One Foot Brushing Heaven

Her breath comes sporadically and with much effort now. Her eyes are closed and when opened, you can only see the cloudy remnants of what once was vibrant sight. As I sit and hear the struggle of each breath I begin to sing. Slowly, the muscle spasms lessen and the struggle eases. I am not the owner of an angelic voice, so I have to wonder if her calmness has more to do with the familiar tune and less to do with my faulty song. That's always the question we ask, "can they hear us?" It gives us more comfort as their last moment approaches; that maybe our voice reaches them and comforts them. I ease my hand out of the wrinkled one, gently so she doesn't feel abandoned, and I get up from the bedside chair to do a couple more things before I come back to sit and sing again.

This is the world my parents live in. This is the world I thought was normal. Now, as a 26 year old, I see with new eyes during the Christmas season the miracle and ministry that has been given through my parents that is anything but normal. My parents are home care givers. Never heard of it? That's ok. Not many have. You see, my Mom takes care of the elderly in our home. Both of my parents do actually. Years ago my Mom sought a career for her life. She combined her desire to stay at home with her kids, and her passion for wholistic and compassionate end-of-life care and out of that dream was born 19+ years of caring for the elderly. We've had grandmotherly ladies, absolute terrors, and the occasional troublemaker. I would like to say I saw my mother the continuous angel through it all, but she has too much fire in her spirit to take all the arrows thrown at her unflinchingly. Our family is now known for its arsenal of funny stories and "I can't believe that happened" moments. It comes with its sacrifices too. I can't tell you all the times my parents have gone without sleep, friendships, or date nights. A lot of people don't understand what faces them day in and day out, and a lot of friendships go unmade because of it. 

My Dad is the hilarity wrapped up in movie quotes that keeps us all sane. Growing up, it was his light-hearted comment, or funny quip that moved me from tears to smiles. I always knew he was the one God sent to earth to make my Mom smile when she needed it most. When the nights were the longest, and my Mom was at her end, it was my Dad who slipped his arm around her shoulders and kept her upright by His strength and prayers.  What I didn't see before were the other roles he played. 

You see, my Dad got into this profession by association. In some ways he is the quintessential hero with two lives that no one person sees. By day he is a professor, honing minds and fighting the culture of texting for the good of education. For most professors the bell rings and the end of the day comes as you drive off campus. For my dad, that's when his second job begins. After the car is parked and the bags are dropped it's time to face whatever challenges have arisen throughout the day. It's a difficult life but my parents live it as gracefully as possible. Not perfectly mind you, but still grace-fully. I don't think my Dad even realizes all that he does. He would just tell you it has to be done so he will do it.

I mentioned before that I saw this all with new eyes. This Christmas I saw the beauty of my parent's lives. It's difficult; this living with your life dictated by events. Not many can adapt to it much less understand it and so it can be a lonely one. But last night I saw two familiar scenes: the actors were the same, the setting hadn't changed, but the audience had...I had. The first picture was of my father, usually prone to laughter and the land of academia, sitting by a ladie's bedside carrying on a conversation as if it wasn't one-sided. Slowly he would spoon feed her the dinner he had prepared only minutes before. Some girls begin to realize their Father's aren't the perfect invincible heroes of their childhood. In that moment, my dad went back to being my strong, invincible childhood hero, cape and all.

The second picture was of my mother; salt and pepper head bent over the hand of a new friend. I mentioned before that my mother's life tends to be a lonely one. It's rare that she can go out and it's even more rare to have friendships built in a home of death and dying. In truth, my Mom has made many friends over the years, but they've mostly been made at the closing of their lives. This lady was no different. That night my mother started singing over her little friend. Breathing was still a struggle, but as Mom's voice finished each verse, her friend's struggles become less and less. I was about to turn away, to let them have a moment together when I heard my Mom's voice break. In the silence produced by an interrupted song, I heard her struggle with words as her friend struggled for breath. "I love you friend. I'm going to miss you. Be at peace." 

I can't remember how many times they've done this; meeting new friends at the end of their lives and helping them transition into heaven. They aren't saints. I know their faults better than most and they know mine, but this Christmas I was given the gift of really seeing all that my parents do. They are strategically placed warriors and comfort-givers with both feet on the ground, but with one just barely brushing heaven's gates. 

Letting Go of a Dream

Does the title scare you? Yeah, me too. This is an idea that has been percolating like a good cup o' joe for many years. Dreams are scary things. So much hope, so many ideas, so much potential (both good and bad) wrapped up in this word, "Dream." If your head is already filling with lyrics mentioning this word, don't worry, you're not alone. Let's focus on good old Disney's interpretation. "Dream is a wish your heart makes." Hmmm. Yup, I think I get what you were going for on that one Walt. We can use this word for so many things from future plans, to what ifs, and all the blurred lines in between. But when you get down to it, dreams really are unfounded, yet deeply felt wishes wrapped in could be's and desires. When you're little, dreams looked more like reality. Growing up I've realized dreams are a little harder to come by, and that birds can't actually help you get dressed in the morning by the way.

Now, dreams have lost their shining quality of total truth. They still sparkle a little bit, but I now know dreams potential for pain. Are they still worth it? God uses them and equips us with the ability to have them (not making a good thing into a God thing is key) so yes, they are still worth it, but they make me cringe at times. Let me tell you why and then I'll tell you of a man that did this whole dream thing right.

Everyone has disappointments. My very first one was a child's let-down of a sleepover due to sickness. I wanted to go so badly, but flu season disrupted my potentially magical night with friends and I was devastated. It wasn't until my pre-teen years (man, I feel old just saying that) that I began to repeat the mantra in my head, "It's not a big deal. Everyone has disappointments. The world is still turning." It wasn't until post-college when that mantra became my new norm. Like a well-trained muscle, I repeat the truth that disappointments are not the end of the world.

Those are disappointments, but when a dream is on the line, the potential for devastation and pain increases past the realm of disappointments. Maybe that's why we like to hold on to those dreams so tight. Well, I can think of 2 dream-attacking moments that have led to this little diatribe today:

Israel: My bags were packed. I continued to go through my mental checklist as my family and I drove the two hours on a summer-baked interstate to the Atlanta airport. I had finally finished all the requirements to join a team of students for a study-abroad summer trip to Israel. Countless hours of homework involving cartography and biblical studies as well as arid-weather shopping trips. But I was finally ready. It would seem no one had told the kind person at the ticket counter. "I'm sorry, your ticket has been canceled." Jaw-drop moment number one.

