A volunteer from the nursing college was visiting an evacuation shelter a couple of months after the tsunami. There, she met an elderly couple. Both of them had mobility issues due to their legs.
When the earthquake struck, they were at home with their daughter. As the tsunami warnings started sounding, the daughter grew worried about her son, their grandson, and decided to go pick him up.
She helped both her parents get up on the low table in the dining room, in case the waters came in and the floor got wet. Then she set out in her car to find her son.
The tsunami came rushing into their house, and the old couple found themselves being lifted up, along with the table, all the way to the ceiling. Like a raft.
The water was about to engulf them, too, and they were sure they were going to drown. But then it suddenly receded, setting the table gently back down on the floor again.
Although the inside of the house was in shambles, the two of them were wet but unharmed.
But their daughter and grandson never came home.
The grandmother couldn't stop crying as she related this story in the shelter. "It should've been us who died," she kept repeating.
The grandfather just kept rubbing his useless legs, saying nothing.
2011年11月4日金曜日
the wisdom of babes
Chaplain's Message from the November 2011 issue of "Akarui Mado (Bright Window)", the hospital's staff-oriented newsletter.
Before I became a father, I really didn't pay much attention to babies. I had never really spent much time around them, actually. Guys don't usually spend hours fawning over the newborn children of their friends.
I thought babies were cute, sure. Like puppies or harp seals or those Kobito Zukan (gnome) characters. Cute, but not all that interesting. And I figured, in the end, their cuteness was probably outweighed by stinky diapers and sleep deprivation and endless screaming.
But then my first child was born, and I got to spend time with a baby for the first time. I got to hold him, and rock him to sleep, and give him the bottle, and listen to his little breathing sounds. I got to let him sleep on my chest. He rode on my shoulders.
And I had to change lots of diapers and lose sleep and put up with screaming. But I didn't mind so much.
I discovered that this baby was fascinating. That all babies are fascinating. They are little mysteries. They never get boring.
But babies grow up and become Little People. Still fun to be with, to be sure, but not nearly so mysterious.
Recently I got the chance to hold my friend's seven-month-old daughter at a church festival. She was very calm, not nervous around strangers at all. She was content to let me hold her and walk around.
(I went around introducing this very Asian-looking little girl as my daughter—"She takes after me, don't you think?" and enjoyed seeing the confused look on people's faces.)
One of the things I find so interesting about babies is their utter acceptance of reality, and their total trust in their parents.
Later in life, we start trying to change our environment. Younger children try to use words like magic to change things. "That WASN'T the last strawberry! It WASN'T! There's more!" I takes them a while to discover that that doesn't work, but when they do, they start learning to influence people in other ways, with begging, threats, pressure, argument, the exchange of favors.
In fact, they're no different from grownups. It's just that grownups get more skilled in these tactics.
And children also learn to doubt their parents, because sometimes our parents do what we want, and sometimes they do what's best for us, even when it's not what we want.
Anyway, we learn to see our environment as something changeable, and we learn to see the people around us as at least somewhat untrustworthy.
But what I wonder is, do we lose something important in this learning process?
It seems to me that babies are born with a certain kind of knowing--not knowledge, or information, or rational conclusions, but a kind of direct intuition.
Knowing, for example, that there is Someone greater than us, Someone on whom our life depends--and realizing that this Someone knew us before we knew Him, and called us by name before we even knew we had names
Knowing that when we cry out for help or comfort, our cry will never go unheard.
Knowing that whatever comes up in life, in the end, all will be well. We may taste pain, or hunger, or fear, or sadness, or loneliness, or separation, for a time, but finally, all will be well. We will never be abandoned.
Sometimes when I have the rare opportunity to hold a baby, I wonder, have I lost sight of something important in the process of growing up. And I think, can I get it back somehow?
Before I became a father, I really didn't pay much attention to babies. I had never really spent much time around them, actually. Guys don't usually spend hours fawning over the newborn children of their friends.
I thought babies were cute, sure. Like puppies or harp seals or those Kobito Zukan (gnome) characters. Cute, but not all that interesting. And I figured, in the end, their cuteness was probably outweighed by stinky diapers and sleep deprivation and endless screaming.
