Living as a Foreigner

Living as a Caucasian in an Oriental country most of my life has been interesting, challenging and quite eventful. And if you can speak the language and understand what's going on, it can be even fun! Like the day two of us heading homeward found ourselves in a fairly empty train car. In other words people were not standing hanging onto straps, but were seated on both sides of the aisle. Suddenly the man next to me, obvously inebriated, began to talk about us! We were carrying on our own conversation and didn't pay any attention to him, but he talked loudly and probably most everyone in the car heard him and were embarrassed. We were nearly at out destination when he said loudly, "They come to our country and they don't even learn our language." I turned to him and said, "We understood you very well!" I felt as though the whole carful of people breathed a sigh and he was shocked! Shocked into sobriety! A man came up to us and asked if he could help us, but I was at my stop, so I told him he could help my friend as she was changing cars. She told me later that our talkative friend squeezed into the same car she did and she heard him moan, "And they understood everything I said!"

Another time I was out on my morning walk and met an older man on a bike and we were at a crossing and in the who-should-go-first mode, so began to talk. He said, "Do you know MacArthur?" I assurred him that I did! At which time he swung his arm over Tokyo and said thankfully, gratefully, "All of this is because of him!"

More recently, the day after 9/11, I was again on my morning walk when a uniformed policeman came up from behind me, riding his bike. When he got to me, without a word, he took off his hat and held it in his hand while continuing to ride for about half a block! I felt it was a heartfelt gesture to my country which was going through the aftermath of the worst terrorist attack to hit my beloved homeland.

And then there was the time when I came upon a bunch of neighborhood kids who yelled, "Hey, there's a foreigner!" One of the group stood out loud and clear as he corrected, "That's not a foreigner! That's Markie's Mom."

The Most Interesting Person I've Ever Met

When I read the Reader's Digest column, "The Most interesting person I've Ever Met," I think of two people. One is my Dad and the other is his brother," my oldest brother Clarence said at our Dad's funeral. Quite a statement from a man who had pastored for years as well as been an army chaplain.

As a child I helped both at home and at a neighbor's during threshing time. This was a big yearly fall event and housewives went all out to prepare sumptous meals for the working men. Neighbors helped each other, so there was often quite a group. But I always even as a child realized that my Dad was special. When he came in and joined the men for a meal, the whole place livened up. Dad was full of energy and told stories and talked so that it affected the others in a positive, lighthearted way.

When neighbors dropped by or relatives scame, Dad would hash and rehash story after story and sometimes I wondered if he hadn't missed his calling and should have been a preacher. He always told the stories exactly as they were, never added or subtracted. Once I remember one of my brothers touting, "I can tell stories just as good as Dad," and another brother quickly canceled out that smart-alec statement and the subject was closed! I remember Mom being uneasy, though, when Dad recounted in detail the murder of a whole family in the area by one man. I often heard him tell that true story and he ended it with the same sure belief that "there are people living yet who had part in the lynching from a bridge of the man who committed the murder."

I often felt that Dad went out West to pioneer partly to get away from the Christian influence of his family. His Dad was a businessman with 3 sawmills, but also a lay preacher. (The story goes that once a neighbor knelt mockingly in prayer in front of Grampa's house, but sometime later when his son died, he asked Grampa to conduct the funeral.) I thought he was kinda running away from God's call on his life. Because I went through a time like that during my teen-age years. But Dad made the "mistake" of marrying into even more of a Christian family--2 of Mom's brothers became pastors--and finally when I was 3, Mom gave herself fully to the Lord.

Then Clarence got saved, quit his school teaching job and headed off to Bible school in Minnesota. He told me later that he didn't dare tell Dad that he was going to Bible school, that's how defiant and anti-Christian Dad had become. After that Clarence came home on vacations and he sang and played the guitar. I still remember "The Meeting in the Air" and "When you my Jesus understand; when you accept His loving hand; a happy day will dawn for you...when you know Jesus, too....." In later years I told him that Dad was upset for 2 weeks after he left to go back to school!!! He said he never knew that!

But that all changed gradually. I was saved at 11 at meeetings in the town where my grandparents lived. The meetings were conducted by Clarence and my Uncle Henry and Uncle Joe. When I had to go home, Clarence put me on the train and he gave me a Bible, saying, "Be sure to tell Dad!" But I was retiscent and never did! But one day I fell asleep reading my Bible and when I woke up, Dad was sitting beside me paging through it. What a good time to have told him that his only precious little daughter had been saved, but I didn't.

Having 5 brothers coming and going in their military uniforms when we didn't know if we'd ever see them again, had a softening effect on Dad. And then I remember during this time Ray came home as a l7-year old and said he'd been saved. Mom said, "Be sure to tell Dad." He said he had in the car on the way home and Dad had said, "I'm going with you!" That was a first statement.

Dad made a clear decision for Christ when he came up to Prairie to get my brothers and me after my first year, along with Mom, Alma and Orvin. He answered the invitation of Dr. Charles E. Fuller who was our conference speaker and was a popular radio preacher from California. Orvin was saved then, too. Unknown to me, Kenny was saved under the same man at Soldier's Field in Chicago.

"I'm Home!"

Last week Kitto and his friend Nick retuned to America after a l0-day stay here. Their flight left Narita International Airport at 7 P.M. The next morning around 7 A.M. the phone rang: "Hi Grama!" "Where are you?" I mustered. He answered, "In America. I'm home!"

Just 12 hours. A far cry from when Mom and Dad got my first hand-written-from-Japan letter and Mom wrote, "Now it doesn't seem like you're so far away when we could get a letter in 5 days!"

The Wallet

One day I had been to the bank and taken out some money, come home, and suddenly I couldn't find my wallet.

A Chrstian Ghana friend was here helping me and we prayed together. Then we searched some more. Finally she said she felt I should go to the police about this loss.

I went, but not before I had checked at the bank to be sure it wasn't there. It wasn't. So I headed for the nearby police station. One of the policemen on duty had me sit down in front of him and he wrote down the answers I gave to his questions about what was in my wallet.

OK. There were credit cards, some cash. But when I said that my Alien Registration card and my Japanese driver's license were also included, he looked up at me as if to say, "Boy, are you in trouble!"

When we finished I headed home. It was just dusk. Kenny was away somewhere. Marjie and I talked a little and she asked me what my wallet looked like. I told her. Then she took me to our pantry, pointed to a shelf, and said, "Is this it?"

There on the shelf was my precious wallet! I had laid it down there while getting out the vacuum cleaner. How we rejoiced and praised the Lord. Then I hurried to the police station and I think the policeman was as happy as I was when he heard the good news. He hadn't had a chance to cancel my credit cards yet, so he said there would be no record of my police escapade!

Julia's Passport

How we searched for Julia's ticket and passport! Somehow they hadn't been put into the locked security box where we usually put important papers and documents.

The 3 kids who were here from America and us gathered together and prayed. And we searched. Every possible place, we thought. Finally we called Julia's parents in California. Her father said, "Remember when I was there I gave them to you one evening before bedtime. But don't worry. We can get a new passport and replace the ticket." But that would take many days and leave Julia (age 7) here alone while her brother and his friend (both 9) went on ahead home.

I went to make another telephone call and was absentmindedly shuffling through some papers that had collected by the telephone. Imagine my feelings when....there were Julia's important items! Did we ever have a praise service! That was a firsthand lesson for those 3 children of God's intervention. I hope they never forget it!

This World Is Not My Home

As I look back on our family I can see God's hand of preparation for the unusual paths different ones of us would take.

First of all, both sets of grandparents left their native land, culture, language and relatives to travel to a distant country with a new culture, new langage and few, if any, relatives.It must have been daunting as there were so few convenienes that we today think we can't live without.

Then my Dad, in his early 20's, left his prosperous-by-now family in Iowa to stake out a claim in Western North Dakota. Mom, of couse, went with her parents to do the same, but at least she was not alone.

In this new place they settled in and became a vital part of the early settlers who blazed a pioneering trail in the West.

And still another move brought our family into a different culture, different situation and even a different language.

Drought had plagued my parents' area for years and so they decided to move to an area that was irrigated. It was only 50 miles West of their original home, into the Yellowstone Valley in Western North Dakota. This was a lush place in which mainly German people lived.

I was about 9 when, after we had just moved there, my parents were surprised by their earlier friends and neighbors for their 25th silver wedding anniversary. I can still recall looking up and seeing an army of cars full of people coming down that dusty road toward our home. Grama Aarhus had come over earlier. I suppose to help get ready. Among the guests was Clarence--home from Bible school to join us.

Later the Fairview News, our faithful community newspaper said, "This tells something of the high esteem with which this family was held in their former neighborhood."

And when we were settled in at Fairview, again several of us became unsettled to follow God's individual plans for us. To a new culture, new languages and new people. Joe went to India, Ray to Africa, and I to Japan.

And there have been other changes to keep us aware that "This World is Not My
home...I'm just a-passing through."

Answers To Prayer

Answers to prayer are always faith-provoking and sometimes unforgettable because they are really miracles.

In 2002 Kara and Mark got off the plane in Los Angeles and soon realized that her camera was missing. She had been taking prize-pictures in Japan during Kenny's 50-years-in-Japan celebration.

They called us and we prayed. I'll never forget that Kara said, "I'll never give up. My Mom understands it when I say that!" They did everything possible over there to find this camera. The police were alerted. The plane was searched. No camera.

On this end, Kenny called the airline. At one point he said, "This is your
problem." It sounded strong, because actually no one was sure where the camera could have been left. But this turned out to be the Lord's leading.

One day, about 5 days later, someone from that airline called, saying: "where shall we send the camera?"

Did we ever all rejoice.....on both sides of the Pacific! God did a miracle in a seemingly impossible situation and we didn't fail to praise Him!

It's Not Too Late

Wow! am I ever glad to be here!
But I must confess I was surprised that
You called me.
You know, I'm not SO old yet.

I never WALKED on gold before;
A couple of gold jewelry chains
and some rings were about it.

The sky is so blue and clear;
Beauty and orderliness everywhere.

I know some of those people over there.
From our church.
They don't seem to particularly notice me.
Oh well, I didn't pay much attention
to them either.
When we were near each other.

But Jesus, You welcomed me.
I'm glad for that.
I can tell You're happy to have me here.
Still, You seem kinda reserved.
Maybe even sad.

