So, in the past few weeks I went from thinking I might be going to Hong Kong...and then I figured out I probably wasn't going to Hong Kong...and then I went on vacation, had a wonderful time with my friend Haidee, got to go visit my uncle with Leukemia in the hospital and be encouraged by his heart and spirit in the middle of something that's got to be kind of scary, and spent several days with my mom and sister at my 92-year-old grandpa's house. On Sunday I take off again with the family for Utah and Colorado to see national parks and my dad's family. There is my 2 second update.
The night I got home from all my travelling, I had a conversation with a friend that kicked me into high action mode again. Not to say that running around the nation visiting people isn't high action...but that kind of action gear that I kick into when I have a vision.
And so...the next day, I found myself hardcore spending time with God...as well as making myself a budget, planning my next move, and searching for an online Japanese class.
Tonight I tried my first online Japanese class for the trial price of $3 for 50 minutes. I tried the Beginner 2 level, which still uses a textbook and should be about JLPT 3kyu level. The class was super structured and quite easy...a very safe place to pull out Japanese that's gotten a little rusty. And at the end the teacher recommended I try the next level up. But despite not learning too much that was new...I found myself glowing from head to foot once the class was over. The teacher is a Japanese person living in Japan. I'm excited to try the intermediate class next time and see if I get to talk freely more...even though I know I could use the structure of learning the grammar at the Beginner 2 level. But really, I can study grammar on my own. It was just so wonderful to speak Japanese!
Today I also made the semi-decision that when I move to the Twin Cities I'm going to move by train. The train system in America is ridiculously lacking...and I want to do whatever possible to support it. So, the plan I am super excited about is to buy a 15 day rail pass and travel to the Twin Cities in the following way: Denver-->Sacramento-->Portland-->Seattle-->Glacier National Park-->Minneapolis. This is less than half the cost of renting a car, will allow me to see my Northwest friends, get the nice long processing time I have been longing for, get some possible quality time with beautiful scenary in Montana...I've never been to Glacier before...I can bring slightly more luggage than on an airplane...and I get to support the American train system all at the same time.
Anyway...it's been so good to be able to spend the past two days more or less withdrawn and with God. I can never sing enough praises for the way a day with God changes absolutely everything. Like the entire world goes from being this threatening thing that's trying to beat me up to a place that seems to just radiate with possibilities and His presence. The problems don't necessarily go away, but it's like they change from giants into mice. And then I can laugh at them. ^_~
This entry feels splattered all over the place, but that's kind of what my brain has been doing the past few days anyway.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
I like building things
We have a bird feeder in our backyard that has been around about as long as I have. So it got to where it looked like this...
You can't tell in the picture, but it got to where it's held together with string and all that.
For mother's day, my dad had the idea that we could take it to a church member's workshop and fix it up. I've been to this workshop two times before. The first was in sixth grade when I was building a huge rat maze for the science fair. The second was for high school youth group when Doug (the church member) helped us design and construct little alters to keep at home. Even though my ideas always end up more elaborate than what I can actually build, each time has been memorable to me.
This time made me think about the spiritual gift of craftsmanship...how many spiritual gifts discussions include it and how I've seen so little of it in action. Doug's workshop is a collection of a bazillion little odds and ends...random nuts and bolts, hinges, rare African woods...anything you could need to build anything. And there's something different about the entire place...not that I've been in too many workshops, but this one is a real spiritual place.
Even though we were repairing a bird feeder for my mom, Doug had set up a project for me to make a new bird feeder too. It's made out of the plastic container some Venetian blinds were in, four chopsticks, a Wyoming license plate and a few more wood parts. It was super easy to put together...just drilling holes, using a nail gun, a sander. But it reminded me of the little bedside table I made in Tokyo...that was just a board that I painted, but putting a coat of red on that board would light up my whole day.
(I was fascinated also when I brought my guitar into the Christian music store to get repaired. The man working on it was blind. He proclaimed, "Let me see your guitar!" and then laughed and said, "Well, that's an oxymoron for a blind guy." I liked him immediately. I watched him tinker around with it...he fixed the peg and by touch could tell that the neck wasn't quite in alignment, and with a couple screws he made my guitar play better than it ever has. And I found myself wondering how many years it would take me to learn how to make something like a guitar from scratch. Haha. Yep...I'm still on vacation with no vision.)