But then my first child was born, and I got to spend time with a baby for the first time. I got to hold him, and rock him to sleep, and give him the bottle, and listen to his little breathing sounds. I got to let him sleep on my chest. He rode on my shoulders.
And I had to change lots of diapers and lose sleep and put up with screaming. But I didn't mind so much.
I discovered that this baby was fascinating. That all babies are fascinating. They are little mysteries. They never get boring.
But babies grow up and become Little People. Still fun to be with, to be sure, but not nearly so mysterious.
Recently I got the chance to hold my friend's seven-month-old daughter at a church festival. She was very calm, not nervous around strangers at all. She was content to let me hold her and walk around.
(I went around introducing this very Asian-looking little girl as my daughter—"She takes after me, don't you think?" and enjoyed seeing the confused look on people's faces.)
One of the things I find so interesting about babies is their utter acceptance of reality, and their total trust in their parents.
Later in life, we start trying to change our environment. Younger children try to use words like magic to change things. "That WASN'T the last strawberry! It WASN'T! There's more!" I takes them a while to discover that that doesn't work, but when they do, they start learning to influence people in other ways, with begging, threats, pressure, argument, the exchange of favors.
In fact, they're no different from grownups. It's just that grownups get more skilled in these tactics.
And children also learn to doubt their parents, because sometimes our parents do what we want, and sometimes they do what's best for us, even when it's not what we want.
Anyway, we learn to see our environment as something changeable, and we learn to see the people around us as at least somewhat untrustworthy.
But what I wonder is, do we lose something important in this learning process?
It seems to me that babies are born with a certain kind of knowing--not knowledge, or information, or rational conclusions, but a kind of direct intuition.
Knowing, for example, that there is Someone greater than us, Someone on whom our life depends--and realizing that this Someone knew us before we knew Him, and called us by name before we even knew we had names
Knowing that when we cry out for help or comfort, our cry will never go unheard.
Knowing that whatever comes up in life, in the end, all will be well. We may taste pain, or hunger, or fear, or sadness, or loneliness, or separation, for a time, but finally, all will be well. We will never be abandoned.
Sometimes when I have the rare opportunity to hold a baby, I wonder, have I lost sight of something important in the process of growing up. And I think, can I get it back somehow?
赤ちゃんの英知
２０１１年１１月、病院の職員向けの月報「明るい窓」に搭載される「チャプレンからのメッセージ」
父親になる前は、あまり赤ちゃんに注意を払わなかった。男性はそんなに触れ合う機会がない、実は。可愛らしいものだと思っていた。子犬や小人図鑑のフィギュアみたい。でもそれほど興味がない。
