All Roads Lead To Tokyo

Hello to those who continue to follow my journey after quite the break in writing. I have been pretty busy, but for the most part, I just haven't felt like anything terribly interesting has been happening in my life. Strange, I know, as I live in a land that seems full of things that are so different from the Midwest. Anyway, sorry for the delay, and as the holidays approach, what better time to reconnect!

Yesterday, I returned to Kobe from a three-day trip to Tokyo for our autumn staff meeting. While I was there, I got some much needed reprieve from the routine developing into a rut here, and I got to check out a few pretty great areas in Japan's busy capital (as in the most populous city in the world).

In the picture above, I am standing in front of the inner moat (I think) protecting the Emperor's Palace from the outside world. The building that can be seen is just used for administrative staff. The Emperor means business protecting his privacy! The area surrounding the temple has building restrictions, and I would venture a guess that there are few if any places that give a real vantage point on the palace. It's amazing how the city just gave way to the palatial grounds. It was easy to forget for a moment that I was actually surrounded by a giant city.

A quick 180 spins you back to Tokyo, though. While beautiful colors burn through the trees in Tokyo, reminiscent of fall in Kyoto (so I hear), buildings quickly overtake and overshadow the otherwise ancient-feeling view. It was almost as if the palatial area had been dropped on top of the already completed city.

Also amazing at this particular place was the feeling that I was back in Washington D.C. Buses full of travelers from all over the world packed into parking areas, sending tourists fanning out over the area to try and get the best view of the grounds. I felt like we were at the White House, but with no doomsday signs, rallies, or snipers (I assume there are snipers on top of the White House waiting to pick off anyone who tries to come in unauthorized--this increases the coolness of the White House by approximately 53% for me).

Well, maybe I'll write a few more of these kinds of posts, that is, posts dedicated to some of the specific sightseeing-type places I've been. And with another trip to Tokyo coming up for Christmas, I'll have even more to add : )

Talk to you all soon! OH! And a quick piece of Japanese culture/advice... When visiting school functions, bring a plastic grocery bag! You WILL be taking your shoes off to go inside, and placing your filthy shoes on the floor (even when covered with tarps) is TOTALLY unacceptable. I am 99% certain I was the only person at the PTA event who didn't know this fact. Thankfully, the Japanese lady who went with me assumed my ignorance and had my back (well, my feet I guess). Though you don't need a plastic bag, the same applies for clothing store dressing rooms... Awkward encounter there... Maybe I'll write a bit more about that one later.

For now, peace.

Circadian Rhythm

As I promised, this makes my third post for the week! I was actually pretty concerned that I wouldn't be able to think of anything remotely interesting to write about (e.g. I walked around Kobe looking at stores for about 5 hours on Wednesday), but my students did not disappoint me in class today. After teaching all day, I came home and realized I haven't actually written a post about English lessons which, incidentally, are a big part of life here.

Teaching English as a second/foreign language has its fair share of challenges and rewards. For the teacher who does not speak the native language (me), sometimes simple communication is like trying to kayak from Washington to Japan (Google directions from your home in the US to Kobe, Japan--it's gonna be a long haul, but I assure you, Japan is worth the row). Of course, it's also rewarding when a student is practicing conversation and they correctly use a verb or pronouce "er" in a way other than "ah" (which is particularly challenging for speakers of many languages).

In my short nearly two months of teaching English, I have learned a couple important lessons I would like to share with the priveleged few who read this blog...

1. Learning to listen in the classroom (and outside the classroom when you don't speak the native language well) is crucial for learning. Teaching English communication requires both give and take in the language, and a haphazard listener could derail an entire conversation. Case in point:

As I sat down to lunch after church, I settled in for some Japanese listening practice as the church members carried on in their lunch-time chatting. While I don't know enough vocabulary to understand much, hearing Japanese helps me learn to process the many unfamiliar sounds I encounter in the language every day.
Suddenly, two of the people from my Sunday School class (who are sitting on either side of me), begin to explain, in English, what they've been discussing. Their English is pretty advanced, and for the most part, I don't have any trouble understanding when they switch from Japanese to English for me. But here is a close reenactment of our consversation that Sunday:

