A question of identity

Sometimes I've felt like a shadow of my
former self, like all substance has been
taken from who I am.

When we first arrived in Japan I felt like I'd lost my identity. It was like my past had been wiped clean. No one knew my past, I felt like I was back in kindergarten. Completely dependent for tasks even as small as reading my mail, buying milk, and going to the doctor. 

I read a blog post yesterday by a new OMFer who talked about the struggles of going with her young daughter to a "Snow camp". She wrote: "It’s hard, exhausting and discouraging to be the only one who has no idea – ALL the time." Those kinds of experiences will change you, will change your identity, but not take your identity from you.

I like this post called "Dear Life Abroad—I'll keep my identity thanks." It is based on the common idea that life overseas will result in a loss of identity. However the author counters the idea, saying that rather life overseas has shaped his identity, much like life at college does, or any significant experience does, really.

I remember struggling to fit back into my university life after a short five weeks away in Indonesia when I was 20. I toured the country with a group of other keen Christians, learning about the religions of the country and missionary life. Returning to Brisbane and my old life was very difficult. Even in that short time, I had changed, as had the people I'd left (for example, my best friend at church had begun a relationship with someone who later damaged her). 

But the main change, in that short time, was in me. I'd experienced intense Christian fellowship under, at times, trying circumstances. The spiritual experience was closer to heaven than I'd ever had the privilege of being a part of. I just couldn't slip back down easily into mediocre church-going. I had trouble relating to pretty much everyone at church. Oh, I also had a serious crisis in my uni course, which didn't help my state of mind. But overall, it was a difficult period.

However, my pain wasn't related to a loss of identity, but rather that in my new understanding of myself and the world, or my new identity, I struggled to relate to those who my former self had related to. Mind you that wasn't everyone in my life. Some precious friends who I lived with were a mainstay at this time. I often came home after church and ended up in tears on their shoulders.

And again, when we came back to Australia in 2004, after four years in Japan. Everyone had changed. Everyone had moved on in their lives, most not leaving a space for us to fit into again. But I think the bigger changes were probably in us. Our identities had changed. Four years in a completely different culture, being reduced to child-like dependency, learning to function in a completely new language, and doing a job you never felt qualified to do, does that to you. We were humbled, even crushed (or at least I was).

My identity now, after 16 years of living this life overseas (or in Australia temporarily, but talking about our life overseas), it definitely irrevocably changed. Japan will always be a part of who I am, no matter how many years I live somewhere else. These days I generally relate best to those who have similar identities: ones who were born in one country, but have lived in another for many years. I do always struggle when I go back to Australia, to fit in. To not be the person who always says, "Well, in Japan they..." or "There was that time that we were driving through Tokyo when..." And to patiently answer all the questions about Japan and our family's lives. Or to sit impatiently through conversations where the speaker clearly has forgotten where we've spent most of our lives.

Identity. It's an important topic and something that is unique to an individual. But don't be afraid you'll lose it as you encounter a difficult situation (like having children, or changing jobs or cities) or consider moving overseas. You'll be changed, for sure. For a time you may feel as though you've lost touch with who you were. But in the end you'll discover that actually, your old self is being changed into something new. If you're a Christian you can be sure that God will use this experience to make you more like him, if you're willing. 

We have long lists of people we pray for. Most of whom, for which, we don't know what's going on in their lives. So sometimes I pull out this passage by Paul and pray it for them:

 For this reason, since the day we heard about you, we have not stopped praying for you. We continually ask God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all the wisdom and understanding that the Spirit gives, so that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and giving joyful thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of his holy people in the kingdom of light. (Colossians 1:9-12, NIVUK) 

It's great to be reminded that God gives us his spirit that grows us in a way that pleases him.

And James 1:2-4 gives us encouragement that in the midst of challenging circumstances we grow: 

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. (NIVUK)

So let us not be afraid that we're going to lose (or have lost) our identity here on earth. In fact, if you are a child of God, that is your ultimate identity (Romans 8:14).

________________________________________________
Here are some other times I've written about identity:
Mixing up role and identity
Your experience of culture shock
The struggle for identity

A train ride

This was taken another day, when there was plenty of space
on the train and the platform!

On Monday I took one of the most crowded train rides I've ever had.

Our train was five minutes late. I wasn't feeling stressed because I've taken this train before and, though usually crowded, it is manageable for 30 minutes. Alas, the longer it takes for a train to arrive, the more people line up to get on.

When the train pulled up, the carriage I had lined up to hop on had people plastered on the inside of the door-windows. I was at the front of the line and had seconds to rip off my scarf and gloves before being thrust into 30 minutes of hot sardines. I would have liked to take my down jacket off too, but there simply wasn't time.

A few people got off, but the area I stepped into already was well populated. One step inside the door and I was forced to push against others. It was push or be pushed as the press of people behind me pressed forward to get onto the train. I pushed my way a little bit away from the door, but there really wasn't far to go. Just a sea of too many black jackets, filled with people who occupied the space that I and a dozen people behind me wanted. It seemed to be impossible that we could all get on without injuries. Yet we did.

As I pushed my way in, I got twisted to the side a little and could see a lady in her 60s who'd gotten on behind me. She shut her eyes and screwed up her face. She wasn't happy, and indeed looked like she might start to cry. At that point I started to feel panicky. Japanese people are usually so calm in such situations, her distressed face was not a comfort.

The doors were slow to close as, I presume, people squeezed one last limb or edge of a bag in. I presume, because I've seen it before. In reality I couldn't see past the few people whose backs, arms, legs, and shoulders, I was jammed up against. My world became very small. 

The train started forward and we were jostled into what turned out to be a better position for me. At least my feet were on the floor and they were underneath me, but the crush of people on my body eased slightly. I was still touching five people, with five more within easy reach, and someone had something jammed into my back. I had no room for my hands to hold my phone, or indeed reach either of the bags hanging off my shoulder. There was no space to adjust anything. You simply stood.

We still had 30 minutes of journey left, including four more train stops. At each stop the pressure got worse as more people got on than got off every time. By the end I wondered if it were possible to get a rib fracture, simply from riding on the train.

I gradually was pushed further into the carriage. Turned slightly each time, so that I saw different people. One younger lady had found a pocket of space to type on her phone, but it was near her waist. Every now and then she raised her face to the ceiling, as if to suck in more of the stale air that hung over us. Oh, how I longed for someone to open a window.

I ended up with someone's black shoulder jammed under my chin. This person (I don't know whether female or male) was clearly trying to pretend they weren't there at all. He or she had two hoodies over their head, and a scarf pulled up to cover their nose, with gloves still on hands. I shuddered with how hot he or she must be.

Next to the hooded person was someone also slightly taller than me, I was jammed against her back. She had wispy hair that drifted onto my face and nose. It was at this point that I realised my hands were pinned to my stomach and I couldn't even rub my nose or brush the hair away. I began to feel as though I was paralysed from the neck down.

I started silently praying for those around me. Short, simple prayers. And silently singing "Jesus Loves Me". . . but I couldn't make it to the end of the chorus. I also tried to breath slowly and deeply. I'm not a panicky person, but this wasn't a usual situation for me.

Whenever the train slowed to stop for a station I nearly lost my footing as momentum pushed everyone forward, and the press of bodies carried my torso forward, but left my feet firmly anchored to the floor. I guess it was the same for everyone. I was glad I wasn't next to the front wall of the carriage! I was also glad that I kept my footing. It's not uncommon to be lifted off the floor, if you are a small person, or end up with just one foot on the floor. Not fun at all.

