Another unexpectedly unusual week

It's Friday and I have to say that this has been an odd week. Looking ahead to June last week, I didn't clock this week as being especially unusual, but it has ended up that way. Here's a few bits and pieces:

Music practice

As I mentioned last week, I'm playing the piano for worship at church this Sunday and also at conference next Friday. Hence, practise was needed. On Tuesday I took three trains across Tokyo to meet with others from our mission to practice for an hour...and then took three back again. Three hours of travel! Because it is such a distance, I usually try to combine such a journey with at least one other thing. This time I managed to snag a friend/colleague for lunch. Precious quiet moments in a tiny Tokyo cafe.

Piano: I've been playing since I was 
four...it's like another "first language".

I also spent an hour and a half practising at school yesterday (the easiest piano for me to access). David found a practise room and I had a great time. It took me back many years to my childhood and teenage years when I spent at least an hour a day practising and three hours a week at my teacher's studio, many times playing the piano in one of her two practice rooms. As I've eased back into playing these last few weeks, I've realised that playing the piano (and reading music) is like a first language to me. I still find it very easy to sight read (i.e. play from written notes without first hearing a piece)...much easier than trying to play chords (what guitarists use). And to extend the metaphor...much easier than trying to operate in Japanese.

Being stretched

This week I've had few stretching experiences.

On Wednesday I took seven trains (after six the day before). My day only contained two main things: I took three trains to met a colleague from one of my teams for a catch-up about work and how he's doing. Then I caught another three trains to meet another colleague who is moving back to Australia. She's newer in Japan and needed a hand with driving a larger vehicle to shift some of her furniture to another new family who live about 45 minutes away. My job was driving! Usually it's David who does things like this, but he wasn't available when they were, so I volunteered. The vehicle was a HiAce, a little bigger than our 8-seater vans that we've owned most of our years in Tokyo. But I managed. Between us we also managed to hire it from a Japanese company. This is no small thing when you struggle with Japanese . . . it wasn't pretty, but we did it. And I didn't damage the vehicle in any way, so that was a relief! 

The van we hired to do the moving. 

When we were done, I took one more train to get home. In contrast to the day before I never left western Tokyo, just took a big train circuit, and never more than about 15 km from our house.

Then yesterday I had my annual Japanese medical. It's pretty much funded by the government. It was not very comprehensive, but they did a urine and took some blood and asked me if I had any concerns. The doctor, nurse, and I danced around in two languages, but, I think managed the basics. I really struggle with starving blood test. Breakfast is mandatory for me to have decent brain function and going without my mid-morning coffee is a double blow to my capacity. Then, having to speak Japanese on top of that . . . it's definitely not pretty. I haven't yet managed to explain to a medical professional how difficult I find it to function in my (very second) language without breakfast or coffee.

My big mistake, yesterday, however, was trying to be efficient. I also needed more asthma meds, so I thought combining that with my medical would be a smart move . . . and it was, until I got to the pharmacy next to the doctor. What I should have done was go and have my coffee and then come back, but I didn't. The pharmacy didn't have enough in stock to fill my prescription. This has happened every time I've been recently, so I shouldn't have been surprised. But this time it seems there were greater difficulties that I don't understand . . . the lady appointed to deal with me spoke loud and fast, but didn't seem to have all the information that she needed. Our interactions (entirely in Japanese) were punctuated with something like "chotto matte kudasai" (please excuse me) followed by her rushing back to talk to someone else (the pharmacist?). 

This back and forth went on for some time. 

I was sitting like a blob on the waiting seats, with a pretty massive headache and brain fog so thick that thinking was hard. 

Eventually she agreed that they could sell me two then and they would mail me the rest of the script later. I had to throw more complications into the conversation as I explained that I was going to be in Sapporo from Monday for five days, then back here for four days, then in Australia (I didn't mention Singapore) from the week after for five weeks!

I think we sorted it out, but now I look back, I'm not sure why it was so hard. Brain fog and headache contributed, for sure, but I'm hoping that it wasn't contagious and that she didn't also have compromised brain function!

The "medical" actually only took around 30 minutes, but the end result was that I pretty much was incapacitated for the whole morning. It was only after lunch that I started to be able to do anything much of value. And then I had a piano practice and staff family dinner at school . . . so yesterday I didn't feel like I got much of value done!

End of year feel

At both school (where David works) and OMF JHQ (our mission's national base) I found an "end of year" vibe. Certainly at school, where the school year ended this week, that was the case. I wasn't ready for it at JHQ. It's not the end of the year there, but with our national conference next week, there is a lot of "get this done before conference". And there are cross-overs between the two organisations. One key leader in OMF Japan has kids at the school, so they are heading off straight after conference on a short home assignment, and so she's been handing over jobs to people to take care of during the months she'll be away. Also so there was an edge of tired frantic-ness (overwrought?) there that I wasn't expecting.

Additionally, in both places there are people leaving after serving in each place for a long time. So there's an edge of sadness to it all as well.

Ah, I'd better stop writing here and get back to the things I need to get done "before conference".

Constancy in the midst of change

I like to come up with one main thing that a blog post is about, it makes for easier reading (and writing). But this week I've been a bit stuck. And it's a symptom of transition. We are, day by day, growing less settled and more drawn into the depths of transition. Yes, it's what I wrote about last week and many times in the past. Missionary life comes with constant change. If it isn't us changing it's someone else. But in this case it's us.

This week we've become more embroiled in practical decisions about both sides of the equation:

Australia

• Meeting up with people "before we go"
• Finalising payments like rent
• Doing things that need to be done before we go, like medical appointments, final things to help our sons get settled
• Talking over logistical things like moving house and selling our car
• Starting to sort through boxes—I threw out many years worth of X-rays this week and found a photo of myself as an infant in the arms of my maternal grandparents.

