Change and farewells…again

On Thursday I said another farewell. This one was a bit smaller than many, but still another farewell that stacks on top of the dozens and dozens we’ve said over the years.

Here’s a glimpse into (mostly) just the last three months:

Just three months ago I met a short-term worker in the city to welcome her to Japan and to our social media team. She had a three-month visa, and we didn’t know if she’d stay only three months, or if she’d be able to stay longer. Turns out that three months was all we had her for, despite trying for a visa extension. She’s the first short-termer I’ve had the privilege of working so closely with, and it’s been an enjoyable experience. She’s the same age as our eldest son, which made me feel old, but her age and energy was very suited to this ministry (in which I often feel like a dinosaur). We talked for a couple of hours on Thursday about various things, including emotional stuff that she’s facing as she returns to the Philippines. I feel privileged to have been a small part of her life at this time and pray that God would continue to lead her for the future.

Rachel, the short-term worker who was here
for three months

Earlier last week I said farewell to another social media team member. I’ve worked with this colleague for about three years and it is sad to see her go, but it's also has been a pleasure to work alongside her and see her grow. I’m not sure if I’ll ever see either of these ladies again.

A couple of months ago one of my magazine team members told me that due to family reasons he would be leaving Japan in the middle of 2025. He’s only been with the team a couple of years and originally joined to fill some of the gaps I left to go on home assignment. We’ve worked quite closely on one portion of the magazine process in the last 10 months and I really have appreciated his industry knowledge (he used to work as a journalist). It was a shock to hear he was leaving, but I’m getting better at my poker face when I hear news like this. We’ve been praying for a replacement for him. Just the other day I had a conversation with another team member who’s thankfully willing to take this specialist role on for a while and also heard the same day of someone else who's been on the edge of our team for several years who might be willing to share that role. 

We also got a surprising email earlier in the week about one of the OMF Japan field leaders who’s been considered for an international leadership role, which is a vacancy we’d been praying someone would fill (but not someone from our backyard, please God!). If he gets accepted for this, then that will be another loss for OMF Japan leadership that needs filling. This is noteworthy, because our OMF Japan leadership team of seven people is already undergoing a lot of transition: two members have recently left (one of those is yet to be replaced), a third is about to leave next month, and a fourth is leaving this time next year. Most of these leaders are remaining in Japan, but have moved in different roles. One of the leaders I’ve worked with a lot over the last 15 years, but will hardly see when she returns in a couple of months because she's moving to a different part of Japan.

On New Year’s Eve we had dinner with another (non-OMF) couple we’ve known and appreciated for almost 20 years—they’re retiring to the US. 

Another couple we’ve spent a lot of time with are going on home assignment in the middle of this year and are unsure what their future holds as they both have elderly and needy mothers in the UK.

Another colleague I spoke with on Friday also is unsure about her future in Japan after home assignment next year.

Then on Saturday night we heard that a former colleague who's been struggling with cancer for many years passed away in Singapore. 

How well we know/knew each of these colleagues varies greatly, but when I stop and think about it, the number of farewells just keeps piling up, like a relentless drip, drip, drip of a tap that we can't turn off. I tend to push it down and away and try not to think about it too much, but it can be depressing. Being called to “stay” is not easy.

I was unable to finish this blog post when I started it on Friday, and so have spent some time thinking in the meantime. I discovered this article on Missio Nexus. It talks about the accumulated grief and ambiguous grief, especially in relation to missionaries. It's helpful to note that small griefs can build up if they aren't acknowledged, until they really are overwhelming. And in missionary life, ambiguous grief often gets swept under the carpet. It's expected that our lives will contain much that is now being recognised as loss, and not just "hard but normal". I'm glad to be able to speak up about these things. It's starting to become more of a conversation within missionary circles, but I'd like others to know about it too (hence what I said into a microphone in front of 200+ ladies in October 2023).

One thing that I know is important is recognising loss and naming it, so writing about it here is part of grieving these things. I'm tempted to compare, saying that the losses we experience are nothing like the loss of a child, or parent, or spouse. Yet apparently comparison is also unhelpful. I guess it encourages the impulse to not grieve these things and therefore contributing to accumulated grief, so I won't compare.

I was listening to the Bible on Friday and was up to the portion in Acts where Paul is heading back to Jerusalem where it is foretold that he might be killed. I realised that he said a lot of goodbyes in his ministry too. Acts 20 records a long farewell speech he made to the church’s leaders in Ephesus, including these sentences:

“‘Now I know that none of you among whom I have gone about preaching the kingdom will ever see me again.” (Acts 20:25 NIVUK)

“When Paul had finished speaking, he knelt down with all of them and prayed. They all wept as they embraced him and kissed him. What grieved them most was his statement that they would never see his face again. Then they accompanied him to the ship” (vv. 36-38).

Next verse:

 “After we had torn ourselves away from them, we put out to sea and sailed straight to Kos. The next day we went to Rhodes and from there to Patara” (21:1).

“After saying goodbye to each other, we went aboard the ship, and they returned home.” (21:6)

“Then Paul answered, ‘Why are you weeping and breaking my heart? I am ready not only to be bound, but also to die in Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus’” (21:13).

