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.