My Own Lesson of the Cherry Blossom

So things have been pretty quiet when it comes to life in Saitama, it’s quiet and peaceful, and has an isolation that one can appreciate.


At first I was terribly lonely, I felt like I was so far away from church and so far away from the city. Daichi was again impossible to reach now that I had moved out and life seemed to turn into an endless cycle of work and sitting around home, with church being the only highlight of my weeks.

I was afraid that maybe I had begun to lose faith, maybe now that I was sitting comfortably in a new secured job with a permanent address and a growing understanding of the public transport system I no longer felt the need to delve so deeply into my faith.

I’ll be honest, and say that for a day or two my bible sat on my desk untouched, the pages that had only a few days ago breathed life into a weary body now seemed to rub like sand paper against the skin.

Even when we enter into these states of laziness we always have this niggling thought in the back of our minds, little moments when we’ll be out having fun, and things seem to be going perfectly, and our mind will flash back to the untouched bible lying on our bed side table.

During the last two weeks I had many such moments, I would become so encompassed in my bible one day but then the next I could linger for no more than a minute on its pages.

I took my life group leaders advice and began to read my bible with my journal lying open in front of me, the blank page crying out in yearning to be touched by ink. I would start by writing simply “In this verse, I think God is trying to tell me this....” from this I could sometimes write with ease, pouring out revelation after revelation, other times I might sit there raking my hands through my hair, straining for something to write about.

I had once again began to grumble to the Lord, the internet in the apartment i.e. the only point of contact with my family in Australia had begun to disconnect, sometimes not coming back for hours. And with Asa gone to Australia and me living in a quiet place like Kotesashi, the isolation can be quit maddening.

I felt pathetic as one day I slammed my lap top closed and in fit of frustration and threw one of the couches cushions onto the floor. I felt frustrated that in such an isolated place as Kotesashi I couldn’t at least be granted the luxury of outside communication with my friends and family, but I also felt petty at the way I was so childishly acting.

I stamped my way to the front door, kicked on my shoes and went out for a walk.

I was walking furiously, with an angry determined pace, I barley even knew where I was going. I was annoyed praying in my mind “Oh Lord why don’t you just....I don’t know, fix the internet! You know how lonely I am, I mean, you of all people should know! THEN WHY DONT YOU FIX IT! I know you can, so why don’t you? Well then if you’re not going to fix it, why? Why won’t you? At least give me a reason for this predicament”

I slowed down as I passed a little man made canal, even though the water was low and the canal seemed to be a little bit dirty it held an antiquated beauty about it. A beauty that would make me stop in my tracks, take a breath and realise “I’m in Japan”.

Arcing over the little river was rows upon rows of cherry blossoms, or Sakura. Being summer they were simply coated in thick green foliage, awaiting their springtime gowns to blossom.

As I looked upon these beauties in waiting I realised how patient they must be. All year round they stand green, like every other tree, without their iconic pink blossoms they really are not even the most spectacular trees, they actually look quite ordinary. But all through the year they stand waiting, silent and tranquil, unlike humans they don’t complain to the Lord to speed up the seasons, they do not grumble when winter strips them bare and exposed, they don’t urge God to do things according to their own timing, and unlike so many humans, just before spring is about to explode, they don’t fall and sin at the last minute, the impatience manifesting as sin conquering them at the last moment. No, instead they wait, they stand strong and still, rooted to the earth, and only when God says it’s the right time, do they burst forth with colour.

But unlike humans, a Sakura tree’s beauty lasts only a month, and then fades and waits again for spring to come, with humans, Gods’ blessing can be continual, and if we had the stability in our lives of a Cherry Blossom tree we might just have that continual out pouring of Gods extravagant love.

I sighed and stopped, watching the wind twirl through the leaves, leaves that would in a few months make way for beautiful flowers that would be the crowning glory of Japans springtime festivities.

It was in Gods time that these trees bloomed, what might happen if they willed themselves to bloom earlier? Into the frozen heart of winter, or the unforgiving temperament of summer?

What might happen if I tried to bloom before my time? I remembered my own advice I had given to Lance on how Gods timing was perfect and always for a purpose. How hypocritical was I being now?

I laughed, God was never mundane in the way he sent word to his children, I’d walked passed these Sakura before, but this time, they held a message from the Lord.

“Wait, just wait, and at the right time, all things will fall into place”

I agreed with God, I understood what he was trying to say, and I continued to walk on, slower now, with an appreciation for the beauty around me.

I spoke at length on the phone to Mum and Nanny about how I felt, and I found that it was so much better to talk things over than to let it stew on the inside.

As God always promises he gave me peace, and an answer to my prayers at the same time. I found that being in such isolation I could turn whole heartedly to my faith, my bible became my best friend, and I found that God was willing to take me on journeys to far away places, to a time when cities were evaporated into dust leaving a salt ocean in their wake. Times when I could see first hand that isolation was not necessarily a bad thing, how many people had gone off into the wilderness to pray, Jesus himself had isolated himself from people so that he could be closer to his father, now it was my time to get closer to God.

If you haven’t read the bible, it is the most amazing book, but before you go believing the garish claim that the bible is just a collection of “Jewish Fairy Tales” take a read of it yourself.

So many of the characters and places in the bible are confirmed by history, these people really did exist, these places had once stood as a real as any town today.

The sinful city of Sodom and Gomorrah once stood where the Dead Sea now stands, history records that after the city was destroyed by god in a hail of brim stone and fire, salt deposits heavy with salinised matter burst onto the surface and started out as a salt marsh, by the time King David was on the throne the marsh had reached the size of a small lake.

People don’t often see the Bible as something historical, while it is wonderful, and some of the occurrences may seem too fantastic to be real, history often points to the reality that these things did happen.

I recently just finished reading the mini novella, “Unspoken” which is one of five books in the “Lineage of Grace” series. This book follows the tumultuous conflict between a man and his lust for another woman. The story is well known even in secular circles, the man was King David, the woman was Bathsheba.

I loved this book, although I couldn’t choose a favourite out of the Lineage of Grace series I guess I hold a special bond with the main characters of this story.

Basically, King David was the second king of Israel, he was handpicked by God to replace the current corrupt king, Saul.

David was a king like no other, he was faithful and always would seek to glorify God. However he was but a man and made a mistake that would bring destruction on his household.

One evening he was walking along the roof of his palace, he often did this when he couldn’t sleep, as he was strolling the roof of the palace he saw a woman bathing out in the courtyard of her house. In those days, after a woman finished her monthly cycle she performed a purification rite that involved her taking a series of baths in order to ready her to conceive a child. However her husband was Uriah, a Hittite soldier who was one of thirty elite warriors in King Davids army. When David enquired about the woman he’d seen bathing he found out who she was, and as her husband was away at war, he summoned her to his chambers where he slept with her.

From this one night of sin, she conceived a child. David of course tried to hide the pregnancy by calling Uriah home for a night, thinking that war would make him hungry for his wife. The bible states that Uriah refused and could not when his country men were sleeping on the hard ground under the weight of an impending battle.

Francine Rivers, the author of “Unspoken” elaborated claiming that by this time there were already whispers flying around the palace of David and Bathsheba’s affair, and that these rumours had already reached Uriah. This is said nowhere in the bible but I would not be surprised, for centuries right up until present day palaces have been places of intrigue and rumour.

The sin was not hidden and so David had Uriah put in the front line of battle and told his men to withdraw when Uriah charged, letting him be killed alone while fighting a battle for a king who sat at home lusting after his wife.