Japan

This is the largest space in the apartment.
By Australian standards it's tiny, 
especially the kitchen, bathroom,
and laundry. But it's a lovely, bright
apartment and we'll enjoy the challenge
of figuring out how to furnish it.
Watch this space in August!

• We had the first look at photos of our new apartment and started to think more concretely about furniture
• Getting a couple of quotes for moving our stuff into our new apartment
• Finalising details on David's contract with the school
• Renting a car space across the road from our apartment (the apartment does not come with its own space) and thinking about what car we might like to buy
• Thinking about the logistics of that first week in Japan

And less immediately concrete details—I had a meeting with key members of my magazine editing team to talk about the future structure of the team and how I'd best contribute to that.

Along with all of that goes emotions, of course. But probably I'm feeling more excited and not too tremulous. This is the first time we've done this as a couple without any children, and it is significantly simpler (no schooling to consider, just for starters). We've also got the advantage of knowing that we've lived in Japan pretty successfully for many years now, so there's a lot that isn't scary at all.

Emotions are mixed because parts of our heart live on both sides of the ocean now. There are people in both places who we love. There are things about each place that we love.

But, I've written about this before. If you've read along for a few years, you've heard it before!

Change is constant in all of our lives. But as cross-cultural workers we've learned to expect a more frequent and larger changes. Therefore, this article resonated with me: https://velvetashes.com/the-constant-of-change/

The author reflects:

If I have learned anything in my life, it’s to embrace the highs and lows, clinging to the promise that God is with me, will never leave me, and will always provide for me in unexpected and incredible ways.

And she quotes one of my favourite hymns, which is very relevant at this time:

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father,
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not;
As Thou hast been, Thou forever wilt be.
Great is Thy faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed, Thy hand hath provided;
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

I'm clinging to the one who never changes (God), along with experiencing the comfort that comes with remembering that he has provided all that I've needed and trusting that that also will never change. That is very soothing in the midst of the noise that echoes around in my head at transition times.

But I might not be a soothing person to talk to. My head is full of messy noise that can mean it's hard to concentrate sometimes. If you catch me in the wild, asking "How are you feeling?" might meet with any number of answers!

Emotions and conversations

We have reached an interesting point in our careers. A point where people saying, "Wow, 23 years is a long time to serve." But there are also younger people asking questions about their own direction in life, and asking about our own journey. Especially people who don't feel called to so called "front-line ministry", for example, church planting and evangelism, but called to the sorts of work we do: support ministry (behind the scenes helping missionaries to continue to do the work they've been called to do).

And a photo of a tree, because we all need
more trees!

I've written on this topic a few times over the years, one that stands out was about four years ago (here) and expressed a fair bit of frustration on how difficult it seemed to communicate to Australians about the importance of the work we do. That mission work involves a lot more than just church planting and evangelism. 

However, it feels like maybe we're making better progress this year. One way we're doing that is by using boxes, of all things! It's become a standard part of most of our up-front presentations. We get the audience involved and show them a little dramatically some of the other things missionaries have to do aside from their stated "ministry", and then show them how overwhelming that can be and how people like ourselves can work as a team to help carry the load. I explained this activity (with photos) towards the end of this blog post five years ago. This single presentation has produced more conversations than most of the stories we've told.

I've had coffee on two occasions in the last week with people who wanted to know more about my story: about working in communications and also about how missions do member care. Both of these conversations were so encouraging to me. I shouldn't be amazed that God's been working through the struggles I've had to help other people (he said he would 2 Corinthians 1:4). In fact neither of these conversations would have taken place if God hadn't given me the boldness to stand up in front of strangers and admit that something in my missionary career had been (or continues to be) hard.

. . . 

I now wish that I'd pressed "Publish" on Tuesday when I wrote this. But now it's Thursday and I've had another lengthy conversation that was quite different to the first two I mentioned. Today I'm feeling far more anxious than I had been recently. The conversation was one of those, "Please explain the situation of your kids, we wish we could provide them with accommodation but we can't, what can we do except pray?" kinds of conversations that we've had many of in the last several months.

I haven't written too much about the situation with our boys, partly to protect their privacy. What's been going on with them has been the unwritten part of the story in what I've written here recently (e.g., struggling to trusting God). My summary is: there's a housing crisis in Australia at present and finding places to rent is hard. Both our younger sons need to find somewhere to live apart from us in order for us to go back to Japan in July. One of our sons will be studying at the University of Queensland and the other hopefully will be working. The latter was the subject of this blog post last year about mental illness and neurodiversity. He's had a rough run, and as his parents we've also been doing it tough at times. Getting these guys settled somewhere else is a key focus of this home assignment, but it's a difficult one. And one that we don't know the end of yet, and it's hard to wait, wondering.

But this is a rather large diversion from how I started this: encouraged by conversations. But that's life, isn't it? One interaction can be an encouragement and another quite the opposite. We're no superheroes here! Please pray for us!

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.

A missionary conference

Time for a mobile post. We’re sitting at Chitose Airport in Hokkaido after five days of the 2023 OMF Japan conference. It’s been an intense week, as expected, but very good. I’m reminded that a field conference bears resemblance to a family reunion. These, in so many ways, are “our people”, though we’re related to none and have few common experiences with any of them prior to coming to Japan. It’s a strange feeling, but nonetheless is truly how I feel.

The view from our traditional Japanese room.