But anyway...back to Doug's workshop...we fixed up my family's bird feeder. In the end, we left almost all the outer parts, but we took the whole thing apart and strengthened it. It was straighter and everything. When we were done, Doug asked if anyone had a blessing for it. I was thinking...yeah...it's a bird feeder. I'll do blessings for a lot of things...but not bird feeders.
But he got out a candle and set it in front of the bird feeder. We were silent for a few moments. Doug and my dad prayed. And Doug started talking about how this bird feeder reminded him of our church. They're in the middle of doing Natural Church Development, and they were told their weakest aspect was passionate spirituality. So, right now, they're looking at how to grow in that.
As he talked about how we had revamped the whole bird feeder but we had kept the old, beautiful parts, and how that was like our church right now, I felt as though the Holy Spirit had just dropped down on us. It wasn't his words, so to speak...just one of those times that feels very sacred. I was holding back tears at the beauty of the whole experience as we said goodbye to Doug.
It's so funny how God keeps answering the heart cry of, "Where can I go and be with God?". The places haven't been anywhere I would think to look for him...I usually look for churches, not workshops or international student houses. It's also notable that none of these places are places I can return to...they're "rest stops" on the way to somewhere else...somewhere to get a drink of water before the journey continues. And I am incredibly thankful for the gift.
You can't tell in the picture, but it got to where it's held together with string and all that.
For mother's day, my dad had the idea that we could take it to a church member's workshop and fix it up. I've been to this workshop two times before. The first was in sixth grade when I was building a huge rat maze for the science fair. The second was for high school youth group when Doug (the church member) helped us design and construct little alters to keep at home. Even though my ideas always end up more elaborate than what I can actually build, each time has been memorable to me.
This time made me think about the spiritual gift of craftsmanship...how many spiritual gifts discussions include it and how I've seen so little of it in action. Doug's workshop is a collection of a bazillion little odds and ends...random nuts and bolts, hinges, rare African woods...anything you could need to build anything. And there's something different about the entire place...not that I've been in too many workshops, but this one is a real spiritual place.
Even though we were repairing a bird feeder for my mom, Doug had set up a project for me to make a new bird feeder too. It's made out of the plastic container some Venetian blinds were in, four chopsticks, a Wyoming license plate and a few more wood parts. It was super easy to put together...just drilling holes, using a nail gun, a sander. But it reminded me of the little bedside table I made in Tokyo...that was just a board that I painted, but putting a coat of red on that board would light up my whole day.
(I was fascinated also when I brought my guitar into the Christian music store to get repaired. The man working on it was blind. He proclaimed, "Let me see your guitar!" and then laughed and said, "Well, that's an oxymoron for a blind guy." I liked him immediately. I watched him tinker around with it...he fixed the peg and by touch could tell that the neck wasn't quite in alignment, and with a couple screws he made my guitar play better than it ever has. And I found myself wondering how many years it would take me to learn how to make something like a guitar from scratch. Haha. Yep...I'm still on vacation with no vision.)
But anyway...back to Doug's workshop...we fixed up my family's bird feeder. In the end, we left almost all the outer parts, but we took the whole thing apart and strengthened it. It was straighter and everything. When we were done, Doug asked if anyone had a blessing for it. I was thinking...yeah...it's a bird feeder. I'll do blessings for a lot of things...but not bird feeders.
But he got out a candle and set it in front of the bird feeder. We were silent for a few moments. Doug and my dad prayed. And Doug started talking about how this bird feeder reminded him of our church. They're in the middle of doing Natural Church Development, and they were told their weakest aspect was passionate spirituality. So, right now, they're looking at how to grow in that.
As he talked about how we had revamped the whole bird feeder but we had kept the old, beautiful parts, and how that was like our church right now, I felt as though the Holy Spirit had just dropped down on us. It wasn't his words, so to speak...just one of those times that feels very sacred. I was holding back tears at the beauty of the whole experience as we said goodbye to Doug.