This last verse shows his resolve, despite the pain it must have been causing him.

Ah, once again I find myself longing for heaven where we will have no more tears, no more farewells or uncertain futures. I need to go running back to all those verses about God being my strong tower, my rock, my firm foundation! And be like a tree planted by a stream with my roots deep in him so that my leaves do not wither (Psalm 1). And pray these verses for myself (and others like me who struggle with these constant goodbyes):

“I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge – that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God” (Ephesians‬ ‭3‬:‭16‬-‭19‬).

Coming "home"

The day after our son's wedding we farewelled our two younger sons as they flew back to Brisbane and then worshipped with my parents and two close friends at the church of our son and new daughter-in-law. They, of course, weren't there. 

We briefly farewelled my parents after church. When I say bye to someone I often mentioned something about when I'll see them again; this time we were able to say: see you later this year. Our plan is to visit for a short time in south-east Queensland during July. Mum asked if we had dates and I laughed. Despite the blog post I'd shared the week before about looking forward to 2025, we'd barely thought beyond that weekend!

Home, with a new tablecloth!

Then had lunch with our friends and farewelled them. I wasn't ready for the farewells, but they happened anyway. We then gathered our stuff and left town, heading four hours north to Cairns. Australia is a huge place with long spaces inbetween many places (Tasmania being the exception to that). If you've been to our native land and haven't figured that out, then you haven't seen much of it! It was a tiring journey, but we listened to radio commentary of the Aussie women playing cricket against England. We cruised into a very quiet looking Cairns around dinner time, watched more cricket as we wound down in the evening, and crashed on the bed.

The next morning we were moving again: to the airport and back to a chilly Tokyo. The trickiest part was always going to be getting back home from the airport when we were so tired. We'd parked in long-term parking and once again cricket on the (internet) radio helped us on our journey! (Yes, we're cricket-mad, and not ashamed at all.) 

The most immediate culture shock we had was figuring out what speed to drive! Yep, we've driven for nearly 25 years in Japan and in 13 days forgot that most driving is slower in Japan than in Australia. Quickly sorted that and we were home in 1 ½ hours by about 8 pm. It felt odd, but also good to walk back into our apartment. It's at the same time still new-to-us and very home-like. We moved around like we were in a dream, reminding ourselves that the most urgent thing was being prepared for David to leave before 8 am the next morning (Tuesday) for work, and getting some sleep.

Some Christmas presents from our
sons that we received before
the wedding.

I predicted that it would take several days to get back into the groove, and that is exactly what happened. By Saturday we were exhausted and very thankful for a quiet day with nothing at all on the schedule.

Now those 13 days in Australia seem like a dream, except that every now and then there are reminders from our time there: like photos, messages from our new daughter-in-law, and things that we brought back with us. As usual, things have moved on in our absence, so it has been a delight to have a few friends here demanding to see photos from our time away!

So, we're going through the motions, but sometimes my thoughts and soul are still catching up with where my physical body is. It remains true that the last 12 months have contained much change for us, and I think I'm still finding my feet in this new phase of life. Please pray that I'll be patient with myself and people around me as I walk through this.

An emotional speaker

I spent last weekend at a non-denominational Christian women's conference (retreat or convention or even “camp”...depending on your background). In many ways it was very similar to the annual retreats I go to in Japan, except more than three times the size and much less international. Also, the average age was probably a fair bit higher. The one in Japan is mostly made up of expats who are in ministry, which generally means under 70 years of age. This event I went to had a significant number of women over 70.

The convention was held at a place 
that I’ve been to many times since
I left school: Mt Tamborine Convention
Centre. A place where many Christian
gatherings happen every year. The
very place where we began seriously
applying to serve with OMF overseas.

Another difference was that they had a focus on missionaries. They’ve traditionally invited missionaries to come and give short presentations. I was one of four invited to speak for six minutes this year. 

I thought that I’d gotten past the “very nervous” stage of speaking this year. August and September were full of speaking opportunities and I’d been relaxing quite a bit. But apparently not so much as I thought. I was struck with considerable nervousness about standing up in front of this large group (over 200 people). This would have been okay, except that the main story I’d planned to share was my most emotional one, the one I was most likely to cry during. Nerves + emotional story made for a very challenging period as I started telling this story.

A few weeks earlier I’d had to choose what I would say so that I could give the organisers my PowerPoint slides. I was feeling pretty cynical about the value of a one-off appearance at an event where I would probably not be able to form many longer lasting partnerships. When I voiced this to two close friends (who’ve both been to this event before and one helped organise it this year) and they encouraged me to use my “is it worth it all” story, so I did. I blamed my friends for egging my on, but really it was me who chose to do it, I wanted to tell the audience something honest that they probably didn’t know about missionaries. Missionaries tend to tell “success” or “good” stories, they often don’t talk about hard personal things in public. As someone who strongly values honesty and authenticity, and telling things how they are, this was definitely in line with my values, even if I hadn’t intended to get so emotional in the delivery of it!

