The Ugly Truth

            I truly hate to see pictures of myself. They say the camera adds 10 pounds, but I’m pretty sure they meant to say 50, right? On the third day of our trip up to northern Japan to do relief work, I saw a particularly ugly picture of myself. And I saw it while sorting through pictures of tsunami victims.

            After our morning exercises and breakfast (no grits today, we had bought donuts when we drove into the nearest town last night!), we got our day’s assignments. The men would be going to a local daycare center to clean up the yard and parking lot. The girls would be working on trying to preserve and salvage photographs that had been retrieved by the relief workers and clean-up crews. I was really excited about this day’s task! It was inside, for one thing, and something I felt I could handle.

            After a brief training session, we walked into the strangest laundry room I’ve ever seen. In the center of the area stood laundry baskets filled with muddy photos and albums in various stages of disintegration. Strung across the room in all directions were laundry lines with hundreds of clothespins holding photographs. All had been damaged by seawater when the tsunami had snatched them up and deposited them in piles of debris. Some were beyond salvaging, but volunteers carefully handled each one and saved the ones they could by bathing them in fresh water and hanging them up to dry. Those found in the same album were then kept together and labeled in hopes they could be reunited with their owners.

            Groups of 3-4 volunteers had chosen a basket of photos to work with. As I looked around, I saw a poignant display of photos including school pictures, pages of yearbooks, baby pictures, and wedding pictures. Where were these smiling people now? Obviously, their homes had been washed away or their pictures wouldn’t be here in this bizarre laundromat. Were they safe? Staying at an evacuation center or temporary housing? Or were they among the 28,000 who perished on March 11? Would these pictures ever be claimed, and, if so, who would be left to do the claiming?

            We joined a Japanese volunteer in progress as she worked through her basket’s contents. As I started to peel the plastic album pages off the snapshots to bathe them in clean water, I looked at each image with curiosity. It didn’t take me long to realize that this particular batch of albums had come from a center for mentally challenged adults. We dove in and spent the entire morning at our exacting work. It was in this process of washing and hanging up hundreds of photographs that I discovered the ugly picture of me.

            Though I had begun the day with enthusiasm, I found the work to be tedious and boring after a while. The photos I was working on were not particularly interesting, and the subjects were, quite honestly, not very attractive. Several years’ worth of this facility’s albums had been retrieved. Its staff members had documented each activity that the center had sponsored over the years.

            At the lunchtime break, I wandered around the room looking at other groups’ projects. I saw a beautiful Japanese bride and her smiling groom, an adorable baby smiling up at his mommy, and a group of high school students doing a silly pose for the camera. To the volunteer next to me, I said, “Oh my goodness! I sure hope these people are all alive and safe!”

            At that exact moment, the hideous picture of myself came into clear focus. I was shocked and sickened to realize that I had not had this same reaction to any of the photos I had been so carefully working to preserve this morning. I had honestly thought that I was here volunteering because I loved people. But in that moment, I saw just how messed-up my love is. Much to my shame, my “love” was about as far from the standard of God’s love as it could possibly get.

            Of all of the things I experienced during this trip -- all of the sights, sounds, emotions, and lessons, this is the one I want to take with me for life. God loves people. All of them. Old and young, whole and broken, healthy and disabled, pretty and ugly. With all of my heart, I’m thankful that He does. If he didn’t love the unlovely, I would definitely be doomed.

            After lunch, I went back to the photographs from the Hanamasu Center for Disabled Adults. As I washed and hung up each photograph, I used this time to repent and to pray for these beautiful people God loves.

            

The Wheels on the Bus

            You haven’t really lived until you’ve ridden in the Hokkaido Team’s bus! It’s old and rickety, with virtually no shocks, seats that are coming unbolted from the walls, and wheels they say are dry rotting. I’m not really sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound good! Nonetheless, we spent several hours Wednesday evening touring the coastline on the bus.

            My friend and colleague Nathan Snow delights in shocking visitors from the U.S. by driving said bus along narrow Japanese roads. Today, he also had another objective: to visit some of the folks that he has befriended during the months since the earthquake and tsunami.

            One of his new friends owns a small grocery store in the town of Otsuchi. Her neighborhood isn't on the ocean, so its residents weren’t particularly concerned about the tsunami warnings on March 11. However, when the tsunami caused the river that runs through Otsuchi to reverse its currents and run inland, it flooded out all of the homes and businesses on its banks in just an instant. The first floor of the store was completely destroyed, but its owner happened to be upstairs in her apartment at the time checking on her invalid husband.

            She was very fortunate to survive. But she lives with the memory of her friends and neighbors calling out to her as they were washed away before her very eyes. There was nothing she could do.

            Nathan, Pastor Kimura, and the Christian group called Hokumin have visited with her a number of times in the past few months, helping her to clean up the store, serving hot curry rice to as many neighbors as they can, and seeking to be the feet and hands of Jesus.

