Unexpected story of an editor, a 12 y.o. boy, and Japan

A sermon I recently heard at our church introduced me to an editor-missionary who I'd never heard of before. But really, who knows the names of famous editors? It really isn't our thing; we generally prefer to remain in the background.

The man, Luís Fróis, was a Jesuit missionary from Portugal in the 1500s. He worked in Japan from 1563 until he died in 1597. Much of his ministry was as the clerk and editor of letters and periodicals that the missionaries sent to Rome about their work. A missionary who is an editor! (Not someone I come across every day; it's more common to come across missionaries who are writers.) I'm particularly amused by this quote: 

"[Father] Valignano had discovered that many of the letters and reports, especially those written by young missionaries not yet familiar with Japanese conditions, gave a false impression of the country to the readers. He therefore gave orders that the reports concerning the various missions should be collected by an experienced missionary and should be read and, if need be, corrected under the orders of the Provincial as an official Annual Report." (From here)

An editor's brief!

He was also commissioned to write a history of the Catholic church's work in Japan, but ended up writing a very large work that included much observation of Japan of the day, as well as some history of the country.

He was also a witness, in 1597, of the execution of the now famous 26 martyrs in Nagasaki, Japan. It is mostly because of Fróis that we know so much about this event. He wrote a detailed report of this event and sent it to his superiors, only months before he himself died.

But what especially caught my attention during the sermon is the connection that the preacher made between Fróis and a more recent missionary, who died a couple of years ago. Alfons Deeken, another Catholic missionary, was just 12 during WW2 in Germany when he was selected for the Nazi teacher training academy, a great honour at the time. However, he refused this opportunity because he disagreed with what the Nazis were doing because it went against his faith. This decision would have even been viewed by some as anti-German. Alfons had read Fróis' account of the 26 Martyrs. In that he read about another 12 year old boy called Luis Ibaraki, who was among those being marched to Nagasaki in 1597 for crucifixion. This boy's steadfast faith in the face of death inspired Alfons Deeken to go to Japan as a missionary. He's quoted as saying "I felt a great desire to visit the country that had produced such a courageous boy."

Neither Luis Ibaraki, nor Luís Fróis would have anticipated that their actions would inspire someone to do what Alfons did: reject the social pressures of the times and go even further to become a missionary in Japan.

I'm a writer and editor who works in mobilisation. My team and I work to produce social media content that will hopefully mobilise people around the world to be more involved in mission, however that looks. But we rarely hear how our work has directly influenced people to do what we're aiming for. This story excites me because it was a writer/editor who simply wrote what he saw, that ultimately was the vehicle to getting someone 400 years later to make a life-changing decision. He didn't plan to mobilise anyone by writing that report. There are actually a whole lot of unsung heroes here: this was originally a letter in Portuguese. Someone published it, someone translated it into German, and published it again. And someone got this book(let) into Alfons' hand.

This makes me excited about what I do. Writing down things, editing, and publishing them is a sacred task. You don't know where they will end up or what change they will cause in other people. Or even when that will occur. If something I do or write or edit makes a difference to someone in 400 year’s time I would be very surprised. However, I can hope that my words make a difference, even in the here-and-now.

Discovering I've got a skill I didn't realise I had

Me in my comfort zone

In the last week or so, I think I've done more writing than editing! It been an unusual period, but I'm not unhappy, I do enjoy writing. However, I did get pushed outside my comfort zone. In order to attempt to solve a lack of content problem with our magazine, I asked our Japanese pastor if he'd consent to an interview (in English). He agreed, and promptly found three other people I could also talk with about the topic at hand. So on Tuesday afternoon, I spent about two hours interviewing Japanese people. The second hour was mostly in Japanese and stretched me greatly. They had a lot to say, and I didn't catch all of it, but I have enough to write the needed article. [Ironically, I've ended up with the opposite problem—after I implemented a few other strategies to find more articles, we now have more than double the number of potential articles than we need.]

I've been working in publishing for over 10 years now, but I've always avoided doing interviews. I'm not sure why, but I thought it's something I'd probably not be good at. Maybe I'm thinking about the sort of journalism that is intrusive or controversial, or requiring the journalist to do "cold calls". I'm just not that sort of person.

