Thoughts from Tokyo

So, things are a-changing. And rather rapidly. We've been watching this Corona virus for weeks now. Our mission has been sending us updates since January (our mission works in many Asian countries, so makes sense). We've seen colleagues in other countries have schools shut down, have borders closed, and other measures. Now it's happening in our backyard.

Meanwhile, Spring is on its way in!

Japan's Prime Minister made a surprise announcement yesterday, recommending that schools shut down until the end of the school year in a couple of weeks.

Of course, that's a red flag to society: if the top political leader thinks schools should be shut, then things seem very serious. So lots of other things are shutting or being cancelled too. And people are stocking up in the shops. 

I usually shop on Fridays, and today sought out the toilet-paper aisle to test my theory: that toilet paper is the litmus test in Japan for "panic buying". People in Australia might stock up on bread and milk but in Japan it's toilet paper! We saw the same in 2011. I learnt from that time, though, and keep a stock of the stuff in our house. I also learnt from previous flu epidemics here to keep a stock of masks in our house. I've also got other staple supplies—we live in the land of earthquakes, it makes sense to be prepared!

Comparison with March 2011

Which brings me to what my brain was doing at 5am this morning: comparing this event with the aftermath of the triple disaster in March 2011.

This event brings that experience to mind, not just because of the shopping and school shutting—yes, our school is shutting. We're looking down the barrel of three weeks of distance education. I know the teachers will try hard . . . but I'm not so sure about the students. I'm prepared to be surprised. Thankfully they've had today to lay out their expectations for the students. I've just received an email suggesting students start work at 8.30, not sleep in. That's helpful!

But 2011 comes to mind for deeper reasons. I think it's the fear. The disaster, if you don't recall, went like this: earthquake which caused several giant tsunamis that inundated a nuclear power plant north of Tokyo. There was a lot of fear at that time. Lots of people struggled with overwhelming anxiety and stress. Lots of foreigners evacuated Japan. It got to be that every time I looked at social media or checked email, another of our friends or colleagues had left (and the kicker was—without saying goodbye).

So instantly we see how this virus situation is very different, but also similar. There has been warning—today they've had time at school to prepare—and evacuation isn't a great option at this point. We aren't getting constant aftershocks that disturb our sleep and rock our emotions. We aren't wondering if there's going to be another one soon. We aren't labouring under the realisation that many thousands have already lost their lives suddenly.

However, the fear is there and the misinformation (or merely exaggeration) is being freely shared. 

This is what I created yesterday to go with the basic update
on OMF Japan's social media

Another similar factor is that it can be stressful to talk to other people. Everyone, I've discovered, has a different threshold in this sort of situation. Some immediately go into "panic" mode, others are more laid back; some research every morsel they can find, some like to speculate about what the politicians aren't telling us. In some ways it's easier just to stay at home and stay off social media.

But I'm a social media manager, so the latter is hard! Yesterday I had to do what I've been avoiding, and face this straight on, researching facts and putting together an update post for our mission. It didn't come out as scary as I thought it would (although the conspiracy theorists will be quick to tell me that we aren't being told everything).

How I'm doing

I've found it hard to concentrate today, that's another common feature with 2011. With such turmoil, it is hard to focus, and focus is what I need to do to keep up with the deadlines that keep marching across my desk. That's going to be challenging in the coming weeks too with the rest of my family at home, in "my" office.

I also must say that I'm relieved that, at this point, the two big events next week that I've been looking forward to are still going ahead: a two-day women's retreat and a writer's retreat next weekend. The latter I've put quite a bit of work into organising and it made me feel very uncomfortable earlier this week to consider that that might not be possible.

It was also reassuring to go out this morning and do a simple thing like get a hair cut. That simple act, seeing real people doing ordinary things, was very grounding and encouraging. 

But ultimately I need to ground myself in the eternal reality. That our times are in God's hands. That he is not surprised by anything that's going on here. And that ultimately, whatever changes come our way, he never changes.

5 

5 Yes, my soul, find rest in God;

    my hope comes from him.

