Sorta Down To be honest, I think I'm a little on the Southern end of life today. Not that today was bad, in fact I got to color with some of my 7th graders, and Madoka gave me the most tender "hand embracing" goodbye today...but...it's getting colder. Which means a few things. First, my neck. I know God has taught me so many lessons about patience and grace and faith and many other things, but sometimes the pain just stinks. My body doesn't like cold period, and the added bonus of little-to-no-indoor heat usually leaves me with a fever by the end of the day. Second, the smell and feel of the air is making me miss Ohio (and, surprisingly, South Africa...) like mad. I keep having cravings for hot apple cider and hayrides and lengthy games of "capture the flag," and (yes, believe it or not), even raking leaves. I think I miss my family. I don't know if you're supposed to do that the second year away from home. I thought you got it all out of your system the first. I guess not. (With a weak, I'll-get-through-this smile)...But...on the up-side, I think the best thing the cold reminds me of is (drum roll please)....last year in this same exact place. It was rough. But, as I recall the difficulties I had, I can see with pretty good clarity that God has been very faithful to me. He has brought amazing (albeit a bit unconventional) relationships, the simple but wonderful knowledge of everyday-life things (such as how to use the washer, and the difference between salt and sugar in the supermarket), a bond with my team that approaches "blood relative" level, and, I'm sure, wisdom from my experience here that I may not even discover until many years down the road. And so, as another week winds down, I vow to "gambarimasu" it through the falling temperatures and cling to God's promise that his faithfulness will continue...through the winter...and beyond.

Growing young I want to grow up and be like Madoka. She's in 7th grade and exudes innocent trust such as I have only seen in three-year-olds in the States. It's funny. She can only speak a few English phrases, but I feel more comfortable around her than many of the adults around me here that I can converse with in English. I think that those that trust allow others to trust them. That said, another quote from the book that is quickly climbing my favorites list: "...Our response to the love of Jesus demands trust...'Grace tells us that we are accepted just as we are. We may not be the kind of people we want to be, we may be a long way from our goals, we may have more failures than achievements, we may not be wealthy or powerful or spiritual, we may not even be happy, but we are nonetheless accepted by God, held in his hands. Such is his promise to us in Jesus Christ, a promise we can trust.'... "...'The desire to feel loved is the last illusion: let it go and you will be free.' Just as the sunrise of faith requires the sunset of our former unbelief, so the dawn of trust requires letting go of our craving spiritual consolations and tangible reassurances. Trust at the mercy of the response it receives is a bogus trust. All is uncertainty and anxiety...What the deisciple has not learned is that tangible reassurances, however valuable they may be, cannot create trust, sustain it, or guarantee any certainty of its presence...When the craving for reassurances is stifled, trust happens." (Brennan Manning, the Ragamuffin Gospel, pg. 112-113) Lord, make me as a child. I want, I need to learn to trust You as only a child can. Thank you for the beautiful child-hearts around me, and may I never fail to learn from them.

