Two nights ago there was an earthquake in the middle of the night. It was intensity 5. Don't know the magnitude, since what people here care about is how much it shakes. It was long. Short shakes are easy, but long ones... I thought my concern was for the people around me. Even checked on others in the sleeping quarters. Went back to sleep easily.
So I missed an important piece of what happened. First hint: I noticed an intensity 2 and was ready to move. I miss most of the 2s now.
Second hint: The dryer was running when I filled the washing machine just now, and I had to look up and check whether the rest of the building was shaking too. It felt remarkably like two nights ago.
Yeah, that quake scared me, and I need to admit that. And it was about half the intensity of the March 11 quake.
Some of the people I meet are talking about their fears about the next big earthquake. Many assume that there will be another, and that there will be another tsunami. They say "when." Hearing them say "if" is a gift to notice and treasure.
Perhaps they, like me, need to face the fact that this is a scary time, and not fall into denial. But it's also easy to assume that it'll always be this way, and let the quake win.
Until we look, and catch a glimpse of Life.
I'll be watching.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
Restoration
Some of the locals are joining us as volunteers. Some of them are absolutely enraged by how the power company is handling the nuclear zone situation. Others work for the power company.
Wanna know what selfless love looks like? An angry evacuee driving the power company guy to the store. Sure, she needed to talk about it, and she cried. But that was brave and enormously kind. She's well on her way.
A young dad-to-be decided to help with making supper for people at an evacuation shelter. The beauty here is the transition from seeing his own life to seeing a need and taking action.
We distributed bags of veggies. One lady brought a gallon bag of curry she made with them. Another brought a potato dish. Their Japanese give-back-part-of-a-gift instinct is functioning again.
One, very physically ill, practically pounced on the chance to select a crochet hook this morning, and chose two skeins of yarn. By the afternoon she was back with a little round crocheted cloth to give to the assistance center. And wanted a third skein. Did I spoil her by giving in? Absolutely, with no regrets.
The chef, whose story I don't know, stocked our cafe freezer with ice cream bars. He pokes fun and teases, just like I'd expect from a middle-aged man who is reasonably happy. Good to hear good-natured ribbing around here.
Kids and bubbles and origami and sketchbooks and crayons and cat's cradle string. Just plain normal.
A few people admitting they came to the assistance center for the air conditioning. It's a hot one.
Old guy coming upstairs to the volunteer quarters to talk to the staff. Wait for it... sure enough, the standard joking statement that the staff he came to see is his girlfriend. Yeah. His geezer-hood is intact.
Normalcy is invading the tragedy.
Good stuff.
Wanna know what selfless love looks like? An angry evacuee driving the power company guy to the store. Sure, she needed to talk about it, and she cried. But that was brave and enormously kind. She's well on her way.
A young dad-to-be decided to help with making supper for people at an evacuation shelter. The beauty here is the transition from seeing his own life to seeing a need and taking action.
We distributed bags of veggies. One lady brought a gallon bag of curry she made with them. Another brought a potato dish. Their Japanese give-back-part-of-a-gift instinct is functioning again.
One, very physically ill, practically pounced on the chance to select a crochet hook this morning, and chose two skeins of yarn. By the afternoon she was back with a little round crocheted cloth to give to the assistance center. And wanted a third skein. Did I spoil her by giving in? Absolutely, with no regrets.
The chef, whose story I don't know, stocked our cafe freezer with ice cream bars. He pokes fun and teases, just like I'd expect from a middle-aged man who is reasonably happy. Good to hear good-natured ribbing around here.
Kids and bubbles and origami and sketchbooks and crayons and cat's cradle string. Just plain normal.
A few people admitting they came to the assistance center for the air conditioning. It's a hot one.
Old guy coming upstairs to the volunteer quarters to talk to the staff. Wait for it... sure enough, the standard joking statement that the staff he came to see is his girlfriend. Yeah. His geezer-hood is intact.
Normalcy is invading the tragedy.
Good stuff.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Hi
*sticks hand out from under pile of kids*
*waves*
No no, don't rescue me. It took a long time to get here.