A couple of unexpecteds for me:

• The number of missionaries is about the same as last time we gathered (170), but I felt a distinct shift in balance. At 22 ½ years of service we’re definitely in the “senior missionary” realm now. About half of those at conference weren’t in Japan at our last one (five years ago). Even taking into consideration the short- and medium-term missionaries (about 50 of those 170), there’s a lot of people who have been here many years less than 22! We had a lot of conversations with people who know very little of the recent history of our organisation. It’s shocking to realise that things we experienced in 2011, 2015, etc., are “ancient history”.
• Heaviness. The theme of the conference was four-fold, based on Romans 12:11–12 “Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervour, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.” We spent a day on each of these: Joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer, and zeal & spiritual fervour. The day on patience in affliction we spent time looking at grief, lament, and suffering. This was heavy, but helpful for me personally, as I continue to struggle with the “whys” of some of our parenting struggles.

I’m really tired now. I’m particularly craving quiet. These days have been loud, with conversations often being held almost at shouting level to make oneself heard over the crowd. And conversations were had: at breakfast, at lunch, at dinner, at morning and afternoon tea, before and after sessions, in the baths (yes, Japanese communal baths), in the pools (this hotel has a water park in the basement), in the elevator and in the halls. Many small group discussions, and times of prayer. Much talking and much listening. Wonderful and draining at the same time. We prayed for God-appointed conversations and continue to pray that the words we spoke and the listening we did are a blessing to all those we encountered. I’m so thankful for so many interactions. Possibly even more thankful in the context of being post-pandemic (and very few masks). Three years of masked and online interactions have caused us to value these multiple informal in person interactions much more.

I’m also thankful for much unrestrained singing in English. I’ve been teary most days! Singing in English is something I miss in Japan. The first night especially was precious. We joined with fellow missionaries from over a dozen countries and multiple Christian backgrounds and sang our hearts out. Such freedom isn’t often part of my church experience, in either Australia or Japan.

Conference is a time to step back from the minutiae of ministry and life and remember the Lord who saved us and called us. It’s so important and I hope that as we stand at the intersection between service in Japan and service in Australia, this will help fuel us spiritually as we move forward, helping us to keep the big-picture in mind.

I’m looking forward now to my own bed (a luxury I’ll have to give up in just over two weeks). But it’ll be still several hours before we get there. The reality is that even once we land in Tokyo around 8.30, we’ll still have another 1 ½ hrs at least on trains to get home.

An audaciously big question

I was recently asked to fill in a form for our organisation that included the question “What emotions characterize your last two years?” 

Yep, it’s two-year-review time. I’ve reviewed my attitude and just got on with filling out this form that includes lots of hard questions like this (I’ve been grumpy about this process in the past).

Last time I did this (2021) I also blogged about it. Here’s a portion of what I wrote:

“I don't think I got any surprises as I went through the questions this time, although the question about "What subjects have you thought about in the last two years?" always flabbergasts me: no one really wants a detailed answer to that! “

But back to what kind of emotions characterize the last two years? Words like sadness, isolation, and anxiety came to mind. That’s a different group of words than I usually have written on this form in the past (we’ve done this approximately every two years since 2000).

What’s changed? We’ve experienced loss, but not the sort that immediately comes to mind. I’m currently reading a book called A Grace Disguised (revised and expanded) by Jerry L. Sittser. This book is about how the soul grows through loss and is intertwined with his personal story of losing his mum, wife, and one of his daughters in the same car accident. That kind of loss makes most of us feel shocked and automatically we start comparing. He addresses this upfront in the chapter “Whose loss is worse?” I was encouraged by this:

"There is a different kind of loss that inevitably occurs in all of our lives . . . this kind of loss has more devastating results, and it is irreversible. Such loss includes terminal illness, disability, divorce, rape, emotional abuse, physical and sexual abuse, chronic unemployment, crushing disappointment, mental illness, and ultimately death. If normal, natural, reversible loss is like a broken limb, then catastrophic loss is like an amputation. The results are permanent, the impact in calculable, the consequences cumulative. Each new day forces one to face some new and devastating dimension of the loss. It creates a whole new context for one's life."

I’m so grateful this list includes mental illness and disability. These are the realm of loss that we’ve inhabited in the last couple of years. Not a sudden loss, nor one that has a clear beginning or ending. But a loss nonetheless. It’s helpful for me to acknowledge that this hasn’t been without consequence in my soul and the context of our lives has changed, even if it’s hard to see for the outsider.

I haven’t finished the book yet, but I’m looking forward to seeing where he goes with this. Part of the pain is related to struggling to see what the future holds. The dreams you had in the past no longer give comfort. Sittser writes:

“Loss creates a barren present, as if one is sailing on a vast see of nothingness. Those who suffer loss live suspended between at past for which they long and a future for which they hope. They want to return to the harbor of the familiar past and recover what was lost—good heath, happy relationships, a secure job. Or they want to sail on and discover a meaningful future that promised to bring them life again—successful surgery, a second marriage, a better job. Instead, they find themselves living in a barren present that is empty of meaning. Memories of the past only remind them of what they have lost; hope for the future only taunts them with an unknown too remote even to imagine.”

Some part of the practical, competent me says I’m being melodramatic, that this isn’t true of me, that what’s going on for us isn’t that bad. But then my body quietly whispers signs that I shouldn’t ignore.

I’m sorry if I’m writing in riddles here. I wish I could tell you more details about our story, but it really is not completely my story to tell, so I won’t, at least not right now. And that’s part of the isolation that I’ve felt. Not that I’ve don’t have friends who regularly ask me how I really am. But that I don’t have many people who I feel able to really open up to about how I really feel. I did dump some stuff on an unsuspecting friend the other day: someone I hadn’t seen for three years. She looked shell-shocked, and I realised that I’d overstepped an invisible line . . . Again.