When, finally, we reached our destination, the end of the line, the press of bodies spewed out the door and sucked me backwards towards fresh air. Alas the bag with my lunch and water bottle was stuck between people in front of me and didn't get sucked at the same rate as I did. I was left hauling on my bag's straps in an attempt to not be separated from it.

When I and my bags finally got out, it was a delight to be outside in the fresh air. Though we were free to move, we moved as only slightly liberated sardines: in one direction and with small steps until we got off the platform, then the pace increased so that you weren't stepping on the person in front of you.

Within five minutes I was on another train. Also crowded, so I didn't have a seat, but spacious enough that I could use my hands, have a sip of water from the bottle in my bag, and use my phone. It seems like unwarranted liberty!

The third train of my morning I even snaffled a seat. That felt like pure luxury.

An hour and a half after I got on that first train I walked into the missionary meeting that I was attending and immediately sought a coffee. It felt like I'd been sucked up, chewed, and spat out by the Tokyo train system and some reinforcements on a Monday morning were necessary.

Free giveaway

Through a mail delay from the U.K. over Christmas, we've ended up with too many of these daily devotional books for our boys. It's taken me a while to figure out I could give them away, so the YP's one is nearly past being current. It is dated for January and February. The Mettle one goes until the end of April. However I'd like to offer them to anyone who wants to have a look at them, wherever they live. 

We've been using these daily devotionals for many years now with our boys and have found them helpful. CWR  publishes daily devotionals for a range of ages, which makes it easy to progress along to a new level when it is suitable. We've found our boys have tended to move into the next age group faster than suggested because their Biblical knowledge is pretty good.

YP's is recommended for 11-15 years but our 11 y.o. has been doing them for a while now. Mettle is for 14-18 year olds, but again, our 14 y.o. has been doing them for a while already.

If you're interested in one of these books, all you need to do is write a comment below (or on my FB post) indicating which one you would like and telling us one thing you'd like to read about in a future post here. I will do a draw on Friday afternoon to decide who wins. 

A dangerous question

We caught a glimpse of this beautiful sunset on our way home. This is the
playground and oval of the school. ("Oval" is Aussie for playing field).

I'm at the point of feeling like I overwhelm everyone around me if I actually try to answer the ubiquitous question: "How are you?" I open my mouth longer than five seconds and wrestling tumbles out (and it's not the first time, this has happened every year for four of the last five years, see here). If I manage to dodge that or get past it I'm stuck on the challenges of my son's and parenting then. Argghhh.


So sorry to anyone who's been bombarded by my current limited conversation. And for those who haven't, beware of asking me how I am because I struggle to just answer "Fine".

So, seeing as I'm not in a conversation and you can click away from this at any time, I'm feeling free to say here how I am.

I'm obviously caught up in wrestling. It consumes our family conversation and thoughts.

A sample of the many texts that went back and forth on Saturday.

Saturday was another big day. David with our two older boys left at 5.30am for the high school meet south of Yokohama, along with two other wrestlers who slept at our house. I took our youngest son on the train to support the middle school team (he sustained a hand injury last Saturday so couldn't wrestle) at a Catholic boy's school about an hour from here. 9am-3pm was spent in a loud, echoing gym. I cheered, videoed, directed (you were called up weren't you? Go and support your team mate...), and chatted.

Interspersed in all that was multiple texts. Our middle son was the only CAJ supporter at the high school meet. He kept me up-to-date on results, one bout at a time. And I passed the information on to those parents I have connection with. Which equalled lots of texting.

We got home from the middle school meet at 5pm, close to when our eldest son was wrestling in the final. I knew it would be a tough battle because he was up against someone from the host school. It's the same guy he's wrestled many times in the last two seasons, and they almost always are tough bouts. But I knew this guy would really want to win in front of his home crowd. Instead of being able to watch it I had to sit at my dining room table and wait for a text. It was hard, but once I found out that the final score was 14-10 to our son, I was almost glad I knew the result before watching the match. I may have needed oxygen afterwards if I'd actually been there!

