Saying Sayonara

I find that sayonaras are difficult in Japan, and I’m not talking about the etiquette of bowing or the tongue-twisting nature of polite Japanese. The sayonaras I have seen have always been rather formal, especially ceremonies like graduation where even the tears appear to be on cue. Formalizing the sayonara process has its benefits: there’s no room for gaffes or awkward displays of affection and such a ceremony can be impromptu if needed because everyone knows how it should go.

Such an impromptu ceremony was held for a part-time teacher who left shortly after winter break. She had been at my junior high school for two years, filling in for a teacher who was taking care of her dying father. The father passed away and the day after the funeral the part-time teacher was out, farewell ceremony and all, and the next day the grieving daughter was back at work. The transition was seamless. And utterly jarring. It felt strange and even a little wrong that death can be so meticulously organized and seem so natural.

The third years need a PE teacher but it seemed of little matter who the PE teacher was from one day to the next. In itself this experience is noteworthy given its stark contrasts to similar transitions of personnel back home. But as a JET who’s not re-contracting, seeing this transition made my heart drop a little. In the hierarchy of teachers, I am the most forgettable, my role the most ornamental. How much less fanfare am I to expect in my transition out?

My time in Japan was been amazing and amazingly frustrating, invigorating and exhausting. Certainly impacting. And as my time draws quickly to an end I am a bit disturbed to think how little my leaving will be noticed. I have fostered relationships that are bound to last well after I say my last sayonara but just as many or more that surely will not.

For my own sanity I thought I’d compose a list of my sayonaras, things I will miss and ones I will not. Of moments great and small. I will create my own fanfare, damnit! But mostly because I know these last weeks will be rushed and it’s not just Japan’s fault that my good-byes may be incomplete.

So without further pontification, I say sayonara:

to the Docomo man who would not sell me a phone charger without calling my supervisor beforehand to make sure I knew what I was doing. I will NOT miss you.

to the Dalmatian next door whose constant barking I rarely notice these days and who has replaced his policy of growling with one of tail-wagging. I will miss you.

to school lunch, with your fish heads, unidentifiable vegetables and obscene proportions. I will NOT miss you (though I will miss curry and pumpkin doughnut days).

to playing cricket in winter on the bank of a river. I will miss you, Australia Day Cricket!

to the Kyoto-Sensei at my junior high school who cleans the staffroom with me and laughs with his shoulders. I will miss you.

to face masks during cold/flu season. I will NOT miss you. You are ridiculous.

to speaking tests when students exhibit moon-walking skills, tell Japanese folk tales in English, and ask about my love life. I will miss you and the opportunity you always provide for laughter.

to simultaneous road construction on all the roads leading to my house. I will NOT miss you.

to maps from road construction crews delivered to all the mailboxes in the neighborhood, displaying alternate routes and asking for our patience during construction. I will miss you.

to extremely helpful and enthusiastic sales people. I will miss you!

to the teeth-sucking textbook salesman that visits school three or four times a month. I will NOT miss you. You seem good at your job but, for the love, you are obnoxious!

to my granny bicycle with its glorious front basket and cheery bell. I will miss you.

to riding to and from school in pouring rain. I will NOT miss you and your day-ruining properties.

to my kotatsu. I will miss you more than words can say.

to my unheated shower room in the winter. I will NOT miss you.

to the yakitori stand couple who ask me about my country and always remember I prefer salt to sauce. I will miss you and your husky irrashaimase.

to Mt. Misen in Miyajima. I will NOT miss your fiasco-causing capabilities.

to Mt. Misen in Miyajima. I will miss your monkeys and the view from the ropeway.

to Kobe, with your Chinatown and Harborland attractions and glorious night view from Mt. Rokko and general grooviness. You rock and I will miss you.

to the rugby, soccer, and baseball fans I’ve seen at games. I will miss your impressively coordinated and dedicated cheering sections.

to crutching around a school without ramps let alone elevators. I will NOT miss you.

to Sanfrecce Hiroshima FC. You changed my mind about soccer. I will miss you.

to being packed like sardines on the second-to-last train home. I will NOT miss you.

to the amazingly efficient and user-friendly public transportation. In two years, I can recall only three times that my train was so late that it was inconvenient. I will miss you!

