Transition

The space in between. The movement from one state to another. The change from defense to offense...or offense to defense.

And that's where I am...again.

A dear friend asked how I was doing lately. She said I hadn't written a blog post in a while. It's true. I haven't wanted to write a post because I must acknowledge the changing state, but I know at some point I must.

It's spring break, the 3 weeks between one school year and the next. Teachers and staff get switched around and relocated. Sometimes it's a good thing--disagreeable teachers get moved to other schools. Sometimes it's a bad thing--likable teachers get moved to other schools.

Like last year, I'll lose a few friends, a few English speakers, to the move, the transition. I'm losing the basketball coach, the only person who has ever invited me to grab dinner after work. I'm losing the village bacon teacher's wife, the only person who has ever been to LA and could chat with me for hours if we had time.

Perhaps the worst part of the transition this year is knowing my boss is leaving me. He got transferred to a different department, so he'll be moving across the street on Friday. He and his family have become my second family over the past 20 months. No doubt we'll still have dinners and movie nights after his transfer, but it won't be the same not having him sit across from me every day showing me Youtube videos and asking me how to pronounce things. He's a good boss and I'm thankful.

I'm preparing for transition now too. Where life will head next. Post-village life. Post-Japan. And God and I have wrestled and we're still wrestling. But in this season of pre-transition, I'll thank God for where I've been and how He's blessed me and I'll thank God for where I'm going and how He'll bless me still.

Someone has a plan

It’s a good thing I was in Tokyo this week. I spent time with my brother and had a chance to serve his classmates. But I spent a lot of time alone taking care of myself. I slept in late. I spent time with my friends on Skype. I took long walks through parks and took a lot of time to sit and be with Jesus. I ate desserts and anything else I wanted, and Ryan obliged to a night of eating only desserts with me. I cried on the trains and in my bed and in the park, and it was okay. I know I’ll continue to grieve and mourn for a bit longer, but that this season won’t last forever.

I’m writing this sitting in Haneda airport, waiting to board my flight. I’m scared to go back to the village, back to being alone, back to isolation. But I know that God has me where I am for a reason. That the alone time will let me wrestle with the hard questions, the really hard questions.

It’s only 6 weeks before I’m back in LA. 6 weeks until I can see his parents and give them hugs. 6 weeks until Homeboy and I go visit him together. 6 weeks to let God minister to my heart.

There’s a peace that surpasses all understanding—and I get that. People keep telling me that. I think there’s a difference between peace and grief—and you can experience both at the same time. I cried myself to sleep last night because I missed my friend, but I fell asleep cradled in the arms of my Dad. In the midst of tears and heartache, He’s invited me to dance under the moonlight, to remind me to dance in the storm. There is peace in my heart though it is heavy with grief and sadness. There are questions I know won’t be answered until I get to heaven—Why him? Why now? Why like that?—but I know God is still who He says He is. When I get to heaven, those answers to those questions won’t even matter in the presence of His glory. I’ll fall flat on my face in worship, and nothing else will matter.

As much as those why questions plague my soul right now, I have to remind myself there’s a reason—His reason. He has a reason for all of this that I cannot comprehend because I can only see the 6 inches in front of me while He sees the whole picture. There’s comfort in knowing at least Someone knows what’s going on, that Someone has answers, Someone has a plan. That Someone is my Dad, and He loves me.

Sorry I couldn't come back home today. Although I would've cried uncontrollably, and you never liked it when I cried. It seems like everyone and their mom went, and they had nothing but good things to say about you. You were loved by many, and your life affected so many others. I hope with all my heart I'll see you again and we'll be on our faces before the throne of God worshiping Him together. I hope this isn't goodbye, just a see you later.

Hope, Progress, & Peace

I took a day trip up to visit Oasis Chapel Rifu Christian Church. I know that means almost nothing to you if you don't have a very detailed map of Japan, but it's about 10 minutes from where the tsunami wiped out entire neighborhoods. I spent the day with Pastor Matsuda learning about the ministries his church and Oasis Life CARE. He took me to a neighborhood that had been completely wiped out by the tsunami. We visited the land plot where Seaside Chapel used to be--and there stands a cross. The cross from the top of the church was found a couple weeks after the tsunami, and it was erected as a memorial and as a sign of hope. Right now, that white cross is one of the only thing standing in the entire area.