Them: We were just talking about walk...
Me: Oh! Walking where?
Them: At a jog...
Me: You mean on a jog? Where do you walk or jog?
Them: A place in Hyogo (Hyogo is 20 minutes by train... basically forever by foot)
Me: OH! Sugoi (wow)! That's really far!
Them: It's only about 20 minutes by train...
Me: Oh, and you jog there?
Them: No, I walk there... what?
Me: Why do you walk there? I would definitely always take the train.
Them: I don't walk, I take the train.
Me: Huh?
Them: I take the train every day. My company is very far.
Me: (realization hits) OOOHHHH!!! You were talking about work! Your job!
Them: Yes, work and job.
Me: I thought we were talking about walking and jogging (this time with appropriate miming)
(All burst out in laughter together as the mistake sets in; scene fades to black)

In Japan, there are quite a few English words like the above example that, because of Japanese pronunciation, end up sounding like other English words. While normally, context provides important insight into the actual desired word(s), occasionally you end up with both parties very confused. Lesson: Learning to listen and hear the distinct ways of pronouncing English is a must!

2) Be selective about the English you choose to present. Just because a student asks about something does not mean you should always teach them a new word. Try to review old or familiar vocabulary to build on their already existing knowledge. Otherwise, this happens:

"Would you like some coffee?" I asked one of the students. One simple question began the fateful journey down the rabbit's hole. "No, I don't drink coffee because I will not be able to sleep at night." The conversation could have and perhaps should have ended here, but along came the follow-up, "What do you say for when your body wants to be awake and wants to sleep?" "Sleep cycle."

... Is what I should have said, but NO, not me. I had to pull out the phrase "circadian rhythm," which led to confusion (as many would expect). While I could continue with the conversation, instead let's look a a flow chart of the chain of words where we began and ended...

Coffee-->Sleep-->Circadian Rhythm-->Jet lag--(I draw a picture of a globe on the board and trace a flight from the US to Japan, complete with latitude and longitude lines)-->Latitude and Longitude-->Tropic of Cancer-->Cancer, not the medical term the zodiac/constellation--> zodiac and constellation-->Scorpion (I mistakenly said that Cancer, the crab, was the scorpion--I am obviously an astrology AND astronomy expert)-->Return to Tropic of Capricorn-->Tropic-->Capricorn-->back to longitude and latitude-->time zones-->International Date Line-->meridians... AND break!

If I had just said "sleep cycle," perhaps none of this would have happened, but instead I spent about 30 minutes following an English language trail in a game of loose connections. Lesson: Do not complicate English vocabulary--it doesn't need your help to be tough.

Well, I could probably regale you with more stories/lessons of my teaching all-star moments, but you've hung on long enough for one day. Can you think of any particularly tricky English words that sound similar? Have you ever followed a tangent to the bitter end that makes you as exhausted as kayaking across the Pacific? What weird language quirks have you experienced?

Just questions to ponder (or comment on!)... Peace.

Excuse me, sir. Your ignorance is showing...

What in the world is going on?! That has been the question I have been asking myself most of the day today. Nothing bad or unexpected (in any other part of the world) made me ask this question. Yet, I feel as if I was living in the Twilight Zone for a good portion of the afternoon...

This morning, for the first time since Bernie and Cheryl dropped me off in Kobe, I met a few fellow gaijin missionaries for a Bible study in nearby Suma Ward. I have spoken with a lot of friends and family through Skype, and I have been to visit Tokyo, so I have not felt particularly disconnected from people, but it was good to meet other missionaries who are in similar places in life. They have been in Japan longer than me and have great insight into the culture, not to mention their great personalities. The Bible study time was mostly introductions and chatting about our various experiences in Japan, but it was an energizing time being around similar people here in Japan.

Following the Bible/fellowship time, a member of the church where we met for fellowship brought all the makings for yakisoba (quickly taking the lead in my "favorite dishes of Japan" list) and we cooked up a fine lunch. What better way to have a chance to get to know people than over a freshly cooked meal (that for the most part did not include seafood--whoo! Still working on that particular cultural difference). After lunch the two other missionaries had to head out for meetings/classes... and this is where the day took an unexpected turn...

As I was putting on my backpack to leave, the Japanese member of the church who brought the food for lunch suddenly asked about my plans for the afternoon. She had apparently called a Japanese couple who are friends of hers and asked if they would hang out with me for the afternoon. Before I know it, a car pulls up and I'm riding to a random guy's house to talk and have some social time for the afternoon. After a hike up a local small mountain, some tea and coffee, some English conversation, and a short excursion to see the neighborhood (a beautiful tree-lined neighborhood with a couple schools and children playing on the rec. fields and walking home from classes), I was given a ride all the way back to my apartment... No paying for a train. That was unacceptable. I was going to ride in style.