to the Shinkansen. I will miss you!

to paying 6 sen ($60) for a Shinkansen ticket from Osaka and standing the whole way back. I will NOT miss you.

to getting a hearty “Good morning!” from the PE teacher who’s English skills more or less start and end with that greeting. I will miss you.

to delicious restaurants and friendly staff: Manao (Thai) in Hiroshima and Pizza King in Wake. Oh how I will miss you!

to vacations to Arima Onsen, Kyoto and Nara, Nagasaki, and the Philippines. I will miss you.

to the confusion and awkwardness of taking leave to go on vacation. I will NOT miss you at all.

to Henry, the mangy stray that lives in the stairwell of Stephen’s place that we give food to. I will miss you. Take care of yourself old girl!

to my drafty and impossible to heat/cool house that is prone to dust bunnies the size of my head. I will NOT miss you.

to the first place that lived in by myself; you’ve kept me safe as I cried and never complained when I cursed you and you’ve kept me alert by having lots of creaks in the night and you’ve kept me busy by not cleaning yourself up and you’ve been great to my company since you’re so roomy. I may actually miss you in the end.

to Okamoto Sensei who is the perfect teacher, encouraging participation and excitement by her own insatiable enthusiasm. I will miss you.

to another Sensei who told me my hair isn’t blonde because blonde hair is more brilliant than mine and who looks disapprovingly at me anytime I don’t finish my lunch. I can’t express how much I will NOT miss you, at all. I may throw a party.

to the students that break teachers’ fingers and noses and classroom windows and the ones that say mean things to me in Japanese that they think I can’t understand and the ones that deliberately move far away from me when I am seated next to them at lunch. I will not miss you, mostly because I wish I could have done more to reach you.

to the students that smile brightly as they greet me in the morning and the ones who tell sex jokes and the ones who draw me pictures and the ones who tell me they miss me and the ones that dare to ask questions and the ones that talk to me outside of class. I will miss you!

SANYONARA!

All the things I will miss I might forget and the things I will not miss I may remember forever. Either way, how wonderful and sugoi (great/terrible depending on context) it is to have lived and taught in Oku, Okayama for two years.

A Blessing Spoken Too Early in the Morning

This is from my running blog but it's mostly about things other than running. About being foreign, and being too friendly for my own good. But mostly just about life happening, simple things.

This is the end of week four, 1/4 of the way through my 16-week training program. Wow. Time is a funny thing. Hours drag as I'm sweltering in this heat with no A/C at work and yet weeks just fly by.

I wanted to run 8 miles today.But at 92% humidity and 80 degrees out frankly I am happy with how far I made it. I walked the last two miles and completed the 5-mile outing in about an hour.

I had a really weird start to the run. I will preface it with this verse from Proverbs 27:14 "A loud and cheerful greeting early in the morning will be taken as a curse!"

At 5:15am I was later than I should have been but still thought I might be able to finish the run. I saw an old lady trying to make eye-contact with me and also checking her watch. As I got closer I realized I'd run into her before and it was unpleasant so I kept my eyes glued to the ground and barely replied as she said good morning to me. That was enough encouragement for her and 30 minutes and a bewildering conversation later I was finally starting my run.

The first time I had a run in with this woman was as I was trying to hurry along to work. She stopped at my house as I was packing up my bike and commented that my tree needed cutting. I was in no mood to be reprimanded by a stranger who apparently had nothing else better to do than make her neighbors late for work.

I do cut my tree, but I can't reach up to the power lines, obviously, and so there are some very long branches up there. I replied with the Japanese equivalent of, "Yeah, but it's not like I can do it!" I don't normally start conversations off rudely, especially in a language I have a minimal command of. But for the love! Monday mornings are not the time to be told you're not doing a good job. She, however, was undeterred and continued chatting with me as I mumbled responses and slowly peddled my bike and checked my watch. She got the hint and I made it to work just in time for the morning meeting, sweating profusely.

This time she asked me if I knew what Tanabata is. It's the Star Festival. You tie wishes to a bamboo shoot and the next day, July 8th, you burn the whole thing sending your wishes to the other world. I have been living in Japan for two years; I know the major holidays.