Emotion is a strong way to connect with audiences, but breaking down on stage with a microphone in your hand isn’t a comfortable experience. However, I ended up with many conversations (and hugs) afterwards—many ladies told me they had been touched by my tears and pain. Some even found they could identify in a small way with the pain I’d admitted, which is a definite “win”. There were plenty others who didn’t have anything to say to me, but for the rest of the weekend I saw plenty of ladies walk past who I could tell recognized me as the one who’d lost it on the stage! 

It’s a lot easier to write these things at home on my computer, than say them out-loud to a group of strangers. If you’d like a glimpse of the sort of thing I was talking about, you can see something else I’ve written about grief and goodbyes here. Ultimately, I don’t feel called to be a speaker! Working behind the scenes with the written word is much more my gifting.

It was good to sit at the “feet” of two gifted speakers who preached though the book of Colossians. We were reminded that we are complete in Christ. That nothing we do can either make God love us less or more. God made me, he knows my weaknesses and my strengths, and he loves me anyway. My personal encouragement was that I don’t need to strive to be busy right through this home assignment time, that taking time to rest is okay too.

Overall it was a great weekend. Tiring but wonderful. Another taste of heaven, really. We had great Bible teaching and rich times of singing. Also lots of fun. It was wonderful to share the weekend with two close friends and get to know a few more people that they know.

Farewells to precious things and places

If I were a poet, I’d be able to write some odes this week as I say some goodbyes to things. But as I’m not, a blog post will have to do. 

Oven

The first one would be my Japanese gas oven. Most Australian homes come with ovens and stove tops, that’s not the case here. In fact installed ovens are rare. More common are small convection microwave ovens that you plug in and can use both as a microwave and a conventional oven. When we moved into this house in 2010 there was a giant, old American gas oven in the kitchen. Obviously it had been imported by a former American tenant (there had been several prior to us taking over tenancy). It was old, however, and you practically had to lie on the floor to light the oven.

Five years after we moved into the house the oven started leaking gas and we had to dispose of it. I’ve written before about that drama and the decision to buy a (not cheap) Japanese gas oven. It’s not common for missionaries here to buy an oven to install in their homes, but I’m glad we did. I use this oven a lot. It’s brought me much joy and many people have been blessed by what we’ve been able to cook in it.

Because we own it we are responsible to get it uninstalled (not something we can do on our own), but also have the potential to take it to our new place next year. However, it remains to be seen if the owners of our next place will allow us to have this installed there. 

So we’ll put this in storage on Monday and wait to see if we’ll ever be able to use it again. I really hope so as I love cooking and this is the best oven I’ve ever used (yep, it beats anything I’ve used in Australia).

Plants

The second things I’d write about saying goodbye to are my plants, which have almost all gone now. This time, instead of asking just one person to look after more than a dozen plants, I asked local FB friends if they’d like to nominate one or more that they’d like to take care of. As a result about six people have taken plants for the year. I’m sad that my house is looking empty and I don’t have plants to look at and enjoy, but also glad that I haven’t had to throw them all out. 

I’m not really a gardener, but I have grown to love a few pot plants (yes, that's really what Australians call plants in pots) in my house. The bay window halfway up our stairs and just outside the bathroom has been a great place to put them, and probably the thing that most started me down this path. Keeping plants there made them easy to take care of and provided a great shelf of green (and sometimes other colours, when they flowered) to look at. The plants overflowed from this shelf and we've had plants in other places, including the narrow platform outside our tatami lounge room (maybe called an engawa) and a shelf outside our dining room. These locations also made plants easy to take care of and were visible from our living areas. 

I probably won’t have any plants in Australia, one year is just too short, unless I get a couple with the intention of gifting them to others at the end of our stay. We’re happy that the garden in this new house is almost non-existent (we’ve had the opposite and struggled with the responsibilities). But the great thing about this new house in Ipswich is that it’s close to lots of parkland with many, many plants that I don’t have to take care of, just enjoy!

Bike and park (rides)

Third thing to say goodbye to is my bike, and that is closely linked with the park I’ve ridden to numerous times in the last eight years.

This bike has done many kilometres. It’s my workhorse, I've used it it on my twice weekly shopping trips where both baskets are usually fully loaded. It’s rarely let me down and has needed minimal maintenance. I’m giving this bike away next week, and will likely get a new/er one next year.

The bike has also given me the opportunity to ride to the big park south of us (about 5 km). This park-ride, as you might know if you’ve been following this blog for a while, is a destination that I love to go to. It’s not just that it’s a great destination, it’s the anticipation, the “hope” that that can give me after a busy stretch at work that has been incredibly valuable.

Here is my first post about riding to the park in October 2015, it mentions a resolution to ride there every week or two, but that simply hasn't been possible. I haven't kept a track of how many times I've ridden there, but it would be unusual to ride more than twice a month and sometimes several months went past without going.

I rode here on Wednesday this week to say my goodbyes and sat for a while thinking of many of the visits I’ve made. I was able to get there during the pandemic and did a personal retreat there one day in 2020, when I’d been cooped up in my house for months with the rest of the family as they did school, and then a long summer holiday at home. I’ve visited on my birthday, enjoyed the cherry blossoms and the many other flowers that bloom through the year. It's been fun to visit in all seasons and see how it changes. I've met friends there, and eaten many a picnic in this park. 

