Post-Wedding Ponderings

My little brother got married last weekend.

My little brother got married last weekend!!

I’m still trying to let that sink in.

We were very blessed to be able to make it to the province of Saskatchewan to participate in this beautiful day with them. The bride was absolutely sparkling (literally, but more importantly, figuratively), and in agreement with the Best Man’s speech, I’ve “never been more proud” of my brother. Despite the chaos that surrounds wedding preparations, these two were accommodating and kind to everyone they met with. They made a gorgeous bride and groom, and their wedding at times had people doubled over laughing at their antics, and at others, wiping their eyes as they witnessed the tenderness of the love the couple so evidently shares.

I’ll admit, I teared up. I may have actually cried a little bit.

Alright. We all know that I bawling my eyes out like a baby. No, I suppose that’s not really a fair statement. I cried more than the all the babies there did, combined.

In my defense, I think there were only two babies in attendance.

Anyway.

Our travel time to and from this wedding was notable, and when I wasn’t panicking in the midst of turbulence or falling asleep on benches, I had a lot of time to think. On reflection, I’ve realised a few things, five of which I would like to share with you, if you please.

Number 1:

I didn’t take a single picture. Who goes to their own brother’s wedding and doesn’t take even one selfie with their siblings(-to-be)? Me, that’s who. Imagine my disappointment when, on arriving home and looking through my phone, I find only 2 low quality airplane photos. I’ve failed both as a millennial, and as a sister. Bleh.

 

#1 of 2: YYC

Number 2:

We have amazing family and friends. On arrival at the airport in Saskatoon, Justin and I were like turtles on our backs, our stubby legs flailing in slow motion as we waited for someone to flip us over. Imagine our gratitude when we found several pairs of hands up-righting us, and walking with us throughout the entire weekend. People drove us around all over the place, people let us sleep in their houses, people fed us, people did emergency seamstress runs with/for us, and someone from The Brick gave me a free scented candle (which is not entirely relevant, but still very kind). I kind of think we were more of a hassle than was really worth our presence, but I am extremely grateful nonetheless for those who helped make this very special weekend possible for us.

Thank you Mr. Brick Employee!
(And yes, that's an ashtray. Don't make fun of me, my husband already has that covered)

Number 3:

I miss communicating independently. We were only in Canada for two full days, but it didn’t take me long to get back into the groove. I loved the freedom of being able to read, write and speak relatively intelligibly again. I could read the menu, and then order food all by myself in a restaurant. I didn’t need an app to help me decipher the ingredients on food labels. I could make pleasant small talk in the elevator, if necessary (there was a lot of elevator going on last weekend). I could make phone calls and arrange meetings. I could tell the hairdresser how I wanted my hair. I could ask for directions in the airport. I could be articulate, polite and communicative with anyone I chose to be. It was quite a jolt, therefore, when we landed back in Japan and I was brusquely reprimanded by an immigration officer while I suddenly found myself not understanding what I was supposed to be doing. 

While the brief renewal of my communicative abilities has left me once again feeling profoundly inept in Japan, it has also renewed my resolve to educate myself. Furthermore, it has restored my compassion for those who for one reason or another truly are unable speak for themselves and who, unlike myself, do not have the means to learn.

  

Number 4:

I am homeless, or homeful, but I’m not sure which. As Justin and I gazed out the window of the plane descending into the Tokyo area, we discussed how the rice paddies had gone from oversized mud puddles to fuzzy green plots of sprouts in the time we had been gone. I was eager to be back among them, and started daydreaming about the waves of aromatic rice they would become in the evenings of late summer, warmed by a day of full sun. I realised it was a very homey feeling, however, it was very different from the stirring I just felt as we had flown over the white-washed Canadian rockies and observed the depth of the green alpine trees. Which is “home”? Or can they both be home? I am torn between the new and exciting, and the old and familiar. I found myself asking strange and irrelevant questions such as, would I rather meet a grizzly on a hike, or a Japanese viper? Which would I miss more, bagels or ramen? Do I prefer the free frankness of Canadians, or the practiced politeness of the Japanese? Although a silly exercise, I couldn’t come to a definite answer on any of these questions, some of which a handful of months ago would’ve been obvious to me. As we were flying over the Pacific towards Japan Justin mused, “We’re going home.” He paused and then wondered, “Or are we leaving home?”

2 of 2: Canadian Rockies

Number 5:

I want some answers. On our flight to Canada, Justin watched a movie based on a true story called Silence. I didn’t actually watch it, so I cannot say whether or not I recommend or endorse it. However, I did glance over at that screen several times. Have you ever noticed how the movie of the person next to or in front of you is always more interesting than whatever you’re watching? Anyhow, I saw several scenes, many of which were quite disturbing to me. In short, the film was about Portuguese Jesuit priests who went to Japan in the 17^th century as missionaries. They faced extreme persecution during an era in which Christianity was all but wiped out, the majority of believers martyred. The few Christians who remained practiced in secret for centuries thereafter.  

While there is some debate as to the motivating force behind the spread of Christianity at that time (i.e. acquiring access to gunpowder, trade, etc), I have no doubt as to the genuine faith of many Japanese and Portuguese during this time; after all, who would refuse to dissent and therefore allow themselves be crucified in order to get firearms? No matter how you look at it, people died because of their belief.

What about me?

How committed am I to what I believe? How much of what I do with my life is a part of a calling, how much is simple responsibility, and how much is my own choice? To what extent should I sacrifice my own comfort? If I truly believed, like the priests in the movie, would I not face death for the sake of telling people what I am convinced would change their lives? These are questions that, oddly enough, have been in my mind since my brother's wedding. I guess there's something about flying half way across the world twice in a week that makes one consider their life, their priorities, and their future.

Please continue to keep us in your prayers as we ask ourselves some of these questions.