            Today, her store is open for business again and we were able to buy soft drinks and ice cream. We also reaped a blessing we did not deserve when she decided to give each and every one of us a T-shirt. Well, Nathan and Pastor Kimura deserved it, but the rest of us rookie volunteers certainly didn’t. The T-shirts were donated to the people of the town by a charity organization and, roughly translated, say “Stay strong, Otsuchi!”

            The bus drove us to another small community where we met another one of Hokumin’s new friends. This handsome young man was thrilled to see Nathan and Pastor Kimura and had, in fact, visited a Christian church the Sunday before.  His house was a few meters above sea level and several kilometers from the ocean, but it still got some damage on the first floor. The real tragedy, though, was that his sister had left his house that afternoon after the mega-earthquake saying, “I’ve got to go get my kids!” She and her 2 kids have not been seen since, nor has anyone found their car.

            The bus carried us miles and miles along the coastline, and everywhere we went, we saw scenes of sudden destruction. Driving along the coastline of one small peninsula, the low tide revealed a mini-van submerged just below the surface. In one town, patrol cars lined the streets as a line of 10-12 police officers worked in a drainage ditch that had not yet been cleaned out. As we traveled a little further on the two-lane road, we passed the police vehicle that is used for removing corpses. Another victim had switched columns from the “missing” list to the “dead”.

            As difficult as it was to see the sorrow around us, with each kilometer the dilapidated old bus traveled, my respect for the body of Christ grew. As I watched Pastor Kimura interact with survivors, I thought of the Biblical description of Jesus, “He went about doing good” This pastor was modeling His Savior. In the volunteer center, at the temporary housing unit, speaking with every survivor at every stop, Pastor Kimura was both gentle and bold.

            We stopped by a newly rented facility where OMF (the mission descended from Hudson Taylor’s China Inland Mission) has set up a base to reach this devastated and hurting region of Japan. There we met some more missionaries and pastors who will be concentrating their efforts and prayers for the next 2 years on loving those who hurt. They will be feeding the hungry, healing the broken, encouraging the hopeless.

            The people on the bus, including myself, were definitely going “up and down” on those bumpy roads all evening. The highs and lows we had seen this day were dramatic, but as I lay down to sleep in the gym again that night, my heart was filled with praise. The Spirit of Christ is alive and well.

            “Be still and know that I am God. I WILL BE EXALTED among the nations.” 

            

Empty-Handed

            When the sun came up, I finally got a look at the place where we had spent the night. (After groping around for my glasses, of course.)  We were in a small gymnasium usually used for the Japanese martial art of kendou. The ninja-like helmets and equipment were stored in nearby cubbyholes. A sizable Shinto godshelf hung on the gym wall near the ceiling.

            The city’s volunteer center housed somewhere around 60 last night, I would guess. There were also volunteers staying at a campsite slightly up the hill. Almost all were Japanese who had taken off work, etc. to spend anywhere from a day to a week helping out. Everyone was cheerful and friendly, making it a really pleasant group to be a part of.

            We were expected to wake up at 6:00 and do morning exercises outside at 6:30. Each group introduced itself and gave aisatsu (official introductions) to the others. Afterwards, we all ate whatever we had brought with us for breakfast. Our group actually set up a Coleman stove outside and feasted on eggs, bacon, and cheese grits, thanks to Georgia missionary Nathan Snow! My daughter said, “what’s grits?” My deepest apologies to my Southern friends for failing to pass on that aspect of our home culture!

            At 8:00 a.m. we got our assignment for the day. We would go to what was left of a house and shovel out sand and debris, down to the foundation. The top layer of big debris had already been cleaned up, but we were to take another 12 inches or so and bag it for removal.

            Driving to the site, I was stunned to see the area around the volunteer center in the daylight. Not more than 100 feet down the hill from where we had slept, we entered the devastation zone.

Our nearest neighboring building was the bombed-out shell of a nursing home. It still stood three stories high, but all of its contents had been taken out by the tsunami and strewn around the area. On the top floor, a filthy curtain was left blowing in the ocean breeze through the shattered windows. Mangled wheelchairs lay in random locations around the curb and parking lot. And, most surreal of all, there were two cars on the top of the roof – one of them a white Porsche.

I learned that, of the nursing homes’ 96 residents and staff members, 74 had perished in the tsunami.

We passed literally thousands of burned-out cars, flattened and piled on top of one another. The town’s concrete seawall, its only defense against the tsunami, lay toppled and scattered around like Legos.

The site we were working on was in a small inlet, behind a seawall of no less than 30 feet. There had been 30+ houses there before the wave came crashing down. A lot of cleanup had already been accomplished there, so little remained but foundations. As the men shoveled, we girls held the sandbags, tied them up and moved them to the curb. I had been worried that the work would be too physically demanding for me, but there was both heavy and light work that had to happen in order for the job to get done. We made a kind of assembly line and got the work accomplished during the morning hours.

