December 10, 2008
Window to the Sky
I just came down from my little balcony, and my cheeks are still chill with the night air (though this night is warmer than many of late). Why was I up on my balcony instead of under my electric blanket at 11 at night? Well, I've been having trouble getting to bed on time lately anyways, so I went upstairs to pray.
Most of an hour ago, I noticed that I had left a light on upstairs from earlier in the evening, so I went to shut it off. Currently, the upstairs here in my new place is completely vacant: I think that nothing I own is actually up there, yet. When I got up there, I felt fear rising in my heart. These attacks seize me from time to time, so after turning off my light, I retreated here, to my bedroom, and prayed against the Enemy's hand. Before long, I was enjoying fellowship with God and praying, and then He told me to do something rather strange: go upstairs again. A little reluctantly, but quickly this time (usually I am slow to obey), I went up. I left the lights off, almost as an act of defiance to the Enemy, and this time there was no fear up there. I looked out one of my windows at the city and noticed lights in the distance, possibly Utazu or Sekaide.
Out that window, I have a little balcony for hanging clothes to dry. It's not very big. As I was thanking God for reminding me of that (currently my wet clothes are hanging from my bedroom ceiling), there came into my heart the crazy idea of actually going out on the balcony (hoping it was secure, for this was my first time) and praying. And so I did.
I must say that I felt like myself in a way I have not these past seven months. It reminded my of my place halfway between earth and sky in San Luis Obispo: the AGO house fire escape landing where I had my quiet times for 3 years. I thought of that place and begged God not to let me lose the memories of SLO, for they are so dear to me. I suppose that's one reason to continue reading my old journals from that time. By the way, if anyone reading this lives in the AGO house, I suggest you start having your quiet times under the fire escape window. It's a great place. Just bring a blanket.
I also prayed that God would wrest this area, Kagawa-cho, from the hands of the Enemy. And that He would use me to do it. I was challenged by another missionary today to start praying hard for this area before anything else, and that seems wise. The barriers are too immense to do anything else. Over 30,000 people live here, and there is not a single church. And this house, this one with the little balcony that sits perched between earth and sky, this house is supposed to be the start of a new one.
However, up there, the cold night air blowing the sounds of traffic through my ears, it didn't seem so impossible. Up there, in prayer, it didn't seem impossible that Japanese people really can be saved from their sins. And that once that happens, that they really can be discipled. It didn't seem so impossible that a poor servant like me could be used for such salvations, even though I have not seen one since coming. Perhaps it was just the nostalgia, but up there, I felt myself believing with a faith that has fallen into the back corners of my mind since coming here.
I have encountered difficulties and hardship since coming to Japan. In Tadotsu, my prior residence, there was a lonliness that did not relent. But that seems to be changing as the winter winds settle across the barren rice paddies. Perhaps a change of seasons is coming to me, perhaps not. But tonight, sitting in the cold, I felt different than I have in a while.
Working in three locations on three different plant projects (one with a weekly meeting, one in the bare, pioneering stages, and one which hopefully may start in April), it's hard to have a heart for all of them. I haven't found my heart for Kagawa-cho, yet. I just moved here, after all-my house is still barren and in need of a good heater and a kitchen table. However, tonight on my balcony was the beginnings of my heart for this town. Lord, save it. Glorify Your name here.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
And then I had a day like today...
And then I had a day like today... discouraging, a downer, and I didn't do what I should have. I feel like sin won a battle, and I barely got out of my house. Alas, it reminds me of my continued wretchedness and need of grace, and it reminds me that I'm still in a very difficult situation.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Mebaru Nitsuke
Nov. 25, 2008
Today, I took my day off on a Tuesday, since I worked all weekend at the retreat in Hiroshima. Ahh, this weekend was a refreshment to my soul. My heart feels refreshed and renewed at the fellowship and worship enjoyed there.
So, since it was my day off, I went to a local shop in Tadotsu, about a 3 minute walk from my house. I'd seen this place a number of times, but till now, I've been too afraid to go in. No matter how you splice it, that is the truth behind all excuses. At times, I haven't had time, or the familiar Joyfull restaurant seemed more inviting, but at root I will not deny fear as the cause.
Why fear? What's to be afraid of in a small restaurant? Lots. When you walk into a small, local shop, you can't read the menu at all. Generally, the menu consists of wood blocks, covered with the incomprehensible scrawls of calligraphic Japanese, hung or hidden on random walls. So, first thing: you can't order.
Second, when you walk into a local shop, it's more like walking into someone's living room than an actual restaurant (and half the time, it is someone's living room). Everyone knows each other, because they've been eating there for many years. If you're a foreigner, an instant ripple of tension enters the room with the dying wisps of the cold “irasshaimase” that greet your nervous slam of the door. Because everyone is nervous, this makes it even harder to get someone to read the menu to you.
So, unable to even find the menu or prices, with four people staring at me (the couple who owns the restaurant and the two customers), I sat down. At first, that uncomfortable buzz filled the room as I tried to ask where the menu was. Eventually, the wife of the chef read it to me, but I couldn't figure out any of it. However, she suggested a couple “foreign-safe” things like tempura to me. I went with mebaru-nitsuke, though all I knew was that it was some kind of fish stared at me through refrigerated glass.
I commented that that I could almost read the menu, but the kanji was hard to read. The man sitting next to me said, “same for Japanese.” And so we started talking (in Japanese, of course). He asked who I was, how long I'd been there, etc. The regular questions. I said I was a missionary, and he seemed mildly interested, in the way Japanese are about uncommon things. So we talked about things like how I can eat anything religiously, though I couldn't stomach nattou. While we talked, his teenage daughter sat next to him and emailed friends from her cell phone, quiet as the tides of the sheltered inland sea. I'm sure she wished that her father would hurry up and take her home.
The owner of the restaurant tried to talk to me, but I couldn't understand a word he said. He spoke in the usual middle-aged Japanese male drawl (an impossible slur that comes from the stomach itself). And to top it off, he used Sanuki-ben, the local hillbilly dialect. The other customer said at one point, “You can't understand him, but you can understand me if I speak like an NHK announcer.” NHK is the main Japanese television station, and I actually can understand the news announcers pretty well, because they STINKING ENUNCIATE.
The food was amazing. They started by seving me a small dish with some wakame, dark sauce, and something white. I assumed it was tofu, since it was served cold, but they said it was something from the fish. As I happily ate, I told myself, “sometimes, it's better when you can't understand.” The other customer gave me a little of what he was eating (nabe, which is a kind of cook-it-yourself-over-a-burner soup). He was very generous. The mebaru-nitsuke (boiled black rockfish) was served whole, but there was no meat on the head. It was good, though boneful, and a little hard to pick apart. They all kept saying how good my chop-stick skillz were (another very traditional Japanese thing to say).
As we ate and conversed, I prayed that I could say the right things to move these people closer to Christ, but my Japanese is fairly limited, so it was hard for me. I don't know if I could have said much more. I want, so badly, to learn this language. Currently, I'm working on a good, Japanese version of my testimony, which I plan to memorize, but I didn't see an opening to share that.
How can I communicate my heart to the Japanese? What is my heart for them? What is the missionary heart? I was pondering that some, today, and I think that the missionary heart, especially in such a successful, outwardly happy place like Japan, is this: To cause the Japanese to see the hollowness of all they pursue and the richness of God. To help them to find true joy, and to find that joy in Christ, nowhere else.
For a long time, I haven't been thinking as passionately as today about those things. The last seven months of my life has been a blur of loneliness and pain with small patches of sunlight streaming through the night-dark clouds of the sky. When I left San Luis Obispo, it was like losing a parent, for the grief it caused, and being isolated in a foreign country has only intensified that grief and the pain of my losses. The reason I've feared going into restaurants like tonight is because of the turmoil in my heart, which has made it difficult to do anything but withdraw. All this time, I've prayed the simple prayer, “Deliver me, O God,” and waited for His dawn to rise in my soul.
Recently, I've been reading past journals of a time in my life when I prayed those same things: an incredible drought swept my heart like a rainless Californian summer after the 2005 Santa Monica summer project. Two nights ago, I read of going to Christmas conference that year, the event that marks to me the final end of that darkness after countless patches of sunlight throughout the fall. Three years ago, I awoke every morning wondering, “Will this be the day that God delivers me this trial?” These last seven months, I have not had such a perspective, though I have been regaining it as I recalled my past.
This weekend, I went to Hiroshima to help host a JET Christian Fellowship retreat. JETers are western English teachers working in Japanese public schools. Dawn put tons of planning into this thing, and I too had the pleasure of buying $220 worth of food on Friday. We left at 5:30 on Saturday morning. It was an exhausting weekend, and I slept 12 hours last night to recover from it. However, I have not felt so encouraged since coming to Japan.