Japan: I haven't told many people about this, but Japan had actually been part of my dream and devastation a year prior to my actually going there. To my spiritually near-sighted eyes, God had placed Japan as a potential dream, yet when I got involved the dream took on another turn; one that ended in me struggling with who I was to God and if He really was dependable (my conclusion was that He is by the way). It all ended gloriously despite my spiritual limp from wrestling with a mighty God.

So, that's me. Now, here's Abraham. Yeah, you knew this was coming.

After days of travel and dust, they had finally made it. To Isaac, this was a trek with Dad to give an offering. To Abraham, this was the longest journey with the most heart-rending end in sight. He was going to sacrifice his own son. Now, I have no reason to believe that He had doubts on the way, that there was any internal struggle, but you have to wonder. Not only was it his son, it was also the fulfillment of a dream, a promise from God that had made his wife laugh at first, but now he could see the physical manifestation of that promise in Isaac. And now God wanted him to give it up? Ever had those moments? Yeah, I had a couple of white-knuckled moments of surrender too.

Again, no reason to believe Abraham did this, but how many of us would walk calmly up a mountain to kill a loved one who also happens to be a physical form of a promise from God? Here's what we do know he was thinking, "He considered that God was able even to raise him from the dead..." (Hebrews 11:19) I have to do a little more digging, but this was pretty early on in the bible. Did Abraham really have that much evidence that God was able to do that yet?

Think about it. Promise given by God. After much struggle and doubts, promise came into reality in the form of Isaac. Then the promise was asked to be returned in a devastating and heart-wrenching way. And Abraham had faith enough to say, God's got a plan? He knew God would not leave this promise unfulfilled, to the point of believing He would raise his son from the dead if that's what it took. He was sacrificing his son, and along with that he was sacrificing his dream based on his faith in a faithful God. He gave up a promise, a dream, having faith that obeying God was not going to mean the devastation of an unfulfilled dream.

And it wasn't. Many of you know what happened next. After Isaac watched his father build his own altar of sacrifice, he went looking for something to sacrifice. That's when Abraham broke the news. We'll talk about Isaac's own sacrifice later as he lay down on the altar, but just as the epic music would crescendo, boom went the angel's voice, and ta da there's a lamb to sacrifice in Isaac's stead. The place was then aptly named, "The Lord will provide," and Abraham's blessing went on to be fulfilled by a generation's worth of faith-filled descendants.

Whose to say this is the norm, but I can tell you I've both failed at this whole dream surrendering/faith building thing as well as had victories in it. How bout you? Has God given you a dream lately? Are you worried He'll take it back? Yeah, He might. As scary as it is in the process of giving it back to Him, and as tempted as I am to play the petulant child screaming "no! mine!" I have to say it's worth it. If I can give God back a dream He's given me, than I can better see the Gift Giver rather than the gift itself. I've had too many missed moments of trust, too many times I've missed out on naming a place in my life "The Lord will provide." After reading the above paragraphs, I only can think of one thing to say to wrap it up...What am I getting myself into?

The Realm of Random

This morning I was sipping a cup of coffee gone cold from sheer neglect that arises from the distraction of a misty autumn morning. I have to say I was somewhat surprised when my mind swept me back to a year ago today. I remembered a similar misty morning at a little school sitting at a bend in the road. I remembered the feeling of little hands reaching for mine, of early morning shouts on a playground, and little girl's with fascinated expressions as they learn how to take my earrings out and put them back in without it hurting. Needless to say the tears started and are still clouding my vision like the fog outside. 

I miss it. All of it. Ok, the hospital is taken out of that sweeping statement, but I do miss the children. I miss my commute on a jostling train, and I miss my friends both old and new. I miss the smell of burning rice patties and the way it stays with you long after you've passed the field. I miss vending machines with so many options you have to plan 5 minutes into your commute just to decide. I miss missing America, as weird as that sounds, and how every random find of an item from home was like winning the lottery. 

And I miss how vivid my memory of Japan was. Those memories that were so clear, and hurt so deeply to recall them because you miss that part of you, those thoughts have now entered the realm of random; Random smells that trigger your mind, a word someone says that reminds you of a certain conversation in stilted Japanese/English, the sight of a child on the playground that recalls the memory of children screaming "Lydia, monster please!" I am recalling those things with less frequency. My life here has caught me up in new jobs, future plans, and friendships. It's not bad, and I'm learning not to fight it. But I'll be honest, I'm scared to lose those memories.

I left my veil in Japan

Much like a letter to a friend you haven't seen in awhile, I feel the need to start with a pleasant hello and an update. It's been awhile since my last post. The cycle of processing, applying what I've learned, and realizing a majority of my processed conclusions were wrong has kept me pretty busy lately. I am now entering month 5 of being back. It came as a shock this morning to realize my one-year anniversary of entering a plane and flying to the unknown is coming up pretty soon. Maybe I should send my flight stewardess a card. :)

Overall, life is becoming a pleasant pattern of waking, coffee drinking, working, and talking. Two things I've realized in this; 1-Living in community is messy, and 2- I am blessed to struggle with it. I still have a hard time readjusting socially. I know this may conjure images of my home-schooled past, and maybe that is what's coming back to bite me now. To give you an idea of what I mean, I just spent a whole week waking each morning and telling myself, "Lydia, don't say or do anything awkward today. Just stop it now." Before I left for Japan, I had understood enough of the social and verbal rules that I could rely on instinct to say or do something that is ingratiating, graceful, or simply cute even if it was awkward. This isn't bragging, I simply did it without knowing it, and when I did realize that I leaned on it more. Not to say this was always the case, but it was more than I would have liked to admit.

While in Japan, I was an observer. For weeks I would simply listen and watch trying to keep a mental steno pad full of do's and don'ts and "oh that's interesting" moments. I felt pretty bland and boring, and I probably was, but I still had that filmy veil of supposedly ingrained "right" behaviors trailing behind me. I saw that veil as either something beautiful that would distract someone from a awkwardly slipped comment, or would trail over comments and actions I left behind which may not have come out the way I wanted.

I know this is getting personal, but it's a blog and I'm reading a book on boundaries so I can't apologize for it. So, now that I am back, I can't find my veil. I have nothing to rely on to hide or transform my imperfect words. I try to say something encouraging, and sometimes without that veil it comes off as condescending. I am not as funny, kind, graceful, or sisterly as that veil let me be. Somehow in all my packing, goodbyes, and connecting flights I forgot my veil in Japan. Now, I have to learn how to be all those things myself, and not rely on what it looks like I should be, what I should say, or how I could react. 

So, when I say I am blessed to struggle with this, I mean that my slip ups and mistakes make me smile. Not because I think they're cute or funny, but because I know I am a work in progress. Gunbatte, ne? I want to be that Proverbs 31 woman (even without a husband, it's a lofty goal ladies) and so this right here is what we call practice. I'd be a pretty horrible competitor if I didn't take the time to train. So, my morning prayer is going to be changing from this;

"Please, help me not be awkward today!"

To this;

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." The Serenity Prayer

Who knows, maybe an awkward comment is what God uses today. I'm alright with that.

REgrowth

I may have accidentally skipped most of my childhood. No, I wasn't part of a weird experiment involving cryogenic chambers, and no I didn't have a massive head trauma leading to an extended comatose state. I simply grew in comparison to the life events around me, and some of those life events were tough and stretching. I tell you ("you" now includes readers from Israel and South America-hello) because the next paragraph may make more sense within the context of my inexperience with certain mental development stages of childhood.

I am experiencing social puberty. Keep in mind, I was home schooled and therefor "missed out" on the great high school drama stage. Now that I'm back from my totally dependent infantile stage of living in another country (I grew a lot through that as well), I am experiencing the uncertainty and awkwardness of not knowing how to perceive others or how I am perceived. "Do they like me"" "What does that look mean?" "Did I say too much?" I guess part of the reentry process is regrowing socially and mentally. You have to relearn the rules and your specific position in the game.

It sounds extreme doesn't it? Well, it is. 

I knew, but I didn't know.

My goodness, this reentry part is hard. Believe it or not, the reentry process is just as hard, if not more so than the "going" part. Three months. It has been three months since the last time I saw a fish head on my plate or heard the shoo shoo bum bum of my commuting train. Yes, this may be me romanticizing a bit of my time in Japan. I know the hard times were present too. I'm not soon to forget with the heart racing memories of hospital visits and mistaken train schedules so easily at the surface. But being "back" without really being back is its own brand of difficult.

I told you (I mean the proverbial "you" who oddly enough include readers from Russia and Mongolia, hello to you) about my cold splash of water which roused me from my "everything is just as I left it" nap. Well, I have yet to fully awaken apparently. My weekdays, thankfully, have found their own normalacy. I get lost in the daily shuffle of papers and frantic rearview mirror checking commutes, but it's oddly enough the things I've looked forward to returning to the most that have eluded me in my return "home."

I knew... hmmm. How often I "knew" things without letting them sink down into knowing. It's as if my life is forcing me to be an experiential learner when all I want is to be prepared and let that be enough. But books and articles, while helpful, are not more helpful than a quick stretch before a grueling race. Everything gets tested and tried and tested again. It was naive of me to think I was ready for all the spasms and near stumbles of this race.

What I'm about to write isn't meant to offend anyone. From the very beginning this was meant to be an honest account of my experiences and feelings of an overseas experience. It's also not meant to be a wholistic view of what every oversea's worker or missionary goes through. This is simply my taste of it; bitter and sweet.

Perhaps you wondered at my previous statement, that the things I had looked forward to the most were the things that eluded me the most as well. In my reading and training for overseas ministry I knew relationships would change. Not to be too Pocahontas about it, but streams keep flowing, and to try and catch the water in your hands and return it to it's original place will only leave you with wet hands and a failed attempt. I knew, but I didn't know, and now I am in the midst of one of the hardest inner struggle of my life. To be back, yet not be back; to be with friends yet not know them; to be with my church again yet wonder at the word "my" has been one of the sorest heart issues I've been through yet.

I'm not who I used to be, they're not who I remember, it's not like it was, AND THAT'S FINE! It's wonderful in fact. I sit with my heart still raw and red from it's ripping itself between two countries and I marvel at everything and everyone around me. I also wonder where I belong. I'm not in Japan anymore, and I'm not fully "back" yet either. And I have to be ok with it. I have to be ok with the process, with the timing, with the way things are and will be. I have to be ok because to be otherwise would drive me mad, would tear me up more, and would yell to the world that God is a liar and careless. God is not a liar and He is not careless, and so I will not live as if He is. It will be ok. I'm not so self-centered as to believe my inner turmoil over a trip I chose to take is going to upset the world order, (Yes, I do see the irony of writing the above after a somewhat long diatribe on a medium established for the soul purpose of self expression) but I also know that it matters enough for me to work through it, and maybe, just maybe the expression of it will help someone else too. If that's you, than I hope the loneliness that comes with this experience fades a little, and if that's not you than my apologies for being so long-winded on something that may make little sense. It's hard to relate to something you have not experienced, and that is the most challenging piece to the reentry puzzle; how to relate to each other when unique experiences outweigh the shared ones. Soon it may be the other way around, but I have to wonder if knowing I belong means reinventing who I was in order to get there. Do I have to change one for the other?

Melodramatic? Yup, welcome to the reentry process.

Lord's Prayer Interrupted

What I'm learning about prayer...


I want a relationship with You,

Please help me see You rightly,

   

     "Our Father in heaven,"

I want to be in wonder of who You are,

Please show me enough to awe me but not kill me,

     "hallowed be your name."

I want to have Your purpose and vision,

Please open my eyes and world,

     "Your kingdom come,

     your will be done,

     on earth as it is in heaven."

I want to rely on You for my daily needs,

Please increase my trust that You do care about the every day,

     "Give us this day our daily bread,"

I want to be clean and righteous before You,

Please show me my own heart,

     "and forgive us our debts,"

I want to give as much as I receive,

Please increase my grace to others,

     "as we also have forgiven our debtors."

I want to find my safety and "next steps" in You,

Please guide my faltering feet,

     "And lead us not into temptation,

     but deliver us from evil."

You hold everything with a strong, loving hand that will not falter.

You do not change.

It's Time

As I sit on someone else's kitchen stool listening to the pitter patter of little poodle claws on someone else's kitchen floor I came to this conclusion; it's time. Time to move into a more permanent arrangement you say? No, actually what I have finally been driven to is to process. Yup, two months stateside and 5.2 "homes" later and I am now forced to think through the emotions and reality that is post-Japan.

Ready? Yea, me neither, but here we go nonetheless. Upon reading previous posts (I have to try and remember things in my own life sometimes) I realized that I have decently thought through my time back "home" in Georgia. I miss my mountains and have seriously considered working on choosing my southern drawl as the dominant accent, but here I am in Minnesota where little has changed to the untrained eye. Road construction still shows your GPS the fool more times than not, and my current state of residence is nomadic. That may be what's contributing to my lack of processing. That and the swirls of lives that I continue to work at sorting, catching up on, and adapting to. That's the part I love about being home. Since being back I have laid my head down in 5.2 homes (I don't count dog/house sitting to be an entire "home" experience), and I have 1.2 to go (yup, another dog/house sitting gig). 

