Tonight the kids and I were watching this video of the first wave of the Tsunami coming ashore. Catie watched it in class today. I happened upon it. Christopher watched it for the first time tonight with us. His reaction: "The cars look like some kid threw a whole bunch of Matchbox cars into a creek or something."
In the very beginning, when the video pans to the parking lot, if you look really closely you can see a man running next to the buildings. Christopher wanted to know why there were people standing on an upper level balcony taping it instead of running to save their lives. I want to know if any of them made it out alive. I want to know if they had enough warning.
Thousands have died, but the survivors are really suffering. This article says they're grieving and starving. Can you imagine the fear they must still be living under? Every breath has to be a struggle. If I feel helpless watching their homes and cars...their entire lives...being swept out to sea, and reading about how they can't find their family, how much more helpless must they feel? My children are down the hall. I'm reasonably certain my parents are safely in their own homes. Tonight I'm climbing into a nice warm bed. My belly's full and I will sleep well. Tomorrow I will wake up, bemoan the fact that I didn't get to sleep longer, get into my little car that was made in this now-desperate country and drive to work, singing at the top of my lungs. I will laugh with my co-workers, complain about some petty thing or another, and this devastation will be almost as many miles from my thoughts as it is from my person. And then someone will mention Japan and I will remember, utter a silent prayer, and again feel very small and helpless. What can I do in the face of such loss?
I watch all these videos and read these articles, and I think you know, we could be next. We're not safe. If not a tsunami, a tornado. Oh yes they happen here. If not a tsunami, what's to say an earthquake won't hit near Augusta. Just because it hasn't happened doesn't mean it couldn't.
It reminds me just how small we really are. It makes me stop and wonder what it's all for, all this working our lives away to buy bigger and better homes, cars, technology. To one-up the Joneses. So that people will look up to us. Respect us. What is that prestige when we're all -- millionaires and paupers -- huddled together, shivering, soaking wet in an abandoned building somewhere, eating dried Ramen noodles to keep alive. Even if we could afford million dollar homes, they look the same as shanty shacks floating in the ocean.
I want to buy a house of my own one day. Why? For security, I always said. So that once it's paid for, nobody can ever come take away the roof over my head. But if I spend a quarter of my earnings over the course of my lifetime on it, will it last? Maybe for as long as I'm alive. Or maybe not. I'm starting to think these things aren't what we should be spending our money on. Yes, we need shelter. But does it have to be 4,500 square feet for just two people? Do we really need that much space? Do we really need to drive a gas-guzzling Hummer? Especially when people are hungry. What if we all aspired to modest housing, to spending the money God entrusts to us on just what we need and spending the rest to meet another's needs (those that can't do it for themselves.) And that would be needs... you know, food, clothing, shelter, water, air. Not cell phones, Lexuses and 52-inch big screens. (And since a lot of that stuff came from Japan, I'm betting they just got more luxurious.)
I don't know, ya'll. Right now I'm tired, which gets my thoughts churning, and every time I see something new come out of this disaster I'm just heartsick about the people there who are just fighting to stay alive. If I had millions, I would take jetfuls of food and clean water to them. I hate to see people go hungry. As it is, all I can do is find a charity to give a few dollars to and pray. I really hope that helps.
No comments:
Post a Comment