Our first encounter with this park was when the boys were young as it’s got a lovely big playground and bike rental place (we used to drive when we were taking the family). I’ve got memories of those times too. One particular car trip stands out, when I had a car load of kids (ours plus one extra) telling really bad jokes…for the whole trip (about half an hour, but felt like an eternity).

These days the park has become “mine”. A place to retreat to, to enjoy peace and quiet, and the exercise getting to and from has been good too, when I could get there.

But alas it’s goodbye for now to this place too. As I’ve already written, there are many green areas close to our new home, so I’m looking forward to them too, but I’ll miss Koganei Koen (park).

House

And soon it will be goodbye to this house too. We stop living here on Sunday evening and will hand the keys over next Friday (14th). It's the end of an era, one that started when our youngest began kindergarten and ended when he graduated from high school! That might not seem to remarkable to you, but to most missionaries that is an unusual stretch of time living in the same house. 

So we're thankful and know that it's time to move on. Next July, we hope to be moving to somewhere smaller that's easier to keep cool in summer and keep warm in winter, and also easier to keep clean! Hopefully it will also be a place I can keep pot plants, can ride to this park, and can continue cooking with my oven!

Change is in the air

The dominant theme in my week has been transition planning at work. Yes, I know, I've been thinking about this for months, and rightly so, it's more than one complicated problem that I've been trying to solve. But this week I feel like I made it past a tipping point in the planning and was able to get some plans rolling. Each day I've been juggling my usual work with communicating with people (via email or video call) about jobs I'm going to hand off to them, or how their particular job will change with me stepping back. 

It's exhausting and has come a bit to dominate my thinking over the last months. And, while I'm happy to be making visible progress, I think I'll also be happy to make it past the planning stage into the execution stage and see a visible reduction in my workload on this side of the ocean, to make room for new things.

End-of-senior-year pressure cooker

I'm very happy this is my last time as mum of a senior at high school. It's a lot of pressure and life is moving like a rocket for these kids at the moment. There is so much going on in these final weeks of school (graduation is two weeks from today), that it's hard for us parents to keep up. 

I'll be very glad for these two weeks to be over, but there's a bitter-sweet note too, as these friends with whom they have forged something very special, will be scattered around the earth, literally. Kids growing up outside their passport culture find "home" amongst other people like them, so at an international school the bonds are often stronger than you'd usually find in a school. During times we've spent in Australia it's their school and friends from CAJ that they have missed the most, even more than Japan itself. This is a much more "permanent" goodbye to that relatively safe place. Our youngest has been at this school since kindergarten, barring three home assignments, totalling 2 ½ years. During his life he's said goodbye to a lot of good friends, but usually one at a time, this time it's much bigger. So grief hovers below the surface of the craziness that abounds at present.

My experience of orchestral concerts has 
always been people dressing fairly formally.
It wasn't so on Saturday, but we had fun
nonetheless!

Something different

David and I did something totally unusual on Saturday night. We went to a symphony orchestra concert downtown. It was a suggestion I gave him for my birthday present. This is something really enjoyed doing when I was much younger: I have fond memories of my mum taking me to concerts as a young teenager. It's not something David has done much of, in fact, we have only once before done this as a couple, way back when we only had two kids, nearly 20 years ago! 

The concert was held in NHK Hall, which has a
capacity of 3,400! It was about ¼ or ⅓ full. NHK
is the national broadcaster in Japan, and the 
concert was recorded for TV and radio. Not sure
when they'll broadcast it. And yes, we were 
towards the back (there was a tier above us).

It proved to be a great experience, one that is very accessible in Tokyo. We can see concert-going in our future. We're definitely thinking about how life will be different as a couple and pondering how we can make that a rich and full experience, rather than the rather negative "empty nest" tag that it's often given.

Surprised by a book

I'm currently reading a book as research for writing an editorial for Japan Harvest on a topic I know little about: singleness. The book is called Sacred Siblings. Two people recommended that we publish a review for it in the upcoming magazine, but no one volunteered, so I decided to use it to help me write an article that I feel incredibly ill-equipped to write.

The book is not what I expected. It is very applicable to all people in ministry, but especially overseas ministry (their stated audience). I've been surprised to find that my experience as a married mother has come up many times in it. Married women with young children and single women have very different stories on the mission field, and not always in ways that you might imagine if you've not lived as each. It's interesting to have that written out in black and white, I'm not sure I've ever seen it acknowledged in print. 

I was struck by a story shared by one of the authors about two teams she was part of: one had a majority of married couples and the other had a majority of singles. She noted how the majority (no matter the makeup of that group) had a lot of difficulty seeing and accommodating the minority.

I'm nearly halfway through the book, but am already glad I've picked it up and hope that by writing about the book in the magazine it is picked up by others in the missions community too, especially the majority in leadership (largely married men with children).

My role is about to change in this area too with the remainder of my children leaving home, I'll soon be a married woman without children in Japan. I guess we've been living in the middle-ground for nearly six years now: with one of our sons living in Australia. I expect that this change to just the two of us here will give me a different perspective from that which I've had up till now—I've never been in Japan without children at home.