However our son remains undefeated this season after 21 bouts and I feel like we're living a dream. But at the same time I feel a twinge of embarrassment. Success like this for my boys is something I've dreamed about and hoped for but not really expected will happen. So how do I deal with it actually happening? I'm absurdly proud of what he's achieved, but at the same time aware that many others who long for this don't get it. What do I do with all that? How do I cope with the pride welling up in me without bursting or overwhelming others with it? How do I keep a perspective that includes those who aren't experiencing this success?


There is now only one more meet on Japanese soil (this Saturday). Then next Wednesday the team (including David, as assistant coach) leaves for their three-day meet in Korea. I also leave to travel to the meet with three other parents, but we travel separately to the team.

Our younger two sons will stay with another CAJ staff family. That is a considerable disruption in the nice routines of life, which one of them, particularly, is struggling with.

So you can imagine how it is hard to focus on anything else. Of course, in the middle of this we have got work to do, and especially our year twelve student has tonnes of homework. But it's hard to concentrate...and to have conversations not related to what currently consumes my family.

But I must struggle on with a semblance of normal life.

I've got a magazine in the depths of editing, which means keeping tabs on a bunch of things and people. Lots of spinning plates in the air. Tomorrow I've also scheduled a coffee time with a new colleague. Hopefully I'll be able to exercise self control and talk about other things. Probably asking lots of questions will be a good strategy!

Home: a slippery concept

The current place we call home. We don't
really talk about "going home" to Australia
anymore. It certainly doesn't represent "home"
to our kids who have spent many more years
in Japan than in Australia.

Home is a tricky concept for us and for our kids. I've written about that before. I saw a heart-rending post today Velvet Ashes' "The Grove". It's based on kids who are much younger than mine, but illustrates a couple of the challenges younger kids face in understanding a mobile lifestyle. Our older kids have different issues, but these are fed by those early insecurities of changing homes.

One of our boys clings to home like crazy. He hates being away from whatever our current home is, for any time more than necessary. It's hard to help him with this struggle. I'm praying that with maturity, especially spiritual maturity, he'll feel less of a need to control his environment and be more flexible.

Our eldest is starting to look forward to moving out of home this time next year to go to Australia for university. That will be a huge change for all of us. But it is a natural moving on as our boys grow and find their own way in the world. Our home will never look the same again because the people in it will have changed. Home is not just the house you live in.

Sometimes it is helpful to remember that our homes are
really only as temporary as a tent.

I was at CAJ's special chapel meeting again this morning. The speaker emphasised to the students how important it was to have God and his Word at the centre of our lives. They are the only unchanging things in this life. Such an important point to make to a group of TCKs.

The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;    my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge,    my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold (Ps. 18:2, NIV).

And my favourite Psalm: 139. These verses made me cry as I put my first baby boy to bed one night not too long before we left Australia the first time. I told him this:

If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
    if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your [God's] hand will guide me,
    your [God's] right hand will hold me fast (vv 9 and 10 NIV).

My TCK ministry?

I had a "penny drop" moment this morning. I've been putting together our monthly news/prayer letter and the theme that's emerged this month is TCKs (Third Culture Kids). This morning I had some doubt about the content of the newsletter, it seemed to be full of "us" as opposed to what you expect from a missionary prayer letter, and that's about "their ministry".

But later as I looked at it again, I realised that the line between "us" and "ministry" is quite blurry in some ways, especially in this wresting season. I also suddenly realised that I am "doing TCK ministry".

Now I know that "doing ministry" is very much Christian-ese, but hang with me for a moment. When we started applying to become missionaries, we didn't have a nation or people group in mind. David felt called to teach missionary kids. That's what he thought God was telling him he's made him to do. So that's what we put on our application. I've never felt called to teach, or to do ministry with missionary kids. In fact "kids ministry" really isn't my thing at all.