However, I've discovered that I've had many years of learning to ask questions of others, of learning to draw people out. Not for the purpose of writing about them, but just getting to know them, or simply to enjoy their company when we've been together for some reason (like a car journey, or as volunteers, or eating together at a group meeting). 

I've also spent many years living with non-chatty introverts and have worked at facilitating conversation at home. These interviews, in comparison, was easy. My questions were welcomed, and the interviewees wanted to talk. It would have been a lot easier if my Japanese had been better, but I was with our bilingual pastor, so he's helped me a lot.

I'm happy that I discovered this and that I consented to be pushed beyond my comfort level. I'd hate to be starting to plateau in my middle age! I want to continue to grow as a person. I'd like to continue to find opportunities to practise this newly discovered skill (as well as figuring out how to write a 1,500 word article from an interview).

But, reflecting on the last few years, I've been continually pushed beyond my comfort level, but usually not by choice. Mental illness has become part of our everyday lives since before 2018 (we only got the diagnosis that year, so could see it for what it was)—that's definitely pushed us out of our comfort zones. I never anticipated that any of my boys would struggle to complete their studies, but we've had that experience now too. Watching our older two struggle to find their way into adult lives has been really hard, and we've needed a lot of grace to walk alongside them through this stage, and it's certainly not over yet. It's all left me feeling a bit vulnerable and shaky.

But, of course, missionary life is continually pushing us past what's comfortable, more so than perhaps might have happened if we'd never left our native land. But as I said to a newer missionary early last week—I think that this is a privileged life. Not that it isn't hard, but we keep encountering challenges as a result of what we do that push us to depend on God, and on others. Whereas otherwise we might have been much more self-reliant, we've been frequently cast upon resources that we couldn't conjure up ourselves. And experiences like that make you grow.

I was surprised to have a friend who knows more about me than most write to me that she has been observing "a positive shift in me from anxiety and feeling isolated to coming to peace with what is and inviting others into a space of being honest and vulnerable." I can't especially detect that myself, but am glad to hear that she senses this. Apparently God's been at work in me during the "grit your teeth and get through the day" times that I've had in the last few years and I'm glad.

I feel like we've hit a little bit of a breathing space, a bit of light in the tunnel. But the next big challenge is coming at us like a freight train: home assignment next year. Just the other day I wrote two emails one afternoon about pencilling in dates for later next year in Australia—that's a tiny bit scary. And we've already been working on downsizing, that's what the bazaar helped with last month, but since then we've given away more of our stuff too. 

But if I keep in mind that through it all God has never failed us, that he's always with us, and not only that, but he's growing us through the challenges. That as a result of all the "out of my comfort zone" we're going to be better people. When I remember this, then I'm calmer.

Here are a few Bible verses I've found to remind myself of (and maybe you too), that God is at work in us:

No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it. Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. 'Make level paths for your feet,' so that the lame may not be disabled, but rather healed. (Heb 12:11–13 NIV)

And this was in Paul's prayers for the believers in Philippi: 

In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. (Phil. 1:4–6) 

For it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose. (Phil. 2:13)

And Romans 8:28 of course: 

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

And of course "for the good of those who love him" doesn't mean God's our genie in a bottle. It means that God is working to make us more like Jesus, more likely to do things that glorify him and achieve his purposes in this world.

That same passage in Romans goes on to say we can't be separated from God's love, nothing and no one can do that, not hardship or danger or distress or poverty or criticism or even death. So therefore, we should live as ones who have nothing to fear (preaching to myself again, for surely there is more fear in me than I'd like to admit).

Okay, I didn't expected to end up here when I started writing this blog post last week, but here we are. I need to get back to various other writing assignments and emails (and all those people I have to write "no-thanks" emails to for their magazine article proposals). Next blog post I want to write about an unsung hero I learnt about yesterday. A man after my own heart.

Margin: something I need, but also struggle with

Margin: it's something I've written about (e.g. https://mmuser.blogspot.com/2015/08/margin-in-life.html), but not always been good at doing. When I saw this blog post by Beth Bathelemy I was reminded again about margin. Not just how important it is, but why I struggle not just to keep it, but sometimes when I'm in that space of not-so-busy, I feel uncomfortable.