Strange. Some things are dawning
on me.
Now I realize that most of the people I
worked with
Won't be here.
I can't believe how utterly self-centered
I was.

I thought it was stalwart to just "live"
like a Christian.
Just warming a pew on Sundays.
I knew I was born-again, I remember the
time I asked You to come into my heart.
But my faith was weak.
I see that now.
Sometimes my Bible lay unread for days.
You know, magazines, papers, TV.
Always beckoning.

And praying!
Well, Lord, you know there can't be many here
because of my prayers.
A few quick "God bless"es while sailing
down the freeway
In between gulps of coffee
Were about it.

There's no excuse either.

I can't remember how many times our pastor
spoke on prayer.
And YOU nudged me, too, Lord.
I was so caught up in day-to-day
living.

I planned to pray more.
To help people more.
To ask YOU what You really wanted.
Some day. Some day.
I just forgot how short life can be.
In reality I forgot the purpose You had
for me.
Now I see that it wasn't to "get ahead."
Or to keep up with even the
Christian Joneses.
Or to just have the latest "things."

I was to be Your witness.
To take Your place.
That was the last speech You gave to
Your disciples.
And to all Your children.

There's no use asking if I can go
back;
Back to help my family.
They were always glad when I kept
my "religion" to myself.

Back to the office.
Don sure isn't ready. Neither is Jack.
Or Carl, for that matter. Or Alice.
I know I could have made all of them
listen.
I could have shown more interest.
Been more caring.

There wasn't much "cup of cold water"
business from MY life.

But, like You said, if I did go back
They probably wouldn't listen.
They'd think I was a ghost.
Or deranged.

This is really getting to me, Lord.
Now I know why You were sad
when You greeted me.
I'm glad You said You'd wipe away
our tears.
There wouldn't be enough Kleenex in
all of Heaven
To comfort me and others who've
lived just for ourselves.

Thank you for Praying

This morning I was burdened,
I couldn't even pray,
I said, "My Lord, I don't know why,
But I don't know what to say."

How could I have the wisdom
To know just how to ask,
The problem was too big for me
My need I couldn't mask.

I read my Bible, did my work,
Both listlessly and slow,
I just couldn't reach the Throne Room
For my soul had lost its glow.

So I lifted up my problem,
Gave it all to Him to mend--
How even He could sort it out
I couldn't comprehend.

The day wore on and tasks were done
I move in robot-style,
When suddenly I sensed a change,
From inside I could smile.

Dark presssure was all lifted,
My mind was calm and still,
The change was so dramatic
It went beyond my will.

I pondered what had happened
And then I clearly knew
That God had touched some tender heart
I wonder, was it you?

He'd asked for one to stand up strong
To pray and praise and rout
The enemy who like a flood
Had moved in all about.

"Oh my Father, thank you!
For the one who prayed for me,
Please give that one a special touch
Who served so faithfully."

A Crowded Bus Ride

Once my Bobb and I were riding on a bus in Tokyo's loop,
It was crowded to the doors and if we tried we couldn't stoop;
All he saw was belts and buckles, but I saw above the throng,
And though the trip was irksome, still I knew it wasn't long.

But my little Bobb was frightened--to be wedged in oh, so tight,
The rest were so much taller, he was just a little mite.
All around him it was darkness and he couldn't see ahead,
He could just stand still and trust me; clinging, waiting to be led.

But he learned a little secret-he'd look up into my face,
And my smile of reassurance would his worried look erase.
Bit by bit the bus then emptied, Bobby saw a shaft of light--
Joyfully he inched out to it, now he knew that all was right!

As for me, I saw a lesson: God is in supreme command,
And though I cannot see or fathom, I will trust and hold His hand;
Though the steps to take are shadowed, and I search in vain for light,
I'll keep looking in His face--and be assured 'til faith is sight.

Cindi

CINDI....
ON MOTHER'S DAY....

I DON'T THINK YOU FULLY REALIZE HOW SPECIAL YOU ARE TO ME

I'M SO GLAD THAT GOD IN HIS WISDOM

CHOSE YOU
EQUIPPED YOU

AS THE ONLY GIRL IN THE WHOLE WORLD

TO BE MY SON'S WIFE!

TO

ENCOURAGE HIM
HELP HIM
SHOW HIM SOMETIMES A BETTER WAY
STAND BY HIM THROUGH THICK AND THIN

IN LOVE

YOU DO IT, AND I THANK YOU.

YOU'VE GIVEN HIM AND US TWO DARLING CHILDREN
NO SMALL FEAT!

BUT ASIDE FROM THAT,

YOUR KINDNESS, HELPFULNESS, CHEERFULNESS

TO ME, TO US

ARE IMMEASUREABLE

I VALUE YOUR INPUT, SUGGESTIONS

YOU'RE MY PRECIOUS SON'S WIFE

BUT YOU'RE ALSO MY BELOVED DAUGHER-IN-LAW

AND I LOVE YOU!

Georgia

GEORGIA....
TODAY IS MOTHER'S DAY!
SET ASIDE FOR MOTHERS
YOUNG
OLDER
OLD

AND I THINK OF YOU....

SO SPECIAL TO TWO LITTLE BOYS WHO NEED YOU SO!

AND I LOOK BACK

BEFORE YOU OR I COULD IMAGINE

GOD CALLED YOU

AS THE ONLY GIRL IN THE WORLD
TO BE MY PRECIOUS SON'S WIFE

TO STAND WITH HIM
IN ENCOURAGEMENT
IN HELP
IN SOMETIMES FINDING A BETTER WAY

BUT ALWAYS IN LOVE

YOU CAN'T IMAGINE
HOW MUCH YOU MEAN TO ME, ALSO;

YOUR STEADFASTNESS
KINDNESS
INPUT, I VALUE

TODAY I WANT TO PUT INTO WORDS HOW THANKFUL TO GOD
I AM
FOR YOU

MY BELOVED DAUGHTER-IN-LAW

I LOVE YOU

Bobb

Bobb
Today is your birthday
Stages of you are
indelible
on my mind
Your beautiful curls
"Lila, he looks just like
a girl,"
My friend Anna scolded
So off went the curls
Playing with Kimbo
Going on furlough
Suddenly sick one night
in New York
High temperature
But you'd be all right
"to declare the glory of God"
I was assured.
Back in Tokyo
Dad registered you
for nursery school
you were only 3 1/2 years old
But you thrived
on bus travel and school
Then Japanese kindergarten
at Eifuku Cho
The only gaijin
What a time we had
Notes, directions, data
all in Japanese
Then C.A.J.
New friends
New challenges
You held the door once
while Andy stuck out his tongue
at the teacher
She was a tough one
But taught you beautiful
penmanship
The little violins
you and Kimbo played
hang on our wall now.
You were practicing
"Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star"
when a telegram came
Grandpa went to heaven,
it said
There were parties
And the play when you
carried a shield
Recitals
You played the piano for
6th grade graduation
When did pole vaulting
take over?
And walking on your hands
across the gym floor
You still hold the record for that!
Remember when you slipped out
a window at school
and took off for somewhere...
And got a detention
Were you class president then??
Was that when you
were called "Maito?"
The 1,977 5-yen pieces
strung on your wall
That day finally came
You took them to a bank
It was 1977!
Graduation from high school
You and Jim traveled across America
Prepared to meet robbers
at every turn
You met only cordial
relatives
and farm animals
College time came
The bass guitar stage was fun
Your music group
traveled to churches
Again a Montana trip
you, Kimbo and Jim
But you were itchy to get back
The reason?
You had just met a special girl...
you wrote your Dad
that you didn't know her well yet
but "give me time." You came back to Tokyo
She came to Tokyo
One day I was making the beds
You came upstairs and asked
"Mom, what do you think if I ask Georgia
to marry me?"
You two went out for dinner
at the New Otani
A call came, "All went as scheduled."
Dad and I got flowers
and we had a party when you 2 got home
at midnight
You graduated together
And then the beautiful wedding
June, 1982
Lots of memories; lots of challenges ahead
Today on your birthday.....
know that we love you and your Georgia more than words can say
And pray God's continual guidance, blessing on you two.

Kimbo

Kimbo.....
It's your birthday!
You recall past ones
with Pee Wee and Philip and Roger and Murray
jumping out from behind a couch
Parties
Birthday cakes...
Remember the cake when you hit 18?
A big X over a motorcycle
And a car beside it
You could drive that
Finally
But I recall way back vividly
First I asked God for you
A prayer
in short and
in my request book.
Then there was the crib
A boy? A girl?
Which would it be?
The crib was in both pink and blue
Ready and waiting.
The first time I saw you
In a nurses arms
I'll never forget that look on your little face
A boredom look!
Later when I went for a walk
I felt like announcing!
Didn't everybody know I had
a baby boy?
You were the J.C.C. sweetheart
At evening time when Dad
rounded a certain corner
on his way home from
J.C.C.
He'd call
"Kimbo, Kimbo, Kimbo"
You'd tumble around
on the floor
Once a typhoon came
You and I were
alone
J.C.C. kids came over
One took you on her back
We went to
safer quarters.
Bobby joined you
Quite a pair
Once he came into the house
with a neat cut-out of his shorts
He'd been Saul
You David
School by bus was fun
To Washington Heights
Then C.A.J.
Remember you played
a cripple boy
in a play
Your "cane" is in the attic today!
Always adventuresome
in the middle of Japanese
student rebellions
Compassionate always
to people--
making me visit that hurt girl
and bringing that inebriated man home
for the night!
and the little dog you found on a
rainy day
along the road
Remember when you
and Roger & Murray went
to the ofuro?
You hitchhiked
Later he searched out our home
to bring back a sock you forgot
and a box of mikans!
That ship trip was exciting
as a High School Junior
You made beds all the way
to America
and back to Japan by
World-Airways
We picked you up
in the middle of the night
at Yokota
Jimmy and Markie
were growing
Four boys
As a senior you took Markie
on your cycle to school.
He was a lst grader
He felt your hand on his knee
as you prayed for safety
College was exciting
Student offices
work with Japanese
New friends
Trips back to Japan
Once we heard noises downstairs
We called the police
It was you...home to surprise us
When they came we were all laughing!
You graduated with a double major
But the best is ahead.
Keep faith in God and people
May He use you greatly.

Hope In The Darkness

"My Mother just died," he explained brokenly as I rolled down my car window. I wondered why a car was parked headed in the wrong direction. I couldn't pass.