Though all of the large debris had already been cleaned up, along with the bodies of those who died there, we found various objects buried in the heavy sand. A little girls’ shoe, a teddy bear, pieces of dishes, a flip-flop, a broken Nintendo game.

After a sandwich for lunch, we cleaned up and left the volunteer center. It had been pre-arranged for us to join a Japanese pastor in passing out food and supplies to the survivors in temporary housing. His church in Miyako is serving as a center to collect donations and distribute them to nearby survivors.

The “community” we visited consisted of 174 units. The prefab boxes resemble mobile homes, and each one contains 6 units of 320 square feet apiece.

As some of our group spread out a blue tarp and arranged the donations on it, those of us who can speak Japanese went door to door informing the residents that we were setting up. “We are from Miyako Christian Church and we’ve brought some things for you,” we said. Most of the residents hurried to put on their shoes and head straight to our little “tarp-mart”.

For today’s distribution, the church had received fruits, vegetables, diapers, sanitary pads, and insect repellent. They had also brought around 20 pairs of shoes in various sizes, a few stuffed bears, some hacky-sacks, a box of suckers, and a case of Christian CD’s.

Within 10-15 minutes, everything was gone. People were so eager and appreciative to receive anything, and we ran out far too quickly. Even though we had placed a limit on the items, there were quite a few residents who arrived too late to get anything at all.

One elderly lady tottered her way to the tarp, feet shuffling in the hot, dry dust and empty plastic grocery bag waving in the breeze. But by the time she arrived, there was nothing left. She had only wanted insect repellent, she said, but it was all gone. As I watched her graciously turn around and inch painstakingly back to her little box/home, my eyes burned with tears. Her walk was so familiar to me, because it is the way my own father walks these days. I know all too well how difficult it would be for him to make his way across that dusty field in the heat. I doubt I will ever forget the sight of that precious lady and her still-empty plastic bag.

The Volunteer Chorus

            I almost backed out. Would the work be too physically demanding? Did my children really need to be exposed to this? Would we just get in the way? What in the world would we be getting ourselves into? Thinking about it now, though, I am SO GLAD I decided to go!

            Almost 4 months after the disastrous Tohoku-Kanto Earthquake and tsunami, our family of 4 headed up to the devastation area to volunteer. My husband had already been on two trips, but this was a first for my two girls and myself.

            Our destination for this mission was 300 miles north on the Tohoku Expressway, in the small town of Yamada in Iwate Prefecture. There we would meet up with our group, which included several American missionaries, a Japanese pastor, a British MK (missionary kid), and a 6-member group from The Hanna Project.

            Our route took us through some of Japan’s most beautiful mountain scenery in the now infamous area of Fukushima. As we marveled at the brilliant blue sky, forested mountains ranges, and terraced rice fields, we understood why no one who lived there would ever want to leave. Unfortunately, 27,800 households in Fukushima’s “no-go zone” weren’t given any choice.

            Also in Fukushima, we began to see evidence of the March 11 earthquake. Houses under repair, roads recently repaved, cracks and gashes in the ground. I found myself tensing up, bracing myself for what I knew was ahead.

            My first sight of the tsunami aftermath was shocking. In the little fishing village of Kirikiri, cars were strewn alongside the road. They looked worse than the most dramatic traffic school slideshow. Some were upside down, flattened as if for the scrap heap. Some were burned out. Some were in the oddest of places, atop buildings or protruding from beneath a house like the wicked witch from the Wizard of Oz.

            I’ve never been in a war-torn area, but I imagined that the scene before me looked like a bombed-out city. I later heard that, according to U.S. military troops who helped in the days immediately after the disaster, the scenes they saw in Japan were worse. Even 4 months after the tsunami, the ghostly shells of buildings stood amidst a view that I could only describe as “post-apocalyptic”.

            For me, the most jolting sight of all was the valley of red flags amidst the colorless debris. Each flag indicated that a body had been found and retrieved from that spot.

            We met up with our group at the public bath. We were joining them a day late, so they had already put in a day’s work cleaning up debris. Grimy and sweaty, they had driven over an hour to the closest place where they could take a bath.

            After supper, we followed their bus to our sleeping accommodations. We would be joining other volunteers on the gymnasium floor of the makeshift “Yamada Volunteer Center.” It was dark by now, but as we traveled, I could tell that our headlights were revealing miles and miles of devastation.

We arrived at the center after lights out, so we made our way by flashlight to the tatami mat that missionary Sandra Bishop had laid out for us. We had brought pillows and sleeping bags, so we got those situated as quietly as possible and lay down to sleep. The gym had been separated into men’s and women’s sections, so I stretched out between my two daughters. Ten-year-old Caroline whispered, “this isn’t so bad,” and I agreed. Before long, I heard the gentle sounds of both girls sleeping peacefully.

