I’ve done really well emotionally, until now.

Sitting at the gate staring out at the vessel that will tear me away from this wonderful country, I finally have time to reflect on my past experiences.

The morning was very relaxing as we ate our bakery breads and skyped my mom. Some last-minute gifts and second-guessing my baggage weight made me depend on Takae to send me my own box. After a final cherry blossom viewing we piled in the car to the airport, happily singing our favorite Disney songs together.

I want to take this moment to say, God is good, and I’m an awesome packer.

Suitcase 1: max weight = 32kg. Mine was 31.9kg.

Suitcase 2: max weight = 23kg. Mine was 23kg.

Oh yeah.

I changed my yen into half dollars, half New Zealand currency. In the last few months I’ve possessed several kinds of currency and America needs to step up their game. Our money is so boring! I mean, the term “greenbacks” is kinda catchy but compared to the colorful money of the Kiwis, it has to go.

There were no “goodbyes” in our parting, only “see you later.” This helped keep my eyes dry, though Okaasan didn’t fare so well. I’m going to miss them so much. If it wasn’t for my Japanese family, I would have had a very different experience in Japan…not positive. There is no way to accurately describe their generosity and kindness, and no way I could ever repay them to the extent granted to me.

Like I said, I did well through the parting…

Until I got to the immigration desk. I handed over my residence card and was directed to sign a statement: I hereby resign my residential status and forfeit all connections associated with such residency.

My hands shook as I signed the form and I fought tears as the officer confirmed my denial of re-entry.

Sayonara, Japan.

I hope to return someday.

Thank you for weeping, sakura blossoms. 

This past week has been a blur…

Actually the entire month went by rather quickly. Each day seemed to be the “last” for something.

Last day with a particular class of students. Last time to each some kind of food. Last time to sing with the ladies.

Onsen.

Vacuum my rug.

Stare at the camels on my ceiling.

View Mt. Katasone at sunset from my balcony.

Slip into sleep at the sound of the ticking dollar store clock.

I wish I could recount each moment of my last few days here but the bottom line would be punctuated with peace.

After 2 years of teaching and living in Japan I am at peace with the timing of my departure here. Everything about my situation is in God’s hands and He has helped me leave with no regrets…or very few regrets J

I think there is just as much to look forward to as there is to look back on in joyful memory. Particular moments in time with various people are forever engraved in my mind. These, in tandem with the pictures to print and display, help me keep Japan fresh in my heart.

This doesn’t overpower the harsh reality of saying goodbye face-to-face.

I woke up at 6am to finish some things in my apartment, but ended up staring at my ceiling for 20 minutes, hoping time would go backwards a few hours.

It didn’t.

After taking a shower and eating leftover bean soup, I suddenly had no time and Rachel was knocking at my door. With a few dishes in the sink I grabbed my few belongings and walked out the door. Hard to imagine that 2 years ago I entered the same residence in a jet-lag stupor.

All the yochien teachers and American teachers lined up in the parking lot and I was obliged to pay respects and parting words to each one. Some people I’d never met before! It seemed to take forever and by the time I got around to the American side I was exhausted.  Up until this point emotions were kept at bay, but saying goodbye to my closest friends made me shed a few tears.  I didn’t even say “goodbye” to some people. It’s too final. I am very sure today will not be the last time to be in each other’s company.

The 4 other teachers took off in the van and we waved them down the street. I boarded my own van as Yojisan and Matsumoto sensei escorted me to the train station.

Last time to buy a train ticket. (Done with considerable ease now)

Matsumoto sensei and I chatted on the platform until the train pulled in.

Last time to see the lone headlight growing closer and closer.

I didn’t plug into my ipod as I waved goodbye. I let the sights and sounds of Japan soak into my brain, permeate my skin and settle in my heart.

Local mountains I summited faded away behind the Japanese cedar trees.

“Kanameta. Kanameta desu.” Calls the conductor.

Sleeping students in uniform bobbed their heads to the side, cell phones threatening to slide out of their hands.

The charming clickety clack of the wheels and swaying of the car is predictable and dependable.

In Koriyama I met my friend for tea and scones at Vie la France. We chatted for 2 hours before they escorted me to the platform and waved goodbye. My last vision of this familiar place is from the bullet train window; my friend and the distant Tamura-shi mountains framed in a perfect peaceful scene. Traveling to Tokyo the sea of white and pink cherry blossoms exploded out the window. Changing to the local train meant a slower pace to enjoy the view.

