Emptier Nest
Yesterday our fourth "son" returned to his home in Japan. This has happened twice before, each time with someone different, and each time we felt sad at the parting. This time, however, we have some hope of staying in contact since the "son" is actually the stepson of my husband's brother.
Yoshinori was here for the past two months for the purpose of learning English. He went to school each day with Grant and me, and spent his time there studying books he had brought with him, attending classes, reading articles and newspapers, and playing basketball and other games at break time. Every evening he rode home with me and we talked about many things enroute.
"So much nature," Yoshinori commented the first day when he saw the world in daylight, and marveled at the wide-open spaces of our Kansas prairie.
"Too bass" was his startled response when I showed him my very tame sheep who came up close to greet us--Mara, the great-grandmother in the flock, ba-a-a-a-ing in her deep voice.
"First time," he said when he looked up and saw a hog on the far side of an electric fence. Going closer, he saw a pen to the side with very busy and very tiny piglets nosing around in a feed pan. He hurried for his camera.
"I can never see this sight in Japan," he exulted on one of the last evenings he was here while gazing enchanted at the brilliance of the stars in the night sky.
We prayed for wisdom to share our faith with Yoshinori in ways that would not be offensive to him, and God answered. All we really had to do was answer his questions honestly, simply, and thoughtfully. He was interested, and although he never made a personal profession of faith, he took a Bible home with him, and spoke with warmth and feeling about the wonderful time he had here, and the friendliness of everyone he met.
I consider it a great treasure to be surrounded with the kind of Christian community that reaches out and draws in "strangers and foreigners," who demonstrate God's love so convincingly to people who know almost nothing of Christian faith. Our everyday lives are full of connections to our faith community. Prayer chain calls, prayer before meals, singing in all kinds of gatherings, news from missionary friends, visits to the mission field (Kenya and China in 2006), explaining voluntary service, planning for a commissioning service for young parents who are going to Bangladesh--the husband being a colleague of my computer-programmer son, driving past the cemetery where loved ones are buried, helping each other with work projects, spontaneous kindnesses "just because," the death of a soldier whose family were our friends--all these times were also occasions to speak of our faith.
The concept of faith itself became clear to Yoshinori one day when he had asked, "What does faith mean?" After I had attempted to explain, he said, "Oh. 'Believe, even when I don't understand,'" quoting from the words to a song he had heard and wanted me to write out for him.
"Yes, Yoshinori." Believe even when I don't understand--God's ways, His choosing to bless, and His purposes in bringing you here. Being part of God-designed mysteries--life doesn't get much better than this.
Yoshinori was here for the past two months for the purpose of learning English. He went to school each day with Grant and me, and spent his time there studying books he had brought with him, attending classes, reading articles and newspapers, and playing basketball and other games at break time. Every evening he rode home with me and we talked about many things enroute.
"So much nature," Yoshinori commented the first day when he saw the world in daylight, and marveled at the wide-open spaces of our Kansas prairie.
"Too bass" was his startled response when I showed him my very tame sheep who came up close to greet us--Mara, the great-grandmother in the flock, ba-a-a-a-ing in her deep voice.
"First time," he said when he looked up and saw a hog on the far side of an electric fence. Going closer, he saw a pen to the side with very busy and very tiny piglets nosing around in a feed pan. He hurried for his camera.
"I can never see this sight in Japan," he exulted on one of the last evenings he was here while gazing enchanted at the brilliance of the stars in the night sky.
We prayed for wisdom to share our faith with Yoshinori in ways that would not be offensive to him, and God answered. All we really had to do was answer his questions honestly, simply, and thoughtfully. He was interested, and although he never made a personal profession of faith, he took a Bible home with him, and spoke with warmth and feeling about the wonderful time he had here, and the friendliness of everyone he met.
I consider it a great treasure to be surrounded with the kind of Christian community that reaches out and draws in "strangers and foreigners," who demonstrate God's love so convincingly to people who know almost nothing of Christian faith. Our everyday lives are full of connections to our faith community. Prayer chain calls, prayer before meals, singing in all kinds of gatherings, news from missionary friends, visits to the mission field (Kenya and China in 2006), explaining voluntary service, planning for a commissioning service for young parents who are going to Bangladesh--the husband being a colleague of my computer-programmer son, driving past the cemetery where loved ones are buried, helping each other with work projects, spontaneous kindnesses "just because," the death of a soldier whose family were our friends--all these times were also occasions to speak of our faith.
The concept of faith itself became clear to Yoshinori one day when he had asked, "What does faith mean?" After I had attempted to explain, he said, "Oh. 'Believe, even when I don't understand,'" quoting from the words to a song he had heard and wanted me to write out for him.
"Yes, Yoshinori." Believe even when I don't understand--God's ways, His choosing to bless, and His purposes in bringing you here. Being part of God-designed mysteries--life doesn't get much better than this.
posted by Mrs. I at
7:08 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home