I ran into a quiet spot in my work on Friday
when I was basically waiting for other 
people to do stuff. Margin! So I rode to my
favourite local park for a couple of hours.

But first, what is margin? Beth shared this great quote by Richard Swenson:

“Margin is the space between our load and our limits. It is the amount allowed beyond that which is needed. It is something held in reserve for contingencies or unanticipated situations. Margin is the gap between rest and exhaustion, the space between breathing freely and suffocating.”

When I find myself without much margin in my days, things in our lives get compromised that shouldn't be. That can be important work matters, or it can be family, or not being able to help someone else. Without much margin my health suffers: I don't get exercise, or my eating gets sporadic and unhealthy, and because I'm the manager of our larder and maker of our evening meal, if I don't have much margin that spills over to affect everyone else in the family too. If I've overcommitted, I'm often not sleeping well and responsibilities that I have aren't being attended to. I can't pay as much attention to the people in my life if I don't have good margin and I begin to suffocate and let others down.

I thought I had plenty of margin at the start of August in Australia when I'd planned to start back at work after six weeks off. However, in that first week we had family drama as we had flights cancelled, then rebooked, and then an emotional farewell as half our family flew back to Japan. My middle son and I cleaned and moved into new accommodation, and had to adapt to living with another family. Plus we received a new diagnosis to add to the others our son already has. In the middle of all that I sat back at my editor's desk where a large amount had piled up in my absence. Then my throat and head started hurting and I started coughing . . . and it was COVID. All my margin was gone and it took weeks to get back to a place where margin was again in place. I had miscalculated, but also run into some large, unexpected things. And that's really partly what margin is for: to give room for the unexpected. It's just that, in this case, I didn't allow enough (and of course, it is not always possible to allow enough margin).

As a writer and creator I find I also need margin to think, to ponder, to reflect, and to write. The extroverted part of me struggles with that sometimes, but I'm generally happier and more balanced if I've had time alone to think.

However, I also grew up with a strong work-ethic instilled in me. So these words of Beth's also spoke pointedly, they echo some of the struggles I have when I'm not-so-busy:

Recently, however, familiar doubts crept back into my heart and mind. Am I doing enough? Will this read impressively in my newsletter? Is our ministry fruitful enough? And from this lowly place of insecurity, doubt, and discouragement, I forfeited my margin.

I think it's something that people in ministry struggle with especially. Usually we have a lot of drive, are conscientious, and feel the pressure of the overwhelming needs around us. Consider that we ourselves work in a land where less than 1% of people know Jesus and not many more than that have even heard of him. Plus, we live a little bit in a glasshouse: writing prayer letters every month, and responding regularly to a variety of other requests for information about how our ministry is going. All these things can pressure us to increase the load of what we do until we have nothing spare.

But Beth concludes with thoughts like these:

What if we were to put aside our ill-conceived, worldly perspectives on success and productivity? What if we rejected the false narratives of self-importance and worth based on accomplishment? What if we, like Christ, “self-empty” ourselves unto God?

These are good thoughts. I'm full of pride, I know. I measure my days according to how many things I've knocked off my to-do list. I like to think of myself as productive and useful, skillful and clever. What would it look like to move further away from all that?

I'm reading a short book right now by Timothy Keller called The Freedom of Self-forgetfulness.
Where I left the bookmark last night it says:

"So Paul does not look to the Corinthians for his identity. He does not go to them for the verdict that he is a 'somebody'. He does not get that sense of identity from them. But he does not get it from himself either. He knows that trying to find self-esteem by living up to a certain set of standards is a trap " (p. 28).

Paul and Keller exhort us to let go of the idea that we can get our identity from what others think of us, and even from living up to our own standards. We are loved by God. Not because of what we've done for him, but because of what he's already done for us.

Another book I've finished recently called Gentle and Lowly by Dane Ortlund says a similar thing. Christ loves us far more than we can comprehend, and our response should be to simply obey the invitation in Matthew 11:28: "Come to me."

