(This post was originally published at www.kevinclouse.com)

You are watching the Fisherman’s Dance, based on Soran-Bushi (ソーラン節), a traditional song from Japan’s northernmost island, Hokkaido. The dancers in this video are some of the wonderful Japanese expat kids I’ve gotten to know over the past two years in Battle Creek.

One of the oddest things about my life right now is The Vine, an outreach I run for American high school students interested in (or rather, obsessed with) Japanese culture. Odd because I’m usually just one step ahead of the curve, and they all think I know what I’m talking about! Thank goodness for all my Japanese helpers. We’ve danced the Fisherman’s Dance together, thrown soybeans at demons, made sushi, painted calligraphy, and are just beginning a large mural project. And of course Wii play together. They tell me they love The Vine, that we’re family. For the longest time, I just couldn’t figure out why it was such a big deal for them. I thought we were offering a mediocre little program at best. But then they began to open up. Now I understand that this is a refuge for them, an eye in the storm of their messy lives.

Now in our third semester, a unique community has formed. The students who come are not your average high school kids. They’re outsiders. Sideliners. Freaks. They attend the wealthiest suburban high school in Battle Creek, but they’re from the wrong side of the suburb, the numbered streets. They idolize Japan. For some I think it’s an escape from the reality of their foster homes, broken families, internal chaos, and hungry hearts. One girl is a cutter and takes medication for depression. Another boy appears deeply confused about his gender. Japan is their personal Promised Land. I admit, Japan would be a pretty cool destination, but my anxious hope is to point them to a much better Promised Land.

My guess is that we all have our own Promised Land, though we may not be as openly obsessed with it as are my high school students. Maybe that’s why so many 20 and 30-somethings can’t stay put for very long. Somewhere, there’s something better. A better city. A better job. A better apartment. Better weather. Better food. Maybe better people. I struggle with that. If, however, we really believe in the goodness and sovereignty of God, there is no Promised Land here on earth. Or rather, wherever we find ourselves is the Promised Land God has placed us in. Staying put becomes a matter of tenacious, clinging trust, and that does not come easily.