Life still wins

Kinda went silent there, didn’t I?

Let me explain.

The day we took a trip up to Iwate, up North in the devastation zone, I fell in love with the place. It was right. There’s something more there for me. It was a marvelous day.

And simultaneously, I came face to face with the terror of the disaster. The images of all those buildings with Os crossed out with Xs, indicating that bodies had been located and recovered. The weeds overtaking the expanses of bare foundations. Crumpled cars and boats where they should never be. Destruction too far inland to even fathom how the water got there. The fatigue and uncertainty among the evacuees stood out and echoed my own, and I lost perspective.

In love and terror at the same time. Problem, to say the least.

I could have written it off as post-traumatic stress, and resigned myself to jolting awake in the middle of the night for a while. But over the summer I had seen too much of the good, of the hope, of newness peeking out through the debris. That had to count for something. I needed my balance back.

Did you know that a building totally stripped inside and out for remodeling looks very much like a tsunami-ravaged building, except that the pillars are a little bit too straight and solid? Yeah, I saw one Stateside and spooked, and momentarily expected to see miles of mangled buildings. Not the best of all responses.

So I took the time both to rest and to face up to what my heart had seen, both the love and the terror. And found myself on the receiving end of heart-care. Coming to terms with what I saw. Going much further back before the disaster to take care of some preexisting fears. Hearing God’s gentle voice assure me that safety is being with Him, not where I am or what is happening. Gratitude is back, deeper than ever.

The storm has finally settled. Once again, I can’t stay away. I’m ready to head to Japan again for another three months of whatever may come.

I came to the disaster zone from the outside. I had the freedom to outright leave after three months. And needed some TLC afterward. And I didn’t even do or see all that much.

Does my weakness mean I should stay away? I don’t see it that way. It means I have something small in common with the many who live and work there. Children who know no other world. Moms who are trying to make a home out of a little two-room apartment in rickety temporary housing, with winter on its way. Over a thousand kids who lost a parent. Adults fatigued and unprepared to face the silences of winter, who desperately need to be heard. I didn’t experience all of what they did, but I have tasted enough to know a little bit of it.

No illusions here. Rachel showing up won’t POOF heal everybody. But I’ve got a decent set of arms, hands, and ears to add to the mix. Can’t hurt to pray up close.

No specific dates yet for Round Two. But soon. Talks are underway for heading North to Iwate.

There’s good news of restarts coming from the disaster zone. Seaweed farms restarted. Baby scallops (active little things, did you know that?) collected for raising. Town officials elected. Kids saying they love the ocean. They wish their new school could be built to float, but they love the ocean.

I saw a news story of a dad and his young son. They had gone to see the crumbled foundation where their house had been.

“See that? That’s where our front door was. And you’d go down the hall there to the bathroom. See the weeds over at the back corner there? That’s where you studied…”

“Let’s build a house somewhere again. Soon. Son, where do you want to build it?”

“Right here, Dad.”

I like that kid.

See you later

It's Japan, after all. Where maple-flavored coffee is too cloying, and the cutting board salesman apologizes that the board is made of mere American wood instead of high-class Japanese wood. How am I supposed to respond to that? I never know which direction to point my patriotisms. Having two of them gets really confusing sometimes. 

It's Japan, where even the great mountains give way to rain from Typhoon 12 that stayed and stayed and stayed. More than a year's worth of rain in a few days.  Over 100 dead, a few thousand stranded. Several rivers are dammed with landslides. The scenes are so similar to the tsunami destruction that my heart doesn't know how to process it all. Worst damage in about a quarter century. The horror of it largely bypassed the Northeast (thank You Papa!!) and then hit Hokkaido with floods and crop damage. It's a rough year when both the quakes and the storms act up. 

It's Japan, where I find myself still trying to keep my hair flat. Its tamest look is curlier than most. 

Ever since the quake, the Tokyo area went into power conservation mode. It's Japan, where the public easily follows mass directives, and Tokyo manages to keep power usage at about 75% of the max capacity to prevent rolling blackouts. 

It's Japan, where the Shiba-Ken dog goes nuts begging for a bite of my breakfast of natto (fermented soybeans in the stringy stage) and raw egg mixed with hot rice. He whined so much this morning that he got two bites instead of one. 

Where my heart feels treasured when people see me off Japanese style, standing outside and waving until I disappear from view. Thanks hometown friends, Iwaki friends, Hayashi-san and Abe-san, and Andrea and Melody. 

I've said goodbye to this country before. But there's more for me here. This time, I said what the Japanese say as they head out the door: "I will go and come."

I'm on the way to Narita Airport. Time to switch gears to American mode for a while. 

One question puzzles me. 

How am I going to get used to neighborhood roads that are actually wider than an American driveway?

I'm gonna miss this place. 

Same old?

Japan has a new Prime Minister now. When a reporter pointed out that the comments released to the American press were the same as the last time a Japanese Prime Minister was assigned, the American government official issuing the comments laughed. What other response could there be, when Japan is on its sixth prime minister in five years?

Another typhoon is pounding southern and western Japan. Just stay away from rivers and mountainsides (impossible in some communities), and evacuate as instructed, and it should be OK. No big deal. It's that time of year anyway. 

I'm looking around for another place to go in the disaster area, somewhere with an emphasis on the children. And I need to get translation work done and get packing done to go back to the States. I'm so tired that it's not going smoothly, and I'm bogging down more than I'd like. Eh. Pretend it's OK and it'll go away. 

Is it really just more of the same? 

Can we really afford to shrug off the first change in government after the disaster, just because Japanese politicians historically play musical chairs a bit more often than other nations? 

Do we fail to recognize that the size of this typhoon would be devastating to the Northeast, and forget to be thankful for every moment that the monster storm stays in the Southwest? Do we write off the stories of the deceased, the missing, and the injured, just because the numbers are so small?

Do I ignore my grinding gears as just another transition, and assume I'll settle in eventually? Consider it just part of the cost of spending a summer in a disaster zone, and casually play the "oh well" martyr?

No, it's worth paying attention to what's going on, whether in politics or weather or my own heart. 

My fatigue level is much higher than I expected, and I'm not quite sure why. I'm changing travel plans to insert some resting time before fully jumping back into the old routine. 

Yeah, so I feel like a soggy kitten after a storm. Still shaking my paws as I walk. But oh what a summer it was! I so want to do it again... Nothing quite like watching Life win. 

Just let me refluff and get my purr back first. Soggy won't do.