"The earth trembled," whispered the eighty year old Mrs. Kuniko
Watanabe with a hoarse voice, "It was so horrific that in my entire life time I had not come across such a terrifying earthquake."
Dipping the spoon into the soup bowl, she drank it carefully so as not to spill, as her hands shook violently. Ocean Plaza gymnasium was the evacuation center which is the biggest shelter at the coastal city of Rikuzentakate at Iwate and was crammed with over six hundred people. Kuniko was able to locate herself in a corner of a corridor and had made walls from cardboard boxes, and her neighbor had marked her territory with layers of blankets and futons.
It's a remarkably useful instantaneous community that was well organized. Queues for food were meticulously followed and people were careful about taking out their shoes off before stepping on cardboard as they are before entering a home.
Taken to the makeshift clinic which was put up in the former training room Mrs. Kuniko Watanabe trembled because her feet was wet and of the extreme cold. Nurse Tayo Kitamura checked her pulse, blood pressure and for any external signs of injury.
"You are the only one without an injury," Tayo commented patting her on her back, as she made her way to the pharmacy through the weightlifting equipment and exercise bikes, which have been pushed into one corner.
"And blood pressure is normal," continued Tayo, with a smile.
"Keeping myself fit," said Mrs. Kuniko Watanabe, "It's an obsession for me."
Tayo looked at her, and saw a fine physique inside the loose fitting clothes and observed, "So you are a fitness freak."
"Yes," replied Kuniko excitedly, "I do all the house work myself. I am eighty and will be celebrating my eighty first birthday this coming July. I cycle a lot. "
"Cycling?"
"My father's favorite."
"Who brought you here?"
"I came alone, cycling, as soon as I heard the tsunami siren."
"All the way?"
"As I told you, I cycle a lot," said Mrs. Kuniko proudly, "I cycled hard all the way, without looking back, just like Lot's family."
"Lot's family?" asked Tayo with a frown.
"As in the Bible."
"You, a Christian?"
"No, but my neighbor is," said Mrs. Kuniko, "She every time tells me that I should be like Lot, and not be like his wife, who looked back."
"I don't understand."
"Lot is Abraham's brother," said Mrs. Kuniko, "And he was warned by God to escape to the hills first thing in the morning with his wife and two daughters, because He said He is going to destroy their city of Sodom. The plan was to cross over the large mountainous range quickly to escape from the burning sulfur which was to rain on that sinful city. God warned them not to look back. But his wife who was way behind them, kept on turning back to look at the city she loved. That delay made her to lay exposed to the burning sulfur long enough to burn her to a pillar of salt."
Catching her breath, Kuniko continued. "Like lot, I cycled hard as soon as I heard the tsunami siren. I never looked back. Otherwise seeing the thirty feet high wave rushing up towards me, I would have lost valuable time. Or maybe I wouldn't have had the courage to cycle that hard."
"All this, you believe?"
"It's not the question of belief. It's the question of not looking back, when a devastating force is at work. When you look back, you slow down and loose valuable time and that's enough for the burning sulfur to turn you to a pillar of salt or a tsunami to drown you."
Tayo fascinated waited patiently for her complete the story, as this was the first time that she had the opportunity to hear someone talk about an anecdote from the Bible.
"But where is your neighbor? Did she tell all this to you?" asked Tayo.
"She had gone to Christchurch last month to be with her niece, as soon as that city, suffered a quake. We both used to watch lots of Christian DVD's and CD's, and that's how I knew about the Bible and Lot. The story fascinated me."
"You have completed your soup?" asked Tayo.
"I am now looking forward to having my vegetables."
Hearing it Nurse Tayo smiled as said, "No looking back."
"No looking back," replied Kuniko with a wide smile.
Victor Jasti lives in India and is passionate about writing short stories based on the Bible and real incidents. He also writes Christian fiction and poetry. Five of his poems were published in Temporal Currents compiled by an American author, Ms. Christine Tricarico.
Grant me the wisdom to guide them down the path that their feet should take.
For I know that they can never turn back and walk those paths with me again.
Give me the wisdom to guide their feet so that someday they’ll be able to walk alone.
They’re only little once.
Give me the time I need to enjoy them.
For I know that after they’re grown,
I’ll never have another chance to tell stories and pretend at those tea parties.
