Lake Nojiri in Nagano-ken, Japan, is the best place as any, I suppose, to lose one’s soul. “All who wander are not lost,” says Tolkien, and it is true. The dirt paths that criss-cross the steep hills along the north side of this clear lake will always lead homeward. The cabins here are often the only fixed mark that mobile missionary families in Japan can call home. Neighborhoods and deputations change, but the family cabin at Nojiri stays the same, right down to the warped wooden floors and pit toilets that bring us back each summer to an honest and humble outlook on life. A lost soul at Nojiri need not despair. Step up onto any porch and you will soon be found and welcomed. Any place on the cabin-dotted hill is a perfect spot to sit, soak up the silence, and let your soul wander a bit.

And my soul has wandered a bit here, but this was the first time that I had actually stepped out of my sole. I had known it was loose for some time. It was catching on the mossy steps and folding under me occasionally as I walked. Finally it was barely hanging on. I asked my friend, who was walking beside me, watching my gradual detachment, “Helen; could you just step on it for me? I’d just as soon have it all the way off.” She stepped on my sole and I pulled free of it.

“No, no! You can’t carry that!” My husband was quick to intercept my friend who was reaching down to pick my muddy sole up off of the soggy path. “I’m the one to carry my wife’s sole.” And so he did. My soul mate carried my sullied sole all the way home to our rustic cabin on the hillside.

My sole is still laying there, flopped down on the porch. I don’t think it can be reattached. I suppose I should just leave it there, even after we head back home to Tokyo after our summer at the lake. That way, I can always tell someone, “You know, it’s good to be back home, but I left my sole at Lake Nojiri. ” And they might know exactly what I mean, or they might not understand at all.