OMF does not just accept one member of a married couple and then let the other tag along. They want to know that each are called into this challenging lifestyle. Which is a very good thing, because sometimes it is only that sense of calling that keeps you here and if only one of us had it, we'd be in trouble.

So of course during our interviews before accepting us they were asking me about "my calling". What would I do? My answer, if I remember correctly, was along the lines of "I can put my hand to a lot of different things, I don't really mind, but I think it would be more along the lines of support ministry rather than front-line evangelism or church planting." I definitely sensed that God called me to a missionary life (he'd been pursuing me since I was about seven), but not to a specific people group or ministry.

Periodically, even now, people assume that I also teach at CAJ. But I'm simply not interested in teaching there. It isn't my gifting or my passion. 

However, this morning I realised that I, too, am inadvertently "ministering to TCKs". It's happened through having my own kids. Of course I am "ministering" to my own TCKs. But I'm influencing other people's kids too. How did I miss it?

Maybe like this:

Despite living close to school, we don't have lots of kids hanging out in our house, like some people do. That's mostly due to the personalities of our older two boys, who are on the introverted side of the spectrum. While we would love to have more kids (though not tonnes) in our house from time to time, it hasn't happened. 

I'm not formally involved in any kids/teen ministry. I don't have a formal role at CAJ or at church.

However, this is happening:

I regularly attend prayer meetings at school, where we pray for our kids, the staff, and other parents.

It is hard to see, but we had the wrestlers, coaches, and supporters from
13 schools squished into these stands from about 9 to 5 last last month.
Lots of opportunity to be with wrestlers and their parents.

I'm friends with many mothers from school (and quite a lot of other mums too). I try to be an encourager, because I know, from the trenches of motherhood, that it is tough.

We've had boys involved in sports all year long for years now and that means we've made friends with a number of other parents. We support and encourage one another, again, from the trenches of parenthood.

I'm hanging out all season with the two wrestling teams. That is more than just cheering them on from the stands. To do this, I usually travel together with the team or some of their parents and siblings and then sit cheek-to-jowl for a whole day with them. I get opportunity to encourage the wrestlers, to congratulate them, instruct them, console them, and even admonish them (eg. you need to eat something or you need to make sure you give that uniform to your mum to wash).

Here are some stories from the past weeks to illustrate:

On Tuesday afternoon I went with the high school team to the other side of town for a wrestling dual: an hour-long competition between two teams. I was the only spectator there for our team (it was in the other team's gym, so they had over a hundred spectators). While the guys were warming up, I was able to spend time with the four high school girls with the team. Two of them are wrestlers, but this was a boy’s school, so they had no bouts that day. The other two are student team-managers. They help the coach out with a bunch of things including recording matches, writing notes about the bouts, cleaning mats, managing equipment, etc. We sat together for at least half an hour before any wrestling began. It was fun to chat. My favourite question was, “So how do you cope as the mum of only boys?”

This guy has stayed at our house numerous times during
the last two wrestling seasons. He lives too far away
to make it in time to catch the team bus early on
Saturday morning, so he stays with us.
His mum works on Saturdays so is unable to make it to
meets, but I always feel like God has given us the freedom
to be there to cheer, not just for our own boys, but for
those whose parents can't make it.

Last night I heard that one of the wrestlers had been very busy, almost hyperactive at training last night. Today I dropped in to a special chapel service at school (another story, but it is what they call Spiritual Life Emphasis Week at school this week). I happened to see that guy and asked him about last night, he said that he'd overdone it on the coffee because he'd not had enough sleep the night before. But it was nice to just make a mid-week connection.

Last week at the middle school meet we had a girl get concussion. She was devastated and didn’t want to quit wrestling because she’d been undefeated in the season up till that point. I was able to tell her there was no shame in having to bow out with injury.

On the same morning I was able to pass on eating advice to another wrestler. He hadn’t been listening to his parents, but I told him that he needed to eat between bouts, especially protein. His dad was sitting there cheering me on!

