ONEIGAI SHIMASU

ONEIGASHIMASU

There is nothing more beautiful than a grandmother’s love. There is nothing more powerful than a grandmother's prayer. There is nothing more reassuring than listening to your mother pray for your son in her language of origin and what some categorize as broken English.

“Pureezu, pureezu help Erizabesu Musuko keep his job.” “Pureezu, Pureezu ,Pureezu, oneigashimasu.”

It has been many decades since my mother asked me to sit next to her as she prays. Since she turned 96, she has prayed infrequently, and lately when she sits through the discipline of praying, she prays for a few minutes, especially after recovering from a broken arm and broken ribs. But not tonight; Okaasan explained her spirit compelled her to call me and to sit with her and pray—to pray on behalf of my son, Elijah, who has been waiting patiently to find out if he will be laid off from his employer. It has been an excruciating six months of waiting for the company to make the final cut. We have been through this arduous wait several times in the past year.

All day, I was distracted, and my mom sensed it. She asked me this evening, "What are you worried about.” I replied, "Mom, I can't imagine being the mother of seven children," I admitted. "I only have three, and I worry about them and pray for them all the time." I felt a bit lost. "Elijah is not worried; he is making dinner and readying himself for tomorrow." "I need to take a shower and go pray I announced,” my voice trailing off as I headed to clear my head.

In the shower, I was a bit embarrassed. After all, who am I kidding? How many times did I miss praying over the last month or even this week? I am not disciplined when it comes to prayer. God sees and knows everything. Yes, we newly found Christians are often impatient with the process of prayer and find it challenging to sit still for five minutes, let alone for an hour. What did Jesus say to his disciples at Gethsemane? I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad, they all fell asleep, and they met and broke bread with God incarnate.

Thirty-five years ago, as a new believer, I'd pray more often, falling asleep between reading the bible and my long discussions with God more like last-minute pleadings. I would pray about my complex life, my Okaasan, my siblings, and my then very young sons. I'm guessing we mommies pray a bit more diligently during our son’s teenage years. Nonetheless, I seemed to be better at prayer when I knew less about the requirements of devout faith.

I sat down in the guest room, freshly showered, the prayer shawl Elijah gifted me from the Thai Elephant Sanctuary over my head as God instructed. My privacy ritual was to keep my prayers between the Lord and me. I believe prayer is a sacred time. I began quietly: “I have no idea what to pray or what to ask because you already know the outcome-God.” “I do not want to be a fool and ask for something I do not deserve, but I beg of you, God, to consider my Elijah. He was born, like me, prematurely, spending his first ten days of life in Neonatal care. He suffered the moment he took his first breath in this world. If suffering is a sign of Christian devotion or God's acknowledgment of why we deserve compassion, surely Elijah deserves an extra dose of compassion.

I was floating in and out of prayer, and suddenly, a sweet familiar voice beckoned, "Erizabesu Erizabesu, come we pray together." My Mom led me to her prayer area, now minimized after she burned her Kamisama years ago in faith and dismantled her Bustudon of her own accord. All that is left of her prayer area is weathered photographs of her parents, ancestors, and her beloved daughter (our sister), who succumbed to Leukemia at the age of twelve. Makes no sense, I thought—as I looked at my sister's photo, she was probably one of the few genuinely faith-filled angelic people I knew.

Mom opened her prayer books and started to pray, going through one, not two, but all three. “Good grief—really, Mom, three prayer books?” I thought. The last one was so worn that it was tattered and hard to hold. She would finish each book by rubbing her Juzu (equivalent to Catholic rosary beads) together. Okaasan said in beautifully broken English, "Pureezu, pureezu help Erizabesu no Musuko, Elijah no lose the job." I started to get antsy after the first book but knew better than to move during books two or three out of genuine respect and appreciation for my mother's sacrifice to sit so long for Elijah.

My mind wandered as my mother continued to pray in a focused and disciplined fashion. I thought about my journey into Buddhism and how I learned to chant the entire Lotras Sutra by memory in my twenties, how I used to chant and meditate for three hours straight each and every day. Why did I give it all up? Intellectually and emotionally, I seemed calmer and detached from worldly things and people. I used to be disciplined in prayer but disconnected from the spirit-- if that makes sense.

