Fostering gifts

It's starting to look as autumnal 
as it feels in Tokyo.

I am grappling with what it means to call myself a writer. I've been doing that for a few years now and the evidence has mounted up that I am indeed a writer, but can I fully step into the unknown and complete a bigger project of my own? As in, can I write a book?

Twice in the last week I've been challenged on this front. Last Friday I stepped out of my comfort zone and travelled into town to an in-person writers group with other English-speakers. This is only the second meeting of this group, the first meeting I attended online. In-person feels a lot more confronting and was helpful for my motivation. I had to confess that, in the last 15 years, I've written well over 3,000 blog posts. If I've got a worthwhile idea for a book (and I think I do), then somehow I have to harness the discipline that I've used to write all that on this blog to pull something longer together and push through all the way to finish the project. 

Then I stumbled upon this article called "On hoarding wealth and fostering gifts". The author writes, "God has given you talents—things you may be unusually good at. Are you using these for his glory? . . . God has bestowed on you a greater-than-usual enthusiasm for a certain issue or cause. Are you pursuing it enthusiastically?"

Summer cypress are fun bushes that
turn red in the autumn. These ones
are growing out of a crack at the side
of the road.

God has given me talents and enthusiasms. I'm no genius writer, but I have a passion for it and I've nurtured it and worked on it. I am using it for God's glory, but can I pursue it more enthusiastically? Can I be a better steward of my time?

This brings to mind a children's song called "You were bought" by Colin Buchanan (based on 1 Cor 6:19–20 ).

"You were bought at a great price

Jesus' perfect sacrifice

So in your body glorify the Lord...

So there's this couple in their late 50s

They retire to a beautiful house by the beach

They have a beautiful boat,

They play golf and tennis and they collect shells."

You can see the whole video here.

Look up or you'll miss it!

The story in the song about shells is a true story that comes from a John Piper story in his book "Don't waste your life".

The climax of the song is when they meet Jesus at judgment. 

They say, "Look Lord, see my shells." 

The song continues: "Shells schmells. It's what you do for God that counts. Don't waste your life."

It's worth pondering. So this week I've decided to make some changes to how I'm using my time, changes that I hope will allow me to push forward on this book idea much faster than I have been in the last six months!

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.

The Lord himself goes before you

The workshop I've written about in recent posts has finished. I'm so happy to be at the other end of it. It's been lovely to get back to work at my usual tasks and really enjoy the largely uninterrupted time! Yes, I've had no meetings this week, tonnes of work, but no meetings. I've got several meetings tomorrow, and next week have the equivalent of two days of meetings, so we'll just count up till now.

I'm just not sure what to write here today. The bigger picture of our lives is that our personal future has become more uncertain over the last year. Of course we never know what the future holds, but our plan has always been, for 21 years, to stay in Japan until we retired, unless the Lord called us to something different. We're not so sure now, but maybe God will call us to return to Australia for a period? It relates to our responsibilities as parents. I can't divulge more than that on this public platform, which means it's hard to write about. It's not the most comfortable of positions because we're both feeling very settled and happy in our various roles. But it is a question we will carry into the rest of this year and probably through next year also. 

So, we learn more about patience and waiting on the Lord. He called us to this life in Japan, he's sustained us thus far, and he will continue to do the same, whatever the next chapter of our lives looks like. 

I just keep coming back to a beautiful card that arrived in mid January. It came from an elderly lady I can't remember ever meeting. She knew my mum when my mum was a nurse-in-training 50 years ago! This elderly lady send us this verse, along with her letter and reassurance of her prayers. She doesn't know the specifics of our situation, but her gift was definitely on point.

Dwelling in the land of spoken word

This week, instead of doing my usual work that involves a lot of written word, I've been dwelling in the world of spoken words. I've been helping facilitate an online workshop for 17 members of our organisation. That means 3 ½ to 4 hours a day on Zoom, not just as a participant, but as one of those who is responsible for how it goes. But I really did struggle, at times, to pay attention when the other facilitators were talking. And then, towards the end of the week, I also struggled to get my thoughts in order as I taught someone else's curriculum. I avoid meetings as much as I can in my daily work, so this week has been pretty overwhelming. 

One of the concepts I taught 
about this week. "Six ways" 
of mobilisation.

It's interesting to read what I wrote in my blog post about it the week after it was finished last year. But especially how it gave me an "adrenaline rush", because that's not how I remember it at all, in fact I was pretty terrified at times and certainly completely wiped out afterwards (and am feeling some of that this afternoon, it's become hard to think and to write!). But thankfully I've felt a little more confident and less terrified this week!

