Memoirs of Another Kind...

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.....