Being with the middle school team has been interesting, because I have a little bit of status as the mum of our eldest son, who is a little bit of a hero on the team (he is undefeated so far this season). I clearly remember the struggles he had as a middle school wrestler and I’ve been able to encourage them a little, I think, in telling them that our son has persevered through all that to get to where he is today.

Not to mention that I just love sitting on the sidelines cheering for these hard-working kids.

I'm so thankful that, through being a mum to our own boys, I've been able to be a part of so many other kids' lives, even though "ministry" to this age group isn't really my gifting.

Let's not become weary

Today I was encouraged by a sermon from our home church that I listened to over lunch. It included this verse:

And as for you, brothers and sisters, never tire of doing what is good (2 Thessalonians 3:13, NIVUK).

Then I spotted a similar verse on a calendar on the wall: 

Never give up. Eagerly follow the Holy Spirit and serve the Lord (Romans 12:11, CEV).

One of my favourite "parenting" verses is very similar:

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up (Galatians 6:9, NIVUK)

And from that it is a short leap to one of my favourite passages:

Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. For consider Him who has endured such hostility by sinners against Himself, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart (Hebrews 12:1-3, NASB).

After a long, tiring day yesterday, and then faced with tired, flagging kids this morning, it is tempting to feel like giving up. My weakness is to think that if I don't get enough sleep, I won't be able to cope, so these tired days are challenging.

I had opportunity to talk to our eldest this morning, encouraging him that amidst his currently challenges, particularly of too much to do and too little time, God will meet him and help him, even if it is hard to identify exactly how God's hand intervenes. I tried to encourage our son not to give up. 

I was born with an extra strong dose of perseverance (my parents would have called it stubbornness when I was a child). So I don't generally find sticking with something too difficult, but I also have a personality that makes it hard to persevere with something that I'm not enthralled by. That's when I feel most likely to give up.

But obviously God knows our human weakness and propensity for giving up, for flagging in our enthusiasm. He realises our tendencies to move on to easier or more exciting endeavours, for he repeats this encouragement, even command, to not give up several times. 

How do we not give up? The key is in the Hebrews passage above: keep our eyes on Jesus. You know why?

Because God is an expert at not giving up. It says so many times in the Bible. Here's one example:

For the Lord is good and his love endures for ever; his faithfulness continues through all generations (Ps 100:5, NIV).

Not just is he an expert, but he has the power to help us:

Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion, which cannot be shaken but endures for ever (Ps 125:1, NIVUK).

And that old favourite:

Do you not know?
    Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
    the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
    and his understanding no one can fathom.
He gives strength to the weary
    and increases the power of the weak.
 Even youths grow tired and weary,
    and young men stumble and fall;
 but those who hope in the Lord
    will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
    they will run and not grow weary,
    they will walk and not be faint (Isaiah 40:28-31, NIVUK).

I knew that this season of wrestling would stretch me. Especially that it comes in the midst of the season of boys who stay up late. I nightly face the challenge of staying up until they're done and exhausting myself further, or going to bed before them and feeling like a parenting failure. It is hard. Not the first time, though, that I've faced exhaustion and discouragement in parenting. There's been nearly 18 years of good and bad times, but through it all God's sustained me.

"How has he done that?" my son asked me this morning.

I have several answers for that:

• God has reminded me that it's not all up to me, he can give me strength even when I'm past my own reserves. 
• He's provided loopholes or cancellations, so that I can skip out on commitments or have inexplicably resulted in less things that I had to do. 
• He's provided other people to do the things that I can't do.
• He's reminded me that some things that I think are indispensable, aren't actually. That I can let some things slide in a season of extra busyness and exhaustion.
• Given me some encouragement, by various means.
• Most of all, he calls me to keep my eyes on him, to get my perspective straight.

It was a good reminder to myself, in the midst of my own tiredness.