Whenever I get to this point in a blog post I’m confronted by the decision of how to finish it off. There’s no obvious conclusion. But maybe back to the question of emotions that have characterised these last two years. I did have some positive emotions that I might have included in the list, like contentment and joy. Yes, I think loss can teach you that your soul can expand to allow you to experience immense opposites, even at the same time.

I highly recommend this book. In the “praise” section at the start, someone wrote:

“Our souls need stories of how other people have overcome challenges so we can believe that our own hard stories can be ones that testify to our overcoming as well.”

I hope that my blog can be also a vehicle for helping others, in a small way, to believe that they too can make it through hard times.

Emotional roller coaster—April 2023 edition

This morning, my Facebook memories reminded me of the last time we moved out of a house in Japan to go on home assignment. I wrote this just a few weeks after starting my blog in 2009: Thoughts on packing up to go . . . 9 weeks out

A lot of that sounds very familiar. What's changed? 

Emotions can be like the sight of this
bridge: there's lots of things here
warning me not to attempt going across
it. Approaching home assignment
is a little like approaching a bridge
like this—it looks pretty scary and
full of danger. 

1. My boys are 14 years older, and there're only two of them here. 

2. CAJ's Thrift Shop is no more. 

3. There's still a lot of sorting to do, mostly because we're seriously downsizing this time, however, we can't complete downsizing while we're still living here and I'm still cooking meals for the equivalent of five or six people.

4. I probably don't live as close to the line on exhaustion as I did in 2009! Mostly due to #1.

What hasn't changed?

1. I'm still experiencing those emotions. I'm still not sure about the Right Time to do everything that needs to be done. I'm still concerned (maybe even anxious) about how it will all pan out.

2. God hasn't changed. He walked with us through this last time and we survived, however ragged!

Big transition like this is an emotional rollercoaster that I hate. And apparently, I always have. 

I grew up in a very stable family. We moved once during my school years: when I was 15, and that was just to a neighbouring suburb. I went to two schools, and that was because one was a primary school only and the other was a high school only. I didn't have any experience of a really big transition until I left home at 17 to go to university. My parents are still married and have only recently moved out of the home we moved into when I was 15. They still live in the same town.

But boy, have I had some whoppers since I left home. Nothing prepares you for changing countries. One would think that that, having lived overseas for 22 years now, and having "moved" to Australia four times in there for home assignments, I'd have it figured out. Nope!

Oh, I know the stuff that needs to be done. I'm not a newbie at any of that. But emotionally, and physically, it's still a stretch. And I'm not holding out high hopes either, having seen many missionaries retire from the field after 30+ years of service: all of them are stressed about the transition.

However, as I look back at this post I wrote two months ago, I'm also pleased to see that we've already made many decisions that answer many of the questions I listed in that post. That's maybe why I'm feeling like every night when David comes home, I'm asking his opinion on one decision or another that has come up during the day. It seems relentless! But I am thankful that we're making progress, even if it doesn't feel like it as we continue to be loaded with more decisions to make.

We've got many dates in the schedule up for several months now: moving dates, flying dates, accommodation dates, even when we stop work here and when we start in Australia. Our first two months of work in Australia are filling up. I was talking to two of my best friends on Monday and we're thinking about the three of us doing a retreat somewhere . . . however, my schedule is planned way in advance of what they're able to think about at present. So we shelved that conversation for now!

But back to our weekend. On Saturday we spent all day at another track meet. Our second-last one (and the last one on a weekend). It was good to see our son performing well again. He broke his personal best in discus by 3 metres, a long way! And less than 2 metres behind the winner, his good friend and teammate. He didn't throw a personal best in shot put, but no one threw further than he did. 

The weather was a distinct player on Saturday. We always keep a close eye on the forecast before these events, because the weather is so variable at this time of year. As it was, the night before was quite warm and so when I walked to school at 7.45, I carried my jacket. The forecast was 18C. But, by lunchtime we could feel the temperature dropping and I was soon wearing that jacket. In the morning I put on thin, long socks, but had scrunched them down around my ankles. Around 2 pm I pulled them up to my knees, then a little while later I did the challenging work of putting leggings on under my tracksuit pants in the school toilets (never my favourite place to change). By 3.30 it was raining, on and off, and David and I headed for the shelter of the school bus, really thankful that our son had already completed all his events. Finally, not long before we headed home at 5pm, I put an extra pair of socks on too. 

On Sunday we went to see an apartment that might be available to us next year. It was beautiful, but also shocking. I really hope that this will work out, but it depends on a few factors outside our control. It was shocking because the reality of how much downsizing we'll have to do to fit ourselves into an apartment was evident. 

So I've had this emotional roller coaster running this week: really wanting to jump straight to the point where we move into this new place, skipping all the hard work that going to Australia will mean, but also knowing that isn't possible. Chomping at the bit to get rid of more stuff at home as soon as possible, but I also know that isn't possible, at least for most things (that hasn't stopped me from throwing some books and papers out and selling an ice cream maker).

With all that happening, I started work on Monday and realised I needed to rev up the editing engine and tackle the next stage of the next issue, all while feeling tired after a busy weekend. That pre-HA emotional roller coaster mixed with fatigue and a large list of things to do at work:  it was not a great combo!

Thankfully it's been a week without any meetings or other reasons to have to leave my desk. That meant that by today I'm feeling like I'm currently on top of things (which is part of the emotional rollercoaster, albeit a better-feeling part).

What I need to do, in the midst of riding this uncomfortable roller coaster is to keep going back to some metaphors we find in the Bible:

1. God knows we are but dust (Psalm 103).

2. And he is our rock, our refuge, our hiding place, our shield, salvation, stronghold, fortress, our strength, our rescuer, and our deliverer (Psalm 18).

