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.