Now we have a week's break and then do it again from Jan 31, with the same people, but different content and more meeting time (maybe 5–6 hrs every day online?). I've got plenty of tasks from my usual responsibilities tugging at me, so it's going to be hard to stay focused and not over-work next week.

On top of that we've had news over the last 24 hrs that COVID is touching closer to home, with cases at the school, including a colleague of my husband's. So school is going online again all next week. It's challenging times we live in!

Coming back to these verses again:

Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God. If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen. (1 Peter 4:10-11, NIV)–my emphasis

A story blast from the past

This week I'm preparing to help facilitate a two-week online workshop. I'm not experienced at teaching (and would be inclined to say, not good at it either). Nevertheless, I was challenged this week by an article I had to edit that it's important to not avoid doing everything that you aren't good at. That's a real temptation for me! 

Anyway, I'm trying to "marinate" in the content I have to present next week (that's the advice of a teacher friend) and hope that I'll be able to wing it once we get there and there won't be too many awkward moments.

One of the parts I like about this course is that it encourages (actually, requires) people to write their stories. It's a course that helps to prepare missionaries to go back to their home countries and share with people there about Japan and their ministry here. 

So, as a facilitator, we have to model "story sharing". The particular format they've chosen is to share "module stories" of two minutes each. I've actually gotten quite distracted writing some of my own stories and looking at things I've written in the past. 

I need to get back to work, but want to share with you a fiction story that I'd forgotten I'd written, even though it was only written five years ago, but it's quite poignant as it's based on real experiences in language school 20 years ago.

“Don’t pick up the phone.”

This is my mantra in my first year in Japan. It is too intimidating. It presents an impenetrable divide between me and the person on the other end called language and there seems to be no point. A while ago our language adviser found out that I was not answering the phone and I was in trouble. After all, I am in language school, I am supposed to be boldly confronting this wall of language.

Trouble is, like a rock climber with sweaty hands, I struggle to find a handhold. The footholds don’t match my feet and my progress seems unmeasurable. Whenever I do get a handhold it turns out it’s the wrong one. Or it doesn’t allow me to get a foothold too and then my teacher corrects me. As soon as she does I lose my grip and my confidence in the same moment. There just doesn’t seem to be a way forward to begin to climb that wall.

I used to be a daredevil, that, after all, is how I came to play both netball and the clarinet. I came close to representing my state in netball and my senior year at school was a blur of activity. As a child I had too much energy, so my mum sought to direct that into extra activities. It seemed to work, or maybe it drained me of spunk? Because I don’t feel like a daredevil anymore.

“Brrrrrring, brrrring . . . brrrrring, brrrrrring” Oh no!

“Brrrrrring, brrrring.”

“Ah hello?”

“Ohayogosaimasu, blah blah blah…” The rest was a blur.  I presume they introduced themselves.

“Goshujin . . . blah blah blah . . . masu?” Ah, are they looking for my husband? He’s not here, otherwise he would have answered the phone. Um, how do I say, “Not here?”

“Ummmm. Gakko desu.” He’s at language school, how do I say that?

Silence

So I venture: “Arimasen.” Does that mean not here? No, maybe it means doesn’t exist? “Go ji desu.” I think I said five o’clock. That’s what time I think he’s coming home.

“Go ji kaerimasu?” He’s coming home at five?

“Ummm, hai.” Yes, am I agreeing to the right thing?

“Shitsu . . . blah blah blah.”

Click.

Sigh. Daredevil I am not. Surely there is a better way to live than this? But how can I admit to being defeated by a language? How can I continue to live in a land where I can’t even answer the phone and tell someone that my husband is out and won’t be back until 5 pm?

My problem is not only that I’m bad at learning language, I’m bad at quitting too. I can’t come up with a good enough reason to call it quits here. We spent a long time telling people how much Japanese needed Jesus, and that we were going to help. How could we just turn our backs on that? What would we tell everyone?

But secretly, I’m looking. I’m checking the internet for jobs in Australia. Oh how I dream of going back to a place where I can talk to anyone I like. To a place I can read. To a place where I’m not scared of the phone.

But I can’t admit it to my husband. He’s soaring away from me in language learning. He loves the challenge, I hate it. He’s climbing up that wall at a speed that is shocking to me.

“Brrring brrrring” Oh no, not again!

“Ah, hello?”