She then took me to her house to see her bamboo shoot. I took a photo of it on my phone after she leadingly noted that I had my phone with me. And then she said, "Tanabata isn't a holiday in other countries, is it?" Like many people throughout the world, this woman has a misunderstanding of what unique means in a global context. As Stephen has frequently remarked when we run into comments like this, "Yes, Japan is a unique country. In world of unique countries." No, we don't celebrate Tanabata, with it's bamboo wish shoot. Much like you don't celebrate Easter, with it's egg hunts and chaotic iconography, Ms. Meddler.

Was she trying to be friendly, if simultaneously patronizing? Of course, sweet thing. But even a cheerful greeting spoken too early in the morning will be taken as a curse. I just wanted to run.

Hearth and Home in Rural Japan

The rainy season has lifted and with it so has the occasional cool that torrential downpours brings. Now, it`s just hot.

mushi atsui means humid & hot in Japanese. When asked if Chicago is as hot as Japan I usually respond it is but that Japan is much more mushi. Because it is.

The rainy season not only provided much-appreciated cool breezes, it also woke up my yard. More accurately, it woke up the weeds in my yard.

I came to Japan in August of last year (almost my one year anniversary!). By that time the growing season was over and I had a yard scorched by the summer heat. I assumed the soil just didn`t grow plants well. I was wrong. For a month or so I lived in a jungle.

kusakari means to mow your lawn in Japanese. I know this because a couple junior high school students lost their ball in my yard one day after school and informed me that I needed to kusakari.

The task was daunting.

But when 13 year old boys recognize you have a messy yard, something has to be done.

I pulled weeds and cut weeds that were too big to pull and trimmed my tree that grows out into the street.

Well. Chalk taking care of a yard up as another reason I never want to own a house. It`s never-ending. Having weeded my yard two weeks ago it looks exactly like it did before I touched it.

Beggars can`t be choosers and so I am thankful for my beautiful house, but weeding my yard on mushi atsui weekends is not one of my favorite things to do in rural in Japan.

The advent of summer has brought more than just weeds to my humble home. So far I`ve had nothing short of an invasion at my doorsteps. There`s an ant colony outside my sliding glass doors, a wasp nest in the tree that needs trimming, and no less than six cockroaches have been kind enough to keep me company (four didn`t make it out alive but I may get a re-visit from the two that scampered away).

What with bugs and weeds and a lack of central air conditioning in my home I was beginning to feel a little down about my life in the inaka. I was pretty sure that whatever gaman (perseverance, force of will) I had left wasn`t enough to last me through too many more nightly fumigation rituals or morning trudges through my own personal jungle land.

But that`s the thing about rural (inaka) Japan, anyone could be your neighbor, at any regular moment on any ordinary day you can get a breath of fresh air.

For 4th of July I had a barbecue complete with a charcoal grill and red, white & blue cups and plates. A few friends stopped by and we tried to light our charcoal. Unsuccessfully. A middle-aged man walked into my driveway where the grill debacle was taking place, smiled and said konbanwa, good evening/hello.

Muttering something in Japanese that none of us knew, he came back shortly with cardboard and soon we were grilling kabobs and hot dogs and an incredible assortment of vegetables. "You`re an English teacher," our fire-starter asked in Japanese. We all are, I replied. "I`ve seen you on the train," he smiled.

Miki lives in the last house on my street. She is 24 years old. She`s dating an English teacher from Britain. We`ve rode the last train together from time to time. I always notice it because at ten past midnight it`s only our footsteps and the frogs in the rice fields making noise in my little neighborhood. I met her Tuesday night, coming home from dinner at a beer garden (all you can eat and drink places located on the rooftops of buildings). She was at the same place.

honto ni yoroshiku doesn`t have an exact English equivalent but what we meant when we said it to each other before parting company was, "It was great to meet you, I really hope to see you again."

I guess I can live with cockroaches if it is also means I have the privilege of chance encounters with my other neighbors.

yoroshiku rural Japan.

