Humility

By Molly Lauer

My recent post office story is a perfect example.

I wanted to send my dear friend Lorraine a small birthday package.  So while I scoured the stores for large envelopes and treats, Benno found for me the address and directions to the local post office, a mere 10 minute walk away.  Together, we then searched through my little book of Japanese phrases for something related that I could say once I got there.  “Can you ship this to ---“ we found.  “Insert ‘fune de,’” Benno suggested, “it means ‘by ship.’”  All morning I nervously practiced the phrases.  This was different than going to the grocery store, where I could find what I needed, bring it to the cashier, and look at the price on their register and say “thank you,” even if I didn’t know what they were saying back to me.  This time I needed to make a request, specifically communicate a message to someone in order for something to get done.  I had knots in my stomach as I walked there in the heat (I know, I’m a real wimp when it comes to this kind of thing!). 

But I did it!  The clerk was pleasant and could say “small package” so I was pretty sure we were communicating well.  I paid.  I went to leave when I saw her stamp “Sea Mail” on the package.  Uh oh.  Benno’s explained “sea mail” to me:  very inexpensive to mail something by boat but it takes 2 months to arrive.  Lorraine’s birthday was in 10days!!!  I walked outside and called Benno, who of course was at work and shouldn’t be taking calls. But I was a desperate, despairing wife.  I explained the problem.  APPARENTLY, even English is tricky as we hadn’t communicated well in our own planning – there are 2 different meanings of “ship” in English!  Benno suggested I go back in, explain the problem, and just change it.  “I can’t!” I moaned, “I don’t know any of those words!”  (I’m sure you can hear the whine in my voice when I’m really avoiding doing something – just imagine a 2 year old and you’ll get the idea. :))  “They’ll understand ‘cancel’ and ‘change,’” he assured, “especially if you draw a boat and cross it off and draw an airplane and circle it.”  Gulp.  I felt like an idiot.  Admit my mistake and try all over.  Exactly what I didn’t want to do.

But again, I did it!  Again, the clerk was quite friendly, even looked sympathetic to my desperate pleas, and quickly understood what had happened.  Then she communicated to me, with a point out the door, a grimace, a pretend sack over her back, and hands pretending to guide a steering wheel, that the man who had walked out moments ago had already taken it to the main office.  She apologized and gave me a business card, pointing to a number.  I almost cried. 

I went outside again.  I called Benno again, and explained this latest update.  He agreed to call the main office on my behalf, and texted me that he was awaiting their reply.  I tried to calm myself down, realizing that if she didn’t get this little gift for a couple months yet, it wasn’t the end of the world.  I could survive this tragedy. 

Benno called back.  Bad news and good news. Good news – they had the ability to cancel orders, for a fee.  Bad news – they had little hopes of finding it.  Then more good news – they had found it and would return it to the local post office for our pick-up the very next day.  Hurray!  Until Benno explained that that meant I’d have to go back to the post office, apologize, pick up the package, pay the fee, and then ask to ship it via air mail  to the US.  Gulp.  Here we go again.  I really hate this kind of thing!

I shrunk inside myself as I crawled back there today (inwardly of course; outwardly I was sure to smile brightly and seem approachable and friendly).  Of course, the clerk immediately recognized me, smiled, and brought forth my package without my even having to explain.  With minimal effort, we fixed the problem and the package is on the way!  I apologized and thanked them multiple times before I left.

Like Eve, I am shameful of my sin, but even more so, I am even shameful for my silly little mistakes!  I cower in fear, hating to confess that I’ve messed something up and need help getting out of problem, very aware of my nakedness and vulnerability.  It is very difficult for me to admit fault, ask for forgiveness, or ask for help.  I do not wear humility well.  Pride and independence I can do, but not so much repentance and receiving of help, that’s when I really get bashful.  Any of those that helped me during my knee injury 3 years ago may already be very aware of this!

But humility is a lesson I’m being taught this summer, reluctant learner that I am.  I see it creeping into my life in many different corners:  in relating to people of a culture I know very little about and whose language I do not speak, in applying for a new job, and in my new marriage. 

Benno’s colleagues hosted a sweet welcome dinner party for him/us last week.  Before I went, I was sick with worry about how it would go to meet these strangers, with whom I wondered how we would even relate.  But they were so welcoming and hospitable, assuring me it was good practice for them to speak in English and I need not worry about my very limited Japanese.  They asked us questions about life in the States, general cultural trends, transitioning to life here, and even how we met.  They made me feel at ease in their presence.  I was amazed by how aware they were of our culture, common foods, music, places, history, and language and it all made for great conversation – even those colleagues who hadn’t studies in the US knew basic English and would join in!  I began to wonder how a foreigner in the US would feel.  Surely the majority of us are only minimally aware of the basics of any other culture of people with whom we share this world.  I’ve seen it happen many times in my own classroom, when a new student is shunned because they smell different, or wear different clothes, or use a different kind of folder and backpack.  Humbling.   It’s a world of awkwardness, miscommunication, and patient perseverance when you’re living in a culture that is not your own, and this time it is my turn for that.

In a new marriage, I had expected some disputes.  I spent the six months of our engagement bracing myself for the ways in which we would have to learn to live together and scuffles that might ensue as a result (How long do you use the toothpaste for?  How is the bed to be made?  Which way do you leave the bath faucet handle – towards the shower or the bath?).  What I didn’t practice enough of was saying, “I’m sorry” or “You’re right, I got that wrong.”  Those phrases don’t roll off my tongue as easily as they do some people’s (Benno’s, even, in fact!).  So when he sweeps the kitchen dirt to the genkan (entryway/doormat/porch; a typical custom here, apparently) instead of into the dustpan as I would have expected he would do, I start squealing and exclaiming, “What are you DOING?!” I suppose there are better ways to respond…particularly afterward when he’s apologizing and asking for our repair and I’m still seething, not yet ready to make up.  Humility.  I’m learning.

God is calling for my humility, my willingness to admit mistakes, my acknowledgement of my weakness, my stepping down and off, in all circumstances.  Good thing He has all summer, and better yet a full life time!, to teach me and work on me with this!


Our July 2nd Saturday day trip to Nikko with our friend, Aaron: