The summer of '08 was my summer of '64: my last "full" summer at home, nearly four months of time spent with friends and family, working a miserable summer job and enjoying the last vestiges of childhood while trying not to think about the uncertainty of the looming, post-college future. I wrote extensively about that summer here.
Now, five years later, I look back. There's a little nostalgia involved, to be sure, but the overwhelming feeling is that of the runner beyond the finish line, looking back at the course he's just run. I know my race is still in progress, but I don't think I'd ever willingly return to the part of the course I was at in 2008.
I do, however, want to add another section to my epic Summer 2008 write-up. With five years' distance, one aspect in particular has taken on a more significant meaning to me. Here is my long-overdue chapter on working the night-shift at Haggen:
LOVERS IN JAPAN
After being silence-treatment-ed out of my job at Youngstock's, I went back to the drawing board: asking for job applications from various work-places, filling out said applications, bringing them back to aforementioned work-places, and...
...waiting.
After about a week of keeping my cell-phone on my person at all times, the call came: Haggen was inviting me in for an interview. Now, I want to make it clear up front that I love Haggen. It is the nicest grocery store chain in the Pacific Northwest, and in my humble opinion, the entire U.S. They are dedicated to their customers, dedicated to quality, and were kind enough to employ me for two summers while I was in college. I am forever indebted to them, to that extent.
But the job I was interviewing for (by my own volition, mind you) was the night-shift. The hours, 11 (or thereabouts) till 7. The job, throwing, and blocking/facing shelves.
Now, for those of who have never had the privilege of working in a grocery store, a quick lesson on the jargon:
"Throwing shelves" is aisle-speak for taking the palettes full of boxes (of cereal, of spaghetti sauce, of toilet paper, you name it) that have been dropped off in the loading bay by the store's suppliers, carting the palettes into the aisles, opening the boxes and putting the contents onto the shelves in their proper spots.
"Blocking/Facing" refers to the process of making sure the products look good on the shelves. There's a protocol to this--for the "Blocking" portion: All items, be they jars of baby-food, cans of tomato soup, boxes of kleenex, or what have you, must be stacked as high as they can be in the shelf-space provided, but they must also be stacked at least two deep (hence, "blocking"). This means, if a product is running low, to consolidate into fewer and perhaps shorter stacks, to keep them two-deep. "Facing" gets its name from the process of adjusting cans and bottles so that the front of the label is facing out. With pet food, I should note, it is possible to stack the cans with the front of the label facing out and still have done it the wrong way. The trick with cans of pet food... you may want to get something to write with and write on, by the way, because this is GOLD... is to adjust the cans at precisely the right angle so that it looks like the cat or dog in the picture on the label is smiling at you as you approach the cans. I am not sure why, but the angle matters and it WORKS! Well, it makes the cat look like she's smiling, anyway... I'm not positive it actually moves more pet-food than if we'd stacked the cans backwards, but... you get the idea.
That's the end of the quick lesson on grocery store-specific terminology. Now, back to my story: that was the job I was applying for. I thought the night-shift sounded as though it could be fun--after all, in the mind of a college student, what could be more fun than staying up all night?
Well, I got the job, probably due to the following reasons: a) I was willingly and enthusiastically applying for it, and... no, that's it. I'm sure.
At the beginning of June, I'd bought Viva La Vida Or Death and All His Friends, Coldplay's latest album. It seemed to me to be the perfect soundtrack to my life at the time on both a large and small scale. I listened to the album every night as I drove to work, and would nearly finish the album on the drive home in the morning. There was something about climbing into my car in the dark of night, and turning out of the driveway onto an otherwise-empty country road while listening to the eerie "Cemeteries of London" that was perfect, in a moody and angst-y way.
Since the roads were always clear at this time of night, the only variables in getting to work were the 4 stoplights I would encounter along the way. Because of this consistency, I would be singing along with the exact same song every night as I parked my car at the store. That song was "Lovers in Japan". The upbeat tempo and melody (not to mention, the call to "soldier on") helped to mentally prepare me for a night of throwing and facing shelves. More than that, though, the song held a certain exotic appeal, calling out to a small part of me that was quietly longing for adventure. My good friends, the Vander Haaks, lived in Tokyo and I loved listening to their stories about life in Japan.
"Tonight, maybe we're gonna run,
dreaming of the Osaka sun;
dreaming of when the morning comes."
