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!