Author's note: All dialogue contained in this passage should be read with a southern drawl for maximum effectiveness. For example, "Virginia" should be pronouced: "Ver-jee-nya."



It came out of nowhere:

Pop: Hey, you wanna go down and see some live bluegrass music tonight?

Me: Uhh…sure!

I'm always down for live music. 

We went back to our respective activities, I finished reading  a novel and he finished watching a documentary about Cleopatra's seductive methods of procuring and managing an empire.

Oh, Pop has a Jersey accent and I'm a normal West Coast speaker, so don't read that dialogue like a southerner…you'll ruin it.

Two other ladies from the local community were also planning on attending this social event and offered to drive, so we met them at the only meeting place in Montebello, the general store parking lot (They have a light!) and Pop and I swung into the back seat of the SUV. That was the last time my stomach and I were on speaking terms with each other. Rain was falling steadily as we sliced the curves off the mountain heading into the valley. Turning off of the back highway onto a nameless road, the directions of "Turn at the place where you'll go under the bridge" were quite clear to the locals. We turned, and proceeded down a paved, bumpy back road that had been entirely neglected by the line-paint truck. Onto another back road we swerved and my innards protested. Finally we slowed enough to pull off the road onto what could pass as a gravel driveway. Passing a few small houses, several single-wides, and an opening in the dilapidated wooden fence we found a spot to park the car; nestled between broken-down tractors, corroded lawn-mower parts, and a thousand other random collected farming tools my stomach and I finally found each other. Come to find out the gal who was driving is from Jersey….I should have known.

Looking around I would have never pegged this place as a music venue. We followed our hosts into a door in the corner of a building. Passing under the corrugated metal porch roof we entered a surprisingly warm room. It was well lit with halogen lights fixed in the low ceiling. What looked to be an old garage had been roughly converted into a meeting place. The large bay doors, obviously shut, were the backrest for a row of chairs set up against them. Two rows of seats were set up on the adjacent wall, comprising of everything from white plastic lawn chairs, old couches from someone's grandma's estate sale, twirly office-style stools, and benches from a school bus. Pop and I, taking advantage of our premature arrival, chose two brown leather seats nearest the black wood stove in the center of the wall. In front of the third wall was a large counter-type thing, probably 4 ft deep and 15 ft long. The office twirly stools stood in front of the counter, sharing the open floor space and served as the stage area for the band yet to be determined. The fourth wall was open, leading into an attached area reserved for food and drinks. 

The reason we didn't know who the band would be is because no one knows until they show up. Local fellows who feel like playing that night will arrive with any array of instruments that may fit into the "bluegrass" genre. The first four in the door were a fiddler, acoustic guitar, lap steel guitar, and banjo players. A few more members of the audience claimed their seats as more band members strolled through the door. Another acoustic guitar. Another banjo. A mandolin. Chatter livened up the room as the musicians began tuning their instruments. As they walked in they placed their cases on top of the gigantic counter and removed their respective sound machines. Finally, a tall man arrived lugging a large black bag which I instantly recognized. He was a burly guy, dressed in kind with blue jeans and matching black button up shirt and black cowboy boots. Gingerly he unzipped the case and lifted the upright bass onto the worn plywood floor. The party just arrived. 
These fellows have been playing together for many years. Some of them more, some less, and anyone is welcome to join the jam session each Tuesday night (provided you can find the place in the dark). Be sure you come in jeans and close-toed shoes because you'll be tapping, shuffling, and jamming them on the dance floor. The group started with one of their old favorites which I didn't recognize and off they went. More players sifted in throughout the night and my count at it's highest was 11 people playing simultaneously. A pleasant-looking man set himself up on an empty stool and commenced picking away at his acoustic guitar, ignoring the can of chew obviously straining against the front pocket of his jeans. Two more acoustic players came in (totaling 4 of them) as well as another mandolin and banjo. One guy even brought his own mic so his voice could be heard above the merry fracas. After each song the group took about 2 minutes to determine the next one. 


"Larry, what'cha got?"

"I dunno Bob, I'll play whutever."

"Aww, cum on! Pick one an' we'll play it!"

"Well, I kinda like that one….you know…that one about the Blue Mountains in West Virgina."