Of course this sin was punished, David was told that because of the sin that was committed in the dark his punishment would be done in the light, in full view of all Israel. Bathsheba’s first child, the child born of the night of sin was taken by God after falling deathly ill. David’s own son Absalom rebelled against him.

When David fled the kingdom with his people and his household he left behind ten concubines to keep the house in order, when Absalom returned to the kingdom he took the ten concubines onto the roof and slept with them, as the Lord had promised “in full view of all Israel”

Although the punishment seemed to bear down upon Bathsheba and David the Lord forgave and blessed them, the young baby the Lord had taken had been lifted from a viper’s nest of treachery, and he was replaced by four more sons, sons that Bathsheba reared under the guidance of the very prophet who delivered the message of punishment to her, Nathan, she even named her last son after him. These sons who were forever spurned as the son of the adulteress became the only sons of David who were men after Gods own heart. The eldest son being Solomon, the son whe although wasn't the eldest, became the next king of Israel, a king who was recorded throughout history as a King of wisdom and impartiality.

From a woman who history has forever labelled a woman of sin, God gave Israel a great king, and as always he forgave Bathsheba and continued to love her with a redeeming grace that only God can give. Like the blurb on the back of the book states about Bathsheba “Her beauty stirred the passion of a king, but her pain moved the heart of God”.

In my life there were times when I had fallen to sin, during that time I often was afraid to ask God for help, I remembered back to more innocent days when I was not followed around by a cloud of shame. Even today, I sometimes find it hard to rid myself of the ghosts of the past, but like Bathsheba, the beauty we may possess as men and women might be taken and twisted into something ugly by this world of hurt, but never forget that our pain moves the heart of God.

As I walked along the quiet and quaint streets of Kotesashi I marvelled once again at the goodness of God, Three years ago when I did not even want to have anything to do with the Lord I could not imagine in all my days that I would be living in Japan. Yet in the same way I had been adopted into my family, God had adopted me into his and showed me that I was destined for greater things.

I didn’t try to fool myself into thinking that it was in my own strength that I was now living in another country.

This week had been an up and down week, some days I would be very busy, other days I would only have one class. One day I decided to go window shopping in Tokorozawa, it was about two stations away from Kotesashi, I also needed to go to a Softbank store to buy a cable for my phone.

Tokorozawa’s main street was nothing compared to places like Shinjuku or Harajuku, but that in itself was something to be grateful for, you could still shop and have coffee and do all the other things that go with being an urbanite dweller but you weren’t confronted with the crowds or hustle and bustle of a larger place.

I purchased a take away iced coffee and sat on a bench and watched people pass by, wondering about the lives they led back home where they lay down their glossy shopping bags and set aside their diamante studded sun glasses.

I remembered times when I and my best friend Maia had done this back home. We would sit with an iced juice from the juice bar in Kingscliff and watch people walk passed and make up stories about their lives.

Or we might sit together on the bus and look around at the people near to us and analyse why that girl seemed to look out of the bus window with a look of longing in her eyes, or why that boys eyes were downcast constantly, was he really browsing through the songs on his iPod or was he actually trying to hide his eyes that were filled with tears over a broken home he was about to spend one more hurtful night in.

In our little world of imagination our creativity not only included ourselves, illustrating on our minds canvas a more adventurous version of our own lives but it also extended to anyone who came into our line of site. In our minds everyone, could be anyone.

I missed Maia terribly, for us it was passed the point of friendship, we were brother and sister. I was often stunned that I had been accepted into her social circle, she was so beautiful, so popular, so intelligent, so talented, and she chose me to be her companion? She could have chosen anyone, but she chose me.

Maia is Italian Creole (African and French) and is regarded by many as one of the most beautiful girls in our grade. She didn’t have that typical conventional beauty that school girls have, but an un-usual rare beauty, she wasn’t just another pretty girl, she was beautiful, a face you would remember.

Her features were dark and had sharp angles, like me she had almond shaped eyes, but hers had a distinctive Persian flare at the corners that she cleverly accentuated with dark eye liner. She was curvaceous, but not in the uncomfortable pubescent way of most girls her age, but in the way of a fully grown woman. Hard and dark it was like the famous seductress Carmen had stepped out of a painting and donned the apparel of a twenty first century youth.

She made my other wise intolerable school days bearable, they would start with the both of us greeting each other out the front of school, loud and laughing we would strut into our classes in our own little world of hilarity. English was one of our most memorable lessons, we’d sit up the back of class flicking our long straightened hair over our shoulders remarking on how well the other had done their hair that morning.

We had a remark for everything, we joked brazenly about the things others only thought. We weren’t afraid to admit that the physical education department quite obviously were the rulers of the staff faculty, they had the longest section at assembly, every week you could expect a five minuet report naming and shaming the students who dared not show up to Wednesday sport (after all it was a case of life or death). We weren’t ashamed to admit that some teachers “seemed to spend more time cat nipping about whether their belt matched their scarf which matched their shoes which matched their head bands”.

At nights we would lay in bed laughing long into the night time hours, our laughter’s had grown to be almost identical and I loved listening to the hearty bounce of our inflections.

I remember one lesson in drama we were dancing, there wasn’t any music playing we were just dancing to our own laughter, mimicking the silly antics of dance floor try hards. The routine ended with us rolling around on the ground laughing, but this was quickly stopped by our drama teacher walking into the room and reprimanding us for wasting time. Panting with exhaustion and still giggling at ourselves we straightened up and pretended to start working, only to laugh and continue to joke when the teacher turned her back.

I missed her so much, I missed how after our sleepovers we would stand in front of the mirror together with our straighters and hair products clamping the irons over our locks, lacquering our layers in hair spray and rubbing in special coconut oil so our hair shone (an old Fijian hair care technique).

I missed the way we would bounce into school side by side, the way my home was her home, the way her home was my home. I missed the way we revelled in the pride of our ancestry, hers Italian, Creole, mine Fijian, Chinese. Our togetherness, our twin existence.

I missed her.

As I sat in Tokorozawa I thought about how much she would love this place, I thought about how strange it was being simply “Tyson” and not “Maia and Tyson”.

But thinking made my heart yearn, so I turned my attention to visuals passing before me and blanked my mind from the hurt that absence and distance birthed in ones soul.

The next day I awoke to a call from my mother, she was letting me know that my Grand Father, Dad’s Dad, had passed away. After a long battle against many health ailments Pop was finally at peace, and I took comfort in knowing that he was in the arms of Jesus.

Dad asked me to write something to be read out at the funeral.

Here’s what I wrote.



“A note from afar.



To my family, how I wish I could be there with you today. But being in the situation I am, I know now, more than ever that love is something that can be carried across miles, and felt as fiercly in your heart as if we were all there together.



I was going to write a poem for Pop, as I have on so many an occasion, for so many people.



But for today, I think I will simply send these words of encouragement.



Before Pop passed away I remember him saying to me on the phone the night before I left for Japan that he was just unceasingly releasing his life into the Lords hands, and through that he found peace.



I could talk about all that Pop was, all that he had been, but I think Pop might have liked me to talk about what he wanted for all of you.



In his last days, he lived a way that even in the most desperate of circumstances enabled him to live with a peaceful spirit.



A peace that can only be attained through recognising the love of the Lord. I take comfort in knowing that Pop gave his life to Jesus, but I take even more comfort in knowing that he left this world leaving behind him a shining example of something that this world lacks. A content heart.



Pop, in a time that may send most into a state of mental chaos instead found that even in this situation, where he faced the most daunting reality one can face in their lives, God gives hope, he raises the helpless up to fly on eagles wings, he takes the unspoken and gives them a voice, he takes a widows cry and gives her heart cause to sing.



and as in Pops case, he took a man who faced death, and made him stand strong where others may fall.



So family, as we come together to remember Pop, do not remember him in longing, for he is somewhere where his suffering ceases to exist, instead, remember the dignified way he left this world, remember and be encouraged.





Love Tyson.”

Again, it wasn’t until a few hours later that I wept, I felt isolated, I wanted to be there for my family, to stand beside my father and show him that he had the support he needed in these difficult times. I felt so helpless that all I had to offer was a few words from a distance.

But once again the Lord reminded me of the lesson of the Cherry Blossoms he taught me, Even though the chill of Autumn had begun to invade the mornings, in my heart God had planted the beginnings of spring.

Pops seasons may have ended, but it ended on the Lords time.

My season is just beginning, and when Spring comes, I won’t let it end.

I’ll blossom, and I’ll keep on blooming until the Lord says times up.

I thought of my own words that I had said to my family, and I took my own advice.

I remembered, and I was encouraged.

SAKURAN (CONFUSION)

I’m writing this to you from the inside of a Mo’s Burger, not the most classiest place one might want to create literature but I guess it’s no McDonalds. There is only myself and another young man here with me, one of those trendy young things. I am now living in Saitama prefecture, about sixty seven odd minutes away from Tokyo, It feels more to me like the suburbs. Or maybe even the city outskirts, but my friend Daichi insists that this is the country side of Japan. Whether that’s is the mistaken thinking of his own sheltered mind or this really is Japans idea of country side, either way it doesn’t feel like country side to me.

So I’ll catch you up to where I am now, and for fear of being a bore I won’t elaborate too much.
So the night after my church service I decided to go out to dinner when I got home to Chiyoda, I got myself comfortable in a small Chinese restaurant a small walk away from the YMCA. As I’ve found to be the case the restaurant was a wash of different smells and colours, a lot of red seemed to always be in these places, set against the shiny brown of the wooden table tops and benches.

As I began to eat I felt a little frustrated, I had been trying for a week now to contact my friend Daichi, a Japanese University student who had been a part of an exchange program with my high school. He lived amongst us for a year, and in that time we became the closest of friends, resulting in Daichi living with my family for the last three months of his stay.

I remember those days with a certain light of humour and I guess sadness, it was one of the last summers that for me was truly carefree, most days were spent in the pool or at the beach, watching movies and spending long hours each day simply doing nothing.

After Daichi left things went quite typically, the way you would expect things to go when someone who has been such a part of your life leaves. I was stunned, someone who I had shared so much of my life with, my family, my home, even my room was now gone. Nights that had been spent talking and laughing into the early morning hours were now silent and empty.
Though ironically, Daichi always had a saying that he would often quote when it wasn’t really relevant.

“Time tames the strongest grief...”
As I was saying, ironically, it was in his absence that this little anecdote could be best applied, over time our communication became very on off, and eventually, and sadly, almost non-existent. But now I was the foreigner in need of a helping hand. I had called his mobile phone number for so long in vain trying to reach him, the YMCA was beginning to get expensive and I still had no job.

As I finished up with my meal I payed, the man behind the counter could see quite visibly that I was disgruntled, I didn’t care if he could see me grumbling under my breath, I was angry. Praying furiously I grumbled to God that I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t put it on Daichi’s heart to contact me, why he couldn’t just miraculously make me bump into him on the street, why he wasn’t doing this and wasn’t doing that. I think it’s safe to say that I was telling God how he should do his job as God and creator of all things....you know, because of course I would know better.

Stepping out into the night air I sighed, in that breath was all the pent up frustration I had carried during the week. I assessed my situation, The Lord had gotten me into the country, taken me from one end of the nation to the other, with minimal hassle he had gotten me to the YMCA and to top it off, despite my complaining and eye rolling and all the rest that comes with an annoyed whiny Tyson he had also taken me to church where I had met some fantastic people.
“Sorry Lord” I thought, gosh, and I used to think the Israelites were bad when they complained, even after all the miracles he’d performed in gaining their freedom.
I thought to myself, how many other miracles in my own life had I ignored or chosen to forget when ever things got a little hard.

Looking across the street, a small phone booth alight with a fluorescent bulb called to me in the balmy night time air.

Something inside of me said “go ahead, give it a try, one last try” So I obeyed, crossing the street, I entered the booth, inserted the coins and dialled Daichi’s number, the familiar ring tone began and for an instant I prepared myself for the disappointing sound of the answering machines annoying message. I was startled when I was faced with a “hello” from the other end.
Blinking in surprise it took me a moment to register what had happened.
This is where I speed things up a bit.

The next morning I sat with my suitcase, once again packed, outside the Ochanamizu station, not exactly a short walk from the YMCA but not a long one either. Sunglasses on I stared off into the distance with my iPod playing in my ears. It was a warm day, tolerable compared to the sweltering humidity of the last few days.

I glanced at the station exit, still no sign. I hadn’t been waiting that long anyway. A cool and very welcome breeze was blowing and suddenly a pair of shoes appeared before me on the pavement. Looking up, I realised Daichi had arrived.

Since I last saw him three years ago he had changed quite a lot, but then in a strange sense he had not changed at all. He had grown into a man, still slim of build, yet a ruddiness existed that had not before, the tan that had developed during his stay in Australia had been replaced by a lighter pallor, but still lingered underneath, maybe because it was summer. His hair that he had taken so much pride in was thicker now, still dyed brown and I could tell that the style of the moment in his case was lacquered on hair spray with no particular order or purpose, a deliberate mess.

In Australia he had never been one to wear jewellery, but now he wore beaded bracelets and other bohemian looking trinkets. In a way I was pleased I guess, in a community that seemed to have the very attitude of urbanised living in their blood he seemed almost out of place in his simple clothing and care free style. I wondered how I looked.

As we sat on the train laughing and remembering times passed I glimpsed a clear reflection of the two of us in the train window, he had changed since Australia, but there I was, still the same, shoulders back, hair perfect with each curl trained and held exactly where it was meant to be. Haughty and pretentious I was still Tyson, I felt a strange twang in my stomach of guilt and shame, was I so insecure that some people might think that I a mortal, constantly tried to elevate myself to the level of a God? Something that could only be looked at but never touched.

I recently watched a movie called “Sakuran” which is Japanese for “confusion”, without going into too much detail it follows the life of the legendary courtesan or “Oiran”, Kiyoha , who would later become known as Higurashi.

An Oiran is exactly what most people perceived Geishas to be. Oirans and Geishas are almost identical in appearance save a few elaborated details but Oirans were not just artists and entertainers they were also courtesans, or prostitutes. They lived in a communal house like an Okiya, and in each of these houses there were attendants, courtesans in training who were usually young girls newly sold into the house, “New Girls”, virgins who are yet to begin work as courtesans, the courtesans themselves, and then there is one girl who is an Oiran, the highest ranking and most beautiful girl in the house.

Each night the New Girls, Courtesans, and Oiran would sit in a display room behind a wooden rail, men would crowd outside the window watching the girls, hoping for a glimpse of the Oiran flanked by her lower ranking counterparts. There behind the railings, untouchable the Oiran would sit with her elaborate kimono and hair style, with the other girls, waiting for a client who could afford her company. Unlike a Geisha who are more approachable and would leave her Okiya to attend functions or rendezvous’ with clients, you always went to an Oiran, she never came to you, and Oirans were something like celebrities in their quarters.

