Becky and Her Girls
“Well, that’s an idol, Becky. And the fruit is an offering that people made to it. They don’t know about Jesus yet.”
My five-year-old daughter had stopped us to ask about the little cement figure along the sidewalk: a plump man with a broad smile and a small pile of fruit laid before him.
They think this is a kind of god.
Our family was in Japan for a bold initiative Cru had put together.
In Japan, half a world away, millions and millions of people had been experiencing growth and prosperity in the 40 years since World War II. The opening of the nation brought an influx of people, capital, and commerce from the outside world. But one thing that had not significantly changed was the Japanese relationship to the gospel; the land of the rising sun was still a nation in spiritual darkness. Huge portions of society had never heard the name of Jesus.
Our team of 60 students and 12 missionary staff were assigned the mission of carrying the gospel to more than 100,000 Japanese students in the region of Osaka.
Our children were young, but Barb made time for ministry where she could. Late on a Tuesday afternoon, she hopped on a train with some female students to attend the first Cru meeting at a university across town. She left the kids with me.
We were on our own, so I did what any sane and capable American father of young children would do in a foreign land: I took them McDonald’s.
With one hand I pushed Michael in his stroller and with the other I held Becky’s tiny hand. From our apartment it was two quick stops on the train, then a couple of blocks to familiar ground – or, at least, familiar food.
We ordered and settled into a booth. I put Michael in a highchair next to me and Becky, an independent five-year-old, sat across from me. Together we thanked God for our food and they cheerfully started into their chicken nuggets. I took a moment to watch them, basking in my parental triumph.
As Becky finished up her dinner, a flock of seven young Japanese girls, probably early into their high school years, fluttered into the booth beside ours. There was only a low wall between us, with lush potted plants forming the higher parts of the barrier. They chattered quietly, with an occasional eruption of muted giggles, hands covering their mouths as they laughed.
Becky’s attention had turned to the scratch-off card that came with our meal. She had just rubbed away the silvery coating to reveal her prize, but there was no revelation. It was in Kanji — simplified Japanese characters.
“What did I win, Daddy?” she asked, holding it out to me.
“I don’t know sweetie, I can’t read it,” I said. I nodded toward the girls through the planters and said, “Why don’t you ask them?”
I certainly could not ask them, culturally speaking. We’d learned a great deal about the social norms of Japan. I was a man, I was an older man (all of 28), and I was an older, foreign man. It was inappropriate for me to begin a casual conversation with them. If I did, they’d shut down.
Becky could and she’d never been shy. She was already looking for a gap in the plants.
Their chattering ceased when my little girl leaned over the planters, card in outstretched hand, and said, “Hey! What’d I win?”
By now, these girls had taken several years of English, but it was unlikely they’d talked to native English speakers. A conversation with a five-year old is a golden opportunity when you’re new to a language; they won’t run you over linguistically.
I turned toward Michael, still at work on dinner. I didn’t want to kill this cultural exchange by giving it my attention, but I listened to my sweet little girl interacting with them. It was English 101.
What is your name? Becky.
Where do you come from? Philadelphia.
Where is Philadelphia? Pennsylvania.
More basic questions came and went while I kept rearranging Michael’s pieces of food. The next question, however, caused me to pause and listen more intently.
Why has your family come to Japan?
A five-year-old’s conception of her parent’s work, if not completely wrong, can be hilariously simplistic. We didn’t give her a line to memorize or prepare her for anything like this. I thought this might be interesting. What off-the-wall answer might she give? I’d have to remember this to tell Barb later.
Becky leaned a little farther over the planters and said, “We came to Japan to tell people about the one true God in heaven. His name is Jesus.”
Have you ever had a moment when a hundred different thoughts, memories, and realizations flood your mind simultaneously? When something like a dimple in time occurs and you can sort it all out in the blink of an eye? This was one of those moments.
My first thought was, “Where in the world did she get that answer?” But this rhetorical question was quickly answered when a still, small voice whispered in my mind, “Jim – flesh and blood did not reveal that to her.”
The previous Easter, at West Chester University in Pennsylvania, where I was Director of the local Cru movement, we showed the Jesus Film; a cinematic re-telling of the gospels. Becky, then four, asked to go. Though it was late, she sat through the whole movie, riveted to the story.