There were 17 of us there, almost all JET teachers. Rather than being “wakai” as the old ladies of Japan screech when I reveal my age, these were my peers! We understood one another! We were open spiritually with one another! We prayed! We worshipped God with all our hearts in words I could understand! We talked of struggles and learned of the Savior! The guys went to bed about 12:30 on the first night, then talked for another hour, when we finally went to sleep. We've all been in our own little bubbles, mostly in rural Japan, cut off from Christian fellowship. So it was an incredible release to us all.
I feel refreshed, ready to conquer little fears (like going to local restarants) and leapt afresh into the work. I didn't want to come back to Shikoku, but being back, I think that a change may have happened. Sin was revealed: I haven't been faithful enough in the work here. But I think that what I needed most was a refreshment of my heart to propel me forward into what I must do.
At the restaurant, when it was almost time to go, the man said that he would pay for my meal. No matter how I refused, he would not relent. And this from a stranger! Until now, the pain I have endured and my lonliness has caused me to forget just how kind the Japanese people can be, despite their unbearable need for the savior. Tonight, I was reminded of that kindness with the “puresento” of the payment of my meal.
To top it off, he told me to “ganbarre!” (hang in there; good luck) with being a missionary. This man was friendly to Christianity, or at least to me. This is not abnormal in Japan. However, chances are that he will never hear the gospel, and if he does, that he will never become a Christian. Outwardly, his heart was friendly to me, and he enjoyed talking to a foreigner. But to God, his heart is indifferent. He does not believe in his own sin, and if he did, his pride would tell him to “ganbarre” to pay it off. He needs God. So badly. But his entire society is arranged against him finding God. This wonderful man whom I met, is there any hope for his salvation? Did I ruin the one chance he would ever have to hear the gospel by not speaking more boldly of spiritual things on a level deeper than “Christians can eat pork?” If so, I pray for God's grace to cover my sin, and I pray for His grace to cover my poor Japanese, as well.
And lastly, I went to the grocery store after dinner to pick up some stuff for this week. It's about a 3-minute walk from that restaurant. And who should I see there but the wife of the cook! She waved, and I didn't recognize her for a second, then I laughed and told her, “Tadotsu is a small town, huh?” I've been given the invitation to come back any time to eat at their living room/restaurant, though next time I'll probably have to pay, unless I get lucky, again.
I hope that I have the opportunity to. Soon, I plan to complete the long-awaited plans for moving to Kagawa-cho. I hope to be able to sign a lease on Saturday. Now that so many issues in my heart have been dealt with and I have completed the first major step of adjusting to Japan (things that perhaps had to take place in this solitary confinement of Tadotsu) it may be time.
How ironic that when I wanted to badly to leave this place, God stalled the finding of a house, while now that I have come through many issues in my heart (hopefully for good), it is time to go. In my life, this oft seems the pattern, that where I go is not where I want to go but where I need to be. I needed to be here to endure hardship and God's discipline. And though I knew that's what was happening, it hurt all the same. Praise God for the deliverance He has provided, the answers to my prayers, and I hope that I will be a better missionary for it.
As I walked home, still trying to pick that last fish bone out of my teeth, I considered that perhaps the deliverance from my struggles has come. I went to this restaurant that I'd been meaning to go to for months, and God provided an incredible, divinely-orchestrated meeting, even to the extent that I ate for free. This feels like I may be stepping into a new season, one not so dry, one where I am able to see His providence more clearly. With the coming of the blasting, freezing winds of winter, I pray that I may come out of my own winter into the deliverance that He has prepared for me.
Until that day...
Tadotsu no Mebaru Nitsuke
Today, I took my day off on a Tuesday, since I worked all weekend at the retreat in Hiroshima. Ahh, this weekend was a refreshment to my soul. My heart feels refreshed and renewed at the fellowship and worship enjoyed there.
So, since it was my day off, I went to a local shop in Tadotsu, about a 3 minute walk from my house. I'd seen this place a number of times, but till now, I've been too afraid to go in. No matter how you splice it, that is the truth behind all excuses. At times, I haven't had time, or the familiar Joyfull restaurant seemed more inviting, but at root I will not deny fear as the cause.
Why fear? What's to be afraid of in a small restaurant? Lots. When you walk into a small, local shop, you can't read the menu at all. Generally, the menu consists of wood blocks, covered with the incomprehensible scrawls of calligraphic Japanese, hung or hidden on random walls. So, first thing: you can't order.
Second, when you walk into a local shop, it's more like walking into someone's living room than an actual restaurant (and half the time, it is someone's living room). Everyone knows each other, because they've been eating there for many years. If you're a foreigner, an instant ripple of tension enters the room with the dying wisps of the cold “irasshaimase” that greet your nervous slam of the door. Because everyone is nervous, this makes it even harder to get someone to read the menu to you.
So, unable to even find the menu or prices, with four people staring at me (the couple who owns the restaurant and the two customers), I sat down. At first, that uncomfortable buzz filled the room as I tried to ask where the menu was. Eventually, the wife of the chef read it to me, but I couldn't figure out any of it. However, she suggested a couple “foreign-safe” things like tempura to me. I went with mebaru-nitsuke, though all I knew was that it was some kind of fish stared at me through refrigerated glass.
I commented that that I could almost read the menu, but the kanji was hard to read. The man sitting next to me said, “same for Japanese.” And so we started talking (in Japanese, of course). He asked who I was, how long I'd been there, etc. The regular questions. I said I was a missionary, and he seemed mildly interested, in the way Japanese are about uncommon things. So we talked about things like how I can eat anything religiously, though I couldn't stomach nattou. While we talked, his teenage daughter sat next to him and emailed friends from her cell phone, quiet as the tides of the sheltered inland sea. I'm sure she wished that her father would hurry up and take her home.
The owner of the restaurant tried to talk to me, but I couldn't understand a word he said. He spoke in the usual middle-aged Japanese male drawl (an impossible slur that comes from the stomach itself). And to top it off, he used Sanuki-ben, the local hillbilly dialect. The other customer said at one point, “You can't understand him, but you can understand me if I speak like an NHK announcer.” NHK is the main Japanese television station, and I actually can understand the news announcers pretty well, because they STINKING ENUNCIATE.
The food was amazing. They started by seving me a small dish with some wakame, dark sauce, and something white. I assumed it was tofu, since it was served cold, but they said it was something from the fish. As I happily ate, I told myself, “sometimes, it's better when you can't understand.” The other customer gave me a little of what he was eating (nabe, which is a kind of cook-it-yourself-over-a-burner soup). He was very generous. The mebaru-nitsuke (boiled black rockfish) was served whole, but there was no meat on the head. It was good, though boneful, and a little hard to pick apart. They all kept saying how good my chop-stick skillz were (another very traditional Japanese thing to say).
As we ate and conversed, I prayed that I could say the right things to move these people closer to Christ, but my Japanese is fairly limited, so it was hard for me. I don't know if I could have said much more. I want, so badly, to learn this language. Currently, I'm working on a good, Japanese version of my testimony, which I plan to memorize, but I didn't see an opening to share that.
How can I communicate my heart to the Japanese? What is my heart for them? What is the missionary heart? I was pondering that some, today, and I think that the missionary heart, especially in such a successful, outwardly happy place like Japan, is this: To cause the Japanese to see the hollowness of all they pursue and the richness of God. To help them to find true joy, and to find that joy in Christ, nowhere else.
For a long time, I haven't been thinking as passionately as today about those things. The last seven months of my life has been a blur of loneliness and pain with small patches of sunlight streaming through the night-dark clouds of the sky. When I left San Luis Obispo, it was like losing a parent, for the grief it caused, and being isolated in a foreign country has only intensified that grief and the pain of my losses. The reason I've feared going into restaurants like tonight is because of the turmoil in my heart, which has made it difficult to do anything but withdraw. All this time, I've prayed the simple prayer, “Deliver me, O God,” and waited for His dawn to rise in my soul.
Recently, I've been reading past journals of a time in my life when I prayed those same things: an incredible drought swept my heart like a rainless Californian summer after the 2005 Santa Monica summer project. Two nights ago, I read of going to Christmas conference that year, the event that marks to me the final end of that darkness after countless patches of sunlight throughout the fall. Three years ago, I awoke every morning wondering, “Will this be the day that God delivers me this trial?” These last seven months, I have not had such a perspective, though I have been regaining it as I recalled my past.
