I have always struggled with communication.
Sometimes I don’t know how to explain myself, or my work. Words feel too small for the depth of what I see and feel.
One of my closest friends is a hikikomori. Without him, I don’t think the idea of a café that allocates resources for socially withdrawn people would ever have been born. God has used him in countless ways to shape this ministry—sometimes directly, sometimes quietly, in ways neither of us expected.
We circle the same truth, but speak in two different dialects of meaning.
Mine is shaped by a multicultural, public health–psychosocial lens.
His is rooted in a Japanese cultural and linguistic frame.
Our “gap” is not about values at all—it’s about framing.
When he hears “research,” he pictures cold data manipulation.
I can’t blame him. Once, I thought the same.
But for me, “research” isn’t pulling people apart into numbers. My research is my work—it’s the practice of deeply listening, noticing what is said and unsaid, and weaving those threads into a picture that helps people see themselves more clearly. It’s not separate from the human connection—it is the human connection, held up to the light through careful analysis.
Yes, I categorize keywords, patterns, and feelings. On the surface, it might look like turning people into numbers. But those numbers are only scaffolding—temporary frames that hold the pieces together while I see the whole story emerge. Each fragment keeps its meaning, and when joined, the picture appears: rich, human, and utterly unique.
He once helped me organize tape transcriptions. He didn’t see how that task could help my work. But to me, it was a deep kindness. By freeing me from hours of mechanical labor, he gave me the space and confidence to gather the subtle threads—to listen for the ma, the spaces between words where truth often hides. Precise transcripts make analysis possible, and analysis is my way of making the invisible visible.
Because in the end, my goal is never to take something away from people. It’s to give them back a clearer mirror—so they can see their own patterns, their own strengths, their own beauty.
The Bigger Picture
This is more than professional practice. It’s a calling.
Every conversation, every listening moment, every pattern recognized is part of the Father’s work of restoration. He listens to the words and silences of our lives, gathers the broken fragments, and gives us back a wholeness we couldn’t see on our own.
The café, the research, the careful listening—they are all streams flowing from the same source: the Father’s heart for the lost, the withdrawn, the unseen. In His Kingdom, no one is too hidden to be known, no story too fractured to be pieced together.
And so, I need you my friends. I want to welcome you to join me in this journey.
Different eyes, different words, but the same mission: to make the invisible visible, and to hold up a mirror that reflects the image the Father sees.
May the Lord calls you, bless you, and hold you.
