I scared myself angry a couple of days ago. And that was just from finding out that the turn signals in Japanese cars are not only on the opposite side of the steering wheel, but are also upside down. And finding out by signaling the wrong direction in a busy intersection, in a van that feels like I'm driving a hippo. Fear of hurting my passengers morphed straight into anger, and it took me a while to simmer down.
So don't be too surprised when an evacuee snarls when she meets a government worker, eight and a half months after the disaster. She fears she's been forgotten, and everything she can see points in that direction. Not even the official information bulletins are getting to her new apartment. She has to seek out the information herself, and she misses chances to get help.
Another evacuee from the missing city can't bring herself to drive the shoreline road. It's not so much the sight of the devastation. It's the fear of not knowing when another wave will come.
Stonewalling from some residents of temporary housing. Sure, there was miscommunication involved. But there was fatigue there too, and perhaps a tinge of volunteer overload. There's some trust to rebuild, it seems.
Fatigue shows up in various forms among long-term volunteers. Some catch colds too easily. Others forget to care for themselves and push themselves into sheer exhaustion. Others fall silent or get cranky (yours truly, guilty as charged).
Then comes a breath of fresh air.
"I walked with Jesus by Matsubara Lake. We sang together under the pines."
The staff from the camp in that song are here to volunteer. At first, even I didn't quite understand why we were having them put up Christmas lights at a local church. But as I worked with them, I understood.
Joy. They brought Jesus with them from Matsubara Lake, and splashed a good solid dose of joy on the front lawn of the church.
Thanks. We all needed that. One church member died in the wave, along with her twin daughters. Several others are hurting from lost lives, homes, and jobs.
Christmas is still coming this year.
Meanwhile, indoors, the tiniest potted Christmas trees, barely a foot tall if that, are being gift-wrapped for 50 households in a temporary housing unit.
Come on, guys. We have some more joying to do tomorrow when we give out those treelets. I hear rumors of cakes coming too, and I brought cookies. Here goes.
tears
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