She wept in frustrated confusion and horror when Jesus, completely innocent, was beaten and crucified. She was perplexed by the empty tomb. She was elated at the resurrection. “He’s ALIVE!” she exclaimed. She trusted Christ that night.
A few days before this visit to McDonald’s, our family was walking down the sidewalk when we came upon a tiny idol of Buddha, an offering of fruit laid before it. When we explained to her that some people in Japan think this is a god and they worship it, she said, “But that’s so sad!”
There, in a McDonald’s in Japan, Jesus wanted those girls to know Him. He couldn’t speak through Michael. He couldn’t use me. But Becky? He had her.
What I thought would be a cute moment had suddenly shifted. The greater reality was sobering. Humbling. Jesus was literally there, in the booth with me, using the mind and heart of a five-year-old girl – my little girl – reaching out to seven young Japanese girls who did not yet know Him. It suddenly felt like hallowed ground.
“We came to Japan to tell people about the one true God in heaven. His name is Jesus.”
My head whipped around when Becky gave that reply. I could see in their expressions that the Japanese girls understood her until that last word. Jesus? They’d never heard that word before.
Becky could see it too, so she leaned even farther over, held up her hand, pointed to her palm and said “You know - Jesus - they put nails in His hands. He died for you and for me so we could live forever with Him in heaven.”
They conversed for another minute then Becky turned and asked me for help. “You’re doing great, Becky.” I told her. I reached into the stroller pocket and pulled out flyers for an upcoming showing of the Jesus Film. She handed them out to the girls and invited them all to come. The showing was 10 days away.
She chatted with them for another minute while I packed up our things. She said goodbye and reminded them about the film. A short walk and a couple train stops later, we were back in our apartment.
When Barb returned late that night, I gave her the full description. We were delighted with Becky. Jesus surprised us.
We encouraged our children to pray every night. They could pray about whatever they wanted. They could say thanks, talk about their day, ask God for something…their choice. That first night, Becky prayed for “her girls.” She prayed they would come to see the Jesus Film.
I thought her prayer was sweet, but tomorrow she would probably forget about it and move on to the next thing. The interaction at McDonald’s was a nice moment, but it had passed.
I could not have been more wrong.
The next night, she prayed her girls would come to the movie. And the next night and the night after that. Every night and sometimes during the day Becky talked about her girls and prayed for them to come. She was banking on it.
As the week went on, I felt a growing sense of concern. The venue for the movie was a church. These girls had no idea who Jesus was. Culturally, non-Christian Japanese don’t just walk into a church. They were young, so they needed their parents’ permission. The church was all the way across town, which meant at least 40 minutes of travel. It was in the afternoon. They were probably all 14-years-old. It was 10 days after they’d been invited… by a five-year-old.
The odds that they would come were dismal, and I knew it. Becky, however, did not. In her simple reasoning, she asked them to come, so of course they would. Every day she was more and more emotionally invested. She was filling herself up with anticipation and it worried me, especially in light of how the summer had gone.
Everyone had expectations for the summer. Plans. Strategies. Hopes. But nothing had turned out as we thought it would. The cost, the numbers, the teams, the travel, the housing, the logistics, the ministry… The theme of the summer could have been ‘not as expected.’ From broken expectations, it’s a short, steep slope to disappointment.
Managing disappointment as an adult is one thing. ‘God may have other plans,’ we remind ourselves. But Becky—what if they didn’t show? How would I help her manage her perspective, or bear to watch my little girl’s hopes be crushed? She was so excited. What might this do to her view of God?
As her father, the prospect of her deep disappointment caused an ache in my soul. I felt afraid.
The day came.
Becky was buzzing with expectation all day. After lunch, she could wait no longer, and she put on her Sunday finest. She wanted to look her best for her girls.
We made our way across town to the church. Together, we waited in the foyer, just behind the sanctuary.
A steady stream of people filed through the doors.
The girls weren’t among them.
The pews began to fill up.
The girls hadn’t come.
The official start-time came.
No girls.