しかも、臭いオムツとか、泣き叫ぶこととか、親が寝不足になるとかを聞くと、その可愛らしさがなくてもいいのかな、とも思っていたのである。
ところが一人目の赤ちゃんが生まれて、初めて新生児との付き合いが始まった。抱っこして寝かせたり、その小さな呼吸音を聞いたり、ミルクを飲ませたり、胸に乗せて二人で昼寝したり、肩に乗せて散歩したりするなど、いろんな新しい経験ができた。
確かに山ほどの臭いオムツを替え、泣き叫ぶ声に耐え忍び、慢性寝不足を我慢しなければならなかったが、あまり気にならない。
赤ちゃんはすごく面白いから。謎のかたまり。いつ見ても飽きない。
しかし、やがて赤ちゃんは成長して小さな人になる。それでも一緒にいるのが楽しいけど、不思議さは確かに少なくなる。
最近、教会の祭りで、友人の7ヶ月の娘を抱っこして歩き回らせてもらった。その子は全く人見知りせず、抱かれるがままになってくれた。
（思い切りアジア人の顔をしている女の子をいろんな人に見せて「ほら、次女だよ。似てるでしょう？」と紹介して、その一瞬戸惑う表情を見るのも一つの楽しみだった．．．）
赤ん坊というのは、どんな状況に置かれても、その現実を素直に受け入れることは、実に不思議。そして親への完全な信頼も不思議。
成長していくとこどもは周りの環境を変えようとするようになる。自分に力がないから、周りの人を動かそうとする。うるさく願い続けるとか。脅してみる。罪悪感を抱かせてみる。論理的に主張してみる。「いいもの交換」の取り引きをしてみる。大人と変わらない。大人はただもっと上手になるだけ。
また、こどもはその親を疑うことを学んでいく。なぜかというと、してほしいことをしてくれるときもあれば、してほしいことよりも「すべきこと」をしてくれるときもあるから。
とにかく、いつの間にか、置かれている環境は変え得るものとして見るようになる。そして周りの人は、完全には信頼できない者として見るようになる。
ところが、この成長過程をたどっていく中で何か大事なことを見失ってしまうのではないか、と考えるときがある。
赤ちゃんは生まれながら、ある意味で悟りを開いていると思う。知識でも、情報でも、理屈にかなった推論でもなく、ある種の直感を持って生まれるのだと思う。
例えば、自分を越えた存在があり、その存在によって自分が生かされていることが分かる。その存在を知る前から、知られていた、自分に名前が付いていることに気づく前から、名前が呼ばれていたのだ、ということが分かる。
また、助けや慰めを求めて叫びをあげたら、必ず誰かがそれを聞き入れてくれる、と。
そして、何があっても最終的には大丈夫だ、ということが分かる。痛み、空腹、恐怖、悲しみ、孤独を一時の間味わうかもしれない。が、やがてすべてが大丈夫だ。見捨てられることはないのだ、ということが分かるのである。
たまに、赤ちゃんを抱っこさせてもらうことがあると、大人である自分が何か大事なことを見失っているのではないのかな、と思わされる。
そして、その大事なことを取り戻す方法はないだろうか、といろいろ考える。
父親になる前は、あまり赤ちゃんに注意を払わなかった。男性はそんなに触れ合う機会がない、実は。可愛らしいものだと思っていた。子犬や小人図鑑のフィギュアみたい。でもそれほど興味がない。
しかも、臭いオムツとか、泣き叫ぶこととか、親が寝不足になるとかを聞くと、その可愛らしさがなくてもいいのかな、とも思っていたのである。
ところが一人目の赤ちゃんが生まれて、初めて新生児との付き合いが始まった。抱っこして寝かせたり、その小さな呼吸音を聞いたり、ミルクを飲ませたり、胸に乗せて二人で昼寝したり、肩に乗せて散歩したりするなど、いろんな新しい経験ができた。
確かに山ほどの臭いオムツを替え、泣き叫ぶ声に耐え忍び、慢性寝不足を我慢しなければならなかったが、あまり気にならない。
赤ちゃんはすごく面白いから。謎のかたまり。いつ見ても飽きない。
しかし、やがて赤ちゃんは成長して小さな人になる。それでも一緒にいるのが楽しいけど、不思議さは確かに少なくなる。
最近、教会の祭りで、友人の7ヶ月の娘を抱っこして歩き回らせてもらった。その子は全く人見知りせず、抱かれるがままになってくれた。
（思い切りアジア人の顔をしている女の子をいろんな人に見せて「ほら、次女だよ。似てるでしょう？」と紹介して、その一瞬戸惑う表情を見るのも一つの楽しみだった．．．）
赤ん坊というのは、どんな状況に置かれても、その現実を素直に受け入れることは、実に不思議。そして親への完全な信頼も不思議。
成長していくとこどもは周りの環境を変えようとするようになる。自分に力がないから、周りの人を動かそうとする。うるさく願い続けるとか。脅してみる。罪悪感を抱かせてみる。論理的に主張してみる。「いいもの交換」の取り引きをしてみる。大人と変わらない。大人はただもっと上手になるだけ。
また、こどもはその親を疑うことを学んでいく。なぜかというと、してほしいことをしてくれるときもあれば、してほしいことよりも「すべきこと」をしてくれるときもあるから。
とにかく、いつの間にか、置かれている環境は変え得るものとして見るようになる。そして周りの人は、完全には信頼できない者として見るようになる。
ところが、この成長過程をたどっていく中で何か大事なことを見失ってしまうのではないか、と考えるときがある。
赤ちゃんは生まれながら、ある意味で悟りを開いていると思う。知識でも、情報でも、理屈にかなった推論でもなく、ある種の直感を持って生まれるのだと思う。
例えば、自分を越えた存在があり、その存在によって自分が生かされていることが分かる。その存在を知る前から、知られていた、自分に名前が付いていることに気づく前から、名前が呼ばれていたのだ、ということが分かる。
また、助けや慰めを求めて叫びをあげたら、必ず誰かがそれを聞き入れてくれる、と。
そして、何があっても最終的には大丈夫だ、ということが分かる。痛み、空腹、恐怖、悲しみ、孤独を一時の間味わうかもしれない。が、やがてすべてが大丈夫だ。見捨てられることはないのだ、ということが分かるのである。
たまに、赤ちゃんを抱っこさせてもらうことがあると、大人である自分が何か大事なことを見失っているのではないのかな、と思わされる。
そして、その大事なことを取り戻す方法はないだろうか、といろいろ考える。
kindergarten in a hotspot: tsunami stories (IV)
The following is an excerpt of a documentary I was recently asked to translate into English:
Kohriyama is home to Saint Paul's Kindergarten. The school is located in one of the city's so-called radioactive "hotspots."