It's so funny how God keeps answering the heart cry of, "Where can I go and be with God?". The places haven't been anywhere I would think to look for him...I usually look for churches, not workshops or international student houses. It's also notable that none of these places are places I can return to...they're "rest stops" on the way to somewhere else...somewhere to get a drink of water before the journey continues. And I am incredibly thankful for the gift.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Cause for Celebration
My guitar made it home!!!
I was started to get really worried, because the post office in Japan said 2 weeks, and it's been something like a month. Apparently they did not take rural Wyoming into consideration. So, my mom came into the house today with our backed up mail from while we were gone last week, and my guitar was with it!
Unfortunately, one of the pegs broke in transport, so my d-string is unalterably something like ten octaves lower than the other strings and horribly out of tune. But I don't think replacing the peg should be such a big deal.
I am especially celebrating the return of my guitar case along with my guitar. Since my friends all got together to give it to me, it actually has more sentimental value to me than the guitar itself. (Shh...don't tell my guitar!) ;-)
In case any of you were very concerned about Ebony, I also was able to rescue him yesterday morning. He was very excited to make it out of that teeny cage and nearly took my arm off when I walked him to the car. So, I headed for the hills with him and we went out to run and play in Red Canyon. That dog remains a stubborn rebel, though. He found a deer carcass and ran off with a five inch long bone from the leg. I'm chasing after him, trying to woo the bone out of his mouth with treats, but apparently the bone looked nicer to him than treats and obeying me. I finally sat down about twenty feet away from him. I ate my sandwich. He ate an entire deer leg bone. And once he had (I kid you not) swallowed the whole thing, he was willing to trot alongside me again. Sigh...you try to make a dog happy...
I think he was still cranky from being in jail. He was so exhausted he slept the entire rest of the day. ;-)
I was started to get really worried, because the post office in Japan said 2 weeks, and it's been something like a month. Apparently they did not take rural Wyoming into consideration. So, my mom came into the house today with our backed up mail from while we were gone last week, and my guitar was with it!
Unfortunately, one of the pegs broke in transport, so my d-string is unalterably something like ten octaves lower than the other strings and horribly out of tune. But I don't think replacing the peg should be such a big deal.
I am especially celebrating the return of my guitar case along with my guitar. Since my friends all got together to give it to me, it actually has more sentimental value to me than the guitar itself. (Shh...don't tell my guitar!) ;-)
In case any of you were very concerned about Ebony, I also was able to rescue him yesterday morning. He was very excited to make it out of that teeny cage and nearly took my arm off when I walked him to the car. So, I headed for the hills with him and we went out to run and play in Red Canyon. That dog remains a stubborn rebel, though. He found a deer carcass and ran off with a five inch long bone from the leg. I'm chasing after him, trying to woo the bone out of his mouth with treats, but apparently the bone looked nicer to him than treats and obeying me. I finally sat down about twenty feet away from him. I ate my sandwich. He ate an entire deer leg bone. And once he had (I kid you not) swallowed the whole thing, he was willing to trot alongside me again. Sigh...you try to make a dog happy...
I think he was still cranky from being in jail. He was so exhausted he slept the entire rest of the day. ;-)
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Where is home anyway?
I had a whole new blog entry spiraling off the end of the last one, so I'm just going to write two entries back to back.
Some of the most painful words spoken to me since I've been in the States came from a complete stranger, who was very well-meaning. He said brightly and cheerfully, "Welcome home!" Not only was I in the States, but separated from my family and friends, and in midst of a culture shock attack. I couldn't even respond for a moment, but finally put on a nice smile and said, "Thank you."
It's also been surprising to see many Christians calling my hometown "God's country". I've seen or heard this three times now. Once was in a prayer meeting where they made reference to someone "being back in God's country". My heart had been crying out Psalm 42 the whole meeting, "My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. Where can I go and meet with God?" Now, I know that when they call Lander "God's country", what they mean is that the mountains are to die for. But it seemed so ironic while I'm longing for the kind of intimacy with God that only comes in a community...welcome to God's country.
