Hope Story

Pray that many in Japan would have divine encounters with believers, come into relationship with people of faith, and naturally be adopted as sons and daughters of God.

Born to be loved

On top of the Onohama tower we met two couples from Iwaki who were enjoy the 360 degree view of the Pacific Ocean, and all of Iwaki. A group from GMC, along with several volunteers from Korea, praised the Lord and sang over Japan, over Fukushima and over the daughter of our new friends, little Momo and her parents.
“You were born to be loved and your life will be filled with love. The everlasting God’s love is like a seed that bears fruit inside our relationship. The value of your presence brings great joy to me. Even now you are receiving that love. ”

It was a powerful moment! Believers and unbelievers alike were in tears, touched by the display of love sung over the future of Japan.

Bubbles

She couldn’t have been older than 3. Then again, three tends to look like two in Japan, and five like three, ten like seven and twenty like twelve. Maybe she was five.

I watched her hands as they reached for the bubbles.

Young

Soft

Miniature hands

She grabbed for the little globes

Rainbows near her eyes

They danced all around

Up and away

Circling about

Playing their elusive games

And when she caught them they hid themselves further

Popping with surprise

Bursting with envy

Out of desire to be higher

 

I observed her carefully

Pondering her life

A child survived

Innocence deprived

A giddy, giggling little thing

She bounced around

Chasing her toys

Making little noises

For a moment a child plays

In a nation where wrath did not delay

Rainbows near their eyes

Hope dancing all around

Playing its elusive games

Evading little hands

 

Gently now

And outstretched arm

Descending from above

It lands on her palm

Fragile grace

Like glass it breaks

 

For a moment a child plays

For a moment hope remains.

 

Meeting Jesus in Japan

A disheveled conversation with Jesus at the center

It wasn’t a long conversation. Maybe 20, 30 minutes at the most. He’d only stopped by the church to greet the pastor. Curiosity, though, drew him into my hiragana lesson and allowed for us to share a few meaningful moments. After practicing my “a, i, u, e, o” words with him and adding a few new words to my vocab I asked about his background. We get a wide range of characters around GMC, so I didn’t want to make any assumptions.

Originally from Hokkaido, Takahashi was sent to Iwaki with his work. I gathered that he’s a medical technician, something about taking blood and diagnosing illness. His wife and two grown sons are in Sendai, where he last lived. The job requires that he moves every two years, and when the children were younger it was too much transition. He came to Iwaki on his own in order to let his wife care for his elderly mother. She’s since died of the same disease that took Takahashi’s father, Hepatitis C. It’s no wonder he went into blood work.

Through his warm smile and sincere small voice I gathered this man was a Christian. I asked and he confirmed with a deep nod of gratitude. It took three times to ask, but eventually I got the questions across, “how did you meet Jesus?” Maybe he was surprised at my language, maybe I was too upfront, but his delayed response had me wondering if he understood. He pulled out a pad of paper and started his story from the beginning.

Hokkaido.

Sendai.

Sick mother.

Mother died.

Then I didn’t understand.

9.11

“Nine eleven?”

He emphasized it with two thick lines.

“Nine eleven”. His eyes got big and wet and his voice stronger. “I turned on the television. One, two towers. Two jet planes. Crash! Crash!” He raised his hands as he recounted his emotions that day. Shock.

“How can this happen God?! Who would do this?!” he said. “I never prayed to God, but for the first time… And then in the window I saw a man.” He hunched over the paper and with quick sharp lines he drew. “I saw a man in white. I was scared. Who is this man? ‘Who are you?’ I asked. The man said ‘I am Jesus'”.

The story ended there without much explanation. The next Sunday he went to church, heard about Jesus and surrendered his life to God.  So simple.

Later I asked Mr. Takahashi about his favorite verse. He pulled up Isaiah 41:31 “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.” “Pretty popular verse,” I though. “Cool”. Of course, though, there was more.

When Saving Private Ryan came out in 1998 Takahashi-san had gone to the theaters like many others. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be Japanese and watch a movie about a war you’d lost. The movie takes place in Europe, I suppose, so maybe it was far enough removed to empathize with.  Similar to his experience 3 years later over September 11th, Takahashi was moved to tears and brought low at the sight of war. “Omaha Beach”, he said, nodding with eyes nearly shut. Then he read Isaiah 40:31 in Japanese, followed by a bit of charades. Gun-fire, men running, dying, bullets flying.

I don’t know where it is in the movie, but some 20 second clip within that 3 hour-long film showed a priest, a single man going out among the bodies, dodging bullets and laying crosses over the wounded and dying.  That scene struck something deep within Takahashi’s heart planted seeds of admiration towards Christians, men who would risk their lives to honor and respect their brothers.

