Arigatai, na.

I know I've said this in earlier blog posts, but I wish SO much I could share the gratitude of the recipients of these quilts. It goes beyond words... some things can only be captured through non-verbals.

Dan learned a new Japanese phrase this trip. "Arigatai, na." It breaks down like this: "Arigato" is "thank you." The "tai" part when added to a verb indicates that they want to do that action. The "na" is an indirect way of saying "I wish."  So when these people say "arigatai, na," they are saying, "I wish I could tell them thank you."

This morning when we arrived at the center, I noticed an elderly couple near the bus stop just outside the front door. As we drove by, I made eye contact with the woman and gave her a half bow and a smile, as to say, "Good morning." A few minutes after we opened up the office, we heard the squeak of the downstairs door and went to welcome the coming guests. Sure enough, it was the couple, in their early- to mid-eighties coming up the steps. They had heard about the center from one of the fliers the young guys from Tokyo distributed yesterday and decided to come check it out.

Many of the people coming to get quilts live in one of the several "kasetsu jutaku" around Kessenuma. These pre-fab temporary housing units have been set up on the sports fields at the schools and in parks around the city. They have multiple units hooked together of varying sizes to accommodate the different family sizes, but as a rule, they are very small, drafty, no-frills living spaces. The communities are row after row of aluminum-sided buildings with sliding front doors and single-pane windows in the back. Their living area also serves as a sleeping space. We've heard of many cases where two people share a one-person unit or three people in a two-person unit. These people may or may not have a kerosene or ceramic heater for the space. Some have kotatsu (a short table with a heater on the bottom, typically used with a blanket to trap the heat and the person's legs are kept warm while sitting at it), but some do not. It sounds like many of the quilts will double usage on their futons at night and kotatsu during the day.

The level of poverty affecting the families in these communities varies greatly, particularly related to the age of the inhabitants and if they are able to keep a job. We met a woman today (Yukiko Ono) who works as kimono maker. For many months she had to walk back and forth from her home to her job (quite a far distance!), sometimes wearing her kimono until her daughter was able to purchase a car, so now they have a driving schedule which makes it easier. However, they still do a lot of walking (she walked down the mountain to the center today) even at 62 years old. The ability to have a job allows them to rebuild their lives more quickly and purchase the things they need as they earn more money. However, the very large elderly population is really struggling to make it, especially if their children live far away and aren't around to help.

The couple that came this morning had lost everything. They were quite open about all that had happened to them, perhaps because they just wanted someone to listen. When the earthquake struck, they were away from home, on higher ground. They watched from above as the water came rushing in and demolished everything in its path. As the wife put it, when they returned to their home, they "didn't even have one pair of underwear left" after the tsunami. Everything had been destroyed and washed away. Even their most basic, primal needs could no longer be found. She mentioned over and over that there was "nothing left." Sadness echoed through her words, recalling that terrible day.

The couple had come today to see what we had available, with the impression that there would need to be some money exchanged. Their faces fluttered through an onslaught of emotions when we told them the quilts were all free and the people of America and Canada had made them to help the people of Kessenuma. The end reaction is the one I will carry with me for the rest of my life, however, because her response triggered the same in me: tears. Her ancient eyes swelled with tears of gratitude and joy, relief and astonishment that people so far away would want to help them through this nightmare. She understood the time and effort it took to make a quilt and the resources it must have taken to get them all here and for us to come from America to distribute them. She sat in silence for a time, absorbing the good news we had shared with her.

She and her husband still have so little even nine months later... this gift of a quilt was a life-changing gift for them at this point in their lives. When asked if they had a blanket or quilt for their bed, the answer was no. They sleep on top of their futon, cover with a sheet and dress in as many layers as they can to try to keep warm (today they wore no coats and the layers they wore weren't overly thick). They do not have a kerosene heater. They do have a kotatsu, but it isn't enough to keep the room warm, and do they have a blanket on their kotatsu to trap the heat underneath. They are always cold in their drafty aluminum "apartment," but are much too old to get a job to earn more money. I'm not sure to what extent their two children are able to help them financially and both live fairly far away.

After a few minutes, the woman rose and looked at the quilts we had left. I had found one large quilt mixed in with the child-size quilts late yesterday afternoon, so although it was a nice quilt, it hadn't been selected yet. I have no doubt that was a God-led mistake! The bright greens and blues and yellows combined into cheery patterns and the woman and I both expressed how much we liked the fabrics chosen for the quilt. She found another smaller quilt to take along too to help keep warm during the day. On her way out, she reached out and touched Dan's arm (very unusual in Japanese culture, reserved for familiar relations, friend to friend), looked at him and said, "Thank you so much. We'll be more comfortable and warmer at night." I could see a few tears in her eyes as sincerity poured out of her and her "arigatai, na" was verbally and visibly evident. They left to go back to their car and returned a few minutes later with three large apples and an orange that her relatives in Nagano prefecture had sent to them for New Years. They wanted to give us what they could to say thank you for the difference we had made in their lives. It was perhaps the best apple I've ever eaten, mostly because I know how much it meant to them. The parable of the widow's mite came to mind (Luke 21:1-4).

When people come in from the kasetsu jutakus around town, it reminds me how much was lost here in Kessenuma. Over 1800 people died that afternoon and in its aftermath. When driving through the disaster zone, as I did today with some friends from Misato, I have to remind myself that the small, bare foundations found everywhere were once houses with families living inside them. Most of what's left (partially) standing are the remains of industrial buildings, so it is easy for me to depersonalize the situation, lamenting the hit the economy took, but denying the pain of the human experience. The faces that come into the center tell a different story, and although the Japanese people are very resilient, they still have needs, pain, and individual stories that ache to be told. As Takaka-san (one of the women from the Tokyo church) expressed in her report, the disaster victims need outsiders simply to listen... the people here all lived through it; they yearn for people with a neutral stance to listen and allow them to sort through the difficult emotions they struggle with, even now.
 
Dan, Kai, Niko, and I are in such an amazing position here. Everyday we have the opportunity to make a difference, even if it is as small as sitting down with a cup of tea in a warm room with these people.
And I can already feel my own pain starting to build, knowing we are leaving Kessenuma in only a week. Sure, we are going to go have fun and meet old friends in our former hometown, but our one month in Kessenuma was much too short. We barely scratched the surface and are finally starting to get our feet under us, just in time to leave. It will be difficult to return to America to our regular life where we live in a large house, have more than enough money every month, and have very few natural disasters to worry about. It doesn't seem fair. But we have to return and wait to see what God has in mind for us next. Perhaps this is just preparation for the next "big adventure." Who knows. Today, and for the next week, we will absorb as much as we can, love these people in every way we can, and help them where we can. One week to make a difference in a few more people's lives - please pray that our work is fruitful during our remaining time.