Movin' on

Season's end

The noisy cicadas are quieting down. I heard my first cricket already. Scotch tape granny is safely in her new apartment, and thanks Jesus for it. The gentle one has her new place too, with enough room for her whole family to live together again. Kids are back in school, and the pool is scrubbed and folded up in its box. The two quiet kids actually played and laughed and talked. Quiet Guy is considering taking his chef exam next May, and told me all about how wonderful blue cheese tastes on crackers. And I'm heading out of Iwaki this afternoon. The season is changing. 

New stories are crossing my path too. A woman whose family is now scattered in four places after this disaster. The teenager working at the convenience store next door, who looks unaffected by the disaster, but lost an entire family of friends in the tsunami. Their bodies were found three days later. 

I will not be here to witness the rest of the story. 

Everyone is saying the same thing: Remember me. Don't forget. 

No problem there. 

How do I even begin to process what I've seen this summer? Have I actually done anything? The privilege of watching Papa God work has made it an amazing journey. Is that the extent of it?

I went "backstage" into the relief goods area and told my friend that I can't see whether I really did anything this summer.

She summarized it in four words. 

"Rachel, you were here." 

Yes, I was. 

Thank You, Papa, for bringing me here. 

24 hours

Pastor Mori warned me that the destruction in Iwate (ee-wah-tay) would make the destruction in Iwaki look mild. 

He was right. The devastation zone was far larger. Buildings with bodies were marked with a circle, and an X was drawn through it when the bodies were successfully removed. I saw more circles with Xs than I ever want to see again. The destruction didn't stop at the first floor either. I saw buildings with the third floor busted out. And cars. Mangled cars dotting river valleys. 

And this is after five intensely busy months of cleanup. 

I talked to some survivors here in Iwaki about what I saw up North. They asked whether it was worse up there. I almost said yes. But something in their eyes stopped me. 

"I can't say it was worse, because each person has their own devastating loss. A home, a town, a job, loved ones. What I can say is that there are a lot more people up North who have those losses than there are here. The loss for each person is the same." 

In Iwate, we stopped in Miyako and talked to a preacher there. They're at the same transition that Iwaki is facing: temporary housing. The government thinks they're finished. That the people are fine now, since they're out of the shelters and into slapped-together housing. But hearts are raw and the sense of community is gone. The major concerns now are depression and loneliness. There is a high risk of suicide. "Visit us. Don't forget us." That's the main request he's hearing from the evacuees. He does what he can. More volunteers are needed. 

On to nearby Otsuchi. We went to the temporary housing and found out that it was election day. They lost their mayor in the tsunami. The town government buildings are gone, and so are five out of their seven schools. By 10 PM the town would have a new mayor and a new town council. The gentleman we spoke to was running for a Councilman position. He's been one for many years, but he's never faced an election quite like this. If elected, he and twelve other men will work with the mayor to shape the future of Otsuchi. He lives in temporary housing too, like so many others. They'll meet in a room in a community center that still stands. 

One man in the temporary housing lost his son's entire family. Someone in this team of volunteers has come to see him twice a month for a while now, and went to visit him again. He used to say he's fine. This time, he was finally grieving and telling stories about his son. Healing is on its way. 

In Miyako, a Christian organization has been routinely playing with kids and have seen their behavior change for the better. In Otsuchi, a secular organization was there for the kids with crafts and toys and movies and snow cones. There are opportunities out there for working with the kids. 

Efficiency experts, plug your ears. Financial conservatives, skip this part. The guy who heads up this trip to Iwate has only Sundays off. We use it to the max. It's an eight-hour drive there, and we stayed in Iwate for eight hours, and drove back for eight hours. Wise? Not by usual standards. But those eight hours in Iwate were totally worth the long drive. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. 

Dare you to have a better day. You have 24 hours. Go. 

Lovely curve ball

I barely got back to Iwaki, and got the chance to take a trip up to Iwate. It's waaay up North, past Sendai. It'll be a whirlwind trip, just 24 hours, but it'll be a chance to see what conditions are like up there. No pictures this time, since my iPhone is still en route from where I left it--under my friends' stairs in my hometown, charging.

Heading out tonight at 11:30PM, driving up all night, and returning tomorrow evening.

Please pray for clarity. I need to see this, and listen well.

