Connections

If there's anything I've learned about Northerners, it's that they're connected. And being brand-new in Ofunato, connection is what we want. 

We checked with City Hall about volunteer work, and found that it's defined as physical assistance, like cleanup, food, clothing, and shelter. The government does seem to think their task is ending soon. And they're partially right. What has been done thus far has been an incredible amount of hard work. 

There's an organization called All Hands that put a lot of work into this city, and they pulled out this week. True to their name, they put their hands to any task that was needed. There are thank-you posters all over town to recognize the contribution of these volunteers. They were here for about seven months. Yes, thank you, All Hands. 

The manual cleanup is winding down. But this disaster is far from over. Rebuilding will take time. And rebuilding hearts is a long-term task. 

For that, we need connections. 

Shortcut. Paula, our team leader, knows a city councilman who is a Christian. He is concerned about his community, and has considerable influence. He understands that his city needs heart care, and he showed us around for the afternoon. 

We went to the central office that coordinates all of the local temporary housing locations, without an appointment, and got connected to the office manager. He in turn connected us to several temporary housing locations, and we delivered rice to nine families. Then we rushed off to an appointment to be interviewed at the newspaper office for an article, because the city councilman wanted to make sure that evacuees living with relatives found out about us and could contact us with whatever needs they might have. 

But the best connection of the day is with one of the families we met. The lady of the house wants us to come visit and have some tea. 

Thank you, Councilman Miura. We'll go have tea and make a new friend as soon as we can. 

Carpenters?

Any carpenters out there? There's plenty to do with Samaritan's Purse in Kesen-numa, one of the devastated cities. The areas by the shoreline and along the river are stark reminders of what happened here. A large ship, fully intact, has settled onto the ground. It looks perfectly serviceable, but the price to move it is exorbitantly high. So there it sits among the bare foundations.

The destruction takes forever to end. We turned a corner and the buildings resumed. We headed into the business district, and store after store was just a shell. Only several blocks later did we see intact businesses. 

This city is one of the places where Samaritan's Purse is helping with the rebuilding process. We stopped by to help for the afternoon, and helped remove drywall from the first floor of a house. Once the floor, drywall, and ceiling are removed, the carpenters install a basic floor and new drywall for free. 

All finishing work is done by local Japanese carpenters at the going rate. Samaritan's Purse wants to help, not hinder the local economy. 

One of the staff told me that within an hour of here, there is a community where houses sitting ON TOP OF a 20-meter cliff (60 feet high) got damaged by the tsunami. Houses at the base of the cliff are simply gone. 

The city next to Kesen-numa, Rikuzen-Takata, is blank. Just nothing left. A few shells of buildings here and there. It was already dark when we drove through. I caught myself being thankful for the limited visibility. But I'll eventually have to see it in the daytime. 

We met a lady today who lost her childhood home that was in Rikuzen-Takata. She's far from alone in that experience. 

We've settled in at a volunteer center in Ofunato, where we'll stay for the next few days. Tomorrow, we start learning what we can about this city. 

Ofunato

Turn us loose in downtown Morioka for half an hour. One of us buys diaries and a pen. Another buys a delicate pink rose. Another traipses all over the Morioka castle ruins memorial park, delights in a stairway that was surely used by archers and other warriors, and chats with a photo-journalist for awhile, then runs out of time and returns to our meeting place at a dead run. (Yeah, guess who.)

The photo-journalist has friends and family on the coast, and is amazed that man-made structures and man-planted pine groves are gone, but fragile-looking rock formations, naturally growing trees, and land formations are intact.

He's right. It may not apply everywhere, but by comparison, nature looks unscathed.

He also told me about the town of Taro. I had already heard that it's nearly wiped out, and had a very tall sea wall. He told me it was a double wall, and the tsunami broke them both. And that chunks of that sea wall had made the nearby sea impassable for ships and boats. Work is underway to remove the pieces.

Diary, Rose, and Park-Traipser. We three headed to Ofunato City today. Part of the city looks fine. A burger joint has a sign apologizing for their limited menu. Ingredients are harder to secure these days. Tunnels have only a third of the lights on, to conserve electricity. That's all you see.

The coastline brought fresh tears. Blank expanses. Destroyed industrial parks. The city government, thank God, was on higher ground. Residences, businesses, and industry took a severe hit. A major road is flooded out. We pulled into a lot beside a towering pile of debris to turn around. Eight months after the disaster and there's still a stench.

We went up to the Catholic church on the hill to look out over the city and pray. Behind the church is a Catholic kindergarten, blissfully untouched. One of the teachers told us that all of the children and their parents made it. How I needed that piece of good news.

We asked about the history of the city, and she suggested a church member in her 80s who is "a living encyclopedia." Her house was destroyed by the tsunami, and she donated the destroyed property to use for building a volunteer center. It opens in December.

A history knower *and* history maker. I like this lady already and I haven't even met her.

There's temporary housing here and there in the undamaged part of town, if you know where to look. There are also people living in their own houses but without jobs and with extra relatives taking refuge. They need some help too.

We asked a city councilman what people need. He said rice and fresh groceries. We'll be back next week with that, plus conversation and friendship.

Back to Morioka for now.

Eight months

It's eight months tomorrow since the quake and tsunami struck. And bodies are still being found. Unfortunately, sometimes by family members instead of by government workers. The grief must be unimaginable, yet the closure of finding their loved one is important for their healing.

