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I told you I was working on something I found that I started 18 years ago. I just finished copying the last bit of 40 pages I've already written. Of course, the last third of the book was left open-ended, so there's plenty to be done, but it feels like the end is now in sight.

I know I wrote this myself, so it's not new, but I had to shake my head again when I read about my parents' first Christmas (1957). They'd moved into a former public bathhouse--a small, very inexpensive place--and they were praying about how to introduce themselves to their neighbors, when a policeman came to the door saying he wanted them to come down to the station for questioning.

They were accused of a hit-and-run of a neighborhood girl. What had happened was, some children had been playing on the back of the car when it started to move. The boy jumped off immediately, but the sister, too frightened to move, hung on to the bumper and was dragged on the dirt road for a while until the car stopped to the frantic motioning by pedestrians. The mother, walking by, had seen the whole incident. Altho' the boy had taken the girl to the doctor who patched her up, she was pronounced fine and sent to school the next day. Matters turned for the worse several days later, and the little girl died on Dec. 22, probably from gangrene.

The mother, wanting to protect my parents whom she knew to be innocent, would not initially give their names to the police. Newspaper headlines declared "Missionary Hit-And-Run, Noboru and Kimiko Oshiro, who live at (it gave their addresses) hit 7-yr.-old Yukiko Kinjo as she was walking down the street. There had been desperate attempts to keep the traffic incident secret from the police and society," the article said, "but policeman M brought the truth to light."

The next few days (in other words, this included Christmas Day) were spent in intense interrogation and investigation which completely cleared my parents of any wrongdoing, neglect, or of course, bribery.

And there was a surprise bonus that came after the air had cleared and they decided to begin their ministry. My Mom and Dad had no need to introduce themselves to their neighbors; everyone knew who they were. After all, they had received free, front-page advertising on most local newspapers, (and some people were slightly sympathetic with them for getting a bum rap from the police.)

 

HAWAII CALLS

It wasn't just my Mom and Dad who left Hawaii and Canada to take the Gospel to their people on the other side of the ocean. I realized, as I was looking at the old photographs. One of them had me sitting on the lap of my mother, Kimiko, who was from Hawaii...and standing behind her was her Uncle Matsusuke Nagata, who had retired in Hawaii and also come to Okinawa to help out my parents in their missionary endeavors. And standing behind him was Mildred Kiyuna, a trained missionary from Hawaii also. Hm; come to think of it, the only one in that photograph NOT born in Hawaii and called to work in Okinawa was ME. But I was born in Mommy's tummy who was born in Hawaii...does that "count"?

The church believers called her "Kiyuna Sensei," but we just called her "Aunt Millie".

Here she is leading songs in the village of Kombu--pretty close to where I live now.

When my parents started work in Okinawa, altho' they were both in their 30's, they were considered youngsters by the neighborhood people.

My Mom had asked her Uncle Nagata to come from Hawaii to help them. He did, and it was his presence that gave them the needed respectability and credibility they sought among the Okinawans they ministered to.

Ancestor Worship has such a strong hold on people's hearts. But Grampa never let it phase him. His help in dealing with the elderly was invaluable. Apparently, he would listen to talk for a little bit then say, "You worship your ancestors."

"I worship the CREATOR of your ancestors." Grampa never made himself seem anything big, but I realize now he's in so many pictures. our first Shuri church (the converted public bathhouse), he's in. Oh--that's Aunty Millie sitting next to him.

That's Grampa again waving in the Uken Church groundbreaking ceremony when all those villagers came out to build their own church; and Grampa surprised us all when he joined the young people's team in the outer island boat evangelism. Yup, that's my stepmother, behind Grandma Urata, and she was still single at that time, unaware God had chosen her to be the new Mrs. Oshiro.

I didn't know or care about any of that. I hear when we were in our first house--this would be 1960--so it was before I could walk; whenever I'd get in trouble with Mommy or Daddy, I'd find my way over to Grampa's room and wiggle my finger in a knothole at the lower part of the door, calling him. Grampa would always open the door and take me in, and no matter how naughty I'd been, he'd cuddle me until I fell asleep.

Grace. From the time I was little and before I even knew how to sound out words, I knew about it. Thank you God, for Grampa.