And such are the thoughts that are rushing around in my head at the end of this week. I'm also keeping an eye on the weather. I usually do a grocery run on my bike on Fridays and we have a rain front approaching us, so if I want to do it and stay relatively dry, I need to hop on my bike very soon! In fact . . . it's already raining, which is not what the forecast said . . . so do I don rain gear, or wait a little, or take the car?

Endings

Funerals seem to be a bit of a theme running through this week. No, no one close to me has died, but we know about three separate people who have died in the last couple of weeks in three different countries. They are all parents of friends or colleagues.

But the other "funereal" theme that's creeping into our lives is something I've referred to in the past as a "living funeral". Something we've been the subject of every time we've made an international move in the last 22 ½ years (which is ten times now, by my calculations). Here are a couple of quotes from a blog post I wrote in 2015:

It happens when you're leaving. Everyone talks to you about leaving. It can be like a living funeral. The collective effect of all these conversations is sadness. Friends also stop talking to you in quite the same way, they don't want to talk about future events that you won't be a part of, so you are gradually eased to the edge of the community.

I guess it helps everyone cope with the emotions associated with parting with friends, but it isn't nice. 

And—

On Thursday afternoon in the space of a couple of hours I had multiple conversations about us leaving. It just left me feeling empty and sad.

This week I was part of a two-hour meeting, a committee that helps to oversee the social media work I do for our mission. If I had a dollar for each time something like the phrase "when Wendy goes on home assignment", I'd be able to shout a couple of friends coffee (the Australian phrase for "pay for other's food/drink"). They were doing some planning for the future and I felt a bit powerless, knowing I wouldn't be around to help them do what they want to do, and that I'm not sure how they're going to manage it. 

I'm encouraged, however, by what an older friend said to me on Tuesday, that sometimes we need to put a "ball" down and see who/how/if it gets picked up again. I'm about to put a lot of balls down, and it's not easy, but it needs to be done.

The other funereal thing has been downsizing: disposing of some of our worldly goods. Though in general that's making me happy, not sad! There are things leaving our house almost daily (or being earmarked to leave with a certain person). This is one thing that seems far more common in the missionary community than in other communities: the tradition of giving away your stuff (with or without money changing hands).

We’re giving away this beautiful  5 L Corning Ware
casserole dish, one of many things that has been
culled from our household goods.

So, back to funerals. At least our withdrawal is a planned one, an expected one (this home assignment date has been in the schedule for more than five years, maybe as many as eight). We do get to say goodbye and we hope that for many it’s a “see you later” farewell. I need to keep reminding myself, I should be thankful for that!

And when thinking about endings, this song is a good one to refocus us on what’s important and who is eternal and wise:  https://youtu.be/ara0P_pUMO4

 

Cumulative grief

This is the 20th year since I first left Australia to work in Japan as a missionary. In that time I’ve said hundreds of goodbyes, the sorts of goodbyes that preceded people moving internationally. Some were “I plan to be back in a year/four years” goodbyes, others “I don’t know if or when I’ll be back”. Some were “I’m leaving”, others were “you’re leaving”. The latter is often swept under the carpet as a minor grief. But over the years I’ve said so many goodbyes that it’s become more major than any single goodbye.

So at the risk of sounding repetitive, grief, in particular my experience of grief as a missionary, is what is on my mind today.

This kind of grief has a name: cumulative grief. It occurs when there are many losses in a short time or after multiple losses on a regular basis. It is certainly something that most of us are experiencing after all the cancellations and restrictions of the last few months. Missionaries struggle with it and, I suspect elderly people too, as one by one they lose people they love over the years.

Sarita Hartz hits the nail on the head when she writes in this article that perseverance is valued in missionary circles. So the “done thing” is to push through, to carry on. (Which, as an aside also makes this kind of grief something like "disenfranchised grief" when a loss is felt, but not acknowledged by others as important; see a list of different types of grief here.)

“Missions is a field where persevering is celebrated, and stopping to grieve is shamed. It’s no wonder we have so much burnout.Our lack of authenticity and our inability to make space for it, is strangling the very mission we’ve set out to do.How can we expect to be a reflection of Jesus when we haven’t taken the time to be honest with Him about the state of our hearts?Authenticity grows in the environment of intimacy.”

Yes. I write about grief regularly, especially around this time. It’s my Achilles heel, a chronic injury, if you like. 

I said another goodbye yesterday, with someone who I’ve shared things with that I’ve told few others. I couldn’t even hug my friend. But we did get to sit in the park with our coffees.

I cried. Not just for this loss of a friend (she’s in the “I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again” category), but for all the friends I’ve lost before her.

I woke at 4 am this morning thinking of all the times we’ve spent together and the occasions when I would miss seeing her in the future.

The cruel thing about this kind of grief is that little voice inside that tells you you have nothing much to be sad about, after all, this is nothing compared to losing a child or spouse. It is not easily compared with those massive griefs. I am not immobilised, and there is no need for me to take compassionate leave just because I said goodbye to a friend yesterday. However, that doesn't mean that my losses are irrelevant, that I should ignore them.