I've been thinking a lot about citizenship in the Kingdom of God. The real one, that is. Not something special about Lander, Wyoming. There are a couple of times that I've felt very at home since coming back. It always feels like a safe place has just descended around me in the middle of the storm.
My brother took me into his dorm room for two nights while I was traveling this week. He was generous to me way beyond what was necessary. My favorite was that there was this bathroom that was co-ed at the end of his hallway. The problem was that the door wouldn't lock, and my brother swears that some of the guys will just storm in there without knocking. So, it didn't matter what time of day it was, if I was going to go to the bathroom, Charlie was going to stand guard. We were up watching movies until 3am one night, and I tried to tell him I would be just fine when I headed for the restroom afterwards. But he insisted that the guys might be drunk, and stood guard all the same, putting on this wonderful stern guard face for the occasion.
While I was with my brother, I had the strongest sense of home I have had yet on one particular occasion. Charlie showed a kind of understanding that had to have been Holy Spirit inspired, because even *I* couldn't have told him it was a good idea ahead of time. He took me to the international student house on his college campus to play Settlers of Catan. The house is home to a Christian group as well as many international students. And I found that I really felt at home there, and like I could connect to people again. We stayed for hours...ate cheesy bread, played Settlers, talked about God a bit...I didn't know a soul there besides my brother, and yet I was suddenly safe.
There was a guy there who didn't really like our board game playing too much, I don't think. He kept saying, "A bunch of Christians acting like non-Christians." I didn't know him well enough to know if he was teasing us or serious. But it seemed so funny to me...that one person's "a bunch of Christians acting like non-Christians" seemed like beautiful Christian community to me...where we just sit back and laugh and eat together; and Jesus' name is dropped in casual conversation.
Some of the most painful words spoken to me since I've been in the States came from a complete stranger, who was very well-meaning. He said brightly and cheerfully, "Welcome home!" Not only was I in the States, but separated from my family and friends, and in midst of a culture shock attack. I couldn't even respond for a moment, but finally put on a nice smile and said, "Thank you."
It's also been surprising to see many Christians calling my hometown "God's country". I've seen or heard this three times now. Once was in a prayer meeting where they made reference to someone "being back in God's country". My heart had been crying out Psalm 42 the whole meeting, "My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. Where can I go and meet with God?" Now, I know that when they call Lander "God's country", what they mean is that the mountains are to die for. But it seemed so ironic while I'm longing for the kind of intimacy with God that only comes in a community...welcome to God's country.
I've been thinking a lot about citizenship in the Kingdom of God. The real one, that is. Not something special about Lander, Wyoming. There are a couple of times that I've felt very at home since coming back. It always feels like a safe place has just descended around me in the middle of the storm.
My brother took me into his dorm room for two nights while I was traveling this week. He was generous to me way beyond what was necessary. My favorite was that there was this bathroom that was co-ed at the end of his hallway. The problem was that the door wouldn't lock, and my brother swears that some of the guys will just storm in there without knocking. So, it didn't matter what time of day it was, if I was going to go to the bathroom, Charlie was going to stand guard. We were up watching movies until 3am one night, and I tried to tell him I would be just fine when I headed for the restroom afterwards. But he insisted that the guys might be drunk, and stood guard all the same, putting on this wonderful stern guard face for the occasion.
While I was with my brother, I had the strongest sense of home I have had yet on one particular occasion. Charlie showed a kind of understanding that had to have been Holy Spirit inspired, because even *I* couldn't have told him it was a good idea ahead of time. He took me to the international student house on his college campus to play Settlers of Catan. The house is home to a Christian group as well as many international students. And I found that I really felt at home there, and like I could connect to people again. We stayed for hours...ate cheesy bread, played Settlers, talked about God a bit...I didn't know a soul there besides my brother, and yet I was suddenly safe.
There was a guy there who didn't really like our board game playing too much, I don't think. He kept saying, "A bunch of Christians acting like non-Christians." I didn't know him well enough to know if he was teasing us or serious. But it seemed so funny to me...that one person's "a bunch of Christians acting like non-Christians" seemed like beautiful Christian community to me...where we just sit back and laugh and eat together; and Jesus' name is dropped in casual conversation.