I have attended 2 weddings and helped out with one other since arriving back. I currently have 6 newly wed friends. Not only that, but there is also the corner house which has disappeared. No, you don't understand. More than the dating and wedded friends, more than the nomadic living situations, this disappearing house was the event that shocked me into post-Japan reality. 

For months friends have been asking me what it was like being back. Scary, joyful, sad, overwhelming; those words would all be true, but for the most part I felt groggy. Being back has felt like a the awakening process of a really long nap and suddenly my eyes, ears, and emotions are called on to process changes in my surroundings that weren't there a moment ago. Hence, the house. Ok, this particular house to which I am referring has graced one particularly confusing 5-way stop since as long as my Minnesotan mind can remember. What it used to be I have no idea, but every summer it's vacant lot was used for overflow parking, neighborly chats, as well the one stop shop for all your locally grown produce needs. Imagine my surprise as I make my lawful stop in honor of the red, octagonal sign and see...nothing! Not only nothing as in no building and no lot, but the existence of its ever being a past reality was wiped away by dirt and sun-parched grass. 

Oddly enough, this was the moment it hit me: I didn't just wake up from a long nap to find minor changes. I had been gone, living in another country. Me. The quiet, motherly-type, never do anything that had a danger ranging in the yellow meter in her brain girl had lived in another country long enough for a building to be wiped out of existence and have months of grass cover any hint of it ever existing. Yes, I know the reaction is extreme especially considering  others who come back to this type of thing after years and not a measly 7 months. Can you imagine what's it's like for a long term missionary or overseas worker?

The other surprise came when I realized the random moments of loneliness didn't disappear the moment I stepped off the plane into the familiar. In Japan I was the kind of lonely that comes from not knowing the jokes in another language and living alone near a rice field. It was a loneliness from situations outside of myself. The loneliness I have now is in my head. My thoughts, random Japanese replies, and experiences have closed me off. 

If you're reading this wondering what you have done wrong as a caring friend, please know this is not a diatribe or call for repentance and more refined questions. I am as much a wall builder in this scenario. I am finding I need to relearn how to answer people's questions. Sometimes the person asking really wants to know, "what was it like in Japan?" Those times are sweet, especially compared to the passing questioner who challenges you to respond satisfactorily in the 5 minute time range. There's give-and-take in all of this as I learn to distinguish between the two. What I found surprising is how closed off I feel the more often I keep memories and trained Japanese responses to myself, and the fear that if I don't then the other person will feel apart from me and unable to relate. Even whilst writing the above paragraph I know that this response has a wrong bent to it that will take more processing time to work out.

If only all those people asking me, "how does it feel to be home" could have a mulligan and ask me one more time. The answer they would receive would include wider eyes, a little bit of a furrowed brow, and the words "shocked" and "lonely," but so glad to be back. It was a painfully wonderful experience in Japan that I love and miss more than many here might realize. And it is a painfully wonderful experience to be back. Something I wouldn't trade even for a moment of relief.

Natural Reminders

~ Is this happiness?

This feeling that comes with wind swept hair and view beyond compare?

This freedom to walk in one direction and change it as you wish?

The discovery of new places and victories of accomplishments, is this what happiness feels like?

I have nothing of what happiness seems to be to the masses.

I have no successes to speak of unless hard work and college survival counts.

I have little money to secure anything so is it possible that this feeling inside me is happiness?

I have memories to comfort me and remind me of who I am.

I have stubborn bangs that will not stay put as the wind continues to pass me by.

I have ears that hear foreign words shouted by little children conveying joy and freedom.

I have overwhelming, yet endless possibilities before me for my future.

I have eyes that see through waving treetops to distant mountains that were once less familiar.

I have friends and loved ones in multiple countries over multiple generations.

And inside me,

Inside me I have a lightness that comes from seeing and experiencing creation.

I have knowledge that I am not my own, an identity not weighing me down, but lifting me up.

I have wounds scarred over, and victories given.

I have wisdom bestowed and lessons to yet learn.

So, is this happiness?

Over a year ago my struggle with this word, this feeling began.

Am I closer now to knowing what it is and where it comes from? ~

I wrote this whilst sitting on a random wooden structure atop a Japanese hill. My setting now is a little white IKEA kitchen in the inner suburbs of Minneapolis. The breeze still whips my stubborn bangs, and that mysterious feeling of happiness still lingers. I have less than I did before with which to claim a world's view of happiness. My place of residence is transitory, but with an end date in sight. My bank account is almost alarming. But the wind continues to move through the open window and billow these flouncy curtains and I can't help but smile when I feel that same wind play across my face. 

Nature is my reminder of happiness, and I am so thankful for that. If it were dependent on where I lay my pillow or the size of my bank account I would be one morose person. When nature is my reminder of happiness and my smile inducer, than no matter where I am, whether it be Japanese hilltops with the sounds of foreign languages and children's laughter in the air, or a Minnesotan kitchen window with curtains teased by the breeze, than I am always close to a happiness reminder. It truly is a mysterious joy; a gift from my King and Abba. Life continues to bring times of bitterness that press down until my bones feel ready to break from the weight of it all and tears slip past my well-gaurded features, but there will always be a tree to look at and a smile-inducing breeze.

                                           

He got me!

I hear mowers chomping at the grass and cars honking their protests. I walk to the window and sweep my hand across the generic plastic blinds to look out on...buildings. Many, many buildings. Brick buildings, parking garages, twisting one-ways streets, and looming glass towers. As i look out on this paved world around me I realize, He got me! You see, long ago there was a mousy little freshman preparing herself for the adventures of suburban life in the dorms. After miscellaneous trips through the nearby Twin Cities and the random vacations through New York City I made a not so mousy comment that bordered on a promise to God; I will never be a city girl. Throughout the rest of my college years and first time big-girl jobs I was true to my word. I lived in dorms, houses, and people's basements, but never in the city. Even whilst in Japan I avoided the inner-city apartment options and chose a small, secluded loft apartment comfortably situated next to a rice patty. 