Oirans would also perform what was known as a sort of promenade, in full Oiran regalia, painted white face, hair styled and wearing their lavish kimono the Oiran with a train of attendants and New Girls, preceded by men bearing her house’s crest and a large parasol the Oiran would parade down the street on nine inch wooden shoes called “geta”, gracefully sliding one foot out to the side and then gliding it around in front, and then doing the same with the other foot. Usually the Oiran held onto the shoulder of a man servant who would walk in front of her, this coupled with her slow and deliberate gait resulted in a sort of graceful dipping and rising, the many hair pins with hanging strings of cherry blossoms and tiny metal chains and chimes, swaying and dangling with each movement created a dazzling spectacle of moving light and sound.

As the Oiran promenaded down the main street of the Flower District people would line the sides of the street to stop and watch this untouchable swan float past on what seemed to be waves of air. Beautiful, often so mortal and insecure, and yet so distant.

I realised that for much of my life, I had created my own screen of secrecy, gilded with paranoia and mystery. Hiding behind a large pair of sunglasses I was in my own way, untouchable, but I realised, it was not in the way that made people fear you, or sit in awe of you, but in a way that prevented those who loved me reaching out to me in my times of need.

Daichi was still chattering when I looked away from the haughty reflection of someone who insisted on freezing a barrier of ice around themselves, it was only meant to guard my heart, but I found that instead, it had blinded my eyes.
I went silent for a little while on the train ride to Machiya, the place where Daichi lived. Something embraced me that unlike a human touch started from within and then worked its way to the surface.
It said “Don’t be so hard on yourself” I smiled and found that I could go back to enjoying Daichi’s care free conversation. As a result of my many years of hiding behind a facade, a facade that often damaged those who never should have seen that side of me, I also began to punish myself.

Sometimes I would be so caught up in my own shame that I forgot about how someone took the punishment for my own inequities a long time ago, took them, and nailed them to a cross, so that I could live without the cloud of guilt over my head that I seemed to cling too so tightly.

My heart became settled, and the train glided into our stop.

That first afternoon was so much fun, I realised that I had not had the time to stop and just have fun since I had arrived in Japan. So a trip to the local karaoke was much appreciated.

For the first time in what seemed like forever I opened my mouth and sung my heart out. It felt so good to make that familiar sound that was uniquely mine, singing a lot of old songs from old performances and few new ones recently learned I let my voice carry and with it the joy I felt at just being able to sing.

Singing I often likened to wielding a sword, it was a privilege that God had blessed me with, but I could decide how I could use it, Just like a sword could be used for personal gain, for power, for the taking of life, it could also protect, save, and maintain life.

A voice could be used in the same way, for power, and for selfish gain, or it could be used to touch people’s hearts, and glorify God.

The next week was indeed a vortex of activity, and yet at the same time a moment in my life of utter peace and stillness. As people around began to worry about my job situation I felt the Lord telling me to not have a troubled heart.

It was around this time that I opened my bible to Ruth, I was familiar with the story, being a favourite of my Sunday school days, but I wanted to see firsthand how God looked after his children when they were faced with the predicament of living in a foreign country.

If you have read my previous post “The Naomi to his Ruth, the Ruth to his Boaz” I had the revelation that I at first thought of myself as Ruth, awaiting the day that Boaz would ride out of the distance and provide for me, and I thought that God was my Boaz, but I was mistaken, for even though I fancied myself as the young and spirited Ruth I was actually the old and frail Naomi, and the Lord was my Ruth, for like Ruth, God went with me no matter where I found myself.

It was through this revelation that God gave me a patient heart, I delved deep into my faith and grafted the Lords promises into my heart. As each day passed, I did not become desperate, but felt that I was only getting closer to the moment that God would make everything fall into place, almost like he had taken a puzzle that had been of a troubled heart with worries that reached far beyond the sensible and thrown the many pieces into the air, and I sat patiently watching as each piece floated back down to the ground, each in its own place.

It was Friday when the pieces finally landed, and the picture on the puzzle had changed, instead of depicting an uncertain future, I found that now in its place was a content and hopeful spirit.
It was Wednesday at church when a girl from the congregation gave me the business card of a woman who owned an English school in Saitama.

At Daichi’s apartment on Friday night I stepped out onto his balcony to call the number on the card. The card read “Asa Goto”, as I dialled I felt optimistic, every hit I’d been taking in the last few days I decided not to take as a sign that I should be giving up, but as a sign that God was saying “No, this is not the job that I have planned for you, just wait a little longer.”
I was about to find out that the wait was over. The Lord decided to move.

So now, for the last few weeks I have been living in Saitama Prefecture working at Aussie Language school for Asa Goto, my new boss. Things have been settling down, however one detail I simply cannot avoid telling you is a rather un-expected encounter of a negative kind.

The first night I moved to Saitama I was staying in one of the apartments that Asa owned in Koku Koen, until the next night when a room would become available at her residence at Koteshashi, a young French boy by the name of William was to move out on that day, and I was to move in.

In the mean time, I would have the spare room in the Koku Koen apartment with an American fellow who I knew only as Lance. The night I moved in it was late and the apartment was dark, Lance must have been sleeping, so I quietly moved my things into the spare room and went to sleep, something in my spirit stirred, I felt almost uncomfortable, like the Lord was wrapping steel around my resolve. I knew it had something to do with the man sleeping in the other room, but I wasn’t sure how.

In the morning, it was still the same humid temperature that goes hand in hand with a Japanese summer. I was up early, I decided to go for a walk. Once I was out on the street I relaxed a little, appreciating the beautiful scenery, the apartments was on one of those long boulevards with wide smooth streets and large green trees arching their branches over the road. It was a slow walk, and I enjoyed the fresh air.

As I continued down the street I came across a small grave yard, with head stones tall and slim unlike westernised ones. A small Buddhist temple sat next to the grave yard, as expected every feature about the building was perfectly in sync, I had to admire the craftsmanship of the place, like one might expect it was the simplicity of each detail that made the whole picture something grand.

As I stood at the entrance of the grounds, between two large pagodas sat a stone statue of Budda, beneath his crossed legs were mounds of coins, and a tray of burned incense sticks. I wondered how many people had placed those coins there, in the hope that their prayers would be granted, unfortunately I knew just how many of those prayers had been answered by this stone statue. Indeed this statues face looked tranquil, peaceful. But could this stone faced god love? Somewhere beneath that graven chest, was there a heart that held compassion for the obscure, who felt sorrow for every sparrow that falls? Did this God breathe life into clay? Or give hope to the destitute? Did he offer love that redeemed or grace that gave back innocence? Did he offer himself as a sacrifice for my sins? Did this stone god hang, nailed to a cross, flesh torn from his body, the very real pain surging through his being urging him to call his hosts of angels to come to his rescue, but because he looked into the future, and saw my life, a life without his love, he decided to stay on that rugged cross and hang there, nails piercing hands that had given so much, and die for my sins?

No this stone god did not.

Turning and walking away from this house of emptiness, I knew in my heart, that I was in the right place, that even if my life in Japan only resulted in the salvation of one person, that it was still worth it.

Being in that place of false hope only strengthened me, pushed me forward, kept me walking, I thanked God that he was God, a God who did not sit and watch from a distance as I laid coins at the foot of his statue, but he existed within me, hurting when I hurt, rejoicing when I rejoiced. My “forever friend”, my companion.

Spiritually refreshed I returned to the apartment, I could smell tobacco, I assumed Lance was awake. Out on the balcony I could see someone sitting at the table, they were sitting on the right side so most of them was hidden by a sliding door, all I could see was a pair of slippered feet and a hand resting languidly on the white table holding a cigarette.

I went into my room and sat on the bed with my novel, I would not have been there more than four minutes and I heard a rather brash knock on the door. Opening the door I was met with a somewhat impish looking man, he had a shaven head and wore a silver ring in one ear. He leaned against the frame of my door. He had a jittery sort of manner, almost like someone kept pressing “play” and “pause” on a remote.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt which revealed a pale white torso, he was in shape, and probably worked out, but his muscles seemed to be placed very oddly, his chest seemed to be very well built but his belly seemed almost empty, dipping beneath his rib cage in an almost anorexic manner. In the same way his upper arms bulged with muscles and yet his wrists seemed so small that they could be snapped like a dry piece of kindling. The skin on his shaved head seemed to be pulled back like a mask that had been stretched and clamped tightly so that it looked difficult for him to talk.

He seemed to always talk with his head tilted, so much so that the back of his head seemed to be permanently resting on the top of his spine, the fact that he was also a short person may have contributed to this.

I was a little taken aback by the way he made himself so comfortable in the doorway of my bedroom, offering his hand he said “hi, my names Lance”
I took his hand in my own, it was cold, in the same lazy manner as I had seen him holding the cigarette he shook my hand in an almost tired way, like it was some great effort for his skinny little wrists to support his hand.

His grip sent shivers through my body, I felt immediately uncomfortable, something about the way he seemed to claim ownership over the situation.

“Nice to meet you, my names Tyson”

He wasn’t listening, he was unashamedly looking around my room at all my things.

“wow you take teaching seriously” he spotted the my college manual on my bed and without asking for an invite walked over to my bed and picked up the book.

Turning I began to get offended and a little annoyed at this very presumptuous little man. Still flicking disdainfully through the pages of the manual he said over his shoulder “I made coffee would you like some”

“um sure, thanks”

“It’s in the kitchen” he threw the book back onto my bed and turned and walked passed me out into the kitchen.

When I went into the kitchen I found two mugs of boiling water on the sink, a jar of instant coffee sitting open between them.

“you can pour yours” he said offering me the jar, taking it I tipped some of the coffee into one of the mugs.

“and that one’s mine” he said, I didn’t realise it mattered, I apologised and he laughed. when he laughed it was like grating on the ears, like his voice split in two and popped a little with every inflection, it was a leering laugh, one that you could tell probably never laughed with rejoicing, just in mockery or self gain.

“we’ll drink on the balcony” he said taking his mug and walking out onto the balcony where I had seen him smoking, I was getting a little tired of him ordering me around. To tell the truth I was a little scared, in the past, I’d found that people used to giving orders didn’t respond kindly when their orders weren’t followed.

I sat opposite him at the table.

“So have you met with her yet?”

assuming he meant Asa I answered.

“Yes, I met her yesterday for the first time, oh and she had a message for you, she wanted you to meet her at the office at seven”

He laughed “No, I’m not meeting her that early she’s crazy. Look, we need to have a talk, this woman, she’s a liar and a cheat, she’ll steal your money”

Now I understood the un-easiness I’d felt earlier. As a Christian I truly believe that the Lord gives you a spirit of discernment, one that grows and blossoms as you grow as a Christian. From the moment I had stepped into that apartment, even while he slept, I felt like something was wrong.

The coin swirled into the air, tumbling over and over as it came back down, he caught it, the other Tyson caught the coin in the palm of his hand, he rose to the surface like a snake into the sun light, rearing its head and hissing in defence.

My eyes narrowed as my stomach turned to iron, looking Lance square in the face I let him know with a glance that I was not going to be swayed easily. The way he spat out his accusations wreaked of disloyalty and a rather unfortunate authority complex.

His accusations were to disgusting to repeat, ranging from the absurd to downright perverted, painting Asa to be not only a liar and thief, but also a predator. A far cry from the generous and friendly little woman I had met a day earlier.

Breathing easily I said calmly “I will keep my eye on all that you have said, but it’s innocent until proven guilty with me”

He nodded, more out of courtesy than agreement. “If you’re smart you’ll make a game plan with me before she gets you too, we could bring her down” The lax way he said it didn’t match the zeal of his words. It wasn’t as if he was excited about bringing down an enemy, more like he just wanted to cause destruction, and had been doing exactly that for a long time now. I had to wonder how many more employers had he found an excuse to hate, an excuse to campaign against them.

“Like I said, I’ll keep my eyes open, but she has given me no reason so far to doubt her, but I thank you for the warning”

He sighed as if to say “have it your way, but you will regret it” and then said how he was going to go get some breakfast and if I wanted to join him. I lied and said I had already eaten.

“Okay well I’ll go get my breakfast, then I’ll come back, eat, probably read my bible...”

I raised my eyebrows at this, he’d only just finished spewing out the most deviant claims against Asa and then in the same breath spoke of the bible. Now please don’t mistake me, I’m not one to judge another on their Christianity, I am in no way equipped and it is not my right to do so. But it was a rather trying claim to believe, I guess all I know is that if I wanted someone to know I was a Christian I would not show such disloyalty to an employer, and express it in such a distasteful, un-savoury manner.

I told him that either way, she was coming to get me in a few minutes and maybe he could talk to her then.

He laughed that same double voiced laugh that made me cringe. “No, I can’t be here when she comes, you see I have an anger problem...” he smiled as if proud of the fact “...a big one, ha-ha I used to be a bit of a bad boy, but I’m not anymore, well, maybe a little bit” he winked at me with that same arrogant pride in the assets that most people would be ashamed of and with that he tipped his head and walked out the door.

I waited a few minutes till I was sure he was gone. As I waited I hurriedly packed my things and put them by the door. I didn’t want to wait too long because the store was only around the corner and if I was too slow he would be back. Something about him made me sick to my stomach and I didn’t want to be anywhere around him again.

With everything packed and ready I wheeled my bags across the road to where the office was, glancing up the street hoping I didn’t cross paths with Lance.

I was relieved when I got to the office and found Asa sitting at her desk. Hurrying inside and shutting the door behind me I placed my bags beside the door.

“Asa, I need to talk with you...” I spilled out all that had been exchanged between Lance and myself, I had only moments beforehand decided to let Asa know, she couldn’t have someone de-faming her character, it might hurt the reputation of the school as well.

She was surprised, she said she had never seen this side of Lance before, and that she gave him the job because he was un-happy with having a part time job so she gave him the full time position instead.

I saw Lance briefly again after that, once when he finally turned up to the office to meet Asa and again when I was preparing for class and he arrived thinking that he was going to be teaching. I didn’t enjoy letting him know that he had been fired, but it had to be done, when he asked why my nerve dissolved and I told him that if he wanted to know why he best get in contact with Asa (which was impossible because she had left for Australia the day before for a three week trip) or he ring the group manager.

His anger flickered like a new flame behind his eyes, but surprisingly he stilled and invited me to dinner after work. I agreed, but with every intention of not showing up.

After the class left I grabbed my bag and tried to lock up the office as soon as possible.
Just as I was turning the key in the last lock i heard Lance approcaching, walking out of the darkness into the brightness of the office light he said “Trying to run away were you?” the slight laughter in his words did nothing to mask the accusation in his sneer.

I was crouching as I locked the bottom of the doors. Resting back on my heels I rose and turned to face him. I lied and said “actually I was just coming to get you, I thought you might have forgotten”

I sighed in frustration at my own cowardice and followed him towards a small Chinese restaurant just around the corner.

We sat down and ordered and of course began to talk, he was still making livid accusations about Asa intent on poisoning me against her, I decided to try and take the focus of the conversation of Asa.

“So you’re a Christian?”

“Yeah I’m a believer”

“Cool, do you go to a church? I’m currently going to Jesus Life House”

“No, I don’t go to church, I would like too”

“Are you waiting until things become more settled?”