My heavy computer bag rested on the top of my suitcase as I sat down to enjoy some avocado & salmon sushi bought from the station. In mid-bite my belongings crashed on the floor across the aisle in response to a train jerk, barely scraping some poor woman’s shoes. An apology followed by the retrieval (and security) of my bags made the trip a little more interesting.

Arriving at Shinjuku was very interesting: construction! The layout of the station was completely different and I had zero bearings on my location. I had to change company lines and somehow ended up outside needing to cross a busy street. There were construction barriers everywhere and I couldn’t see any way to cross the street…except for a skybridge. I hefted my suitcase and two bags up the stairs and crossed the bridge, only to find that I was only a few steps away from a pedestrian crossing signal on the ground level just moments before.

Oh well.

I crossed the bridge and refused to take the stairs down. Luckily the elevator was immediately inside the new building.

All three elevators were on the 9th floor. They slowly came down as I pushed the call button for the 1st floor. Wouldn’t you know, the first elevator was almost full?!

I squeezed my entourage into the elevator, thankful it was a short trip.

I tried to find a pay phone to call Okaasan…but with all the construction (and invention of the cell phone) there were none to be found.

Surely I could bum a 1 minute phone call off of someone. I mean, half of all the people walking around were already talking on their phones! I know everyone is packing…

Problem 1: People are in a rush to catch their train.

Problem 2: People are using their phones to conduct their own business.

Problem 3: People standing around are actively looking to meet up with their own friends. 

Problem 4: I’m shy…and afraid my Japanese won’t be understood.

I stood by a map. Perhaps other people would stop to look at the map and I could ask them.

“God, send me someone to lend me a phone.”

A girl came as I prayed.

She stopped by the map and took out her phone.

She was typing, not talking.

I looked pitifully at other passersby. Maybe the kindness of Japanese people will just make someone come up to me and ask if I need help.

Nope.

I looked behind me. The girl was still there, only she looked like she was just passing time…not really studying the map or engaged in her device.

Maybe THIS is the person whose phone I’m gonna borrow and I’ve just been wasting all this time. (I’ve been about 4 minutes standing here).

God answered my prayer literally the moment I said it.

I turned around and with the most humble gestures asked in Japanese:

“Excuse me. This is rude to ask, but may I borrow your phone?”

“Sure. Here you are.”

“Really? I need to make a phone call to my mom because I don’t have my phone. Is that okay?”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

Well, that was easy!

I made my call, boarded my train and made the rest of the trip without a hitch. Nice.

Okaasan met me at the station and we spent the next few hours chatting  before picking up Takae from work. Funny how my Japanese gets better when I have to use it. Okaasan said she likes it better when Takae isn’t around because then we get to talk directly. J

Time well spent.

The three of us routed through the bakery and grocery store for some yummy treats. Dinner docket: sukiyaki! We bought some cheap meat…then a pack of 5 strips of fatty beef priced at $25. Wow. Special night.

Of course we were sucked in to the milkshake special happening at the fast food place and couldn’t decide which flavors to get: vanilla, Ghana milk chocolate, or mikkan (orange).

So we got one of each. Yeah.

On a whim we parked on the side of the street and walked down a blossom-filled street along the river. I’m so happy the sakura are blooming in Tokyo right now. In fact, by tomorrow they will start to fade away as the petals rain down like pink snow.

When Otoosan got home from work we filled the boiling pot with water, sauce, onion, mushrooms, meat, tofu, and some glassy-looking noodles. Happily dipping our cooked ingredients into raw egg, the pot filled and refilled numerous times. Ojiichan (grandpa) got full and left the table….then we pulled out the expensive meat! It was so delicious…pretty much just melted in my mouth.

The rest of the evening was spent chatting together….tomorrow is it.

Let’s start with the most important thing on my mind: me.

I know it sounds egocentric so let’s get to the whole truth, starting with some history.

Waaaaay back in middle school I was playing soccer with some friends at school and made a swipe at the ball. A bad swipe. I twisted my right knee pretty badly, but never went to the doctor for it because it ended up healing on its own…mostly.

Every once in awhile if I did the same stomp/twist motion it would come back and be sore for a few days but I was always afraid that by the time I got to the doctor and he said, “where does it hurt?” the pain would subside and I would be speechless. Instead, I accepted my occasional limp and life went on.