But, on the other hand I've also realised that God has created us to both do and be. I'm still trying to balance that up, but I don't think this side of heaven I'll get it right. I can recount many times that I've been told or heard sermons or talks that said that we ought not to look at our schedules for our self-worth. But I also know that God tells us to do stuff. Yes, our primary worth is as a human being made by God, but we've been gifted with varying levels of strength and intellect, gifts and talents, wealth and opportunities. God calls us to DO stuff. Not because that's the way we earn his love, but because we love to serve him, but how easy it is to switch those two things!

So, how to live with these two things in balance? How can I be comfortable with "being", with dwelling in that space between my responsibilities and what my ultimate limit is? How can I fulfil my responsibilities without feeling that they add up to my worth, and therefore when I'm not "doing" I still have worth?

These are questions that I don't think I have an answer to yet. At the moment I'm being very careful about what I say yes to, beyond my usual responsibilities. I know that just under the surface lurk things that tap my energy, and often they are difficult to predict. Some days I just feel overwhelmingly tired by 8pm and struggle to get up in the morning, for no discernable reason. I also know, looking ahead, that we've got some big transitions next year that will take a lot of energy.

So, I'm moving ahead, walking tentatively and keeping my eyes on Jesus, rather on my own nervous, flaky self. And surrounding myself with people and habits that will correct my course when it goes astray.

Little exchanges add up to a lot

Have you ever thought about the little exchanges that make up the bulk of connection with others? Our lives aren’t generally full of D&Ms (deep and meaningful conversations). Though often I long for that deep connection with people, there is, actually, a limit on how much of that I can handle in any one day.

On Friday the school held the biggest school-community event it’s had in three years. It’s a descendent of the ginormous garage sale known as Thrift Shop. I’ve blogged about that event many times over the last 12 years (see some of those posts here). Now it is called the Fall Festival and Bazaar. The “bazaar” side of things is a scaled-down version of Thrift Shop, designed to cost less in terms of time-commitment for staff and volunteers. It also includes something new: a place where individuals or groups can rent a table to peddle their own wares. Because, of the last three years, we've been saving up stuff we want to get rid of (that isn't rubbish), we decided to rent a table.

Our table as it looked at the start of the day.

There were a few great things about having our own table: 

• I had a place to "be" all day. I didn't feel like I was loitering or wasting time. It was also a starting place for conversations that weren't uncomfortable, a here-and-present kind of thing that helped me stay away from topics that aren't so easy to talk about in a light way.
• We had a bucket of "free stuff" that the younger kids loved. It's such fun giving things away.
• I got to make and sell fudge (but I was disappointed with the packaging we managed, which made the fudge look decidedly dodgy).
• We did actually get rid of a fair bit of stuff to places that it will be used (rather than just sent to the rubbish). We were able to give two boxes of stuff to the Salvation Army who came at the end for stuff that hadn't been sold.

I went into Friday expecting lots of more conversations, and came away feeling a little dissatisfied with how insubstantial most of the exchanges were. But, as I've seen as I reflected over the weekend is that on Thursday and Friday I was part of the gentle web of connection that has begun forming again in the community that centres around the school. Looking back, I had short conversations about all the following things:

A future camping trip

Why I had a nearly 100-year-old hymn book for sale (yes, I sold it)

A recent 500 pound, 8-foot bear attack in the US (yes, there was)

How much my youngest son has grown and changed

How to say “poached egg” in Japanese (no, I can't remember now)

How to use a baccarat espresso maker

What Thrift Shop used to look like (for someone new in the community)

Where Kuranda is (inland from Cairns)

How much CAJ pays substitute teachers

The difference between chocolate and fudge (yes, we were confused by the question)

What it was like growing up a few blocks from the US on the Canadian side of the border and how I’ve never lived in a country that has international land borders (only sea borders, hence “going overseas” is synonymous with going to another country). 

Shopping habits: I prefer to be left alone to consider the option and very much dislike shopkeepers in my face.

How exhausting parenting is emotionally, and how ready I am to be moving on out of being the parent of a school-aged child (7 ½ months…but I’m not counting :D).

Fudge and how we’ve given this to our boys’ teachers for years. This is the last year that will happen.

How I got rejected by the blood bank on Friday at the school because my haemoglobin was a little bit low.

Plans for the next couple of years (moving out, home assignment from July 2023, moving back to Japan).

