When I first came to Fukushima, what I wanted to say to the Japanese people was that there was hope. A lot of other people were carrying that message too. The Christian version of hope is, of course, a little different from the Japanese word that was scrawled across every business, stretched across bridges...a word that sometimes makes me feel a little feisty. It's the word "Ganbatte!"It's often translated "Fight!" but really has a wide range of meanings. Don't give up. Do your best. Keep at it.
At the worst of times, when I hear this word my heart sinks, because it means, "Nothings going to change, so you just carry on no matter what it costs you." Which is when it makes me feisty...I like to believe things can change for the better. Other times someone tells me to "ganbaru" and I find myself strangely encouraged and realize that somewhere along the line the word has worked it's way into me, and if it's said in the right way, it really does make me feel stronger.
The Japanese people have definitely "ganbaru"ed in response to the disaster. Parks, schools, and riversides have had the top soil scraped away over the years we've been here so that they could be recovered in radiation free top soil. Radiation detectors are usually proudly placed in these areas so we can see the lower levels. Recently my students have been telling me about the government's work to redo their own personal homes. One student had 20 workers at her house over a number of days. They washed her roof and drain pipes, scraped the top soil off most of her garden and built a small concrete tower on her property which they used to contain the top soil. She was told they would pick it up at some point, but she and her classmates chucked at the promise. I suggested she paint it since it might be around for awhile.
I think it's why I've stopped talking about hope. Not because the Christian message of hope has anything to do with getting top soil radiation levels down, but because that's what people think hope is. Over and over I have heard people give their hope: that Fukushima will be normal again. That all will be as it was. And I am left thinking...I don't hope that at all. I hope that in the midst of fear and shame, you'll find a God whose love is so amazing that your lives will never be the same again. I hope you'll find that he's more than one of the shrine gods that you leave wishes for, hoping for their power but not expecting a relationship. I hope you'll learn He's father, savior, living, close and holy.
My message has changed, though it's not one I have very many chances to tell. And it's not just changed from watching the Japanese people, lest I give the wrong impression. I've found that each city I've followed the Lord in there is a different challenge...something that threatens to suck the faith right out of a person. You see it as you watch the people, and you feel it as it pulls at your own heart. The longer I'm with people the more I find that their struggles become my struggle, and as I've lived in Fukushima I find that the battle, the war, the daily challenge is delight. The lesson Fukushima is teaching me is that delighting in God, not just serving him, not just expecting him in the future, not just proclaiming him, is the difference between life and death. Delight knocks down self-pity, defeats "the grass is always greener" mentality, and opens doors for intimacy with him that otherwise feel sealed shut.
I guess that's a long blog to say something really simple, but it's a simple thing that I find I need to remember every day. Delight means He is good and has good things in store with us even when our city is polluted with radiation. Delight means there is Someone beautiful to look at when morning sickness is insanely strong and a little scary. Delight means that no matter how bad things look, we know we are headed for an amazing home, that we aren't there yet, and that every hard moment has a treasure somewhere inside it.
"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." ~2 Corinthians 4:16-18
Monday, July 28, 2014
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
It is for freedom...
It wasn't the finest of missionary moments. The near-fainting spells often come after getting out of a dentist's chair--perhaps because my head has been lower enough than my body that it gets adequate blood flow to panic before then. Since Nathan's birth, my trust of doctors (especially Japanese ones) and ability to show any kind of bravery in medical situations feels like it's at an all time low. And trust me, it's always been low.
When I was slightly more determined to be brave, I could often make a run for it. Many times after painful dentist visits I would somehow murmur my way through paying a bill, making a followup appointment, whatever was necessary, and then walk decidedly to the car or outside step, to finally squat down and get my head between my knees before my vision clouded over too far. Today I tried to do the same at my first visit to a Japanese dentist, but found my thoughts were so fuzzy as my vision was clouding and my head was spinning that the Japanese to schedule a new appointment wouldn't form. I finally gave in, admitted I was dizzy, and had to curl up on a waiting room bench for a few minutes. God is gracious and lunch hour had started and it was a private little moment between the dental hygienist and me (the only thing worse than almost passing out at procedures is when it becomes a scene), but I still left just feeling yucky. I'm going to be thirty next year. I have a son. Isn't this about the time that bravery is supposed to kick in?
I've spent much of the day with my mind spinning. What freaks me out so much? What is a Christian to do when fear is kicking them down so often? When God and angels and prophets and Jesus and disciples all say without ceasing in the Bible: "Do not fear"? My thoughts wandered through all the books of the Bible and wondered if I could think of any that gave a more step by step answer to the "how" of "do not fear"...I couldn't think of one off the top of my head. Of course, it says that perfect love casts out all fear. But it seems like perfect love is often hard to get to during those times. The fact of the matter is that there are still life events that shake my ability to trust God's goodness--which makes it hard to rest in it. So what do I do, being a person who truly believes that He is good *all* the time?
Nathan went down early tonight, and Joel is eating ramen with co-workers. When my internet flashed out, I realized this was starting to look an awful lot like a God set-up. What do you know--even busy moms with little ones clinging to their ankles get dates with God! Amid pouring out of frustrations and time to worship, a book of blessings on my bookshelf crossed my mind for the second or third time. I decided to get it and flip it open and see where it took me.