It's hope. Hope will come. Hope is coming. Progress will be made. Progress is being made.

I had 2.5 hours on the train each way today. Had lots of time to think and listen.

It's been a rough week on my heart. A heavy week. Despite being on vacation, my heart has hurt and ached and mourned and grieved and wept. It has been a dark 7 days.

Today on the train, He reminded me. Hope will come. Hope is coming. Progress will be made. Progress is being made.

He reminded me of a time not so long ago when I couldn't go to the supermarket alone because being around crowds of strangers made me panic. When I couldn't fall asleep at night. When I couldn't go a day without balling my eyes out. When being left alone was my worst fear. When fear and guilt and pain and remorse engulfed my heart. When I thought the grieving process would never end.

While I've cried a lot these past 7 days, I know crying is okay. Mourning and grieving is okay. But I spent most of the last 7 days by myself wandering through crowded train stations and department store basements--and it's been okay. I've been sleeping in an unfamiliar bed in a crowded hostel in a busy city--and it's been okay. I spent Wednesday morning alone sitting in a giant park--and it's been okay. I'm not where I used to be--progress is being made, and that gives me hope. I won't know the answers to today's questions until I get to heaven, but I felt more at peace today than I did yesterday. More than I would've expected.

As I walked back to the hostel from the train station, God asked me to dance with Him under the moonlight. Like He beckoned me to dance, to worship, to remember who He says He is even in the midst of heartache. I danced in circles on the bridge because He said I still could. It felt right even though life hurts right now. Dancing with God in the moonlight made things feel right. Like He was telling me it was okay to dance, to worship. That nothing in our relationship would change.

Oh what peace is found in hope.

Cut Short

He was the first boy to ask me to dance with him. He was the first boy who told me he loved me. He was the first boy who asked me to trust him. And 9 years ago, I did.

9 years ago, we went to homecoming our freshman and we danced the last dance together—which was cut off halfway. One night he made it up to me, and we slow danced in his kitchen under the moonlight and he sang along with the CD he had playing out of the boom box on the counter. 9 years ago, he led me down a steep dirt trail by his house and we watched the sunset over the ocean, and he told me he loved me. I told him he needed to love Jesus first, and he did. 9 years ago, we climbed on his roof and watched shooting stars fly across the sky. He asked me to trust him, and I told him I wanted to but I didn’t want him to hurt me. He never did.

I looked forward to seeing him when I come home in May. We were going to have a celebratory meal for finishing his thesis. We exchanged Facebook messages on Friday. He told me all the places I should take my brother while he’s here—and he told me to have a good time. I took a picture with my brother at Kinkakuji to send him.

I wrote him back Saturday, but it was too late.

There’s something about being here that makes it hurt far worse. I cried uncontrollably on the train today. I aimlessly wandered around the city remembering all the good times and crazy things we did together. I hurt and ached and mourned and grieved…alone.

I finally met up with my brother and broke the news to him. My brother said he wouldn’t have wanted us to be sad and mope, and I knew he was right. We bought expensive desserts and toasted to the memories and good times we had together.

Life is short—and unexpected. And while I grieve and mourn the loss of my friend and first love, I know God is still good and He is still who He says He is. There are a lot of whys, but I know one day He’ll answer all my questions. I can’t see it now, but I know God has a plan. His life impacted so many others. I’m thankful that my brother is here and we can laugh and reminisce together, and we can also remember and grieve together. He gives and He takes away, but He is still good.

Thank you for being my friend and my first love. You will never know how much your life impacted the people around you. Thank you for always being you and being genuine and true to yourself. I am blessed to have had you in my life and always in my heart. Looking forward to seeing you again and sharing one more slow dance under the moonlight. 143.637.41303

Lessons in the snow field

I think I understand a little bit better what Jesus said about "walking the straight and narrow" and what the author of Hebrews said about "fixing our eyes on Jesus."