Distant bells I just got back from an amazing time in the world's biggest city, but, try as I might to stay "all here," my thoughts seem to perpetually wander back and forth from this place and somewhere far, far away, where public transportation isn't the norm, people speak my language, I'm not the town celebrity/freak, and I seldom hear the words, "WOW your nose is big!" intended as a compliment. (5th grade mean girl comments don't count). My last bossom buddy from high school just got married. Ceridwen Hurdle is now Ceridwen Otero. And I had to miss the wedding. I love that I'm here. I'm so thankful that God has called me to a place where I can learn, stretch, and grow with a support of an honest, godly team. I'm thankful for the pain I must sometimes, or often, go through, to strip me of the "junk" I've acquired over the years in my individual-centered, self-seeking society. But something inside me still aches. It's like one more person has quit the members-only "single club" of life, and though you're really happy they're moving on, you sorta feel like a limb (or at least an appendage) just got cut off. I'm so happy for my friend, and by the sound of it, her and her husband are amazing together...but...never mind. I give up trying to explain. Some of you, I'm sure, get it. As for the recent above-mentioned trip to Tokyo, here's a couple glimpses. Read all, pick and choose, or even stop here if you want. The Nutcase Strikes Again So...I've been known to do a number of stupid things in my day. Including but not limited to: kicking over a wealthy businessman's coffee ON TOP OF HIM at a Starbucks in Tokyo (last trip). Well, my legacy lives on. Some of my mishaps this weekend's adventure: After sitting down to a fine dinner at one of Tokyo's more famous restaurants, I attempted to deftly yield the now-seldomly-used utensils of knife-and-fork together. I unfortunately failed at the "deftly" part, and sent my perfectly-marinaded, elegantly-arranged chicken flying across the table, missing my wine glass by mere centimeters. After dinner, we headed to our Japanese-style hotel (ryokan), and unfolded our beds (futon) for the evening's rest. We knelt on the wickedly comfortable cushions and told about our most recent adventures, while our friend Keiko shared some of her pictures from Bali. The photographs were amazing. A particular shot of rich green rice fields caught my attention, and when I tried to inch closer, eagerness to see it (or maybe the sangria from dinner?), overpowered my balance...I had been sitting on my hands and must have "forgotten" to move them before inching forward, for when I did, instead of seeing a closeup of the picture, I got a closeup of the pillow in front of me. In short, I completely toppled over, head first, into the pillow, and was STUCK there screaming a mix of "aaah" and "help!" for about 5 seconds before I realized I had to get off my hands to regain my balance. The next morning, while taking tea in the same tatami-floored room, I again got too eager, this time about stirring my tea, and sent it sloshing, again, all over the table. And the winner: as I was leaving the hotel, (obviously not fully awake yet), I stepped into the elevator. Or tried to, rather. The doors had a different idea. Instead of sensing my presence and gently receding in submission, they decided to exert their authority...by slamming into both sides of my body and face. Hard. And, of course, making a loud "CRASH" sound for all surrounding members of the "Holly is an idiot so let's watch her and be entertained" audience. Oh, and as a tag-on to this little section: I can't count the number of times we jumped on and off trains (including the express bullet train) not quite sure if it was the right one, the right stop, the right time, or even the right line. I think God sends out reinforcement angels every time we travel. The Language of Worship If there's one thing that I've learned in my last 12 months in Japan, it's something about communication without words. My students speak very little English, and I speak even less Japanese, but somehow we communicate at a level which can totally brighten (or, on rare occasion) totally darken my day, or even week. There is a certain bond that occurs when you stare into someone's eyes and begin to see them for who they are, and not what they're saying, or who they're saying they are. This, I believe, is a taste of what true worship means. It's a beginning to understand God for who he is. Not getting caught up in our words, or even the actions that "say what we want" to God while we're worshiping, but a purposeful staring toward his face so that he may see us, and we may see him. I wish I could explain what it's like to really know what a child is thinking while never having had a real word-based conversation with him. There's just a certain understanding of spirit... Nevertheless. It is inexpressibly wonderful to have the chance to worship in one's mother tongue. This weekend Tammy, Adriane, Keiko and I were able to visit a bilingual church in Tokyo. The music was lively and inspiring, and the message was filled with life-applicable truth about forgiveness at all costs. It was great to see Japanese people passionate about their faith in Christ. It was (and always is) amazing to see people from many nations gather together for the purpose of praising their creator in one spirit. It makes me excited to go Home someday...hardcore, multi-cultural, multi-lingual worship, here we come! Musings on Misty Mountains Today we traveled to Inawashiro, a city about 1 1/2 hours by local train. It was a rainy, or foggy, rather, day. We had decided on Saturday night since none of us had seen a famous lake at the center of this town, that we'd navigate our way there by whatever public transportation mode necessary. Well, after stepping off the bus after a rather lengthy ride, I was tempted to be disappointed by our less-than-clear view of the country-renown body of water. Clouds and fog almost completely obstructed our view of the distant shore's mountains, leaving us only a glimpse of their bases and peaks. As I stared across the water, though, I felt a sort of stirring deep inside, and I remarked to Tammy that it was as if the mist in the mountains almost called out for someone to explore what lay behind. (I also commented that this thought was probably inspired by my current literary choice, The Fellowship of the Ring) I passed it off as a nothingness, mumbling something about needing to "grow up," nearing my mid-20s, and still reflecting on children's fantasies. But she thought about this for a second and responded, "I think there's a child's spot in all of us that needs to stay alive. A sense of adventure. Or we lose hope, and drive in our lives." I think she's right. And tonight I came across someone else who agrees: "There is a wondrous open-mindedness about children and an insatiable desire to learn from life. An open attitude is like an open door--a welcoming disposition toward the fellow travelers who knock on our door during the middle of a day, the middle of a week, or the middle of a lifetime...When our inner child is not nurtured and nourished, our minds gradually close to new ideas, unprofitable commitments, and the surprises of the Spirit...'Unless you become as little children...' Heaven will be filled with five-year-olds." (The Ragamuffin Gospel, 64, 65). What part of you is still childlike? (as opposed to childish) I encourage you to nourish it and let it grow into something beautiful.