"Please be patient. She's in that car and we've brought her (body) home from the hospital."

How well I remember when I heard those words. About my dear Mom.

The phone rang at 4 A.M. I knew instinctively what I'd hear, and sure enough, my oldest brother said, "Mom just passed away.

Mom had been very sick, so this came as no shock. I had even spent 3 weeks with her and in fact had been back home only a week. So it was no big deal, right?

Wrong!

After I hung up, my husband and I prayed and I fell asleep. But when I awakened at 7 o'clock, I was shocked by my feelings. I felt as though someone had grabbed a hold of my heart and twisted it into a knot. Never had I experienced anything like it. But then, never had I lost my Mother, either.

Never again would I see the light of day knowing that I had my Mom back in North Dakota. Never again would I go to sleep with the assurance of her prayers.

Still, as the day wore on, I realized that Mom was in Heaven with Jesus. Why had I felt so crushed when I first woke up? In my rational thinking I was actually glad that she had gone Home, as it could have been a long drawn out illness.

Then I understood: If I didn't have the hope of Heaven, I would indeed be hurting. But I knew where she was and where she wanted so much to go, and I was actually happy. Though I wouldn't see her again down here, there is the great hope of reunion in Heaven.

How I wish my unknown friend had this hope for his Mother.

Close Window

The Sounds Of Tokyo

The Sounds of Tokyo

Mournful ambulances and clanging fire engines. These are common sounds in a huge city like Tokyo with its more than 11 million people. Sickness and tragedy strike often. More cheerful and welcome events are made known in other ways.

A cozy sound heard about October--that lasts through March-- is the minor key of the man who goes through the neighborhood calling, "Baked sweet potatoes for sale." He either pulls his cart or sits on a powered one. It has a stove, complete with a smoking stovepipe, where rocks are kept hot. Into these hot rocks he keeps putting sweet potatoes, shuffling them around so they get baked. Then he's ready to sell them to hungry passers-by, young and old alike, after weighing them on a little hand scale.

The periodic clapping of two small slabs of wood is a sound relegated to cold, crisp winter evenings. Neighbors take turns at this job. The clapping is a specific warning: "Be careful of fires! Be careful of fires!" Fires are especially feared where wooden houses are so close together.

To find out the reason for the long, drawn-out, cheery, periodic bugle call in the air, you look for a man on a bicycle. He has a big wooden box on back and his call draws housewives from their homes all along his route. For them he stops, opens the lid, and brings out "tofu" for sale. Each piece is about the shape of a half a pound of butter. It's made of bean curd and is almost pure protein. Tofu can be prepared in many different ways.

Not to be forgotten is the man who drives up and down small streets in a truck announcing that he will trade bathroom tissue for your newspapers. And one garbage collector's loudspeaker boomed out the music of "Shall We Gather at the River."

The Bible has something to say about sounds, too, one of which is, "If the trumpet gives forth an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself...?" In other words, if we who claim to be Christians don't live like we should, who will we influence or help to realize the wonderful, happy sounds of salvation?

Never Too Old

Retire at 65? Quit work at 80? Dr. Baker wasn't about to do either. At an age when most people are at least thinking of taking it easy, she began her missionary career. That was seventeen years ago. This summer she'll celebrate her 82nd birthday. And she's still going strong.

"Grand Central Station" is the way someone just described her small, humble home in the outskirts of Tokyo. Visitors get a warm welcome, and it it's mealtime, a "farmer's meal"! Very likely they will also get what they came for: a treatment, because Dr. Baker is a chiropractor.

One of fourteen children, Mrs. Baker was born and raised on a farm in Ontario, 8 miles from the Michigan border. One vivid childhood memory she has is of her mother sitting in a rocker, nursing a baby and reading the Bible out loud to the rest of the children. With such a big family "there was always a baby," she recalls. So there was also lots of Bible. This was to mold her life, but not to take root for many years.

After one year of nurses' training and a sting working on an Indian reservation, Mrs. Baker took chiropractic training in Iowa. She then set up business in Canada. During the depression it was a flourishing practice. But even then her main purpose was to help people. Some couldn't pay. One lady, whose money she always refused, later left a small amount to her in a Will.

"Because it was good business," Mrs. Baker went to church. But she got a better incentive when she came to know Jesus Christ as her own Savior during some special meetings. From then on she was not only healing bodies, but reaching hearts as well. Sorrow struck at this time as her husband, shell-shocked from World War I, died after less than 2 years of marriage.

When Dr. Baker began to talk of going overseas, it was only natural that people wouldn't understand. Why should she leave a big house, a comfortable practice, friends and family, to venture off to a strange land? And at her age! But the reason was quite simple: She heard the voice of God say to her, "Go."

After closing up shop and selling her modern equipment, Mrs. Baker went--to join her brother in Japan. She thought she was only going to teach the Bible, but word got around that she could help sore backs and aching legs and soon Japanese and foreigners began beating a path to her door. Though her equipment was left behind in Canada, she still had her large, sensitive hands, and a direct line to God, Who, she says, often tells her what's wrong and what to do.

Though she carefully treats everybody who comes, Dr. Baker is particularly partial to students from the nearby American Academy. From them she gets words of recognition and a clapping ovation at the annual sports' banquets. "They're my boys," she proudly declares. After getting banged up in basketball, wrestling or track, they head for Dr. Baker's. While she massages their twisted ligaments and puts their bones back in place, she talks to them of her best Friend, Jesus, and how practical life with Him is for every day. And she insists that they do listen to her, because, "I'm not the preacher and I'm not their parents!"


To Dr. Baker, Jesus Christ is alive. He's her constant Companion. Being with Him every day is her way of life.

New Year's Newness

Every year on December 31st at eleven-thirty, temple gongs begin to echo eerily, ominously through the quietness. Each gong sounds like when a piano note is held with your foot on the pedal. This is ushering in a new year, Oriental style. It is believed that man has 108 sins that have to be forgiven before he enters it. So 108 gongs sound.

New Year's time provides the longest vacation and is really the focal point of the year. It's a time of family reunions, causing trains and buses to be booked well in advance and to be very crowded. Tokyo-ites, especially, throng back to their country relatives.

Young people love to receive "otoshi-dama" (New Year's coins) at the time. This is simply a gift of money put into a colorful envelope especially bought for the occasion. Lots of doting relatives means a good number of fat money envelopes.

Before this, however, is much preparation. Homes and yards are thoroughly cleaned. Even the man of the house pitches in and helps wash windows and clean up. Special foods are prepared and enough to last for many days. From 15 to 30 different kinds of food are served on New Year's Day. These foods usually don't require refrigeration and are laid out artistically on lacquered trays that fit one upon another in a neat stack. Last year a direct-mail advertisement featured the special New Year's foods--enough for 4--at from $30 to $120 a set. The lady of the house must be sure to shop thoroughly because most stores are closed for at least 4 days into the new year.

As much as possible debts are paid. In olden days, some who couldn't comply with that committed suicide.

My first year in Tokyo we were away from home for a few days and arrived back on December 31st. I was surprised to be greeted by a small line-up outside my door. At that time we paid our bills by the month, and the milkman, the meat man, the vegetable man and others wanted their pay before December ended. Great emphasis is placed on beginning the new year with a clean slate.

Often we would love to begin again. "If I could live over my life that is past," the songwriter wrote. Sad to say, just flipping the calendar or making New Year's resolutions doesn't change us. But the Bible has a solution: "If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature. Old things are passed away, all things are become new."

He Promised Comfort

Jim's arm was draped around my shoulder as he moaned, "Mom, let's pray. Bobb, Al and Kimbo are all leaving and it just hurts inside." He put his hand on his chest. Since they would all be crossing the ocean from our home in Japan, this was no small parting. All had been here for parts of the summer and now it was time to head back to school in California. Bobb would be the first to leave.

We prayed that the Lord would help us as they all left and we stayed behind.

I tried to be the "brave one" in the days that followed. But I was aware that Jim (16) and Mark (11) were having a battle.

I thought about Bobb leaving. My mind wandered and I could see him as a child in 6th grade. He wore dark-rimmed glasses and they seemed to fit his studious, organized personality.

I'd think and tears would surface.

What was it? Was it crossing the ocean that made it so hurtful? Whatever it was, it was mastering us.

I comforted the boys, "The best is yet to come. God has many happy things ahead for us yet." But they were hollow words. I was already lonesome for Kimbo and Bobb and they hadn't left home yet.

I thought of my Mom how brave she managed to be as we left, one by one. She never cried in public, but I knew it hurt her so much.

But I bet I'll cry, I thought.

And then it happened. I remembered that the blessed Holy Spirit is called our "Comforter." So I prayed differently than when I prayed with Jim. I reminded the Holy Spirit that He was our Comforter and that we desperately needed His comfort.

Then I forgot about it.

Looking back later I just marveled at how the Holy Spirit did meet us and took away completely that grief, the dreaded upcoming loneliness, heaviness--whatever it was that had enveloped us for a while and threatened to swallow us up.

The last night all four boys slept side by side on foam-rubber mattresses on the living room floor with the air conditioning on. Their upstairs rooms were hot and humid. We decided to get a picture of this. Bobb set the camera and then crawled back onto his mattress. But it wasn't a sad evening. We laughed.

For lunch the next day they wanted Russian Piroshke, a family favorite for special occasions.

And then it came time to gather up the suitcases and head for the airport. I can't explain it, but we were far from a grief-stricken bunch! We were free to say good-bye happily. The Holy Spirit was comforting us. Surely we needed to be a praise-filled group. Bobb was off to Bible college for his third year. He had spent part of the summer counseling at a Bible camp. Made so many new friends. And during the summer renewed old ones. Two came in cars to take us all along to the airport. And when Kimbo left later, we handled that with grace, too!

We should be sad? No, we would be happy! We would rejoice, and we did! As each one left, we who were behind were free to help them instead of thinking of just ourselves! The Holy Spirit really did comfort us!

Saved from Suicide

"What a beautiful girl!" was my first reaction at seeing Yoneko many years ago. She was then about 19 years old and a student at the Christian college where my husband taught. But soon I realized there was something drastically wrong with her. The girl with the beautiful face had no legs! And she was missing an arm!

Yoneko's life was fairly normal until she was 16. At that time her mother died. This is a shock to any home, but to an Oriental home even more so. Fathers often leave as early as 7 and get home as late as 10 at night, so to the mother falls the family, home, community affairs and money handling. So now Yoneko came home from school to a dark, empty house. There was no warm welcome. No attractive table spread with the evening meal. Nothing but emptiness in the house and in her lonesome, aching heart. How she longed for Mother's understanding presence.

