As I sit and think about the week I've had, I'm reminded that during our extended orientation in Mansfield, all of the new teachers were gently but repeatedly warned that we were entering a time of possible suffering or "trial" in our lives. I'm starting to understand what that means. And, I'm learning that no matter how much information previous teachers give us, how many times they repeat themselves, nothing can actually lessen the intensity of the experience. The pain and struggle must be dealt with on our own. Thus begins yet another crucible period in my life. At least this time I knew it was coming. It's not that people here aren't kind. In fact, they bend over backwards to make us all feel welcome and comfortable. And, it's not the fact that the culture is particularly difficult to adapt to. It's the fact that new experiences and a new way of thinking bring me face to face with my greatest enemy: myself. Weakness in my character seems to rise to the surface more and more and rear its ugly head. For me, this often happens with communication issues. It's amazing how humbled (or humiliated) one becomes when trying to communicate in a different language. Not only are the words different, but the way of expressing them and the mindset behind it all often sharply contrast with the way I have learned to communicate in America (and therefore it is very easy to offend people). Often I am brought to the level of a child. This brings about all sorts of reactions in me--anger, self consciousness, criticism of other people and mindsets - all rooted in mankind's number one downfall: pride. The most poignant examples of these moments are probably with how other teachers perceive me at one of my junior high schools. I try so hard to not offend. To communicate well. To smile a lot. To be a good teacher. I want to be accepted, I want to be liked, and above all, I want to please people. And of course, these desires are also rooted in the same ugly sin of pride. Not that these desires are wrong in and of themselves, but too often I put them above the desire to please my creator, and so I worry and fret about how to make people around me happy. I have a lot to learn in this less-than-comfortable place. May I learn quickly and fully, because I'm keenly aware of how miserable I will be if I don't (aren't we usually miserable when we resist instruction?...) Well, what I've just described (sometimes, though not always) has been the undercurrent of my past week. The week in itself, however, went relatively well. Last weekend I was able to visit Koriyama (a nearby city of I think about 300,000) for the first time, and had the blessed joy of touching American-style pizza to my lips (nevermind that it was $75 for three pizzas...) Monday was a national holiday in memory/honor of the Olympics being held in Tokyo, so Tammy, Trish and I climbed Mt. Katasone--about 7 miles there, up, down, and back. It was beautiful, but kinda yucky and cloudy. The school week, as usual, flew by. I did have a couple memorable moments, though. One student managed to get a good chuckle out of me as we were learning the days of the week. He couldn't remember the word for Friday, so after much thought and deliberation, he bellowed out, "Happy Birthday!" Needless to say, all semblance of order was lost... Friday brought with it a different experience entirely, including several tears of frustration. One of my students that I've actually gotten some one-on-one time with had a rough day - and I was present to witness the "cracking point." First let me say that this girl is me when I was in high school. She's an overachiever. She's involved in everything. She has dozens of plates spinning in a highly technical display of multi-tasking virtuosity. But, at some point during her spinning act, some plates began to crash. And so did she. I don't know exactly what happened, but as I sat there and witnessed my fellow teacher try to calm her sobbing, I knew her heart. I wanted to comfort her, wanted to tell her that I understood. I wanted to tell her about God's peace - about letting go of the stress of performance and basking in the acceptance of His unconditional love. But I couldn't. I could only watch, and become frustrated to the point of tears. And so, now more than ever I am compelled to pray - that Sayaka and countless others may know the peace and lightened load that results from accepting Christ's unconditional love. In His time and in His way, may it be so.