Although I couldn’t really see my surroundings in the dark, I listened to an interesting blend of snoring from various sections of the gym. Occasionally, someone would sneeze or cough, zip a sleeping bag, walk past me to the bathroom. It was a little too warm in the gym, so I decided to lay on top of my bag instead of in it. Before long, Sandra turned on a nearby fan, and that helped a lot with both the temperature and the snoring.

I lay there in the dark for a while imagining myself a tsunami survivor. With my mat and my sleeping bag, I was actually pretty comfortable. But I knew that in those first weeks after the tsunami, the evacuees had no mat, no sleeping bag, and no pillow. It was still snowing outside, and they also had no heat, blankets, or electricity.  They literally had nothing but their lives.

Still feeling apprehensive about whether I would be able to contribute anything of value to this mission, I prayed that the Lord would give me strength and use me for His glory. Before long, I was sleeping soundly. At least for now I could contribute my snores to the chorus!

            

Are We Having Fun Yet?

I don’t think I’ve ever experienced survivor’s guilt before.

For at least a week after evacuating Japan, I could not allow myself to enjoy anything. I mean, really… how could I enjoy free drink refills at Taco Bell when people in Japan didn’t even have water? How could I spend any money at Kohl’s when they were desperate for a change of underwear? What kind of a monster am I to even consider getting a manicure when thousands of people don’t even have a toothbrush?

And then, I went to the Flea market to help my sister who had set up a booth there. I really love flea markets, yard sales, and the like. As I browsed the different booths, something unintended happened. I didn’t mean to do it, but all of a sudden I was having fun!

I talked to my good friend Eddie Payne about it on Sunday after church. He spent a career in West Africa and has seen some things. As a matter of fact, his kids just evacuated last week because of the war and violence there. Because I really love and respect “Uncle Eddie”, I was so relieved when he told me it was okay for me to have fun! We can, he said, use both sides of our brain at the same time: we can empathize with those who are suffering and still acknowledge the beauty in the world around us. Pain and joy, death and new birth, unspeakable tragedy and incomprehensible beauty. They all co-exist in this fallen world, and we have the capacity to experience them all simultaneously. Or, as Eddie said in his recent book Naados and His Kin, “Life is beautiful, even with the sting.”

The human tragedy continues in Japan. And yet, there are redemptive stories trickling out. Japanese Christians and missionaries are distributing food, water, hygiene kits, clothing and diapers. They are listening to survivors tell their stories, giving hugs to grieving families, and playing with children who have lost everything. We are hearing of salvation decisions in the area of devastation, and of people eagerly receiving Bibles. There are 7 members of the Fukushima Bible Church working at the nuclear power plant – and sharing Jesus with the other brave men who are facing certain danger. The love of God is shining through the darkness and despair.

And the body of Christ is ministering to the needs of my family as well. Our home church sent a welcoming party to the airport when we arrived, even though it was almost midnight! We’ve been provided with a car, a professional counselor who waived his fees, more places to stay than we could take advantage of, and even some Walmart gift certificates for anything we need to buy.

At first, I felt REALLY guilty. We did NOT experience this tragedy like the Japanese in the areas of devastation. But then I realized that JESUS Himself is loving on us through His church. We will not forget how He has sent His kids to hug us in His name. And, when we return to Japan, we will join His family there in expressing His love to those who are in desperate need of His embrace. 

The Comforter

You know you’re worried when you wake up worried. When your first waking thought is stressful. I have to admit that even my subconscious has been keyed up and anxious for the past 18 days.

Yes, I have faith and I’ve been putting that faith into action through almost constant prayer. But my psyche and my body are screaming “stress” even while my mind and spirit are saying “trust”.  I really wish we weren’t so complicated.

For the first 10 days following the earthquake in Japan, waking up in a panic was kind of understandable. Aftershocks woke me up several times a night and served as a very effective alarm clock each morning.

Since arriving in the U.S. on the 11^th day, my first waking thought has been “Japan!" Before even brushing my teeth or going to the bathroom, I’ve rushed to the internet to see if there have been any new developments. What is the death toll? How many aftershocks? Another big quake? Any more tsunami generated? Is Tokyo glowing yet from radiation? Any emails or calls from my husband? Morning by morning, the news has been, in turn, reassuring and alarming.

In the past 2-1/2 weeks, I have dealt with:  a huge earthquake, hundreds of aftershocks, a tsunami, a nuclear disaster, a hurried evacuation, a 30 hour international trip, jet lag, numerous speaking engagements, the death of my favorite aunt, and then yesterday an entire day of rather unsettling doctor’s appointments. (No, I'm not ready to talk about that yet.) Someone asked me how I’m feeling, and, to tell you the truth, I don’t even know. Numb maybe. Anxious certainly.

And how are my girls? Better, though still working through some stuff. Still having nightmares, but not every night now.