At this point, I'd turn off the ignition and get out of my car... dreaming of the coming of the morning, for sure, but also dreaming of the allure of a faraway place, an adventure not-yet embarked upon... dreaming of the Osaka sun.
My co-workers were a colorful bunch. I was the youngest among them by 10 years, easily, and was the only one for whom this would be a temporary summer-time gig. I also found out that I had replaced another young guy named "Philip" (I've changed the names for the sake of privacy), who was, apparently, "a tool". I heard many stories about Philip as the summer progressed, and each story was worse than the one before. My personal belief is that Philip was probably not as bad as they said, but that the more they complained about Philip, the more everything he'd done bothered them in hindsight, and the more they exaggerated about him.
The leader of the pack was a man called "Spaniard". It occurs to me now that I never learned his real name, so I couldn't spoil his privacy even if I wanted to. He introduced himself as "Spaniard", The other guys all called him "Spaniard", so that's what I called him, too. I do not think he was Spanish, so I can only assume that years before, there must have been some inside joke that lead to the nick-name, and that the passage of time, coupled with the warped reality of the night-shift, had made that nick-name into an un-ironic title. By the time we met, it had, for all intents and purposes, become his name.
Spaniard loved softball. I'm not sure if the league was broader than local grocery stores, but it's more fun for me to remember it that way. Anyway, Spaniard had recruited most of his co-workers onto the Haggen team, and they played several times each week. Apparently, one time, he'd invited Philip, too.
"Philip said he had, like, an amazing arm, so I said yeah, man, definitely... come play sometime. When he got onto the field, his arm was DECENT. Decent, not amazing."
"Typical. That little punk", snorted Doug, the oldest of my co-workers. Doug was pushing 50, had an unkempt mustache and the state of his Haggen polo gave me the impression that he'd never learned to work a washing machine. Doug had two conversational modes: Complaining (about his ex-wife, his second ex-wife, his current wife, and his current step-daughter), and talking about his favorite websites (none of which I would feel comfortable listing here, or anywhere).
Jason was the youngest of my co-workers. He was in his early 30s. He was often late to work, and so in the 10-20 minutes between the beginning of our shift and the time he'd clock in, his co-workers (who also seemed to be his pre-eminent social circle), would cram an entire night's worth of bad-mouthing and back-stabbing in. It made me shudder to think what they said about me while I was not present. Then again, I rarely spoke aside from asking questions about the job--mostly I nodded, smiled, listened, and kept a low profile, so I'm fairly sure I didn't provide them with much ammo. I learned that Jason was in a perpetual state of drunkenness--not only from what my co-workers said, but also from the 3 or 4 times that Jason steered the palette cart into the wine display, knocking over a tower of reds and adding a half-hour of clean-up to our shift each time.
One night, 2 hours had passed and Jason had still not arrived. His friends called his cell phone and called his house, but to no avail. So, during our lunch break (which we could take at any point between 1 and 3 in the morning), Spaniard drove to Jason's house and found him passed out under a pile of cans. At least, that's how Spaniard described it when he came back to the store with a very pale, staggering Jason.
Softball, drinking, work, sleep; softball, drinking, work, sleep; this was the life that I heard about each night. It was the reality I had a window into as I listened to my co-workers talk about the previous evening's big game during our break-time. It was not a summer job for these guys--it was their bread and butter; their way of making ends meet.
I still wonder about those guys sometimes.
However, more colorful than my colleagues were the shoppers who would come into the store in the wee hours of the morning. Some cases were sad, like the parents who brought their adult downs-syndrome son to the store at midnight and were constantly snapping at him for getting excited about what he saw on the shelf.
Some cases were bizarre, like the young couple who were pushing a wide-awake toddler in a stroller through the baby food aisle at 2 am.
Then, of course, there were the countless shoppers who wore dark sweatshirts with their hoods up, as though by having that cover, they might miraculously become invisible to the world around them. The eyes that would stare unseeing from under those hoods still give me chills as I remember them.
Most strange, perhaps was the time a couple who were about my age approached me at 4 in the morning, asking what aisle our shot glasses were on.
"Shot glasses are seasonal, only sold just before New Year's", I explained.
My reply was followed by several beats of uncomfortable silence as the couple looked at each other, at me, and at the shelf where we were standing. Then their eyes locked onto the Dixie Cups.