"Beloved one, listen with your spirit to God's Word for you in Galatians 5:1. 'It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.' Be released into your full freedom in Christ to be entirely whole . . . You are not meant just to survive. You are meant to thrive and be whole, and free, and complete. . . Receive the tender correction of your Shepherd. Sometimes he uses his rod and staff to guide you, lest you stray from his care in paths of righteousness, but your soul resists. Welcome your Shepherd's discipline for your good. He guides you to persevere into full freedom in himself that is your right in him. Persist and stand firm in him. Be blessed with all the liberty of the Lord. It's yours, because Jesus set you free. Be blessed in his purpose for you to live free in full confidence. Be blessed in the name of your Deliverer." (Sylvia Gunter, You Are Blessed In the Names of God).
As I was praying over these words, I realized something. So much of my shame in this fear is that I came to Fukushima to share hope with the fearful. As I watched so many people terrified of earthquakes, scared of radiation, that was what I wanted to give them. But we can't give other people what we don't have ourselves. The thing is, I am fearless when it comes to earthquakes and radiation. I just...am. So, I suppose I felt that meant I could teach people about hope. But, as God has called me to walk through a traumatic birth, processing the possibility and terror of a second child born in the same place (I'm not pregnant--just processing the possibility since we feel for now that God is calling us to stay in Fukushima) and seems to be continuing to push me into painful medical situations where I must trust medical professionals while dealing with a language and cultural barrier, it is obvious that I have so much to learn about hope and trust.
I wonder if this is where a lot of relief work goes horribly wrong. When we step in to try to help a group of suffering people, but we have not yet lived through our own horrors, we have nothing real to say. I don't know if there's anything as fearful to me as being poked and prodded in painful ways without knowing if the authority in question understands what I'm saying, or if I've understood what they're about to do...But I'm hopeful as I look at these experiences and think...when I find God here, I'm *really* going to have found something amazing. I realize more and more that what I really want is not freedom from pain, but freedom from fear. Christ has set us free. I can't wait to know it more deeply.
When I was slightly more determined to be brave, I could often make a run for it. Many times after painful dentist visits I would somehow murmur my way through paying a bill, making a followup appointment, whatever was necessary, and then walk decidedly to the car or outside step, to finally squat down and get my head between my knees before my vision clouded over too far. Today I tried to do the same at my first visit to a Japanese dentist, but found my thoughts were so fuzzy as my vision was clouding and my head was spinning that the Japanese to schedule a new appointment wouldn't form. I finally gave in, admitted I was dizzy, and had to curl up on a waiting room bench for a few minutes. God is gracious and lunch hour had started and it was a private little moment between the dental hygienist and me (the only thing worse than almost passing out at procedures is when it becomes a scene), but I still left just feeling yucky. I'm going to be thirty next year. I have a son. Isn't this about the time that bravery is supposed to kick in?
I've spent much of the day with my mind spinning. What freaks me out so much? What is a Christian to do when fear is kicking them down so often? When God and angels and prophets and Jesus and disciples all say without ceasing in the Bible: "Do not fear"? My thoughts wandered through all the books of the Bible and wondered if I could think of any that gave a more step by step answer to the "how" of "do not fear"...I couldn't think of one off the top of my head. Of course, it says that perfect love casts out all fear. But it seems like perfect love is often hard to get to during those times. The fact of the matter is that there are still life events that shake my ability to trust God's goodness--which makes it hard to rest in it. So what do I do, being a person who truly believes that He is good *all* the time?
Nathan went down early tonight, and Joel is eating ramen with co-workers. When my internet flashed out, I realized this was starting to look an awful lot like a God set-up. What do you know--even busy moms with little ones clinging to their ankles get dates with God! Amid pouring out of frustrations and time to worship, a book of blessings on my bookshelf crossed my mind for the second or third time. I decided to get it and flip it open and see where it took me.
"Beloved one, listen with your spirit to God's Word for you in Galatians 5:1. 'It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.' Be released into your full freedom in Christ to be entirely whole . . . You are not meant just to survive. You are meant to thrive and be whole, and free, and complete. . . Receive the tender correction of your Shepherd. Sometimes he uses his rod and staff to guide you, lest you stray from his care in paths of righteousness, but your soul resists. Welcome your Shepherd's discipline for your good. He guides you to persevere into full freedom in himself that is your right in him. Persist and stand firm in him. Be blessed with all the liberty of the Lord. It's yours, because Jesus set you free. Be blessed in his purpose for you to live free in full confidence. Be blessed in the name of your Deliverer." (Sylvia Gunter, You Are Blessed In the Names of God).
As I was praying over these words, I realized something. So much of my shame in this fear is that I came to Fukushima to share hope with the fearful. As I watched so many people terrified of earthquakes, scared of radiation, that was what I wanted to give them. But we can't give other people what we don't have ourselves. The thing is, I am fearless when it comes to earthquakes and radiation. I just...am. So, I suppose I felt that meant I could teach people about hope. But, as God has called me to walk through a traumatic birth, processing the possibility and terror of a second child born in the same place (I'm not pregnant--just processing the possibility since we feel for now that God is calling us to stay in Fukushima) and seems to be continuing to push me into painful medical situations where I must trust medical professionals while dealing with a language and cultural barrier, it is obvious that I have so much to learn about hope and trust.
I wonder if this is where a lot of relief work goes horribly wrong. When we step in to try to help a group of suffering people, but we have not yet lived through our own horrors, we have nothing real to say. I don't know if there's anything as fearful to me as being poked and prodded in painful ways without knowing if the authority in question understands what I'm saying, or if I've understood what they're about to do...But I'm hopeful as I look at these experiences and think...when I find God here, I'm *really* going to have found something amazing. I realize more and more that what I really want is not freedom from pain, but freedom from fear. Christ has set us free. I can't wait to know it more deeply.
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