Lookin' Out My Own Eyes

I am happy to have a mom that insisted I come home for Christmas. Traveling Japan or going to exotic beaches sounded so much cooler than Lindenhurst, Illinois and so for a brief moment I felt sorry for myself that I was spending my time in the place I'd been living at for 22 years. This quickly passed when I found myself in the company of those who know me. It was a perfectly timed break, both for leaving and coming. Getting out of Japan was essential, just as essential was coming back here.

A friend from college was visiting a former exchange student of our college for New Year's. However, this former exchange student--Tomoka--now works in Tokyo and had to get back to it the Monday following New Year's. So our friend--Sophie--came and lived in Yamadanosho with me for a little over a week.

I had to go back to work too but it wasn't so bad. Classes didn't start until January 8th so I took long lunches with Sophie. During her week here Sophie rode my bike around the beauty that is Oku, Okayama. During lunch I'd get my fill of our delicious concoctions as well as her stories about her travels.

She told me about the cranes, who seem made for a world that passed hundreds of thousands of years ago. She told me about some really beautiful shrine that was both inviting to her curiosity and off-putting given her foreignness and unfamiliarity with such things.

On Friday the 9th she came with me on one of my kindergarten visits and then to lunch at Oku Junior High School. Five months ago I was lucky if one of the students said a barely audible "Hello" in response to my greetings. But as Sophie and I approached school, a group of second year girls ran up to us shouting "Hello! How are you?" and "Nice to meet you" to Sophie. All of this unprompted.

When I met one of the P.E. teachers this summer she wouldn't speak English to me. She was very kind and remains one of my favorites but she just isn't into English. I understand. I hate chemistry. I don't hate chemists, I just hate the subject. Sophie and I stumbled upon her in the locker room where I hang my coat. The P.E. teacher looked directly at Sophie and said without any coaching or encouragement from me, "Hello. My name is Mayuki Masamoto. Nice to meet you."

Living each day, each week, I've missed the change that's been happening at Oku Junior High School. Things can always be better. They can always be easier. But that shouldn't cloud my ability to see things as they are today.

Over break I went to see "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" with my parents. I loved it. It's not for everyone, but I was in love within the first 15 minutes I think. Brad Pitt's character was born old and grows younger throughout the movie. It's just his body; he goes through all the other stuff like anyone else, he's just in a body opposite from the normal aging process. Anyways, another character asked him what it's like to grow younger instead of the older. He replies, "I don't know. I'm always lookin' out my own eyes."

And that's just it, isn't it? Having people in our lives isn't just nice, it's essential.It gives us a chance at a perspective we couldn't have without them. No doubt, it was fun being back at school. There was a holiday spirit in the air and I was genuinely happy to be in the company of my co-workers and the students again. But without Sophie I wouldn't have had the chance to see the beauty in a life that can be seen only from the outside.

And I, like all of us, will continue living my life looking out my own eyes. But what a blessing to have the company of others, the view of someone else. Simple things like crane sightings and enthusiastic "Hellos" seen through another's eyes.

The Incident of the No Hot Water Blessing

Ugh. No hot water, no time for breakfast. That's how the morning began.

My already cold hands (it's about 35 degrees in the house in the mornings) got ice cold from washing my face in cold water. I fiddled with my water heater display box for a bit but no luck. No hot water. Fiddling took up more time than I realized and so I was rushing out the door, leaving my bowl of cereal milkless and uneaten.

Bad start.

On the ride to school I prayed that when I got home the hot water would work.

My principle let me out early. This week we have parent-teacher conferences 4th-6th period. That's right. That means I'm sitting at my desk, no classes to teach, from 4th-6th period. He saw me still at my desk at 4:00pm and told me to go home. "Dozo, dozo" he said, "Go ahead."

On the ride home a thought flashed through my mind that maybe it was good fortune to get off early in case my hot water still didn't work...

...I was right. I tried several more times, at several faucets but no hot water. I am prone to tears, it doesn't take much to get me welled up. So, invariably, I had a little sit down at my kitchen table and cried from frustration and more than a little bit of self-pity.

My supervisor is a home room teacher so she was still in meetings at 4:30pm, when I was ready to stop crying and, ya know, do something. I called another English teacher, the only one without a home room, and she was on it in no time.

She decided it was probably a gas problem (I have a gas stove and apparently that's what heats my water too). She called the gas company and they came to my house by 5:00pm. Hot water was running through my faucets by 5:15pm.