I’ll never have another chance to watch them in a school play or church sing,
or to see them catch that first fish or hit that first home run ball.
Give me the time in life’s busy schedule to have fun with my children.
They’re only little once.
Let me be a loving parent.
Let me correct and not punish,
explain and not merely scold.
Let me know when to correct, and how often,
and when it’s best to just look the other way.
Help me be patient and give me a gentle hand to mold them into better people.
They’re only little once.
Let me be a good teacher and an even better example.
Give me the right words and deeds to teach them.
Grant me the key to unlock their spirits and set them truly free.
For they’re only little one time,
only innocent and trusting and pliable for a space of time,
one minute in an eternity.
Let me do my best for them while I have the chance.
This woman will literally blew your mind. Indeed when God's children show what they can do. It will left your jaw dangling and realize how magnificient and wonderful our God is.
One cold evening during the holiday season a little boy about six or seven years old was standing out in front of a store window. The little child had no shoes and his clothes were mere rags. A young woman passing by saw the little boy and could read the longing in his pale blue eyes. She took the child by the hand and led him into the store. There she bought him some new shoes and a complete suit of warm clothing.
They came back outside into the street and the woman said to the child, “Now you can go back home and have a very happy holiday.”
The little boy looked up at her and asked, “Are you God Ma’am?”
She smiled down at him and replied, “No son, I am just one of His children.”
The little boy then said, “I KNEW you had to be of some relation.”
"Forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark." (Philippians 3:13b, 14a)
"HEY, FREDDIE, WHAT'S the height?"
"5'6''? Let me try."
"Aw, Hook, I've got to warm up."
"C'mon, let me try, Fred."
"Okay. Hurry up."
Freddie was the high jumper for our high school's track team. He was never a great threat to competing schools in the big meets, but Freddie was very consistent and would usually place which brought us team points. I had already finished pole-vaulting, my "5'6''." only event in that day's indoor track meet, when I asked Freddie to let me try the high jump. He had been warming up for the high jump competition that was soon to be held. Suddenly, I heard my name being called.
"Hooker!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Come here!" It was my track coach, and he was not smiling. I thought he was upset with me because I was goofing around in the high jump area.
"Hooker."
"Yes, sir?" I repeated.
"Spriggs is sick today."
"Yes, sir."
"I need you to run the third leg of the two-mile relay. Can you do it?"
"Yes, sir," I said, swallowing hard. What was I saying? I had never run an 880-yard race before. Each leg of the two-mile relay team had to run 880 yards or the equivalent of a half-mile. I was anything but a distance runner. Many people feel that the half-mile is middle distance, not long distance; but, for me, anything more than 100 yards was long distance.
"Go talk to Atnip for instructions." Joe Atnip was the anchor or final runner of the two-mile relay team. Joe was also one of the top half-milers in the state. With those final instructions, Coach walked away. I went looking for Joe.
"Joe," I said when I found him, "Coach wants me to run the third leg. What do I do?"
"When you get the baton," Joe said, "you will probably be in the lead. Just don't let anyone pass you."
"Great, Joe," I smirked, "you're a big help." He just grinned.
Joe took a couple of minutes to show me how to take the baton from Buster, the second runner, how to hold the baton while running, then how to pass the baton to him when I had finished my leg of the race. "Robert, watch the lane that Buster is in when he comes out of the final curve, and move into that lane to take the baton."
"Okay, Joe."
"When Buster is a few yards away from you, face forward and begin to jog; run slowly at first and gradually pick up speed. Don't look back at Buster. Keep looking straight ahead, but hold your right hand behind you with your palm up. Let Buster place the baton in your hand. Don't reach for it."
"Okay, Joe." I was trying to take it all in. Joe and I practiced passing the baton several times.
"Joe, I'm nervous. I don't run the half-mile."
"You'll be okay. Just don't let anyone pass you, and I promise you, no one will pass me."
The next few minutes seemed like an eternity as I waited for the relay to begin. Stretching out with warm-up exercises, I tried to loosen every muscle I could. Then I heard Coach say, "Two-mile relay is the next event." I quickly stripped off the warm-up outfit I had been wearing and, with the other men on my team, prepared to run. We lined up on the finish line. Four-man teams from five schools were all pacing back and forth, shaking their legs and arms nervously as they tried to keep muscles loosened and ready for the grueling half-mile. The announcer signaled. It was time for the starting runners to take their positions.