Eventually her father, older brother and sister came home and together they got the evening meal ready and the necessary work done. But as the days went by, they sensed Yoneko's extreme depression. They tried to be cheerful. It didn't help. She began to hang out at a roller skating rink with other restless young people. This soon led her to smoking, drinking and the disco life. She began skipping school. All of this was unknown to her family.

As the ache persisted, one thought began to dominate her mind: Suicide. Guided by dark, unseen forces, Yoneko finally made her way to a train station in the heart of Tokyo. Here she brought her horrible plan to fulfillment: she threw her body onto the train tracks just as a train was approaching.

It was no accident that when the train threw open the emergency doors, a man standing nearby held a rope. With a deft, well-timed leap, he rescued her and tied the rope above severed limbs to keep some measure of blood in this mutilated body until more efficient help was available.

Soon Yoneko found herself in a hospital bed. This was no comfort to her who had gone to such an extreme measure to try to die. It wasn't until she went to take some pills that she found out that 3 of the fingers on her right hand were gone. And then she realized that her left arm was gone from the elbow.
But soon after when they rolled up the bed, she fell forward. Then she also knew she had lost both legs at the knees. Now her despair knew no bounds and she began to plot another dark scheme.

Though death had cheated her once, Yoneko decided to try again. Another way. She began to stash away the little white sleeping pills, putting them here and there so no one would find them.

However, during these dark days a missionary, together with a young Japanese man, began to visit her. They sang and read from the Bible. Yoneko wasn't even courteous. She didn't even want to be alive, to say nothing of entertaining visitors! But each week they came. She liked the singing, but nothing about Christianity. They brought her a cassette tape and it was while listening to that that she made her decision to ask Jesus to come into her heart.

On a concluding visit, the two asked her to pray. She did and they left. The next morning Yoneko awoke a new person.

Gone were the pent-up bitterness, frustration and hopelessness. In turn, her life was filled with peace and love. It was a miracle! She decided it must be because she had reached out to a living God and He had touched her.

Yoneko decided she had to tell somebody, so she told her roommate. Jesus Christ had heard her prayer, come into her life and made her a new person. From then on it was an uphill road. Her happy disposition was almost contagious and she learned how to do most everything. She went to the United States and was fitted with artificial legs.

Blind...But Seeing

Aside from the fact that he wore dark glasses in the pulpit, Pastor Babba didn't appear different from any other preacher. Huskily built, he looked like a football player. Standing there dressed in a neat, brown suit, he spoke with ease and joy. But Pastor Babba is blind.

Born in a small country town, he was the youngest of 5 children, but the only child of his father's second wife. When he was a high school freshman, 5 of the 7 family members all got sick at the same time. Only Babba San and his mother were left to do the farm work and take care of the animals.

Babba's day began at 5 a.m. After the farmwork was finished, he had a 20-minute bicycle ride, a 20-minute train ride, and a 20-minute walk before he got to school. Then after school there were chores and studies until midnight.

In a few weeks the young lad noticed that his right eye was beginning to fail. A visit to a doctor disclosed tuberculosis and he was immediately hospitalized. One night he lay on his bed looking at the light when suddenly everything went black. Without any warning he lost the sight of both eyes because of tuberculosis-caused hemorrhaging at the base of the eye. Though some sight did return temporarily, he was soon totally blind.

It was 18 months before Baba's condition allowed him to go home, but now there seemed to be no meaning to life. He could no longer help on the farm. One day, after a drinking bout, his father made derogatory remarks about his blindness. That night young Baba took his father's military sword and went out into the barn. There he sat down to think a little before committing suicide.

Many red lights came flashing to the young boy's mind. He knew instinctively that if he took his life tonight, his mother would do the same the next night. He knew he meant a lot to her whose life was so difficult with his father who was from an old warrior family."

"What if there is life after death?" he wondered. He wasn't sure that there was, but anyway, he better not take a chance. After pondering the situation for some time, Babba made a rational decision: he could die anytime. He would go on living for now. And he would go back to the church that he had once visited and see what they had to say.

From the following Sunday one he never missed. Sometimes a friend would take him the 4 miles by bicycle and sometimes he would go by bus. Three months after starting to attend regularly, the local butcher who was a keen Christian, led him to the Lord. His life was completely changed for the better and he remained at home for the next 2 years.

During this time he developed a creative way to learn Bible verses. He made his way out to meet the children returning from school and ask a child to read to him from the New Testament. As he heard, he memorized. And the child got a piece of candy as a reward.

In time he was able to go to Bible school and during that study period he also learned the techniques of massage and acupuncture. Babba lived alone and did his own shopping and cooking. He desperately needed a wife. According to Oriental custom, the right girl was picked. Not only did her other qualities fit, but she had experience taking care of her blind mother!

The "middle man" approached Miss Takahashi about the possibility of marriage to Mr. Babba. She respectfully declined. This was understandable---after all he was blind! But what was her main reason? She felt she didn't measure up to his qualities!

The young lady did eventually accept his proposal and they were married and served faithfully together in service for the Lord Jesus. Jesus called people blind whose eyes were closed to eternal realities. It's better to be blind physically than to be blind spiritually.

Surprise Welcome in Heaven

Thanks, Jesus, for such a warm welcome!
And for wiping away my tears!
It's been kinda rough.
But now I can see that it was worth it!
I can't believe this dazzling beauty
All around.
The sky. The grass. The flowers.
So vivid. Striking. Breath-taking.
The buildings. And the music.
But mostly I'm glad to see You.
I can never thank You enough for finding me
When I had gone astray.
You turned me around.
It was different from then on.
Hard lots of times.
But I kept reading Your Word
And talking to You.
You kept Your end of the bargain
With peace. Power. Guidance.
I couldn't have gone it alone.
At first everyone made fun of me.
But they gave up.
You kept reminding me that I was in warfare.
That my short stay on earth was not to be a settling in.
I remember once when I was downcast
You led me to Hebrews
Where I read
"For this world is not our home;
We are looking to our everlasting home in heaven."
So here I am. Thank you, Jesus.
I'll say that over and over I know.
But who's that?
Looks like he's waiting for me.
In fact, all those people seem to be waiting.
Oh, I recognize a lot of them.
My family.
Yes, they finally came to You.
One by one.
I'm so anxious to talk to each one!
But Lord, I don't know any of the others.
That one. Waiting.
He was? He was that salesman I shared You with?
And her--the one I gave that tract to?
And witnessed to
At the supermarket? She was crying, I remember.
And those people--our neighbors from our old place.
After we moved I never saw them again.
But I prayed for them.
Sure I remember praying for the people in the airplanes
Going overhead.

Naturally I didn't hear anything about them
A lot of them must have come to You.
But Lord, You know I never went
To Africa
Or South America
Or Japan.
How could those people be welcoming me?
Well sure, I prayed and helped the missionaries
As much as I could
But still I felt insignificant
Their job seemed more important.
Sure, I know they couldn't have done it alone.
Wow! Everyone's so beautiful
Really? They weren't when they came?
Each one seems bubbling over to tell their story
To me
And I'm sure I can understand them here!
But, as happy as I am,
I'm sad, too.
I could have helped more
I could have prayed more
You've done so much for me
And I've really done so little.

The Stunted Tree

The beautifully shaped pine trees were only about 2 1/2 to 3 feet high. Still they were fully grown. In fact, the gardener told us, they were about 150 years old. These were "bonsai" (bone-sah-ee)--the stunted trees. And this was a bonsai garden: a well-groomed, attractive shop on the guided bus tour.

Bonsai are peculiar to the Orient. Growing them may be a hobby or a business. But no matter that, it's an art requiring skilled hands, much care and lots of patience. Not only is it a continual task to keep the plant alive, but at the same time the plant's growth must be guided and it's branches shaped to conform to set patterns.

The process of making a bonsai begins when the chosen plant is a baby. It is then planted into a small pot, which in time actually cramps the roots. It is given only enough water and fertilizer to keep it alive. At times strings and wires are used to tie branches, holding them down while guiding them into the desired shape. These are then taken off when the growing process is finished. Expert cutting and pruning are required. Effort is made to respect the natural tendency of growth while also guiding the plant's shape.

Some bonsai plants are loaded with blossoms, while others bear fruit that can be eaten. But pine trees are the most common. Heights vary from a mere 6 inches to 3 feet tall.

Dwarfed potted plants date back over 800 years. Many books are available to the interested person, and beautiful specimens can be seen in many yards as you go for and afternoon stroll through Tokyo. One gardener was offered $10,000 for a 150-year-old pine bonsai.

Though recognizing the beauty of a bonsai, and not being insensitive to the skill required to grow one (mine died!), I still feel a little sad about this miniature specimen./ Each one could have been a tall, handsome tree towing high in the breeze in somebody's yard. But it was purposely stunted, mainly from lack of nourishment.

It's like us humans sometimes. We may be full-grown, many years old, but actually shriveled up inside. We may think nobody knows. But what's on the inside is bound to show up in daily life. It's the inner person who guides the outer. A miserable personality full of self-pity and selfishness and grumpiness needs to have the strings cut and is set free. Jesus can do that. And as we read His Word, the Bible, we get the nourishment we need for the stunted inner man to grow into a beautiful whole person.

The Matchmaker

How would you like to have your life-partner chosen for you? Though many modern-day young people in Japan have adopted Western ideas about love and marriage, a great many still prefer to have their mates chosen for them. In fact, until World War II, love marriages were almost unheard of.

"I only saw my husband once before the ceremony and then I was too bashful to really look at him," a lady once confided. This was not an isolated case, but just the way it was done in old-time Japan. Today's match-making has been modernized.

Naturally, the "matchmaker" is a very important person. Not just anybody cares to be responsible for a marriage. It just might not work out and he would be to blame. So this is taken as a serious job. After all, the future of two young people is at stake. And 2 families are seriously involved.

A matchmaker is called a "nakodo." Actually, a "middle person." A go-between. He is usually selected by the parents of one eligible party. Sometimes this is a couple, and if so, the wisdom of both husband and wife is combined.

