In Honor of My Second Home on the Anniversary of 3/11

I wrote the following a year ago after the earthquake and tsunami. I was not blogging at the time. I post it today on the anniversary of 3/11 as I remember my many friends in Japan and their beautiful country. 

Looking out my kitchen window I see our Japanese maple lush with new growth. It draws me back to my years of living in Japan. Every fall the Japanese maple or momiji would burst forth with vibrant earth tones in the mountains of Japan. Most people think of Tokyo and city life when they picture life in Japan. But the Japanese can only live on ten percent of the landmass because the rest of the country is made up of mountain ranges covered in cedar, maple and bamboo forests.   As the momiji would begin to change colors, my friends would soon be organizing a hike to the nearby mountains to see the forest ablaze in a patchwork of gold, auburn, red, and yellow. My fondest memories are filled with such outings with my students and friends.

As spring approaches in Japan, I know the cherry blossoms are beginning to show their splendor, and it will be soon be time for o-hanami or flower viewing. My Japanese friends will gather under a canopy of blossoms at famous parks or temples and enjoy a picnic of chirashizushi or takenoko-gohan or some other dish of the season.

The country seems to move together in a synchronized rhythm with the coming of each new season.  A picnic under the cherry trees. The sharing of a first slice of melon with friends in the summer. A hike to the mountains in the fall. 

Even the school-age children seem to magically transform all on the same day as they abandon their long-sleeved shirts for their spring uniform with its new short-sleeves. Never mind if the weather hasn’t changed. As a foreigner riding on the train filled with children it was not easy to miss since I was the only one still wearing long-sleeves!

As a native Californian who grew up near San Francisco, I also know the change of seasons – not out of the snow but out of cold, wet winters into bright, vibrant springtime. But it wasn’t until I returned from living in Japan that I noticed that my childhood home was on a street filled with an array of cherry trees in the front yards of my neighbors. I must have walked by those trees in full bloom year after year on my way home from school, but I never really saw them. Not until I returned from Japan did I pause and see their glorious plumage and look down the street in awe. One of the many gifts from my life in Japan.

Now as I watch the faces of so many Japanese peering out over destruction and loss, I see myself standing in the street that I once walked and shopped and lived my life. Japan became my home.  I did not live in the north where the destruction is the worse, but I still see my friends and neighbors in each face and each house lost.

An American, Taylor Anderson, was one of those lost in the tsunami. She was 24. She was an English teacher who loved her life in Japan.  I celebrated my 24 birthday in Japan. I lived there for four years and it became my home.  It could have been me in the wake of this disaster.

I grieve for a nation who taught me how to pause and appreciate the beauty around me and celebrate it with others. I now long to give something back to this beautiful country and its people but feel powerless. As a woman who worships the God who entered human suffering in order to bring healing to our battered souls and to be ever-present with us, I long to offer this hope. 

As I see spring opening up in my town on the Pacific Ocean, I stand on its shores and open up my hands and my heart to you, Japan, and pray for healing to come.

As the cherry blossoms burst open this year, I wonder how the nation will celebrate o-hanami? Will they gather as families or co-workers or school friends? Will it be a somber time? Or will they step into the rhythm set by generations before them who have enjoyed the simplicity of a picnic under the cherry blossoms? Will it be a time of healing for this generation? 

May healing come not just to the land but to the soul of a nation.