This is not the Japan I expected. I have mentioned to many people that I feel blessed by the relationships I am already building here, but really, I continually expect the Japanese people to be polite but distant. Not so by my present experience. Between the Tarumi Church of God and the people from other churches, I am assured that I will never be alone in Japan. While this is good, I feel like I'm not able to adequately process the chasm of my presuppositions about Japan and my experiences thus far. I am kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop... to be pushed out of the relationships I've just begun. I feel like I should start having this kind of conversation:

"Ummm... I'm really happy you want me to go to _______, but aren't you supposed to be culturally distant? I've read how Japan is kind of a cold culture, slow to form relationships. I mean, sure, you get the reward for one of the most polite nations on the planet, but are you sure you want to take me to ________? I don't want to impose on your distant-from-people life that I have assumed is true of all Japanese people because I read about the culture before I came."

How weird that some of my culture shock is coming from a negative presupposition that is being proven wrong! (It's maybe as strange as the realization that Japan is a nation free from the trappings of clothes dryers--definitely a toss-up on which is more extreme and has a greater impact on my life).

Maybe this means nothing to you, but today was a baffling (yet still positive) experience. Perhaps as I learn more of the language and culture I will be able to look back and identify the distance placed between me and the Japanese people, distance that I am just ignorant to right now (notice me clinging to the presupposition here...). In the meantime, I suppose I will just be happy that I got to hike up a small mountain and see Kobe with a man who has lived in Kobe his entire life but has also traveled around the world. I will be happy that I had the opportunity to have tea and coffee and unexpected English fellowship. I will be joyful for the relationships that bring familiarity to an otherwise very unfamiliar place.

Peace and more coming either Friday or Saturday...

P.S. I have GOT to start taking my camera everywhere with me! It seems like every time I turn a corner, someone is randomly inviting me to go somewhere new to sightsee. Just when I feel like I'm getting into a routine and understanding life, I start getting spontaneous invitations to check out the local world of Japan minus the device that provides proof of the experience to the rest of the world.

Airing Out My Laundry

Wow! It's been the better part of a month since I updated this, and for those who are actually interested in hearing about my life in Japan, I'm sorry! It's partially busyness, but mostly neglect... I will work on that this week by posting a couple different things throughout the week.

Today, I am going to discuss the simple task of doing laundry in Japan.

In Japan, it appears that the majority of citizens do not own a dryer for clothes. While this may seem strange, consider that in Kobe, the city where I live, the population density was 2,768 people per square kilometer (yes, that's right, kilometer... no miles here) in 2007. If every household consisted of four people (the average was actually 2.55 in 2005) and each family happened to dry a load of laundry at the same time, 692 in each of the 553 square kilometers of Kobe (382,676 dryers), a ridiculous amount of power would be used and heat emitted. Aside from the environment/consumption issue, the tiny size of many apartments actually forces people (myself included) to keep their washer outside on the veranda of the apartment. I can assure you that there is no way I'm fitting a washer AND dryer out there, and if I have to choose, I will probably opt for the washer (though I love the warm freshly dried softness of clothes right out of the dryer... I'm having second thoughts about keeping the washer now).

All of that explanation (figuring out the numbers took more work than I care to admit, so don't complain that it was boring to read... you didn't have to do the math) is to say that living in Japan means air-drying your clothes. For many, this is convenient as apartments provide nice rods for you to hang up your clothes.

BUT, there is a catch for some of us. In my apartment building the holder for the rods does not seem to reflect the height of the average Japanese person (Japanese men average in at around 5' 7" while women average 5' 2"). I feel like my clothes rod, and I'm approximating here, is hanging about 20 feet or so above my veranda floor (maybe actually only 9 or 10 feet, but I am done with calculations and I only have a tape measure with centimeters). Every time I want to dry laundry, I have to pull out a step ladder to reach high enough to hang up clothes.

This wouldn't be a big deal, except that when I am on my step ladder, the wall keeping me from falling from the fourth floor to an early demise is at about my knees. If you're not afraid of heights or ever-so-slightly concerned an earthquake could potentially occur at any time (ref. Kobe Earthquake 1995), this is not a big deal, but I find myself getting vertigo-like dizziness if I have to spend more than a couple seconds in the "death-zone." It's like I'm living out the blockbuster Cliffhanger every time I want to dry my clothes (p.s. thanks Sly for that bold contribution to 1990's American cinema).

If it happens to be a rainy day, drying clothes becomes more of a challenge as I try to find enough surfaces inside the apartment to lay clothes. If I am lucky and I happen to be drying a dark/color load, my apartment looks like a harem for the majority of the day. It's like living inside a genie's lamp (specifically Jeannie's from I Dream of Jeannie--Ah, Nick at Nite). If I do a load of whites, it sometimes looks like I live in a big cotton ball.

Perhaps the most ridiculous moment comes when I realize that I want to wear something but have not left adequate drying time for it. Out comes the hair dryer, bequeathed to me by the last SAM here in Kobe, (this small piece of information is definitely unnecessary, but I apparently felt the need to fulfill a male stereotype in not buying/owning a hair dryer when, in fact, I had one back in the US) to try in vain to get my favorite khakis dry. The poor hair dryer is only so big, and I might as well be blowing on the pants myself to get them dry, but I will do and have done this multiple times for about 20 to 30 minutes only to realize that I have failed. So I angrily put on my awkwardly fitting olive pants and head out to class.

And such is my laundry routine here in Japan. I realize that all of the above situations are not necessarily unique to Japan but fit any place or apartment without convenient washer/dryer combinations or a laundromat within walking distance. Has anyone else ever experienced any of these laundry mishaps? Have you worried you might tumble off your x-story veranda to meet an early demise? If you have to hang your clothes out to dry, do you imagine, as I sometimes do, that you may have slipped back in time about 40-50 years (Note: the first electric dryers were produced in 1915 though they weren't more widely available until a few decades later)?

If you have made it this far, thanks for tolerating the rambling!

Life in Japan continues to improve each day and week, and classes are going well. Students learning English here are hard workers, and it is a joy to spend time with them each week. The kids in class are really smart, and I am looking forward to the next two years in the classroom.

In one of my advanced classes we are practicing gerunds with careers, so here's your English lesson and our conversation starter at the beginning of each class for the unit: "The most rewarding/interesting/challenging thing about being a/an ------- (we'll say English teacher) is (building relationships with the students).

For now, peace. I'll update more later this week!

Packed like sardines on a bus

Because I view my scooter as a demonic machine bent on my doom (though I think it's warming up to me), I often find myself on a bus going to and from the church in Tarumi where I teach. If I'm not taking the bus somewhere, you can probably find me on one of Japan's innumerable trains. Public transit in Japan consists primarily of a network of national and local trains and national and local buses. In any given city, a person can hop on either a train or bus and never worry about driving a car through often congested streets.

Both buses and trains work like clockwork, which is both very convenient and, at times, more than mildly stressful. If a bus is set to leave at 9:07 do not expect that bus to be sitting at the stop at 9:08. If a train leaves the station at 8:58, I would not suggest moseying up the stairs in the station at 8:58, and neither would any Japanese person below the age of 80 (once you turn 80 in Japan, your life's purpose becomes slowing people down on their commute on stairways, in doorways, or along narrow hallways or sidewalks as if to become a living obstacle course for the communter on the move). From my limited observations of Japanese business people, travelers, and from a small bit of personal experience, let me offer a couple pointers for commuting in Japan...

First, if running behind by even thirty seconds, begin your day with sprints. If unaware of the punctuality of public transportation, one might think a light jog or "power walk" pace is acceptable to catch the train out of town that only comes through every half-hour... not so. Only a sprint fast enough to endanger the lives of those you zoom by can ensure your standing spot on the morning train. When you step on the train, other passengers should be wondering what feryl animal has chased you all the way into the city and up to the passenger car. They should be expecting you to pull out your Olympic medal to remind them that you must, in fact, race everywhere (which I imagine Olympians actually do). If you are not doubled over wondering why all the oxygen has been removed from the car, you need to work on your pace.

Second, on busy buses or trains, prepare for one of two scenarios. Let's call the first scenario the "musical chairs commute." In this delightful traveling game, standing train and bus passengers are quiet and polite, checking their cell phones or listening to music or reading a book (which, by the way, is almost magical to watch as I hang on for dear life while the bus driver only knows 'slam on the brake,' 'step on it,' and the 'two-wheel turn'). Suddenly, when the car or bus arrives at a stop, the otherwise unassuming commuters race to fill seats left vacant by exiting passengers. Those who are "out," the ones who can't find a seat, then either file to what seems like the most promising or strategic location for the next stop or relegate themselves to a more comfortable standing space near the doors.