If I am able to remember these things as I approach the "scary bridge" of home assignment, I'm probably going to manage everything a whole lot better! The challenge is remembering them when I'm feeling all over the place. I'm so thankful that there are a whole lot of people out there praying for us as we do this.

Exciting and scary

I think I'm pleased to report that we booked more plane tickets on Saturday. I have to say that after our journeys last year, I wasn't keen, but I'm also glad that it's done. At least this time there are no passport or visa dramas, and no Covid regulations either! I've also booked accommodation in three different locations (one in Japan and two in Australia) that will help us have places to lay our heads between July 10 and August 2. After that, only God knows!

This transition represents the next stage in our journey: the start of our 5th (!) home assignment. It's also a significant journey as we take our sons back to Australia for good. As I keep saying, we're not bringing them back to Japan next year.

I'm also pleased to say that this week I was able to submit the 4,500-word project I'd been working on since November last year. That felt both very good, but also nerve-racking even though it was something that I'd been commissioned to write. I'm glad to have gotten it to this point and to shove it into someone else's hands for the time being. I think all editors should periodically take a turn at being writers whose work is submitted to editors, I think it would help us all to have a good deal of insight into what writers feel.

Then on Wednesday, I found enough free space in my schedule to ride to the park—my usual haunt—to spend time with the blooming sakura (alongside hundreds of others). Last Friday we sent the latest magazine to the printer, and this week I only had one meeting on my calendar and no out-of-the-office responsibilities during work hours. So, from several years of experience, I knew that this week I'd have a little extra time and that a ride to the park was viable. It was a shock to realise I haven't done that in five months! It was definitely time and yesterday everything lined up: time to spare, beautiful weather, and sakura blooming. Ah, it was a blessed couple of hours. I relaxed enough to even lie down and read a book under one of the pink trees!

This week it's been delightful to have more time to think about home assignment preparation . . . though I need to stop writing now! I've probably already got sufficient "story modules" written for our rounds of speaking. Noting that we're often only given 10 minutes between us to talk about Japan and our ministry over the last 4 ½ years, and we rarely speak to the same audience, it's not too hard. Because I love to write and "stories" are my hobby horse, it's the easier part of HA preparation for me. The hard work of upending our lives and moving will be much worse.

So, now, I think, a story is warranted. Smile! Writing for publication can be a scary thing, but it's also an exciting thing. For the same reason: you never know where your words are going to end up. Editing and publishing are the same. I feel a little like a midwife, sometimes, in the various publishing that I'm involved in. 

A couple of weeks ago at the women's retreat I went to I saw one of my "babies" on a table. I think it was for sale. "Beneath the Surface" is a prayer guide I spent several months working on in 2019 and 2020. I wasn't a writer, but I laboured over the editing! Oh, I did write the initial draft of the "From the editors" at the beginning, but it was heavily worked over in one of the most intense "team editing" sessions I've ever been part of.

I've just done some intense searching, and I can't believe that I never wrote here about this big "baby". It was a huge project (that involved a lot of collaboration across organisations) to undertake on top of the other day-to-day responsibilities I have at work. Probably one reason that I never wrote here about it was that it happened in the middle of the pandemic, at least the end part did. We had planned a post-publication party for the three of us editors who conceived and worked together on the project, but we never ended up being able to do anything. In the end, in November 2020, the only thing that marked this going out into the world was an online launch party for the contributors. 

In any case, I'm still very happy with this amazing booklet and feel a little possessive whenever I see it around somewhere. I'm unsure how many copies have been sold around the world, but it's many thousand. And it's been translated into a few other languages as well. The Japanese version is currently being worked on.

I think the unique thing about the booklet is not only that it is not about the work of any one mission, but also that it delves into some really deep and difficult topics, but makes them accessible to many people because as much as we could we tried to utilise stories. Oh, and you can buy it here.

But that actually wasn't the story I was planning to tell you. I've got another one. I received an email early in March from someone in the UK. He's a Christian student worker (IFES), and specifically, he works with music students. One of the authors in the Winter issue of the magazine that I manage Japan Harvest happened to be in the UK and gave a copy of the magazine to this man. (This issue was themed "Arts in Ministry.") This man in the UK read the whole thing and wrote: 

"I found [it] fascinating—I've known for quite a while that using the arts in mission is something that is done to particularly good effect in Japan, and so it was eye-opening, encouraging, and inspiring to read so many articles documenting the thought and practice of so many missionaries in Japan."

He was particularly taken by one of the articles and wanted to reprint it on this website. https://musicnetwork.uk/.

The website is the "chief online resource for equipping music students here in the UK to live for Christ in the world of music. We are always trying to give them deep theological foundations for their musical practice, as well as actively trying to encourage them to think globally and missionally, and the article certainly did both of those things I feel."

You can check out the article that's now been republished here.

I was so encouraged by this little exchange. The magazine is primarily for people ministering to Japanese people, so to think that this went halfway around the world into the hands of someone working with quite a different audience is pretty cool.

I like my job. It is indeed both scary and exciting. Who knows what God's going to do with my words or the words I help into publication?

I'm also excited because we've got a camping trip planned for next week! So my next blog post might be a camping one!

Blogging from quarantine

Yep, I caught the dreaded COVID. That's not all that's been going on. It's been a huge 10 days since I last posted.

The lovely view out my bedroom window.

Sunday

We all went to the same church and the same service for the first time in several years. After morning tea at a local coffee shop, the rest of the day was spent hanging about at home, enjoying our proximity for what we thought would be the last time for perhaps a year. 