School employees carry out decontamination efforts every single day. Both in the morning and in the evening, they break into teams to wash the entire school building. They also wipe down all surfaces inside the classrooms.
The children wear masks to school. Even the children understand that masks are helpful in avoiding contact with radioactive materials.
The high radiation levels at the school weren't discovered until more than a month after the nuclear meltdown. Inspectors from the Education ministry informed the kindergarten about the radiation amounts. The topsoil of the school grounds was immediately dug up and removed.
But no one would agree to dispose of the topsoil, so it sat in a pile in a corner of the school grounds.
Radiation measurements taken of the dirt pile were high enough to be reported in the news.
After searching for a solution to the disposal problem, the school finally decided to seal the contaminated dirt in thick rubber sheeting and bury it deep underground in an area next to the school.
Now that the dirt has been taken away, radiation levels on the school grounds are down to zero-point-three microsieverts.
For a while, requests from parents to take their children out of the kindergarten were increasing. But now that decontamination efforts have brought radiation levels down, the parents' anxiety has turned into a deepened sense of trust.
Kohriyama is home to Saint Paul's Kindergarten. The school is located in one of the city's so-called radioactive "hotspots."
School employees carry out decontamination efforts every single day. Both in the morning and in the evening, they break into teams to wash the entire school building. They also wipe down all surfaces inside the classrooms.
The children wear masks to school. Even the children understand that masks are helpful in avoiding contact with radioactive materials.
The high radiation levels at the school weren't discovered until more than a month after the nuclear meltdown. Inspectors from the Education ministry informed the kindergarten about the radiation amounts. The topsoil of the school grounds was immediately dug up and removed.
But no one would agree to dispose of the topsoil, so it sat in a pile in a corner of the school grounds.
Radiation measurements taken of the dirt pile were high enough to be reported in the news.
After searching for a solution to the disposal problem, the school finally decided to seal the contaminated dirt in thick rubber sheeting and bury it deep underground in an area next to the school.
Now that the dirt has been taken away, radiation levels on the school grounds are down to zero-point-three microsieverts.
For a while, requests from parents to take their children out of the kindergarten were increasing. But now that decontamination efforts have brought radiation levels down, the parents' anxiety has turned into a deepened sense of trust.
[The head of the kindergarten:] "For these children who can't leave and go somewhere else, I thought, how can we let them run around and play--how can we make sure they have a safe place to be? We've just got to clean things up and bring the levels down. That's basically the only thing I worry about every day.
We're fighting a horror that we can't see. If it had color we could wipe it up, or at least keep from touching it. If it had a bad smell we could go inside... But it's nothing like that. That's what makes it so scary."
playing funeral: tsunami stories (III)
The following is an excerpt of a documentary I was recently asked to translate into English:
On the first day back, childcare students from St. Mary's College in Nagoya came to volunteer at the kindergarten.
Their reason for coming so far to this place? They wanted to be with the children who had gone through the experience of the tsunami. What surprised the college students was how the children played during break times: "Pretend Funeral" was a popular game…
On the first day back, childcare students from St. Mary's College in Nagoya came to volunteer at the kindergarten.
