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.