It was my job to begin the program, but I was dying inside. I delayed, lingering in the foyer with Becky and my rapidly thinning hope. Finally, I had to go to the stage and begin the event. We couldn’t wait any longer.
I said “Becky, it’s five past, I have to start the film.”
“But Daddy – my girls aren’t here yet.”
I could see a deep sadness building in her eyes. So, I did what any sane and capable father would do in this situation: I said, “Well, go pray with your mom.”
“But I did pray Daddy. And Jesus heard me.”
What could I say?
After a painful pause, Becky turned as if she’d been wounded and walked over to her mother’s embrace. I turned, heavy-hearted and took the long walk through the double doors and up the aisle to the front of the church.
As I walked up and onto the stage, I glanced back through the open doors to my little girl, held by her mother. The sanctuary was full, but to her it must have felt empty.
I walked to the microphone and paused. The noisy crowd faded to silence. When I had everyone’s attention, I took a deep breath and began.
“Good afternoon.”
That was all I could say before everyone in the room turned around at the shouts of a little girl, now leaping from her mother and running toward the doors.
“You came! YOU CAME!!”
There, hugged in succession by Becky, was a group of young Japanese girls.
There were seven of them.
I was grateful that everyone was looking at her. I had to take a moment to compose myself. Then, the still, small voice again broke into my stream of thought (and surging emotion) and said, “Jim. This is how I welcome people.”
Once again, I was reminded of the greater reality. There He was again — Jesus, cloaked in the heart and body of a five-year-old, bursting with joy, eager to share His good news with everyone.
The only remaining place to sit was the front row, so Becky proudly paraded them right up to the first pew and sat down with them. I began the program again and the film played to a full house.
Becky watched the whole film with them, all in Japanese. Afterward, a student translated for her as she shared her testimony with them – how she had watched the film a year prior and had given her life to Christ.
Three of those girls trusted Christ that afternoon, led to the Lord by a five-year-old. Becky didn’t know much, except that she loved Jesus, and that Jesus loved them. She loved them. That was enough.
Peter, Andrew, James, and John were all called by Jesus to come and follow, with the promise that He would make them fishers of men. Fish love fresh water. They are attracted to it. Where the fresh water flows, the fish will come.
Fresh water has a source. If we are to be fishers of men, we’d better know where that living water comes from.
Jesus was working through Becky. She was uninhibited as only a five-year-old can be. How do we do that? How do we let Jesus walk around in us and speak through us like that?
Walking in the power of the Holy Spirit doesn’t mean standing around and waiting. As you follow Jesus, be strategic and wise. Engage wisdom, logic, and effort to take the gospel forward. Three wise words I heard once: Fishing follows following. “Come follow me and I will make you fishers of men.”
The longer you follow Jesus, the more you will be tempted to pull off what can be a gargantuan task in your own strength. If you’re making plans and executing them but you’re not walking in the power of the Holy Spirit, your plans are, at best, interference. At worst—idolatry. When human plans are all that leads you, you’ll be frustrated when things don’t work out. Or, if they do work out and bear fruit, you’ll be tempted to steal praise that belongs to God.
Pile up enough frustration and you might begin to doubt, subtly at first, that God is in control. It’s easy to believe that you’re the one in control, but you aren’t. Your greatest asset in following Jesus will never be your experience, intelligence, or training. It will always be Jesus living in you and flowing out of you.
No matter how busy you become. No matter how capable you may feel. No matter what successes or failures you may experience, never forget that your only job, the singularly essential calling on your life is an intimate, ongoing connection to Jesus, the source of living water.
The Apostle John recorded all of this in chapter 7 of his gospel. Beginning in verse 37, he writes: “On the last day, the climax of the festival, Jesus stood and shouted to the crowds, ‘Anyone who is thirsty may come to me! Anyone who believes in Me may come and drink. For the Scriptures declare, ‘Rivers of living water will flow from his heart.’”
(When He said “living water,” He was speaking of the Spirit, who would be given to everyone believing in Him.)
The great secret of following Jesus is that, for anyone who believes in Him, the living Holy Spirit of the resurrected Jesus lives in them.
Where the waters flow… the fish will come. It’s so simple a five-year-old can do it!