And then this morning, my very first thought somewhere between waking and sleeping was, "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be
troubled, neither let it be afraid." (Either the Holy Spirit speaks King James English, or I memorized this one in KJV -- or both:)

I snuggled down under the comforter and felt very comforted! The internet could wait, I decided. For a few wonderful minutes, I allowed myself to snuggle with my true Beloved.

P.S. Thanks for praying!

A Savior for Japan

My Aunt Mary is about to move into her new home – the one that Jesus has been building and decorating just for her. The one that her husband, daughter, and two baby boys are already enjoying. Last night, I got to hold her hand, kiss her on the cheek, and tell how how much I’ve always loved her. I got to tell her I’m a little bit envious that she’ll get to see Jesus before me. She said that she can’t wait to tell Him thank you for dying for her sins.

Probably sometime this week, my brother and I will have the special honor of singing “My Savior First of All” at her Homegoing Celebration. I never would’ve dreamed that my impromptu trip to the U.S. would allow me these sacred privileges.

Aunt Mary’s living room is filled with family and faith. She is surrounded by love and the anticipation of a joy like she’s never known. Her family grieves with the biblical brand of hope – an optimistic faith and confidence.

My friends who have visited the evacuation centers in Japan say that they are filled with people who sit in stunned silence. Their expressions are described as “vacant” and “hopeless”. One survivor said he had lost everything – his family, his home, and his business. He escaped with only his life, and he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

The 10,066 bodies that have been found are being buried in mass graves with minimal ceremony and absolutely no words of hope. The 17,443 people who are officially listed as missing may never get any ceremony at all.

In Japan last week, a Tokyo firefighter named Sato was called upon to enter the radiation zone at the Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant. He and his family knew that his life would be in serious danger, but his wife told him to “Go. Be a savior for Japan.” He and the other heroes at the site are risking their lives to save their families and their nation.

Japan really does need a savior. Not just from physical danger and the threat of nuclear disaster, but from sin, hopelessness, and despair. They need my Aunt Mary’s Savior.

When my lifework is ended, and I cross the swelling tide,


When the bright and glorious morning I shall see;


I shall know my Redeemer when I reach the other side,


And His smile will be the first to welcome me.


I shall know Him, I shall know Him,


And redeemed by His side I shall stand,


I shall know Him, I shall know Him,


By the print of the nails in His hand.

Reverse Culture Shock

I got used to feeling weird a long time ago. As a gaijin living in Japan, I’ll never truly fit in, and that’s okay. No matter how long I may live there or how well I may speak the language or understand the culture, I will never blend in with the crowd. Little kids will still point and stare, even though on bad days I feel like telling them that I’ve lived in Japan a lot longer than they have.

In the U.S., I do blend in. I look like everyone else, though admittedly a good bit frumpier. But I sometimes feel pretty foreign, even here in my “home” country.

My girls and I traveled for a little over 30 hours to get to Nashville and the comfort of my oldest daughter Katie’s apartment. The farther we got away from Japan this time, the safer we felt. The Narita airport was still showing signs of slight damage from the earthquake with some ceiling panels missing and some areas roped off because the panels above looked a little iffy. On the 12 hour flight to Washington DC, there was quite a bit of turbulence, which, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t have phased any of us. It reminded us just a bit too much of recent tremors, though, and we all held hands through most of it. I noticed other passengers doing the same. Caroline was still feeling earthquakes in the DC airport. But she hasn’t felt any since we arrived in Nashville.

The farther we got away from Japan this time, the weirder I felt. There has been some serious bonding going on in Tokyo over the past 12 days. In a land where chit-chat is NOT encouraged, it has become easy to have conversations with strangers. Instead of hiding their feelings, people are talking about them. Tears are flowing openly at church. Prayer times are intimate and powerful. I’m missing that already.

On our international flight, we were surrounded by U.S. military wives and children who were evacuating Japan. They had obviously done some bonding too and were talking about how happy they were to be getting out. Most of them have lived there for a short time and their connection to the country is limited. “Happy” isn’t really the way I would describe the feeling I was experiencing. Yes, I was relieved on behalf of my kids, but “heartbroken” may have been the emotion I would’ve circled on that little feelings chart that counselors use.

Now that we’re in Nashville where life is completely normal, the girls are doing great. Katie is distracting them with chick flicks, nail polish parties, Lucky Charms, and Mountain Dew. It’s just what they need.

But me? I’m spending my time trying to catch the Japanese news broadcasts on the internet to learn what is happening at the Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant. I’m following the Japan Meteorological Agency website to know how many aftershocks they've had in Tohoku and Tokyo (50 in the last 24 hours). I’m praying for my husband and the others who are working 12 hour days to coordinate volunteer teams in the relief effort. I’m communicating with people at CRASH to see if the relief trucks are getting to the people. I’m grieving to hear that rescuers are no longer able to show bodies to families for identification, and thousands will never have closure for their loved ones.

As Japanese-American children’s author Allen Say wrote “No sooner am I in one country than I am homesick for the other.”