Their reason for coming so far to this place? They wanted to be with the children who had gone through the experience of the tsunami. What surprised the college students was how the children played during break times: "Pretend Funeral" was a popular game…
"What do you want to play? Funeral? Medicine?"Eight children from Fuji Kindergarten died in the tsunami. For many people, starting up the school again brought very mixed feelings.
"Funeral!"
"There wasn't any medicine at Grandma and Grandpa's funeral!"
[The head of the kindergarten:] "Should we really go ahead with this after eight of our children died? Part of me thinks we shouldn't. We had about 50 children there, scared to death in the buses… We hadn't done anything at all to provide psychological care for them."It's important to focus on the here and now for the children who lived, who are alive. That's probably what Junko Nakaso, who died while trying to save her children's lives, would have wanted.
"We have a big responsibility toward the children who lived, who are alive."
last bus ride: tsunami stories (II)
The following is an excerpt of a documentary I was recently asked to translate into English:
Minoru and Yoshimi Miyake, whose lives were lost in the tsunami, were devoted members of St. John's. Their daughter, Junko Nakaso, was also one of the victims of the tsunami.
Junko worked as a teacher at Fuji Kindergarten in Yamamoto-cho, a town just north of Shinchi-machi. On March 11, Junko and her colleagues were riding the bus home with 18 children from the kindergarten when the tsunami struck.
Reports say that the bus and all its passengers were swept along by the tsunami and struck a house, and then began slowly filling with water.
In ice-cold weather, Junko worked to get all the children safely out of the bus. While waiting for help to come, she sought to encourage the children and keep them calm. Military rescue efforts began the next morning.
By that time, Junko had already been called home to be with the Lord.
Minoru and Yoshimi Miyake, whose lives were lost in the tsunami, were devoted members of St. John's. Their daughter, Junko Nakaso, was also one of the victims of the tsunami.
Junko worked as a teacher at Fuji Kindergarten in Yamamoto-cho, a town just north of Shinchi-machi. On March 11, Junko and her colleagues were riding the bus home with 18 children from the kindergarten when the tsunami struck.
Reports say that the bus and all its passengers were swept along by the tsunami and struck a house, and then began slowly filling with water.
In ice-cold weather, Junko worked to get all the children safely out of the bus. While waiting for help to come, she sought to encourage the children and keep them calm. Military rescue efforts began the next morning.
By that time, Junko had already been called home to be with the Lord.
holding on: tsunami stories (I)
The following is an excerpt of a documentary I was recently asked to translate into English:
Minami Sanriku-cho in Miyagi Prefecture. Nearly three quarters of the homes in this town were lost in the tsunami.
One of the town's residents is Kiyomi Suzuki. When the tsunami struck, he barely escaped. That day, when he sensed the danger of a tsunami, Suzuki hurried to reach higher ground. He climbed to where the factory of his handicapped son was.
When he got to the top of the hill, Suzuki turned to see the tsunami pouring in over the town below. Just a few minutes later, he says, the tsunami had risen all the way to his feet.
Minami Sanriku-cho in Miyagi Prefecture. Nearly three quarters of the homes in this town were lost in the tsunami.
One of the town's residents is Kiyomi Suzuki. When the tsunami struck, he barely escaped. That day, when he sensed the danger of a tsunami, Suzuki hurried to reach higher ground. He climbed to where the factory of his handicapped son was.
When he got to the top of the hill, Suzuki turned to see the tsunami pouring in over the town below. Just a few minutes later, he says, the tsunami had risen all the way to his feet.
"Uh-oh, I thought. This is not good. Then all of a sudden it came rushing up to where I was."Desperate, Suzuki ran to the buildings behind him, but the rushing water soon rose as high as he was.
"When I got here, the water was already up over my head. So I was being pushed along with the wave…I was floating in brown water. And then I saw this [drain pipe].
Until I got here, two or three times I came close to drowning. I thought I was going to die. Oh, so this is what it's like to die, I thought. I was almost ready to give up. And then I found this drain pipe. I thought, I've got to grab onto this. I grabbed it like this… And then, a few seconds later, whoosh! The water went down. All that water, and then it was gone. There was nothing left around here. It all happened so fast. In the blink of an eye."
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