Still Homesick
I keep wanting to update my blog...but I can't do it without feeling like I'm whining at the moment. Much of my life right now is spent battling a complete lack of gratefulness for where I am, and writing whiny blog entries certainly doesn't help with that. So, this is an attempt to name the deeper culture shocks for what they are without being whiny. I hope it works. :-)
When you are a stranger in your own country, no one expects you to be a stranger. I find myself going into my "Japanese coping mode" on a regular basic, which is to say...lots and lots of passive listening. If there's something I don't understand, I shove it into a back corner of my brain and listen all the harder to try to figure out what is going on. And there is a surprisingly large number of things going on that I don't understand.
Some of them are similar to being in Japan. For example, I've been present for a number of conversations that go something like this:
Person A: So-and-so did (or didn't) do ______.
Person B: Wow. That's really offensive!
Pamela (thinking): Umm...wow...how could that possibly be offensive? *begins thinking very hard to try to figure it out*
Pamela: *shares about one sentence of personal experience*
Person A: *manages to turn my experience into a theological argument*
Pamela: *gives in and responds to the theological argument, all the while mourning the lack of intimacy with anyone*
In some of them I am obviously the one at fault...
Pamela: America is $^*#@&)*(%@*&$*#@&$@*#&$*)@&#%(&)(%$@(*%&()$
Poor suffering family member of Pamela: ...umm...don't you think that's a little negative, Pamela?
Pamela: (Someone is listening to me!!!) No! It's not negative! Because $^*#&$*&#!@%(*&$)%&@)%&*#@&%@)($@) (huh...that actually does sound kind of negative...)
I'm also finding myself with a high need to save the world at the moment. Pamela without a vision is a sad sight...I am convinced that the reason God usually lets me have a vision is that I would destroy the world with my self-created visions otherwise.
Last night, my vision was not a world-destroying one, though, thankfully. But it was still ridiculous. If I got home from my church visiting between 5 and 6, I was supposed to go rescue my dog Ebony from the dog hotel (here after called "jail"). (My parents and I have been gone this week...me visiting sponsoring churches and my parents catching swine flu...er...going to church convention in El Paso) [No...they haven't caught swine flu. They were just crossing the border, so we've been joking about it.] Anyway. Somehow in my mind I translated 5-6 to 5:30 to 6:30. I hit the outskirts of my hometown right at 6:30, not having stopped to rest or eat for the past three hours. Normally I can't do that in a car, but I was fueled by this crazy vision to break my dog out of jail that night. I raced over to try to find the jail per my parents insane directions, and all the while my mind was shouting, "I'm coming, Ebony!" While a very small voice was saying to me: "There is no way you can make it, Pamela...just drive home."
(I'm laughing at myself telling you this story, by the way. So I hope you're laughing too!)
Needless to say, when I pulled into the jail, the desk was empty and the door locked. I could hear Ebony barking, but there was nothing I could do but slip away again as quietly as possible--not wanting to upset him by letting him know I'd been there.
So...on the non-laughing-at-myself level...I keep trying to figure out how to connect to God without a vision. This is something I've been trying to figure out for *months* now...not just since coming to the States, but pretty much ever since I understood that God was going to ask me to move away from the vision I'd thrown my heart into. It bothers me that I don't know how. I haven't been able to talk to many people about it, because as soon as I do, they criticize me for my inability to do it. And I know it's bad that I can't do it...that's why I try to reach out about it...to get other people's wisdom and try to learn from it.
But I'm fighting against actually learning how to just 'be' with all my heart...it often turns into this crazy quest to figure out what I'm doing next. And in my processing the other day, I realized the one option I wasn't considering was that it wasn't time to figure out what to do next.
As I was driving home in the car, I was thinking all these frustrations up at God, and it was kind of like he said, "What if I just want a vacation with you?" My response to this was pretty much to be horrified.
And I'm reminded of my mom, who just wishes home were a place of comfort for me. My constant need for a vision is actually wounding to the people who are trying to give me a place to rest.
Like Ebony, maybe it's me who's turning the hotel into a prison. Maybe the small cage is meant to protect me from wearing myself out with too much running. Or maybe I'm taking the metaphor too far...it just seemed to fall in place. But I'm so afraid to make the cage my home. What if my world stays this small? What if God asked me to "settle down" in America instead of in a foreign mission field?