I love Sara Groves. She’s one of my favorite artists. I feel, as another one of her listeners expressed, that she often, “Puts into words what I feel.” Her raw and often profoundly simple lyrics always seem to inspire a sort of deep spiritual sigh—an emotional, “Yes. That’s it.” Yearning to peel my mind from other cares and bring it down from the typical frenzied high of the day, I put in one of her CDs while preparing dinner. In the midst of boiling kabocha for my Thai pumpkin soup, one of her songs caught my particular attention: Hello, Lord Hello, Lord, It’s me, your child. I have a few things on my mind. Right now I’m faced with big decisions, and I’m wondering if you have a minute. ‘Cause Right now I don’t hear so well, and I was wondering if you could speak up. I know that you tore the veil so I could sit with you in person; Hear what you’re saying. But right now, I just can’t hear you. I don’t doubt your sovereignty, I doubt my own ability to hear what you’re saying and to do the right thing. And I desperately want to do the right thing. But Right now I don’t hear so well, and I was wondering if you could speak up. I know that you tore the veil so I could sit with you in person; Hear what you’re saying. But right now, I just can’t hear you. And somewhere in the back of my mind I think you are telling me to wait. And though patience has never been mine, Lord, I will wait to hear from you. I’m waiting on you. Right now I don’t hear so well, and I was wondering if you could speak up. I know that you tore the veil so I could sit with you in person; Hear what you’re saying. But right now, I think you’re whispering. It would be nearly impossible to count how many times that song has resounded with me. Particularly the second verse. I consistently doubt my ability to hear God’s voice, especially when facing monumental (or what I convince myself are monumental) decisions in my life. But yesterday, as I was reflecting on the words, a thought struck me…Doubting my ability to perceive God’s direction could actually be doubting God’s ability to make his direction known to me, which is, in essence, actually doubting his sovereignty. Huh. Never thought of it that way before. Essentially, I guess any type of worry or doubt is, at its core, a doubting of God’s sovereignty. Even if it’s about our own weaknesses. For, at heart, this is doubting God’s ability to overcome and work in, through, and in spite of our weaknesses. I came across a verse today that echoed the previous evening’s revelation: “The Lord said, ‘My grace is enough for you: my power is at its best in weakness.’ So I shall be very happy to make my weaknesses my special boast so that the power of Christ may stay over me.” (2 Corinthians 12:9) So, in response, my special boast? I stink at making decisions. I am by nature a chronic, possibly even obsessive/compulsive analyzer, which causes me to fret and tense, and yearn to extract the issue from my brain and stick it on a bedpost like an old piece of chewed-up gum, hoping beyond hope that after it’s stuck there a while, when I consider returning it to its chewer, it will have lost all appeal. I guess God’s grace revealed in my life would be a picture of me resting in the knowledge of His perfect plan…unconcerned about when and how He would reveal it, confident that He would make sure I “got it” before He asked me to carry it out. As I am powerless to make this happen, desperate and chronically flawed, in my weakness I plead for God’s sufficient grace. Again and again and again and again…