Evacuating

Did you ever play one of those games where you ask yourself “If you suddenly had to leave and you could only take 3 things, what would you choose?”

On March 11 at 2:46, I was upstairs in my bedroom pricing stuff for Spring Thrift Shop at my kids’ school. I was getting kinda tired of it, and I thought I should go take a shower (Yes, it was mid-afternoon and I hadn’t showered. Confession is good for the soul!) There was some old Christmas stuff that I wanted to go through before I quit. When things started shaking, I had a tacky Christmas wreath in my hand. I had been thinking that without the bow, it wouldn’t be so bad and SOMEONE might want it. A couple of minutes later, Donnie and I were standing outside our house, ground still shaking and our cars dancing in the driveway. The car dance would’ve actually been pretty comical if it hadn’t been so scary! After the quake stopped, I looked down to see that I had that tacky Christmas bow in my hand!! So much for prioritizing!! My neighbors looked a little puzzled when they glanced at what I had chosen to bring! I was just glad I hadn’t been in the shower at 2:46.

In the last 25 years, I’ve made a lot of trips “across the big pond,” as my mom would say. Most of them have been for furlough. Some for fun. Once or twice they’ve been for an emergency and arranged in a big rush. But this is a totally new experience.

It’s still pretty cold here, but my daughter Katie says its 82 degrees in Nashville.  So, in the middle of trying to pack everything and get on the bus in a few hours, I’m getting into the boxes of spring/summer clothes. Guess what? Puberty has caused Caroline to grow about six inches and a size or two since last summer, so she’s gonna be traveling ligth! Walmart, here we come, I guess. Yeah, I know that no one who knows me is surprised about that one!

I’m really bummed that I got rid of all my warm weather clothes at the Fall Thrift Shop. At the time, I had lost 20 pounds and everything was just hanging on my emaciated frame (yeah, right!) Um… now that I’m back at my original weight, I’ve outgrown my clothes too.  So I’m traveling light as well!

Out of habit, I asked Katie and Evan on the phone “is there something you want me to bring you from Japan?” and then I said, “Oh, wait! Never mind…. I can’t really get to a store anyway because we don’t have gas in the car!” If they have any at the airport, I will get Evan his “Black-Black”, a special flavor of gum that he really likes. You know moms.

Moms are the same everywhere. Here in Tokyo, moms are worried about the nuclear disaster and the rising radiation levels. The local kindergarten is not allowing the children to play outside. The elementary kids are going out for recess, but they are being told to wear long sleeves and masks.

One of our Japanese friends in Chiba, close to Tokyo Disneyland, is a mom to 4 kids age 4 and under. The youngest are a twin boy and girl, and they are in diapers. That is to say, they would be in diapers if their mother had any. All of the disposable diapers are sold out and she ran out a couple of days ago. She thought she would just buy cloth ones, but those were gone too. So she lives in one of the world’s most modern cities, and she is diapering her babies in dishcloths and whatever else she can find around her house.

And up in the Tohoku region, there are 450,000 people who have been living in evacuation centers for a week and 2 days. Some of them are moms too. In some of the centers, supplies are not coming through. They have run out of diapers, formula, and food. They have had no heat or electricity since the quake. They are not just traumatized from surviving the earthquake and tsunami, but they are unable to bathe, brush their teeth, or use a toilet. There are holes being dug in the ground for that, and there is no toilet paper.

While I am fretting that I don’t have any spring clothes in my size, they haven’t been able to change clothes in 10 days. Not even their underwear.

Relief organizations and volunteers all over the country are working around the clock to change the situation. Things seem to be getting better for some areas, and we are in fervent prayer for the ones still suffering. CRASH (Christian Relief, Assistance, Support, and Hope) is the one we’ve been doing volunteer work with. Yesterday, meals, blankets, water, and toiletries starting pouring in from humanitarian agencies such as Samaritan’s Purse and Feed the Hungry. Money is also coming in to allow the volunteers to deliver these things to the evacuees.

There’s evacuating, and then there’s EVACUATING. I am blessed indeed.

Oh, Thurston! What do you wear to a nuclear meltdown?

To let you read the last page first… I’m taking my two daughters Amy (16) and Caroline (10) to the States for a few weeks. We’ve booked the first available flight and plan to leave Monday (Sunday in the U.S.) at 4:10 p.m. our time. My husband will stay.

Since the “Triple Tragedy” which has quite literally rocked Japan this past week, we’ve been working with the other volunteers over at CRASH (Christian Relief, Assistance, Support, and Hope) and feeling very vital and impassioned. Feeling like our 25 years of service here have prepared as for “such a time as this.”

Lots of our years in Japan have been discouraging. I was actually pouring my heart out to a Christian counselor just the other day -- exactly one week before the earthquake.  I said that if we knew for sure that what we’re doing here was making a difference, no sacrifice would be too great. But when you don’t really know if you’re accomplishing anything? Well… then it feels like “Why don’t we just go back to the U.S. and love on our kids and their (future) kids?”