And that's when I realized the blessing of no hot water. In America, this would be just a brief annoyance. An inconvenience but not instructional in any way. I'd call the gas company myself, get things sorted out, and go about my day angry at the waste of time.

In Japan, this incident became another way to see my many blessings. I'm not alone here. No, I can't call the gas company myself and no, I still don't know what went wrong or how to prevent it from happening again. I do, however, have great coworkers who will help me with any problem, at any time (I called this same coworker at 7:00am on Saturday when I woke up to the fat lip I had this summer). They help without fanfare and without making me feel silly or like a burden.

Don't get me wrong, I look forward to eating breakfast tomorrow and washing my face with hot water. I am aware, though, that some things are more important than physical comforts.

Things like counting my blessings.

Simple Things at Kindergartens

Wow.

November was a vapor.

It's getting cold in Japan these days. While my family is braving temperatures well below freezing I am bitter about it hitting 45 degrees. Of course, that was the temperature INSIDE my house; with no insulation and no central heating I am spared only the elements and the breeze when I step inside. But I imagine I'll survive. It's in the realm of possibilities at least.

I only have one junior high to work at so unlike most ALTs I don't have to think about juggling lesson plans or holiday schedules; I'm just here. There are two sides to every coin, though, and the convenience of one school has of course some downfalls. For example, when the students are in a testing period I don't visit my other school because I don't have one. I sit at my desk. All day.

The students just finished up term tests. Thankfully, part of my job is to visit kindergartens about once a month. The Board of Education has thoughtfully planned many of these visits for me around testing periods so at least one day I have something to do.

Not only are these visits a nice change of pace ("a change of environment" my supervisor said with a smile) but they are 100% encouraging.

Most of the teachers can speak only the most basic English and prefer not to. However, unlike most native speakers, these women spend most of their days talking to 3-5 year olds so it is not difficult for them to dumb down their Japanese for me. I have had two successful meetings with teachers where we've lesson planned...in Japanese! Of course, the plans usually go something like this: "We'll sing a song about fruit and then play a game. I'll teach them 'Hello!' and 'Goodbye!' and give them a sticker." Nonetheless, it's these little triumphs that provide immense amounts of motivation to keep up with the Japanese study.

In my most recent kindergarten visit (the little dude in the picture is a 3 year old from this school) they asked me to spend 2 hours out of a 3 1/2 hour visit playing with the kids. I was more than happy to do this--I have only held two jobs that didn't involve childcare--and yet I felt a little guilty. "I'm getting paid to teach kids English but here I am just goofing off with 3 and 4 year olds." I couldn't have been more wrong.

In the other kindergartens I've visited the kids are often very scared of me and warm up only as I'm about to leave. One little girl cried when she had to sit next to me. I didn't take it personally even though back home this kind of reaction would be devastating to me. Since she was only 3 years old, I reasoned, she had probably never seen a foreigner in real life. A white giant was in her school and to top it off she had to sit next to the monster! I get it.

But at the school where I played most of the day the kids immediately took hold of my hands, said "Let's play!" and dragged me into to the playground. I barely had time to throw off my indoor shoes and put on my outdoor ones. They spent the rest of the day dragging me here and there, exhausting every English word/phrase they knew ("I like mango" and "Look at me").

I believe in the importance of play. I had never, however, considered it in the realm of internationalization and language learning. Even the really shy kids asked me to count off how many jumps they could jump rope; none of these kids saw my foreignness as something to fear. I was just another adult to them, someone they could drag here and there, someone who was inherently interested in everything they did.

It's hard for me to be like those kids. To see all people as playmates, to say "let's play!" without asking questions, without weighing the risk. One day, when I grow up, I want to have a heart like those kindergartners. I want to hold your hand, drag you here and there with me. I want to laugh with you. At simple things that cross cultures and languages. Simple, important things.

We Need to Hold Each Other Tight: Talking Politics with my Teachers

I arrived in Japan in late July. I spent a couple blurry days of orientation with hundreds of other ALTs learning about our upcoming year. Then I went to my prefecture to be further oriented for a day and a half. After that, we all met our supervisors and left to see what would be home for at least a year.

