Who's Watching?

 Once in awhile, Tony and I treat ourselves to a real, traditional Japanese breakfast. You have to start with proper rice that has just enough “sticky” to it that you can pick it up with chopsticks. Any number of things can serve as the “main”, but for us it’s usually it’s a piece of smoked salmon. Miso soup comes next, and I admit that I cheat and use the kind that comes in pre-packed servings to which you add water, along with tofu, onion tops, seaweed, etc. Then comes all the fun stuff, including pickled radish, a mysterious mixture of salt, sesame seed, and other unknowns we just call furikake or “sprinkles”. If we can find it, the meal is topped off with “natto” or fermented soybean. All in all, it’s a real treat, but one we don’t have that often because it takes so long to assemble.

But I can hardly toil over the process without thinking of a lady we knew back in Japan many years ago. She was the product of an arranged marriage, brought into the family of a local sa-ke (Japanese wine) maker. The house she lived in was part of a huge 700-year-old estate, including most of the house itself. Stepping through the front gate was like going into a medieval castle.

For the life of me, I can't remember her name, but I’ll always remember her story. To say that she was “happy” or “unhappy” was never part of the discussion. She was a product of her generation and accepted her lot in life with quiet equanimity. I'm guessing she had limited input into the decisions of the household, known only as “okusan” which translates, “the wife”. Come to think of it, I believe that’s why I can’t remember her name, since we never addressed her in any other way.  

Fortunately, she had come across Christianity when her children had attended our Baptist preschool.  When I met her, the kids had matriculated up thru the mission school networks and were about to graduate from High School.  Hopefully they would have been exposed to a good background in Christianity and there's a happy ending that I don't know about yet.  She indeed was interested in Christianity but felt that she would never have to power to break tradition, being selected and brought into such an old and esteemed family. 

But could she ever cook!  She said, "I'm in this kitchen, alone, without a break for 9 hours a day." That's all she said, and I've NEVER stopped thinking about it.  I’ve even thought about her during the few times I’ve tried my hand with cooking in the borrowed apartment we’ve living in now. I always say a prayer for her, even though I can't remember her name, and ask God to make Himself real to her somehow.  She'd be in her 80's now, probably still the mistress, however unwilling, of the clan.

There’s another person I always remember whenever I make pies (which again is rare), and that was my sister's mother-in-law, Susan.  She and her husband had been Amish but dropped down to Mennonite because they wanted to have a camera when they had their first child (but I digress).  

She too, was always in the kitchen, and I'll never forget her peaceful countenance as she went about her daily routine as a busy farmer's wife. Her image comes to mind every time I try to make a pie! I remember Susan fondly, and say a little “thank you” prayer for her impact on my life, even though she's long been in Heaven.

To my knowledge, no one ever thinks of me when they do anything, but who would know?  Can any of us imagine how those watching us are being impacted for life, to the point of remembering us every time they do or say something? How responsible we must be to always present a good influence!

I'll add one more 'memory' that has never left me: it was just a split-second glimpse of my pastor's wife, skipping down the steps to the fellowship hall of our church. She reached up and took off her 60's very trendy floppy hat and flicked her hair into place.  

This was no teenager, but an 'old woman' from my perspective, maybe late 30's with FOUR children, and all I could think of was, "I want to grow up and be just like her"

Many of you reading this will recognise that the woman I wanted to emulate, based on just the flick of her hair. She was (and still is) Beverly Blake George.  How would anyone know that just a few years after that unforgettable memory, her husband would tragically die of cancer and she'd be left to raise the kids alone .......... which she did with grace and style.  I still want to be like her, even though I've never mastered the flicking of my hair!

My point today is that none of us know what a tiny gesture, or an unseen glance can produce in someone else's life.  From being impressed (and at the same time sad) with one woman's acceptance of her fate, to Susan Yutzy’s happy and pragmatic life as a wife and mother, to Beverly, who smiled and accepted whatever life handed her.  None of those people ever knew how they impressed me, and how that impression moulded my life into what I am today. And that encourages me to take the time and thank the next person who perhaps impact me like that.

An old Glen Campbell song keeps running through my memory as I write this.

As I recall, it’s not the kind of message I want to pass on; glamorizing the life of a hobo who keeps coming back to the arms of a lady who accepts him for what he is. But there’s a line in there that speaks to me. It goes something like, 

“I still might run in silence, tears of joy might stain my face

And the summer sun might burn me 'til I'm blind

But not to where I cannot see you

Walkin' on the back roads, by the rivers flowing gentle on my mind”

May the memories of you….. flow gentle on the minds of those who knew you. 

And may the Presence of God’s Holy Spirit be forever obvious!

Marsha

“…spread the aroma of the knowledge of Him everywhere.”

  (2 Corinthians 2:15)