"Sure! Alright boys, let's do the one about the mountains in West Virginia…you all know it right? In G…"


And they would be up and running…well, maybe up and picking would be a more appropriate expression. These fellows were very talented! Most of them played a variety of instruments and between the 11 of them I found it hard to keep track who was playing what. Often their 2 minute pow-wow was littered with chit-chat about local news, whose wife had been sick lately, how many strings he had broken at  the last gig, and how this gosh durn weather kept changing on a dime. Oh yes, it was still raining, in fact we were in the middle of a bone-fide Virginia thunderstorm. From my cozy perch I saw plenty of lightning flashes out the window across the room, heard the booms of thunder above the music, and glanced up at the ceiling when it rained cats and dogs. Turns out it was hail…no wonder it was so loud. Each time the door opened in the corner the entire room of heads turned to see who let in the draft, and who else was crazy enough to brave the storm and enjoy some local bluegrass music on a weeknight. 

I made a friend. She's about 9 years old. About an hour into the festivities she came up to me and said,


"Don't eat any of the food on the back table. The ants got into it." 

Thanks pal.

A little later she stole Pop's chair and sat next to me. 

"Hey, do you know that one word…"

I'm sure I do.

"It's really long…"

Okay, my list just got shorter…I know about two "really long" words and I'm sure you've only ever been exposed to one of them at your age.

"It's like…something-something….ahiemghsndoshus."

Ahh yes, that's what I thought, and you're lucky I'm a cultured and educated woman.

I shared my wealth of knowledge with the young girl.

"Oh, you mean supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?" I offered.

"Um…maybe…"

"Well, that's the only word I know that sounds even remotely close to what you said, and it's a pretty popular word too." I explained.

She looked really confused. 

"So…how do you say it again?"


I took it step by step and had her repeat it after me in chunks. I asked her if she knew where it was from. She said no, but didn't it have something to do with ducks? I quickly dismissed that bit of misinformation, and explained it was from an old movie and basically was a word that meant absolutely nothing, therefore it really wasn't a word at all, just a bunch of gibberish and sounded fun to say. There's even a song about it. She held my gaze for a moment when I mentioned the song, like I was the lunatic who made it up. I assured her that the song was legit and I could even spell it out for her if she wanted to look it up. She didn't, but instead ran across the room weaving through the band and sat up on the counter between the black cases with her other friend. After a few minutes she came back. 

"My friend (another lady in the room) said it's 'supercalifragidocious." 

Well that's close but not quite. I broke down the morphemes again and when she memorized it went racing across the room. The next time I saw her she proudly stood before me and announced, "I can say it." and rattled it off perfectly. I gave her a high five and a big smile and she went around the room, telling everyone about the biggest word she could say. Truly an empowering life achievement for a 9 year old and I'm glad I could share it with her. 

One of my favorite characters (and I mean that in a very endearing way) was an 87 year old man. Thin, shoulders slightly hunched, and hands at the ends of long dangling arms showed weathered years of hard labor. The laces of his work boots were covered by the faded blue overalls, and the brown plaid shirt matched his farmer appearance. His face, wrinkled with time, lit up the room as he proved to be the most lively dancer out on the floor. Even between sets he could hardly keep still, shuffling around and tapping his toes to any beat put out by the improv line of the banjo. I totally know how he felt. I think musical souls can understand one another even if the genres don't match up exactly. 

There were many other characters there but I was the youngest, save my little logophile friend. Halfway through the night one gentleman found an old white bucket that had been cut to half size, and walked around the room collecting donations and passing out red peppermint candies. I'm not sure where the money was going, possibly to the band or the owner of the property. We saw people going in and out of the door all night and Pop and I looked at each other. "Do you think that's where the bathroom is?" "I dunno, let's ask." So Pop walked over to the ladies who brought us and they confirmed it was around the side of the house. Pushing open the door we were surprised to find the porch standing room only with chattering smokers. Oh. THAT'S why everyone was going outside! All the same, we still had to go. I asked one of the ladies as she exhaled a puff of gray into the night air: "Excuse me, where are the restrooms?" "The whut? Oh, you mean the port 'o john…yeah, it's right aroun' the corner. Menfolk go on out past the machinery…jus' find a place out thar…" And so it was. I gingerly opened the door to the outhouse (which had no latch) and was careful not to touch ANYTHING as I held my breath. Poor Pop had to dodge the broken machinery-turned-lawn-ornaments and tall grass in the dark to wander out and find a barn wall or tree or whatever….probably ended up finding an old tractor to pee on. We made our way back inside and gave each other understanding looks of sympathy that conveyed "when in Rome…" 