“Yeah I guess, I just need a job, then I think I’ll probably be in the right state of mind to go to church” I could see he was about to laugh and I cringed when that strange noise issued from his mouth, his eyes held that typical shine of attitude and arrogance, but there was something different this time, like he realised that in the long run, the joke was on him.

“Maybe it’s the other way around? Maybe church might be the answer to the other questions you have?”

He laughed again, the sadness in his voice becoming clearer “Yeah, I know God will provide, just not in my time, I’m a very right here, right now type of guy”

“Maybe you’ve been held back from jobs for a reason? Perhaps the reason you haven’t been getting into these jobs is because the perfect job is waiting to be freed up”

He nodded, but was silent. Maybe once upon a time he knew what it meant to have Gods favour, but for some reason or another he slipped away. I have no room to judge, I myself have known all too well the blessings of God, but so often I chose to forget what God had done and instead remind God of what he hadn’t done, always wanting more, always complaining until the memory of his kindness could almost have been something I had imagined.

In that small moment I saw that sense of recognition on Lances face, that he remembered a time when his now compromised innocence didn’t make him afraid to ask God for the desires of his heart. If only he also recognised that God has grace beyond human comprehension, grace that has the power to give back innocence.

Finishing up, we stood and paid at the counter, stopping in the doorway I remembered how I had a list of schools all over Japan that were looking for teachers, he gave me his email and I told him I would send the list as soon as I got home.

Although I did send the list, I have not seen Lance since, and he hasn’t replied to my email either. I’m sure we will see each other again one day, and I pray that when that day comes we will both be changed for the better.

Getting off the train at Kotesashi I strolled along the lamp lit street and hummed the tune of an old song that Nanny used to sing. The night was humid but tolerable, looking up at the stars I wondered if that was how God looked down upon us?

Like millions of stars scattered across an infinity of dimensions that we haven’t yet discovered or could even understand, and yet being able to hone in on each of us at the same time to feel every minute emotion we experience, I knew he could see me, I knew he could see Lance. I thanked God that in that small way I was not only able to maybe help someone come a little bit closer to Gods’ love, but I was also confronted with a situation that I might otherwise have run from had I the chance.

Lance would still remain un-employed at the language school, and even though we had come to a limited level of understanding his actions were still wrong, we are all like a square of soil, we just need to accept the seed of Gods’ love and let his promises be our water.

I could try and raise myself a level above lance for his wrong doings, but if I listened to my own metaphor, don’t we all start out as a simple patch of dirt? So what? Mine had a few more flowers growing.

I prayed that the Lord would help me remember that I was unfit to be anyone’s judge, hadn’t it been me who felt that I was being judged by those around me? The people I now called friends? If you continually judge a person because they aren’t Christian, what hope have they of salvation?

For now all I could do was be thankful for all the Lord had provided me with, if I didn’t, I might one day act as Lance did, one day, that could be me.

I thanked God that he had shown me a glimpse of a possible future before it became a reality.
I started writing this episode of “Memoirs of Another Kind” in Mo’s Burger, and am now finishing it inside the StarBucks across the road from church.

I have no other way to end this post other than to proclaim that “God is good” although I may love writing and pride myself on having been blessed with a gift for words, there is no way that I could elaborate on that statement.

God is good indeed.

To Be Continued....

THE NAOMI TO HIS RUTH, THE RUTH TO HIS BOAZ.

“...The world has let you down,
Words that could explain could not be found,
To say that I understand is not enough,
And it’s gonna be a little while
Till your heart can learn to trust.
But I believe you will,
And someday you broken heart will mend,
I know it will,
And soon you will find your smile again.
So take your time,
For time is what it’s gonna take,
And then one morning you’ll awake to find there’s one less tear.
And you will,
I believe you will.”

Cece Winans “You Will”

Wise words from one of my favourite Gospel singers Cece Winans. I felt relaxed sitting in the second story of “StarBucks” listening to my favourite song by Cece “You Will”, it had been almost three years since I had first heard this album, Mum had brought it just before I got saved and became a Christian.
Now a world away from where I first fell in love with Cece I was grateful that through the wonders of technology I was able to bring her with me.
Peering down through the shining window into the sunny street below I sipped contentedly on my chocolate frappe, a guilty pleasure I decided to indulge in after walking the streets of Chiyoda.
The StarBucks here like most of the other chain eateries or shops were two stories high, with the bottom level being mostly for serving and paying and the second and sometimes even third story being used for the eating space.
I had decided to pack my satchel with a few copies of my resume and walk the streets to see if by any chance a store for some obscure impossible reason might need a worker who couldn’t speak Japanese and would have no idea on how to work a cash register in Japanese and on top of that couldn’t even understand the currency. But I couldn’t very well just sit in my room and do nothing all day, and job searching on the internet was beginning to get discouraging.

For a few days now I had sat in my dark little room scouring through web sites like the infamous “Gaijinpot” and “Craigslist”, all with the same outcome, FAILURE.

It seemed most jobs I knew I could do so easily required that the applicant have a degree, I was basically turned down by a default setting on the site before even getting a chance to show the employer my resume.

After spending the last few days living off two minuet noodles and trays of sushi I savoured the break in the familiar coffee shop setting. Looking around at the people sitting at the different tables and booths made me think of the times Mum and I would slip away for a quiet coffee in town at a cafe, just the two of us.

I slowly edged the volume on my iPod a little higher, all I could hear was the lyrics of the song and the fluid gospel vocals of Cece Winans. As I looked through the window, squinting into the high noon sun I lost focus on the street below and instead found myself staring into my reflection yet again. Like a movie, memories from the past began to play out on the glassy surface in front of me.
It was 2007.
We were driving somewhere, Mum and I, I can’t remember where or why. It was dusk and the air outside the car was beginning to develop a chilly bite to it. My throat was sore from screaming, tears were streaming down my face, but they were angry tears this time, tears that held so much sorrow in each drop but also enough shame to keep the reason behind the angst a secret. We had been fighting again.

It was all we ever seemed to do back then, back when I was volatile and he reigned supreme. At this point in time, the other side of me, the “fierce” side, was like a tiger that had been let out of a cage. I lived and breathed this other character and it would be another year yet until I learned to “flip the coin” and have him under control.

I don’t remember what it was that we were fighting about, but it must have been something big.
The car was filled with silence, but that type of silence that is so loud it pains you to endure it for too long.

A song began to play, it was Mums new album Cece Winans, the song was called “You Are Loved” it seemed to be Mums favourite, I couldn’t work out why.

“And I know it’s hard to let me close
At times it really hurts the most,
But I’m trying desperately, to be heard.
And although you try to push me away,
I can feel your sorrow, you don’t have to be afraid, because you..
You are loved,
Somebody told me to tell me to tell you,
You’ve been waiting for someone to say,
You are loved,
So let your heart be encouraged,
It’s gonna be okay because,
You are loved...”

As the lyrics seeped out of the speakers in the car I saw tears begin to well in my mother’s eyes, slowly like somewhere inside her a seal was broken and the tears began to fall down her cheeks. I thought “Now I understand, she probably listens to this song to help her put up with me, what a typical Christian”

Then my Mother, the woman who could have no child of her own and instead opened her arms and her heart to me, the woman who loved me so fiercely that it physically hurt her, the woman who would lay her life down for me began to speak through her tears.

“This song, it’s how I feel about you...”

My heart jumped out of shock, and then fluttered like a wilted balloon to the bottom of my chest, deflated and pathetic.

“I just wish you would understand that I love you Tyse, I just wish you could see that...”

