making up the character: the symbol for water, or liquid, beside a cross 汁　and on the right, a tree   木.  The truth in this simple kanji pierced my heart immediately. My Lord, my Great High Priest, died for me. He was hung on a tree, water and blood flowing down from that cross as they pierced His side, bearing the sins of all humanity as the God who is Love turned His back on this beloved Son…that is loneliness. Christ took all our sabishii and more on Himself, so we would never have to bear it. So we would never be truly alone.

I still miss these friends and coworkers, still share sympathetic "sabishii,ne!" with Japanese friends who miss them as much as I do, but my soul is not crushed with despair, my mind no longer racing with worries of how I'll manage this alone. Because I remember now: I'm not alone; my God will never leave me; He'll be the one to watch over me, to take all my cares on Himself.

Remembering that tonight, I can look forward to whatever new adventure will come my way next. And most of all, I can look forward to the day when, thanks to that same cross, all sabishii will be vanquished, forever!

No More Dark Outside

I think one of the important things I do in Tokyo is helping out missionary families. Babysitting wild boys, washing dishes, or cooking a meal for my allergic-to-everything teammates can be tiring, and perhaps doesn’t seem like the most glorious or rewarding way to spend my time. But I believe in the work God is doing through them, and I believe attempting to be a good Christian influence in these kids’ lives is a worthy ministry to strive for. And sometimes… I am amazed by how they minister to me:

As I was washing up after dinner, Coen (an almost-4-year-old MK whose family I lived with my first 9 months in Japan), stomped over and demanded, “I want to go Jesus’ house!”  Lately he’s been asking to go to my house, or Ayako’s house whenever he sees us, I think as a coping mechanism to deal with the new-baby-brother blues. So I wasn’t too surprised and teased, “Well, Jesus’ house... if you mean heaven, you have to die before you go there. I don’t think it’s your turn to die quiet yet”. “Then, I want to die!” he declares as the furrow in his brow deepens with anger. I realize it might be time for a chat and pause from the mountain of dishes. As I gently asked some questions, trying to figure out what’s going on in this little guy’s head, he finally admitted, “Jesus’ house no more dark outside”.  I had to agree that did sound very nice. Maybe Coen’s thought process was simply “dark outside” means bedtime, and he didn’t want to go to bed. But there is such beauty and truth, a deep desire Coen expressed in those words better than I could say myself. I long for no more dark outside. I long for the time when all the scary things we don’t like are no more. I long for the sin and confusion and weakness in my heart and mind to be gone forever. I long for the loneliness and spiritual darkness in this world to be vanquished by the bright Light of Christ. I long for the darkness of dear friends’ unbelief to be washed in that same wonderful Light.

As I was saying goodnight and goodbye, Coen asked why I couldn’t sleep there, on the futon. “Do you not like our house anymore?” he gazed up from my lap with big, sad eyes. I tried to let him down gently: I do like your house. But there are too many people in this house! So I live in a different house so we all have enough room. Coen’s eyes lit up with revelation and I couldn’t wait to hear what crazy idea was about to come out of his mouth. And there it came: “We can all go Jesus’ house! In Jesus’ house, there be SO much room!” That’s right, Coen. Jesus is SO big, and his house is SO big, and with Him, one day, we can all stay together. No more goodnights. No more goodbyes. We will live together with our Lord who is SO big, with no more dark outside.

喜びの歌声

Below is my attempt at translating (with lots and lots of help from a dictionary) the new song we're learning in Gospel Choir. My grammar is probably all wrong, but I think I get the gist:

You keep an eye on little, weak me

I thank You

While I shed tears you encouraged me

I praise You

 

I met you and am changed

Now I don't walk in darkness.

Please illuminate my path,

You are the light that shines on me

 

Singing with joyful voice, the Lord's love is full

The Kingdom of God is in our midst!

 

 



I usually attempt to translate the songs we sing in Japanese, partly because it helps me memorize the Japanese text...but also because I want to know what I'm proclaiming! And I'm so thankful I did: simple and true, this song is encouragement I need this week.

God, the God filled to overflowing with love, is here. The "I Am" God...IS.
That is all. Simple and profound. He exists, right here, right now, and that is all little weak me needs. And of course, no Gospel song is complete without the final word: Hallelujah!