The big gaps that the pandemic has left us with in community: those whose kids started at the school during the pandemic don’t know the parents of their kids’ friends. I don’t know the faces of a bunch of new teachers (and their kids). That's something that rarely happened before the pandemic, due to staff-family gatherings that have usually been held through the year.

I met a lady who works for the same organisation that publishes the magazine. I’ve only really interacted with her over email, though perhaps we’ve met once, I can’t remember.

I got some hugs and got to see some people I haven’t seen in months or years.

And a thank you for my recent blog posts from someone who says she reads everything I write!

I'll stop there. When you add all that up, that's a lot of networking. And the sorts of stuff that doesn’t happen when you aren’t face-to-face with people. I was exhausted on Friday night (and Saturday). But also thankful. 

Last week was quite a week!

I always struggle to write here after I've shared something deep and vulnerable. I've been truly bowled over by the encouragement I've received since hitting "Publish" last Tuesday. Some of it can be seen on my Facebook page, with more than 20 comments there. Here's a sample:

"You're not alone. Thanks for sharing your experience and heart."

"Wendy, I didn't know. I'm so sorry you've had to walk this journey."

"Thank you for posting this . . . We all face many challenges in our lives and families, and we need to know we aren't alone."

"It's also a struggle that doesn't end with children growing up and leaving home."

    [Yes, I know. I've had one son in Australia right through the pandemic who hasn't had an easy time. It's been hard to watch him at times.]    

A friend shared this beautiful prayer:

Father of all Compassion, God of healing and hope, I pray today for those who suffer deeply within their minds, naming particular friends and family before you now.

Prince of Peace, minister most gently to those who are closest to you because their hearts and minds are broken. Speak ancient words that silence storms. Break stigma, isolation and shame.

Wonderful Counsellor, Spirit of Shalom, renew the wisdom of those who care and the resilience of those who share their lives with vulnerable people. Wherever there is a ‘spirit of despair’ please pour out the ‘oil of gladness’ today in unexpected moments of joy.

And so, may the love of the Father, the grace of the Spirit and the mind of Christ himself prevail in our world.

Amen            ~ Pete Greig

People wrote comments on the actual blog post too. And I've received in-person hugs as well as several private messages. It's been a bit of an overwhelming response.

It was a bit of an interesting week last week, actually. The week before I'd been struggling with not being busy enough (and with David being away on a school trip and no little kids to look after, and a bit of lull at work, plus rain meaning I couldn't go riding). I had that horrible voice in my head: "You're a bit useless Wendy, not much good at all." It was in the context of all that that I both saw that Facebook comment that first made me angry and then propelled me to write.

David and I celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary a 
few weeks ago.

Then, after having hit publish last Tuesday, I had people telling me that I wasn't useless at all. That I'd given them a voice when they didn't have one. That in itself was an encouragement.

I had a friend who I mostly know online (we've met once). She's followed my exploits and what I've written for many years now and specifically reminded me of many of the things we've done to invest in our boys (e.g. reading to the boys at dinner, camping, games nights, sport etc., plus working hard at drawing closer to each other as parents).

I also, independent of writing that blog post, I found some more of "my people": a group of expats in Japan who also have "special kids". I cried as I told them an abbreviated version of my story. Though I've told parts of my story to quite a number of people now, I don't always cry. But to tell it to others who know what it's like to struggle with hidden (or not so hidden) disability with their kids, in a land where they aren't natives, was powerful.

I also had another coffee time with a friend who is going through a different kind of parenting struggle and she wrote to me later with encouragement about our conversation. She also specifically assured me that I am certainly not useless!

So, it was quite the week.

But it's just a step along the journey. We're by no means finished this long road of parenting, and I don't think this side of heaven we ever will. But if my story can help encourage others along the way, then I'm doing the right thing: helping others by using my gift of writing true stories. If I can encourage you to tell others about the secret struggles you are having, then I'm also doing the right thing. 

Let's not be ashamed of the less-than-perfect lives that we live: none of our kids are perfect and none of us parents are perfect. But we can do the best we can in the circumstances we find ourselves in. And if we are Christians, we can keep our eyes fixed on our heavenly Father, who never leaves us, and indeed goes before us.