Aisatsu shimashou! Today my students did self-introductions, or “aisatsu” in English class. Just another reminder of why I love my students so much. They never cease to make me smile (even if it is sometimes snickering over their slightly “less than typical” use of the English language.) Here are some examples of my 7th grade class (they’ve come a long way for not knowing the alphabet in March!): (quiet, reserved girl) My name is Nozomi Anzai. I got to Segawa Junior high school. I walk to school. My favorite subject is English. I don’t like P.E. I’s very tired. I want a TOKYO Disneyland RESORT ticket. Ms. Holly What kind of food do you like? (VERY loud and obnoxious boy) My name is Sasaki Yusuke. I like math very much. It’s interestingand funny. I like banana. It’s yummy. I like baseball. I play baseball after school. Come to school by bike. I have for breakfast riceandegg. I want TV game. Do you like nature. (shy, but curious boy) I’m Watanabe Misaki. I like P.E. very much. It’s interesting. I play basketball after school. it’s very happy. I don’t play soccer. it’s not easy. I want CD. Holly, wat’s your favorite season? (painfully shy, won’t even look at me in the hall boy) My name is Tomoki Yanai. I like math. very interesting. I like penguins very much. It’s very cute. I want TV game. I come to school by bike. Ms. Holly, What animal do you like? (the class “you can’t make me do my work” boy) I’m Yuma Miura. I like noodles. I play baseball after school. Do you like donuts? Also adding to the day’s enjoyment was observing Madoka, another 7th grade girl, come up to her friend Mari, who looked slightly under the weather. She cradled Mari’s head in her arms, stroked her hair like a concerned mother, and with an urgent but cheerful expression called out (in Japanese, of course), “Teacher! Teacher! Mari’s feeling a little bad. I want to help take her to the nurse’s office,” and proceeded to gently wrap Mari’s arm around her shoulder, slowly leading her out of the classroom to a place where she could feel better. It was such a tender moment amidst the chaos that ensues at the end of class. Sometimes I wonder, “What on earth was I thinking, assuming that I would teach these kids something.” They’ve taught me more than I could have ever imagined already.

just a snapshot... A few glimpses into my week... 4 days of overtime. Not nearly enough sleep. Accidentally telling my vice principle that I wanted to go on a date with him (in Japanese). Staying up until 2 AM making my first ever apple pie. 8 of my favorite students immensely enjoying the pie, ranting and raving about its "oishii"ness. A mother, probably about my age, with 2 young children, on the train. At one point she got up, for just a minute, walked to the other side of the train, and stared dreamily out the window. Till her daughter screamed, "ma ma." Then she came back to reality and joined them again. Eyes of weariness and determination to hide it. A smile for her children. I wonder what her life is like... One of my (dear, extremely hard-working) students winning first place in one of the English speech contest categories. She will be going on to the prefecture contest...until said time, I have been commissioned to "work the accent out of her." I have three weeks. I think we can do it ; ) Cicadas serenading me on an evening run through the rice fields. Frogs singing me to sleep. Tears. For various reasons. These seem to punctuate almost every week. I'd rather they continue, though, than stop. Therein lies the danger... A wonderful lunch with a dear friend. Sharing of hearts. Connection over coffee. Wisdom and encouragement are always found at Starbucks sitting across from a sister in Christ... Contortions of faces on camera. Raucous, tear-streaked laughter. Longing for home. But what is this? A place? A feeling? A person? Probably not to be found on this side of eternity. Only in intimate moments with my Creator can I receive brief glimpses into an eternal longing filled... These words: "But you, O Israel, my servant, Jacob, whom I have chosen, you descendants of Abraham my friend, I took you from the ends of the earth, from its farthest corners I called you. I said, 'You are my servant'; I have chosen you and have not rejected you. So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand...I, the Lord, have called you in righteousness; I will take hold of your hand. I will keep you and will make you to be a covenant for the people and a light for the Gentiles, to open eyes that are blind, to free captives from prison and to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness. Isaiah 41:8-10, 42:6-7 In the presence of my God, the Creator of Heaven and Earth, my Emmanuel-under whose wings I take refuge, I lay my head down and ask for peaceful rest.