Relief Work?

It was the beginning of April, 2011. I (Haidee) had just stepped off the plane into Narita airport and used a pay phone to alert my roommate in Fukushima that I wouldn't be making it back that night--with aftershocks, the trains were an unreliable method of transportation for such a distance. "Well, can you make it back by 1pm or so?" my roommate said. "A meeting with a local English company came up, and it'd be good if you could make it." I said I'd try, hung up the phone, and (about 18 hours later) stumbled (with my luggage still in hand) into the church for the meeting.

So began (for me) the season of relief work and rebuilding after the March 11th earthquake. I'm not sure what relief work looks like in other places of the world, but for me, it's been a season of immense change (some good, some bad), pressure to serve, and what feels like a constant flow of "crisis situations" that can only be reacted to or stumbled into, rather than planned for.

Take yesterday, for example. I was cleaning the kitchen stove-top and had spent the last hour brainstorming with Eric and typing up an adult English curriculum when my cellphone rang. I picked it up too late, but called the pastor's wife back and chatted with her regarding some English school plans and concerns. While I was talking to her...and cleaning the stove...and still had my document unsaved, open on my laptop to finish typing out the English school curriculum...there was a knock on my door. It was my pastor, who had just gotten a call from a non-profit organization who was going to pass out socks at the government housing area and was asking for more volunteers...to meet in 2 hours. And we needed to turn in some forms for the upcoming Kids' Camp (another relief program) by that afternoon, he said, so he and I needed to have a meeting and complete that paperwork.

After a year of these kinds of situations, I have a hard time reacting graciously. What I'd like to do is just yell, "One at a time! Take a number! And if I don't have time to get to you today, you'll just have to come back tomorrow. And no, don't try to guilt me into doing anything."

In the end, I saved my unfinished English school curriculum, went to an English school meeting, finished the necessary Kids' Camp paperwork, and said that Eric and I would pass things out at the government housing area the next day. Eric spent the afternoon prepping Easter baskets for the Kids' Camp. Today we went and spent time with the elderly people living in the government housing area, passing out socks and engaging them in conversation.

What is relief work? Is it doing as much as possible for as many people as possible all the time? Is it physical--handing out socks, making Easter baskets? Emotional and relational--conversations, time spent together? Spiritual--prayer-walking, worship? Is it more economical--helping the city and society get back up on its feet, helping the students get back into routines of learning? Is it distant--do we need to go to the government housing area? Is it nearby--does it count as relief work if we simply talk to our neighbors, who are separated from their families because of radiation?

We want to help the people of this city. We want to share God's love and light. We also want to make decisions as adults and be better at saying yes or no to things...not just living in a state of reaction, guilt, and stress. What is important? What is not important? How do we decide? There is so much that can be done...

A blessing is that in moments when it is all just too much, and we feel pulled and twisted and disfigured by the needs and demands, I can look across at Eric and know love...receive love...feel it.

A short summary: relief work, in all of its ambiguity and busyness, is just plain difficult. Please pray for wisdom, strength, and peace as we round the bend for year number two since the earthquake! And perhaps...some relief.