This weekend, I went to Hiroshima to help host a JET Christian Fellowship retreat. JETers are western English teachers working in Japanese public schools. Dawn put tons of planning into this thing, and I too had the pleasure of buying $220 worth of food on Friday. We left at 5:30 on Saturday morning. It was an exhausting weekend, and I slept 12 hours last night to recover from it. However, I have not felt so encouraged since coming to Japan.
There were 17 of us there, almost all JET teachers. Rather than being “wakai” as the old ladies of Japan screech when I reveal my age, these were my peers! We understood one another! We were open spiritually with one another! We prayed! We worshipped God with all our hearts in words I could understand! We talked of struggles and learned of the Savior! The guys went to bed about 12:30 on the first night, then talked for another hour, when we finally went to sleep. We've all been in our own little bubbles, mostly in rural Japan, cut off from Christian fellowship. So it was an incredible release to us all.
I feel refreshed, ready to conquer little fears (like going to local restarants) and leapt afresh into the work. I didn't want to come back to Shikoku, but being back, I think that a change may have happened. Sin was revealed: I haven't been faithful enough in the work here. But I think that what I needed most was a refreshment of my heart to propel me forward into what I must do.
At the restaurant, when it was almost time to go, the man said that he would pay for my meal. No matter how I refused, he would not relent. And this from a stranger! Until now, the pain I have endured and my lonliness has caused me to forget just how kind the Japanese people can be, despite their unbearable need for the savior. Tonight, I was reminded of that kindness with the “puresento” of the payment of my meal.
To top it off, he told me to “ganbarre!” (hang in there; good luck) with being a missionary. This man was friendly to Christianity, or at least to me. This is not abnormal in Japan. However, chances are that he will never hear the gospel, and if he does, that he will never become a Christian. Outwardly, his heart was friendly to me, and he enjoyed talking to a foreigner. But to God, his heart is indifferent. He does not believe in his own sin, and if he did, his pride would tell him to “ganbarre” to pay it off. He needs God. So badly. But his entire society is arranged against him finding God. This wonderful man whom I met, is there any hope for his salvation? Did I ruin the one chance he would ever have to hear the gospel by not speaking more boldly of spiritual things on a level deeper than “Christians can eat pork?” If so, I pray for God's grace to cover my sin, and I pray for His grace to cover my poor Japanese, as well.
And lastly, I went to the grocery store after dinner to pick up some stuff for this week. It's about a 3-minute walk from that restaurant. And who should I see there but the wife of the cook! She waved, and I didn't recognize her for a second, then I laughed and told her, “Tadotsu is a small town, huh?” I've been given the invitation to come back any time to eat at their living room/restaurant, though next time I'll probably have to pay, unless I get lucky, again.
I hope that I have the opportunity to. Soon, I plan to complete the long-awaited plans for moving to Kagawa-cho. I hope to be able to sign a lease on Saturday. Now that so many issues in my heart have been dealt with and I have completed the first major step of adjusting to Japan (things that perhaps had to take place in this solitary confinement of Tadotsu) it may be time.
How ironic that when I wanted to badly to leave this place, God stalled the finding of a house, while now that I have come through many issues in my heart (hopefully for good), it is time to go. In my life, this oft seems the pattern, that where I go is not where I want to go but where I need to be. I needed to be here to endure hardship and God's discipline. And though I knew that's what was happening, it hurt all the same. Praise God for the deliverance He has provided, the answers to my prayers, and I hope that I will be a better missionary for it.
As I walked home, still trying to pick that last fish bone out of my teeth, I considered that perhaps the deliverance from my struggles has come. I went to this restaurant that I'd been meaning to go to for months, and God provided an incredible, divinely-orchestrated meeting, even to the extent that I ate for free. This feels like I may be stepping into a new season, one not so dry, one where I am able to see His providence more clearly. With the coming of the blasting, freezing winds of winter, I pray that I may come out of my own winter into the deliverance that He has prepared for me.
Until that day...
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Ramen in Kagawa?
Tonight, I decided to stop at Gusto again on the way home from church. However, when I pulled into their parking lot, I noticed a restaurant next door: a ramen shop. I do love ramen, so I tried to stop by there.
However, it was overpriced and only mediocre. Where in all of Kagawa can you find a decent bowl of ramen? Sometimes it hurts to live in Japan's udon noodle capital. Sometimes it hurts real bad. I'm breaking out of here... I need a trip to Tokyo.
There is no good ramen in this place.
However, it was overpriced and only mediocre. Where in all of Kagawa can you find a decent bowl of ramen? Sometimes it hurts to live in Japan's udon noodle capital. Sometimes it hurts real bad. I'm breaking out of here... I need a trip to Tokyo.
There is no good ramen in this place.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Busy society
Today at about 5:00, I saw a beautiful sunset outside, so I went to stand on my front porch to watch it. Sadly, I've not interracted much with my neighbors. It's been one of the things I regret about living here in Tadotsu. One neighbor (who I say hello to occasionally) said hello and that it was really cold. As I continued to watch the sunset, a lady that I don't think I've ever spoken with (who lives just a few houses down) passed and said the same thing: it's really cold! She asked some stuff I couldn't understand. Frustrating. It was probably very simple, but she said it in really casual Japanese (I think), so I couldn't understand her. Something about not going today or "you're not here, right?" I'm sure that my inability to communicate with her will cause rumors to spread throughout the neighborhood to not even talk to me, because I don't speak a word of Japanese.
Anyways, one thing I did understand is that she asked if today was my day off. Obviously, if I'm outside with nothing better to do than stare at the sunset, this must be my day off. Sometimes, the business of Japanese society bothers me (I can't assume her assumptions, but this could have been it).
It makes things even harder working as a vocational M. I mean, a lot of work is done in my house, and a lot of it at this time is studying Japanese (much of which is done in my house, at the moment). So unfortunately, this does not fit their cultural paradigm at all. And I feel really weird about it: like I'm some kind of bum or something who never goes to work. Because, that's what men are supposed to do for 8-12 hours a day. In every way, Ms like me don't fit any mold, which often makes things difficult. Getting into the Japanese social security system was bizzarre: who do I work for, my sender in the US, or Ayauta Kirisuto Kyoukai? The other day, when looking for a house, I was asked what my annual income is. I have no idea. Support that I receive sits in my account with MUP and is later transferred to my US bank account as pay. Then, I transfer that to Japan. So what is my annual income: the amount of support I receive, the amount I am paid in the US, or the amount that I transfer to Yen (my Japanese income tax is based only on what I transfer to Yen, not my total US income). To complicate things further, what about private English teaching? That's an unpredictable beast, and students can come and go in a flash.
In short, when you're me, no one can figure out what you do or who you are, especially government officials. Life is complicated. I do not look forward to tax season.
Anyways, one thing I did understand is that she asked if today was my day off. Obviously, if I'm outside with nothing better to do than stare at the sunset, this must be my day off. Sometimes, the business of Japanese society bothers me (I can't assume her assumptions, but this could have been it).
It makes things even harder working as a vocational M. I mean, a lot of work is done in my house, and a lot of it at this time is studying Japanese (much of which is done in my house, at the moment). So unfortunately, this does not fit their cultural paradigm at all. And I feel really weird about it: like I'm some kind of bum or something who never goes to work. Because, that's what men are supposed to do for 8-12 hours a day. In every way, Ms like me don't fit any mold, which often makes things difficult. Getting into the Japanese social security system was bizzarre: who do I work for, my sender in the US, or Ayauta Kirisuto Kyoukai? The other day, when looking for a house, I was asked what my annual income is. I have no idea. Support that I receive sits in my account with MUP and is later transferred to my US bank account as pay. Then, I transfer that to Japan. So what is my annual income: the amount of support I receive, the amount I am paid in the US, or the amount that I transfer to Yen (my Japanese income tax is based only on what I transfer to Yen, not my total US income). To complicate things further, what about private English teaching? That's an unpredictable beast, and students can come and go in a flash.
In short, when you're me, no one can figure out what you do or who you are, especially government officials. Life is complicated. I do not look forward to tax season.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Sunday Night Family Restaurant Fun
10-26-2008
Sunday Night Family Restaurant Fun
A sequel to “Japanese Faces.”
Tonight, exactly a week after my frightful Gusto experience (please scroll down and read my last story before you read this one), I once again decided to drop my foreign face into one of Rural Japan's many family restaurants. I wanted to give the Zentsuji Gusto some time to hire and train some new staff after my last visit, so I bypassed it tonight and went out of the way to stop at the local Tadotsu branch of Joyfull (yes, there are two l's in the Joyfull restaurant). It's a restaurant of comparable menu and quality, only Joyfull is a little cheaper for most things, the drink bar is a mere shadow of Gusto's, and I'm not on their blacklist. I was in the mood for hamburg (Here's a Japanese word for you: hanbaaga), and Joyfull is a good place for it. Japanese Hamburg is bunless, like a small meat-loaf about the size of a thick hamburger pattie. Often, it is served with a sweet, onion sauce, and it serves as a cheap filler for western food when you're feeling beef-deprived.