The second game is the exact opposite of the first. It begins looking like musical chairs... the train car or bus is full. Passengers are standing so tightly that, short of the car flipping, noone is going anywhere. Then, as the car stops, the game changes. As passengers file out at their stop, the remaining commuters play the "Statues" game (the one that your parents used when you got too rambunctious--its partner is the popular car ride game "The Quiet Game"). Out of politeness (I think), the passengers do not move at all to fill the seats. This leaves the new passengers, who inevitably remain standing because their hopes of reaching the newly empty seats is negligible, increasing the pressure on the bus or train as if being certain that only sardines in a can could fit more tightly than us on the bus. Each stop a few seats empty, and each stop more and more people mysteriously find new places to stand. This continues until a major train or bus stop. Then the game resets.

Finally, I hope you've been watching Animal Planet, because it is salmon season all year round at the train station. Each year, to mate, salmon swim upstream to the place where they hatched to spawn. In a show of humanity recreating nature, there are inevitably those select few (or many) who manage to find the giant group of people going one way on a staircase and brave the waters to "go against the flow." Sometimes this is an aforementioned elderly person who has chosen the station as his or her battleground. Other times, this is the sprinter who must get on the train that you just exited (which, if you are halfway down the stairs and this person is just passing you, take a moment and watch in wonder as they move at inhuman speeds to catch the train as the doors are about to close). A third group is the small coalition of salarymen/women who started innocently up the stairs to the platform only to be ambushed by the herd of exiting passengers (think wildebeest stampede in the Lion King minus the tragic result). Whoever the "salmon" happen to be, this scenario is all too common as people go, filled with purpose, from place to place.

Perhaps the strangest part of all of these "games" we play as commuters is that they really do feel like games a lot of the time. Maybe it's just new-foreigner syndrome (NFS), but I can't help but chuckle a little when 7 seats are open and we all pack in around the seats. Sure, they could be filled, but how bad would you feel when the older lady that laid down a mean block on the stairs has to stand up for her thirty-minute commute to the city? Very (I found it out the hard way when I mistook my Statues train car for a Musical Chairs car). And though I may be sucking air for 20 minutes, the sprint I make to the train is done so I don't have to find my way through an otherwise incredibly confusing array of streets and cities by my own (expensive) car. I would be lost forever if I had to drive everywhere. And though it is unfortunate to be the salmon, I have yet to see any collisions going up or down stairs. People flow like water right around the person.

Japanese public transportation gets an A for cleanliness, promptness, and overall appearance, but an A++ for fun. Next time you're stuck in traffic, think of me zooming by overhead in a packed train car on my way to pretty much wherever I could ever want to go in Japan. Adjusting to life continues and so do the joys and challenges that come with it.

Small Victories

Moving to a foreign country to live is full of challenges. Japan is certainly no exception to this rule, especially for Westerners settling into the Eastern mindset thoroughly ingrained into nearly every facet of Japanese culture. What has been fascinating to me in the short three weeks I've resided in the country are the small things that quickly become part of a daily set of folkways, ways of fitting in that aren't huge in and of themselves but together build a foundation upon which the door to this new culture might slowly open.

As I burst into my apartment with hands full of groceries (the most American things I could find at the store all crammed into four poor plastic bags) I began to notice the numbness in my fingers from the blood circulation being cut off. My dining room was so close, promising relief, but an invisible barrier barred my path.

Before I could move any further than my entry, to Japanese holy ground, I needed to wrest the shoes from my feet. On a normal day, this was no problem, but today I was wearing my new tightly tied, unbroken in crosstrainers. As my springloaded door shut behind me, my groceries and I became close companions in an evercontracting box. In trying to remove the first shoe I slipped on the entry rug and fell back into the door, which thankfully was securely latched shut. my sock kept slipping on the second shoe, making it seem like I might be trying out a new little jig I picked up an Irish Riverdance performance, all the while holding the bags high enough that if I fell eggs would not be smashed and Frosted Flakes would not be crushed into sugary dust.

Finally, I felt the shoe slip off my foot and nearly dove forward into my dining room (perhaps falling forward would be more accurate as a full dive would probably get me all the way across my none-to-spacious apartment into my living room) freeing my hands, now well on their way to purple, from the precious treasure of my mostly-American delights.

