The news and pictures coming from Japan are mind-boggling. So much destruction. So many injured and dead. So much potential for lasting harm from the damaged nuclear fuel plants. Every new report of mounting casualties, melting nuclear reactors, and the possibility of aftershocks increases my personal sense of helplessness in light of the magnitude of this disaster.
I can’t rush to Japan to assist in the clean up. Even without a book deadline breathing down my neck, a lack of disaster training, physical stamina, and a proclivity for the human version of a nuclear meltdown in the face of any crisis make me an unlikely rescue worker.
Is there anything can I do?
The question came to mind ten times a day. Hard on its heels come memories of Miyuki, the Japanese foreign exchange student who lived with us during the 2004-05 school year. Her ignorance of western culture was as mind-boggling as the recent earthquake.
She wanted to know about our country’s government, but concepts of elections, presidents, and public debate were beyond her comprehension.
She had never heard of Hitler, and she couldn’t understand his hatred of Jewish people. She didn’t know what Jews were.
She “became a Christian” in her first host home before she came to us, but six months later was amazed to learn He was God.
She knew Christmas was about Santa and gifts, but was amazed to learn the holiday had religious roots.
And I know there is something I can do.
Though I’ve pray for her often since her return to southeast Japan years ago, my prayers are more intentional today. I pray God will bring to life the seeds planted while she was here. I pray the truth she heard and pondered while in our home will come back to her and become her hope In the aftermath of the earthquake. I pray she will find true life in Christ and bear much fruit in the midst of devastation and pain. In the face of much destruction, my prayers don’t seem like much. But this is what I’m equipped to do – pray for Miyuki, who was in our home for a reason.
This is something I can do.