Now, Japanese hamburg is different from an American hamburger, which is more like Japanese burger (another Japanese word for you: baagaa). But I wasn't in the for boogers or burgers, rather for hamberg. Upon ordering, I found that my Japanese had much improved, because ordering in a restaurant no longer holds me in terror. The only part I'm still not sure about is the question “yoroshii desuka?” It either means “Can I get you anything else” or “Is everything OK?” The problem with this is that I never know if I'm supposed to answer yes, no, “I'm sorry,” or “domo arigato gozaimasu.” Usually I mutter “hai,” (yes) in a low enough voice that the server goes away after giving me my food, which is what I want in the first place.
It was an interesting evening, because it took them about three times as long as usual to bring out my food. In the high-class world of Japanese customer service, this is a cardinal sin. However, they delivered my hot-iron plate (set in a wooden holder) in picture-perfect formation: two hamburgs (one with cheese and tomatoes, one with a pepper-onion sauce), two potato chunks, four green beans, and a handful-size pile of corn. Oh, and a separate plate with rice on it. Happily, I finally began to feast.
BUT NO. There was a problem. As I began to eat my pepper-oniony hamburg, I found that in the middle, it was still very pink. As I munched on my cheesy-tomato hamburg and my four green beans, I pondered if it would be worth it to tell the server and finally rung the pager to call him over. A lady come, and when I muttered something about a little raw, she instantly began apologizing and took my hamburg plate back to the kitchen, ignoring my protests that "well, the other one is OK..."
When she got back to the kitchen, I heard her say "kotchi mo" or "this one, too." As I sat there, I pondered Japanese customer service and realized that they would probably make me a whole plate, which would take time. I really wanted to eat the rest of my food, but they'd taken everything except my plate of rice, which I continued to munch on (but rice by itself doesn't have much flavor, and I wanted to save it for the return of dinner).
When the server returned, apologizing, with my meal, sure enough, there was a brand new meal: two hamburgs, two potato chunks, a handful-sized pile of corn, and four green beans, all served on a hot iron plate set in a wooden holder. To top it off, they gave me a new plate of rice, even when I tried to say that I already had one (they snatched the old plate like some kind of radioactive waste).
So, there I was, already half-full from eating half a meal, with a whole new meal in front of me. Did you know that it takes at least 15 minutes for your body to realize it's full, no matter how much you eat? Well, it had been 15 minutes since I'd started eating. There was just no way I could finish it all. I still can feel the texture of soft, warm beef in my mouth.
However, here's where I really tripped them up. When I was down to my last hamburg, I called the server over and said, “I'm really full, and I'd like to take this home.” He stared blankly. “Do you have a box?” Embarrassed, as Japanese employees always are when they can't give you exactly what you want, he shank back to the ubiquitous “employee only” safe haven (in this case the kitchen) after telling me to wait. There, I'm certain that all the server held a small-scale meeting to discuss the situation. He returned with some aluminum foil from the kitchen and wrapped my meat up quite nicely, completing it with a small floral arrangement. Apparently, you just don't use to-go boxes much in Japan. However, I got breakfast out of the whole ordeal.
To end the evening, the chef came out, said something I didn't quite catch about “dishonoring Japan and the Joyfull corporation,” and committed seppuku.
And so, the legend of the wide-eyed foreigner who asks for boxes at restaurants continues to spread across Kagawa prefecture. At this rate, I may run out of restaurants within a few months.
Sunday Night Family Restaurant Fun
A sequel to “Japanese Faces.”
Tonight, exactly a week after my frightful Gusto experience (please scroll down and read my last story before you read this one), I once again decided to drop my foreign face into one of Rural Japan's many family restaurants. I wanted to give the Zentsuji Gusto some time to hire and train some new staff after my last visit, so I bypassed it tonight and went out of the way to stop at the local Tadotsu branch of Joyfull (yes, there are two l's in the Joyfull restaurant). It's a restaurant of comparable menu and quality, only Joyfull is a little cheaper for most things, the drink bar is a mere shadow of Gusto's, and I'm not on their blacklist. I was in the mood for hamburg (Here's a Japanese word for you: hanbaaga), and Joyfull is a good place for it. Japanese Hamburg is bunless, like a small meat-loaf about the size of a thick hamburger pattie. Often, it is served with a sweet, onion sauce, and it serves as a cheap filler for western food when you're feeling beef-deprived.
Now, Japanese hamburg is different from an American hamburger, which is more like Japanese burger (another Japanese word for you: baagaa). But I wasn't in the for boogers or burgers, rather for hamberg. Upon ordering, I found that my Japanese had much improved, because ordering in a restaurant no longer holds me in terror. The only part I'm still not sure about is the question “yoroshii desuka?” It either means “Can I get you anything else” or “Is everything OK?” The problem with this is that I never know if I'm supposed to answer yes, no, “I'm sorry,” or “domo arigato gozaimasu.” Usually I mutter “hai,” (yes) in a low enough voice that the server goes away after giving me my food, which is what I want in the first place.
It was an interesting evening, because it took them about three times as long as usual to bring out my food. In the high-class world of Japanese customer service, this is a cardinal sin. However, they delivered my hot-iron plate (set in a wooden holder) in picture-perfect formation: two hamburgs (one with cheese and tomatoes, one with a pepper-onion sauce), two potato chunks, four green beans, and a handful-size pile of corn. Oh, and a separate plate with rice on it. Happily, I finally began to feast.
BUT NO. There was a problem. As I began to eat my pepper-oniony hamburg, I found that in the middle, it was still very pink. As I munched on my cheesy-tomato hamburg and my four green beans, I pondered if it would be worth it to tell the server and finally rung the pager to call him over. A lady come, and when I muttered something about a little raw, she instantly began apologizing and took my hamburg plate back to the kitchen, ignoring my protests that "well, the other one is OK..."
When she got back to the kitchen, I heard her say "kotchi mo" or "this one, too." As I sat there, I pondered Japanese customer service and realized that they would probably make me a whole plate, which would take time. I really wanted to eat the rest of my food, but they'd taken everything except my plate of rice, which I continued to munch on (but rice by itself doesn't have much flavor, and I wanted to save it for the return of dinner).
When the server returned, apologizing, with my meal, sure enough, there was a brand new meal: two hamburgs, two potato chunks, a handful-sized pile of corn, and four green beans, all served on a hot iron plate set in a wooden holder. To top it off, they gave me a new plate of rice, even when I tried to say that I already had one (they snatched the old plate like some kind of radioactive waste).
So, there I was, already half-full from eating half a meal, with a whole new meal in front of me. Did you know that it takes at least 15 minutes for your body to realize it's full, no matter how much you eat? Well, it had been 15 minutes since I'd started eating. There was just no way I could finish it all. I still can feel the texture of soft, warm beef in my mouth.
However, here's where I really tripped them up. When I was down to my last hamburg, I called the server over and said, “I'm really full, and I'd like to take this home.” He stared blankly. “Do you have a box?” Embarrassed, as Japanese employees always are when they can't give you exactly what you want, he shank back to the ubiquitous “employee only” safe haven (in this case the kitchen) after telling me to wait. There, I'm certain that all the server held a small-scale meeting to discuss the situation. He returned with some aluminum foil from the kitchen and wrapped my meat up quite nicely, completing it with a small floral arrangement. Apparently, you just don't use to-go boxes much in Japan. However, I got breakfast out of the whole ordeal.
To end the evening, the chef came out, said something I didn't quite catch about “dishonoring Japan and the Joyfull corporation,” and committed seppuku.
And so, the legend of the wide-eyed foreigner who asks for boxes at restaurants continues to spread across Kagawa prefecture. At this rate, I may run out of restaurants within a few months.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Japanese faces
October 19, 2008
Japanese faces
“There is a desire in me to do what is good, but I'm so stupid that I can't.”
Guidance counselor: So you like international travel and interpersonal conflict. Anything else?
Student: Oh, I also love awkward and embarrassing situations.
Guidance counselor: Oh really...
Student: What do you think I should do with my life?
Guidance counselor: Have you considered becoming a missionary?
People say that all Japanese faces look alive. That's just because most Americans don't know enough Japanese to see the subtle but obvious differences (everything is subtle, here, even things that are obvious). However, living in Japan, I must say that the “all Asians look alike” thing is a myth.