:-)
*waves*
No no, don't rescue me. It took a long time to get here.
:-)
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Box of love
Your treasure chest arrived yesterday morning, with the kid's swimsuits and the knitting needles and crochet hooks and yarn. Thank you so much for sending such fun love!!
When you finish knitting socks and start to take it off of the needles, and an older lady comes right over to tell you there's a much better way to do that, you know she's a knitter. Sure enough, she had lost everything in the tsunami and happily chose a set of needles, a crochet hook, and some yarn.
And she taught me a much better method for casting off rib stitches. Good elasticity to the edge. But I digress.
Another lady had just gone to dig through the debris at her house, and found a double-ended crochet hook in the muddy sand. She said it was like finding gold. Two skeins of yarn went home with her.
The pool stoppers have not been found. By God's grace it's raining this morning. Hoping to go buy another pool for the bigger kids today so that these swimsuits can splash around with some kids in them. That's what they're here for.
I'm starting to lean toward wanting to extend my stay, kinda sorta maybe. Not sure what that will look like. Can't answer any of the standard journalist questions yet. Just putting this out there.
But first, buying a pool. And the morning meeting just started--I'd better get out there. Catch you later!
When you finish knitting socks and start to take it off of the needles, and an older lady comes right over to tell you there's a much better way to do that, you know she's a knitter. Sure enough, she had lost everything in the tsunami and happily chose a set of needles, a crochet hook, and some yarn.
And she taught me a much better method for casting off rib stitches. Good elasticity to the edge. But I digress.
Another lady had just gone to dig through the debris at her house, and found a double-ended crochet hook in the muddy sand. She said it was like finding gold. Two skeins of yarn went home with her.
The pool stoppers have not been found. By God's grace it's raining this morning. Hoping to go buy another pool for the bigger kids today so that these swimsuits can splash around with some kids in them. That's what they're here for.
I'm starting to lean toward wanting to extend my stay, kinda sorta maybe. Not sure what that will look like. Can't answer any of the standard journalist questions yet. Just putting this out there.
But first, buying a pool. And the morning meeting just started--I'd better get out there. Catch you later!
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Role models
The day started out pretty rotten. Someone asked me questions that hit some sore spots. I'm still a bit sensitive to variations on the theme of "And what ARE you doing here, exactly?" Probably because I'm mostly being here, and the things I do don't have a shape most of the time, and I don't know how to say that to someone who values action and tangible results.
Plus, some of my USA friends are hurting, and I miss them. Having several homes sucks sometimes.
But then I met Noa. He's two years old, and has bigger faith than most. He walked up to the empty baby pool, took off his shoes, stepped barefoot into the bone-dry half-deflated plastic pool, and stood there with quiet expectation.
Everyone jumped into action, quickly re-inflating the pool and filling it up. All the while, little Noa waited patiently, just plain knowing there would be water. And he was right.
He's well-named. His name is written as "walk in hope." I wanna grow up to be just like him.
Then there's a fourth-grade girl. Quiet and somewhat shy, she was hesitant to talk to me. Her mom said their house was in the nuclear zone, but was fully destroyed by two freak tsunamis. The house was between two rivers, and the tsunami came up both rivers and sandwiched the house from both sides. From the rivers.
I had nothing to say. Neither did she. Until I started making her a twine doll. Suddenly she was intensely curious, and came right over to me, wanting to know how to make it. Mom has the same twine at home. The temporary housing is small, and every entrance looks the same.
"Well that won't do! You need to decide what kind of house you want yours to be, and decorate it." I finally had something to say.
She nodded eagerly, and started telling her mom what she was planning. I sent a doll home with her, and asked her to show me some of the dolls she'll make. She flashed me a smile.
You can't stop a nest-maker. Not even by destroying her house and vacating her entire hometown. Take that, tsunami.
There were wild ones, giggly ones, and sweet ones, each with their own treasure. Wish you were here to meet them. They just won't fit on the page.
My day is a whole lot better now. Thanks, kids. I needed you more than you know.
Plus, some of my USA friends are hurting, and I miss them. Having several homes sucks sometimes.