"F*** it, we'll take these", the girl said, grabbing two 20-packs of our largest Dixie Cups.
However, the customers were few and far-between, and what I remember most about my job were the long hours of solitary blocking and facing. Throwing the shelves was a team endeavor, and it would take maybe two hours. The rest of the shift was spent organizing the products on the shelves alone. Under the principle of divide-and-conquer, each of us had a part of the store we were responsible for blocking and facing. For me, it was baby foods, pet foods, household cleaners, soaps and detergents. As I worked my way from shelf to shelf, aisle to aisle, I tried desperately not to think about how quickly the fruit of my hours of tedious labor would be crushed by the onslaught of morning shoppers who simply grabbed stuff off the shelves and tossed it into their carts without noticing the impeccable blocking and facing. I might as well have tried to stop the tide from coming in.
The solitude and tedium gave me ample opportunity to reflect on my life--where I'd come from and where I was going.
Where was I going? Of course, I didn't know where I'd go after I finished my student teaching in December, and the not knowing terrified me. I did know one thing: I did not want this to be my life. I did not want to live in the cycle of working all night and sleeping all day, squinting up at the sun like a newborn foal every time I would make the trek from the entrance of the store to my car at the end of my shift. I knew I wanted something more.
"Dreaming of the Osaka sun;
dreaming of when the morning comes."
Each morning, usually by 6:00 (our shifts were dependent on finishing our duties for the night and not actually staying for a rigid 8 hours), I would walk across the parking lot to my car. The sky was often pink with the dawn by this time, and the air carried that unmistakeable feeling of dew and dampness that a summer morning brings. I'd turn on my car, and re-start the track I'd been listening to before. As I'd drive away from Haggen, I'd sing "Lovers in Japan" from the start one more time. I knew I'd pull into my own driveway just as the song "Viva La Vida" ended. I knew I'd sleep till 3 in the afternoon. I knew I'd repeat the process again the next night. I knew it wouldn't last forever. I didn't know what would come next, and I couldn't have imagined that I was on the brink of my greatest adventure yet. I couldn't have dreamed that in half a year, I'd be nearer the Osaka sun than ever before.
All of this came to me in full force tonight, listening to Viva La Vida for the first time in a long time, as I walked along the river in Higashi Kurume, Tokyo.
Japan.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Farewell, Class of 2013
Though I started at CAJ during the 2008-2009 school-year, I was more a fly on the wall than anything else for those first few months: working with some students one-on-one, but mostly just observing the community around me.
It wasn't until August of 2009 that I set foot into my very own classroom, which, if we're being completely honest, is absolutely nothing like student teaching (about 10 times more terrifying).
That first year, I taught Bible to every high-schooler, but Bible classes at CAJ meet every other day, and each section of students rotates between two Bible teachers, so I found developing rapport and relationship with those students to be challenging.
However, I also taught one section of 9th graders--16 students--for both World History and Freshmen English. Education classes and common wisdom tell us that the first year of teaching is brutally difficult, but honestly, it's an experience every teacher must go through; a crucible in which a new teacher learns more about themselves, and more about how to teach than they learned in several years of theory classes. (Note: this is not to say the theory classes are worthless. On the contrary, they are quite helpful, but that helpfulness is not truly activated until after spending time in the classroom and developing through trial and lots of error some kind of reference point for all the theories and pedagogy picked up in college classes).
Over the course of an entire school-year, I got to know these 16 students very well, spending almost two hours with them each day, 5 days a week.
Today, I get along well with many of these students. At the time, however, things were not quite so comfortable. As a first-year teacher, I was quick to be defensive and offended, easy to anger, quick to respond impatiently. Here is a blog-post that I wrote on Thursday, Feb. 25, 2010, describing a typical day in Freshmen Humanities:
12:15-12:18--Tardy bell for 5th period rings. No students tardy! I set up the computer and projector that I checked out from the library for today's presentations.
12:18-12:25--I introduce the presentations for the day with a brief overview of French, British and Dutch colonization.
12:18-12:35--Technological difficulties. The computer is working fine, but the projector is only displaying the background of the desktop; nothing else. Since it seems to be a problem with the projector and not the computer, I end up packing up the projector, taking it back to the library, and checking out a different one.
12:35-12:40--Same exact problem.
12:40: Eureka! I discover that the projector is actually showing an adjacent computer screen, and I can actually drag the Keynote presentation from the computer screen to the projector screen.