We were the last to leave, given that our hostesses were hard-core dancers and bluegrass disciples. The buzzing of the lights faded leaving us in the quiet wake of the storm. In my flip flops I deftly navigated across the pot-holed parking area to the car. I found a quarter. Respectfully I requested a slower ride home (especially around the corners) and the driver graciously obliged much to the relief of my innards. When we finally swerved past several deer in the road and made it up the mountain Pop and I were ready for bed. I don't know if we'll go back next week….I think the best part was the novelty! If I do make it back I'm bringing a harmonica. I'm not very good but it'll add some texture and gender! Oh! I should learn how to play the Jews harp…yeah….

I've been keeping busy here at the B&B. If there's not a bed to be made or dinner to serve then I'm down in the basement filing stacks of tax returns. Life here looks like this: be really really busy---and then take a break. A nice, long break. In fact, I usually break for lunch which is at a different time every day--the time that I'm hungry! I take time for lunch...just chill out and chat with my Grandpa.

As I walk from the main house to my cabin a few local species of birds fly past including cardinals and bluejays. 

We had an aMAZing storm last night. It started blowing tornadoes all over the midwest and worked its way here heralding a "severe storm" alert from the meteorologists. Yesterday's temperature topped off at about 76 degrees! Wow! It was so nice outside, from when I woke up to when I went to bed. It was even one of those nights that you have to sleep outside of your sheets! I was woken up in the middle of the night, however, by some nasty howling wind. Nothing I'm not used to, but this was accompanied by torrential rain...I'm not kidding when I say torrential. Then it got even better when the dark mountain was lite up brighter than an A-bomb by endless flashes of lightning. You're sitting there in pitch blackness, and then all of a sudden for a split second it lights up all the barren trees surrounding you and you think you're in a graveyard on Halloween. As soon as it comes it disappears...then the counting for the chest-rumbling thunder that permeates the air you breath. Yeah, let's give a shout out for thunderstorms!!! Probably the only thing I miss about Idaho.

So I woke up this morning and what do you you know but the temperature didn't even get over 50 degrees. How rude. 

My aunt, true to her nature, worked herself to the bone and was dog-tired by 8 o'clock when the kitchen finally cleaned itself. I was in the mood for a glass of wine and a chick flick, but I knew that wasn't going to happen especially when I saw her head to bed downstairs. With a night to kill and some loose ends to tie up in Oregon I headed back to the cabin and broke out the reisling with me myself and I. No sooner had I checked my email when I got a call:

"Suz? It's Aunt Lois."

"Yeah? I thought you were in bed! What's up?"

"The guys left the sauna all heated up for us. Come on down....and bring your wine."

"My wine is already in my hand, girlfriend. I'm on my way!"

Thus commenced my first sauna adventure.

 Understand that this is not your typical sauna...no, no, no. We don't do things half-baked around here. You want a sauna? We're going to build it, not buy it prefabricated. Oh, and not only are we building it, but we're going to ask someone who really knows what they're doing...from FINLAND! Apparently it's the origin of saunas, who knew. 

So, not too long ago my aunt found some Finnish guy who builds saunas and lives in Oregon so she calls him up. He's absolutely astonished that she's an AMERICAN who wants a free-standing (not connected to the house) ceder plank, outside feeding stove (not electric) sauna next to a fresh water pond/creek. So they chat about it for a long time and he draws up the plans asking, "who's going to build this for you? You know any Finnish builders in your community?" Keep in mind that here in Montebello the population is under 50. Of course there is no Finnish population here, builders or otherwise, but lots of hillbillies, and will that work? So the Finn sends her a video of how to properly build a Finnish sauna, she gives it to the hillbilly builder and it comes out perfectly. Eventually some guest at the B&B was passing through and used the sauna. He happened to be some kind of expert and immediately recognized the proper build, wood, and craftsmanship. Pretty hilarious IMHO. 