 Now, here I am looking and, I'll admit it, admiring the life that is the inner-city. Confident suits bustle to their jobs, their faces shining with the knowledge of their importance and plans. Adventurous people don their spandex shorts, hop on their bikes, and maneuver their way through cars whose drivers sometimes forget there is a bike lane and it is not for their use. There's also the people you want to forget or ignore, like the oglers and cardboard toters.  It was the cardboard toters that blessed me though. I passed a trumpet player with an inviting hat ready to except anything someone might have to offer. A few feet from him is a woman sitting on a walker not speaking a word, but hoping her demeanor and sign will say it all. The more active and desperate mingle with the crowd; some with stories of hardship, others with ploys and tricks. But they all are looking for the same thing. Whether their plight was real or manipulative, it still convicted me that while my stress meter seems to have discovered a new high during my many transitions, I am still blessed. I have food, I have a bed, I have friends and church family that watch out for me, and I can do without a lot of the how-will-I-ever-do-without items in my life. 


 Yup...God got me good. There's a double meaning in that.

Home again, home again (warning: it's a long one)

It's warm. Not as warm as the weather man promises it will get, but maybe more like a light blanket of warmth that covers you as soon as you step outside the door. The sun is giving off that perfect, clear kind of ray that makes the grass seem greener, the day seem more hopeful, and my parent's American flag more majestic as it waves in the breeze. Across the street I can see those same sunbeams begin to light up the swaying dandelion heads as the field turns from a sleepy gray into a speckled yellow. A squirrel sits in the shade chewing his food. It's as if he also knows the comfy-warm blanket feeling will soon turn into a smothering heat, and he wants to enjoy the coolness of the morning as much as possible. In the distance I can hear the roar of truck motors carrying their Sunday-dressed cargo to the local churches.

Inside is a familiar confusion of sleeping dogs, busy parents, and elderly darlings getting ready for the day. Yup, I'm home. Over two weeks ago I stepped off the plane, struggled through the garble of jet lag and security checks, and found myself in a changed yet familiar place. The highways are still busy, the stores are still stocked with more choices than you can shake a stick at, and my hometown is still growing in church denominations and lessening in functioning businesses. Since being back, I've begun the painful process of putting feelings into words. Not all of it is painful, and oddly enough the words I find are sometimes in Japanese now. There has always been a weightiness accompanying the joy of returning to a childhood home. It wasn't until I was standing on an old rusted bridge by a lake one misty morning that I was able to put words to that weightiness; intruder. For all the memories and history that attached me to this childhood home, I felt the intruder. While this town was still so familiar, it had moved on and changed and I was a stranger in it seeing the familiar yet having no ties to the present.

It wasn't a bad realization by any means. If anything it was a relief to finally put it to words. The only downside was realizing that I was in a tri-state of limbo. Here I was, recently returned from the wonderfully foreign country of Japan without any ties to Georgia or Minnesota. I simply...was. So, there I was: Georgia intruder, Minnesota seeker, and Japan rememberer. I didn't belong to Georgia anymore, as much as I enjoyed being back to visit. I had no prospects of returning to Minnesota which was my recent home, and I had the fear of forgetting my treasured memories of Japan.

And then, God showed up. What a silly expression. God was always there. It's more like He suddenly donned His brightest attire so my dim eyes could see. The experience was brilliant, breath-taking, and something I am still working on comprehending. I got a job. I know this is amazing in and of itself in this economy, but let me tell you the whole eye-popping story. Keep in mind, I am pretty normal and my resume will not be chosen as Microsofts latest template idea for those seeking resume ideas. Yes, I worked hard on it. Yes, I was confident in my skill set, but...well, you'll see. Anyway, after talking with a dear friend about my joining the job seeking ranks of Minnesotan citizens, I get an e-mail from said friend to apply for a position at her work place. The job looked great, I would be working with my friend, and I had no hope of convincing them that I could succeed in this position. 

This was a role I had never filled and I was discouraged. How could I apply for a job I had never done before? Sitting and answering phones I have done, but they were looking for...well, not me. So I thought. My friend thought differently. After much encouragement and reassurances, I applied.  I began the resume process (for those of you going through that process right now I am soooooo sorry) and found that not only had God equipped me for a job like this, but I was also excited to see myself in it.

Long story short the resume was sent, and I began the other peace stealing process of waiting. As I settled into my wait mode suddenly my phone flashes in my face an unknown Minnesota number. Keep in mind, I SENT MY RESUME THAT MORNING! Three days and two phone interviews later I am clutching the same phone as I hear the words, "we would like to hire you" spoken in my ear. After fumbling through the usual benefits and scheduling challenges of a new hire (I was struggling, the other lady was awesome) I sat down to try to sort the affect an awesome God has when He moves in a not so awesome person's life when my phone rings once more. Oh yes, there's more. 

Again, my phone tells me this person is from my soon to be Minnesotan home. Say hello to God's divine divine curve-ball number two, my former room mate Emily. "I just toured this cute apartment and I was wondering if you would like to be my room mate." So, let's recap: by the end of this wonderful, jaw dropping day I was employed with an apartment and roommate! Yeah, that just happened. God and I had a little talk after all the phone calls were done and rejoicing was complete. I had one simple request of Him after all that; please let me catch my breath before You do anything else! 

Wow, life!

~A glimpse into my processing with my Lord while in Japan. It's something I don't want to forget~

Oh life. You seem to want to engulf me. With your perfect storm concoction of unknown future, tumultuous events, and crippling emotions I am tempted to shut my eyes and curl up in a corner with the hopes that you will forget my little boat is out here. You don't work that way do you? Sometimes you try your best to make me forget that there is a perfect-storm-wave-calmer in my boat whom I've completely ignored till now. In the back of my mind I knew, I knew His love and sovereignty, and that at a single word your waves would calm and your dark clouds pass. I had forgotten in all my bailing out and paddling for safety, how to desire His companionship. You presented the opportunity to forget, but I chose it. Shame on me for choosing your drama over His peace. Even now I am feeling the dullness that comes from too much time spent looking into your cyclone. My heart is not satisfied, my eyes are unfocused, and the busy existence still seems more attractive than His peaceful one. 

So, no more addressing you. It's time to put on my Mary dress and talk with my boat Saver. Lord, I am in danger of talking at You rather than with You. I don't have this relationship, conversation thing down with You yet. Today, in the sermon I listened to, Steven Furtick said that it was time to let my weakness be a weakness. It was time to stop striving and simply let You be the strong One in this journey. I've struggled so long with trying my hardest to hide my weakness. Sure I would hear the pastor's sermons and Sunday school exultations that God uses weak and the unable to glorify Himself, Yourself, but me? I fell into the mental trap of thinking my every move is watched and weighted according to my failure. My biggest failure seems to lie in my inability to discern Your will and timing reliably. I'm now horrified to declare something as Your guidance or truth because I may have interpreted it wrongly. Is this something I need to be weak in for awhile before I see Your strength and gain a little in Your presence?