The truth about journeying with illness that isn’t physical

Monday was international mental health awareness day and as this is something that has become part of my family's life over the last few years, I have been pondering how to write about it. I'm hesitant, but last week I was encouraged by two separate people within an hour of one another, that telling our stories is valuable and important, something I know, but need reminding of occasionally. And another person on the same day asked about my writing. All of this was a reminder that God has given me a gift for writing, so I should use it, even when it is a little bit scary. For though I’ve talked to various people about portions of the journey that our family have been on with mental illness, writing it in a public forum is a different level. I’m scared to hit publish on this post!

Until mental illness became part of my own family's story, I knew little about it. Though possibly I knew more than some as my university degree touched on it. But I consciously tried to stay as far away from having to interact with this topic and this “scene” as I could, until it appeared under my own roof and I couldn't run any more. I’m writing for those of you who have no experience of living with someone with a mental illness, that you might know some of the struggles we have. But I also write for the other parents out there who are quietly, perhaps silently, struggling.

I recently got quite upset when someone wrote on their social media page that they'd never heard a negative comment about their child. It's difficult to imagine a life like that. I'd like to be someone who hasn't had to talk to teachers about their child's behaviour (behaviour that stemmed from a neurodevelopmental disorder and mental illness). I'd like to be someone who hasn't had to take their child to a psychologist for an assessment and had a diagnosis (or several) presented to them. I'd like to be someone who hasn't had to research psychiatric drugs and sit in a psychiatrist's office.

I'm scarred because I've heard mothers of classmates of my son say things that show they don't understand their kids are barely aware that my son is in their class, let alone that he’s struggling. And I’m wounded because another mother told me she'd hate to have a child with a disability. So

This little plant is thriving in a hard place. That's what I want to see me and my family doing too. 

I hesitate to share about our experience because I know there are people out there who simply aren't interested in understanding.

But what I was most sad about when I started this blog post the other day is that someone may think that they have never heard a negative thing about their child because they are great parents and have, in their own power and strength, raised amazing children.

I know that I haven't been a perfect parent and that my kids have not had a perfect childhood, but I can't allow myself to be ashamed that they've struggled. That we've struggled as a family. A lot of what's happened isn't my fault, and nor is it the fault of my children.

I wish I didn't have the knowledge that suicidal thoughts are part of one of my son's experience. I wish that another of my sons hadn't had someone close to him take her life.

I wish that our dinner times had been ones of great conversation and connection over the years. We’ve often struggled, and it’s not because we don’t value that time. We’ve tried, really hard, every day, but dinners are still often a struggle. Polite conversation is not something everyone does well, or happily. I wish I could say I hadn’t felt judged because of my kids’ social skills.

Mental illness in a teenager is difficult because it is very often not easy to diagnose. It masquerades as a lack of motivation, as belligerence, as disobedience, as stubbornness, or a lack of confidence, and many other ways that look like behavioural issues, not illness.

For example: Is not sitting with anyone at lunchtime at school worthy of concern? Are they shy and prefer their own company, or do they lack the same interests or social skills as other children, are they the victim of bullying, or are they socially anxious, or do the sounds that other people make when they eat bother them? As they get older: not being able to get assignments in on time: is that just poor organisation, or is it because they have trouble concentrating, or are they depressed and struggling with motivation? Or is the effort just to get out of the house and interact with others through the day draining them of all the energy they have and there’s none left for doing difficult assignments?

I wish I was someone who could talk freely with my son about future plans. Plans for college or work; about the big, hairy audacious goals that some young people have. For several years we’ve struggled to talk to him about the next week. Anxiety takes a toll and makes planning for the next day hard, let alone planning for the start of life after high school.

As a parent of someone with mental illness, I've had to be hypervigilant at times (and I know that is the case for some parents of kids with other disorders also, like epilepsy and some kids on the Autistic Spectrum). Hypervigilance is exhausting. It's a hidden hurdle a parent must overcome to participate in daily life outside the home. If you have to be hypervigilant, it's important to take care of yourself and please don't feel you have to make excuses.

Mental illness in your house means you become a buffer between your child and the rest of the world. An advocate too, if you choose to be. I've had to spend a lot of time explaining our son and our family to others. Explaining why my son isn't getting out of bed at an "appropriate" time, explaining why he's wearing headphones, or why he's hitting his head. I've had to explain why he's not participating in polite dinner conversation or why he won't share a bedroom with his brother when we're traveling.

We've had to adjust our family's life and our parenting in so many big and small ways, it is hard to even remember them all now because many have become instinctual. It's only when other people see us behaving in a way they don't think is normal that we remember (and may have to explain).

Grief is part of all this and I guess that is part of why I feel this so deeply when people "boast" about their brilliant kids. I grieve that my family has suffered in this way. I am sad that what seems easy to some, is a battle for us. On a bad day it's tough to keep looking upwards, to trust that our God loves us and our kids as much as he says he does. To know that he goes before us, and that our situation is known to him. 

Sacred pathways spiritual temperaments

I've just finished reading a book called Sacred Pathways by Gary L. Thomas. It's about different "spiritual temperaments". That is, about various ways that people find it more natural to worship God. This is fascinating to me, and consolidates things that I've contemplated over the years as I work and live in an interdenominational environment.

I've found the book helpful for a number of reasons:

This helps with the tendency to be judgemental of people who do things differently to you. I work with a lot of different people from a wide range of backgrounds. It's good to have a better understanding of their perspective when it comes to worship and connecting with God, and to move away from that tendency that "only my 'tribe' does it right".

It's taught me about my Christian background and how that plays into the way I think about worship. I come from a tradition that strongly values intellectualism. I see that in how much emphasis they put on the words of songs, and on concentrating carefully on a complex, often theologically rich sermon. 

The big revelation that I had as I recognised this was the struggle I have every week with worshipping in Japanese. I only grasp small portions of sermons and most Japanese worship songs mean little to me. However, I love singing with my Japanese brothers and sisters. That's not an intellectual activity for me, it's a sense-filled one that I appreciate. Sermons often turn into intellectual activities as I work really hard to understand what's being said, and look up various words, but I don't feel particularly close to God doing this. It's a language learning exercise that wears me out every week.

The book has helped me see that there are other ways to worship. This is really helpful because my background, and also the unspoken emphasis of my organisation, is that "words" are all important. As a writer, I have to agree . . . to some extent. But here's the interesting thing: being at church is important to me. When services were only online during the pandemic, I could barely bring myself to listen to a Japanese worship service from my home. However, I appreciate going to a worship service in person. I can only account for that as being I appreciate the atmosphere, the music and the beauty of the building, I appreciate being in the same space as others who are worshipping, and even the comfort that comes from the familiar rhythm of the elements of a worship service.

The book has taught me other things about me. I would never have called myself an "activist" (in fact I tend to run from confrontation), however the book showed me that a deep passion and involvement in mission work, like I have, is a form of activism. I also wouldn't have picked myself to be an "enthusiast" either, but in mission work we take risks and get to see God work in supernatural ways (like people giving money for the last 21 years for us to serve in Japan). Apparently both these things are characteristics of enthusiasts.

And I was surprised at how strongly I had affinity to caregiving, for example offering rides to people, cooking for them, and helping with needs when I can. I love caring for my own family by providing meals for them, and making sure they have a reasonably clean and tidy house to go about their daily lives in (though I don't take that too far, I get bored too easily with housekeeping).

I also didn't realise how much time in nature and appreciating God's creation was also a way I love to worship God. Though I should have known that, given how I love camping and going to parks, taking care of pot plants, and getting out of the city. Having my work desk in a place where I can see outside, especially seeing green, is also important to me.

Probably this isn't a book for Christians who are new to the faith, or who have a shallow faith. But for someone who has been around a while and has a reasonable grounding in basic truths of the gospel, it's a helpful read. I'm already feeling less guilty about not being the best Japanese student, and more appreciative of those who feel that liturgy or incense or fasting or  drawing is a really good way for them to connect with God.

It's always good to remember that the God of the Bible is a big, humungous God. One that we can't put into boxes. It makes perfect sense that just as he's made so many humans, each one different, that he's able to connect deeply with each one, and never in exactly the same way.

[And a very cool thing: I discovered this book through editing an article by a colleague/friend of mine, then found the ebook in my local Australian public library (Ipswich)!]