How Unintentionally Misquoting the Bible Led to a Revelation

I collect quotes.  I have lists of them.  One such list is to be read at my funeral.  It's sealed, and my husband knows not to open the file it until the day comes.  As much fun as I've had reading books and articles compiling this list, I've found myself unable to recite any of these quotes without actually reading them from paper.  This means I refrain from repeating them out loud from memory lest I butcher it, misquote the author, losing any opportunity of conveying the zing they so often have.  The list for my funeral is one I'm especially proud of, but it's tucked away in my husband's office.  I won't try to share the quotes with you now.  You will just have to wait.

I read somewhere recently, one of my favorite quotes from the Bible "God helps those who help themselves" is not actually in the Bible.  Well now.  That's a bit of a problem.  Evidently, I've been misquoting someone for quite some time.  That I've been mistaken in this quote, one that has to do with God at that is even more problematic.  Needless to say I've stopped citing the Bible lest I misquote, say, God this time.  Clearly, there's something to not quoting people or books unless I know it was really said.  Really written.

Which made me think of another verse from the Bible (this time I looked it up) about the "gong."  This is also a quote I've liked over the years.  The verse is from I Corinthians 13.  "If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal."  Often read at weddings (including ours), it always makes me smile.  I particularly like the "I am only a resounding gong" part.  I conjure up loud-mouthed gasbags who don't know when to stop talking, and people who stood on a box (I only imagine it to be a box) in ancient Rome, dressed in a toga, reading something out to the masses.  Resounding gong, indeed. 

The idea of being a resounding gong, or being thought of as a resounding gong, going on and on about the plight of people and communities in Tohoku has been on my mind lately.  A lot.  How long can I keep this up?  How long will people listen?  How many have stopped listening?  What am I doing?  Am I just making noise?  Am I a gong?

I had lunch with one of my best friends from university recently.  She made a joke, what she thought was a joke, about me being in Tohoku.  It hit a nerve.  It was the proverbial straw.  I told her I was "done talking."  If she didn't "get it" there was no way I could get anyone else to understand.  Apologizing, trying to get me to hear her out, she said, "You never told me why you're there.  You never explained.  I've supported you, but I honestly can't say I understand why you keep going back."

Ah yes.  The question I am still, to date, unable to answer adequately.  Why do I go?  I've tried explaining my reasons using analogies, examples, logic, emotion, and humor.  Most people nod politely.  Most people don't understand.  The question will be asked again.  And again.  I will likely still remain unconvincing.

I gave my speech.  She listened, trying to understand.  "I think I get it," she mused.  I wasn't sure I believed her.  We sat in silence for awhile, both of us frustrated.  The next thing she said ended up being an explosive statement, opening up years of pent up frustration.

"You're bilingual.  You're bi-cultural.  You can do things in Japan because you're white, female, foreign.  I get that.  You know the rules.  You get things done.  I understand that.  What you don't understand is that you're much more than that.  You have a unique world view.  Things make sense to you that many of us don't understand.  A lot of us just don't get you."  

She was right.  I am often misunderstood.  I am comfortable with who I am.  But, I know, rather I have known for decades, many aren't.  Take for example, my last two undergraduate years.  I look back now and can say I was bullied.  There was no physical violence.  I wasn't hit, beaten, or cornered in the bathroom.   There was, however, stupid and mean-spirited nastiness.  From women.  I didn't understand where it was coming from for a long time.  It hurt.  That it went on for two years took a toll on me.  I loaded up on classes, hoping to graduate early.  I wanted out.  Significantly more polite and timid than I am now, I didn't push back.  I didn't know how.

Then one day I had a break-through.  I was sitting in class.  I don't remember what it was anymore.  Three of the "mean girls" sat several seats down from me.  Evidently, I was clicking my pen.  It wasn't a conscious act.  Just something people do, right?  Click down once, the tip sticks out.  Click down again, it retracts.  I must have been bored.  I guess the noise I made with the pen annoyed these women.  I looked over and saw one of the women nudge her head over towards me.  They all looked at me.  One woman sighed out loud.  Another shook her head and rolled her eyes.  Passive-aggressive and catty they were.  Here we go again.  What can I do wrong today?

I smiled.  Had I not been in class I would have laughed.  The ridiculousness of it came crashing to the forefront.  Then, right there, I decided I was "over it."  Enough was enough.  I understood it then.  Something "clicked" (no pun intended).  I don't know what it was that made it so clear that day.  But, clear it was.  I was being bullied because I was "different."  You don't "get" me?  Fine.  Honestly?  I didn't care.  I put the pen down and ignored them.  I continued to ignore them for the remainder of my time at school.  Life became easier starting that day.

Here's the thing.  I look American.  I sound American.  But, evidently, I am not American enough.  This isn't a problem I have in Japan.  I don't blend.  I can't.  I look different.  I'm taller and heavier than almost all women there, and some men even.  I look foreign.  There's nothing I can do to change the fact I am not "one of them."  I'm totally and completely at peace with this.  In the US, I am expected to be American.  One of the gang.  That I'm not made me the target of bullying.  Today, it makes my choices harder for people to understand.

What is difficult to explain is how being different benefits my work in Japan.  I get things done precisely because I am not "one of them."  Doors open to me that don't for others.  Add to this, I know the language, play by their rules (for the most part) and I'm good to go.  I am uniquely qualified to be a gong right now.  So long as I pepper my reports, this blog included, with stories about life in Japan in general, not just Tohoku, I simply have to hope I'm not one of those annoying gongs that people tune out.  I like to think I make a gentle "booooong" as opposed to a loud clang.   

So, gong as I may be, I will keep telling stories, making every effort to quote people accurately.  This is my job right now.  While I will continue attempting to explain why I am there, why I keep returning, for now I am content with the knowledge I'm okay being a gong because there is love in what I do.