The next year I REALLY wrecked my left knee and had surgery…that took a long time to fully heal and my activities were impaired for awhile.

In college I took up running and weight lifting, but soon encountered strange injuries in my lower joints: hips, knees, and ankles. Most interestingly, my old soccer injury on the right leg came back with a vengeance and even took me out of a race after months of training. I visited the podiatrist, who prescribed insoles and particular adjustments to my running shoes to counter my pronation. I went to the chiropractor who discovered that my left leg was 1/8 inch shorter than my right. This threw off the alignment in my hips and likely caused all of the pains when doing prolonged running. He gave me a heel lift and that seemed to help. I tried to do biking, but neither of my knees liked long rides. I took up swimming, but after graduation I no longer had access to a pool. The only activities that caused no pain were walking and roller blading. It seemed I would never run over 3 miles again…

Then I went to church with my friend and the pastor talked about healing from God. I’ve certainly heard of this before, and read about it for myself in the Bible, but something he said changed my perspective of prayer and my view of God’s power. The congregation sang some songs but I could only sit in my chair and cry out to God. He told me to ask Him for healing, to rely on Him as the sole provider. My friend prayed with me and I felt the presence of God. It’s a very weird feeling, but distinctive.

The only thing left to do was wait and see what would happen. Prayers are always answered in only three ways: yes, no, and wait.

So I tried running. No problems.

I went hiking. No problems.

To this day, I’ve never had a problem with my right knee.

Within the last year, however, a new problem arose: my left hip. You remember the leg that’s shorter than the other? Yes, alignment issues arose because I had stopped wearing my heel insert from the chiropractor. It was so hard to wear because I slip my shoes off and on so much in Japan and wear so many different shoes during the day. One day on a long run, my hip started hurting so I walked home (an hour). The next day I could barely walk, let alone get down the stairs.

It slowly got better and I went running again. Bad choice. This time it took longer before I was walking normally again, so waited a whole month before going out on another run. I didn’t last a half mile before pain shot out from my hip and I shamefully walked back to my house. I haven’t been able to run since last July. I took up swimming again to stay fit, and only made it up Mt. Fuji because I was loaded with ibuprofen. Yes, even hiking was now compromised because of this injury.

In all of this, I never forgot that God had healed my knees a few years ago. Could He heal my hip, too? More importantly, would He heal me again? Well, I had no doubt in His power, but I wasn’t ready for the answer to my prayer. I refused God to ask for healing, afraid the answer would be “no.” The last thing I wanted was to be bitter and angry at God for not allowing me the pleasure of good health, so I avoided asking the question. If I don’t ask, I can’t be refused. So I just limped on, hoping that the problem would go away or something like that…but it didn’t. In fact, it got much worse.

I tried using my heel insert again but it backfired, producing a limp that was present even while walking. It was continuously sore, even while lying in bed. Through all of this I was reading about Job, reading about Paul, and reading King David’s cries to God. My heart finally came to a place where I could joyfully rest in my eternal salvation in Christ; I didn’t care about hearing “no” or if my body was broken the rest of my life. I care, but not in a resentful way. Making the conscious decision to rejoice in Christ no matter my circumstance, I was ready to ask God to heal me. A friend in Japan had previously offered to pray with me (which I declined) so I sought her out. We met in my room and prayed simply to God. Suddenly I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit. Again, very distinctive and unlike any other feeling. You couldn’t recreate it on your own. The weirdest thing happened; as we prayed for healing, I felt my femur growing. I thought it was my imagination. I didn’t expect that at all, just figured if God was going to do something He would just “make it go away” or something magical like that.

After our prayer my friend said, “I felt the presence of God here; it felt like ~.” It was the exact same thing I had felt. She asked if I felt any different and I was like, “well, I guess we’ll see in the morning.”

That night, everything BUT my hip hurt. My lower back, my knees, my legs all felt like they were adjusting around in there. In the morning I walked down the stairs. I stretched out. I jogged down the path. I hiked up and down a short steep trail. I’m pretty confident that God healed my hip, and that He did it by growing my leg to the appropriate length. I have a long trip ahead of me, traveling with heavy luggage and hiking around New Zealand. I guess time will tell for sure, short of a doctor’s visit and x-ray. However, none of these things will ever be needed to reinforce my confidence that God’s presence was there, that He answers prayers, and that nothing in this world holds significance compared to His majesty. Only He is worthy of our attention and devotion.