Anyways, so here I am, wine glass in hand, trudging down past the house to the creek where Virginia's finest sauna resides. We meet in the front dressing room and enter the very hot cedar planked enclosure in our birthday suits. 


Hot doesn't begin to describe it.



I glance at the thermometer: 220F.


And we had just put another log on the fire from the outside. 


Wait a minute? Can't you boil water at this temperature?!

As we chatted the temp kept going up…at 230F we opened the connecting door for some relief. I think we may have coaxed it down to 215 before we left but I'm not sure. It was hot. Of course we're both sweating like pigs but the real joy came afterwards.

Grabbing a towel we walked outside onto the spacious deck overlooking the creek and small pond where the goldfish live. You can't see it in the dark, just listen to the babbling brook and believe it's there. Looking up into the starry sky and breathing in fresh Virginia mountain air, having just finished a purifying ritual and now standing out in nature stark naked as a jay bird was one of the most beautiful feelings in the world. It was there we finished the wine and just enjoyed being alive in God's creation. That lasted about 5 minutes and I was freezing….got dressed pretty quickly!

In summation I would like to endorse the Dutch Haus authentic Finnish sauna. If you are ever in the area or consider hiking the Appalachian Trail you must make it out here! (Shameless plug)

Really, I shouldn't be posting this on my Japan blog but it's too great of an adventure not to share. If it weren't for the delay in plans I wouldn't be here anyways so it all works out.

Yesterday was Friday, the last day of the work week. The final day of orientation, Day of Goodbyes, start of the weekend, Fun Friday, Jeans Day, etc. This particular date was the first of April, or April 1st, whichever you prefer. A less coveted name is April Fools Day: loved by many, hated by the rest. There was a moment of doubt when I learned I had to fly to the East coast on that day, but pushing superstition aside I flew anyways. You know my talent for drawing out a long story, but for the sake of time I'll give the gist. 

Arriving at the Columbus Airport I checked in with US Airways marching straight up to the kiosk where a pleasant woman was eagerly waiting to assist. I thought I would be cool by swiping my passport to pull up my flight information…yeah, whip out that American Blue with the Japanese visa flapping out of the pages. Instructions onscreen directed to scan the barcode, which I found on the back cover of the Passport, white bars with corresponding numbers above. The kiosk featured a bright scanning light, which turned into a little cross-target when it recognized scannable material within range. After several failed attempts to scan the barcode I entered my plea for assistance. The middle-aged bleach blonde promptly flashed her perfect smile, flipped to the front page featuring some random number sequence (NOT labeled barcode or even looking like a barcode) and slid it through some credit card reader-looking slot at the top of the machine above my eye level. Voila. Both the red scanning light AND the "barcode" were both tricks!!! 

 Happy April Fools to me, love, US Airways and the government. 

At this time, the agent cheerfully told me that my flight was delayed 45 minutes due to a back up in LaGuardia, NY, where I was to catch a connecting flight. We spent some time trying other options but figured that my original plan was best; if I ended up missing my first connection then she had me booked on the next flight later in the evening. 

Good news: one of the teachers who recently returned to the states was also in the airport with me so we were able to chat about Japan until I had to go through security. Little did I know that would be the last real human contact I would ever encounter….

The fun continued when my flight was further delayed by a half hour. The ticketing agent assured me that the pilot was aware of my connection urgency and would try to schmooze the controllers into letting him leave earlier. I have a feeling he wasn't doing it just for me. After landing in NYC, exited the breezeway, rushed over three doors to my right and informed the agent that I was the passenger they were probably waiting for. 

I wasn't.

"That flight left already, ma'am." 

5 minutes ago.

April Fools! Love, The Pilot.


So, looks like I'll be on the late flight, folks. Departure at 7:30 and currently 3pm. 

Good news: I brought my *new* laptop and my favorite 3 hr movie. Stick a little time in there for dinner, people watching, and garage band and the time will just fly by! I easily found an outlet near a comfy oversized chair (DON'T expect this in O'Hare…you'll be on the floor of a busy, dirty walkway and holding the plug into the socket to prevent it from falling out of the wall). After eating some outrageously priced romaine lettuce and watching the sun set across the metropolis skyline through the wall-like windows I went to check the ticketing counter and double-check this reservation I'd been promised. 

"What's your name, Ma'am?"

I answered.