12:41--Turns out the projector screen only shows the presenter notes when we hit "play show".
12:44--I discover that the "mirror screen" option is off in system preferences, and turn that back on, which enables the presentation to play on both the computer screen AND the projector screen. Huzzah!
12:46-12:51--Student presentation on the Jamestown colony. Very good!
12:51-12:55--I follow up on the presentation and re-emphasize the main challenges that the Jamestown settlement faced.
12:55-12:59--I introduce the next presentation on piracy by talking about the settling of the Caribbean and competing interests between the French, English and Dutch.
1:00-1:04--First half of student presentation on The REAL Pirates of the Caribbean.
1:04--Lunch bell rings.
1:04-1:10--I pack up computer, projector and speakers, and move them one room over (we change rooms between 5th and 6th). I then unpack and re-set up the works.
1:49--tardy bell rings for 6th period. A string of 8 students file in right after the bell (unfortunately my Internet is down, so I can't mark them tardy).
1:50-1:53--Projector computer is being finnicky. Takes a few minutes for student to get back into his account and open the presentation he'd started before lunch.
1:53-1:57--Student finishes presentation on piracy. Great job!
1:57-2:01--Questions from classmates about piracy.
2:01-2:08--I introduce the next presentation on the 7 years' war
2:09-2:20--Student repeatedly tries to log onto his account. After about 10 tries, it starts to load. SLOWLY. Eventually it brings him to his desktop, but gives him the spinning beach-ball for 5 minutes. In the meantime, I (a bit on edge and frustrated) criticize the noise levels during presentations and threaten to give tardies to anyone who talks while their classmate is presenting, and for those who already have tardies, an unexcused absence. An overreaction? Definitely, but I'm in a foul mood by this point. This leads to a heated "argument" between myself and the class over whether those 8 students were actually tardy. Everyone is on edge and unhappy. This sucks. The beach-ball is still spinning. I think the only thing we'd agree on right now is how much we hate technology.
2:20--I realize that my laptop is still unable to get onto the Internet, and that the technological difficulties must be related to the network. Stupid school network.
2:21--I shift gears quickly, pushing the scheduled presentations back a day and asking the final Romeo and Juliet group to perform their scene (they were supposed to go on Tuesday, but were missing group members).
2:25--Since it is a warm, sunny day, we all move outside in front of the auditorium.
2:28-2:37--The group gives a very good performance. The rest of the class watches intently and cheers during Tybalt and Romeo's epic sword fight.
2:38--The bell rings and everyone departs for their 7th period class, significantly happier.
Every day is an adventure with the freshmen. Not always easy. Not always fun. Sometimes it's really frustrating both for me and for them. But we're learning together. The good times more than make up for the bad. I'll miss this group next year, despite all the struggles we've had. I hope they'll miss me too!
Today, I watched several of these students, now Seniors, present their Senior Comprehensives--the culmination of a year-long intensive research project, examining a world issue of their choice, analyzing causes and effects, and formulating a Biblically-based solution. It was remarkable to see how far they have come; how much they have grown as students; as people; as citizens of the world, ready to embark from this place. I am proud of them. I can't help but wonder--over those same four years, how have I grown... as a teacher; as a person; as a citizen of the world?
I wish this class all the best. Ours has been a complicated and sometimes tense relationship, but we helped each other learn and helped each other become who we are today. I am incredibly grateful, and will miss the class of '13 tremendously.
It wasn't until August of 2009 that I set foot into my very own classroom, which, if we're being completely honest, is absolutely nothing like student teaching (about 10 times more terrifying).
That first year, I taught Bible to every high-schooler, but Bible classes at CAJ meet every other day, and each section of students rotates between two Bible teachers, so I found developing rapport and relationship with those students to be challenging.
However, I also taught one section of 9th graders--16 students--for both World History and Freshmen English. Education classes and common wisdom tell us that the first year of teaching is brutally difficult, but honestly, it's an experience every teacher must go through; a crucible in which a new teacher learns more about themselves, and more about how to teach than they learned in several years of theory classes. (Note: this is not to say the theory classes are worthless. On the contrary, they are quite helpful, but that helpfulness is not truly activated until after spending time in the classroom and developing through trial and lots of error some kind of reference point for all the theories and pedagogy picked up in college classes).