But after dinner we got an email saying that David and our youngest son's flight the next morning was cancelled and things got all topsy turvy (these stresses go straight to my gut). So, we hung about, trying to be calm and watching the Commonwealth Games, while David worked to sort out an alternative flight, which turned out to be just 26 hrs later. Then we needed to tidy up all the dominoes: accommodation, transport to the airport, PCR tests (yes, still required for entry into Japan), transport from the airport in Tokyo, notifying OMF etc.

Monday

David and and our son travelled in the morning to get a new PCR test because Japan's rule is it needs to be done 72 hrs prior to flying. But while they were on their way our Japan line manager let us know that there is a loophole for cancelled flights: 96 hrs. So, they got there, cancelled the test David had booked, applied for a refund, and came home.

We got a few more hours as a "five-some" as we ate dinner together again that evening.

My plans for the day had been: drive the guys to the airport at "crazy o-clock" then go "home" to clean and move to our next accommodation. None of that happened. It was also supposed to be my first day telecommuting to Japan for work. I hadn't anticipated being able to get much done if things had gone to plan. But instead of sitting around in limbo, I pulled out my computer and tried to get a sense of where things were at with my two teams, and answered some urgent emails. I'm glad I did, because the rest of the week didn't pan out as planned either!

Tuesday

The change of flights meant a change of airport. I had a shorter drive at "crazy o-clock" to get them to a local train station. However, the farewell left me quite distressed, it was hard to drive "home" alone when part of my heart was heading back to the place that really feels like home at the moment.

A couple of hours later, though, I had responsibilities. I took our middle son to the psychologist and together we received the results of her assessment over the previous three weeks. This has been an important part of our time in Brisbane and will hopefully help guide us as we move forward in the next 24 months. But it wasn't easy to do this without David to talk to (he was in the air by then).

Then we went back to our "home" of three weeks and finished packing up and cleaning. Never my favourite tasks!

We drove to our next lodging (just 10 minutes away), which is the home where our eldest son boarded for over three years. He came over and helped us settle in and was a good ice breaker.

Wednesday

I tried to get up and get some work done, but really struggled to focus. Getting back into my work after six weeks away is hard, but with so much disruption going on around me, it was even harder. But then I started to feel my chest tightening up.

After lunch we went to buy groceries for our breakfasts and lunches. My throat was sore and I started coughing. I also had a nasty headache. Not unusual, I've had headaches most days in the last few months, but I think this one was extra nasty.

I got a little more computer work done, and had a Zoom meeting with my Line manager.

Thursday and Friday and onwards

I woke up on Thursday knowing that my first stop after breakfast would be obtaining a rapid antigen test for COVID. And, you know the end of the story: it was positive.

While I haven't been desperately ill, I really didn't get much else done in terms of work on Thursday or Friday. Just a little bit of urgent chasing up of people, or delegating. Some of which was typed on my phone while lying in bed.

My experience of COVID infection has been indistinguishable from the way my body usually reacts to a bad cold. I know that is not true for everyone, but that is how it's been for me. Because I have chronic asthma it's hit my breathing hard, but I have meds that I've been able to use to keep that in check. I know it's going to take a while to get back to a normal level of energy and breathing.

It's been a bit strange doing this in someone else's home with very few responsibilities of my own. I've mostly kept to my own room, but have had to use the kitchen and shared bathroom. We've been eating joint dinners outside on the verandah at separate tables!

I'm thankful that this has come at a time when I had few plans that needed changing or cancelling. This hasn't disrupted travel plans either! And also that there were few things that others were relying on me to do. But also that I've been sufficiently well enough to take care of my own basic needs. I've had a clean, cosy, and private room to quarantine in. And a family living in the house with their own schedule that has given some structure to the day, even though I couldn't participate in much of it. They are also providing our dinners (and we'd shopped for food for other meals just before I went into quarantine). I'm even thankful for the government rules that tell me to stay put and recover in isolation. I can't ever remember feeling so guilt-free about staying in my room and "being lazy" for such a long period!

I'm also thankful for friendship that I've developed that haven't depended on physical proximity. And technology. Though I've been alone in my room, I've not been lonely. Indeed, for example, I had a fantastic 2 ½ hr video call with two close friends yesterday afternoon that was life-giving.

I'm in quarantine through to Thursday morning and hopefully will only have a lingering occasional asthmatic cough by then. I have typed this sitting up at a desk, and had a sufficiently clear head to do some editing work too! Indeed, I have spent a lot less time horizontal today, so it seems like this infection is on its way out.

I hope the next ten days are less dramatic!

We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on God

This has been an odd week in our house. My husband spent all week at two school camps, one after the other. Our youngest son was at the first camp and he got back on Wednesday. So for 2 ½ days it was just me and our middle son here at home. Distinctly weird.

Life goes on, however. I’m thankful for a quiet week at work, so I was able to take a non-desk day on Wednesday. I did household jobs and also rode to the “big park” for a picnic. And today have enjoyed time over coffee with a friend and also being able to attend a school prayer meeting that I have only managed to attend one other time in 2022.

During the week I also had time to spend talking to a couple of other friends on audio/video calls. So refreshing. God’s reminding me of those special people in my life who care very deeply. One of my friends I haven’t been able to talk to or have much interaction at all with since I last saw her in Australia in 2018. It’s a precious friend with whom you can pick up again after gaps like that.

Plum blossoms are out everywhere. While not
as common or popular as cherry blossoms,
 they are still gorgeous. Certainly there
 was a buzz in the park as people gathered
to admire them.

Something that’s giving me hope is that it seems like we’re starting to make greater progress in finding a way forward from the difficult situation we’ve been in over the last couple of years. It’s hard to describe this clearly here, in this public space, where I don't feel free to share all the details. I will say, though, that there’s been a lot of emotional ups and downs (more downs than ups) and at times the future’s looked bleak, as you may have picked up from various blog posts I’ve written. A dear friend I shared the details with didn’t mince her words when she described our situation as “walking through crap”. 

