Oasis

When I was first presented with the opportunity to live and work in Japan almost 4 and a half years ago, one of my chief concerns was that I would not be able to adjust to city life.

The countryside was my natural habitat, and to my eyes, Bellingham, Washington, with its population of 80,000 was the big city.  I couldn't even fathom living in Tokyo, whose total metropolitan population is roughly 446 times the size of Bellingham.

Yet four years have proven me wrong.  Sure, I am still a country-boy at heart, but I have also grown to appreciate city-life.  At the very least, it has not been painful, stressful or difficult as I once imagined it to be.  I often tell people that I do not miss the countryside while I'm in the city--it's only when I leave and see wide open spaces and the color green that I remember how much I love the countryside.  Basically, I am finding that I can be content wherever I'm at.

This being said, I must say that living in the city has multiplied my appreciation of spaces with trees, fields, lakes and streams.  As it turns out, Tokyo is full of such locations!

My girlfriend is an aficionado of Tokyo parks and gardens, and she has introduced me to such wonderful places as Shinjuku Gyouen, Rikugien, Kyu-Furukawa Teien, and Korakuen.

Visiting these sites, I have realized that Tokyo has done a splendid job of maintaining its parks.  In the midst of this vast city, there are many spacious, lush and peaceful parks, each an oasis...

An oasis from the sound of cars.

An oasis from large crowds.

An oasis from the color grey and a return to greens and other colors of life.

An oasis in which to enjoy a moment of tranquility; to collect one's thoughts; to reflect on the beauty of God's creation.

It's been many years since I first learned that word--oasis--and only now do I truly understand it.  While I love the city, it is so incredibly refreshing to be able to step into a world whose perimeter is guarded by trees; whose ponds and lakes are the home to so many koi and ducks; whose benches are shaded by branches that rustle gently in the wind and stifle the city-noises; whose flowers and blossoms generate not only extra fresh air, but a pleasant aroma.  In such a place, I find myself recharged and revitalized for the task I'm called to in the city.  In such a place, I can rest and think.

Yet a physical oasis is little more than an analogy.  The true oasis is a spiritual circumstance: resting in God.  When I visit these parks, I am reminded of where true revitalization comes from.  I am reminded of where my hope truly lies.  God is our oasis in a busy world.  May we seek out shelter in His shade and enjoy the peace and quiet of His protecting arms!

Deepening the Calling

It has been quite a while since I last wrote something.  Over the past few months, each time I thought about sitting down and writing, I decided I was too busy, but I would write "soon".  To be fair, this feels like "soon" from February, January and even further back than that!

The past few months have been quite eventful.  On Easter, I officially became a member of Grace City Church Tokyo.  Summer and Christmas vacation aside, I've been attending regularly for one year now (though I'd visited the church several times in the months before that).  This has been a tremendous answer to prayer--since I came to Japan in 2009, I had been praying and longing for a church community where I could feel at home... tough competition, since I truly believe I was spoiled to have grown up in as high-caliber a church community as Wiser Lake Chapel.  Yet, God answers prayers, and God affirms callings.  By leading me to Grace City, God has called me to faithfulness and obedience in my job at CAJ all over again.  I love my job and I love CAJ, but no job is so wonderful that it can replace or make up for the fellowship and community that church brings.  In other words, if I had not found a church community where I felt I belonged, and where I felt enriched and energized in my faith and walk with God, I might have bid CAJ and Japan sayonara.

Yet, just as God called me to Japan through what seemed to be unbelievable coincidences, He also led me to Grace City through similar means.  When I think back to how I found the church, God's hand is clear to me: What are the odds that the first hit on a google search for churches in Tokyo would yield a video about a church-plant by one of my favorite pastors and writers, Dr. Tim Keller?  What are the chances that the worship songs on that first Sunday I attended were all standard, familiar Wiser Lake Chapel songs (songs I'd only ever heard before at the Chapel)?  What was the likelihood that one of the pastors had attended Covenant Seminary with someone who I'd actually known at the Chapel?