Now decisions and timelines are buzzing with variables and possibilities. Do I leave in April or May? When should I apply for jobs? Will I be able to return to Minnesota or will I be somewhere else? When do I start my Masters? These are all questions that life (still not talking to you) is clamorings an answer for. I know You have a specific timing and answer. I know my Marthaness makes it hard for me to practice Mary. Becoming more Mary-like seems to be part of my spiritual training in order to run this race it seems. I suck at it. I really do. I think of being at Your feet, face upturned as my humble and teachable gaze looks into a your loving eyes. It's a beautiful picture, but I can't seem to make it stick. Not for me to strive for is it? I know. That's something else I can't make stick in my mind or come out in my life. So, keep practicing?

I want to get this Lord. I want to so badly. I know it lies in my humbleness, accepting of weakness, focus on You. I just don't know where to start. Would You please give me a heart of wisdom? One that is infatuated with You and totally attracted to Your Holy Spirit. I want to wake up with a feeling of desperation for Your word; to get lost, to forget to do's and plans. Please show me where to begin.

My Kids

The day came. As a last minute surprise (I don't think it was suppose to be) the mothers and grandmothers of my students came to say goodbye and present a gift...many actually. Most of the time I just wasn't sure what was expected. Do I sit, do I run the show, do I show off the kids? Thankfully the kids were in a show-off mood. We did our lion hunt song and our little acrobat handclap. When it came time for the mothers to present their gifts I could see the emotions rise. Most of it was from their nervousness over speaking English to me. I could see the wrestling match in their eyes even if I couldn't recognize the words as the responsibility to share their note in English was passed from person to person. 


 Then a brave mother stepped forward, baby in arm, and began reading the short but disastrously emotion ridden note. She spoke, I teared up, and then she paused. THE pause. You know what it means when it comes: it means she's trying to hold it together and that always has the opposite affect for the listener. She thanked me for my sweetness and strictness with the kids and said she hoped we would see each other again. Funny statement considering she had only met me maybe once in person and a majority of the time was over an online camera connection, but it was still sweet. I then saved us both from further tears by having the kids begin the pack-up routine. As they packed I went to shake hands. Then the tears came. I couldn't help it. I could keep it together when faced with my little ones that I would miss, but when I faced their mothers I lost it.  


When hugs began I was able to pull it together a bit more. With each hug I tried to say the words I wanted to leave them with the most: For my ADHD trouble child, I wanted to leave him with the words, "You're a smart boy." To my energetic, laughing boy I wanted to leave him with a smile. To my clingy children I wanted to leave them with one last hug and the hope of seeing each other again. I tried to treasure their words as well. Even the hard ones to hear. "Don't go back to America!" "I'll miss you." "Don't forget me." That last one drove me to a tall Starbucks matcha frappuccino.  


 After I was finally able to drag my heart away from little hands that left their unique handprints all over it, there was still the goodbyes to assistants and coworkers. I still have to face one more class and list of goodbyes as well as goodbyes to bosses and familiar sights. Like I told my brother, I still have no absolute feeling of surety in my leaving Japan. I am simply moving in a direction that I don't see as a mistake and trusting God for the rest. I don't want to hold onto my gift of Japan longer than what it was meant for, but this has become a home. Maybe one I can come back to, but I'm still so thankful for the time I had.

My favorite holiday

Hisashiburi. It’s been awhile. I wish I could say my Japanese vocab has increased by more than that one word, but let’s not add lying to my sins of tardiness. Lots has happened; my brother’s futon is now located at the foot of mine. Surprised? So is he when my leg suddenly kicks out in the middle of the night. As my sister-in-law wraps up in Hagi, my brother is hitting the Japanese pavement in search of small english classes to teach. In a month’s time, he will be taking over my small apartment, and may God prepare my poor sister-in-law for the day she walks into this apartment after he’s lived alone for awhile.

What was that? Oh, you caught that huh? Yup, I’m going back to America in a month. While my original contract was for six months, I decided (with much prayer) to stay an extra month. I’m glad now that I did. With every hectic, beautiful day that whizzes by I’m realizing more and more how this country’s beauty and it’s people are like their beloved sakura blossoms. It may take time and make you wait with growing anticipation, but when you finally see it in full bloom it’s one of the most life-changing scenes you can imagine. 

It hasn’t been without it’s hard times and heart ache. I’ve learned more about my self than I think I can even realize now. It will take months and perhaps years to unpack the lessons I’ve learned here. One important thing I can tell you, I’m not made to live alone. Hear that past room mates? I’m coming back! I’m crazy when I live alone. I talk to myself far too often for even my own comfort and I begin naming my neighbors with very American names and have pretend conversations in English which is even more ridiculous than the names. 

Yes, another hardship has been sickness. The combination of weather and midget germ carriers has left my immune system crying “uncle.” I’ve been hospitalized with Pneumonia, formed cysts on my lungs (they’re healing), and have only had a couple of days in a row to enjoy good health. It also left me with a shaky faith in my Creator’s care for me. After suffering so many coughing fits and translated diagnoses you begin to wonder if praying to the ceiling might be just as comforting. It’s been pretty miserable, I won’t lie.

Today is different. You see, today marks the anniversary of the last day this world was dark. Someone asked me not long ago, probably for some ice breaker kind of game, “what’s your favorite holiday?” My mind sped through ginger-bread scented memories of Christmas and the doomed feeling of eating too much turkey at Thanksgiving. I honestly couldn’t say one was above the rest. Now, I know. My favorite holiday is Easter. Sure, I think some of it has to do with the Pavlovian affect brightly colored eggs and saran-wrapped bunnies have on my salivary glands, but this is one of the only holidays where the older I get, the more I appreciate it. To a certain extent, Christmas magic lessens and birthday parties lose their sparkle. Don’t get me wrong! Time with family around the Christmas tree and a room full of close friends wishing you well are priceless so keep them coming, but the magic sometimes fades. Not Easter. Not for me. 

The older I get, the more I appreciate it, the better it is. The more I understand what Christ really went through, all the details they tend to edit out of Mrs. Carson’s Sunday school class, the more this day is set apart. I was reminded of this when I was listening to Mars Hill’s preparation sermon. In his sermon, “How Jesus Died,” Pastor Mark talks about the beatings, the shame, the trauma that would garnish an entirely new movie rating system if portrayed in full. It’s not until I pushed past my initial response of, “it’s too graphic for me” that I began to realize how could I not try to comprehend what went into the sacrifice endured by the man who saved me? It was worth pushing through, and I might even go beyond that to say I believe it’s necessary for Christians to understand what He went through. If we don’t then how are we suppose to truly celebrate what happened after it all? 