A matchmaker's first job is to get a picture and history of his "client" and then set out to find a suitable partner. Family backgrounds, educational factors, character, hobbies and work are thoroughly looked into for both sides. When a likely couple emerges, each is given a picture and resume of the other person. A date is set for them to meet. One or both, in today's culture, may reject the choice. If agreeable, however, they begin dating and eventually an engagement party with elaborate gifts follows. In all this, as well as in the up-coming wedding, the matchmaker is very active.

One man, Mr. Ishizaka, was a professional matchmaker for 45 years. Now in his seventies, he claims to have arranged some 3,000 weddings and boasts that only 5 ended in divorce.

Ishizaka began as a traveling salesman of lacquer ware, but as he moved about the Islands, he was often asked to find a suitable partner for someone. Thus began a professional career in which he has few peers. It also highly qualifies him to speak about Oriental marriages.

One secret of arranging a good wedding, according to Mr. Ishizaka, is "total honesty." One partner should not be overly played up. And also, though a man may be poor, but has possibilities, he must not be shrugged off.

According to this experienced matchmaker, girls tend to want a man with good scholastic standing, while a man looks for beauty. Japanese believe that love will develop after the wedding.

Before the war, Mr. Ishizaka traveled as far as Singapore, China and Formosa, and after the war even to New York to arrange marriages. And he's still on the lookout for partners today. He carries personal records and photographs of more than 300 prospective partners.

The Perfect Crime?

Almost 3 million yen (now $30,000) is what he drove off with. The mastermind of the most celebrated crime in Japan's postwar history, that is. And what's more, the statute of limitations was up on December 9, 1975--at midnight. Not only is he now immune to any criminal penalties (though he must give back the money if caught), but he has become somewhat of a hero.

Rolling through the outskirts of Tokyo on the morning of December 10, 1968, was a car with a driver, three guards, and nearly $30,000 in cash. The money car, from a nearby bank, was taking the cash to pay employees of an electrical manufacturing plant their year-end bonuses. Suddenly a man dressed like a policeman, and riding the typical white motorcycle, stopped them. There might be a bomb in or under the car, he warned them. While they scurried to safer quarters, smoke did really begin to pour from the car--from a canister he deftly planted. With the coast clear, the "policeman" jumped in the car and drove off. Taking the $30,000. He's never been found and neither has the money.

Seven years of intensive investigation has cost many times the amount of the loot. Some 171,520 man-days of police and detective manpower worked on tracking down clues that led nowhere. Police got 28,042 tips and they paid $30 reward for any that seemed worthwhile. They cleared 110,000 suspects.
Plenty of clues were left--the motorcycle and 2 getaway cars, all stolen, were found. The smoke canister and 3 footlockers that held the cash were abandoned. So were the gimmicks on the motorcycle to make it look like a police vehicle. There was even an eyewitness description that police used to reconstruct a picture for the public. He is the "best-known unknown" in Japan, one newspaper said.

Tremendous public interest surrounded this crime, right down to the midnight countdown of the statute of limitations. Young people actually hoped the robber wouldn't be caught. He used no weapons...nobody was killed or even hurt, they reasoned. Not only was his actual act bold and imaginative, but his continued evasion of the law has proven his wit. One newspaper chided police for mistakes in their investigation, but also scolded the public for the "hero" image accorded this criminal.

One thing this smart robber hasn't reckoned with, though: "Thou God seest me." And He sees you and me. We're clearly told that we'll all stand before God to give an account of the things we did down here. It's a wise person who starts getting acquainted now with the only Person Who can help us then: Jesus Christ.

One in 120 Million!

Since our Tokyo house was badly in need of re-carpeting, we visited our Friend's factory in California while there and ordered from what he had in stock. Being a professional in his trade, he had no trouble getting it shipped to Tokyo at a reasonable price. We rented a truck and picked it up at Yokohama port. Custom's officials were also very gracious and helpful.

But then came the BIG problem: Who was going to install it for us? We contacted a recommended company. Their price was $600 per man per day. Two men for 3 days would do it, we were told. But this was way beyond our budget and more than we paid for the carpeting and shipping combined!

Then I remembered something interesting that had happened just a few days before.

My friend, JoAnn, and I were sitting in a neighborhood coffee shop when a "foreign" lady (like us!) came in. I had already seen her twice that day. Upon leaving, Jill came over to our table and introduced herself and said that she and her two boys had just moved into the neighborhood from Northern
Japan.

Very shortly I searched out her house for a visit and found that she needed stoves, blankets, curtains and other necessities since the belongings she had shipped from her former home hadn't arrived yet. And it was November and the nights were cold. We helped her get the needed items. In our visits Jill mentioned that she had remodeled 10 houses in Seattle while putting her Japanese husband through college.

That's what I remembered! If Jill had remodeled 10 houses, she had surely laid carpeting. I tore over to her house and asked her. "Yes, I have," she assured me. "Laying carpeting is one of the easiest things to do." I told her our problem. She said, "If I can be paid for the job what one man would get for a day, I will lay your carpeting."

We were overjoyed and Jill was glad to have the income and to make friends in the neighborhood.

She worked with professional skill. I worked right alongside her and learned a lot about carpet laying! What a job to lug the heavy rolls of carpet and padding from the garage. It was sunny weather, so we laid them out in the road in front of our house, which is in a cul-de-sac. Inside Jill measured and outside she measured and cut. She knew just how to lift a piece, dig her elbow into it and pull. How we pulled and rolled. And then we'd drag the right pieces into the right rooms. She ironed splices and carefully laid the rugs so the piling was going in the right direction. Before long it was a finished job and we cleaned up both inside and outside--much to our neighbor's relief.

Jill and her sons spent Christmas with us, but in March they moved back to Seattle. She was here for only 4 months, but her 3-day job will last us for years. We're so thankful that we could help her, and then she helped us. Probably the only lady carpet-layer in 120 million people!

My Norwegian-American Experience

"Er du rusukute, Bestefar?" ("Are you out of your mind, Grandpa?") was my shocked response when, as a 4-year old who wouldn't go to bed, I stood halfway up the stairway and noticed that my grandfather, at the bottom of the stairway, was holding a spanking stick behind his back! I was later assured that this was a very clever statement--for a 4-year old!

Until the age of 7, I Heard Norwegian spoken constantly. From family and friends. Then we moved into a predominantly German community and Norwegian was put on the back burner of my mind.

It wasn't until I had spent many years of work in Japan that I was once again in touch with the language of my childhood.

Two aunts, my Seattle cousin Arlene, and I went on an adventurous trip to the land of my father's parents and Mother's birth. It was June, a beautiful time to be in Norway.

Primarily, I was struck with the clean, orderly, attractive homes, often complete with beautiful handmade furniture. This is a land of competent carpenters. Colorful flowering plants graced picturesque windowsills. And long lace-covered tables, artfully set with delicate china, held delicious meals. Fish and salads, I decided, were greatly responsible for the trim physique of these gracious people.

One night Arlene and I decided to explore the countryside. Though it was nearly 11 P.M., it was still broad daylight. This was, after all, the "Land of the Rising Sun." We took a winding road up a hill from which we could survey the luscious, green valley where we stayed. It looked as though an outdoor manicurist had just finished his job. In fact, neatness pervaded most every place I saw. I remember even seeing curtains on a barn window!

But it was after I settled in between the unique, white fluffy down coverlets for sleep that I faced my biggest problem and became very troubled! Why couldn't I speak Norwegian? I understood a lot of what was said and even translated for Arlene, sometimes, but not one word would come out when I needed it. I had been face to face with people, but frustratingly, couldn't pull out the right words and sentences to carry on a conversation.

It was then I realized that my Norwegian was buried under not only English, but Japanese, which I use for my work in Tokyo.

Still, as I lay quietly night after night, I found that my mind had been activated and was digging up the long-hidden words I knew as a child. I began to form full sentences--there in the darkness where I didn't need them!

I finally came to a realistic conclusion: I didn't need to speak Norwegian for my work on an every day basis, but I also reassured myself that if I had 6 months in Norway, I could become quite proficient in the language.

It's a great heritage, this Norwegian-American Experience. Two of the best combinations and I'm proud of both. Thanks to my Mom and Dad!

The Man With Two Pardons

From working as a prisoner on a chain gang to doing missionary work in Japan was quite a jump for Ed Martin. But two pardons helped him bridge the gap. It's hard to believe that this soft-spoken, white-haired man with the free, easy smile, was once a fugitive from justice. A fugitive with bloodhounds on his trail and a bounty on his head!

Edward, the grandson of a preacher, was 13 when his home broke up. He went with his father, a builder, and they traveled so much that he went through first grade three times. These were difficult years. Ed hated school. Not so much because of the studies, but because the other kids made so much fun
of him. He wore coarse clothes and he remembers that his lunch pail was an old lard bucket. Lunch, well, that was mostly corn bread and pinto beans.

No doubt to make up for all his insecurities, Ed found his niche with a "bunch of other rough kids." Together they became a headache for the local police. It wasn't surprising that "that Martin boy" was finally caught, though actually on a minor offense, and sent to reform school.

At this time, Ed's sister, "who had always tried to do what she could to keep the family together," he remembers, became a Christian. Her letters to him from then on show2ed her love and concern for this wayward brother.

But Ed was not yet ready to change his way of life. Once out of reform school, he started working at a sawmill, drinking and carousing, writing bad checks, and finally stealing a car, which led Ed once again into the arms of the law. This time he was sentenced to 4 years in the Richmond, Virginia, penitentiary. There he and other prisoners were put on a 6-foot length of trace chain to do roadwork.

It wasn't many months until Martin, now in his early twenties, and another convict began plotting their escape. The chance came when the two of them were doing roadwork separate from the rest one day. And their one guard had only a .38 revolver in his hip pocket. Faking a shoe problem, which he asked
the guard to check, Ed grabbed the man's revolver and he and his companion fled into the Virginia hills. Here the fugitives dodged mountaineers (anxious to get an offered reward) and armed men with bloodhounds for 7 days. They were hungry, thirsty and too tired to resist capture when a squad car caught up with them on a narrow, winding mountain road.

Back in prison Ed found he now had a short step-chain on his legs. He was bitter and hot-tempered.

Then one day he got a letter from his sister's roommate. She wrote, "Looking at your picture on your sister's dresser, I'm sure you have many fine qualities. She and I are praying for you, together, every day..."

Later this girl, Alfreda, visited him and explained to Ed how he could find peace for his troubled heart and life. After she left, alone and in chains, Ed prayed and asked the Lord Jesus to come into his heart.