That being said, I can't remember Japanese faces. But I also couldn't remember American faces in college, so it's to be expected. However, it's worse here. You see, when I walk into a room with 15 people and they start introducing them selves (Yamanaka, Matsuyama, Matsunaka, Nakayama, Yamayama...), each of them has one foreign face to remember. And since they've only met two or three foreigners in their lives, each of them will clearly remember my face to their grave. However, I have 15 faces to remember, so I will remember none of them. I can't tell you how many awkward situations this makes for.
Almost a month ago, Dawn and I went to eat at Gusto in Zentsuji, and when we sat down, our waitress said a word I hate: “oboemasuka?” This roughly translates to: “Hey, I know who you are, but do you remember me? Because if not, then you're a jerk who needs to pay attention to people other than himself!!” I was confused, and Dawn couldn't hear what she was saying, but she said her name was “Miki” (a name held by 10% of the women in Japan), then she muttered something about “Ai” (which means “love”), then she looked really flustered and ran away. Slowly, we realized that she was that girl who had come to an event in Ayauta with her friend Ai. We did not get the chance to talk to her again before leaving the restaurant, but we did notice that a different girl waited on us for the rest of the night, and Miki was nowhere to be found. She probably became a hikikomori out of embarrassment.
Well, we felt pretty bad about all this, especially because we wanted to invite her to future events. I'd wanted to go in at the same time on a different week to try to apologize, and tonight I got the chance to. I was really nervous, and just wanted to go home and eat, but I couldn't shake the feeling that God was telling me to go in and try to re-establish contact with this girl.
As I waited to order my food, I was scoping out all the servers: three girls and a guy. I was sure that one girl wasn't Miki, but not sure about the other two. I was also sure the guy wasn't Miki. The hard part is that at Gusto, all the girls dress exactly the same, wear their hair exactly the same, and put on makeup so that their faces look exactly the same. Subtle differences... subtle differences...
I was uneasy the entire time I waited for my food and ate. Which one of these girls was Miki? Was Miki even working? They all seemed really uneasy, but maybe they were just tired after the long shift. Or maybe folk legends have already sprouted up around me. I don't know, but I didn't recognize any of the girls as Miki (which didn't surprise me, because I'm terrible at recognizing faces, remember), though I bet they thought I was really creepy for staring them the whole time. However, I noticed that one seemed to be avoiding me more than all the others, and she seemed to have a few more centi-Mikis (if I were to form a metric unit out of a girl whose appearance I'm clueless of). So, with a prayer for divine strength and wisdom, when I saw that girl go to the register to accept payment from another couple, I knew she was trapped and pounced upon my opportunity.
Did I mention that I ate Gusto Doria? It was one of the cheapest things on the menu (409 yen), and it was quite good: a mixture of white sauce and marinara sauce served over a kind of rice pilaf.
Anyways, I stared Miki down and swallowed my nervousness as she accepted my 1010 yen and opened the register. Her name tag showed her family name, “Shirogawa,” but of course it didn't have her personal name on it, so I had no way of knowing. Oh, if only I remembered! Just earlier in the day, I was addressing an envelope to this very same Miki with an invitation to next week's event inside! If only I would have had the soundness of mind to take note of her family name when I had the chance! But alas, for all such opportunities were passed from the world of reality, and only an icy, throbbing sense of regret remained at such a momentous oversight.
As Miki handed me 601 yen, a receipt, and a drink bar coupon, I muttered unintelligibly, “Sumimasen” (sorry). After her blank stare, I said, “Sono mae no toki, domo sumimasen,” which may or may not mean “I'm sorry for last time.” Her blank stare turned to utter bewilderment and terror, and I said one more time, “Sumimasen,” which means, “Hand me my change already so I can go home and cry.” I think I may have produced another hikikomori.
So, the legend of the short-haired, four-eyed foreigner continues to spread upon the winds of embarrassment, and that Gusto has a new name to me: the Gusto of Awkwardness. Men quake, women scream, and children weep at the sight of my blue, button-down shirts and the gleam upon my glasses, whilst I curse Gusto for their strict dress-code under the full moon that rises so quietly over the still waters.
Do you love awkward situations? Then for crying out loud, come to the mission field! We need you!
Japanese faces
“There is a desire in me to do what is good, but I'm so stupid that I can't.”
Guidance counselor: So you like international travel and interpersonal conflict. Anything else?
Student: Oh, I also love awkward and embarrassing situations.
Guidance counselor: Oh really...
Student: What do you think I should do with my life?
Guidance counselor: Have you considered becoming a missionary?
People say that all Japanese faces look alive. That's just because most Americans don't know enough Japanese to see the subtle but obvious differences (everything is subtle, here, even things that are obvious). However, living in Japan, I must say that the “all Asians look alike” thing is a myth.
That being said, I can't remember Japanese faces. But I also couldn't remember American faces in college, so it's to be expected. However, it's worse here. You see, when I walk into a room with 15 people and they start introducing them selves (Yamanaka, Matsuyama, Matsunaka, Nakayama, Yamayama...), each of them has one foreign face to remember. And since they've only met two or three foreigners in their lives, each of them will clearly remember my face to their grave. However, I have 15 faces to remember, so I will remember none of them. I can't tell you how many awkward situations this makes for.
Almost a month ago, Dawn and I went to eat at Gusto in Zentsuji, and when we sat down, our waitress said a word I hate: “oboemasuka?” This roughly translates to: “Hey, I know who you are, but do you remember me? Because if not, then you're a jerk who needs to pay attention to people other than himself!!” I was confused, and Dawn couldn't hear what she was saying, but she said her name was “Miki” (a name held by 10% of the women in Japan), then she muttered something about “Ai” (which means “love”), then she looked really flustered and ran away. Slowly, we realized that she was that girl who had come to an event in Ayauta with her friend Ai. We did not get the chance to talk to her again before leaving the restaurant, but we did notice that a different girl waited on us for the rest of the night, and Miki was nowhere to be found. She probably became a hikikomori out of embarrassment.
Well, we felt pretty bad about all this, especially because we wanted to invite her to future events. I'd wanted to go in at the same time on a different week to try to apologize, and tonight I got the chance to. I was really nervous, and just wanted to go home and eat, but I couldn't shake the feeling that God was telling me to go in and try to re-establish contact with this girl.
As I waited to order my food, I was scoping out all the servers: three girls and a guy. I was sure that one girl wasn't Miki, but not sure about the other two. I was also sure the guy wasn't Miki. The hard part is that at Gusto, all the girls dress exactly the same, wear their hair exactly the same, and put on makeup so that their faces look exactly the same. Subtle differences... subtle differences...
I was uneasy the entire time I waited for my food and ate. Which one of these girls was Miki? Was Miki even working? They all seemed really uneasy, but maybe they were just tired after the long shift. Or maybe folk legends have already sprouted up around me. I don't know, but I didn't recognize any of the girls as Miki (which didn't surprise me, because I'm terrible at recognizing faces, remember), though I bet they thought I was really creepy for staring them the whole time. However, I noticed that one seemed to be avoiding me more than all the others, and she seemed to have a few more centi-Mikis (if I were to form a metric unit out of a girl whose appearance I'm clueless of). So, with a prayer for divine strength and wisdom, when I saw that girl go to the register to accept payment from another couple, I knew she was trapped and pounced upon my opportunity.
Did I mention that I ate Gusto Doria? It was one of the cheapest things on the menu (409 yen), and it was quite good: a mixture of white sauce and marinara sauce served over a kind of rice pilaf.
Anyways, I stared Miki down and swallowed my nervousness as she accepted my 1010 yen and opened the register. Her name tag showed her family name, “Shirogawa,” but of course it didn't have her personal name on it, so I had no way of knowing. Oh, if only I remembered! Just earlier in the day, I was addressing an envelope to this very same Miki with an invitation to next week's event inside! If only I would have had the soundness of mind to take note of her family name when I had the chance! But alas, for all such opportunities were passed from the world of reality, and only an icy, throbbing sense of regret remained at such a momentous oversight.
As Miki handed me 601 yen, a receipt, and a drink bar coupon, I muttered unintelligibly, “Sumimasen” (sorry). After her blank stare, I said, “Sono mae no toki, domo sumimasen,” which may or may not mean “I'm sorry for last time.” Her blank stare turned to utter bewilderment and terror, and I said one more time, “Sumimasen,” which means, “Hand me my change already so I can go home and cry.” I think I may have produced another hikikomori.
So, the legend of the short-haired, four-eyed foreigner continues to spread upon the winds of embarrassment, and that Gusto has a new name to me: the Gusto of Awkwardness. Men quake, women scream, and children weep at the sight of my blue, button-down shirts and the gleam upon my glasses, whilst I curse Gusto for their strict dress-code under the full moon that rises so quietly over the still waters.