"Never heard of you. You're not on this flight."

April Fools! Love, the Ticket Agent with a thick accent.

I pulled out my unused boarding passes and relayed my tale of woe and unkept promises.

She squinted at the screen.

"I see you're on the "requested" list.

Nope. Wrong list, lady. It's Virginia or bust for me; I am not spending the night here.

She figured it out and let me sit in seat 3D. Front of the plane! Not bad, not bad…

I glanced at the readerboard above her head.

"Wait…is this flight…delayed?!" I inquired.

"Oh, yeah, it was late taking off. New departure time is 7:55pm."

Alright, fine, I can wait another half hour. I called my aunt to inform her of the change and found a nice cozy airport chair as I set up my movie. This particular gate had about 4 other flights coming in and out so they were constantly making announcements about boarding and more delays. I happily watched Hugh Jackman sing and dance around on the stage of "Oklahoma!" until I heard an announcement about my flight. Delayed, again, by a half hour. We boarded at 8:15, walking outside the terminal in the dark, past the parked planes, following the person in front of us and hoping they were going the right way since there was no marked path. Away from the bustle, alone on the tarmac by himself sat a little plane. He was painted like the others, had wings like the others, and had a pilot and steward like all the others, but his plane friends made fun of him and shunned him because he was too small. His body was narrow, his stature, failing to reach the height of a breezeway, forced his passengers to walk OUTSIDE and use STAIRS to climb aboard. You may not know this, but it is incredibly embarrassing for a commercial plane to endure these things. Perhaps the most crushing blow was that he didn't have proper housing for his engine, leaving parts like fan blades out in the open air. We humans call them "prop planes" but his friends had another name for him: Awkward Allen. Allen was tired of all the ridicule and bullying from the bigger jets. Fed up with sneers from other large craft, and even shifty glances and laughs from their pilots and crew, Awkward Allen lashed out. 

I sat in row 3D, right in front of the wing. Allen laughed as a particularly tall fellow boarded the plane and had to crouch about a foot down the length of the aisle to avoid hitting his head, a goal he didn't achieve…

Our steward, a pleasant-looking fellow but obviously a newbie, nervously read the pre-flight announcements from a small notepad and proceeded to retract the stairs and secure the cabin door. The pilot called out from the open cockpit door, "don't shut that quite yet!" The startled young man looked confused, mentally reviewed the routine he'd memorized and decided that the pilot had the last word for everything. He let down the stairs. 

The man to my right inquired aloud, "I wonder why he wants the door open?"

"It makes him feel like its bigger in here!" Quipped the man on the left.

At 8:30 the pilot apologized for the wait.

At 8:45 the pilot informed us that maintenance was on their way and we should have "the problem" fixed in no time. 

WHAT?! 

April Fools! Love, Awkward Allen.

At 9:20 we finally felt that magical backward push that meant we were on our way to Virginia…odd to think that I should have been sipping a glass of wine with my aunt at that time. Even more surreal was that I should have been nervously looking out of the window at an expanse of blue endlessness on a 747 jumbo jet en route to Tokyo. I guess Mother Nature celebrated April Fool's Day a few weeks early.

The magical push ended and we magically moved forward…with no engines. Huh? Then we stopped. The lights flickered. The guy next to me looked out the window at the half-lit tarmac and enlightened me: "It looks like we sucked up all the juice while we were sitting there for so long and now they have to jump start the plane. Probably have to gas it up, too, since there was such a short turn around. Well, he was right, and we felt things being hooked up and more lights flickered as the energy transferred into the engines. The left prop started spinning and created a current, and after another jump the right prop joined suit. Allen laughed. 


An annoying sound of loudness prevailed the entire journey. Yeah, annoying.


Good news: the NYC lights were pretty amazing.


We managed to land in Charlottesville, VA, before the airport locked down for the night. I met my grandpa and we waited for my luggage.


And waited.


And waited….until we were the last ones in the baggage claim and the carousel stopped. There were two unclaimed bags but mine was not among them. A lone employee emerged to retrieve them and I inquired about my missing luggage. Meanwhile, my grandpa is making cracks at how awful it is to fly US Airways, how LaGuardia ALWAYS loses luggage, and New York airport workers can't read. My grandfather is a critical person sometimes. 

