I think I left my Christmas in Japan, its missing.




Miss.  Hello,  Miss.  I Miss you.  Are you Missing?

I am missing.  I am MISSing.

Missing Japan.  Meaning,  it is gone and I can't find it.  Its somewhere on a spinnig globe,  an arms-span away on a map,  but so far and currently unreachable that I wonder if it even still exists...  Nihon.  The place my heart was humbled.  The land of the rising sun,  the land where I discovered what love could do to a wounded soul.

Be still,  my soul.

It was something about the uphill bike rides on a turquoise mamachadi in the core-peircing cold of December.  On a humid island that did not remember the reason for Christmas.  Many did not remember Christ.

It was something about ping-ponging the intercom in hopes of someone opening the door just long enough to hear the silent night duet of you and your companion renditioned over and over and over and over to an unseen,  unheard,  possibly nonexistent audience behind grey metal doors.  The kind without wreaths.

It was something about racing up a different hill the next December,  with a different Japanese companion,  on the same turquoise mamachadi,  with the same desire that someone would listen.  Just listen.  She was 82.  Big nose,  frail bones.  She would forget the name of her favorite hymn,  but we would remember and we would sing to her,  Miss Takahashi.

I miss you,  Sister Takahashi.  I miss you,  turquoise mamachadi.  I miss you,  Christmas.

I walked around temple square last night with my siblings as companions.  Christmas,  in a moment of hot chocolate and spanish carols shared and recieved openly I saw the lights.  I tried to regain composure because those around me could see the light too, The Light of The Messiah because they carried it with them in their hearts.

There was a young man that helped us find a parking spot.  Meaning,  he walked up to my window,  pointed us to the parking spot where he would be standing and reserving for us.  He then proceeded to parallel park my nissan filled with hot chocolate.  His car had hot chocolate too.

We thought that if we turned to thank him again he would dissapear,  the nicest stranger-made-angel I have ever met.  He didn't.  Instead he proceeded to share hot chocolate to strangers-made-friends.  So did we.

Christmas,  I found you.

Christmas,  I love you.

Today I miss Japan;  the land where I learned that Christmas is sharing Jesus Christ's light because there might just be someone willing to accept it.

Accept His Light.  Jesus Christ saved me in Japan,  just as He saves me amidst the lights at Temple Square.  I am grateful to my Savior for He loves the people of Japan and I know there is a Sister Missionary over there now,  on a bike,  in a skirt,  neck wrapped in a scarf and the light of Christ shining throught her smile as she hums Christmas hymns on the way up a hill.

Please,  this December,  listen and accept His Christmas light.





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