But then I met Noa. He's two years old, and has bigger faith than most. He walked up to the empty baby pool, took off his shoes, stepped barefoot into the bone-dry half-deflated plastic pool, and stood there with quiet expectation.
Everyone jumped into action, quickly re-inflating the pool and filling it up. All the while, little Noa waited patiently, just plain knowing there would be water. And he was right.
He's well-named. His name is written as "walk in hope." I wanna grow up to be just like him.
Then there's a fourth-grade girl. Quiet and somewhat shy, she was hesitant to talk to me. Her mom said their house was in the nuclear zone, but was fully destroyed by two freak tsunamis. The house was between two rivers, and the tsunami came up both rivers and sandwiched the house from both sides. From the rivers.
I had nothing to say. Neither did she. Until I started making her a twine doll. Suddenly she was intensely curious, and came right over to me, wanting to know how to make it. Mom has the same twine at home. The temporary housing is small, and every entrance looks the same.
"Well that won't do! You need to decide what kind of house you want yours to be, and decorate it." I finally had something to say.
She nodded eagerly, and started telling her mom what she was planning. I sent a doll home with her, and asked her to show me some of the dolls she'll make. She flashed me a smile.
You can't stop a nest-maker. Not even by destroying her house and vacating her entire hometown. Take that, tsunami.
There were wild ones, giggly ones, and sweet ones, each with their own treasure. Wish you were here to meet them. They just won't fit on the page.
My day is a whole lot better now. Thanks, kids. I needed you more than you know.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Purr
My kitty-cat-in-tree-ness wasn't quite as severe as the last time I took a break. Fatigue and the sheer intensity of the disaster sends me into full retreat. But I'm thankful to have a pastor who excels at talking me down from branch to branch. And lets me watch the silliest TV shows for hours, and includes me in family meals and activities.
His wife has the gift of always being real, which frees me to do the same. Friendship forms quickly with someone like that.
And they have the best kids ever. Nothing ends the day better than a hug from Sweetness, or starts it better than a cheery greeting from Faith-man, or describes it better than an analogy from Mr. Science.
Heading back to Iwaki City in a few minutes.
I do believe I'm purring now. Thanks again, guys!
Ready.
Huh.
One of the pools is missing its plugs.
We heard of a couple of kids who lost their mom in the disaster.
There are major discussions going on about the sudden flood of kids in the assistance center cafe. Summer vacation just started a few days ago.
An evacuee gave 100 yen to the assistance center as an offering. Widow's mite. A bit more than a dollar. What a huge gift.
Another bike with training wheels has a new owner. He can't quite get the pedaling started without a push yet. Cutie pie.
Made some twine dolls for a group of girls. You'd have thought Barbie herself had walked in.
Yeah, I'm back.
Ready was a bit much to claim. How about ready-esque?
God will keep us.
His wife has the gift of always being real, which frees me to do the same. Friendship forms quickly with someone like that.
And they have the best kids ever. Nothing ends the day better than a hug from Sweetness, or starts it better than a cheery greeting from Faith-man, or describes it better than an analogy from Mr. Science.
Heading back to Iwaki City in a few minutes.
I do believe I'm purring now. Thanks again, guys!
Ready.
Huh.
One of the pools is missing its plugs.
We heard of a couple of kids who lost their mom in the disaster.
There are major discussions going on about the sudden flood of kids in the assistance center cafe. Summer vacation just started a few days ago.
An evacuee gave 100 yen to the assistance center as an offering. Widow's mite. A bit more than a dollar. What a huge gift.
Another bike with training wheels has a new owner. He can't quite get the pedaling started without a push yet. Cutie pie.
Made some twine dolls for a group of girls. You'd have thought Barbie herself had walked in.
Yeah, I'm back.
Ready was a bit much to claim. How about ready-esque?
God will keep us.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Rest, round three
Highway bus again, heading to Yokohama. The roadsides are mostly clogged with weeds, but a few places here and there have trimmed hedges and cleaned flowerbeds. It's just not the highest priority this year.
The highlights of my week are simple.