I was very encouraged to receive this in an email from a friend who knows a bit about grief: 

“Trust me. I understand that accumulated grief. Goodbyes are so difficult. They are absolutely gut-wrenching...I'm praying for you, dear sister. What you are struggling with is normal and really hard to process. So many people don't understand that because they haven't had to go what you're going through.”

I was also encouraged by an article in Japan Harvest this year that talked about biblical lamenting. (We don't yet have a separate electronic file, but you can see it here, on p22). It encourages me to dwell in the Psalms, for example 77, or 73.

This was entirely unintentional "therapy" yesterday.
I made focaccia and veggie burgers for dinner, all from
scratch. I also did a little bit of trimming of my potted
pelargonium and these flowers were casualties. They made
a lovely addition to the table last night when I was
feeling a little shaky.

I'm not sure if I've said anything helpful here. More, just acknowledging that this is a grieving season for me. Made worse this year, I think, because it comes on top of a bunch of losses because of the pandemic (and I'm not talking about deaths here, though that could be true for some of you). And also acknowledging that writing is a form of therapy for me. It helps me to get words "on paper" about the things that are swirling around in my head—things that are stopping me from sleeping, messing with my work, and even interfering with my interactions with others in my house.

And I'm doing what Sarita (above) says is important: being authentic. Admitting I'm hurting.

Oh, and I'm also praying that God would continue to bring special friends into my life here in Japan. I can't allow my grief at goodbyes to cause me to build a wall, because that would be even more damaging. I'm a relational person who needs friends to stay healthy. If I didn't know that already, COVID-19 has reinforced that need. It's also not all about me, none of my friendships are all about me, who knows how God might use me in someone else's life.

I'm rambling now. Time to stop pondering and get on with preparing dinner for the family.  

It's hard to reflect when you're in the middle of it

A fellow writer said to me recently that she wants to write about the current situation, but is reluctant for a few reasons.

There is a sense that we're living through history that needs to be recorded, but also that in some ways we need to live through it before we can write reflectively about it. There are also a lot of sensitive toes that are easy to step on at the moment, probably a lot more than usual. Additionally there are so many threads running through this current season that it's hard to know even where to start to write much (though much is being written). Hence I didn't get to writing here last week, though I have been adding to a list of ideas to write about.

Despite the strangeness and difficulties, though, our weeks are running past relatively quickly and I've been busy enough to find that I'm tired each evening and certainly by the weekend. Indeed, I don't think I'm alone in finding these weeks and months tiring. There's been so much to adjust to and much to ponder. Just like when we first moved to Japan. Culture shock. New rules. Worries. Grief. It's not always easy to find ways to look after myself. Sharing so much of my day with two teenage boys isn't always fun. I'm glad I've got books to retreat to (I'm soooo thankful for the Kindle Fire I got for Christmas—who knew that would be so timely—and the library in Australia I get to borrow ebooks from).

This was one of the batches of biscuits that I made
for my friends. Australian and Lego biscuit cutters
made it extra fun to give them away to a
non-Australian family.

Over the weekend I indulged in baking, which is probably why I didn't find time to write on my blog, as I'd hoped to. As I wrote in this post late last year, baking is one of my loves. It's something that rejuvenates my soul. I've been doing a lot lately, as many people have. This weekend past I was blessed to have the time and resources to bake for others. I rarely have the time to do that in May, so this was indeed an opportunity. I was able to provide some home-cooked goodies to two families we are friends with. I'm please to say I've got enough flour to continue baking this coming weekend (are Japanese people baking more?). There's a Chocolate Zucchini cake I'm dying to try out again, as well as the ongoing search for the best brownie recipe.

Our weekends have been quiet these last couple of months. Actually quite pleasant, until you realise we've got very few events to look forward to. It's easier if I just focus on today, or even, this week, than try to think too far ahead. One way I make it through difficult seasons is to have what a certain psychologist calls "Lily Pads"—things to look forward to. Part of the challenge of this time is that so many of our lily pads have been shot out of the water. And the related challenge is that we don't know when we can start making plans again. It was fun this morning over breakfast to talk about hopes we have for 2024 (during our next home assignment)! Only God knows if they will come to fruition, but it was fun (and probably quite healthy) to dream about it.

On Saturday I actually hit a wobbly spot in the middle of baking when I realised that we were heading into "Farewell" season (here's one of my posts about this season in 2016). It is a difficult season any year, but this year it's going to be worse because much of it will not be done in person. One of my closer friends is leaving Japan next month and not coming back in the near future.

I've been writing this blog post for a few days now and it's time to wrap it up while I'm feeling able to. Last night I only got about 5 ½ hrs broken sleep and I suspect that might hit hard later today or tomorrow. 