Over the course of an entire school-year, I got to know these 16 students very well, spending almost two hours with them each day, 5 days a week.
Today, I get along well with many of these students. At the time, however, things were not quite so comfortable. As a first-year teacher, I was quick to be defensive and offended, easy to anger, quick to respond impatiently. Here is a blog-post that I wrote on Thursday, Feb. 25, 2010, describing a typical day in Freshmen Humanities:
12:15-12:18--Tardy bell for 5th period rings. No students tardy! I set up the computer and projector that I checked out from the library for today's presentations.
12:18-12:25--I introduce the presentations for the day with a brief overview of French, British and Dutch colonization.
12:18-12:35--Technological difficulties. The computer is working fine, but the projector is only displaying the background of the desktop; nothing else. Since it seems to be a problem with the projector and not the computer, I end up packing up the projector, taking it back to the library, and checking out a different one.
12:35-12:40--Same exact problem.
12:40: Eureka! I discover that the projector is actually showing an adjacent computer screen, and I can actually drag the Keynote presentation from the computer screen to the projector screen.
12:41--Turns out the projector screen only shows the presenter notes when we hit "play show".
12:44--I discover that the "mirror screen" option is off in system preferences, and turn that back on, which enables the presentation to play on both the computer screen AND the projector screen. Huzzah!
12:46-12:51--Student presentation on the Jamestown colony. Very good!
12:51-12:55--I follow up on the presentation and re-emphasize the main challenges that the Jamestown settlement faced.
12:55-12:59--I introduce the next presentation on piracy by talking about the settling of the Caribbean and competing interests between the French, English and Dutch.
1:00-1:04--First half of student presentation on The REAL Pirates of the Caribbean.
1:04--Lunch bell rings.
1:04-1:10--I pack up computer, projector and speakers, and move them one room over (we change rooms between 5th and 6th). I then unpack and re-set up the works.
1:49--tardy bell rings for 6th period. A string of 8 students file in right after the bell (unfortunately my Internet is down, so I can't mark them tardy).
1:50-1:53--Projector computer is being finnicky. Takes a few minutes for student to get back into his account and open the presentation he'd started before lunch.
1:53-1:57--Student finishes presentation on piracy. Great job!
1:57-2:01--Questions from classmates about piracy.
2:01-2:08--I introduce the next presentation on the 7 years' war
2:09-2:20--Student repeatedly tries to log onto his account. After about 10 tries, it starts to load. SLOWLY. Eventually it brings him to his desktop, but gives him the spinning beach-ball for 5 minutes. In the meantime, I (a bit on edge and frustrated) criticize the noise levels during presentations and threaten to give tardies to anyone who talks while their classmate is presenting, and for those who already have tardies, an unexcused absence. An overreaction? Definitely, but I'm in a foul mood by this point. This leads to a heated "argument" between myself and the class over whether those 8 students were actually tardy. Everyone is on edge and unhappy. This sucks. The beach-ball is still spinning. I think the only thing we'd agree on right now is how much we hate technology.
2:20--I realize that my laptop is still unable to get onto the Internet, and that the technological difficulties must be related to the network. Stupid school network.
2:21--I shift gears quickly, pushing the scheduled presentations back a day and asking the final Romeo and Juliet group to perform their scene (they were supposed to go on Tuesday, but were missing group members).
2:25--Since it is a warm, sunny day, we all move outside in front of the auditorium.
2:28-2:37--The group gives a very good performance. The rest of the class watches intently and cheers during Tybalt and Romeo's epic sword fight.
2:38--The bell rings and everyone departs for their 7th period class, significantly happier.
Every day is an adventure with the freshmen. Not always easy. Not always fun. Sometimes it's really frustrating both for me and for them. But we're learning together. The good times more than make up for the bad. I'll miss this group next year, despite all the struggles we've had. I hope they'll miss me too!
Today, I watched several of these students, now Seniors, present their Senior Comprehensives--the culmination of a year-long intensive research project, examining a world issue of their choice, analyzing causes and effects, and formulating a Biblically-based solution. It was remarkable to see how far they have come; how much they have grown as students; as people; as citizens of the world, ready to embark from this place. I am proud of them. I can't help but wonder--over those same four years, how have I grown... as a teacher; as a person; as a citizen of the world?