When you are a stranger in your own country, no one expects you to be a stranger. I find myself going into my "Japanese coping mode" on a regular basic, which is to say...lots and lots of passive listening. If there's something I don't understand, I shove it into a back corner of my brain and listen all the harder to try to figure out what is going on. And there is a surprisingly large number of things going on that I don't understand.
Some of them are similar to being in Japan. For example, I've been present for a number of conversations that go something like this:
Person A: So-and-so did (or didn't) do ______.
Person B: Wow. That's really offensive!
Pamela (thinking): Umm...wow...how could that possibly be offensive? *begins thinking very hard to try to figure it out*
Pamela: *shares about one sentence of personal experience*
Person A: *manages to turn my experience into a theological argument*
Pamela: *gives in and responds to the theological argument, all the while mourning the lack of intimacy with anyone*
In some of them I am obviously the one at fault...
Pamela: America is $^*#@&)*(%@*&$*#@&$@*#&$*)@&#%(&)(%$@(*%&()$
Poor suffering family member of Pamela: ...umm...don't you think that's a little negative, Pamela?
Pamela: (Someone is listening to me!!!) No! It's not negative! Because $^*#&$*&#!@%(*&$)%&@)%&*#@&%@)($@) (huh...that actually does sound kind of negative...)
I'm also finding myself with a high need to save the world at the moment. Pamela without a vision is a sad sight...I am convinced that the reason God usually lets me have a vision is that I would destroy the world with my self-created visions otherwise.
Last night, my vision was not a world-destroying one, though, thankfully. But it was still ridiculous. If I got home from my church visiting between 5 and 6, I was supposed to go rescue my dog Ebony from the dog hotel (here after called "jail"). (My parents and I have been gone this week...me visiting sponsoring churches and my parents catching swine flu...er...going to church convention in El Paso) [No...they haven't caught swine flu. They were just crossing the border, so we've been joking about it.] Anyway. Somehow in my mind I translated 5-6 to 5:30 to 6:30. I hit the outskirts of my hometown right at 6:30, not having stopped to rest or eat for the past three hours. Normally I can't do that in a car, but I was fueled by this crazy vision to break my dog out of jail that night. I raced over to try to find the jail per my parents insane directions, and all the while my mind was shouting, "I'm coming, Ebony!" While a very small voice was saying to me: "There is no way you can make it, Pamela...just drive home."
(I'm laughing at myself telling you this story, by the way. So I hope you're laughing too!)
Needless to say, when I pulled into the jail, the desk was empty and the door locked. I could hear Ebony barking, but there was nothing I could do but slip away again as quietly as possible--not wanting to upset him by letting him know I'd been there.
So...on the non-laughing-at-myself level...I keep trying to figure out how to connect to God without a vision. This is something I've been trying to figure out for *months* now...not just since coming to the States, but pretty much ever since I understood that God was going to ask me to move away from the vision I'd thrown my heart into. It bothers me that I don't know how. I haven't been able to talk to many people about it, because as soon as I do, they criticize me for my inability to do it. And I know it's bad that I can't do it...that's why I try to reach out about it...to get other people's wisdom and try to learn from it.
But I'm fighting against actually learning how to just 'be' with all my heart...it often turns into this crazy quest to figure out what I'm doing next. And in my processing the other day, I realized the one option I wasn't considering was that it wasn't time to figure out what to do next.
As I was driving home in the car, I was thinking all these frustrations up at God, and it was kind of like he said, "What if I just want a vacation with you?" My response to this was pretty much to be horrified.
And I'm reminded of my mom, who just wishes home were a place of comfort for me. My constant need for a vision is actually wounding to the people who are trying to give me a place to rest.
Like Ebony, maybe it's me who's turning the hotel into a prison. Maybe the small cage is meant to protect me from wearing myself out with too much running. Or maybe I'm taking the metaphor too far...it just seemed to fall in place. But I'm so afraid to make the cage my home. What if my world stays this small? What if God asked me to "settle down" in America instead of in a foreign mission field?
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