Three years later, sitting in a StarBucks miles away I remembered that moment. There were so many things I wish I hadn’t done back home, so much time wasted on the most stupid things.
Standing and walking amongst the round coffee tables I went and tossed my plastic cup into the bin.

Enjoying the last jet of air conditioner I stepped out into the summer heat. I loved this street, it always seemed to be so full of life, so busy.

Walking along the street I watched the people pass by, I was intrigued by the fashions, everyone seemed so perfect, so comfortable in what they were wearing. Nearly every girl wore high heels with no matter what they were wearing, they rode passed on bikes and motorized scooters....in heels!

Their clothing I found was so self expressionistic without being intrusive, whether it was through an intricate hair style almost too amazing for the middle of the day or in the elaborate nail designs customised to match each girls personality.

Even the men managed to express themselves, a purposely tousled hair style, a pocket chain, a satchel just slightly more colourful than the ordinary office suitcase.
Fingering my sunglasses I stared out from behind the dark lenses as the people walked passed, the sun touched my skin and I welcomed its familiar warmth.

I took a slow stroll as the chilled out gospel played in my ear phones, I stopped for a brief moment in front of an impressive looking book store. Seeing the glossy covers of the many novels in the display window made me long to read them, there was so much I wanted to know about this nation that I simply couldn’t learn from the movies.

Stepping through the automatic glass door I breathed in that familiar and very dear smell of many unread pages. Untouched books have a certain smell to them, something you can taste.

Walking amongst the shelves I saw a few of the classics I loved that had been translated, “Breakfast at Tiffanys”, “Little Women”, “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”.

“Little Women” and “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” I had inherited from Nanny, they were old fashioned bound books, the covers were frayed and marked by age, but I had still loved every sincere moment spent buried in each, and here they were, new and shiny, made small enough so they could be read on the train, translated so the stories could give someone else a thrill, while it excited me to see these “old friends” it made me a little home sick.

I managed to find a few magazines in English meant to help foreigners settle into living in Japan. Putting the magazines into my bag I continued on back to the YMCA.

Turning the corner off the main street and wandering down the street that led to my temporary home I slowed down to appreciate the quaint personality of this little avenue. It was crammed with four story apartment blocks right next to tiny traditional houses with white walls and cats scurrying in and out of its side alleys.

Stepping into the rather grand lobby I stopped at reception to pick up my room key, it was the girl who handed me the key, I rather liked her, and as her name badge was in Japanese I simply went on calling her the girl.

She was rather tall, but for some reason tried to hide it by always wearing sensible black flats and walking with a hunch. She wore her uniform comfortably and always looked quite neat. It wasn’t until you caught her working the mid-night shift that you might see the simple bun she always wore coming loose a bit, with wisps of fine black hair falling about her face. She almost hid behind her thin framed glasses, and always tended to stare down at the rim of glasses when she walked rather then look straight ahead.

In another setting, in another time she might have been beautiful without actually changing a single physical feature of her being. In my mind I wrapped her in a silk kimono, straightened her back and removed her glasses, sweeping her hair back into an elegant bun and dusting her skin with just the slightest touch of foundation, she could have been stunning. But in this reality she seemed to ignore the beauty that she possessed and instead preferred to hide in her own comfort zone. I wondered what had happened somewhere in her life that made her watch her feet while she walked, or what insecurity she was hiding behind that blue folder she always hugged to her chest where ever she went.

I wished that I could reach out to her beyond the language barrier and tell her that she was beautiful, not only on the inside but on the outside as well. But someone, somewhere, had told her otherwise.

She was one of three reception staff that I encountered on my stay. The other was a small man, well muscled under his blue uniform shirt, maybe middle aged? I couldn’t be sure. He had a quiet confidence about him, totally comfortable in his own skin. He had a thinning hair line which was a little surprising because he didn’t seem that old. He also wore glasses but they were thick black framed ones that he boldly stared through. Whereas “The Girl” was quite sincere and sweetly mannered, the small man was very businesslike, always operating in short precise movements and he spoke very clear English.

The last staff member was a little old man, I often wondered what it was exactly that he did, I wouldn’t be surprised if the other two simply kept him around for his cheery disposition. He often just sat behind the desk reading a news paper while the other staff member looked after clients.

was short and had quite a generous belly, surprisingly he also had a full head of hair. He was such a happy person, and even though his English was far from perfect, he was always eager to chat, always wanting to know where I had eaten dinner, where I had gone shopping and often remarking on my latest purchase or enquiring about the books I would sometimes take down to the lobby lounge area to read.

It felt slightly like home whenever I returned to the hotel and was greeted by one of the three receptionists.

Opening my door I was thankful for the cool gust of air conditioning that had been awaiting my return. Putting my bag down on the coffee table and hanging my scarf on the rack by the door I sat down at the desk and opened my laptop.

I’d decided not to look for anymore jobs for the rest of the day, I would check my inbox tomorrow. I didn’t want to become so discouraged that I would give up hope completely.
Instead I took another look at what was to be my new church’s website, it was an impressive setting that didn’t look unlike my own home church.

I would be lying if I said I was a little nervous, because the truth is that I was very nervous. I honestly can say though that I’m not sure why, I guess I remembered my first time in church at C3, I wasn’t totally sure of myself, and my relationship with God was only just beginning to blossom. The night I first walked into C3 I had thoughts running through my head, colliding contradictions and fears that always seemed to awaken and like a weed strangle my confidence.

I remember that although I had “flipped the coin” and was shaking people’s hands and was smiling and joining in on the fun I was constantly watching their eyes to see if there was some inside joke passing amongst them at my expense, watching their mouths in case they tried to secretly pull a smirk of disgust.

It would be a while until I learned to stop being so paranoid. I realised after reflecting on my time at C3 that most of one’s paranoia stems from ones insecurities. It’s amazing the intricate tapestries of fabrication that you can paint when you only have your in-adequacies as paint and your fear as a canvas.

My bible sat beside my laptop, I glanced at its shiny black cover and its silvery pages, it had been an 18th birthday present from my youth pastors Steve and Kristy. Although I knew for sure that the fears I had materialised on that first night at C3 were utter fiction, I also knew that even if my suspicions had been true, it was not mans opinion of me that mattered, not any of my friends, not my pastors, not even my beloved Nanny. While they were important and did play a role in the scheme of things, it was the one whose hand had written the black book in front me that mattered the most, opinion wise.

The little sour clamp that had begun to wrap around my stomach gently faded away. Noting the address and the nearest station I closed my lap top and taking one of my novels I lay down on my bed. I tried to read the words before me but something was stirring within me, the Lord had taken my fear and replaced it with excitement, after a week of lonely days and nights I would have fellowship in the morning once again.

Hugging the book to my chest I smiled in the coolness of my room lit by the afternoon sunshine streaming through my window. The streets below were still heavy with activity, but now instead of the usual drudgery of another day of hopeless searching for a job, there was anticipation in the air that seemed to carry to the street.

When I was little my favourite movie was the Wizard of Oz, at that young age I guess it might have been the bright colours and happy songs that attracted me to this classic, as I got older it was the revelation at the end of the movie that sometimes if you “ever go looking for your heart’s desire again, you needn’t look any further than your own backyard..”

Now it seemed that the concept I clung to most was that Dorothy’s yellow brick road led all the way to the Emerald City.

I was wondering when my own yellow brick road was going to be paved, where exactly my Emerald City might lay, and when I got there, would I be exactly like Dorothy and simply feel as if there was “no place like home” and yearn to return to where it all started?
I wasn’t sure of the plan God had for me, but I knew that church the next day was a good place to start, I also got the feeling that it was not a matter of “if” but a matter of “when” the Lord would make all things fall into place.