So, as Jeremiah 29 suggests, I am settling down.  I'd always thought of my time in Japan as being temporary to one degree or another, but now I am putting my suitcases into storage.  With a church-home, I can BE at home regardless of where I'm at.  True to my late-blooming TCK tendencies, my definition of home, I'm increasingly discovering, is a community of faith and fellow believers.  I've joined the worship team, am participating in an affiliated monthly Gospel choir, am attending a weekly community group.  I have even recently started dating a wonderful, Godly woman, a friend who I met through church and got to know better through Gospel choir.

It has been just over four years since I decided to stay in Japan beyond the six months I'd originally planned.  I applied for a full-time job at CAJ because I liked it there, and wanted to spend a little bit more time at the school.  I didn't ever consider that I'd still be in Japan four years later, and that I'd be making myself at home.

Tonight, amidst a number of things I could worry about ranging from global conflict to the grading that I'm scrambling to catch up on, I feel peaceful and blessed above all else.  God called me to Japan and I can still hear His voice assuring me that I am right where I need to be.  May my heart never cease to be grateful, may my lips never cease to praise His grace and providence, and may my feet never cease to follow His call.

Lenten Meditation--Sakura

This past Monday, as I was walking through the plaza at Christian Academy in Japan on my way to work, I spied a single white blossom in a nearby branch.  This sighting pulled me from my walking-but-not-quite-waking 8:00 am stupor, filling me with joy and excitement.

Most of the trees in CAJ's plaza are Somei Yoshino Cherry Trees, one variety of a larger family known in Japan simply as Sakura.

Forget groundhogs; forget robins--the pink and white Sakura blossoms herald the beginning of Spring in Japan.  When the trees are in full bloom, each tree, each limb resembles a vibrant cloudburst.  Each limb is filled with life and beauty.  The weather warms and people begin to venture outside for long walks and picnics under the blossoms.

This is why I was so energized and excited when I saw that blossom that morning: it was a promise; a preview; just a taste of the new season to come.  Almost every other branch of every tree in the plaza was still bare, as though dead.  The weather that day was just a little too chilly to feel Spring-like and wind-storm that night made it seem as though the weather was not improving but getting worse.  Yet, that blossom signaled something inexorable; something true and reliable: Spring would arrive in full and nothing could stop it!

We live in a rather extended version of this cool March Monday morning: the world is broken and so many things around us seem bare, bereft of truth, beauty and life.  Sometimes, it seems as though the world is simply getting worse.  Yet if we look carefully, we can spy the blossoms around us; those special moments of reconciliation, healing and restoration that hint at something yet to come.  

This combination of celebration and patient expectation is embodied in these days and weeks leading up to Easter.  Through His death and resurrection, Christ dealt a mortal blow to sin and death and the outcome of this ancient battle is now certain.  Christ will return to end the battle once and for all so that we can enjoy the fullness of victory in a newly restored Earth, and we wait for that day with earnest and deep longing.  It is perhaps all too easy to become impatient and to lose hope in the waiting, but it is essential to look for the first-fruits; those signs and signals that sin will pass away.  In time, the bare branches of this world will burst to life, beautiful, full and new.  In time, Spring will come.

Mar. 11, 2011

This is a repost of a Facebook note that I wrote on Mar. 12, 2011, the day after the Sendai Earthquake:

When things are going well in my life, I have a tendency to attribute the peace and success to my own abilities; I think of it as something that I've somehow merited, something that I deserve.  I occasionally give lip-service to God, but fail to acknowledge him in my heart. 

The strange thing is, I don't only do this with my career and my talents; I even do it with things like the weather, or other features of my environment.  If it's sunny, well--it must be sunny because I really wanted it to be that way.  This was certainly how I felt about the lack of major earthquakes during my time in Japan.  It looks completely irrational when it is written down, but at least a part of me genuinely believed that there hadn't been a devastating earthquake because I really didn't want there to be one.  This was reinforced every time I would feel a small earthquake.  I'd enjoy the break in my routine for a few seconds and then think "okay earth, you can stop shaking now.  That's enough."  And, the earthquake would always subside, reinforcing my twisted logic.  I don't think I ever would have admitted to thinking in this way, but this faulty reasoning was exposed to me in a big way yesterday afternoon.