"Stay loose, Hook."
"I'm okay, Joe."
"Give it all you've got, man. You can do it."
"I just wish I were the first leg. I hate this waiting."
The gun sounded. Craig, the first leg of our relay team, got a great start. Leading the pack of runners, Craig moved to the inside lane. I refused to watch much of Craig's run. It made me even more fidgety. I was already pacing back and forth trying to stay calm. People all around me were screaming. Spectators and team members' voices meshed into an undistinguishable roar.
"Robert, Craig is handing off."
"Already?" I turned just in time to watch Craig hand off to Buster, the second leg of our team. I moved closer to the track. As I stepped onto the edge of the course, I realized I had never run on an indoor track before. It seemed so small, much smaller than an outdoor track. Even now, I paid little attention to Buster. My whole concentration was on mentally preparing myself to run.
"I can't let these guys down," I thought. "We have one of the best two-mile relay teams in the state. I've got to stay ahead. We've got to win this one."
"Robert," Joe called, "get on the track. Buster's on his last lap."
"Okay," I replied. I moved onto the track, as did my opponents.
"Move to the inside lane now, Robert."
"Okay, Joe."
"I'll tell you when to go. Don't reach for the baton. Don't look back." I nodded my head in response. Man, was I tense! Would I take the baton cleanly? Would I drop it? Would I be able to run hard for a half-mile? All these questions were flying through my brain.
"Go, Robert!" I took off quickly, then realized I had to slow down a bit or Buster wouldn't be able to reach me. Holding my right hand back with my palm up, thumb pointed toward me, I
kept moving until I felt Buster slap the baton into my hand. I had it!
"Go! Go! Go, Hook! Go!" Joe yelled, and I ran with all my might. An indoor track is made of wood and covered with a rubberized material. Unlike an outdoor track on which very little sound can be heard, the hollow "whop! whop! whop!" sound of footsteps is unmistakable on an indoor track. It is a unique sound and can be unnerving when an opponent is close on your heels.
At first, I could hear only myself running. Then, suddenly, I could hear a multitude of footsteps behind me. The sound was loud. Four other runners were all pounding the track simultaneously. The closer they came, the harder I ran. I couldn't let anyone pass me. Just then, a horrible thought came into my mind. I didn't know how many laps I had to run. On an outdoor track, two laps were equivalent to a half-mile. But on an indoor track? It was tiny compared to an outdoor one. I felt like I was running almost constantly in one continuous curve. In fact, the curves were so small and tight that the track was made with a built-in bank, or incline, at either end of its oblong shape. The curves were graded slightly upward so the runner could achieve his maximum running potential without having to slow down due to the bending of the course. This incline helped the runner lean into the curve and not lose control as he went around it.
I couldn't believe I hadn't found out how many laps I had to run. I didn't know how to pace myself or how much farther I had to run! Joe had only told me to stay ahead; he had said not to let anyone pass me. "What a great coach he is," I thought grimly.
One lap. I was leading. Two laps. I was leading. Three laps. I was still leading. Four laps. Five laps. When I started my sixth lap, I was still out front, but my side was beginning to hurt and I felt winded. "How much strength do I have left?" I wondered. "I must be close to the end." I reasoned that if it was two laps on an outdoor track, then it should be about six laps on an indoor one. I was excited. I just knew I had to be almost done, and I was still ahead.
I leaned into the near curve. Whop! Whop! Whop! "Push," I thought, "push!" Now I was at the far curve. Whop! Whop! Whop!
"I'm still leading. I'm okay." Assuming that it must be time for Joe to start moving out onto the track to take the baton from me, I looked down the straightaway to see if he was getting into position. Joe made no movement toward the track. As I ran past him, I yelled, "Hey, Joe, how many?"
Joe yelled back, "Just one more, Hook!" Just one more lap!
Wow! Just one more lap! "Man," I thought, "I must be a natural for the half-mile. My first race and I'm winning!"
Toward the end of a race, a runner gives what is known as a finishing kick. That is when he digs deep down inside and uses everything he has left for the remainder of the race. He runs all out until he crosses the finish line. Well, I kicked! I was going to blow away those guys behind me. I was more of a sprinter anyway.