6 Truly he is my rock and my salvation;

    he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.

7 My salvation and my honor depend on God[c];

    he is my mighty rock, my refuge.

8 Trust in him at all times, you people;

    pour out your hearts to him,

    for God is our refuge. (Psalm 62 NIV)

Hidden reasons

The older I get, the more I realise how much what you see is different to what is really going on. And I'm quite convicted, because so often I judge others by what I see, without knowing the bigger story.

This is tricky to write about because I have a big elephant in the room that I want to write about as an example of this, but I really shouldn't write about it because it will invade that person's privacy. So let's go with some common fictional situations:

• a toddler who loses it in the grocery store
• a young adult who is sullen and rude
• a friend who can't seem to meet the goals she's set herself
• the quiet man in the corner of the room
• the colleague whose capacity to get stuff done is way less than yours
• the lady who appears antisocial

Oh, myriad examples. You know what I'm talking about. Behaviour that seems odd, or even unreasonable, that you don't understand and that is easy to judge.

What I sometimes (often?) forget is to stop and think is:

What's going on behind the scenes that I can't see?

There are many legitimate reasons for the above behaviours. From tiredness, poor organisation skills, or personal preferences; to the much more serious: mental health problems, traumatic life experiences, or serious physical illness.

The kicker is that most of the time we don't know why. Unless we know their backstory we don't know why that person is behaving like they are.

I've been on the receiving end of overt judgement from others, especially in relation to my children and our parenting decisions. That's hard. It's actually harsh. Sometimes it's possible to explain why such and such a thing is happening, but even then, it is usually very difficult for someone else to imagine walking in my shoes.

And I really shouldn't judge others for their poor judgement of me. I might not be guilty of saying my judgement out loud, but to my shame much judgement goes on in my head.

So back to my elephant. There are things about the way our family operates that I can't share with many people, and even the people I do share some things with have trouble fully understanding. You can speculate if you wish, or you can just accept that we are very deliberate about what we do. We make choices looking at the full hand of cards that only we can see. And sometimes those choices seem odd.

People look at missionaries and (sometimes) think "aren't they brave?" But they don't see the non-public times. The sheer exhaustion after an international move, or even the daily fatigue from operating in another language and culture. The self-doubt as we question our decisions. The fear as we wonder what the future holds.

Parenting as a cross-cultural worker is very challenging. We have no extended family to help us—though I know that many in our home countries are in that situation also. We're negotiating our way through situations that our parents never had to (and I'm not talking about screen-time here). We're trying to guess what the best decision is, when even small changes can impact our work, or even our ability to remain in the country we serve in. And we have few peers who are like us. 

It's a vulnerable situation, parenting in this way. Lots more people are watching us, more than would be if we'd never left the place we grew up in.

Please don't think that I'm in a bad way right now. I'm writing from a fairly strong position at present (though there are people I do avoid because of their capacity for quick judgment and slow listening). I'm writing from the experience that comes of having lived cross-culturally for over 19 years now. But don't fall into the trap of thinking that all is hunky-dory because I share photos of my family's public successes. And I'll try not to assume the same of you.

Fighting frustration

I'm trying to sort through what's going on in my head. Most days this week I've felt lethargic and unmotivated. I'm not sure if that's been my body fighting a bug off, or if it's emotional. Possibly both. But I've been trying to write this blog post for days, and I'm not getting much clarity. If anything, I'm more frustrated today than when I began.

Earlier this week we had student-led conferences. I presume other schools have things like this, but I'd never heard of it before I came here. It is a time at the start of second semester, where they get the students to look at how first semester went and make goals for second semester. The goals can be anything from academic to more general self-care (like exercise and sleep). Then the parents are called in to hear what the students have to say (with no teacher intervention). I find it's even more frustrating than being asked to set my own goals. At least then I have some control over whether I work to meet those or not. Alas, looking at your teenager make goals is a very different affair. First it raises your hopes, then, if they don't make an effort towards that goal, your hopes are dashed. And you're left, not just wondering What's the point? but What role should I play here? How much should I get involved?