Rolling a ball to a toddler, who wandered off at one point, and ending up playing catch with her mom and her grandma instead. The giggles were a nice touch.
Zeroing in on the shy kids and using my little Tickle Bug puppet to steal a smile or two. Tickle Bug is very bashful and needs a lot of reassurance to meet a new friend. (It's OK, sister won't hurt you, you'll see. Go on, say hello.)
Being the shooting target or the monster or the available lap for three wild little boys running all over the room. Giving one of them a plastic bag to put his fifteen paper airplanes into, so he could play airport at home.
Helping kids choose from the kid's bikes. Teasing an already lanky fifth grader that he'll outgrow his new bike in about three weeks. Getting happy grins when I ask each kid to promise me they'll outplay the kid who owned the bike before.
Seeing the scared, sad little seventh grade girl, who wouldn't go to school this term, start to smile a little.
Grandma.
Being able to just plain worship in Japanese without searching for words. Took a month and a half to get my language solid enough to let my heart fly. It flew.
There are lowlights too.
A photo of a road running into the sea. "There used to be an entire neighborhood where that sea is. I lived there. There's nothing left."
The daily contrast between life as usual in the grocery store around the corner, and the destitute people I meet in the assistance center. It's a bit jarring.
Some of the people coming for assistance are rather abrupt and demanding. There's no real way to sort the rude from the outspoken from the desperate.
Some things disappear. We try not to assume the worst. It's an ask-and-receive environment. I wish everyone understood that.
Some days are so people-filled that I retreat to the sleeping quarters for a while after the assistance center closes.
I'm heading for a break thinking I'm not all that tired this time, and my silly body keeps falling asleep every few minutes on the bus. Oops. Maybe I should have left a teeny bit earlier in the day after all.
Overall...
God calls us living stones being built into a building. That includes edges getting rubbed the wrong way now and then. Some edges more than others. But the work continues, and you'd have thought unloading trucks was a party game if you'd seen us this morning.
It's been six weeks since I got here. From where I sit, Life seems to be going strong. What do you see?
The highlights of my week are simple.
Rolling a ball to a toddler, who wandered off at one point, and ending up playing catch with her mom and her grandma instead. The giggles were a nice touch.
Zeroing in on the shy kids and using my little Tickle Bug puppet to steal a smile or two. Tickle Bug is very bashful and needs a lot of reassurance to meet a new friend. (It's OK, sister won't hurt you, you'll see. Go on, say hello.)
Being the shooting target or the monster or the available lap for three wild little boys running all over the room. Giving one of them a plastic bag to put his fifteen paper airplanes into, so he could play airport at home.
Helping kids choose from the kid's bikes. Teasing an already lanky fifth grader that he'll outgrow his new bike in about three weeks. Getting happy grins when I ask each kid to promise me they'll outplay the kid who owned the bike before.
Seeing the scared, sad little seventh grade girl, who wouldn't go to school this term, start to smile a little.
Grandma.
Being able to just plain worship in Japanese without searching for words. Took a month and a half to get my language solid enough to let my heart fly. It flew.
There are lowlights too.
A photo of a road running into the sea. "There used to be an entire neighborhood where that sea is. I lived there. There's nothing left."
The daily contrast between life as usual in the grocery store around the corner, and the destitute people I meet in the assistance center. It's a bit jarring.
Some of the people coming for assistance are rather abrupt and demanding. There's no real way to sort the rude from the outspoken from the desperate.
Some things disappear. We try not to assume the worst. It's an ask-and-receive environment. I wish everyone understood that.
Some days are so people-filled that I retreat to the sleeping quarters for a while after the assistance center closes.
I'm heading for a break thinking I'm not all that tired this time, and my silly body keeps falling asleep every few minutes on the bus. Oops. Maybe I should have left a teeny bit earlier in the day after all.
Overall...
God calls us living stones being built into a building. That includes edges getting rubbed the wrong way now and then. Some edges more than others. But the work continues, and you'd have thought unloading trucks was a party game if you'd seen us this morning.
It's been six weeks since I got here. From where I sit, Life seems to be going strong. What do you see?
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