For now, my house, like Dorothy’s had crashed in Munchkin Land, and I knew all too well that I wasn’t in “Kansas anymore”, I was somewhere over the rainbow, and I had yet to face my Wicked Witch.

Save it for the morning, I thought to myself. Save it for the morning.
Walking into the eight o’clock sunshine, sun glasses on and my map in hand I set off for church. Even at an hour when the air should usually be crisp and cool the sun beat down on my skin in a rather harsh sting.

Stepping out of the train at Tameikke Sanno Station, I’m not sure what exactly it was that I did wrong but I ended up somehow walking further away from the church.
I’m glad I had left as early as I had, I needed the time to look around and find my way, I knew if I didn’t get there earlier there was no way I’d make it on time. I thought of this little episode as a learning opportunity.

Within half an hour I found myself wandering aimlessly up a street and into a grocery store, there were two men packing vegetables in the front dressed all in white. I asked the nearest one, the younger one, who I presumed (mistakenly) might have better English if he knew where the church was. When I saw that familiar look of confusion that meant he had not comprehended what I had said. He beckoned for the older man who quickly made his way over, nodding at almost every syllable of my question he pointed further up the street. Nodding and thanking them both I continued towards the end of the street. Turning a corner I saw a building that was quite clearly a church, but somehow I knew it wasn’t the church I was looking for.

The foyer of the church was hushed and quiet, as I looked around I knew that this definitely was not “Jesus Life House” the church I was looking for. There were paintings adorning the walls of Jesus, the horrible gaunt bleeding depictions of a man who looked more like a corpse than the son of God.

Satisfied that I wasn’t where I wanted to be I turned and went to exit the building. I somehow knew that it was the type of church that would try and get me to stay, so I almost expected what happened next.

When I had first entered the church a woman who had been placing bibles in the pews quickly nodded, put the pile in her arms down and scurried to somewhere further in the back of the church. “I bet you’re going to get someone who speaks English aren’t you” I thought to myself.
As I tried to leave a man dressed in a Hawaiian holiday shirt and faun pants matched with a pair of brown Birkenstocks called out to me as I hurried through the foyer.

“Greetings!” he called out. I was a little annoyed at his poorly hidden attempt to prevent me from leaving, after all, who says “greetings” to someone as they are leaving?

“Good morning” I said through a forced smile as I turned to face the man. Looking at him properly now I noticed that he was rather skinny and a spindly sort of way, balding drastically and sporting a pair of circle framed glasses he seemed to smile perpetually.
“welcome to church, did you come for the service?”

I decided to be honest with the man. “No actually, I was looking for a church that my friend had told me about, maybe you’ve heard of it? Jesus Life House?”

Making quite a show of pondering he paused for a little while with his hand on his chin before answering “No I haven’t sorry, but our service is about to start. How exactly did you find this church?”

“I just kept asking people to direct me toward the church, I just assumed they would send me where I wanted to go, I wasn’t aware that there might be more than one in the same area”

“Ah yes, well its miraculous that you came here as not many people know about this place...”
Glancing at the almost empty church behind him I almost felt sorry for him at how true that statement was.

“It’s almost like you were meant to come here”

Sensing where this might be going I really didn’t feel like beating around the bush anymore, I was already stressed about not being able to find the church I had set out to find without having to deal with this as well. I usually had a problem with saying no, even if it was for the best, it had been something I had needed to work on for a long time. “Flipping the coin” the other me surfaced and for a brief moment my eyes narrowed on the little man with the perpetual smile, a friendly, if not over generous smile spread across my face, tilting my head to one side I began to talk in that overly gushing way that borders on patronising. For a moment my mind flashed with thoughts on what to say, selecting one I began my performance.

“Yes it is a beautiful church you have here with some very...interesting art work..” glancing at the portrait of the skeletal Jesus with his eyes rolled back in their sockets hanging above the foyer “But I really must hurry and be on my way, you see I’m actually meeting my friend at this other church”

“Ah!..” he seemed to say “Ah” quite frequently “I’ll let you be on your way then, God bless you my son”

I was his son now? Bowing to each other I thanked him and walked away.

I know, I know, not the most Christian way to go about it, but like I said, I couldn’t be bothered beating around the bush, and in truth I didn’t have time for pleasantries.
As I walked down the street, with each step the other Tyson began to fall out of pace with me, until finally I left him behind for another time.

I still hadn’t found church, and I was feeling frustrated, grumbling under my breath I walked into a small cafe, it hadn’t begun to get too busy yet, all the customers and staff that were in there stopped and all at once stared at me as I walked through the sliding door.

Asking the girl at the front counter if she knew where Jesus Life House was she shook her head and suggested that maybe I ask the staff in the hotel adjacent. I was getting used to being pointed in this direction and pointed in that direction, my small nod of appreciation and quick smile of thanks was becoming second nature.

Walking into the lobby of the hotel next door I was truly surprised at how much grandeur the interior decorator was intent on fitting into a small space. Stepping up to the counter I was addressed by a young woman, she had a rather impressive bowl cut, one that despite its seemingly plain style in comparison to the other hairstyles found in Tokyo, she wore it quite well. Asking her if she knew where Jesus Life House was I was relieved when instead of that embarrassed smile and quick head shake that meant “sorry I have no idea what you are talking about”, she actually bent down and started typing on the computer, a few moments later she walked into a back room where I could hear the distinctive whir and stop, start shuffle of a printer.

Walking back into the lobby I breathed a sigh of relief when she handed me the printed map off the JLH website. Pointing me in the direction of the main street I finally and quite easily made my way towards church.

As I came closer and closer to my destination I figured that church must be a room in a building, rather than a building itself, as I was sure that I was in the right place, but no distinctive church building could be seen.

I stopped outside of a tall building, the door way to the inner parking space was like a daunting, gaping hole. Walking into the shade of the parking lot I stopped someone and asked if I had arrived at the right place, my hopes almost fell when the woman was unable to confirm for me either way whether I was right or wrong...

However, a little distracted by my own dismay I was unaware of the small group of foreigners taking interest in my sudden and rather flustered appearance. The individuals had been setting up church, turning what might be perceived as an ordinary room into what is known as “Jesus Life House: International Church Tokyo” One by one the small group left their preparations and came to see if they could assist.

As the music boomed through the cool conditioned air, and hands were raised in worship I couldn’t help but smile as I held my hands open and sun g along to the worship that was in both Japanese and English. Breathing in the atmosphere, I was content, I was finally somewhere that felt like home.

"Then she fell on her face, bowed down to the ground, and said to him, 'Why have I found favour in your eyes, that you should take notice of me, since I am a foreigner?”
-Ruth 2: 10

Nanny often quoted the famous saying as Christians “we are but strangers passing through a foreign land”. Sitting in church I pondered why had I found such favour in a foreign land? However my Boaz is more than just a mere land owner who had shown me kindness. My Boaz was a God who was showing me that no matter where I was he would go with me, and also while I find that God may act as My Boaz, he also acts as my Ruth. In the beginning of my journey I thought of myself as Ruth, the one travelling into the un-known. But I realised that in actual fact, I am Naomi, weak and frail. Before Ruth and Naomi began their journey it was Ruth who had said:

Wherever you go, I will go; and wherever you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God, my God"

-Ruth 1:16

So often, I tried to be like Naomi and go on my own way without any help from others, but The Lord would not yield, like in the lyrics to “You Are Loved” even though we try to push him away he will not leave our sides.

To Be Continued.....