Bam! We’re definitely making a difference!!

And I’m evacuating.

Giving sermons on “How to Discern the Will of God” comes off as very theological  and neat. Actually trying to discern the will of God feels like slogging through waist-deep mud. Or groping for my glasses in the morning when I can’t remember where I put them. (I’m REALLY blind!)

The evacuation of the areas closest to the nuclear power plant was absolutely essential. To be honest, I think the evacuation of the Tokyo area was based on over-sensationalized media coverage and panic. I feel perfectly safe in Tokyo. At least 95% percent of me feels safe. And I’m willing to deal with the 5% part.

What I’m not willing to deal with is the fact that my 10-year-old is still sleeping with us. Still refusing to be in a room by herself. Having nightmares about being on the school playground when the water starts coming through the fence and she cannot outrun it. Freaking out over REALLY little things and acting very bi-polar (apologies to those dear friends of mine who are bipolar!) Feeling earthquakes when they’re not happening. (Although who can really say for sure. Maybe kids have a special sensor and can feel more of the 550 AFTERSHOCKS we’ve experienced in the past week!)

What I’m not willing to deal with is my 16-year-old saying “Mom, I know you have a calling and a ministry here… but you have a calling as our mom too!”

That was the point at which it became easy to make the decision. Rob Morgan, our favorite Free Will Baptist author, came to our Field Retreat last month – wow, was that just last month?!!! – and one of the things he said was “Only do what ONLY YOU can do.” As far as I know, I’m the only mom my kids have.

I’ve never wanted to miss out on anything. For my part, I find great comfort by joining with the other volunteers. Yesterday’s prayer time to mark the time of the earthquake at 2:46 last Friday was one of the most awesome experiences of my life. Not to sensationalize, but it truly felt as close to Pentecost as anything I’ve ever been a part of. (I’m personally glad that the Spirit of God didn’t choose to actually ROCK the place, though – I’m pretty sure most of us wouldn’t have appreciated that particular manifestation!)

As I’ve been slogging and groping my way through the past 36 hours, my heart and the counsel of others has led me to know that this is the path for me and the girls right now. I will surrender my need for significance, and my fear of looking silly, and my concern about what others will think, to God’s plan.

So I’m taking the girls to see their big sister and brother in Nashville. Just after I called my oldest daughter to tell her we are coming, her local radio station played “We are family! I’ve got all my sisters with me!” I love our God’s sense of humor, don’t you?

Japan Tsunami Aftermath

Shocks, Aftershocks, and Meltdowns

Six full days have passed since the earthquake and tsunami, and I think I've done fairly well until today. I guess a meltdown was bound to happen sooner or later.

In the past week, life as my family and I have experienced it for the past 25 years in Japan has become almost unrecognizable. We've always joked about not being "real missionaries" because of all the conveniences, electronic gadgets, and luxuries that are available to us. One of our favorite pastimes as students in language school was to try to come up with things to complain about -- it was hard!

With a suddenness that leaves us dazed, we have (like the Velveteen Rabbit) finally become real! Blackouts, aftershocks, alarms and sirens. Grocery stores with no food, gas stations with no gas, trains parked at the station. School closed until further notice because of power shortages and unreliable train service.

Our family of 4 decided to treat it like one big adventure. We got out our bicycles, candles, flashlights, and emergency backs. We cuddled around our pre-charged laptop and watched episodes of "Castle" during our scheduled blackout time. We made stupid and probably inappropriate jokes whenever possible. "All over baby, whole lot of shakin' goin' on"... "Ewww Dad!! I thought you said you didn't have any gas!"

The truth is we were trying to keep things as chill as possible for the sake of our girls. The images coming to us on the news were too horrific to comprehend. At some point we realized that watching the coverage continually couldn't be a positive thing for a 10-year-old. Unfortunately, that point was after she had seen a video clip of the entire town of Minami Sanriku being wiped out and fleeing people being swept out to sea while their neighbors watched, screaming "Run faster! Hurry! Just a little further!"

We learned that our favorite vacation spot near Sendai was destroyed by the tsunami. Our hearts bled for the people of that quaint little seaside town and the loss of the most perfect place we've ever found on earth. "That was my happy place," said one of our daughters. "That was the only thing in my life that I thought would never change!"

Did you know that after experiencing earthquakes and aftershocks every few minutes for several days, you start to imagine things? Every truck that goes by and rattles the windows, every gust of wind, every time a family member walks around upstairs, you become convinced it's another quake. As a matter of fact, when you get really still (and scared), even your own heartbeat can make you think you're having a quake!

We took time throughout the day the gather together and pray for God to pour His mercy and compassion on the thousands who were suffering and grieving. And each night, we calmed ourselves and prepared for bed by praying as a family. For two nights in a row, just as we were ready to go to sleep, strong aftershocks sent us scrambling for winter coats and emergency backpacks. So much for a calm and restful night's sleep.