That's when he got his first pardon.

The change was dramatic and affected every part of his life. One day the sergeant in charge asked him to preach to the men. He did.

A short time later this same sergeant startled Ed one day with, "Ed, you'll be leaving us next Tuesday." In explanation, he added, "You're one of the first men to be paroled under the first parole board in Virginia." Thirteen men were up for consideration, but only Ed made it.

Sometime after this came the second pardon--an absolute pardon from the governor of Virginia!

Ed married Alfreda soon after he got out of prison and they spent 15 years working in Japan as missionaries. Three sons joined their ranks. Then back to Virginia they were involved in prison evangelism. Fitting work for a man who understands prisoners, the man with two pardons.

See It....Do It

"I'm a radical," our 4-year old Markie announced with put-on toughness as he emerged with his brother's helmet on and a towel wrapped around his face. He was mimicking what we've heard about day after day on these small islands lately.

Five young "radicals" took over a company resort house in a mountain town that we know so well and held the 31-year old caretaker's wife captive for l0 days.

The final siege was a daylong battle covered live by TV to a concerned nation-wide audience. A storekeeper told me his customers were half the usual as people were glued to their TVs. Two policemen were killed by the young men's' shots and a third man wanting to offer himself as a hostage in place of Mrs. Muta was also cut down.

Finally, after battling floor by floor, room by room, using tear gas and tons of water, policemen captured the culprits on the third floor and freed the weary but well captive.

Besides this, there have been other "radical" riots and uprisings, so Markie knew a lot about what he was copying!

Mimicking is common to all of us in one way or another. You know, keeping up with the Joneses. And I once herd of a drunken father staggering through the snow. Suddenly he realized he was being followed by his little boy who was calling innocently, "Daddy, I'm walking in your footsteps."

Is it ok if a 4-year old copies you? Me?

Say it with a Gift

"Your rabbit got out and the next door neighbor brought him back. Better give her a gift," was the greeting my friend gave me when I got home one day. And that--gift giving--is the joy or nuisance of the Orient. Depending upon your momentary outlook.

Invited guests, or those who just "appear," always come armed with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, fresh fruit or something equally special. You will remember to do the same when you are the guest. Businessmen, though coming to see the man of the house, usually bring a box of cookies, crackers or a tin of fragrant tea for the family.

Not only must a bridal couple think of their own needs, but provide an attractive shopping bag of gifts for each family that attends the wedding. This bag usually contains one nice item, like a lacquered plate appropriately inscribed for the occasion, and a small lunch. A similar surprise awaits each one attending a friend's recital.

Some freshly made cupcakes or a plate of cookies taken to a neighbor is always reciprocated with something special. The plate is never returned empty.

Even the bereaved is not exempt. It's customary to take a gift of money to the closest relatives just before a funeral. But then in the weeks that follow, they will return to each giver an item worth about one-third of that amount.

Middle-of-the-year gifts are the order of the day for those you're indebted to, like a teacher, and there's another gift at the end of the year!

In any culture it's rude not to accept a gift. The first Bible verse most people learn--John 3:16--tells of God's gift to us: Jesus Christ. He offers a full life, everlasting life. Just by accepting His gift--by believing in Him.

Statues of Snow

To win the peace prize in the l975 Sapporo Snow Festival, four United States Air Force civil engineers carved a 17-foot high, eight-ton Liberty Bell out of snow and ice. This symbol of America's freedom was realistic, even to the crack and the lettering on the stand.

What began 26 years ago with school children building a few small snow statues, has expanded into a mammoth 5-day festival. Last year featured 120 different ice and snow sculptures. Eight foreign countries and entries. The annual event, held in February, presents everything from cartoon characters to legendary Japanese warriors. Some are 50 feet high. Japan Self Defense Forces do most of the work and provide the equipment while the city donates gas and oil to operate the trucks that haul in snow for this tourist attraction. The nine million dollar income is used to construct additional subway systems, improve roads and expand public housing facilities.

Working in 5 to 20 degree weather didn't particularly bother the American carvers, but they did get tired after 16 hours of this work daily for 3 days. The snow was hard like ice cubes and one of the men said they "hacked away at the block with axes for hours before it started to take shape." But while their muscles were still aching, the men were making plans for the Air Force entry into next year's snow festival.

Carvings are intricately done, clearly showing the physical features of an ice mermaid, and the bricks, spires and windows of a castle. Covering l0 city blocks, the l975 Festival was the biggest and best ever, according to the newspaper.

They prepared for 2 million visitors.

But guess what happens when the 5-day festival is over? Bulldozers move in and make quick work of all the beautiful dazzling sculptures. And hours and hours of work. By dozens and dozens of people. The city must be responsible for clearing it all away. Adventurous children might be hurt or buried while playing, to say nothing of all the snow melting there.

Life's a lot like the snow festival. No matter how rich or famous we become, we'll have to leave it all behind when the Call comes.

My Parents Were Losers

My Mom was a loser. Dad was, too.

It's taken me years to realize that. I guess this analytical age finally caught up with me. Or maybe it was questions and comments I heard that got me thinking, "What did your parents say when you decided to be a missionary?"

"Didn't the neighbors think your folks were weird because their daughter was going overseas?" my son asked.

One missionary candidate said, "My parents wonder what they've done wrong!"

Etched indelibly on my mind are events of more than 40 years ago. I, a young single girl, had sensed the call of God and was preparing to go to Japan. As a missionary. But we had just had a war with Japan. One of my brothers got the Purple Heart from that fighting in the Philippines. Didn't my parents think their daughter had lost her mind to plan on giving up her life for those far-off people?

During the years of preparation, not once do I recall either of my parents trying to dissuade me. Not by a word or even an attitude. They encouraged. Counseled. Dad bought me barrels to pack in. And a pressure cooker. Mom made me a quilt of leftover pieces from clothes she had sewed for me over the years. They made it easy for me to obey God!

On the morning I left, Mother prayed, "Lord, You know that today we are both sad and glad." Sad, that was understandable. But glad? How could she be glad when her only daughter was leaving? For all practical purposes, it was for good.

Many of my 8 brothers and their wives and children were at the train station to say good-bye. I remember walking down the line, cutting ties with each one. The last one was Dad. He was openly crying. I had never seen Dad cry before.

After my first letter home, Mom wrote that it didn't seem like I was so far away when they could get a letter in FIVE days! Direct telephone calls were rare and there were certainly no faxes or e-mails!

But really, they were losers, my parents. When one brother went to India and one to Africa they were triple losers.

Whenever there was a family event, we 3 were missing, unless a furlough coincided. We couldn't drop by and take them for rides. And when I married in Japan, my Dad couldn't give me away.

Then along came grandchildren. Practically strangers when they did see each other. Two-way losers, both for the grandparents and the kids.

They were losers even when death intruded. Didn't Mom deserve to have me there when Dad died suddenly? Or at least for the funeral. I tried to make it, but having small children, I couldn't.

Robert Slessor wanted, planned to be a missionary. He talked to his sister of his dreams. Then he died suddenly. His sister Mary was touched. One day she came to her mother and said she felt she must go in his place. What did her mother reply? "Oh, I've lost a son and I can't lose you, too?" No, she confided, I've been praying you would go."

What dedication. Dedication to be a loser.

Yes, my parents were losers all right. But by those standards?

a hopeless, helpless, dark alcoholic, she was rescued and "recovered" by Jesus Christ. Now for 5 years she's been teaching the Bible and English to Japanese. It's a brand new life that counts.

Yes, my parents were losers all right. But by those standards?

Joe's Petition

Through bombings and nightmarish fighting, through travel by air, sea and land, my 5 brothers were kept and all returned safely after World War II. I feel now that it was largely because of "Joe's Petition."

The envelope was old and brownish. It appeared to have been around a long time, probably handled a lot. I found it in an old family album and realized that it was over 45 years old. On the outside in long-gone-to-Glory Mother's handwriting, I read, "Joe's Petition." Inside that envelope was a single sheet of paper--so seemingly insignificant. But as I unfolded the sheet and looked at it, I was flooded with memories.

Sad ones...happy ones...thankful ones.

I soon realized that our family's destiny had been greatly determined by what I was looking at. I learned something valuable about the past and a lesson for now, for myself, and to pass on to you. From that one little sheet of paper, Joe's Petition.

How well I remember those years so long ago. World War II engulfed America. As a high schooler I saw my farmer friends and neighbors go into the armed forces, one by one. And I squelched the hurt as my own brothers left to protect our country. One, two, three, four and then five of them.

We were all proud of our nation and of our servicemen. It was exciting to have one of them home on furlough. I was proud to be seen with the sailor, the infantrymen, the dog trainer and the chaplain. They looked sharp in their neat uniforms. My brothers. And we loved taking them along to church. Rev. Peterson was always eagle-eyed in detecting a serviceman in the audience. His words of welcome to them warmed even my teen-age heart.

But then good-byes always followed. Our strong Scandinavian heritage didn't allow for a show of tears. We didn't even hug with a good-bye. Nobody did at that time. We just shook hands! But it meant a lot. I remember my heart aching for
-2-
Mom and Dad. I was always glad when our servicement left at night. Sleeping took away some of the pain and I sensed we all felt better in the morning.

Still, deep down inside, I knew we might not meet again.

One went to Germany, one to the Philippines, one to Hawaii with a Navy ship, and one to Japan. One was a dog-trainer in the United States. Years later we learned that our Aunt Alma had a dream at this time. She saw 5 airplanes go out, but only 4 come back. I can only imagine how she prayed. And her relief when the last "airplane"--the chaplain from Japan-- came roaring home. I feel now that their safe returns were largely because of "Joe's Petition."

My second oldest brother, Joe, wrote "Joe's Petition". He gave a resume' of the wartime situation and then wrote out Matthew 18:19 "That if two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven."

He went on, "I believe it would please the Lord if we join together and claim this promise...protection and safe return of each...but above all that Christ's purpose be accomplished in the lives of each of us." Joe suggested that we "acknowledge our approval, acceptance and claim of this promise with our signatures." And there they were--the signatures of Grandpa and Grandma, 6 uncles and aunts, Mother, Dad, my brother Ray and me. Twelve in all.