But in the last week tiny cracks of light have appeared: a couple of friends/colleagues who have volunteered to find out information for us as we prepare for the future, enquiries have gone out to different places that might net some practical help, and the knowledge that we’ll have (hopefully) feet on the ground in Australia in just over three months time. And someone who’s given us a generous donation that will help cover some of the extra expenses coming up.

I was reminded last week at the retreat, of this verse from 2 Chronicles 20 part of a prayer by King Jehoshaphat: “We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you” (second half of verse 12 NIV). I included it in my very first blog post this year; it’s a good one to remember! Indeed we’re waiting with bated breath to see what God will do. Of course there’s no guarantee of a good result (from our limited human perspective), but we know that God is infinitely reliable, even if we don’t understand what he does, or like the timeline that he’s working by.

Also, something even more tangible to contribute to the hopeful feelings—we've booked two different campsites for the last week of March. Plan A and Plan B. We were feeling a bit nervous after so many plans fell through on our last opportunity to go camping in autumn last year, so two options are available and we'll cancel one as needed.

I’m grateful for lots to be thankful for this week, and more to look forward to also. What are you thankful for this week?

Not feeling festive?

How do you “do” Christmas when you’re not “feeling festive”? 

Now I understand that my life is really quite different to many of yours in this respect. I do not live near family and will not be celebrating Christmas with them. In fact I’ve celebrated very few Christmases with my family in the last 21 years! So I don’t really have much experience of all the pressure that families put on one another at this time of year.

I also live in a land where “Christmas” isn’t an overwhelming factor in life. I remember being surprised to see Christmas everywhere in Australia last time I was there in December (2018). The receptionist at the doctor was all decked out in Christmas gear. The pharmacy next door gave me my medication in a red paper bag covered in white stars and Christmas greetings. In Japan you have to work a bit harder to find such things, and mostly it’s in shops, churches, and of course in my own home. Before the pandemic we saw more at our school, with weekly concerts, decorated hallways, lights on the grounds etc. But I’m rarely at school these days and because I don’t have kids in music programs, I’m not invited to concerts.

People in church-based ministries (not our family) are usually very busy this time of year, as Christmas is the easiest time of the year in Japan to invite people to hear about Jesus, so there are lots of events. Not so much these last two years, though.

In fact in Japan, if you aren’t a self-starter, you might miss Christmas altogether. It can be a little lonely if you’re used to celebrating with family. But we’ve got our small family routines and traditions that mean it’s just a quiet, at-home affair.

But back to my first question: how do you deal with the season if you aren’t in the mood for festivity? 

A couple of weeks ago I struggled to get my head into the right place to come up with social media posts for our mission for December. I wasn’t feeling festive. I think, even beginning to feel a little jaded. I mentioned this to a couple of friends and one later shared this short article that helped: https://m.facebook.com/547967600/posts/10157506078937601/?d=n

It’s just a Facebook post, so I’m not sure if you can read it. To summarize. The author’s family was tasting grief and she went to a candlelight service at their church as she usually did. She writes: 

I felt like an imposter. I was a cloud of grief and darkness amidst a cheerful celebration. I felt guilty for dampening the time of rejoicing 

As I sat I found myself talking to Jesus. "I'm ruining your party," I told him. 

It was his response in that moment that changed Christmas for me forever. He told me, “Cassie I came to that manger as a baby not for those in celebration, but for those in mourning. I came for you. In this moment. Right here.”

She’s right. Jesus came, not to be celebrated with tinsel and shallow joy. He came because this world is in pain. We are hurting and needed him to come to comfort us, to save us.

So, I girded my loins and pushed on to do the usual things we do at this time of year. Not with a light heart, because it’s not been a light year. I continue to grieve the losses, to feel the sadness and confusion, the frustration and angst. But I also remember my Saviour who actually chose to enter this sad, confusing, painful world for me. He didn’t have to. I don’t know what kind of grief he felt leaving the fellowship of the Trinity for life in a human body. It’s beyond my understanding. But because he did, I choose to trust him and celebrate him.

I’m thankful that we don’t live in a place where we have to do lots of events just because it is December and that’s what you do. I’m glad for the quiet of the season that’s coming, when school finishes and we have a brief hiatus before the craziness of January begins. I’m hopeful that I can spend time resting in the love of Jesus, waiting on him.

(And I tried multiple times and ways to get a photo to load on this post, but could not. Sigh.)

Craving connection

Deep connection. I think it's something I'm craving right now. I have a lot of contact with friends and colleagues via email, messaging, and even video calls, but I'm really missing face-to-face. Technology has easily adapted to meetings, to information-giving, and to "doing stuff". But not so easily to "hanging out", to the sorts of casual interactions that happen when a group gathers in one place. When you go to a physical meeting, there are interactions before, during, and after, that are life-giving and really hard to do unless you're very intentional about it online.

Photo of the new field and building at school.
Just like connecting with people online,
there is a barrier between the camera
and the scene. There, but not quite there.

The other day, in a small online chat group, I asked an acquaintance about how her new fridge was going. Weeks ago she'd asked advice about buying it and I wondered how it was going. If I'd asked that question in person it wouldn't have seemed strange, but in the middle of a chat, it did. That makes me sad.

I'm going to be bold and say that I'm also a little tired of being thrown together into small online groups of people who I've often only just met and being required to share personal things. It's for the purpose of prayer and is something missionaries engage in a fair bit. I've been going to prayer meetings like this for years, but at the moment it just seems overwhelming. 