A familiar voice greeted me, “Hi, it’s me.” Phew, I sink to the floor, so weary of the fear.

“Hey darling, when will you be home? I just got a call from some unknown person who, I think, wanted to know.”

“I wonder what that was about? Maybe it’s our new table they’re going to deliver. I’m just leaving now, do you want anything from the store?”

“Just a new brain.”

“Ah, what?”

“Never mind. I think we need some milk and eggs.”

“Great, I’ll be home soon. Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye”

Click

Fantastic, just enough time to write an email to my best friend. I scurry over to the computer. 

“Hi Sal, 

I miss you!!!!!! I’m not doing well today. I just can’t stand it here. The phone rang today and I answered it, but I could barely understand a word that was spoken. I still don’t know who it was and why they called, or if I managed to communicate anything with them. How am I going to keep living like this?

The other day I went to the store and I put four milk bottles in my basket. The cashier took two away from me at the checkout and wouldn’t let me buy them. I’m not sure why. Then when I got home I tried to make dinner. I just felt so down that it was hard to get up the motivation to cook. I was making pizza on bread slices (no pizza bases here), but because our kitchen is so small first I had to wash and dry up all the dishes and put them away so that I’d have room to cut stuff up. I’d rushed out so fast this morning that I didn’t get to them and, presumably, Phil didn’t get to them either. Somehow doing all that just to get the space to chop up stuff for simple pizzas seemed like too much work. I ended up preparing everything on the dining room table in the other room. We ended up with a lot of washing up afterwards, but at least we got dinner.

Daniel's doing well at language, but they want him to be a church planter and he’s not so sure about that. Me, well I’ve got no idea what I’m doing here. How are we going to work in a church when I can’t even answer the phone?

Tell me I can come home? Help me find a way I can get out of this.

I miss you so much, can I have a virtual hug?

Love,

Tess.”

I heard a key in the front door and a blast of cold air rushed into the room. “Hi honey, I’m home.”

My greeting was less than enthusiastic; I’ve never been good at pretending I feel good when I don’t. “That was fast.”

As he shook the snow off his boots and hung up his coat he asked, “What’s for dinner?”

“Oh, I haven’t got that far yet. I was totally derailed by that phone conversation.”

“Hmph. I’m hungry.”

“Well, I’ll figure something out. Did you get the eggs? Is it okay if I scramble them?”

“I suppose so. Are you okay?”

“Yeeeees, maybe not.” My brave mask started to crumble. Heck, where’s the tissues?

“What’s up?”

“I really hate living here. I can’t even answer the phone without sounding like a complete fool. I’m stuck. I hate being so dependent on other people and not knowing what’s going on. I’m lonely too. When did I last have a good conversation over coffee with a girlfriend who’s known me more than a couple of months?” I paused as I blew my nose.

“Yes…”

“Well, too be honest I’ve been looking at jobs in Australia and there’s this really good sounding one in Dalby, not so far from my family.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Well maybe this was all a mistake, maybe we misread the situation. Maybe we’re not meant to be missionaries?”

“But a lot of people have given money for us to do this. We spent so many months visiting churches telling them this was God’s calling for us. How can we just give up? What will we say to everyone?”

“Yeah, well I had that thought too. But how can I go on?”

“But what if I don’t want to go back to Australia?”

“Oh, well . . . “I pulled out a bowl and started breaking the eggs into it. “Um, I don’t know. I guess I’ll just have to keep trying?”

The next day we have a guest at the language school, Rose, a missionary from England who’s in her 50s and been in Japan since she was my age. Her talk is about looking after ourselves, how to “stay the course”.

Afterwards there is time for questions and before I could think I burst out with, “But what if it’s too hard? What if we can’t envisage ourselves staying until we’re 50?”

She looks at me and I know that she’d been where I am. She said, “You do it one day at a time. Can you last out today? Then do it. And tomorrow you ask yourself the same thing. That’s how I’m still here.”

“Does it get easier?” I blurt.

“Yes, in a way it does.”

At 5pm Daniel came home to a wife that was just a tiny bit happier.

He said, “Hi darling. How was your day?”

“A little better. I still made tons of mistakes in my classes and messed up at the pharmacy, but I think I can stay tomorrow.”

He looked puzzled, “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“Oh, nowhere. Rose spoke at language school today, I’m sorry you couldn’t be there. She said just do this one day at a time. Don’t let your mind race ahead too far. I’m thinking that I can manage that, for now.”

He grabbed me in a hug, and I grabbed the tissues again.