The group going up can't take just one woman along with several guys. Has to be at least two women. Policy. I couldn't go last time because of it, but it's a policy that makes me feel safe. This time, there was another woman who really wanted to go, and they were praying for a second woman to show up. Uh, that would be me. I like precise timing like that. Bit of a nail-biter to wait for, but beautiful when it finally happens.

Here's to another adventure. Talk to you soon.

Words again

Sorry y’all. Words just wouldn’t fit for a while.

On the one hand, the hometown and the homefood were absolutely wonderful. The town looked a whole lot smaller than I remembered it, and the food tasted better than ever. I was pampered beyond any reasonable level, even being treated to a several-course meal at a fancy restaurant, with the excuse that I had grown up with the owner’s wife. How fancy? Three forks, a gigantic soup spoon, and a steak knife fancy. Thank God there were chopsticks too. I got lost after the first fork and switched to the comfort of two wooden sticks. Don’t know what I would have done without them.

Best seafood ever at Myojinmaru in downtown Kochi City. Almost everything was seared over a straw fire. You haven’t eaten seafood until you’ve eaten there.

Food is easy to cloak with words. The rest of the week, not so much.

Coming back into the joys and pains of what used to be home. Spending time with precious people who shaped my life from the get-go. Gaping holes where others used to be. Seeing some old situations remain unresolved. Having great fun seeing others mended. Being re-fattened with plenty of home-cooked meals. Never having enough time to say what needs to be said, and only barely getting started on the list of people I so want to meet. Promising to be back again soon to meet whoever else I can and sit down for tea and long conversations.

And Dad. He’s not here. Not that he should be, in the shape he was in. But there I was at his grave, for the first time. He wasn’t there to give me instructions on what to do next. I’ve never weeded a Japanese grave site, nor arranged the flowers, nor read Daddy’s name engraved in the list of names beside the gravestone. Could have used his advice on how to navigate this unknown territory. I bumbled my way through.

I know all four people buried here in the Christian grave. The baby lost at birth, my friend’s grandma, another friend’s mom, and my Dad. It’s that new. Mother will be buried here too. “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the Name of the Lord.” The same verse that my sister quoted when Dad died is engraved here on the tombstone. It’s a rare grave, designed entirely as a memorial and not as a place to placate the dead. The load is much lighter for the mourner here. I'm glad. I can't handle a heavier load. 

Bye, Dad. Glad you’re Home. Miss you being here.

I’ll write more later, as the words form. It was a full week, and my heart will need to spill. I got lost in the swirl for a while.

But now, I need to get ready to head back to Iwaki for the last few days of my time there. Can’t believe it’s ending already. I’m standing too close to be able to see what these three months meant. Doubt I’ll ever stand back far enough to understand.

Maybe the freshness of saying another goodbye to my own Dad will keep me tender enough to listen up North where hearts are still aching. If there’s one thing I know about Papa God, it’s that He doesn’t waste anything and He brings something good.

The job of leveraging all the grief and turmoil of the North will take tremendous creativity that none of us have. But Life will keep winning. That’s His specialty. 

Happy sigh

Ahhhhh... Shikoku. The right island,where people talk normally. I worried that I wouldn't switch back to the old accent after a couple of months in the North, but yet again, worrying was a waste of time. It's there.

No gifts but Iwaki stories this time.It's highly unconventional to do this, but with the fear level about radiation, bringing food from Iwaki just wasn't worth it.

Some would say I've bought into vicious lies about local produce and products. Others would say I'm being prudent. Am I aggravating the "reputation damage" or am I allowing some time for the nuclear plant situation to calm down? Only time will tell.

Another movie-worthy train station reunion scene. Nice. The old station is still old. I like it that way.

The hometown seems even smaller than the last time I was here. Who shrunk it?

I have a whole summer's worth of stories. Kinda talked way too much this evening. But it was wonderful to see familiar faces and hear friends add their perspectives.

Bed. In a very familiar room. Perfect end to a wonderful day. G'nite.

Southward

Today, the volunteers at Global Mission Center are putting on a barbecue for residents of an hard-hit area by the Onahama Port. 

Meanwhile, I am heading south to Kochi, where I was raised. First time in ten years. 

I'm not who I was ten years ago. I'm not even who I was two months ago. I wonder how the old hometown will look...