So, I'm frustrated. And not just in parenting, also with myself.

Some days I feel like I'm plodding along. Just putting one foot in front of the other, hoping I'll get something done, but also beating back the frustration at not being able to work faster or with more enthusiasm.

And then my ADHD tendencies pop up. There's so much that I want to do, yet there's seemingly not enough time, nor enough energy.

Looking up: that's what I need to do. But not at a light!

But that fire that wants to do too many things still burns quietly. This week:

I want to race through my work.
I want to read the riveting book I've just gotten into.
I want to play Scrabble (and watch crime shows, and generally hang-out) with my husband.
I want to sleep!
I want to have a deep, texting conversation with a friend.
I want to get more exercise.
I want to understand more Japanese.
I want to bone up on my understanding of writing and editing (I am in the middle of both a book and an online course).

[And that's just keeping it small. Never mind about the millions dying because they can't get access to clean water—I'm not being trite here, this fact was in my prayer material this morning and I just felt an overwhelming frustration at how little difference I can actually make in this world.]

These are all fine desires, but keeping them in balance is challenging and sometimes I find myself dashing from one thing to another, not really completing anything. Or even wasting time on things that are definitely optional and not on my list above.

It's an ongoing battle, one, I suspect, that I'm not going to win in this world. I will never get enough books read, spend enough time with loved ones, or have enough rest. I will never learn Japanese well enough to be satisfied, or be as fit or as thin as I could be.

However, in the midst of what's becoming a long missionary career, I'm learning (ever so slowly) to be content with plodding. To deliberately take regular breaks—big and small. In my job, that especially has come to mean communication breaks. It means that I rarely look at email after dinner and weekends are also mostly email-free. I've tried to increase that pace, on occasion, and it usually ends badly.

So I'm torn. I plod, yet parts of me want to soar. Why all the dissatisfaction? Is it just personality defects? Or is this a deeper spiritual problem? Or is it just a fact of life, living in a broken world as a broken person?

I'm not sure. I actually suspect it's a combination of all of that. God made me with a wide range of interests and a lively mind, so I tend to jump from thing to thing (makes for challenging conversation, sometimes). God made me with a caring heart and a sensitive soul that tax my limits to help others. But like most people, he's also given me various responsibilities, and physical limitations (the need to take time to rest and recuperate, plus a few more individual limits). I should be longing for heaven: where none of that will limit me.

Trying to conclude this blog post has drawn me back to the book Awe by Paul Tripp again. It's hard to find something succinct to quote here, but I'll take this portion from a chapter that starts by quoting the whole of Isaiah 40 (which is also worth a slow-read, for perspective adjustment):

So pray right now that God would grace you with the desire and strength to get yourself up out of that dark basement and into the comforting and encouraging light of his existence and glory, and believe that you can fly. Not because you understand, are appreciated, or are in control, but because God controls all things, because he is glorious, and because by grace he is all that he is for you. (p144)

Looking like an idiot

I've been doing some heavy editing recently and my head is a bit heavy. I think writing a little today might be something of an antidote. Besides, I've got a good story to tell you...

I saw an article today called "Four rarely mentioned (but essential) missionary qualities". These were the qualities:

1. A sense of adventure
2. A sense of humour
3. A willingness to look like an idiot
4. A high tolerance for ambiguity

Generic photo, not from Japan...those number plates are wrong.

I'm not sure if I have all of these, but having stuck around for nearly 20 years, perhaps I do?

Let's see if I can dig out some examples, but I'm going to change the order:

A high tolerance for ambiguity
This is huge in Japan. Not just that we're in a culture where we don't understand many things, but the language and culture itself is full of ambiguity. In Japan people often learn by observation, rather than being explicitly told what to do. Living as a foreigner in this land that is multiplied many times. My observational skills are far better than they used to be, simply because that's often all I've got to make it through a situation. 

When we have visitors, they often ask many questions and we often don't have good-enough answers for them. We can't seek answers to all the questions that arise from what we don't know: we simply don't have the energy or time to do that. So instead we learn what we need to do our business and live our lives, and most of the rest has to just be left to one side.