The Last Mohican asked me my flight info which launched a pointless debate about my original scheduled flight versus the actual flight I boarded. Looking less than remorseful, the tired woman looked at her computer screen and said, "this bag came in on a different flight HOURS ago! " (the one I was supposed to take). 

Great! WHERE IS IT?!?!?!?!

April Fools! Love, illiterate baggage claim workers.

She disappeared through a back door and I imagined her turning off all the lights and locking the doors for the evening, leaving us in a dark empty terminal for the night to sleep on cold hard floors. Emerging victorious moments later, she handed over my precious cargo and we started the long trip up the mountain at 11:30pm. We didn't even get home until about 12:30 and I was super tired. 

Anyways, I didn't even mean for that story to be so long. I'm not done yet! Today was much more interesting.

Life on "The Mountain" is much different than my Oregon residence. You might say to yourself, "But Suz, they're surrounded by beautiful countryside, relatively close to the ocean, and enjoy a casual lifestyle…what could be so different about that?"

Ha.

I went to Wal Mart with Pop today in the minivan, grinding around the curves in 2nd gear until we emerged in the valley and merged onto the highway. I had been up to my aunt's before but never went into town. 

Observation #1: I guess I didn't realize how strong their accent is here.  I think it's important to recognize the difference between a "cute" or "hot" accent and one that makes you sound….slow. Eeevery thaaang is draaaawn ooooout an' noooo waaan kin pranaaouce thar wuurds ooar saay uh sentaance in uunderr thaaarty sehkonds. 

Drove me up the wall. Not that I think they should change or that I think they're bad or "slow-minded" people. No, I'm worried that I will catch on and start assimilating! I'm very sensitive to differences in language and sound and pick things up quickly. Before, when I lived in Texas, I had to consciously choose, every day, to retain my West Coast speech and use a specific set of pronunciation. It was difficult. 

Observation #2: Almost every man over the age of 15 donned some cameo article of clothing, whether boots, pants, jacket, or hat. 

Observation #3: Persons in the previous observation also bought a 24 pack of beer which happened to be on rollback price. 

Observation #4: We picked up a case of toilet paper, paper towels, and lysol to restock the local firehouse.

Observation #5: In the curtain aisle, a woman asked me where the drapes were located. I had seen her thumbing through them across the aisle from me and thought, "you were just looking at them!" I pointed to the merchandise next to her and politely replied, "are those drapes not the style you're looking for?" "Well," she started, "I'm looking for some that you can put a curtain rod through." I looked at the package that clearly depicted a curtain rod holding up a sage green drapery in a staged living room. "Well, it looks like that is what you're looking for. As you can see, there is a curtain rod going through the top of the curtain and holding it up. Is that what you are looking for?" The woman wrinkled her nose and gave the package a critical glare. "Is that what it is? I'm not so sure…." I pointed to the sample curtains hanging up in the aisle, the exact color and model on the package, hung by a fake curtain rod. "Well, ma'am, you can take a look at that example one there…it seems to be the same thing as the package, and it has a place for the rod…" "Oh…hmm…." I walked away and left her to process that information. 

Back at the house, my Grandpa saw a strange man walking around. Through talking with my Aunt and the owners of the general store they were able to figure out who it was after they looked up the tire tracks. 


My Aunt lives in a small mountain community, Montebello. One time she rounded a particularly sharp corner and almost hit a large animal crossing the road. she pulled over, realized it was a lost alpaca, and considered coaxing it into the back of her Honda Element and taking it to the general store so that the owner could easily find it. 


We went to dinner tonight at the local restaurant. It's pretty nice, and serves nice dinner entrees while providing a casual atmosphere…not excluding the March Madness crowd that comes to the bar, sipping on fresh local brews and staring at the HD screens.  As we waited for a table the hostess started our tab at the bar; not being a beer connoisseur, I started and ended the evening with my favorite Long Island iced tea. Of course my aunt knew the owner and bumped into someone she knew who plays poker with her son…getting the picture yet?

On the way home we were enchanted by a clear, starry night as we drove along the mountain ridge line. "Oh look! There's Montebello. All five lights of it…" There, in the distance, were five distinct and separate lights: The general store, the post office, the firehouse, and two privately owned property lights. 