Yesterday we had a blizzard. They said 30cm of snow...which is almost a foot. I trudged through the ankle deep powder all the way home, realized my door was blocked by snow, and decided it was time to shovel. I shoveled even though the snow didn't stop. It was supposed to stop last night, and so I figured it was a good time to shovel even though the winds were fierce and I had snowflakes in my eyes. I shoveled for an hour and cleared my 20 foot driveway and my car, and the mounds of snow all along the driveway are now well over my shoulder (which makes an incredibly difficult time throwing snow on top).

I woke up this morning and looked out the window next to my bed. It's still snowing. My driveway and my car looks like I never shoveled last night. But I was late, so I threw on my snow pants and boots and rammed through my front door to open it enough to squeeze out. But it's a snowy morning...which means there are no shadows. I trudged through the powder snow in my boots down the sidewalk which has become increasingly narrow with the snow. And I kept my head down to keep the snow out of my eyes...and I wandered off the sidewalk into the field next to my house. I couldn't tell the difference and I wasn't looking ahead, I wasn't looking at my goal. I was moving forward, but I wasn't getting closer to the office. And it was much harder to walk on a snow-covered field than it was to walk on a snow-covered sidewalk.

The path is straight and narrow, much like my snow-covered sidewalk. I realized if I didn't keep my eyes fixed on my goal, the gym at the end of the road where I need to turn, I was going to get off track. And I did. I took my eyes off the goal and ended up in a field. I moaned and complained about how hard the "sidewalk" was to walk on when it wasn't plowed...but I wasn't walking on the sidewalk.

How many times I wandered off the straight and narrow path and complained at how hard it was to follow Jesus! Walking the straight and narrow path is so much easier when I'm looking ahead, when I'm looking at my goal, when I'm looking at my Jesus.

Grace Moments

Today I had many…and by today, I mean before 8:30 this morning.

I rolled out of bed at 2am because it was cold…and rolling out of a warm bed at 2am because your face is cold is always a good idea. I crawled back in bed knowing the alarm would go off in 3.5 hours. It did. It always does. I hit snooze 3 times before I started telling God how much I wanted to stay in bed and skip work because I was tired and it was cold and the school was far. And then He said, “You didn’t have to wake up this morning. I let you though. I want you to experience today.” Grace moment.

I walked to work in -19c frigidness and my eyelashes froze as usual. The car was frozen and the office was chilly while I waited for the engine to heat. Off and on the road at 7:20 for a long day of teaching. I asked God to go before me on my long drive to school, to keep me alert and awake, and to get me there safely. And about a third of the way there, my car broke down. I called my boss who told me he’d be there ASAP but to wait in the car. If the engine isn’t on, the heater doesn’t work. I brought my thermos of hot coffee and my beanie in my work bag. Grace moment.

I watched numerous cars pass my blinking hazard lights on the farm back road. What to do to help pass the time. I laughed. Thank You, Jesus for warm coffee and my beanie and my Bible. We sat and shared a morning laugh and good conversation before my boss came. Grace moment.

My boss came, picked me up, drove me to school, and handed me a bag with three donuts. His wife was worried I didn’t eat breakfast because it was so early. He told me to eat them tomorrow or under my desk if I got hungry during the day. He said he’d pick me back up at 3pm. I felt like I was a little kid at school all over again. Of course, I’m late to get to school, and everyone is worried. They said I’m lucky my cell phone worked where my car broke down. I nodded. Grace moment.

God’s goodness is always there—it’s just a matter of perspective. It’s like a shadow—the absence of light from a certain perspective. And in the course of 3 hours, I saw God’s goodness in places I probably wouldn’t have. Grace for the moment. Grace in the moment. God is good, even when it’s cold, the car breaks down, and I’m late for work. Life is full of God's goodness…it’s just a matter of seeing the moments of grace.