It was just after 2:40 P.M.  My 6th period Junior American Lit. class had dismissed minutes before and the peaceful stillness of my 7th period prep-time had begun.  I was all alone in my room, sitting at my desk, when I noticed the blinds on the window swaying.  Since we'd had a small earthquake only a few days earlier, I recognized this symptom immediately and went through my familiar process of thinking "Ah, yes, the earthquake!  One of Japan's little quirks.  I shall enjoy this novelty for approximately 10 seconds and then it will stop."

But it didn't stop.  In fact, it got worse.  And when the room started to shake and sway, it occurred to me that this quake might be out of my hands; that I could not will this earthquake to stop any more than I could will the sun to rise in the evening or set in the morning.  As I sat huddled beneath my desk, the quake seemed to get progressively worse--more violent.  It lasted for several minutes.  Every second that I was under the desk, I couldn't help but feel the terror of the realization that this event really was beyond my control.  Japan was having a big earthquake, and who knew what the damage would be, and I could do nothing to make it stop.  I felt instantly small and powerless.

God speaks to the small and powerless.  Those caught up with their own pursuit of power, those who believe they control all things, those who think they know best manage to tune out God's voice, but the small and powerless chase that voice, call after it, cling to it for all they are worth.  So that's precisely what I did.  I clung to God.  My weekend was long, exhausting, uncomfortable, and chock-full of responsibility that I frankly didn't want to take, decisions that I didn't want to make. I woke up terrified several times during the night because of tremors, and while I was asleep, had nightmares about trying to drive away from crashing waves and exploding nuclear reactors.  Even tonight as I write this, my stomach is a nervous bundle of knots.  Yet aside from the physical discomfort and surface-level feelings of fear, I feel a peace that runs much deeper. 

God is in control.  I was in Japan during one of the biggest earthquakes in recorded history and I emerged with only minor, stress-related physical discomfort.  So many lost their homes, their lives, their livelihood... it easily could have been me, as a small missionary retreat near Sendai is one of my favorite vacation spots and I've spent hours walking along beaches that are now ravaged and flooded.  God is in control.  He kept me safe.  He kept my friends and colleagues safe.  He kept my students safe. 

God is in control.  He is watching over Japan and calling out to a nation that doesn't know him.  This is a time when Japan, weakened by crisis and being offered support by so many other countries, feels small and powerless.  I pray that the people of this country can listen, hear the voice of God calling, chase the voice, call after it and then cling onto it for all they are worth.  May all who live here be able to proclaim that God is in control.

Please remember Japan in your prayers.

Storm

This is a repost of a piece that I wrote in May of 2010 about an event that happened in May of 2008:

It was a clear, sunny Spring day in Northwest Iowa. The last of the snow had melted the week before, and graduation was one week away. We Dordt students had finally entered into one of those rare windows where the weather was not only tolerable, but beautiful. 

Since I only had 11:00 Linguistics on Fridays, I was using my afternoon to visit my future cooperating teachers for my student teaching placements the coming fall. I had to find out just what I would be teaching, collect the necessary textbooks, and make sure I'd worked out just when I would be starting each placement. The 20-mile drive to Le Mars was enjoyable, and made me appreciate the midwest's flat landscape for a fleeting while: I could see fields of green and blue skies in every direction. I rolled down my window, opened my sunroof, and cruised down Hwy. 75 with my elbow resting gently on the door. 

The meeting was fine, and I found out I'd be teaching freshman World History for two different cooperating teachers. Leaving the school, I turned my visitor's badge in to the receptionist, who said: "You came down from Sioux Center, didn't you hun?"

When I nodded my affirmation, she said "You'd better get a move on; there's a storm coming." 

I smiled politely and thanked her for her advice, but silently questioned her sanity. A storm? There weren't any clouds in the sky, nor so much as a gentle breeze. These old Iowans sometimes started to lose their grip on reality a little early, I thought to myself. It was sad, really.