Do you love awkward situations? Then for crying out loud, come to the mission field! We need you!
Saturday, October 4, 2008
A mithril coat
Oct. 4, 2008
Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate;
And though I oft have passed them by,
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.
A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!
Silivaren penna miriel
O menel anglar elenath,
Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees
The starlight on the Western Seas.
Dear friends,
I've been doing a lot of tract distribution in Aji lately, and let me tell you: there are some scary dogs in that town. And sooner or later, one of them is going to get me, no matter how careful I am. So, I've looked around a bit and decided that my best bet is with a long-sleeved mithril coat. I did a little shopping on ebay and found the worth to be greater than that of the entire Shire, which comes out to about US$8 billion, or 8 X 10^23 yen. I can't do this without you! Please prayerfully consider giving a one-time or monthly gift towards my purchase.
In addition, I've decided that being invisible would help quite a bit (especially when I get those long, “What's a foreigner doing here?” stares). So, I'm going to need a ring of power. Since the One was destroyed at the end of the third age and the Three (Narya, Vilya, and Nenya) departed into the Far West shortly thereafter, I'm stuck with one of the remaining Dwarven rings or with one of the Nine. I couldn't find any trace of them online, so I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd email me any leads you may find.
White gulls call,
Joey
Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate;
And though I oft have passed them by,
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.
A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!
Silivaren penna miriel
O menel anglar elenath,
Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees
The starlight on the Western Seas.
Dear friends,
I've been doing a lot of tract distribution in Aji lately, and let me tell you: there are some scary dogs in that town. And sooner or later, one of them is going to get me, no matter how careful I am. So, I've looked around a bit and decided that my best bet is with a long-sleeved mithril coat. I did a little shopping on ebay and found the worth to be greater than that of the entire Shire, which comes out to about US$8 billion, or 8 X 10^23 yen. I can't do this without you! Please prayerfully consider giving a one-time or monthly gift towards my purchase.
In addition, I've decided that being invisible would help quite a bit (especially when I get those long, “What's a foreigner doing here?” stares). So, I'm going to need a ring of power. Since the One was destroyed at the end of the third age and the Three (Narya, Vilya, and Nenya) departed into the Far West shortly thereafter, I'm stuck with one of the remaining Dwarven rings or with one of the Nine. I couldn't find any trace of them online, so I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd email me any leads you may find.
White gulls call,
Joey
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Hanging out with a drunk in Aji
I'm going to write more later about my experiences yesterday with a drunk man in Aji. But for now, I need to outline it:
-Was distributing in the yellow area of the gym. A lady yelled at me and told me to stop giving her gomi (trash).
-I ran out of fliers (maybe missed 2-3 houses) and went back to my car to get more. I was surprised that I used probably at least 100 in that single area.
-As I neared my car, two men who were sitting on folding chairs in a vacant lot and smoking beckoned me in the palm-down, Japanese beckoning fashion (which I always feel is rude, because I feel like I'm a little child being beckoned, but that's just because I'm not used to the mannerism).
-Basic info about me; trouble understanding them; told them I lived in Tadotsu; was a missionary; one was offed by this; the other seemed interested and told me to stay at his house.
-I felt this was an opportunity from God Himself. Earlier, I'd been praying for a good interaction or a few good ones while distributing, and God answered that prayer through this man.
-Told him I had a car and drove him to his house, next to PO.
-He asked if I could park there.
-Went in, saw around; he fed me some dinner (rice and some others). Ice coffee.
-Daughter's family lived next door (didn't meet, though I heard kids)
-Kept telling him that I don't drink.
-He kept saying the whole night that we'd get suki-yaki the next day.
-TV on the whole time (always, it seems).
-He drank lots the whole time. He fell down a couple times throughout the night, but wasn't hurt.
-My Japanese was much better than usual, especially understanding
-Played piano for him (he has one upstairs). He was so impressed, though it wasn't that good.
-Eventually took a shower and went to bed. Emailed a few people from my phone asking for prayer.
-Got the name of his religion. Invited him to the Friday event, but he said he was the wrong religion.
-Had a miserable time sleeping: couch looked comfortable, but it was awful. Resorted to going on the floor. Also hard, because we went to bed about 9.
-Miserable night, kept feeling like people would think I was a burgler or that he would forget who I was in the morning (because he drank so much). I also smelled, because I was wearing the same shirt. He'd offered me others, but that seemed a little funny, to me.
-The whole place was black like the coffee. The smoke and coffee and food all left a bitter, dirty taste in my mouth. It was very dark in there. That man is miserable, even if he wouldn't admit it. That place was oppressive, and the whole experience left me exhausted throughout the next day.
-At 6 AM, the Aji town alarm went off, and so we got up. He gave me some somen and pan for breakfast. His friend came, and they started drinking again: at 6 AM! And he smoked about 3 cigarettes in a row. That really left a bitter taste in my mouth, especially because the windows were closed. I could't really spend time with God, either. What a morning.
-We didn't do Suki-yaki. I left at 7:30 or 8, but he invited me back, anytime. I like having a place to stay in Aji as I need it, but that one is oppressive. At least it was very clean. Someone else must clean it.
-Took the expressway back, though I had to go through rush-hour Takamatsu to get to it (and I finally see why that is a "big city").
-Pray for this man! He sure needs it! And still, despite that it was hard, it was good language-wise and a great ministry opportunity. Hopefully this guy can be a contact we can share the gospel with, though he seems somewhat dedicated to his religion: Tenrikyou (see wikipedia for info on it). Pray he comes to the Friday event!
-The work in Aji is so slow that drastic steps like this are needed if a church is to be planted there. This is the advantage to being a single, male missionary. No other demographic could have done what I did yesterday.
Incidentally, I'm really tired of people saying how young I am. I taught a class of four women today who all have kids who are older than I am, and I'm a little tired of them pointing that fact out!
-Was distributing in the yellow area of the gym. A lady yelled at me and told me to stop giving her gomi (trash).
-I ran out of fliers (maybe missed 2-3 houses) and went back to my car to get more. I was surprised that I used probably at least 100 in that single area.
-As I neared my car, two men who were sitting on folding chairs in a vacant lot and smoking beckoned me in the palm-down, Japanese beckoning fashion (which I always feel is rude, because I feel like I'm a little child being beckoned, but that's just because I'm not used to the mannerism).
-Basic info about me; trouble understanding them; told them I lived in Tadotsu; was a missionary; one was offed by this; the other seemed interested and told me to stay at his house.
-I felt this was an opportunity from God Himself. Earlier, I'd been praying for a good interaction or a few good ones while distributing, and God answered that prayer through this man.
-Told him I had a car and drove him to his house, next to PO.
-He asked if I could park there.
-Went in, saw around; he fed me some dinner (rice and some others). Ice coffee.
-Daughter's family lived next door (didn't meet, though I heard kids)
-Kept telling him that I don't drink.
-He kept saying the whole night that we'd get suki-yaki the next day.
-TV on the whole time (always, it seems).
-He drank lots the whole time. He fell down a couple times throughout the night, but wasn't hurt.
-My Japanese was much better than usual, especially understanding
-Played piano for him (he has one upstairs). He was so impressed, though it wasn't that good.
-Eventually took a shower and went to bed. Emailed a few people from my phone asking for prayer.
-Got the name of his religion. Invited him to the Friday event, but he said he was the wrong religion.
-Had a miserable time sleeping: couch looked comfortable, but it was awful. Resorted to going on the floor. Also hard, because we went to bed about 9.
-Miserable night, kept feeling like people would think I was a burgler or that he would forget who I was in the morning (because he drank so much). I also smelled, because I was wearing the same shirt. He'd offered me others, but that seemed a little funny, to me.
-The whole place was black like the coffee. The smoke and coffee and food all left a bitter, dirty taste in my mouth. It was very dark in there. That man is miserable, even if he wouldn't admit it. That place was oppressive, and the whole experience left me exhausted throughout the next day.
-At 6 AM, the Aji town alarm went off, and so we got up. He gave me some somen and pan for breakfast. His friend came, and they started drinking again: at 6 AM! And he smoked about 3 cigarettes in a row. That really left a bitter taste in my mouth, especially because the windows were closed. I could't really spend time with God, either. What a morning.
-We didn't do Suki-yaki. I left at 7:30 or 8, but he invited me back, anytime. I like having a place to stay in Aji as I need it, but that one is oppressive. At least it was very clean. Someone else must clean it.
-Took the expressway back, though I had to go through rush-hour Takamatsu to get to it (and I finally see why that is a "big city").