Iwaki, where I spent the summer, has seen its population increase by 20,000 people. Another 10,000 are expected. In the aftermath of the disaster, they're facing an unlikely problem: gambling and the unrest that comes with it. While the local tsunami victims already got their one-time payment from the government, the nuclear evacuees are receiving continual monthly payments for each member of the household. They have shopping money and gambling money, and a mentality that they're in a holding pattern (translation: spending pattern) until their towns are reopened. There's tension between the local tsunami victims and who they see as rich and lazy imports. Fights break out.

It's not all bad news. Scotch-tape granny will have her eyelid operation soon. A gentle friend is settled into her new apartment with her whole family living together again, and is studying the Bible with quite an appetite. Pastor Mori remains busy but his passion remains strong for long-term work in his changing city. Several of the most gung-ho volunteers I've ever met have outright moved to Iwaki. It's far from peachy, but hearts are mending and even thriving.

I'm on the bullet train heading to Morioka City. It's inland, and quite a drive from the coast. But that hasn't stopped Pastor Kondo from getting involved and staying involved with relief work in the area. I'm heading to his church to join other volunteers.

That's all I know for sure. Well, and that the need is huge along the coast. My task is simple: love the person in front of me. And watch for signs that Life is still winning, despite the fatigue and the length of time that has passed.

Glad you're along.

Half-stories

What, may I ask, am I being prepared for? It’s been a whirlwind month, with a recurring theme: Change Of Plans. Maybes. Almosts. Not this but that. The destination changed several times. The timing changed every few days, it seems.

I’m bad at relaying maybes. I want definites. Half-stories are really hard for me to tell.

“I’m going here on this date. Woops, no I’m not. How about here? Oh. Well then.”

Come to think of it, this entire disaster is riddled with half-stories. There might be a nuclear meltdown in the disabled nuclear plant. Sort of. It might be fine, or it might get worse. Maybe the people in the temporary housing will find local jobs, set up farms again, or start fishing again. Maybe they’ll move away. Maybe the crops near the plant are fine. Maybe not. Maybe the tsunami really did permanently cripple cities like Rikuzen-Takata, never to be rebuilt. Maybe it will make a comeback. Oh please come back. Don’t stop now. 

My giggles gave way to impatient tears after a while, and I got a severe case of are-we-there-yet, complete with the accompanying drama. Or maybe it was just that I so wanted to be North and doing something, and felt stuck in Yokohama. Probably both. (Silly girl, doing isn’t everything.) There have been several maybe-here, maybe-now, maybe-theres that I almost mentioned. I thought I knew the city and the timeframe, at least. I didn’t. And the calendar has got to be kidding me. All of that in only two weeks? How did the time creep by so slowly?

Finally, though, one of the maybes has become a definite. I’m heading North tomorrow, to Morioka City. The four suitcases and one sleeping bag were shipped there today, and I’ll catch up with the luggage tomorrow evening by bullet train.

How many half-stories will I encounter there, and how do I tell them?

What am I walking into?

No clue. Maybe it’s better that way.

Besides. Papa’s a much better driver than me. So what if He has a few surprises along the way? 

(Remind me I said that the next time I freak out.)

Hurry up and wait

Pastor Ito and his wife looked at me funny, which made me giggle even harder. Sorry, guys. I suppose it doesn't make much sense to respond this way...

They had just given me the news that the housing plans fell through. All available housing needs to go to the evacuees first. There is no house to go to in Ofunato right now. And I found it extremely funny. 

On Saturday, they initially blamed my mirth on jetlag. But it was still funny on Sunday. I thought I knew my next few steps at least. But now I don't know any. 

I've been know to get giggly when led and twirled. Ya just can't take me anywhere. 

Sunday afternoon, we met with Pastor Kondo, who was instrumental in getting me here. He is a very Life-filled, determined man who has worked with compassion in the disaster zone from the very beginning. He says this is just a delay, and asked that I stay in Yokohama while they work on finding a place for us to live. Maybe a town or two away from Ofunato. He'll let me know when there's a place to go.  

Maybe I had other things to think about just after the last two trans-Pacific flights and didn't notice the jetlag much. I'm having more trouble with it this time. Hungry and sleepy at all the wrong times. 

So the extra time is coming in handy for being a bump on a log for a while.  Guess I'll be rested and ready. 

What's next?

Oh dear, I'm giggling again. 

Do you know?

Do you know you're loved, Iwaki? Do you know, Ofunato?

If only you could have seen their faces listening to stories from Iwaki. And the yarn they brought for Ofunato. So much yarn. Enough knitting needles and crochet hooks to make an afghan for the Pacific ocean. Balloons that will strengthen my lungs. Puzzles to chat over. Hats from a knitter who knits for the homeless. A knitting book. Small toys. Sewing kits. Whatever else I find when I unpack. 

And the prayers, often decorated with tears. No better jewels for decoration. 

Many Japanese and Japanese-at-heart want to come see you, but can't. Some of this is from them. 

I gave up on the small suitcase, and left Maine with two big suitcases. Stopped by Illinois and added two more. Initially a large and a small, but no way was I going to stop people from adding their share. A neighbor gave me her large suitcase to replace the small one. 

I'm on my way. 

We all know that stuff isn't love. And I brought a lot of it. But maybe enough love from Maine and Illinois rubbed off, and will stick to you for when you need it. 

You're not forgotten. I'll say it as often as I can. I hope you'll be able to hear. 

And if you can listen past us to catch the echoes of God's love... well, that's the best part.