Looking back I can see that God answered the obvious: all 5 came home. And I believe He is still working on the second part: that His purposes be accomplished in each life. Ray and I were profoundly influenced by the lives of our returned brothers. Two of them guided us into further training, which eventually led Ray to becoming a missionary to Africa, and me to Japan. The chaplain, Clarence, resumed his pastorate. Joe, himself, before his death, spent many years in missionary work in India and Nepal.

Unusual blessing continues on the whole next generation. It reads like a prestigious Family Who's Who. There are dedicated and talented nurses, teachers, farmers, businessmen, musicians, housewives, missionaries, media personnel, writers and even an airplane pilot!

What would happen if families made pacts like this? Grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, children and grandchildren verbalizing their faith in and claim of God's mighty promises? Why not try it? Surely we would see greater family unity and blessing if we had more..."Joe's Petitions."

The Little Red Shoe

One day recently I was rummaging through some old clothes. For good or for bad, I'm a great "keeper." Especially of the boys' old clothes, old toys, old school papers. Jim once chided good-naturedly, "Mom, I'm a hopeless nostalgic and it's your fault!"

From that stuff I was going through tumbled out a shoe. A little red slip-on shoe. My mind went into backward gear and I remembered the story of that little red shoe. The near terrible events and the ultimate thankful joy.

Our family was headed to the mountains of Japan where we sometimes went for conferences or vacations when the 4 boys were young. This particular day we were settled in the car with Dad at the wheel, the 3 older boys in the back and less-than-a-year old Markie on my lap in the front. It was a special day because Markie had on his first pair of slip-on shoes that I had bought him. Cute little red plaid ones.

But as we drove along, one kept falling off. I blamed the shoes. Silly shoes. One's bigger than the other.

Then as I looked closer, I discovered to my shock that it wasn't the shoes. The problem was with Markie's little foot. One was clearly smaller than the other. And besides, that leg was also smaller.

We could hardly wait until that trip was over and we were back home in Tokyo. We took Markie to the hospital where he was born and there Dr. Johnson examined him carefully. He confirmed that one foot was indeed smaller and by how many centimeters...that's still on his record there. But then he
frightened me even more with, "But I don't think it's a case of that one leg and foot will remain small while one grows normally."

I hadn't thought of that possibility.

Of course, there was no magic medicine. We were on our own.

But we took him immediately to our dear Christian Canadian chiropractor friend who lived nearby. Dr. Baker was a story in herself--retired in Canada at 65 and came to Tokyo where she worked and taught until she was over 80. Dr. Baker put little Mark on her big table, examined him, and in her characteristically blunt way she said, "Why the food isn't even getting to that little foot!" A blockage. Whereupon she gave him a cracking treatment! There were a few more treatments and before we knew it, as time went on, both legs and feet were the same size.

God used the little red shoe to alert us to a serious problem and to get help for it.

The Last Time

Have you ever wondered when you did something for the last time? Like, when was the last time you drove that yellow sports car before your friend totaled it? When was the last time you rode a tricycle? Or a bicycle? When did your acne stop? Or when did you give your baby his last bottle? When didn't Janey need diapers any more at night? The time you had hiccoughs, did you suddenly realize they had stopped, but you were unaware of and couldn't remember the last one?

Sometimes we know when things terminate. We usually can recall the evening Aunt Sally's visit ended and we said "good-bye" to her at the airport. Everyone seemed to be crying. Or we can pinpoint the day Uncle John had his accident.

And sometimes we distinctly say to ourselves, "This is the last time I'll be walking down these halls." Or, "This is the last evening I'll be l8 years old."

Then there are times when we may be vaguely aware of the fact that we are in the process of a "last." After spending 3 weeks with my ailing mother, I had to leave. Though she was much improved, yet her 77 years made for an uncertain future. And my home was eight thousand miles away in Tokyo. As I reached the door of her hospital room after a tender good-bye, I deliberately turned and looked at her lying there in her white hospital clothes. I was quite sure that it was a final look. It was. She passed away a week later.

Another time I remember walking through our upstairs hallway thinking, "This is the last night all my 4 boys will be sleeping in their own rooms for some time." Morning was to be a parting time and when crossing an ocean is involved, it's no small matter.

Other times we plan a "last." "Let's get together once more before Jeff leaves," we might say. Or we invite friends over for dinner before they move away.

Usually, though, the "lasts" slip by unnoticed. Nothing warns us. Nobody screams, "Hey, you're doing this for the last time!" Or, "You'll never see that again."

You come home one day to find that the next-door neighbors have moved out. So trivial. But still you wonder when you saw little Jerry's bike out front the last time. Or heard Ann, the loud, happy teen-ager yell, "Everybody, I'm home!" like she always did.

At 17 when I went away to school, we used lamps. When I came home for vacation, electricity had moved in to the country area where we lived. I wonder when I lit the lamp for the last time. Or washed the sooty glass chimney. Or saw a bug fly into the mantle on the lamp.

On the farm we had to get up early and pick raspberries when they were in season. Mosquitoes were bad sometimes and we really didn't enjoy the procedure all that much. In time the raspberry bushes all froze out. I wonder when was the last time we kids and Mom geared ourselves up against the biting pests and filled buckets of the red berries.

Last times are often scheduled, but we've forgotten them, too. What adult remembers the last day of fourth grade? Or even the last time you slid your feet under your desk as a graduating high school senior?

Like it or not, we must contend with lasts. As a part of growing up. Of changing. Of just plain life. Far from being a morbid preoccupation, the thought of lasts should be directed toward ourselves and toward our relationship with others. Life moves on and certainly one day will be out last. We should prepare for it.

This week a storekeeper told me that his wife recently died after being hit by a car. Little did I realize when I saw her for the first time a few months ago, happily working in the store, that I was also seeing her for the last time.

Certainly keeping in mind the possibility of lasts should make us more thoughtful. More considerate. Will others remember us because we cared and took time to help? Not all the lasts have happened yet. We have chances to affect them by our daily living.

Fateful Exams

"Cruel season for youngsters," read the newspaper caption in mid-February. The accompanying picture showed a roomful of uniformed teen-agers bent over desks taking exams. Another article boomed, "Entrance Exam Hell." However you describe it, February is "that time of year" for students in the Orient.

With the new school year beginning in April, schools from kindergarten to university open their doors only to those who have passed their particular tests. And since everyone seems to aim for the best, nearly every student is somehow involved. When a student reveals his school, he also reveals his scholastic ability.

Because these fateful exams determine the social acceptance and ultimate future of the student, the whole family gets involved. Recently parents stood in line, some even overnight, to enroll their children in a certain school. They put a lot of pressure on their youngsters to study and excel. Joy or bitter disappointment, maybe even suicide, depend on the outcome. If a student gets into a "first-rate" school, he has it made. Not only prestige wise for himself and his family now, but job-wise for life. A smart person is often described as having a "Tokyo University brain."

Sometimes children are sent, while still in the lower grades, long distances to school. Even going by trains and/or buses. These are usually to schools set up from kindergarten through university and are said to give a superior education. Starting early means the child can sometimes go right on through grade twelve and university after junior high school.

Competition is fierce. One private Tokyo high school can accept only 400, but 6,581 took the entrance exam. At the Economics branch of Japan University two years ago, 16,000 applied. Only 500 were accepted. The "losers" must settle for a government school.

If a student has failed to enter his desired university, he may enter a school which will work at grooming him to try the exams again the next year. And the next. And the next, if necessary. It all depends on how determined he is.

One well-known columnist in Japan castigates the system of branding a person as second, third or fourth rate for the rest of his or her life because of entrance exams.

While we may be glad we aren't in such stiff competition, we are, nevertheless, heading for a final examination. At the end of our school of life. And the consequences are much more far-reaching than whether or not we get into a certain school. Last minute cramming may not be possible either.
Our pass or fail will determine whether heaven's gates will open to us or not. If we repent and believe in Jesus Christ, like the thief on the cross, then to us also is the promise. "You shall be with Me."

Tatami

Rice-mat flooring is in every home, at least in one room. Even in the most modern ones abundant with electrical gadgets, color TVs and air conditioning. These mats are called "tatami."

Tatami mats are about 6 x 4 feet and a room's measurements are given not in feet, but in mats. "It's a 6-mat room," they'll say. These mats are solid and very heavy. Originally they are about 10 inches thick and then compressed down to about 2 1/2 inches. Once done by hand, rollers now do the job. Fitting into a room like a jigsaw puzzle, tatami mats can be removed whenever necessary, but usually this is done only about once a year. In a bedroom, they yellow-brown straw-colored tatami stays quite clean, but in a dining area, they are apt to get more soiled.

There are certain taboos observed strictly for tatami rooms. There' never a 4-mat room since 4 is the symbol of death. And there' never a 7-mat room. In the olden days, 7-mat rooms were used for hara-kiri (suicide).

An Oriental never wears shoes in the home, but no one walks on a tatami floor even with slippers on. These are left neatly at the entrance to this room. Cushions are used to sit on as there is little or no furniture on tatami. Stepping stocking-footed onto a new tatami floor is a good feeling. It' a clean feeling. And an aroma of fresh harvested grain is in the air.

It's very special to watch an expert after he' taken off the old, dirty, worn, stained covering and with deft, professional movements put on a brand new covering. He sprays a fine spray of water over this new material skillfully woven from rice stalks and then pulls it taught, fastening it securely. (plastic spray bottles now replace the old-time method of a big mouthful of water sprayed through the maker's teen!) Then with his big 6-8 inch needle he lines the edge of each mat, using a dark binding material. A beautiful product emerges from his professional touch.

And there's something very special about meeting a person whose life, though once like the old mats, has been changed, become new. Marvel is a person like that. From the life of a hopeless, helpless, dark alcoholic, she was rescued and "recovered" by Jesus Christ. Now for 5 years she's been teaching the Bible and English to Japanese. It's a brand new life that counts.

Mission Aborted

"How can we get a foothold? She's a real prize. Cute. Popular. But so far she's ignored all of us," Sparky moaned. The discussion rattled on between Sparky and Munk. "She's been a model kid, you know, in spite of her family situation," Munk added.

"I thought with her Dad's philandering and her Mom being into a lot of our bag--Eastern Mysticism, meditation, Astrology, the New Age Movement, you name it--that we'd have had Kay long before this," Sparky droned, perched on a dirty barrel in the dark cellar of "headquarters."

"One thing I've thought about," Mark mused. "Let's get Tad working on her. This is her first job. She's out in the world on her own. Maybe more vulnerable than before."