Three weeks ago, I would never have expected this story to unfold, but now I have begun to find myself inextricably bound to the notion that one MUST remove their shoes prior to entering their living space as if the earth itself might stop rotating if I place one dirty destructive sole on my faux-wood floor. While I speak condescendingly toward this small custom, I noticed last week a scuff-mark in bedroom from a time I had forgotten something in the apartment and simply left my shoes on, leading me to chastise myself for not quickly slipping my shoes off at the door. Later that night, as I was rubbing out the mark, I found myself silently promising to myself and the apartment to always honor the no-shoe code.

Whether I'm racing to a crosswalk because the green-light chime has stopped ringing or unnecessarily taping my grocery bags shut at the store or nodding off to sleep with other latenight train passengers on their trek home from what was probably at least a 12-hour day, I have begun to notice slight changes or nods to changes that may make my transition to this vastly different culture a little easier. At the same time I am noticing that, as I'm sure is true with American culture in as many if not more ways, some of the smaller elements in the culture are also the building blocks for change, for positive transformation.

There is one ideal specifically that seems to be crying out for change. Simple questions of consideration, for acknowledgement of difficulties or a bad day, seem to be absent from an otherwise courteous culture. At church, friends are free to lament the woes of their busy week, but with other friends, they report an inability to share, to be open with the people with whom they work or walk or go to school. While this may be small, it sure appears that an ever-rising suicide rate (8th in the world in 2008) might indicate a greater need within the culture for people to feel acknowledged, accepted, especially in times of what is otherwise silent crisis.

I am beginning to see that in the small things lie opportunities for me to learn and experience different ways of life and also to encourage transformation as only one person. Each Sunday, and during many of my English classes, I have the opportunity to ask students about their week. While this act is so small, it gives me an opportunity to let people express themselves. At least, I hope that this is the opportunity I'm creating. After only three weeks, I am only beginning a journey into the lives a people unknown to me, but I sincerely hope that my first observations are the beginning of a window of opportunity opening that could change at least one life while I'm here for so short a time.

Travel Log and Some Initial Impressions

Well, it's been well over week since I last wrote, and as one might expect, A LOT has happened. I arrived safe and sound in Tokyo last Wednesday, August 19th, and spent three days with Bernie and Cheryl Barton, the career missionaries for the Church of God here in Japan. After meeting the a few other missionaries in the area and visiting a couple hot spots around Tokyo, we headed down to Kobe, the city where I'll be living for the next two years.

We arrived in Kobe last Saturday evening and enjoyed dinner with a couple church members at Coco's, a restaurant that serves everything from taco salad to hamburger steaks to Japanese curry. Since then, I have met the congregation at Tarumi Church of God and begun planning for the English classes I'll be teaching beginning this coming Thursday.

The last week and a half has been a blur, but I do have some initial impressions of my new home and life overseas. First, I appreciate the famous Japanese courtesy that I have read and heard about. Though I struggle to even begin to communicate in Japanese, I have not yet been lost without someone to make sure I know where I am or where I'm headed. At restaurants, people go out of their way to try and speak English when I get confused by the menu or the Japanese being spoken. Earlier this week, I hopped on the wrong bus back to my apartment and the bus driver didn't make me pay for the ride AND directed me to the correct bus. Small things make a huge difference...

Second, transitioning to another culture is more tiring than you could imagine. Going to the grocery store has never made me so sleepy. It seems like even the weather sucks energy from me. I enjoyed a good nap before I came to Japan, but now I see more value in them than ever before.

Third, I appreciate the value of support that I wrote about in my last post. I have certainly come back around to feeling less distant from those supporting me both here in Japan, at home in the US, and around the world. The people that surround me with support, friendship, and prayer are pillars that raise me up here. They make adjusting a little easier, and remind me that I am not alone.

Well, I know this is brief and a bit clipped for my last week and a half, but as I become less tired and a little more settled in I'll better delve into this new world. Thanks for keeping up with me and I look forward to staying connected with life back in the US as new connections and relationships form here.

Surreality and a Sailing Metaphor

I really had no intention of writing another blog entry until I arrived in Japan, but as much if not more for myself than others, I am feeling really compelled to reflect on some of the strange emotional twists and turns I've taken over the last few days and beyond.

As I prepare to board a plane for a faraway land in a little more than 24 hours, I think I am experiencing a mix of surreal disconnection and very real emotions. Maybe this mix has been around since I found out I was moving around the world, or maybe when I moved back to Ohio. I don't know. Regardless, it is a new and exciting feeling, if not a tiny bit bittersweet.