Here is why Easter is my favorite holiday: this is why more than any other holiday I feel so much joy in celebrating; because this day I celebrate the reason I am saved. On this day, the world changed and what might have ended up being a good example of a man ended up being my hero for eternity. When I celebrate on this holiday, I am celebrating all of His sacrifices, I am celebrating that God can now look on me and talk to me. I am celebrating that I am no longer despised, but loved forever. I am celebrating because the older I get, the more I see what it took to wipe out what I tend to brand as, “minor sins” or ones that aren’t a big deal. If it took what Jesus went through to take care of it, than it was a big deal. I am also celebrating because the older I get the more vivid the contrast becomes and I see God’s love and goodness. This is a big day. For me and so many others, it is THE day. Happy Easter to all, and to all a good Japanese night.

Unreasonable

Today my train commute home included pink dusted clouds and a mighty yet obscuring mountain. As my train rushed along in it's usual "clickety-clack" way (in Japan it's actually a "shoo, shoo, bum, bum" anomonopia) towards my usual transfer station, my eyes took in the not so common. Yes, I had seen clouds, and yes I had seen pink, but some color and texture combinations I think God saves to make eyes open wider. This sky scene was the kind that made you sit up and notice, and made your hands itch for a paintbrush whether they had picked one up before or not. Sagoi! Amazing!

I began wondering about those clouds and the source of color, the scientific source not the Sunday school answer though that is true as well. This brings me to my beautiful, obscuring mountain. Ikoma mountain rises proud and impenetrable (there are places no foot has stepped) as a division between us and the rest of Osaka which lies beside the ocean. In that moment my heart skipped an important beat at the thought of a sun setting on a wide ocean and casting it's last, soft blush on those viewable clouds. 

Why heart did you skip a beat? From what I've heard, that reaction is reserved for the man of my dreams and extremely dreadful situations. Not that those two are related. Why did a beauty caused by something unseen cause this reaction and why does my soul cry out along with your stumble? It seems unreasonable. Unreasonable indeed.

Who Am I?

You hear that simple sentence usually in two distinctive tonal inflections: emphasis on the "am" clues you in that someone is on an identity journey. Science, religions, and laymen alike struggle with this particular question. The second tonal inflection focuses on the "I." Go ahead. Try saying it. This tonal inflection is usually ignored by popular culture because it cuts the legs out from under the MVP generation members and the message that we simply deserve whatever lite load or attractive thing the someone else in our lives happen to have. This is the tone of Moses as God placed the Him-sized task of leading His people out of slavery. I can imagine this tonal emphasis lilting out of king David's mouth as he realized the distance from where God took him to where He was being called to go. Can you hear the difference between the two inflections? Unlike the first tonal use which focuses inwardly, this tonal inflection of Old Testament kings and leaders comes from an image of self that is no longer sufficient and no longer able to ignore all else. 

Today, that second inflection was humming in my mind as the room around me continued to explode with shouts, cries of unfair treatment, and clamorings of my name. All day and all week I had been struggling with my insufficiencies as a teacher. I love my kids, and most days will find me awakining with the dawn and a smile as I remember some cute saying or story. But today was not one of those days. I wanted...well, I wanted the impossible: a quiet room, learning comprehension, and no screaming students. As I sat there watching chopsticks fly through bentos of rice, I pulled out my Bible app and suddenly the tonal inflection caught my attention. Who am (big, resounding emphasis here) I?

Who was I kidding? I was expecting my preschoolers (none of whom have even reached a developmental stage of total spacial recognition yet I might add) to be perfect cherubs in areas where I have failed. I am most certainly not perfect, and you better believe God has had to listen to many of my clamorings and shouts. Even after repeated reminders that it really was in my best interest to sit down and listen I continued to fidget, jump, and let myself be distracted by anything and everything.

Now, did this revelation suddenly make the din go away or the stress to subside? No way. This isn't a magical pill, just a new perspective prescription. It didn't produce an overwhelming sense of love for my screaming throng, nor did it ensure a smile on my face as children tried the, "let's see how many times I can say her name until she actually pays attention to me" tactic. No, it was simply true. No special side affects. It was just an inwardly peaceful and humbling thought that helped me be a little less Mrs. Nielsen (my horror of a grade school teacher), and a little more open to smiling. Sorry kids, I'm learning too. I guess we both need to have more patience.

Too Organized

My focus may be on tickets home and having the most experiences possible before leaving, but the lessons just keep on coming. The latest one has to do with my "Superpower." Yes. I, Lydia O'Brien have a superpower. I can, "whispers"...lean in a little closer. I can...organize. I am a future-oriented planning, organizing freak of nature. Not a big deal you say? Try telling that to the friends and family who look to me as if I'm their savior from cluttered closets and badly planned events. I first noticed my powers at a young age as I would clean and arrange my room until absolutely satisfied. This might have been somewhat normal except for the internal processing which no one else knew. Yes, I would leave a mess in my room at times thus fooling the world into thinking I was a somewhat normal American child. An unmade bed here, some randomly strewn clothes there, but little did the general public know my inner motivation for such slovenly behavior was so that I had something to clean up when I got home. There's a good example of both my planning and cleanliness powers in action.

I grew into my powers and began using them for the common good, but it didn't take long before I realized the benefit of a secret identity. Why do you think Superman, Batman, and all the other latex sporting do gooders didn't rent a billboard or invest in a marketing plan? It's cause they knew they would be too busy if they did! I learned this valuable lesson during my teenage years as I heeded all the desperate cries for help from family and friends seeking a little organization for their crazy lives. 

Now I, like so many other superheroes, simply observe for times when I are needed instead of advertising it. Where am I going with all this? Well, I've begun to wonder if my superpower, however helpful to the masses, isn't so good for me all the time. Do I enjoy knowing where I put my keys or  the precise minute my train leaves? Yes, of course, but much like X-ray vision there are just times you wish you could turn it off. I wish I could simply ignore the multi-railed track my mind shows me of the future. One decision, and in my minds eye are all the possible outcomes, responses, and ramifications possible for the human mind to know. Ok, maybe not all of them, but superheroes aren't suppose to admit weaknesses.