So far, my Aunt has several projects lined up for me including cleaning, filing, keeping Pop company and out of trouble, errands, and learning some B&B basics to help with guests and backpackers. I may run a 5K with my cousin for kicks and laughs.  Pop mentioned teaching me how to run a chainsaw. My kanji packet is already on the kitchen table and I've started reviewing. 

It's gonna be a great few weeks!!!

You think you have life all under control. You think you've got it all figured out. Sure, one can figure that the occasional unpredicted curveball will knock things around but in general things are under your control.







Don't do that.







You know what's going to happen?




After you've sung that song about giving Jesus control of your life and how you'll "praise Him through the storm" He'll send one. Yep, it's probably the one thing that's predictable. 




I was sure I wanted to experience Japan, at lease in terms of my own volition. After much prayer, peace, and seemingly divine timing I sensed that God's current plan for me was to follow that passion. After the earthquake disaster this past March my trip was put on hold and no one knew the long term effects, including how it would prevent me from traveling to Japan. As I was praying for direction and wisdom I sensed that perhaps God just wanted me to take a step of faith, to risk something that was important to me and put His desires before my own. Forced to reevaluate my reasons to going to Japan I realized that while all the "right" reasons were there, they were out of order. Here's what it looked like:




1. To have steady work. This is a good thing, naturally, as I had student loan debt and want to be financially responsible. 

2. To experience Japan! I have always wanted to go visit this land and delve into the culture, meet people, and basically see what's outside of America. This includes using Japanese and possibly learning JSL! (Japanese Sign Language)

3. To live as a witness for Christ for the Japanese people, living in such a way that honors God and shows His character and love to the Japanese people--and to have my employer endorse this mission :)




Of course this was before I saw the light. 




These were all things I could control and plan.




Once my number one priority, me, was taken out of the equation I had to do some reevaluation of my priorities. I came to the realization that I have come to a place in my life where I am fully responsible for my life and my actions. I think we have been programmed to believe that this also means we need to take care of ourselves financially and physically. Unfortunately, we forget that the Creator of the Universe is the ultimate one in charge. We trick ourselves into thinking that God will take care of us up until a point. We pray for our sick Grandparents, our neighbor's cat, and for the occasional special request, but how many of us REALLY believe that God can care for our basic every day needs? It's quite a stretch if you've never been in a position that requires that kind of action, that kind of faith. Most people won't voluntarily put themselves in that position either!




So, after my plane to Japan was grounded I made some choices. After deep evaluation of my life's goal I realized that though I was easily able to give the Sunday School answer "To live for God!" I never imagined a plausible circumstance where that declaration of faith would actually be tested. I decided to be faithful. 




There was a time of doubt to be sure when a few members of the team decided to pull out due to the uncertainty of the situation and other factors. Realizing this was an option had not internalized until that moment; my decision to stay only became more firm and my reliance upon God's provision became stronger. 




Upon arriving at orientation this week I immediately felt a sense of connection between the team. Through discussion, lectures and slideshows we learned more about our future home. This only made me more excited to step off of the tarmac and breathe air perfumed with sakura blossoms. As the week closed the reality of possibly waiting for weeks or months seemed less concerning; I knew that Japan and I would meet someday, and whether or not this year or this decade would provide that opportunity, God would still provide for me until then.




This morning, last day of orientation and April Fool's Day (coincidentally), our head of affairs in Japan and employer gave us a projected date of entry into Japan, around May 6, 2011. By this time the school system will have normalized and the shinkansen (bullet trains) will be up and running. 




I don't think it was coincidental that God gave me time to prepare my heart before this trip. Without this hiccup in the plans, I would never have prioritized my life to look like this: 




1. To love the Lord with all my mind, heart, and soul. To love my neighbor as myself. To be faithful to God's leading, to depend on Him and trust the people He has placed in leadership.

2. To live as a witness for Christ for the Japanese people, living in such a way that hones God and shows His character and love to the Japanese people.

3. To teach English in such a way that instills inquisitiveness and zeal for learning in my students, and fosters a supportive relation among my coworkers as I endeavor to mediate the presence of Christ. 

4. To experience the culture, appreciate the differences and even embrace or participate in those customs that seem pointless :) 







Things could change but my priorities are in a good place now, I think. Notice that having steady work no longer makes the grade…