In the last month, I have said more goodbyes, been part of more hugs, and had more conversations with strangers who know far more about me than I know about them than I ever remember. It's not a bad feeling, to know that people are thinking, praying, and in general supporting my decision to follow a call. For the most part, I feel more encouraged and empowered than I could otherwise be walking into the unknown. At the same time, though, there is a sense that the encouragement, prayers, and thoughts remain distant... Not because the people that surround me are emotionally distant or insincere, but because it is as if the support I have is on the horizon of my life.

Pardon the metaphor, but my life has become a bit of a sailing expedition. I am constantly moving toward the horizon, never quite reaching it, never quite knowing what lies ahead. Behind me, the same horizon hides the sight of what was familiar, and I do not have bread crumbs or a string left behind to draw me home. Yet I know that just beyond the horizon, I find support from those around me, both here in the US and around the world.

Meanwhile, I find that I have a Provider sailing with me who has been where I am going and where I have been. My Provider carries my map and compass and directs me and tells me when to adjust the sails. The Provider assures and reassures me that this course has been traveled many times before. Most importantly, the Provider reminds me over and over again that despite my novice, proper provision has already been made for the purpose of my journey. I just need to continue to pay attention to call of the Provider who not only has been where I am going or from I have come, but is presently with those who sent me and with those yet to receive me.

Though I have felt a little distant from people over the last couple months, I know that I have been blessed with the presence of a Provider who has enriched my experiences with my friends and family while I'm in the comfort of my home, my community, my friends. I have been brought closer to those I love despite the reality of my imminent departure. I have tried to remain as connected to people as possible as I prepare to leave, so though I am more sad feeling like I will be leaving a life behind, I also find myself snapping to my senses and realizing that my life is not limited by my location. The language or culture or food around me may change, but my Provider, the one who sends and lends support, reminds me that the people over the horizon aren't as far as they might appear.

I am also reminded as I sit and reflect that though the course is different for each person, we all are on a journey destination unknown by us. So I suppose instead of feeling distant, I should begin to appreciate that I'm just the dense person who just recently realized he's on a boat alongside everyone else.

Well, I think I have sufficiently decompressed for the evening. I still feel a little sad, though it tends to be overtaken by the excitement of upcoming change, and I can now at least put a drawn out, overly complex metaphor to the feelings that have been stirred in me. I blame seminary.

One other quick aside: I have just recently returned to the letters of Paul as I prepare to go to Japan, and tonight's thoughts lend, for me, new insight into the intimacy of his experience with each of the churches with which he spent a considerable amount of time. He left and arrived many places many times, and in the personal addresses within the letters, we modern readers can catch glimpses of the specific relationships that accompanied letters I feel we often only see for the messages they bring to churches as a whole. It's kind of exciting to imagine! (I just readjusted my seminary nerd glasses!)

ANYWAY! Hopefully next time you hear from me I'll be around the world and a little less verbose! Maybe I'll try and put my first video together... We'll see.

In the mean time, peace.

A New Beginning

I originally began this blog last summer as a way for me to express myself in writing. I was processing a lot as I finished a tough first year of seminary. I wasn't sure I understood why I had felt called to ministry in the first place. I certainly wasn't good at "pastoral reflection" in my classes and it seemed like I was more cut out for a career outside of relationships. Then I read 1 Corinthians 13.12 --

"For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face."

I definitely felt like I was only seeing a dim picture of what God was wanting for me, but in this chapter, the chapter of love, I came to the realization that it is only in relationships we find the true meaning in our lives. Paul writes earlier in the chapter that prophecies, tongues, and knowledge all end, yet love remains. It is through love, through relationship, that we come to see God face to face. In the same way, I believe our relationships are what allow us to see one another face to face.

Now, as I am less than a month away from the next step, a two-year teaching and ministry assignment in Kobe, Japan, I come back to this same verse. I know so little about what I am doing, though I have read and studied a lot. It seems apropos to consider that it is love, not knowledge, that endures when considering our relationship with God and others. So it is through this blog that I convey what I can of my relationships, experiences, and hopefully not too overbearingly, my theological ponderings.

With that, I am really looking forward to what can happen over the next two years. I will enjoy keeping in touch with people back here in the States through my stories, and I hope you aren't too bored by me and my writing. I also look forward to hearing all of your stories! This is a good start, I suppose. Let's see where things go.

Peace.