Just as I was concocting my own senile version of the receptionist in my head, I stepped outside to find that it was significantly darker than when I'd entered the school 40 minutes before. It was only 2:30 in the afternoon, but charcoal clouds had materialized out of the blue and were blocking the sun enough to create a distinct dusk-like feeling. And yet, the sun was still high enough in the sky that it it bathed the cloud cover in an eerie greenish tint. On top of all this, the wind was blowing. Not hard, but threateningly. Everything looked surreal in this light: the cars, the trees, the traffic signs near the school. It was as though someone had taken a photo and adjusted the color saturation just a little, decreasing the reds and yellows, but increasing the blues and greens... This was how the sky looked before tornados and that was enough to send a chill up my spine. 

I wasted no time in getting back onto the highway. The leisurely joy-ride over, I rolled up my windows and shut my sun-roof. Just in time, it turned out: several tiny raindrops speckled my windshield. I waited a few seconds, and as no more raindrops hit, I began to relax my grip on the steering wheel. Then, as though a dam had burst in heaven itself, endless sheets of water began to pound my windshield. I braked just in time not to rear-end the car in front of me, which had also slowed to a crawl. I turned the wipers on to full-speed, but that made absolutely no difference. My view out the front of my car was a shimmery and blurry guess at taillights, road signs, dividing lines and gray. Ominous, dark, unforgiving gray. It felt like I'd forgotten to wear glasses, or lost my contacts. I followed the taillights in front of me at 10mph as the rain beat mercilessly down on the car. I trailed the car ahead for ten minutes, although with my senses of sight and sound distorted, it felt like hours. I was leaning forward, nose over the dash and knuckles turning white on the wheel. And then, the car ahead of me, my only clue to where the road was, my lifeline, turned into a short driveway. They were home. I still had 10 miles to go. 

I continued to drive blindly. Occasionally, I would see oncoming headlights through the barrier of liquid on my windshield. These headlights were usually far enough to my left that I knew I was in the correct lane. Once, they were directly in front of me and I had to adjust quickly to return to my side of the road. I was inwardly grateful I'd had the common sense to drive 5mph, because a car going the speed limit would have hydroplaned into a ditch or worse, making a fast adjustment like that. 

At that point, I knew the only way I would be perfectly safe was to get off the road, to wait the storm out. I turned onto a gravel side road, pulled off to the shoulder and parked. I turned off my car, and sat still, listening to the rain. It was impossible to discern the sound of individual raindrops; instead it sounded like the rushing and roaring of a waterfall. It seemed to be hitting my car from all angles, too, driven by the wind which was now pushing with all its might. 

My car shook and rocked as the storm raged on. I marveled at how strong and persistent this storm was, and how it seemed to have started in a matter of minutes with no warning. I was comforted by the thought that this storm would pass: there had been blue, sunny skies before, and there would be blue, sunny skies again. Storms came and went. They could be frustrating, scary and even dangerous to weather, but they never lasted. 

Eventually I felt the rain lighten up a little bit. My car was still shaking, but it was shaking less, as though the strong gusts of wind were coming less frequently than they had been. Recognizing my window of opportunity, I started my car and returned to the highway. The rest of the drive back to campus was still harrowing, although I could now catch clear glimpses of the road each time the wipers pushed layer after layer of rainwater aside. Parking my car, I made a mad dash to my apartment. In the course of running maybe 20 meters to the lobby door, the rain soaked me from head to toe--not a single square inch of me was dry... "How very typically Dordt", I thought to myself.

I changed into dry, warm clothes and sat by my 3rd story apartment window with a cup of tea and hot plate of Mac and Cheese in front of me. I watched the storm pick up again, this time with thunder and lighting, and silently thanked God I'd made it back safely.

To Keep Me Humble

As far back as I can remember, I have always loved words.  One of my favorite subjects from all of my years of school was a Middle School textbook series known as "Wordly Wise", in which vocabulary words were presented, complete with information on the word's etymology and roots.  Many of my peers hated "Wordly Wise", but I devoured each lesson.  I looked forward to each new set of words--more arrows for the quiver!  I was quick to try out my newly-gained vocabulary, both in writing and in conversation, and relished the compliments that I would receive.

This love for words and for writing grew throughout high school and college.  I learned that I could skillfully inform, persuade, or entertain, all depending on just how I phrased an idea.  I must admit that as time went on, it became ever the more difficult to be grateful to God for my gift.  I began to think of my word-smithery as something intrinsic to me, and me alone.  Why share the credit?

