Takahata-fudo, Hino

When we first moved to Japan, I hated it. I’m going to be honest and tell you I had no intention of loving Japan; my heart wanted England as an assignment so desperately I felt as if loving Japan would be traitorous; you know, hope deferred makes the heart sick. 

Almost one year has passed since we set foot on this foreign land. I’ve learned my way around pretty well, I think! I’ve made connections; some shallow, some not so shallow. My comfort zone has been stretched, prodded; my personal bubble has been burst; my patience tested. 

I refuse to even hint toward having a soft spot for this place; I could leave it today and not miss it too much. Maybe, by the time we’re due to leave, that will all have changed. It’s usually how it does, anyway. 😉  

I will, however, let you know about the small gifts Japan hands to me; the special, little moments or surprising finds. Because they’re starting to come to me more often than I can ignore. Like this place: the hydrangea gardens, shrine sales, and temple in Takahata-fudo. Little explorations like we had here make being here worthwhile. 

 

If you didn’t know: 

The tiered tower is called a pagoda. Monks live in each level, respective of their rank, with the highest ranking monk at the top. Sometimes I see smaller-scale pagoda statues in the gardens of Japanese homes. Apparently, only wealthy monks have these in their gardens. As with a real pagoda, the more tiers, the more important the monk. 

The little idols have hats on to keep them warm during colder weather.  

The water and spoons is for cleansing oneself before praying or offering a sacrifice. 

The little piece of paper tied to the tree is a prayer. Usually prayers are tied to string with all the other prayers; this pious fellow must have been a rebel. 😉 

{If any of my facts are incorrect, please feel free to provide a correction!} 

a thousand years

Image credit: Charity Remington Photography
Image credit: Charity Remington Photography

Somewhere, before time was created, when the world was just a seed, a certain destiny was wrought in the deepest depths.

When I was a little girl, I didn’t particularly care for barbies; not if I had my choice. I wanted a baby. I wanted to be a mother. So many sunny afternoons I swaddled, fed, burped, daydreamed.

On June 14th, 2008, my daydreaming blossomed into reality. After 12 hours of breathing, shaking, laboring against the strongest pain of my life; after another two hours of crying out, calling for you by name, splitting myself open with this inhuman strength I had no idea I could muster, you were laid on my heaving chest. I looked at you and I knew I had dreamed of you. I told you, “You look exactly like you did in my dreams.”

Your face was so familiar, my sweet boy. It was as if I had loved you for a thousand years. It was as if we’d known each other since the beginning of eternity and we had waited patiently to see each other in this physical, temporary world.

I’ve held you so, so close from the day you came to me. I am beyond proud of who you are turning out to be and I cannot wait to see the man you’ll become. I will always be here for you, Malachi. I’m your Mama.

I wish you all the happiness in the world. I know in this life you’ll have struggles; I pray your heart will be strong, yet soft; your mind will be sharp and discerning; I hope you’ll always know how loved you are- which is more than you could possibly imagine.

Happy birthday, my sweet son. I love you from one end of eternity to the other.

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