-Pray for this man! He sure needs it! And still, despite that it was hard, it was good language-wise and a great ministry opportunity. Hopefully this guy can be a contact we can share the gospel with, though he seems somewhat dedicated to his religion: Tenrikyou (see wikipedia for info on it). Pray he comes to the Friday event!
-The work in Aji is so slow that drastic steps like this are needed if a church is to be planted there. This is the advantage to being a single, male missionary. No other demographic could have done what I did yesterday.
Incidentally, I'm really tired of people saying how young I am. I taught a class of four women today who all have kids who are older than I am, and I'm a little tired of them pointing that fact out!
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Peace
I've felt an unbelievable peace these last few days as I seek to live my life in this new way (see last post). Despite circumstances being much the same, these have been some of my most mentally-stable days in Japan since coming here.
At church, I managed to fool the Japanese congregation (3 people tonight) into believing I was keeping pace with the conversation. In actuality, I understood almost nothing because they were talking in "Japan-speed" (which is somewhere right around ludicrous speed). However, they think I speak and understand a lot more Japanese than I really do, because I've gotten used to using a really important part of the language: fillers. Primarily, I use "anno" and "eeto," which are both the Japanese equivalent of "umm." Since I use those in my speech (often), they seem to assume that I'm totally fluent and are surprised when they are reminded that I really have no idea of what's going on around me.
At church, I managed to fool the Japanese congregation (3 people tonight) into believing I was keeping pace with the conversation. In actuality, I understood almost nothing because they were talking in "Japan-speed" (which is somewhere right around ludicrous speed). However, they think I speak and understand a lot more Japanese than I really do, because I've gotten used to using a really important part of the language: fillers. Primarily, I use "anno" and "eeto," which are both the Japanese equivalent of "umm." Since I use those in my speech (often), they seem to assume that I'm totally fluent and are surprised when they are reminded that I really have no idea of what's going on around me.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Daily Grace
Night falls on Aug 14 2008
Daily Grace
“I will stand at my watch and station myself on the ramparts; I will look to see what he will say to me, and what answer I am to give to this complaint.” Hab. 2:1
“Perhaps the Lord will act on our behalf. Nothing can hinder the Lord from saving, whether by many or by few.” I Sam 14:6b
Here I stand on the ramparts... hmmm...
Last night, while praying, I came to a new conclusion about how to live my life in this time: ikitsuzukeru. I don't know if that actually works in Japanese or not, but I think it translates to, “Keep living.” I've decided to pass into survival mode. The emotional burden on my heart of lonliness and despair is too great at this time to do anything else. I must live one day at a time and not worry about the next. Yes, I suppose that some minimal planning must take place, but in principle and in heart, I live one day at a time. I do not have strength to do more.
Ministry is a fine thing to focus on, I suppose, but not now. Learning Japanese was a major goal for the next two years, until I realized that surviving was a more important one. And so I set the preassure of those things aside and realize that even if I spend less time in the study of Japanese or have to forego some appointment or another, so be it, for I must continue to live. I must find my strength in God for whatever the day holds. And in doing so, I believe that I will study harder and work harder than if the work and study themselves were my prize.
Truly, this is a very dark season. Emotionally, it is one of the darkest I have endured thus far. I do not feel very distant from God as I have at times, but an overwhelming weight presses me. So, every morning, I will go to Christ in prayer and seek Him in His word, drink from the brook, as it were, or eat the widow's bread, and I will gather strength for the day. I will not think of the days to come: let each day worry about itself. I do not have the strength to bear those burdens. No one does. Only One has that strength, and He shall, but I cannot. Each night, I shall come to Him again, briefly, exhausted from the trials of the day, but knowing that my struggles have ended. The next day, if I awake without strength to face the trials ahead, I will drink once more from the brook and eat once more of the widow's bread.
Today was my first day of this, and I believe the course is wise. As I awoke today, a heavy burden of despair was pressing on my chest from the moment my eyes opened, and it slowed my every step. After breakfast I was finally able to come to God and receive my daily portion of grace, just enough for today, and the burden was lifted. Today was a good day, though from time to time thoughts arose of things I must do or of the path ahead, but those are not questions of today, so I have no need to ponder them.
This time is not forever. I do not plan to live like this until I leave Japan (I must step into greater ministry roles when I can). However, for now, it is how I must live if this great trial is to be endured. Endurance. Long-suffering. Hope. Faith. These are the virtues I must arm myself with at this time.
“My son, do not make light of the Lord's discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines those he loves, and he punishes everyone he accepts as a son.” Prov. 3:11-12
He is making me into the man who shall minister before Him here. That is more important than anything now, more important than my comfort, for certain. This must happen if I am to serve Him here. “Deliver,” is about as simple a prayer as one can pray, and oft of late have I prayed it.
So I look with hope as lightning flashes on the edge of the horizon through my window, still too far off for its echoing thunder to be heard. But it flies on clouds across the sea and will arrive here, without fail. So do I stand and wait. The promises of the scriptures are too clear for me to doubt that He who rides on the clouds will deliver those who fear Him. That He splits the heavens to come and rescue me. The Israelites were delivered from Egypt too marvelously, their children from too many armies, David from too many perils, and the kings far too often for me to doubt that. Too many blind were healed and dead were raised for me to doubt that He will come, like the rising sun or the spring rains, for the sake of those who fear him. For my sake.
And yet, perhaps a long wait lies before me. And so I wait it daily, for that is all the strength I have.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Churches and Love Hotels
Aug. 11, 2008
Love Hotels and Churches
In Japan, there's a curious thing called the Love Hotel. Essentially, it's a place to go and commit adultery. Now, it's not unheard of for married couples to spend the night, but if you're going to make love at a love hotel, it's probably not with your spouse. For this reason, love hotels tend to have certain accommodations other hotels don't, like (sometimes) a person who goes around the parking lot and puts covers over the license plates of customer's cars so that no one can tell if you've been there. They often are located in remote areas (sometimes you'll see a billboard advertising a love hotel a few towns away), and they tend to have high walls and tinted windows. It's possible (and desirable) that at a love hotel, you will not see another human being from entering to exiting. Even the person who takes your money may just be a pair of hands through a hole in a wall. After all, you're going there to have illicit sex.
In Japan, I think a lot of people want churches to be like love hotels. No, not places to have sex, but in that they want total anonymity. At the church I work at in a rural part of Japan, most of our contacts are from distant parts of our city or from other cities entirely. I don't think anyone is from nearby, and I know no one is from our immediate neighborhood. It's as though there is an invisible boundary, and if you're too close, you're not going to the church. Maybe if we started rushing people into the church in the depths of night and putting sheets over their cars, we'd boost church attendance. Or if we dug an underground entrance from a telephone booth across the street. Didn't they do that type of thing in Rome?
The reason for this (and it's not universal to every Japanese) is that in Japan, you're not supposed to be interested in Christianity. Some people are, but they won't show it and will never come to an event at a church. Many Japanese are afraid to walk into a church building, even for an English class. What, after all, will the neighbors think? What if someone found out? In Japan, near as I can tell for being a missionary with three months' experience, the social pressure to conform is intense in a way that Americans cannot even imagine. Especially in rural Japan, people watch out for what their neighbors will think of their actions. Coming to church is not something they want to be caught doing. In some ways, adultery is more socially acceptable.
Overcoming this is not easy, and there are no easy solutions. It is but one of many barriers to the spread of the gospel in Japan. Personally, I think the tunnel idea sounds the best.
If you're curious about love hotels, check out this article: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Love_hotel
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
So, a foreigner walks into a store...
2008-July-16
The Sheet
Since coming to Japan, I've noticed that my pretense in any business or government office causes an uproar of panic. Most Japanese have no idea what to do when a foreigner customer comes in the door. Generally, the entire office stops operating and falls into utter confusion consisting of four main activities: 1) Running around aimlessly. 2) Making phone calls to who-knows-where. 3) Staring at the foreigner. 4) Trying to help the foreigner.
I have recently discovered that these activities are neither random nor unplanned, especially numbers 1 and 2. In actuality, every major or corporate business has a sheet of paper about protocol for when a foreigner enters, henceforth referred to as the Sheet. This is a page or two that briefly describes what employees of a shop should do when encountered with a foreign customer. In places like Tokyo, employees are well-accustomed to using the Sheet. They do fine when a foreigner comes in, because they're familiar with the process and the Sheet is usually hung conveniently in a break room. However, when you live in the inaka (Japanese for “boonies”), like I do, the Sheet is usually in the bottom of a drawer or hidden in the plumbing. Because of this, when foreigners walk into a store, usually one employee gets stuck dealing with them while everyone tries to find the Sheet. Some run in circles looking for it, some make phone calls to contact someone who may know where it is, and some just stare at the foreigners, fixing this historic event in their minds.
Of course, local mom-and-pop stores don't have the Sheet. They just stare at foreigners and use hand motions to indicate payment and price, and they keep staring long after the foreigners have left their store: the shock value is too much. However, when a foreigner encounters a more sophisticated business, say a car dealership or a cell phone company, the corporate office has provided the Sheet for the good of their employees. In city offices, the Sheet is provided by the prefectural government.
Some things are written on the Sheet, and some are common practice to all Japanese. A common practice is an inherent knowledge of who deals with foreigners. All Japanese have this sense: it's taught in the second year of middle school. The hierarchy goes something like this: The person with the best English gets foreigners passed to them. Sometimes, this person doesn't actually have the best English, they're just more excited than everyone else to practice their English. If no one speaks English in the store, then the most senior employee comes out to deal with the foreigners. Whoever comes, they usually have two or three other employees standing behind them and whispering “ganbarre” (hang in there), or maybe just staring at the foreigners.
As for the content of the Sheet itself, less sophisticated Sheets just have simple advice like, “Speak loudly and slowly. If they don't understand you, keep speaking louder and slower till they do understand you.” Another common piece of advice on a less-sophisticated sheet is, “Panic utterly.” More sophisticated sheets (for companies like DoCoMo and other large, corporate giants) have information about calling the corporate hot-line where someone on the phone can speak in fluent English to the foreign customers.*
One of the most key pieces of advice universal to all Sheets is this: never communicate with the foreign customer in Japanese. No matter how good a customer's Japanese seems to be, always try to communicate in English. If you know any English, use it: even a simple word like “five” will make the visit less painful. Don't let the foreigner fool you: they can't speak Japanese, so don't let them, and whatever you do, don't speak Japanese to them. A corollary to this is that if an employee does not speak English and must communicate in Japanese, they must use the most polite forms of Japanese, something that even most Japanese have a hard time understanding. For example, in normal Japanese, the phrase “this is a pen” is said, “kore wa pen desu.” In tera-polite Japanese, this is said, “kotchirawamawa open-sama desu-gozaimasu-itadakimasu-kudaonegaishimau-gozaimasu.” No matter how much the foreigner asks Japanese to speak in casual Japanese, they will be instantly fired if they waver for a moment from tera-polite Japanese.
It's not uncommon for stores and government offices to make mistakes. Under-trained employees often lead to this. When I first opened my Japanese bank account, the bank illegally allowed me to open the account without seeing my “foreign devil card,” or “gaijin kaado.” They called after a few days and asked to see it. When I finally came in after getting the card two weeks later, the girl who opened the account ran to me, sped me to the front of the line, and made the necessary copies of my card. I received a small towel as consolation for the mistake.* Illegal extensions on tourist visas have been issued in the past, as well.* One would think immigration would know how to deal with foreigners.
Personally, I am glad for the Sheet. Without it, Japanese employees would be incredibly uncomfortable and nervous when foreigners entered their shops and offices. That, in turn, would make the process more difficult for the foreigner, too. However, because of the sheet, foreigners can be assured that the entire office will pour 100% of their resources into helping them, whatever that takes, be that finding someone who speaks English, calling a friend who speaks English, or just gesturing till the point gets across, the Japanese employees will do everything they can to help. In America, most offices would give up at the language barrier and send you away disappointed. In Japan, not only will they do everything they can to help you and make sure that you walk away happy (and there is no escape once the foreigner-protocol has been engaged, so don't even try), but you get some good entertainment out of it, on top of great service. There ARE perks to being a foreigner in Japan.**
*True story that happened to me or someone I know.
**This last paragraph isn't sarcastic. Well, maybe just the first three sentences are sarcastic.
Monday, June 30, 2008
In a parking lot of Zentsuji city hall, waiting for Dawn to return
There are things I can bear and things I cannot bear. I can bear many types of suffering: heat, sickness, etc. Physical suffering is often not so bad. I didn't used to be able to bear sleeplessness, but I'm learning to. I'm learning to spend time with God when I'm short on sleep. I'm learning to get up earlier. Two things I cannot yet bear are lonliness and learning Japanese. When I can bear these things, it's easy for me to praise God in them. When I cannot bear them, I think that I must escape them, and I cannot very well praise God in them. Some outreach-type stuff I also cannot cope with. It's these things that I can't cope with that I haven't learned to count as joyful trials. We are to praise God in our trials and glorify Him in our suffering. As of yet, those are sufferings where I can't seem to praise Him and gain the peace that surpasses all understanding. Shame and embarassment are still too much for me.
Often, the things I can bear are those where I can do nothing: like sickness, because I can't make choices to make that go away. The only relief is through endurance. But if I can make choices to react morally better to a situation, or if I can, by my choices, make the situation itself better, I feel a sense of responsibility, and it is harder for me to bear up under the weight. Those things, like language learning, are hard for me to bear, because I feel like I could be reacting better. Not just in praising God, but in actually learning and using Japanese. I can beat myself up some when searching for a better way.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
The Black Ships of God's Love
6-25-08
The Black Ships of God's Love
In 1852, Commodore Matthew Perry of the US Navy sailed into Tokyo Bay with four US battleships. For the last 260 years, Japan had completely isolated itself from the outside world. Commodore Perry came with the demand that Japan open up. Under the threat of naval bombardment by new, fearsome, modern weaponry, Japan capitulated, and it opened itself to the west. Japan remembered the existence of the outside world and realized that it was very relevant. This event, the sailing of black ships into Tokyo Bay, shaped Japan's history. Truly, it began the modern history of Japan and remains a strong national memory.
Since the opening of Japan, missionaries have come to this land, and I am but the smallest and most recent of centuries of Christians who have given themselves that the Japanese people might know Christ. However, even after so long, the work here is still in its infancy: a scant 1% of Japan (if that) has eternal life. Our work is so far from completion, and the darkness lies heavy on this land.
However, just today I was realizing just how much I stick out as a foreigner, and in the back of my mind, these thoughts came to fruition: foreigners are black ships in Japan. In most of this country (once you leave the big cities), foreigners are a rare sight. I attract dozens of stares just walking down the streets of rural Japan. When foreigners show up, ignorant and incompetent in the Japanese language and culture, it is a sight to see. I daresay that my visit to the bank today created scarcely less commotion than Matthew Perry sailing into Tokyo bay so long ago.
Because we stick out so much, foreigners constantly remind Japan of the existence of the outside, non-Japanese world. On the one hand, some of Japan remains very traditional and nationalistic, but on the other, the government sees the need to “internationalize” Japan. The reason is that the foreign world is vital to Japan: this country would be bankrupt and starving without international trade. For economic reasons (among others), Japan needs its share of foreigners in order to understand the rest of the world.
As I ponder the role of missionaries in Japan, we are black ships in an even deeper way. We come to Japan to say that there is an outside world and that it is relevant. Most Japanese believe in some form of spirituality, but they do not believe it matters. Religion here, even Buddhism and Shinto, does not play a major part in the lives of most Japanese. It's the here and now, money and industry, that propel Japan. If there is an afterlife, worry about it when you get there.
However, Christians declare that this is utter folly. We say that not only does the afterlife most certainly exist, but that heaven and hell are more intensely real than anything we can imagine. Furthermore, in this life, we find a meaning and purpose in God's love. The Lord is real, and He is Lord of the universe now, not just after death. Missionaries come in ships that the Japanese have never seen to declare these things to a nation that denies them.
However, the black ships that Commodore Perry came with were feared. They were a sign of western power, and they resulted in the dishonor of Japan, causing Japan to look like a little child next to the west. We are not such black ships. We are the Black Ships of God's Love. We do not come for the good of an earthly nation but the Heavenly one. And the good of the Heavenly nation IS the good of Japan. They are one and the same. We come bearing the love of God, a love that Japan needs more than we can even imagine.
I must pause to give credit to the Japanese believers who are faithful to declare the gospel in their own country. They are no less black ships than we foreign missionaries, and in some ways, they suffer more for it, because black ships are not loved in Japan.
So, here I live as a black ship, sticking out as foreign so that the Japanese might open to a world they have long ignored. Didn't Christ say something about this? How did it go?
“You are the Black Ships of God's Love. A black ship in a harbor cannot be hidden. Neither do people dispatch a navy without cause. Instead, they sail it straight into Tokyo Bay, and Japan is opened to the outside world. In the same way, sail out to men...”
Yes, now I remember it: “You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.” (Matt. 5:14-16)
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