I wish this class all the best. Ours has been a complicated and sometimes tense relationship, but we helped each other learn and helped each other become who we are today. I am incredibly grateful, and will miss the class of '13 tremendously.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
To be a pilgrim
In his allegory, The Pilgrim's Progress, John Bunyan embodies the sins, cares and worries of the world in a single object: a burden; a giant weight fastened to the back of those encumbered, and whose straps can only be broken at "the place of deliverance" (symbolically standing in for the Cross and the Tomb).
The oversized illustrated edition of The Pilgrim's Progress that I read as a child depicted the burdens as looking like large hiking backpacks--only, the packs were lumpy, even pointy, and it seemed as though each bump or point on the surface must've surely dug into the shoulders and back of the bearer with every step.
Having on three occasions ventured out into the woods and hills west of Tokyo for a several-day hiking trip, the image of the giant pack means more to me now than it did when I was young.
Easy trails become sweaty work with a heavy pack on. Difficult trails become nearly impossible--a test that often runs to the last fiber of perseverance and will. Achey shoulders, a sore back and spots worn raw from the straps continue to cry out even during breaks.
The reality of sin; our worries; our fears; all of these things, we carry on our shoulders. The burden might be invisible to the casual observer, but this doesn't make it any less real, or any lighter. I'm keenly aware of this tonight: I have experienced a lot of significant changes in my life over the past six months. Some of these changes have been the cause for much rejoicing. They have also been the cause for much more worry, fear and anxiety than I had ever previously known.
Tonight, as I lie in bed and try to take deep breaths and calm my anxious spirit after a long day of busy grading, and no shortage of worry about other things, it feels as though I have a large burden resting on my shoulders, digging in and causing me to feel achey, queazy and breathless.
Perhaps due to preoccupation with the weight, I forget too easily that to be free from my burden, I do not need to so much as step out of my front door as Christian did in Bunyan's story. I turn instead to Matthew 11 and listen to Jesus' invitation:
28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
"The place of deliverance" is at the feet of the King and it is a destination we are called to in prayer. Now, I know that I'll feel better after I lay my burden--all these cares and worries, all my sins and missteps, all my anxieties and insecurities before Jesus. I also know that I'll probably forget to do so tomorrow and take up my burden once again. How easily we forget; how distractible and short-attentioned we creatures are. May God transform my heart to be in a constant state of searching; to be in a constant state of bringing my burdens to Him and walking away filled with His grace and the Peace which passes all understanding.
Amen.
The oversized illustrated edition of The Pilgrim's Progress that I read as a child depicted the burdens as looking like large hiking backpacks--only, the packs were lumpy, even pointy, and it seemed as though each bump or point on the surface must've surely dug into the shoulders and back of the bearer with every step.
Having on three occasions ventured out into the woods and hills west of Tokyo for a several-day hiking trip, the image of the giant pack means more to me now than it did when I was young.
Easy trails become sweaty work with a heavy pack on. Difficult trails become nearly impossible--a test that often runs to the last fiber of perseverance and will. Achey shoulders, a sore back and spots worn raw from the straps continue to cry out even during breaks.
The reality of sin; our worries; our fears; all of these things, we carry on our shoulders. The burden might be invisible to the casual observer, but this doesn't make it any less real, or any lighter. I'm keenly aware of this tonight: I have experienced a lot of significant changes in my life over the past six months. Some of these changes have been the cause for much rejoicing. They have also been the cause for much more worry, fear and anxiety than I had ever previously known.
Tonight, as I lie in bed and try to take deep breaths and calm my anxious spirit after a long day of busy grading, and no shortage of worry about other things, it feels as though I have a large burden resting on my shoulders, digging in and causing me to feel achey, queazy and breathless.
Perhaps due to preoccupation with the weight, I forget too easily that to be free from my burden, I do not need to so much as step out of my front door as Christian did in Bunyan's story. I turn instead to Matthew 11 and listen to Jesus' invitation:
28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
"The place of deliverance" is at the feet of the King and it is a destination we are called to in prayer. Now, I know that I'll feel better after I lay my burden--all these cares and worries, all my sins and missteps, all my anxieties and insecurities before Jesus. I also know that I'll probably forget to do so tomorrow and take up my burden once again. How easily we forget; how distractible and short-attentioned we creatures are. May God transform my heart to be in a constant state of searching; to be in a constant state of bringing my burdens to Him and walking away filled with His grace and the Peace which passes all understanding.
Amen.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
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!
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!
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
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.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
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.
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