After stops to the City Office to apply for my "Alien Registration Card," the home store "Daiki" to pick out essentials like a frying pan and laundry detergent, and my new house to sign some papers, my supervisors took me to the Board of Education of my town to meet the higher-ups. Over oolong tea we shared pleasantries, translated by my supervisor. One of the first questions I was asked was:

"Who will be the next President of America?"

It is undeniable that much of the world is wondering about it, too. As the world superpower, many eyes are on us. What we do, and don't do, as a nation echoes throughout the world. And as much as I wanted to tell those eager men at the BOE that I sincerely hoped Obama would win I shrugged off the question saying the race was close. While I can guess which candidate they supported (hint: not the guy from the same party as Bush) I was so used to keeping politics out of pleasant conversation in America that my initial reaction to such a question was automatic and noncommittal.

I have had not as much luck staying neutral with the teachers at school. The day a few came over to set up my internet in early August they saw my "Obama '08" sticker I got from MoveOn.org. Soon after that the social science teacher and head of the second year teachers asked me about my opinion on the election. I decided to commit a little and tell the truth. I didn't really have the luxury of worrying about what constitutes pleasant conversation as conversation period was in meager supply during that first month. If he wants to talk politics I'll talk politics, I thought, just so long as he's--anybody,really--talking to me.

My own perspective on this election has benefited from hearing from my very liberal friends, conversations with my mother--a woman of great spiritual conviction struggling with party lines and moral absolutes, and an excellent documentary by PBS Frontline called "The Choice 2008." All these have enlightened and challenged my own perspective.

What I wasn't expecting was to have my political perspective influenced by a middle-aged teacher of social science. A small man with a big heart and a smile that stretches from ear to ear. Over enthusiastic to a fault and endearing all the more for it, this man has little command of English but a great desire to communicate with me, especially after he found out I regularly read the New York Times online.

He said he read in the paper, something he does everyday at lunch, that America was experiencing a home loan crisis and the report he was reading highlighted problems in the Midwest. He asked if my family was okay. What a caring question. Our conversation, as they all inevitably have, ended quickly after that. After some consulting with his online Japanese/English dictionary he spoke again.

"There is a big crash in America. Like 1929. The Great Depression"
"Yes, it is a big problem now," I said.
"In 1929 it was a big problem too. Many countries had many troubles," he said.
I nodded in agreement, waiting for his main point.
"Germany. Japan. Very poor, many people so hungry. Then a bad war."
Oh dear, we're not going to talk about WWII, are we? I thought.
"This time we must..." he paused trying to find the right words but then just gestured what he meant: his two arms outstretched, his hands grasping invisible ones.
"Issho ni, Together," he remembered what word we was looking for. "We must--all the countries--hold each other tight."
"Yes, me must. Together, issho ni," I agreed.

Can we learn from the past? Is that something humans can do, have we ever done it? I'm not sure. But I think if I thought about the world with this kind of perspective I would be well on my way to helping create a more just one. To see this current economic crisis as a way for the countries of the world to come together, to hold each other tight, is not something I've heard many people say. I love it's idealism, it's simplicity, and ultimately it's truth. We are in this together whether we act like it or not.

So let's hold each other tight. Through this crisis, through the election, and after. And then together let's find ways to hold those in Darfur and the Congo tight. Let's hold our soldiers and the Iraqi people tight. Let's hold tight the homeless that sleep on our streets (1 in 4 homeless men are veterans). Let's hold tight women making tough decisions about their unborn children. Let's hold tight the rescue workers of 9/11 who need health care, who need help now just as they gave so much on that awful day. Let's hold tight the strangers we pass by everyday, the people who serve us our coffee and bag our groceries.

Together, issho ni.

What Does Christian Love Look Like in Japan?

Winter of this year one of my friends of old lent me a book called The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical by Shane Claiborne, a founding member of The Simple Way. Here is a guy, and a community, desiring to live like Jesus in ways that our world (secular and religious) just doesn't get.