The first two nights after the big quake, we all slept in the living room. It just felt better to be together. Amy, our high schooler, went to her own bed on the third night. Caroline hasn't been willing to sleep in her own room yet. Each time the ground shakes, she needs Mom or Dad to tell her "It's okay... go back to sleep."

Our neighborhood has an "early warning system" which is designed to sound an alarm to give a few critical seconds' notice of a major earthquake. Day before yesterday, we were unnerved 3 times by the alarm and an announcement on the loud speaker saying "Take cover! A big quake is imminent!" The quakes that followed almost immediately weren't really as scary as the alarm itself.

We've been learning and reading that sustained stress affects people in different ways. At times, some of us have been a little snappy. (That might be a bit of an understatement!) Not only have we all been out of our regular routines and kinda on top of each other, but we're all feeling the tension and uncertainty of our situation. One by one, we've done some really weird things to cope. Caroline didn't cry over the graphic images on TV, the scenes of utter destruction, or the deaths of thousands of people. But to hear that her Saturday outing to the amusement park was cancelled caused an emotional meltdown. (A friend shared that her 11-year-old son hadn't cried either until his Lego project fell apart.) With a hundred things needing to be done, I stopped to pick some flowers from the yard and make an arrangement for our supper table. Why? I have no idea. I just needed to make something pretty.

Meanwhile, we were receiving steady updates on the possibility of a nuclear meltdown at the Fukushima Daiichi Power Plant.

Actually, we all handled that fairly well for the first few days. Our home in Western Tokyo is more than 150 miles away from Fukushima so we felt we had nothing to worry about. Surely they would get the situation under control soon. We prayed many times for the brave workers that remained at the plant despite great personal risk. We prayed, too, for the people who were evacuating and those sheltering in place in a 30 km. radius of the plant.

I said we were handling that fairly well, and that's true. At least until yesterday when we received this emergency alert: "Remaining workers at the Fukushima Daiichi Power Plant have been evacuated. All efforts to cool the reactors have been abandoned." What?!!! We could all be in serious trouble here! (They've since sent those brave workers back to their posts.)

Then came the Exodus -- no, not THAT one. I'm talking about reports we started getting of foreigners who had decided to "get out of Dodge!" Caroline cried when, one by one, her fifth grade friends emailed her that they were leaving Japan to go home. I couldn't blame them. Most of her friends are from South Korea, a short flight from Tokyo to safety. The French and German embassies moved from Tokyo to Osaka. Then came word from missionaries with other agencies that they were either leaving or had a contingency plan to leave. Around mid-day today, we were informed that the U.S. State Department was evacuating dependents and some personnel. At 4 p.m. President Obama ordered charter planes sent in to aid in the evacuation of private citizens who wanted to leave.

So... the meltdown in Fukushima caused a meltdown in me. I kinda lost it for awhile there. It was my amusement park/Lego moment. I was ready to hit the "eject" button. "Scotty, beam me up!" It wasn't pretty.

But we spent today volunteering at the command center for C.R.A.S.H. (Christian Relief, Assistance, Support, and Hope) My husband Donnie manned the phone lines, inputing data from those calling to volunteer in various parts of Japan. I was drafted for the Media and Press committee. Amy was asked to serve in the area of Emotional Support & Training. She will be able to lend a listening ear to other children and teens who are trying to cope with this crisis.

We learned that supplies are to start arriving by the container-full tomorrow. Base camps are being set up in Sendai and other places near the devastation to distribute supplies as they come in. A million dollars is needed in the next week to get these life-sustaining items to those in desperation. All of the workers are volunteers, most of them missionaries who never expected to be doing this kind of humanitarian work in Japan.

We ended our day at CRASH with a time of worship. "You're the God of this city... You're the King of these people... You're the Lord of creation, you are! Greater things are yet to come, greater things are still to be done in this city." There were many tears by many frazzled yet faith-filled people.

One of my missionary friends said, "I'm not going anywhere... I gave my life to Japan a long time ago." And I heard myself say to another friend, "We've spent 25 years trying to find the felt needs of the Japanese in order to minister to them. I would hate to have to leave now, when the need is so great."

I don't know what will happen tomorrow or how the drama at the nuclear plant will play out. I may be on a plane out of here at any time. We are very much in prayer that we will have discernment and clear guidance from the Lord. We take very seriously our responsibility to protect and care for our girls. We also take very seriously our calling to the nation of Japan. It's a complex situation we find ourselves in, fraught with layers and layers of things to consider. We will do whatever God tells us to, whether that means staying or leaving. But I don't feel like "melting down" anymore.

It was great to be reminded tonight: "No guilt in life, no fear in death, this is the power of Christ in me. From life's first cry to final breath, Jesus commands my destiny."