Two stories. America under siege and America at war. A Japanese father touched by the bravery of soldiers who have now since died.  The same working man brought to his knees at the sight of needless death in New York. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but somewhere in the story I felt the mystery of a miracle. Decades ago we were enemies, Japan and the US, but today this ordinary, middle-aged Japanese man has found the peace of God, the peace the transcends all knowledge. Jesus introduced himself and put his Spirit in Takahashi-san, so that he can be the eternal dwelling place of kindness, goodness and self-control. Out of so much loss, so much grief, out of war and violence one man found perfect harmony with God. Joy and life everlasting.

It took three times to ask, but eventually I got the questions across, “how did you meet Jesus?” Maybe he was surprised at my language, maybe I was too upfront, but his delayed response had me wondering if he understood. He pulled out a pad of paper and started his story from the beginning.

Takahashi had indeed met Jesus. I gather he’s never had anyone ask him his testimony using those words, but they were perfectly suitable to describe his 9.11 encounter.

Declare a Holy Fast

 

I missed the evening meeting. So much was going in on my head I silently bowed out to get some space in the empty sanctuary below. I hurried into the lowly lit chapel that smelled of fresh pine. Rows of empty chairs. A dry baptismal. A map stretching across the wall with the pacific made central. There I found rest and instruction for the rest of my week.

I came up stairs and into the nearly finished meeting having heard from the Lord. “Now is the time to fast”, God had said. I wasn’t keen on the message, but I couldn’t deny that I’d heard it. I was greeted on the second floor by cheerful voices and a buzz of activity. “You missed it! We just had an awesome time. Everyone was testifying about the power of prayer and now they want to fast!”

That morning Dayn and I had prayed, “Lord we want gatherings of prayer, we want people to want to come together and seek your face, that there would be days of prayer, weeks of prayer and that people would hunger and thirst for your presence. But Lord, we don’t want to initiate it. We want you to put it on people’s hearts.”

Eight hours later. 

One of the members of the Romanian team heard the Lord speak out of Joel 2, “declare a holy fast.” In response the entire group decided to set aside 3 days for fasting, prayer and community service. The California team responded with equal desire to see the Japanese set free and wholeheartedly joined in. Some of the Japanese staff were moved by the overflow of love coming from foreigners and hopped on the holy bandwagon. The result has been 6 hour prayer chains each afternoon. In the mornings the teams visit survivors of last year’s disaster. In the evenings we cook, clean and prepare to feed the stomachs and hearts of some 50 to 60 people, believers and unbelievers alike. This is my definition of fun. 

Last night we gathered together, all of us with one thing on our minds: God set Japan free from the yoke of slavery. We took turns sharing testimonies about the power of fasting. One woman had been healed of 5 diseases. Another had experienced financial breakthrough. We felt like the Lord was instructing us not to question our motives or fear whether or not this was a “religious activity”. Instead we positioned ourselves to enjoy the next 3 days as a consecrated celebration of God’s love for this nation. 

There’s a thing that the Japanese say, and a special way they say it here in Fukushima. The word is “ganbappe” and it loosely translates to “keep fighting”. It’s been the rally cry of support since the March 11th tsunami. After a round of tri-lingual popcorn prayer we came together, arms stretched out and hands stacked one on top of the other. “Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we can ask or imagine, according to the power at work within us, to him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus.” Then with one voice we cried out, “Ganbappe! Common!”

Come on, God. We’re in this with you, to see the beautiful people of Japan renewed and made whole. And you, Father, say back to us your children, “Keep fighting, kids. I need friends to stand with me in this battle. Let’s love Japan together.”

Sabbath Rest

Unless the Lord builds the house,
the builders labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
the guards stand watch in vain.
In vain you rise early
and stay up late,
toiling for food to eat—
for he grants sleep to[a] those he loves.
Children are a heritage from the Lord,
offspring a reward from him.
Like arrows in the hands of a warrior
are children born in one’s youth.
Blessed is the man
whose quiver is full of them.
They will not be put to shame
when they contend with their opponents in court.

“We are Japanese”

This morning I came across two little ones running around GMC, a boy and girl around Kindergarden age. The mother was sitting gracefully, eating her jam covered ham and cheese toast, a colorful young woman from Moldova. The children ran between their breakfast plate and their toys, down the hallway and back again, responding to mama’s sharp eastern European tones.

I asked her, “what are their names?”

“Ask them yourselves. They speak English”.