Speaking of weaknesses (some superheroes need to learn to keep their mouths shut *ahem* Superman), mine happens to be intricately connected with my power: Anxiety. That's right. My green, crystal-shaped, debilitating weakness is anxiety. Just like genie (I know I'm crossing into cartoon analogies now) who has all that power with itty bity living space, I too carry quite the gift with all it's negative weight as well.

Ok, seriously organizing and future planning aren't enough to get me into comic books let alone The Avengers movie, but the anxiety issue is trully a big glowing weakness of mine. It comes from years of honing the gifts of planning and anticipating every need (how do you think I survived Stage Managing), and now my adult brain is also able to compute the formula; possible outcome + variables x planning = it's out of your hands. 

This leads me to my main point. I know, as always you had to stick in there a little while to get it, but I'm simply helping you learn endurance. Ever hear about the sin of unbelief? Pastor John Piper does a great sermon series on it, and believe me I listened attentively to the section on the sin of unbelief in anxiety. Try this logic: anxiety means fear and worry about the future. God says He is sovereign over the future and that He cares for us. When we worry and allow anxiety cryptonite into our lives than we are calling the God and creator of the Universe, the One who likes to use fire and smoke to communicate at times I might add, a pretentious liar. We're saying we know better, we can see all outcomes, and we alone bear the weight of knowledge. Easier to just worry about stuff than pray, right? 

So, the head knowledge is there now. The life application part is going to be tricky. I still have my infernal superpower which can be so helpful and so frustrating. I'm ready to kick the cryptonite out of my life though. I just realized how proud my brother would be at the amount of comic book references in this one blog. So, in light of that I now dedicate this revelation and the words used to describe it to my wonderful brother who is partly responsible for the person I am today. Thank you for never asking me to use my superpowers in your life.

The Time Has Come

This is a little late, but that's what happens when I live without wifi close by. :)


Well, I've been blessed by home stays, friends willing to run errands, and friends who keep me sane. I've seen sacred dear, roadside alters, and every type of school-uniformed child. I've got enough cute child quotes to last me for awhile. As you can guess from this list, I am wrapping up my life in Japan. Surprised? Me too, a little bit. My original contract was 6 months so I knew I would have to revisit the idea of staying or not. What I didn't expect was the hospital visit leading up to it. My health hasn't always been great, but since coming to Japan it's been challenged in ways it never had before...hence the pneumonia battle. My latest checkup with my doctor was an adventure of translation and somewhat bad news as I found out my pneumonia has caused a couple more problems (not life threatening) that would be easier to sort out in America. 

Oddly enough, this news didn't immediately convince me it was time to go home. I was ready for a mental and emotional battle on my knees awaiting God's leading. Maybe I was called to suffer through this. Maybe this was a way God wanted to show His glory. It wasn't until I read treasured notes from home and past journal entries that I realized two things; I miss community and it was time. It was time to  wrap up this experience, it was time to be in community, it was time to move into another stage, it was just God's time.

So, once more I am searching for plane tickets, steady jobs, and I'm also searching to keep that assurance of God's will. Once more, God has taught me the vanity of staring the decision in the face as if all my existence depends on the correct answer. Instead He is showing me again to improve my relationship with Him. Strangely enough, it's only when I've done that that the peace and assurance I seek comes and then I can make my decision.

Come April I will be packing up what little I've acquired, figuring out lease agreements and return flight plans, and will experience a reversal of all my experiences since September. Goodbyes will be hard. Home will be different, and some things will have changed so much I will need to get to know them once more. I want to end this blog entry by this very simple writer by saying I don't regret anything I've experienced here. If I took the sickness, the struggles, and the tears out of it then I wouldn't have the full picture. I love and cherish the full picture. So, thanks for the hard times and hospital visits Japan. I didn't get to see a lot of you, but my view of this wonderful country was definitely unique and has left me in love. I'll be back.

One more week.

I am free! Well, free in the sense that I am not hooked up to a machine and am no longer confined to my four walled prison. Now I have a multi-walled prison! This doesn't bode well for being content. Sorry. Today brought a lot of changes. You see, along with the pneumonia there was also a tuberculosis scare. This turned out to be a blessing in disguise since it gave me a private room at no extra cost. Now one blessing in exchanged for another as I get the all clear with no tb and am now moved too a room with 5 beds, 3 of which are occupied. Seems silly, but it's got me a little anxious. Now I am not only a foreigner but a foreigner who is open to observation more often than when I had my own room. 


I was praying for a miraculous recovery that beat all expectations and had me walking out of here within the week and a half mark instead of 2 to 3 weeks they predicted. The doctor told me today that the shadow is still showing up on the scan which means at least another week. Not a happy camper right now and I feel the Western Christian approach pounding at me to pull myself up and choose contentment! I think there is more to it than that which means more Holy Spirit searching on my part. On a positive note, I no longer cough with every breath, my temp is down, and I'm beginning to recognize certain faces of nurses even though the names still escape me. I'm learning lessons of dependence and am in awe at the amount of support in my life from friends, family, and complete strangers. Now that I am in the Japanese hospital public eye, I know there is more God wants me to show and learn for myself if I can only get past my selfish desire for privacy and comfort. I pray for myself to get out of the way mostly, but also that along with this whole trip to Japan I would stop being calendar oriented ticking off the dates till supposed relief. While I know this too shall pass, I don't want to be so future oriented that I miss opportunities now. I do desire so deeply to be out of this place though, but not before I am well again. Can't have one without the other I guess.

Japanese Hospitals

Pneumonia. Not exactly what you like to hear on your last week of break while living in a foreign country, but after fighting an unknown terror in my body having any diagnosis was a relief. So, here I will be for the next 2 weeks, and hopefully not more than that. The poor nurses and doctors try so hard to use what English they know. Good thing I'll have plenty of time to study these while in bed. Part of me wants to scream, "Why me?" Carrie, Carl, and Liz all made it here in Japan without being hospitalized. Was I really doing too much, or did too many things line up to make this happen? I'd like to believe it's the latter, but too many people say it's the former. I'm now facing two areas of my life I've a never thought I was weak in yet always told I am; not depending on others, and overworking myself. I don't get it. 

But times have been more precious. Every request of someone else still comes with a weight that leaves me feeling indebted, but my life has slowed to moments. Right now, moments of not coughing and coughing but I dream of the day when I will walk out the door, tear off my hospital band, and finally be healthy. God is good and faithful and every song and verse about His continuous nature even in the midst of adversity hits a little closer to home now. I can say I've tasted and I've seen. I didn't know it would have that bitter taste weaving in and out of it.