Our 11th grade son had a calculus exam in our dining room at 3 am! It's another flow-on effect from COVID-19. Many American and American-flavoured international schools offer college-level subjects called AP. These subjects cost extra and have a single external exam. Doing well on them gives you college credit at American institutions and, I presume, bragging rights on their applications; but merely helps with increasing your tertiary admission rank (and also can function as prerequisite subjects for some courses) for Australian students. Usually these exams take place in very controlled environments, but they have been modified this year and take place in student's homes at a single time across the world. Of course in an American-centric way, so that all students in this part of the world are faced with doing it in the early hours of the morning. No idea how they stop kids cheating, but that's not my problem. Anyway, though I wasn't downstairs with my son, I couldn't sleep (something about a mother's heart).

I generally don't do well with sleep deprivation, but I think that I've been getting more sleep than usual lately (no long Saturdays at Track meets and getting up a little later because my husband doesn't have to be at school by 8am). So I'm not feeling too bad so far. We've got one more exam on Friday, but it's 5 am, not 3 am. And I write "We" deliberately, because this is bigger than just something our son is doing, with ¾ of the household losing sleep last night!

But back to the idea that reflecting on what's going on right now is hard, not the least because there is a lot of fluctuation intermingled with a lot of same-ness. But I'm reminded of a book I re-read recently: My Seventh Monsoon by Naomi Reed. She writes about different seasons in her life up till that point, but then when she got to where she was when she was writing she said, "It can indeed be a joy to look back and see the way God works through seasons . . . The much harder task is to live within the season 'right now.'" 

A couple of pages later she wrote:

"The stories from this new season are worming their way out, wanting to be told . . . waiting to be told. But it's me. I'm not ready to tell them yet. . . I can't tell the stories until the season is done. Why can't I? I think it's because I don't know how it will end up. I don't know how long it will go on for. I do't know what I will make of it at the end. Or what I will have learnt. Or how I will have emerged. Without the perspective of time, it's very difficult to know. it's very difficult to live in the season right now. . .  

Right in the middle of a season, we just don't know. We can't neatly define, we can't neatly wrap up, and we can't neatly expound. All we can do is live. And in the living, we grow and we learn, we enjoy and we cry, we struggle and we rejoice. We do it right now, without knowing what's around the corner . . .without knowing what will come out of it." (Chapter 16).

I think that summarizes how I feel. All I can do is live right now, and in the living will grow and cry, and struggle, and rejoice.

Thoughts about lamenting

The other day when I was editing an article I came across the suggestion that lamenting might be an important thing to do if you want to build up your resilience and yet struggling with emotions.

This helpful article defines lament as "a Christian response of grief to suffering, injustice, and pain in the world, past or present."

I took a bit of time to see what "lamenting" actually meant and came across an interesting article here (as well as many others). 

It points out that many, if not most, churches in the West spend little time on lamenting. We tend to major on rejoicing. And of course, we are commanded to "Rejoice in the Lord always" (Phil. 4:4 NIV).

However, it is worth noting that a good portion of the Bible isn't joyful. Lamenting is, indeed, a common theme. Starting with the obvious: the Psalms, scholars vary in their assessment of this, but I've read that "lament psalms" make up between 30 and 45% of the book of Psalms (even that up to 60% of Psalms have sections of lament in them).

But also there is much lamenting in the books of Job, Jeremiah, Hosea, Isaiah, and so on, and of course, a whole book called Lamentations. Jesus lamented and Paul, Peter, and John, all lamented at times in their writing. The whole Bible is full of God (and his people) lamenting over sin and the consequences of sin. Romans even says that the whole creation groans (8:22). 

So what does this mean for me and you?

Here are a few thoughts:

1. Not quickly glossing over the not-so-joyful bits of Scripture. God's put them there for a reason, so we should read and ponder.
2. Taking time to lament, even when things are going well in our own lives. Give me 20 seconds and I can rattle off half a dozen people I know who are going through tough times right now. These are people who have been in my prayers recently. God calls us to "weep with those who are weeping" (Romans 12:15 NIV).
3. If I'm struggling to find something to lament in my own life, I need to ask God to show me my sin.
4. If I'm struggling to find something to lament about in the cultures around me, I need to ask for God's eyes to see and have the same heart that Jesus had when he looked at Jerusalem in Matthew 23:37.
5. If I'm struggling to find words to express to God my sadness, disappointment, anger, agony, confusion, or desperation, I can use the words of Scripture to help. Remember, Wendy, God is big enough to take our pain! Jesus dealt with more than that on the cross. For example, we can pray the words of Psalm 13.
6. Even if things are going well for us, practicing lamenting can prepare us for hard times that will inevitably come our way.

I don't like dwelling with bad feelings. I suspect I'm not the only one. But as I've gotten older I find myself able to identify more swings of emotions that I can ever remember having when I was younger. I'm much more aware of the pain in life, much less starry-eyed.

These few weeks are another period of transition in our year, as school starts up again. I didn't get time to write about early June when the last one happened. It was full of end-of-school events and farewell events. Once again, it was a time for goodbyes and see-you-laters (those being two very different things). This time of year everything at school starts up again (like February in Australia). There are new people to meet, "start of year" events to go to, and absences to notice.

