“The
postal service in Japan is amazing. I live in an apartment and they deliver my
mail to the slot in my door every day – yes! Even Sundays! But sometimes there
are packages that don't fit in the slot. In those cases, they leave a notice. I
remember the first time I got one of these notices. I had only been here a few
weeks at the time, and I spent five minutes pouring over it, trying to make sure
I understood as much as I could. When I found the phone number for the post
office, I spend another five minutes pacing in my room, just trying to get my
courage up to call. With all the confidence I could muster, I called. The woman on the other end of the phone kept asking me questions: what's my name, what's my address, what's my phone number, and when do I want the package delivered (it turns out you can pick any two-hour time period until 9 pm at night). They just kept coming – and the hardest question of all was: "What was the name of the postman who tried to deliver the package?" I said I was sorry, but I couldn't read it. But with asking for her to repeat the questions and her patience, things worked out.
But this past Wednesday when I got a slip from the post office, I didn't have to take any time to get my courage gathered. Nope. I just called and gave her all the information she needed – including the name of the postman. I could read it! Half of the battle was knowing what to expect – the other half was the Japanese. I hung up the phone and just thanked God that little things are becoming easier.
contributed by Amy Cervone
C&MA missionaries in Japan