On ordering coffee 11-4-98

". . . I just ordered some coffee. It came to me, as it always does in Japan, in a miniature porceline teacup--the kind grandmas's always have in their curio cabinets--dainty, brittle, with intricately painted flowers. To tell you the truth, I'd rather it was sitting in a curio cabinets. These things are better looked at than used. How I long for the thick, heavy, glass mugs of The Common Ground, filled to the brim with rich irish cream coffee, topped with a swirl of whipped cream. I want to hug this teacup with my whole hands, feeling the warmth of the steaming liquid enter my veins and bloodstream. But even my two index fingers are too thick and clumsy to be warmed by this daintiness. Is it too risky to compare one's experience in a coffee house in Japan to one's entire experience in Japan. . . ?"

A precious moment 9-28-98

". . . Last Sunday, Dan and I offered to play violin for special music at church. We decided to play the hymn "On Christ the Solid Rock I stand," a decision based primarly on the fact that it was the only hymn I had music for. An incredible thing happened, though. While we were playing, the congregation started to sing along--in their own language, of course, but they knew the song! In the brief moments of the hymn, we were communicating something so profound, so central to who we all are. It was beautiful.

I wanted to talk more after the song. I wanted to know about how they think of God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit. Of course, I couldn't. But now I think maybe that was good. The words we shared in the music said it all, really. "On Christ the solid rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand, all other ground is sinking sand." Nothing more really needs to be said. . . "

On teaching 9-19-98

"Teaching. . . is there a harder profession? I'm well into my third week of teaching now, and it seems to be taking me on an emotional rollercoaster. Sometimes I'm loving it; sometimes I'm despising it; sometimes i feel confident; other times I'm scared to walk into the classroom; sometimes it energizes me; other times it leaves me wilted.

I teach at two different schools. My base school is Amataka. When i teach here, the rollercoaster is soaring. Amataka is an excellent school. Kids come from all over this area to come to this school. It actually has dormitories for kids who live too far away (Can you imagine living away from home as a 14 year old?!) The kids are really hardworking; the atmosphere is competitive. It's intense. They are my kind of students. I know them.

Then there is Reiyo. When I teach here, the rollercoaster plunges. How can I describe Reiyo? Maybe think of an inner city school without the guns. It's terrible--really, really awful. This is where I had my first-ever day of teaching. The class was a group of nine senior boys. I walked into the classroom and nearly tripped on one of them--he was sleeping on the floor. The others were running around the room, throwing things and chasing each other. Their uniforms were torn and baggy. Most of them wore their shirts on their heads. The JTE (Japanese Teacher of English) nudged the boy who was sleeping. The boy nearly threw the JTE off his feet as he swiped his hand aside. He yelled something in Japanese. Maybe something like, "Leave me the fuck alone!" The others laughed and the JTE left him along. This scene, which took place during the first moments of my first-ever teaching day, defines teaching at Reiyo. The kids have no respect, no interest, no mercy. The teachers have no authority and no will to change the way things are. It's frustrating and depressing. . ."

On our new life in Japan 9-20-98

". . . Things are good here. Well, some days are good. And then some days are not so good. You see, some days it's exciting to tackle the unfamiliar in the hopes of making it familiar (I am beginnign to wonder whether that is what life is about). On these days, it's fun to try the raw thing which is still flipping on my dinner plate and it's a great challenge to eat with two skinny wooden sticks. It's thrilling to try a new language or to attempt communication with no language of the oral sort. It's rewarding to meet so many new faces and new names. It's relaxing and fulfilling to come home and have times to read a book or try a new recipe. It's laughable when I bump my head on door frames made for a race of people all under 5`0. It's heart-warming to have people take such good care of us--calling every night to see if we have plans. . .

But there are other days. Days when I'm sick of the raw stuff, I just want a hamburger, and I want a utensil that will bring more than 2 bits of rice to my mouth at one time. Days when I'm sick of speaking at a snail's pace and tired of flipping through my mental card catalogue for pre-school vocabulary. Days when i long to talk with an old friend instead of meeting yet another new face. Days when I'm sick of thinking of things I can do to fill my time and I wish for the busy college days. Days when I swear after I bump my head for the tenth time. Days when I just wish people would leave us alone and not try to plan every second of every night we have free. . . "

On the elderly in Japan 9-12-98

". . . It is the strangest thing--so many of the old people (especially the old women) have such slouchy backs. This is no ordinary "I've-lived-on-this-earth-for-eighty-years-so-I'm-allowed-to- have-bad-posture" slouch. No. We are talking the upper half of their body is parallel to the ground when they stand up. It really is a strange thing to see. And the thing is that they can't see you. Their heads, of course, are also parallel to the ground. Therefore, for them to look ahead when they stand or walk would be as neck-straining as it would be for us straight-backed people to stand or walk with our heads back, pointing to the sky. So, because they can't see you, you can stare at this strange phenomenon without appearing rude or over-interested. I have taken quite an interest, and as a result of my, shall we say, "study," I have come up with the following hyphothesis: The Japanese are not getting enough calcium. Really! Their diet consists of rice, an occasional octapus, seaweed, and green tea. Where is the calcium?"