And so Tad was sent to hang around the Friendly Fork Restaurant where Kay worked. Kay, the oldest of 5 children, bright, happy and always in charge, was in for trouble. Though she was looked up to by others and sought out for advice, she would soon need help for herself.

Kay and Amy, cute in their red and white uniforms, gabbed happily as they arranged napkins, plates and silverware for the day's first customers. Amy looked up first to see Brad coming in the door. This was his second visit. The first one was yesterday! He was young, handsome and a bachelor.

Kay noticed that Amy nearly tripped trying to get to his table. It was a perfect set-up for Tad to begin his dirty work. He sidled up to Kay and whispered, "Just look at her. She's after him. You should be. He really likes you better. I heard him say he was coming here to see you. But, he'll probably give in to Amy if she keeps on like this."

At first Kay ignored Tad. But next day, when Amy had fussed over Brad three days in a row, Tad had a strong hold on her. In fact, she invited him into her life. Wholeheartedly. Kay became filled with Tad: Jealousy.

Back at Evil Headquarters, Sparky and Munk were jubilant. Kay had been a tough cookie, but now Tad was set up in Kay's life and he could more easily invite others to join him.

At the Friendly Fork, Kay's jealousy of Amy soon surfaced. Amy was shocked to see her change from a sweet, levelheaded, mature 20-year old to a hotheaded tyrant who blew up at the slightest provocation. Even -2- the boss noticed it and called Kay into his office. Before long Amy had had enough and quit, leaving Kay alone.

At this point Jeb decided he was a good one to join Tad. He began whispering to Kay that she really loved Brad. Brad kept coming in and now Kay had him all to herself. They began to date and in 2 months Brad proposed, Kay accepted, and they got married. Jeb was "False Love" and he had captured
Kay's heart for Brad. In just a few weeks Kay wondered why she married Brad after such a short courtship. And why had he taken advantage of her?

Sparky and Munk kept in constant touch with Tad and Jeb. They would add more to the motley crew in order to better use their prey, Kay. It was a good time to send in Lon and Den: Hate and Self-pity.

When Brad came home from work he tried to be attentive. He loved Kay. He really did. But she accused him of seeing Gen from work. Sometimes she yelled, scratched and once even pulled his hair. Brad was puzzled by her behavior. Kay despised him, and bemoaned her situation when she found out she was pregnant.

A baby boy was born and Brad was jubilant. They named him Tommy. This would surely settle Kay and she would realize that 2 men loved her! There were times when her real self broke through and she was loving and kind. But soon she was powerless to overcome the forces that ruled her.

When little Tommy was 2 years old, Kay's mother decided he should have a brother or sister. One day she visited Kay and said, "I'll send you three gods to help you conceive." She added that the gods would be, "Prince Amore, Prince Jon and Princess Mori."

In a few days, Kay knew they had come. Somehow she felt lighter...smarter. Just before her neighbor Jill dropped by, Kay knew she would come, so put on the coffee pot. She sometimes went to the phone before it rang because she "knew" it would ring.

Kay discovered that she had mystical powers and somehow she knew this was connected to Prince Jon. One of her mother's "gifts." At first she only confided in friends. It was fun to tell them what would happen to them and then see these things actually come to pass. She was soon holding regular sessions and had continual "clients." She didn't charge, so no money was involved. They were all women and there was lot of laughing and talking because the predicted events were all good. It was fun...exciting...exhilarating.

That changed dramatically.

Soon she began to see break-ups, divorces, car accidents and shootings. Nobody wants bad things predicted, and when some of them actually happened, Kay soon found herself practically friendless. She was troubled and wanted out of this wretched set-up.

Actually, infighting among the "crew" was part of the cause. "I got here first," Tad yelled. "You guys are taking over." By now the "gods" were making themselves felt and one of them, Prince Amore, turned out to be Murder. During the struggle for supremacy, he choked Kay.

Kay woke up gasping for breath, clearly aware of something binding her neck. Brad, who knew nothing of her mystical fortune-telling "hobby," jumped out of bed and was about to dial for an ambulance when Kay regained control of herself and seemed fine. Brad wanted her to have a check-up. She half consented.

Night after night Kay woke up terrified, but she tried to keep it from Brad. Now she knew she was under the control of "spirits" that had come into her life. She spoke to them and discovered that she had some measure of control over them. At times it was mutual obedience.

Back at headquarters Sparky and Munk called a special session. They had a dangerous job for Kay. It involved her leaving her body for a while, but they weren't sure she was ready for it. Then Sparky brought up something absolutely new and shocking.

Jim and her husband Sam, Brad and Kay's next door neighbors, were Christians. Jill and Kay occasionally had coffee together, and Kay was beginning to open up to Jill. In fact, she even ventured to tell her about her in-the-night strangling experiences.

Strangely, Jill wasn't shocked. She seemed to understand and told Kay that the Bible has the answers to any problems we face. She told her that she and Sam were praying for them. Jill confessed that they were puzzled by the stream of ladies who used to come to Kay's. When they asked some of them why
they were coming, they said that Kay was a fortuneteller and that they were having their fortunes told.

And then they were further puzzled when the stream of callers began to dwindle and then stopped altogether. Living next door to a fortuneteller was unnerving and eerie, Jill admitted.

So Kay's unburdening her heart was an answer to prayer. Jill and Sam were ready to help her. So was their pastor.

Sparky and Munk were downcast. "We can handle just about any situation, but we can't handle this Jesus. He's too powerful. And He's all over the world. If Christians knew even half of His power, we wouldn't have a place to go. Let's just hope Kay gets sick of Jill before they start zeroing in on us," Munk mused.

But they were angry, too. They determined to redouble their efforts to use Kay to the utmost. They needed her.

That very night the "crew" got into another fight among themselves and again one of them reached over and tried to choke Kay. She screamed, choked and sat upright, waking Brad. He jumped out of bed and began pounding on her back. After what seemed like many minutes, but was really only a few seconds, Kay breathed deeply.

"This is enough," Brad gasped. He was shaking. "Tomorrow you'll have a check-up. There's something wrong. Maybe it's your heart," he added as he tenderly took her in his arms. For once she was glad to have him around. Then she crumpled, weak and helpless, back onto the bed.

"Brad, more than seeing a doctor, I need to talk to Jill. She understands me. This is not a physical problem. I don't fully understand it myself, but evil spirits has invaded me and I've got to get free. I never told you, but for many months last year I was a fortuneteller. I had special, supernatural powers. It was fun at the time, but somehow those powers have turned against me and now they're my enemies.

Brad was visibly shocked. He had never heard of a confession like this. And it was coming from his own wife! Could this be part of the puzzle connected with her unpredictable behavior ever since they were married? Sometimes she wasn't in control of herself or was in a trance. He felt her Mom with all her dabbling in the occult had something to do with it, but he wasn't sure. And frankly, he didn't know what to do about it, so he just pretended that everything was normal.

Brad did agree that Kay could put off going to the doctor until she had spent some time with Jill. Like the very next morning.

Kay got Brad off to work and called Millie to baby-sit Tommy. By l0 o'clock she was sitting across from Jill sipping hot coffee. Jill carefully explained to Kay how to be saved, how to have peace in her heart, how to invite Jesus to come in and be in control. Suddenly Kay blurted out, "I don't know why I'm here. I certainly have no intention of taking any advice from you and furthermore I don't like you. If you don't mind, I'll be on my way home." She talked in a high-pitched voice, all the time waving her hands wildly in the air.

Jill's pastor had preached a series on "Spiritual Warfare" and Jill immediately recognized the symptoms of a demonized person. She knew this was not Kay's voice. These were not Kay's ideas and Kay was obviously not in control of either her voice or her hands.

Though she had studied this and knew her Bible well, still Jill was frightened. She was alone and needed help. She knew enough to command Kay to stay seated. Tremblingly, she dialed Pastor Cull, who was waiting for this call. "Jan and I will be there in 5 minutes," he assured.

Before the pastor and his wife got there, Kay tore her soft leather belt in two. Jill had never seen such strength. If she had any doubts about who controlled Kay, the doubts were now gone.

For the next several hours Pastor and Jan and Jill were in an intense struggle to set Kay free. At one point she folded her arms in a sassy fashion and stared up at the ceiling while spouting, "I was the first one to come into her life and you don't have the power to get me out." Pastor Jack asked his name and the answer came back, reluctantly, "I'm Tad. Jealousy to you." Whereupon Pastor Jack commanded him to leave Kay. It was an intense struggle before he finally left.

Tad seemed to feel that because he was the first occupant, he had a right to stay.

One by one the "crew" had to give up their rights to live in Kay's body. Even Sparky and Munk, who had come as a last resort to help the others, screamed in unison, "Don't let us hear the Name of Jesus again!" Sparky further pled, "We'll go, we'll go, but don't say that Name again. It's all because of Him that we're defeated. Here and in other places. And because of Him we will eventually be sent to hell. Oh, don't say His Name again!"

And with that, Kay slumped over on the couch where she sat between Jill and Jan. They were quietly praising God. Pastor Jack was pacing the floor, calling on the Name of Jesus.

Suddenly, Kay sat up. There was a new release evident immediately. Her face was calm and peaceful and she radiated a smile.

"I'm free! I'm free!" she fairly shouted, as tears streamed down her face. Tears of joy and gratefulness. "Oh, I want to know Jesus. I want Him to come into my life and save me. He has set me free and I want to know Him."

Pastor Jack led her in prayer, as she clearly and definitely accepted Jesus as her Savior and Lord.

Then they analyzed the past and together agreed with Kay that her letting in jealousy (Tad) was the beginning of her problems. Though it seemed so insignificant at the time, it was a foothold for an enemy invasion. But how the four rejoiced together at what Jesus had done! And only now did they realize that they hadn't eaten anything all day! It was now nearly evening. Brad would soon be home, Kay realized. What would he think?

Before they could discuss it, the doorbell rang. There stood Brad. He had gone home, but Millie told him where Kay was.

Kay got up, walked toward him with outstretched arms of welcome. Brad sensed a miraculous change in Kay and he knew she had gone to the right place for help.

In the weeks that followed, Kay's dramatic turnaround prompted Brad to come to Christ, too. They both grew in the Word under Pastor Cull's teaching. And Jill was right there, too. Kay was thankful. First to have found Christ as her personal Savior and to be set free. But also to be alive, because as the "god" Princess Mori left, grudgingly, she admitted to being "Suicide."