Sense of adventure
I wouldn't characterise myself as someone particularly adventurous in the traditional sense of the work. I'm am not a big risk-taker. But from where you stand, what I do might look like an adventure, though it doesn't feel like it. However, I think probably our camping reveals our sense of adventure. Wading into the world of wrestling as we have is probably an adventure that many wouldn't care for. Travelling Tokyo trains can be an adventure...that's true!

A sense of humour
Missionary life (and life with teens) can get quite serious. But the willingness to laugh at oneself and at the odd things going on around you is pretty important. I guess one example of that is seeing interesting English or a funny meme or video. I do love to laugh and am happy to do so at myself. Most of the time I'm happy to tell the stories of when I've messed up, and have a laugh.

A willingness to look like an idiot
This is connected to the one above. I guess I often look like an idiot here, whether willingly, I'm not sure! It's common to not know what the protocol is for this or that. Or to get into trouble because you can't read something fast enough. 

This happened to me just last Friday. I drove with a friend to our "local" Costco, about an hour away. It's usually a stressful trip because it involves negotiating around a crowded shop with a large trolley, spending lots of money, and takes a good part of a day. But last Friday another layer of difficulty was added. In fact, it felt like I was in an international airport—there were so many things I needed to keep track of. 
A. My membership card: which was needed to get in, as well as to buy my groceries. 
B. My receipt for groceries: as they check this at the exit.
C. My receipt for the whole pizzas I bought at the restaurant: so I could collect them once they were made.
The above is usual, it was the fourth and fifth that threw me over the edge:
D. Car park ticket: the car park is usually free, but this time they had the gates activated and we had to take a ticket to get in. I presented it at the cashier when I bought my groceries where I got E.
E. Another car park ticket: I had no idea what this was for, but it seemed important and had an all-important stamp on it, so I put it in my purse.

After lugging the full over-sized trolley back to the van and loading everything into it, we joined the line to get out of the car park. There isn't usually a line, so it was strange and frustrating.

When we got to the boom gate there were three buttons on the machine, two yellow and one red. Plus two slots: one for the ticket, and one for money. We'd been waiting about ten minutes to get here and knew that the people behind us were also probably frustrated. So there was time pressure. 

I couldn't quickly read anything on the ticket machine. So I thrust one of the two car park tickets into the slot. It told me I owed them ¥1,000 (about AU$13.60). I wasn't about to pay that! I'd just spent hundreds of dollars buying groceries and the sign at the entry said that entitled me to three hours free parking . . . so I pushed another button and the ticket came out and I tried the other ticket. Then the display told me I owed them ¥6,000. I then pushed another button, in fact I probably pushed all of them one after the other, over and over . . . I can't remember now.

There was no obvious call button, and no staff member lurking nearby. The car behind me started to beep his horn, but didn't back up to let me unblock the single exit lane.

I am so glad my friend was there. Her presence helped calm me, but my cool was pretty much gone. Finally, two men approached our van, one on either side. They told us you had to put both tickets into the machine. Bingo: the boom gate rose and there was great relief all round. Belted into my car, I couldn't bow deeply in apology to those stuck behind us, but I wanted to.

I can't say that I was willing to look like an idiot. In fact I hate looking like one. But I find it easier to cope with that in Japan than in Australia. My white skin betrays me time and time again. But it does give me an excuse to mess up on occasion. I'm not sure the men who helped us would have been so patient with a woman who looked Japanese. 

Our foreignness got us off the hook, but in Australia it doesn't. Every time we go back we get odd looks at one time or another when we reveal our "foreignness" with a "stupid" question or lack of understanding of a situation. Our white skins don't save us there, nor do our Australian accents!

But back to those four characteristics. I don't know that I'd be known by any of them, except perhaps the humour. However, we have had to grow in each of the others. An ongoing sense of call, a strong desire to make an eternal difference, meaningful work we're gifted in doing, and a dogged stubborn streak has meant that we've stuck around.