I reminisced about how I would sit and sometimes lay on my mother's bed next to her as she prayed when I was a little girl. She often burned the green Josso incense and rang the little bell while chanting and praying. By the way, where is that little bell? I saw the pillow I made for her as a teen with the Tsuru (crane) print. My mom would pray nearly all day and often when we were little. Raising seven children alone was not for the faint of heart or the unfaithful.

Nevertheless, Okaasan believed in prayer and the grace of God. When I was a little girl and did not contemplate nor understand the politics of religion, my mother's chanting and prayers soothed me to sleep. We were economically challenged, my father, who was a Merchant Marine Captain, was often traveling the seven seas, late sending money home, and we had many lean days, especially when he was dying of an aggressive brain tumor, and my little sister contracted Bone Marrow Cancer. Our family struggled, but we persevered through my mother’s strength and faith.

As I grew older, I studied the world’s religion out of curiosity at the University of Oregon and sampled various faith beliefs. I was frustrated with every one of them because my major was Political Science and history, and politics reminds us that religion is the opiate of the masses and the downfall of mankind, or is it???I focused on Buddhism because my mother was an enigma to me. How any human being could believe in an extraordinary invisible being after all the hell she endured was oblivious to me. I even grew weary of Buddhism because of the societal narratives of how women were perceived in the rankings of Satori (enlightenment) and the distribution of spiritual power.

When I turned thirty, I challenged (yup, you know Elizabeth Asahi Sato) the Christian God to reveal God's true spirit and power. Hence, God did so without snuffing me out for my arrogance, but that is another story altogether.

Tonight is all about a grandmother's love for her grandson and a mother's love for her son. It was about a mother’s worry and anxiety for her son’s future when the son’s mother’s mother was not worried in the least bit. Obaachan (Grandmother) believed in Elijah. She held him since he was a newborn. She predicted his success and told him stories of the ancient Samurai to encourage his endurance. Obaachan expects Elijah to ganmansuru (persevere.)

The truth is that my angst has nothing to do with Elijah. Elijah can easily land another job; my kid can do just about anything and do it well. Elijah will land on his feet. It's just that I did not want to see anyone break my son’s heart, especially after he gave his all to the company. Earlier, I penned to my son this encouragement “You entered the Tech arena with confidence, and day in and day out, you have worked purposefully to invest expertise, compassion, and enthusiasm into those the company entrusts you to manage and build to be the best they can be. You illustrate through a unique professional acumen genuine encouragement, nurturing colleagues to make work fun and exciting, thereby increasing the ROI of any workforce.” You will be fine.

Truthfully, I was a wreck. Come on--I am a mom and pissed off at the company. I don’t care about their rationale or their stock holdings.

I trust, believe in, and honor God, but humans—not so much. In my six and a half decades, I have witnessed these mega companies' greed and lack of care, and despite how proud I am of all of my sons—I'm not too fond of the Capitalistic gluttons that make decisions that only serve shareholders and themselves. It's why I have always served in the social justice arena—to equalize the playing field, to right wrongs hopefully, and to distribute resources more equitably. However, lately, the behavior of human beings has disappointed me in all areas. Humans are such a mess focusing on material acquisition and greed.

Tonight, my own Okaasan, my mother, illustrated to me about faith. You pray. You ask for grace respectfully and don't need to worry about it. You believe and then go to bed in peace. Nothing is more powerful than hearing the earnest prayers of your Japanese mother in broken English yet perfectly and clearly articulated a prayer petition confidently delivered with genuine respect and sincere expectation.?Nothing is humbling than sitting next to your Okaasan as she prays three whole books of scripture and then says, "Now we trust.” That’s it—there is no worry." Okaasan reassured. If this is what Buddhists call Satori or Christians call wisdom, I must share tonight--that there is nothing more beautiful than hearing Onegaishimasu (a polite form of please,) knowing this grandmother adores her grandson and wants the best for him but trusts God will be fair with him.

Oneigashimasu Oneigashimasu, my prayer, dear God, is for tomorrow to be a day of this grandmother’s prayer answered.?

Amen

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