Celine and Jon. Seven and five respectively. I wondered about their family, what it would be like to grow up in Tochigi, Japan, speaking Russian at home, English at church and Japanese in school. They mesmerized me for a moment. The entire family. Stunning. Beautiful in all regards. The cultures blended like ink in water, no way to distinguish, to draw lines or define.

“We are Japanese”, said the woman in a thick Russian accent.

How perfect, I though. I wonder, twenty, thirty, forty years down the road, a generation from now, what will it mean to be Japanese? When Celine and Jon have children of their own, born and raised in Japan, still the memory of communist Europe running through their veins, left their from their parents parents. The taste of freedom and liberation in their make-up, flowing intermingled with the beauty and delicate nature of Japan.

“We are Japanese”, they will say.

I Still Shake

Even in Bali, I still shake.

I lie in a guest bed a thousand miles from Japan and feel the bed rock. I wonder if it’s an earthquake and have to remind myself that the ground isn’t off; my equilibrium is. It’s nearly 9am as I wake up from a long, though restless sleep. Another night dreaming of waves, flooding and debris.

Even as I write I feel silly. I should not experience ongoing stress from last year’s disaster. There are people who actually went through the horror, and volunteers who hear the stories everyday. If they have flashbacks or nightmares it’s understandable. I only empathize. It shouldn’t be so hard to turn off my brain, to remove my heart and emotions. But it is.

In the dream I was in a concrete building that had been completely stripped by a tsunami. It had been a home but now it was just a frame, solid gray walls with six inches of debris covering the ground. A team of 12 or so shoveled the muck and cleaned as best possible. They picked up personal items and talked about them quietly. A child’s shoe. A spoon. A shattered frame. In the middle of our work, a girl from the team called me aside and asked if I would pray with her. I immediately transitioned from physical labor to heart care and back again, wanting to be all things to all people. I woke up feeling like I’d just put in a full days work.

Now I sit by the ocean. To the north I can see Java. Nearly a mile in front of me stretches the knee-deep sea, so still it looks like glass.. At dusk the men appear to walk on water as they wander a kilometer or two into the ocean, fishing with nets and flashlights. It’s so different from home. Where I live no one goes in the water. It’s not safe. The fish aren’t edible and the sea is contaminated.

I’d like to say that it took me several hours to decompress from the stress of Japan before I could enter into rest. In reality, it took me several hours to find the permission I needed to be stressed. I had to let the Father coax me into a place where it was OK to say, “that was hard”, or “that felt like too much.” He, more than anyone, knows that we were not designed to deal with death. He doesn’t expect that my life to continue as normal after I sit with a man who lost his wife of 56 years, or after I hear for the dozenth time about a mother who lost her child. It’s not right. I don’t have the capacity for it. None of us do.

Somehow I found room in my budget for a $6 massage this evening. While the sun went down and I praised the Lord for the awesome exchange rate, I felt Him begin to speak. As the little island woman worked on my arms and tore apart my calves with her strong hands, I could hear the Lord blessing each limb.

“Thank you for the work of your hands. Thank you for letting your feet walk where I lead them. Thank you for the work of your arms, that have carried supplies and carried broken hearts. Thank you for your shoulders and for letting yourself experience the weight of burden my people carry.” And over the course of an hour he spoke hundreds of times, “I remove trauma. I remove trauma from your bones. I remove trauma from your hands. I remove trauma from your knees. I remove trauma from your neck.”

Tonight as I get ready for bed I thank the Lord for a day away. I don’t know what I will dream about tonight. It may be another scene of the ocean losing its boundaries. It may not. I am thankful, though, for a brain designed to process these things, for a body that requires rest and the recuperation, for a neurological system prepared to walk me through the steps of grief and loss. I lean into the Lord, tonight, thanking him for my psyche, and accept the process I’m in. I don’t want to rush it, “get over it”, or get better at doing it. As long as I need to dream I will dream. As many time as He needs to remove fear he will remove it. As often as I need to cry, I will cry, because I was not designed to deal with death.

I still shake.

He understands.

Bearing Fruit

Yesterday I took my bike out. 10 am I was on the road with a basket full of fruit and a pocket of encouragement cards. I was on my way to Usuiso, a hour long journey or so. I wasn’t really sure, as I’d never ridden that direction before. The fruit was for handing out, giving away, and randomly blessing those I passed. Why not? Ha. My friend here at the GMC helped me write cards in Japanese that read, “I hope you have a good day. You are loved.” So there I went peddling down the road with an assortment of fruit and an ample supply of anticipation.

I road for 4 miles before I gave my first mango away. To be honest the I was praying in desperation that little mango would find a home asap. I’d ridden over quite a bump that catapulted my styrofoam wrapped fruit out of the basket, over my head and several feet behind me. The Japanese wrap most of their fruit in a soft individual cushion, but probably not to protect them from violent bike accidents

After the mango was delivered to my first unsuspecting middle aged woman I peddled on with assurance. She had smiled, surprised and grateful. To my knowledge the mango was still in edible condition after it’s rough fall. Thank you styrofoam. As mile 5 was approaching the land smoothed out and I found myself in wide open country. Beautiful countryside stretched out before me and I prayed for my next recipient, asking God for guidance.

She was outside the 7/11, maybe 65, 70 years old. A smiley woman, already, she was greeting a neighbor who happened to stroll by. I was attracted to her gracious demeanor and wanted to bless her. So out came the oranges. I was eager to get rid of them because they were so heavy. She thanked me loudly, smiled so big, and bowed so frequently. The card helped. She read and received the gift so beautifully and took them boldly, put them in her basket and rode away. “That’s right!” I thought, “you take those oranges, you be proud of them”, ha! She had no shame in receiving.

I was getting close my destination now. The ocean was visible and I knew Usuiso was just 2 or 3 miles down the road. I wanted to save the apples for the local official, and the bananas for whoever I came across on my way back. I had just begun to pick up speed and get back in the groove of riding when I saw an elderly woman approaching, her back level with the ground and her head hung low, perpetually looking at her toes. She walked ever so slowly with a wheely-seat-contraption that helped her shuffle along.

I stopped and made my apologies for interfering with her day. I went to my bag and started to pull out the bananas, but then felt a check in my spirit. Apples cost more and are more of a treat here than bananas, but this woman must be 90 years old. Maybe she doesn’t have teeth for chomping these massive apples. I pulled them out anyway. When you’re surprising strangers with a Holy Spirit led fruit attack you might as well obey the nudging of your gut. It’s not like banana’s would make the situation more normal for either of us. Out came the little card with the memo, “you are loved”, and I didn’t bother handing her the apples, just places them in her walker. Her reaction was more than I was ready for.

If she was already walking at a 90 degree angle then she bowed down in half, folded like futon. In a shakey voice she said slowly and repeatedly, “arigato gosiamasu”. You would have thought I’d given her back something she’d lost, something precious, something she never thought she’d see again. I knew in that moment it wasn’t about the apples, it was about being remembered, being called out and being seen. I favored her. I chose her, and she knew it.

I hated to leave her, but I also knew there would not be power in whatever broken words I might try to speak. I prayed that the Lord would follow up my apple delivery with a vision, with a dream and an explanation. He does that, you know. He’s quite able to convey his love, so I entrusted her to Him and went on my way.

With my IPOD blaring, “joyful, joyrful” I made my way to the shore, winding through construction and road blocks, shouting out “konichiwa” as I went, brainstorming ways to deliver doughnuts to the workers next time. As I made my way around the bend for my final stretch the lyrics played in my ear, “Death where is your sting? Shame, where is your victory? He’s alive! He’s alive! He’s alive!”. I thought about all those who’d died in this valley, over 150 who drowned or were taken out by debris. I thanked the Lord for his victory, that death is never the end of the story. He is writing a new story for Japan called everlasting life.

And there is was, just an hour and a half after I started out, 3 new friends later and only a bunch of bananas left in my basket, the Pacific Ocean. I rode in reverence through the flattened land, honoring the grief-stricken place and praying for restoration. As I came around the corner I spotted a man, crouched down and busy working on something.

He was painting the concrete barriers, flowers and colorful trees, all sorts of designs and things. I stopped to find out if he was friendly, reminding myself that if he was painting daffodils he can’t be that intimidating. To my surprise he spoke decent English. He told me the story of losing his job up north and coming to Iwaki to be help however he could. “This is my way of volunteering”, he said, and motioned towards the mural that stretch across the seaside. I stayed with him for some time while he helped me paint a sakura tree and we did our best to get to know each other.

“Please bring your friends”, he said. I could hear the sting of loneliness in his voice and I knew that in this situation my presence was the gift. None the less I left him with my final fruit offering, the bunch of banana’s and continued on my way. “All of them!” he said, surprised. I laughed. I took my time exploring the nooks and crannies of the devastated city before heading home. I was quieted as I explored the ruined city decorated in brilliant color. This man took his job seriously.

I came across 4 types of people on my journey. The first, a woman who the world passed by. She stood on the side of the highway, outside her derelict storefront, waiting for customers, always being passed. Very few stopping to shop, maybe no one coming just to see her, just to bless her. She needed to be stopped for. The Lord stopped for her and gave her a sweet blessing, a sign that he prioritizes her when no one else does.