Periodically I feel morose and need to take time to lament, not just drag myself out of the mud and keep going. However, praise is also important, and that is also what we see in many of the Psalms, they start with lamentation, but end in praising God. Like this:

Why, my soul, are you downcast?
    Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
    for I will yet praise him,
    my Savior and my God. (Ps. 42:11 NIV)

For any who would like to think on this further. Here is an excellent article from desiringgod.org: https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/dare-to-hope-in-god 

Crazy end-of-school year stuff

I’m feeling really quite exhausted today. Last night was the senior graduation at CAJ. Though I didn't have a graduate, this event doubles as a key time to catch up with a lot of people I haven't seen for some time and also to say some goodbyes. Always a bitter-sweet time. 

We must have had over 600 people in the gym last night after the ceremony at the "reception" or party. The biggest night of the year for the CAJ community. We got home after 10 and it took me well over an hour to quieten my spirit down enough to get to sleep, well after my usual bedtime.

This morning we had a Grade 8 family "picnic" lunch that turned into an inside picnic at the school cafeteria because of rain forecast. It was blessedly low-key and quite fun, a great way to quietly celebrate our graduating middle schoolers. (Yes, we've still got that coming up on Monday night.)

But when I walked into the cafeteria I almost walked out again straight away because it just felt like too much. I confessed my fatigue to another mum and she said she felt the same. So I offered to pick up some coffee from a local convenience store for us both, which helped a great deal!

This afternoon I've been finishing off the tail end of the Summer issue of Japan Harvest. I've just answered those last-minute questions that have arisen out of the 30-odd pages of proofreading that took up most of yesterday. Hopefully, we're able to send it off to the printer now and I can move on to the next one (proposals due Monday and I'm off on another editing adventure)!

This coming week is a crazy collection of celebrations and concluding school events, including two staff-spouse dinners, on top of my usual work. All good and important, but I think that my priority for the rest of the weekend should be rest so that I'm ready for it all.

One year anniversary

I shared this photo on social media this day last year.
It sparked a metaphor that was helpful—that the calm
water going over this weir would eventually settle back
into calmness again. As would our lives, after this
farewell and transition.

Today it's one year since our eldest son left home. It was a hard day, even though I left with him. I'm not fond of travelling and the task of taking my son away from his brothers to live in another country, not to mention the tasks that lay in wait for us in Australia didn't fill me with peace. The hardest thing about the day was watching his brothers say goodbye as they went off to school. They'd never known life without him and, though I knew this was the right thing for him, it was hard to see how it was good for them.

However, one year later we've all adjusted and he hasn't crashed and burned. In fact, it's kind of weird to have him here these last couple of weeks, living as though he'd never left! I need to keep reminding myself that he's an adult and lived a pretty independent life in Australia.

It's a different kind of life, though, once they move out. You no longer know what they're up to on a daily basis (especially when communication isn't their forte). You trust that no news is good news and you carry on with daily life "almost" as if they weren't missing.

But I haven't been as devastated as you might imagine. I had someone say to me around this time last year that she couldn't imagine sending her kids overseas for university (admittedly her kids are currently primary aged and they all live in their passport country), but, though it wasn't easy, it wasn't as hard as she imagined. There are several reasons for that.

1. It's normal in the missionary world
As a missionary, it is more "normal" to expect that your children will graduate and move overseas. It's what's happening with all your missionary peers. That means that from the start, our expectations are very different to those who live in a capital city in their passport country and expect that their kids will remain at home during university years. Expectations are powerful things.

2. Our life experience
Both David and I left home at 17 to go to university (admittedly not overseas, but still we lived far enough from home that a daily commute wasn't possible), and we both experienced significant personal and spiritual growth during those uni years. So, it's normal, and indeed positive, in our experience, to leave home after high school.

3. A holistic view of parenting
Another element is the view of parenting that I've held since the beginning of this journey: kids don't complete me. Yes, I wanted to be a mother very strongly. But my boys aren't my main purpose for living and they certainly aren't the centre of my world. At times that view has made parenting hard, as I've struggled to focus on them instead of other things that have been going on, but in general, it's given me a more holistic view of the role that kids have in my life. 

4. Parenting goal
I have also held strongly to the view that my main job as a parent is to raise a child who will eventually leave home as an independent adult, able to contribute positively to society. As I see that happening, I realise that I'm achieving my goal, even if letting go of them hurts. My goal for my boys isn't that they give me joy by being close by.

Wow, I hadn't thought that I had all these reasons. It's been useful to write it out (but believe me, if this were in ink, this would be about the 25th draft, I've made so many changes as I've written!)

Another element is that we knew we were going back to Australia in July, so it wasn't a whole-year farewell (though it felt that way). We didn't actually see as much of him in Australia as we'd expected. But that was a good thing too: we could see that he had a life. He had friends, things to do, and commitments to keep. All good stuff. Indeed, he is well on his way to becoming that independent adult that was our goal all along—so satisfying. And, in letting him go, we're getting the joy that we wouldn't have received if we'd clutched him to ourselves.

Nevertheless, we say goodbye again on Saturday. This time it could be a 10-month farewell. We're not planning to be back in Australia any time soon, but perhaps he'll be back here for Christmas?

However, this time, though it will be sad, it will be just a little easier, because we know he's got a life to return to in Australia and that we've coped without him in our daily lives during the last year.