By ROBERTA ADAIR

I pedalled as fast as I could with one hand on the handlebars and the other raised in a fist, yelling in Albanian, “You destroyer of beauty! You destroyer of beauty!” I had just watched a driver throw garbage out of his car window, and my bottled rage exploded – a vivid memory from 15 years ago of culture shock squirting out badly.

By ROBERT ADAIR

Our fruit grows on other people’s trees...

I recall thinking, “He stole my idea,” several years ago during a staff meeting at my Japanese church. A few days earlier, I had shared an idea for ministry with my pastor, and he seemed intrigued. Then he shared the idea as his own at our regular staff meeting! The group was excited about it and decided to give it a try. To be honest, the idea itself wasn’t that impressive. If I remember correctly, it was something like having a barbecue and inviting friends from the community.

But in that moment, sitting at the table, I was less concerned about whether it was helpful; I just wanted everyone else to know that I thought of it. For the sake of this discussion, try to dismiss whether my pastor should have done what he did. You could argue that he should have given me credit, but you can also argue that, coming from him, the idea was able to get traction in a way that it wouldn’t have coming from the new missionary. The point is that I was overly concerned about who got credit for the idea.

By ROBERTA ADAIR

I grew up loving stories about how God called people, especially into missions or other “professional Christian” careers. Often these stories involved some mystical experience – a line-in-the-sand moment that served as a turning point in people’s lives. Of course, the more dramatic and exciting the story, the better. 

I am still inspired by many of these stories, broadening as I got older to include how people in a wide variety of vocations discovered their purpose or calling. But more recently, I find myself drawn to and admiring the “boring” ones.

By ROBERT ADAIR

Whether conscious or unconscious, our view of the role of a missionary significantly impacts our praxis. Are we hoping for credit as the hero or willing to be forgotten in God’s broader story?

Reflecting on ten years of life and ministry in Japan

Few things remind me of how much I’ve changed in the 10+ years living in Japan than sakura (Japanese cherry blossoms). I remember first-term Roberta rolling her eyes a little at the way people gushed about sakura - like they were really special or something. I remember thinking grumpily, “They are overrated and impotent. Why didn’t they plant something that actually produces fruit rather than all of this flowery nonsense?” I remember on a really rough culture stress day shaking my fist at a tree and bellowing, “You couldn’t even produce a peach, you impotent tree!” (She’s beauty and she’s grace, she’s Miss United States.)

As much as I’ve tried to process, ponder, and pick stuff apart, I’ll simply say for now that the last seven years or so have been disorienting. I won’t go as far as to say I’ve been deconstructing, as that word is a bit loaded and a lot dramatic compared to what I’ve been doing. At the same time, I don’t want to understate the amount of disappointment, confusion, shock, anger (occasionally bordering on rage), and deep sadness I have felt toward certain branches of the stream of Christianity I’m a part of. Perhaps detangling is a better term. But I’m not wanting to go into that a ton here. Not yet anyway. 

What I am wanting to do is practice being more of a noticer—seeing people who don’t seem to be flailing around in choppy waters like me but instead are more like anchors. People like my mom: a woman who is stable and steady, who sees similar things as me, yet keeps on watering her flowers, making food for people, playing the organ at church, showing up for her friends, and volunteering at a thrift store that employs people in the penitentiary system. She keeps on making music, meals, and memories, keeps on listening to Reactionary, Big Feeling Me, and keeps on being her steady self.