Praying for one another is good. However, at these sorts of prayer meetings you are expected to share something personal for others to pray for you about. At the moment the most pressing things I want people to pray about are very personal and also complicated. So I'm struggling to know how to share that authentically as well as succinctly, and so that I am not too exposed with people I barely know. But also needing wisdom to know how to share in a way that others can understand enough without being overwhelmed.

Thankfully I've got a whole day of connection planned tomorrow with good friends. Friends who I know and trust. I hope that those hours will help soothe the irritation I'm feeling with these online prayer times. These are important meetings, but seem to me that at present many of them are only a shadow of true Christian fellowship.

Lamenting this Christmas-time

This topic of lament has come up for me multiple times this year. More often than usual. Possibly because collectively we've experienced more losses than any time in recent decades. I think I'm probably not too far off the mark to say that this disaster has been far more global than anything this world has seen since WW2.

So, I've been pondering lament recently, but also noticing a trend in myself. I've been struggling to see other people experience joy at being reunited with family. Yes, failing to do Romans 12:15: "Rejoice with those who rejoice" (NIV). Probably I haven't been great at the second part of that verse either "Mourn with those who mourn". Compassion fatigue? Or just plain selfishness?

The reality is that this week is probably around when our eldest son would have arrived from Australia to spend Christmas with us, had COVID-19 not derailed international travel (it's been 18 months since we've seen him). It's one of many losses this year has brought, so it's been kind of buried in our thoughts as something not so important. But maybe it's a bigger loss than I thought.

But, after pondering "lament" during the last couple of days, last night it occurred to me that this was also something I needed to bring God, complain to him, and then to leave at his feet. And repeat, as needed.

I recommend watching this 22:48 talk by Elizabeth Lewis Hall, a professor of psychology at Biola University, for some deeper thoughts on lament. I realised that, while she talked about the "anatomy" of lament, by dissecting one psalm of lament, she also talks about some of the short phrases that Jesus used on the cross (see Matt. 27:46 and Luke 23:16) as "laments". 

So a lament doesn't have to be in the form of poetry or song, with clearly thought out phrasing. It can simply be a line, even a thought, directed to God. That's encouraging for I am not especially poetic and certainly there isn't time for writing poetry every time thoughts like these overwhelm us. Writing prose, like a blog post, has helped me process my pain many a time.

Dr. Hall also talks about how putting words to our experience helps to shape our experience. When we express our sadness to God, it's changing our relationship with God, it's increasing our intimacy with him, so that's a great reason to dive into lament:

It’s important that nothing seems to be off limits in terms of what we can bring to God in our suffering. This expression of suffering in lament is a crucial element because what happens then is that our suffering is not denied and our suffering is not minimized. Suffering is not dealt with by explaining it away or by distracting ourselves from it. It’s recognized.

And when it’s recognized, that means that our suffering is legitimated. Research suggests that processing our suffering cognitively and emotionally is necessary in order for growth to occur. 

Biblical laments in psalms almost always include praise, so as we can, it's important to turn to God in praise too. I think, somehow though, in Western Christianity these days we skip the lament, and move too quickly into praise. When I've asked colleagues recently about the worst things about this year, most often they've told me of silver-linings, as if to dwell on the ugly is wrong somehow. But then, I'm not God, so perhaps they're expressing their frustration to him in the privacy of their own prayers, I don't know.

In addition to sadness that our son can't be with us this Christmas, I am also frustrated at the moment by all the people saying that they will refuse to take  COVID-19 vaccine when it is available. What they don't realise is that the more people who do that, the longer this crisis is going to go on. And the harder it's going to be for people like us, who don't live in our home country and whose immediate family is separated by an international plane flight. At the moment, the cost for us to visit Australia for a short time, is not just the cost of a flight, it would mean a total of four weeks of quarantine (two each end), and around AU$5,000 to pay for quarantine in a hotel, as is required by the Australian government, not to mention whatever costs involved in getting the required tests to just let us on a plane.

Australia is (mostly) fine at the moment because they're basically not letting people in or out. I can't see restrictions on international travel being lifted until vaccination (or a pretty darn good treatment option) is found. When I say Australia is mostly okay, I mean that there are industries and sections of the community who are hurting. For example, the education sector that relies on a large number of international students, and the travel, tourism, and hospitality sectors, obviously, plus industries that rely on backpackers, like fruit farmers.

But university students are also hurting. Our son's university did most of the entire year online, and it while it kept things moving through, our son found it a really difficult year. Yes, there is little COVID-19 infection in the community, but health isn't the only thing at stake here.

But that's enough of my ranting . . . to you. I need to go and take my frustrations to God. To quote the Bible: 

"How long, oh Lord?"

What sadness do you need to bring to God? How do you do that best?

Musing Marshalls in December

I've been busier I'd like. And more tired than I'd like to admit! The latter is proved by being clumsier in my actions and words than usual. I'm very much looking forward to our holiday next week. We're taking off to the mountain (same places as July) for a week.

I was very thankful to put one of my projects to "bed" last week when we sent the Winter issue of Japan Harvest to the printer (I'll help them pack some of the magazines this Friday, but that's probably the easiest thing I do for the magazine). I was also thankful to get our prayer letter off last week. 

I've got stuff I'd like to write here, but for today, I'll settle with just posting the first page of our prayer letter. If you're interested in receiving the whole thing (the second page includes more personal details and prayer points), please contact me. We send it out 11 times a year via a Mailchimp email. I also might get around to editing the video I mention here so that I can post it on this blog. I almost posted it here last week, but then I realised that the identity of our boys that I have carefully kept off this blog, was completely revealed in the video. So that will have to wait.

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