The second woman I stopped for was radiant, a hardworking woman, probably mother and wife, grandmother, maybe. Living just a mile or so from the ocean, she’s a survivor, though she doesn’t get the constant support and encouragement from volunteers as those who live in temporary housing. She’s continued to hope, continued to believe in goodness when all was lost. If the first woman needed to be seen, this one needed to be affirmed. “Thank you for loving, thank you for hoping”, I could hear the Lord say as I handed her the oranges.

And then there was the old lady, the one who’s experienced more than any of the others, seen more, hurt more, loved more and loss more. She needed to be remembered, she needed to be honored. When I gave to the other I felt that they responded in humility. When I gave to this one, though, I felt her dignity being restored. “I know what you’ve been through. I know your suffering. I remember you”, said the Lord, when the apples made their way to her walker. Although I only had fruit to give her, it was as though it were the body of Christ himself. I didn’t have bread to signify his death for her, but the apples said it all. “You are not forgotten. You are valuable”, the same message of his body broken on the cross was wrapped up in the sweetness of a simply gift.

Lastly was Watanabe-san, a man on a mission to restore beauty and joy. He’s painted the town and decorated it’s broken walls with promise for a future. Where he didn’t paint, he pulled together volunteers, people from around the world who’ve agreed with his vision and with the Lord’s heart and said, “yes, Usuiso, you will never again be put to shame. You will be the praise of this nation.” Watanabe knew he was seen. He knew he was doing good, knew that his little part was important, but he needed company. He needed presence. All the others received a gift and the rest fell into the Lord’s hands. This man, though, needed friendship. “I am with you”, said the Lord to this former fisherman. I know that after you commit to a project, the strain of everyday labor can take its toll. The vision looses it’s flashy appearance. I’m sure there are times when Watanabe-san gets tired of painting flowers on torn up cement. He needs a team, people who can take up the work when he gets tired. The bananas were a nice compliment to his lunch and a warm way of showing gratitude, but I could tell the 30 minutes we spent together was really the gift the Lord had me deliver that day.

The ride home was easier. My bike was lighter and my heart full. I was glad for the opportunity to meet a couple locals and pave a familiar path to the shore, where I hope to return to often. Thank you, Lord, for giving me a bike. Thank you for giving me fruit. Thank you for sending me to Iwaki and for putting people around me who will receive the little I have to give. I pray, Lord, that you would teach these cozy rural towns to receive from you, just as easily as they received from me, that they would bear eternal fruit.

 

Make New Friends and Keep the Old

It’s been a week since I moved to Iwaki.

It’s difficult to describe this past week. Do I share about the road trip through Fukushima with the Swiss film team? Or should I tell about the Korean team who flew to Iwaki for the day, just to pray over Usuiso then turn around and go home. There’s the Japanese girl from New Zealand who’s experiencing the grief of her own people for the first time. She decided to quite that path she was on to go to bible college. Her heart is to impart truth through the scripture to her own nation. I could go on about the concert in the temporary housing and my deep concern for efforts to continue. Consistent and persistent love changes lives.

Then there’s the Global Mission Center. The beautiful core team of staff and missionaries are together most hours of most days, eating, singing, playing, praying and cleaning together. Under all of the activity is a beautiful array of dreams, of personal vision and talent, of loss and sacrifice…each has a story of how they came here and even more powerful, why they stayed.

Forgive me. I don’t know how to write about this past week. Maybe the 3-5 earthquakes  a day have rattled my brain. Oddly enough, things feel quite normal.  Coffee in the morning. Prayer to follow. Emails and networking. Exploring and worshiping. Planning and playing.  Hamburger for dinner. Pudding  for dessert. IHOP webstream on in the evening, then a sweet time in 1 John 2 with my  roommate.

As I walked home from a rainy stroll along the river earlier today I listened to Pete Grieg share from our Euro Gathering last year.  “Maybe God’s calling you to relocate to a place you don’t expect.” I laughed out loud. Iwaki, Japan. I never expected this.

It’s a beautiful message he shared. I recommend it. After Pete shares from Acts 15 about the power of prayer and mission, he goes on to tell about 24-7’s story with Japan. It’s good to have that story ringing in my ears as I walk through puddles on the side streets of a coastal city in Fukushima. It’s good to know that I’m part of the vine, connected to a larger network of brothers and sisters. It’s good to remember that I’m here with a new family representing an old family, making new friends and keeping the old.

It’s good.

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