Rambling Notes from Japan
Here are some blog posts that we hope will make you feel a part of things, and help you understand how to pray better for us and Japan. Please see our external blog in Blogger, if this page does not display correctly.
Give Me this Mountain
August 8, 2013 11:56
| Activities, Hope, Missions
| Permalink
I’m taking another step
upward, steep and obscure though the path may be.
If I knew how hard it would be
back when we started out, I might never have tried at all! Whether church
planting in Japan, or mountain climbing in her Southern Alps, you have to be
just a little stubborn or crazy to attempt either. An overnight hike last
week with Justen was sort of a condensed metaphor for 15 years of work here:
hard, tiring, unsure at times, but glorious! What kept us moving up
Mount Kita is what keeps us moving forward in missions: envisioning that glorious destination.
Our father-son hike last year
was Mount Fuji. This year we decided to conquer Japan’s number two, all 11,000
feet of her. Given my level of fitness and expertise, I use the term “conquer”
very loosely. The truth is that Mt. Kita put us through some major pain. But
what glorious suffering it turned out to be!
At times it seemed that
everything around was encouraging our upward steps. Tree roots and stones
arranged themselves into natural staircases. Branches reached down to form
handrails. Stumps offered places to rest. A cool stream with waterfalls
acted as an air conditioner. And breathtaking vistas around every bend coaxed
the “wow” right out of us.
At other times (okay, the
majority of the time), we wondered if we’d make it. We doubted we might. We had
missed our bus to the trailhead and gotten a late start. Our equipment was
amateur grade at best. Our physical fitness was questionable (okay, just mine).
Wet rocks sent us skidding and slipping. Light drizzle sent us scrambling for
raingear. And then a cloudburst sent the temperatures down. We still had hours
to go and less and less daylight to fit it all in. Would we get lost, frozen,
dehydrated, attacked by animals? Why were there no more fellow hikers around?
Was this still the right path to follow? One begins to wonder.
What was particularly
discouraging, however, was that a view of our destination was shrouded by
mist and fog. Somewhere up in those clouds was the top. And on the top was a
mountain hut with our name in their reservation book. But where? How much
higher? We hadn’t seen a signpost in ages, and the relentlessly steep
path offered no clue as to how much further it might go on. We trudge
along, bone weary, wet and sore.
The final straw is a fork in
the path not on our map. Now which way? And where’s a sign when you need one?!
Justen looks at me. I look at him. We both look around and shrug helplessly. I
can see the headlines in the papers back home: “Missionary to Japan Dies Atop
Mt. Kita. Son Carries Body Back Down.”
Then I remember my cell phone.
There’s no service in such remote places, but I hopefully dial the number
anyway. My jaw drops when it rings and a cheery woman answers, “Hello, this is
mountain hut Katanogoya.” I blurt out our situation. We’re late. We’re
confused. We’re wet. We’re hungry.
The woman tells us to follow
the path to the right. “Just a little bit further up, when you hit the ridge
line, you’ll be able to see clearly. You’ll understand then.” Rejoicing a bit,
we set off again.
I envision our destination. It’s
a place with glorious views of the multiple mountain ranges all around. A dry
place to rest with a warm meal waiting. The night sky from 3000m will be a
sheet of stars. Tonight we’ll see the milky way. Tomorrow we’ll watch the sun
rise over a sea of clouds. Mount Fuji will be visible in the distance. And we’ll
take some gorgeous snapshots of a great memory.
And so, we keep moving through
our fatigue toward that destination. I can’t see it yet, but my mind has gotten
a glimpse. We make it to the ridge line. And just like the woman said, the
clouds fall away and we see clearly the mountain hut near the summit. There is
still a treacherous ridge to navigate, but we are well on our way toward
getting there. And I know we will.
I suppose just about any
mountain climbing experience is a metaphor for ministry (and many aspects of
life, for that matter). I pray like Caleb, “Give me this mountain (Joshua
14:12). I want to see your kingdom established in this difficult land. I want
to see your name glorified in a new gathering of your people. Build your church
for your name’s sake right here in Kawasaki.”
And God does. But he never
lets me see too much of what’s going on all around me. Parts of his plan, part
of our church plant’s future, seem shrouded in clouds of mystery. I’m waiting
for a sign. I’m tired. I’m discouraged. I make the call to him. He guides me to
a summit experience where I see clearly the way the path goes, and, more
importantly, from where it came. I understand. And I trust him anew for the
treacherous journey to the next summit.
I’m not at my destination yet.
Nor is our church plant at its destination. Our tiny church has grown several
times over. But there are people yet to believe, yet to be baptized, yet to
grow up in their faith. There are ministries I like to start. People I’d like
to point to Christ. Places I’d like to begin a Bible study group. I’m not there
yet. But I can envision the glorious things that are waiting ahead for me to
see and enjoy. I can envision the people that might be, will be, changed
forever. My mind is developing the snapshots already.
So I’m treading on. I’m taking
another step upward.
“The Sovereign LORD is my
strength...he enables me to tread on the heights.” Habakkuk 3:19
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We serve with WorldVenture, an evangelical faith mission. Our sending/home church is Cornerstone Church of Lansing, Illinois.