On religion in Japan 8-31-98

". . . One of the hardest things about living in Japan is knowing how to be a Christian. Here religion is meaningless. A Japanese person may call herself a Shinto and a Buddhist and not see any contradiction in that. Most Japanese have Shinto birth celebrations, Shinto and Christian weddings ("Christian," meaning the ceremony takes place in a church and the bride wears a white dress), and Buddhist funeral rites. This is but one statement that Japanese culture makes about the irrelevancy of religion. So how do we get in this assumption and break it to bits and show that when we say we are "Christians" it means something? How? I'm not sure. I have to live out love and grace, but this is so hard to do when communication comes so slowly and so superficially. I long to have a real, honest, open talk with just one of them. I want to understand them and get into their thinking. I want to see how they see life. Then I think I could love so much better. But the wall of a foreign language keeps me blind. I want to listen to them. I want to offer myself to them, but I find that instead they are listening to me and offereing themselves to me. I'm the guest; they're the host. They serve me. And it seems this reality will be slow to change, because, you see, they speak my language, and I don't speak theirs. There is something profoundly self-giving in them coming to me in my lanuage in their country. . ."

On grunting 8-31-98

". . . The Japanese have quite an interesting way of communicating. In a two-person dialogue, when one person talks, the other person grunts after every phrase or pause. It goes something like this (I've translated it from Japanese, of course):

Person 1: So, this morning. . . Person 2: (grnmph)

Person1: I went. . . Person 2: (grnmph)

Person 1: to the store. Person 2: (grnmph. grnmph)

Person 1: And I saw. . . Person 2: (grnmph)

Person 1: that umm. . . Person 2 encouragingly: (grnmph. grnmph)

Person 1: eggplant was on sale! Person 2: Oh, really. . .

This common conversational practice is actually quite amusing not only to hear, but also to watch. For, with each grunt, the person also nods her/his head vigorously.

On Japanese toilets 8-31-98

". . . They have squat toilets. It wasn't until just recently that I realized I was squatting the wrong way. The toilet paper had been so hard to reach! I also was told by a very kind friend that one doesn't have to keep one's thighs parallel with the floor--that squatting all the way down proves much easier on one's thigh muscles. My times in the bathroom have been much more enjoyable since these realizations. . ."

On our first cold spell 11-11-98

". . . I laughed when you told me it snowed. Maybe I should have kept quiet. I am paying for it, finally, down here in Southern Kyushu. The afternoons are still beautiful and sunny and fall-warm, but the nights and the mornings are unbelievably crisp. What a word to describe weather. But you know what I mean. Maybe "crisp" was meant to describe the effect on a person rather than the weather itself. It is quite accurate to say that I wake up feeling "crisp"--as crisp as a cornflake in a bowl of ice-cube-cold milk. And brittle, too--like a antique porceline teacup. It's not a matter of closing the window or shutting the drapes. The crisp, britlle weather has a way of sneaking inside our apartment and then under our layers of blankets, creaping under layer one, two, three, and four, and then finally nudging itself between our bodies which are pressed together desperately for warmth. And then it gets inside--the body--inside the bloodstream, and it courses through the entire body. This is finally what makes us crisp and brittle like cornflakes and porceline teacups. All I say is be thankful for western insulation. . ."

On confusion 11-21-99

". . . how I wish you and others could come and experience with me this life in Japan. I want to share it with you and live it with you and figure it out with you. It's so confusing here. Life is confusing anywhere, I guess, but every single day, I am faced with people on all sides of me who think that they don't need God--not the Christian God, not the Buddhist god (of enlightenment), not the Shinto gods--no God or religions that follow the God/gods. People who live with such frantic business and find meaning in that (?). Those are the Japanese. And then there are the other foreigners like me (but not really) whose god is tolerance and who therefore skeptically attack Christiantiy. And then there are the Christians. Last week we went to a Kyushu JETs Christian Conference. Fifteen people came and all they could talk about wsa how "dark" and "evil" Japan is; how they could feel the darkness and how the Japanese were "children of the devil." All these people, all these ideas. Where do I stand in the midst of all of it? It's really confusing, disturbing, and frustrating. I want to have answers, but all I get is more questions. . .