Perhaps this is part of the reason why God has called me to a setting where, outside of my job, my skill in the English language is meaningless.  When I say meaningless, I don't mean to belittle the gift; simply, I mean that I can go to City Hall and speak in my most eloquent English, and not only will it fail to impress the city employees, it will have little to no meaning to them.  My rhetorical abilities in English, which I'd taken for granted as a natural advantage for me for so long, suddenly seem less impressive... less worth becoming arrogant over.  Instead, I am brought back to the basics of learning elementary grammar and vocabulary in a language that poses a genuine challenge to me.  I must be content with making mistakes, with saying things the wrong way, with mixing up my vocab words, with sounding slow and inarticulate.

It is not through some internal, innate awesomeness that I make gradual progress in learning the Japanese language, but through God's grace.  Really, learning my native tongue was no different, though I was too young at the time to remember: I made many mistakes in the process of learning English, too, and it was by God's grace that I grew and gained fluency.  All of my skill with words belongs to God and not to me, and I must give it all back to Him.  Likewise, I can do no better than to lay my current language training at His feet.  Learning humility is not easy, but I suspect that it is necessary in order to grow and thrive.  May God's grace overwhelm my tongue and my mind as I struggle to learn Japanese and to accept my own lack of grace and elegance.

Longing for the stage

Yesterday and today, I had the opportunity to watch CAJ's Valentine's Day musical revue twice.  While not a traditional production, it was a delightful pastiche of Bernstein (or Bernstein-esque) songs which showcased the considerable vocal talent of the students (and instrumental talent of the jazz band, who accompanied in the pit).  Clocking in at just under an hour, it was a fun show to watch and listen to.

Watching the show made me realize just how much I miss the stage.  Participating in plays and musicals was a big part of my life during my high school years and though I had the opportunity to continue to pursue some of my other interests all the way through college (journalism and singing, for example), my official acting career ended when high school did.

Not that I actually had much of a career--I was quite self-conscious when I was in high school, and although I got more comfortable in my own skin as I got older, I never matured to the point where I felt at ease on the stage.  Among friends, I was a decent actor, constantly doing impressions, impersonations, accents and in general speaking in an exaggerated theatrical way to try and entertain.  However, on stage, I could never be fully in the moment or in character as part of my brain was always stuck in "Nate mode", worrying about how I looked, or worrying about what one certain girl or another might think of me.  Comedian Patton Oswalt once wisely said that true wit cannot have an agenda, and indeed with my concern about how others (and particularly, girls) might perceive me up on the stage, all my wit, charm and ease of performance evaporated, leaving a gangly youth with an at-best mechanical sense of stage blocking.

I can't believe it's been 10 years...

My biggest acting role came in Spring of my Junior year as a member of the barbershop quartet in "The Music Man".  For being four high school guys, we didn't do half bad, and in the process, we learned a ton about singing in a small ensemble.  Particularly, the experience taught me the value of using my ear as much as my voice while I sing, a skill that I continued to develop through my college years and am tremendously grateful for today.

However, that aside, I tended to be cast in bit parts or chorus roles.  I was awkward in auditions, and also awkward in the minor roles I was given.

It's 2013 now; 10 years since my role in "The Music Man" and 9 years since my last role as a Bow Street Runner in "Oliver!".  In that intervening decade, I've grown up.  I know who I am, and I'm now comfortable in my skin.  I've survived those first key years of being a classroom teacher in which self-consciousness is fried out of a person much in the way that grease is fried out of ground beef.  I've acted in nearly 30 student video projects in the time that I've been at CAJ.  I even teach a little bit of acting in my Junior classes, particularly as we go through Arthur Miller's "The Crucible" and I've heard students remark several times that I must have been a great actor in high school.  Maybe it's for the best that I was a late-bloomer, and maybe this will help me to recognize potential in my own students who are, as I was, a bit awkward and self-conscious and help me to better encourage them.

At any rate, watching the show yesterday and today made me wish I could have another crack at acting.  Sadly, there's not much opportunity, aside from singing the occasional solo from Les Miserables to my students (I'm not kidding... I have actually done this).  The tragedy of being a late-bloomer, I suppose.