Winter of this year I began to see a hard truth: though I was well-versed in theology and had biting criticism for much of evangelical Christianity in America I was not intentionally living out my faith. I was really good at talking and thinking but maybe not so great at being love, which is what Jesus has asked of me. And so began my investment in living love, in focusing less on developing sharp criticism and more on developing ways to live my faith through love. I don't want to paint an inaccurate picture: I have plenty of harsh criticisms, just mention Sarah Palin I will be decidedly outed. However, I am becoming more and more convinced that poverty, racial inequality, and war (to name only a few) will not end if all we do is argue (regardless of how funny the argument may be).

Eight months later, I'm in Japan. And still the greatest commandments are loving God and loving people. (Matthew 22:36-40) But as I silently sat in the teachers' staffroom this summer, watching busy teachers bustle around doing busy things I became a bit dismayed. How do I love my neighbors in Japan? Since Jesus' call is not conditional but essential to my faith, how then do I live it? What does love look like when you're the one being served? If always receiving from others how do you give, and what? I am dependent on the other teachers to communicate important information to me, dependent on them to help me with daily living stuff like paying bills and mailing packages. I have nothing to give them, I am lost in a culture and a language different from my own. Yet, Jesus' words are clear. Love most be more than favors and words then, for I am to love my neighbors in Japan even though I have nothing to give them and can communicate little. What does that kind of love look like? For me, what does Christian love look like in Japan?

If I believe what I claim to believe, that God so loved the world and now I'm to love it, then love should cross borders and cultures. And that makes sense. But what does it look like?

I don't know, but I pray, tie my shoes, and keep walking on. In faith. In love.

We Run Together: Sports Day in Japan

Well, this has been a busy couple weeks for my school. The teachers and students were logging in extra hours of sweat-filled practices in preparation for Sports Day, which we had the 14th.

This event is a huge deal. A full day of class competitions and exhibitions that is months in the making.

I am not a Japanese teacher nor student and so my love for event comes from the outside. I'm not the one who needs to stay at school until around 9:00pm and then turn around the next day and be there at 7:00am. I don't have to spend summer vacation making signs for the event. If the students fall asleep in classes I'm helping teach because they are exhausted it doesn't bother me too much. I don't need to worry about them passing their exams or being prepared for high school entrance exams. So, I can understand if some are critical of the vast amount of time and energy that is put into this one day event. I, however, loved every minute of it.

It's a day full of races and performances. It's a competition between the classes, with winners and losers, but it's also a community affair.

The Lion's Club comes to cheer the kids on, parents pack into tents and crowd the sidelines. Teachers are cheerleaders, coaches, participants, photographers, and nurses. Everyone participates, even if they aren't great. Students are fiercely loyal to their classes, pushing each other and encouraging each other along. The special ed. students participate right along with the other students. Students are the MCs of the event and during each lap of the relay races they announce who's in first, who's gaining ground, and then who's in last. But they don't say the Japanese equivalent of "bringing up the rear is..." they say "Gambette kudasai" meaning "Please try your hardest." When asked if I would run in the teachers race I said yes but followed that quickly by explaining that I was a slow runner. The teacher who had asked said, "No problem," with a smile. And it wasn't, about half of the younger teachers were faster than me and about half were slower than me. It was a day about participating, not just winning. My team finished second to last in our race (against junior high students) and as we staggered back to the tent, breathless and pouring sweat, we were greeted with cheers from the other teachers and some students.

It was a day full of pageantry and formalities. Some of the marching could be characterized as like a military, but then so could marching bands back home I suppose. It was terribly hot but they marched on, some suffering from heat exhaustion. Dangerous? Perhaps. But I think sometimes it's good to push your limits. Especially if the school nurse is right there to sit with you under the tent. And the rest of your team is eagerly awaiting for you to rejoin them. Com'on, the jump rope contest starts in 5 minutes!!!

And that's what I loved. Simply, you belonged because you were part of the team, not because you were really fast (though that would be a plus) or not because they were all your friends (though a lot of them are).

During my first season of softball when I was 9 years old my coach joked that I ran like I had a piano on my back. I stuck with softball and loved it but from that point on I never tried to get faster. I was slow and that was it. No one encouraged me to "do your best" because my best wasn't good enough and that was the bottom line. Organized sports at school in Japan are just as tough as my first coach, I know. And yet, on Sports Day, all the students--slow and fast--head to the finish line and do their best.

Because, on Sports Day, we run together.