Flying around the near curve, the tempo of that steady whop, whop sound came much more quickly this time. It seemed that it had almost become one continuous slap of the floor. Down the far straightaway I ran, stretching out as far as I could, digging for every ounce of strength and every bit of speed I could get. I approached the far curve and felt like I was gliding. It was almost over. The race was almost over! I was ecstatic.
Out of the final curve, I came sprinting down the straight-away. But, wait! What was going on? Joe was not coming out! What was he doing? I was approaching the spot where Joe was to take the hand-off, but Joe wasn't coming out. I looked over at Joe. He was smiling! Joe had buck teeth and always appeared to be smiling anyway. But this time, he really looked like he was enjoying himself.
The crowd was roaring. My teammates were screaming.
"Go, Hook! Go! You've got it, man, go!"
As I passed my teammates, I yelled in desperation, "Joe!" I can still see his face with that perturbing smile. He held up his index finger and yelled, "Just one more, Hook. Just one more!"
"I'll kill him!" I thought. "I'm gonna kill that guy! He knew I had two laps left and told me one. He lied to me. I ought to stop running right now!" But I couldn't quit. I had never quit a race.
Besides, it seemed that the whole world was watching. I hated losing anything, especially in front of the whole world! But how could I kick now? I had just used up everything I had on what I thought was the final lap. "It's a really short track." I thought. "All I have to do is gut it out." I kicked again, although my kick didn't have quite the push it had before. Reaching down deep inside again, I found a little more strength. "Can't let them pass me," I said to myself.
"Can't let them pass me. Push. Push. Just a little more."
Amazingly, I had more strength and energy than I had thought possible. I was going farther and faster than I believed I could. In a few moments, I was rounding the final curve for the second time, and I was still in front of the pack. "Now, hit that straightaway. Drive! Push!" I was commanding my body. "Come on, just a little more." I looked for Joe. The lane was empty. Where was Joe? He wasn't coming out on the track. He was standing with the rest of the team. He wasn't moving. The team was screaming, cheering, jumping up and down. But why didn't Joe move out? "Joe!" It was my turn to scream.
"Go, Hook! Keep going!"
"Joe!"
"Just one more lap, buddy. Just one more."
"Just wait until this race is over!" I panted to myself. "Just wait 'til I get my hands on that guy! I'm gonna kill him!" Again I ran with all my might, but I had begun to slow considerably. No longer did my footsteps sound as one. They were distinctly separate, slow and separate. I finished that ninth lap still in the lead, but, believe it or not, Joe still did not come out. You guessed it. He just smiled as I passed and yelled "One more lap, Hook."
The tenth lap passed, and I received the same performance. By the time I started lap eleven, I had lost my desire to kill Joe. I just wanted to survive. I felt like my chest was going to burst. I was gasping for air. My legs felt like twenty-pound lead weights were attached to them. I wouldn't quit, though. I kept pounding that track as fast as I could. My footsteps were sounding a tedious but deliberate whop, whop, whop. Out of the curve and into the back stretch I treaded. No longer could I even think of sprinting but, miraculously, I was still in the lead.
The far curve approached. "Survive," I thought. "One foot in front of the other. Just survive." I leaned into the curve and almost stumbled. It was a close brush with disaster!
As I came out of the curve, I looked up and couldn't believe what I saw. Joe was actually on the track! He was in my lane! "Yes! Yes!" I mumbled. I couldn't believe it. He was waving me on. Joe was ready to take the baton. Seeing him on the track gave me a renewed strength. With fifty yards left, I kicked one last time. My legs were a little lighter. I didn't care if I was breathless or not. Joe was on the track. I wasn't going to lose!
Closer and closer I came. Joe started moving. Normally, the runner passing the baton tells the runner receiving the baton when to go, but Joe knew I didn't know what to do and probably couldn't speak if I did. He moved out on his own and was careful not to pull away too fast. He threw back his arm. I extended mine, baton in hand, and stretched it toward his upturned palm. Slap! We connected!
He grasped the baton in a good, clean hand-off, and Joe took off like he had been shot out of a cannon. I stumbled off of the track and collapsed on the ground exhausted, but exhilarated.
I had done it! I had done it! They hadn't passed me! We were still in the lead! I had done it!
People came from everywhere to congratulate me. "Great run, Hook. Great run." I made no response. I couldn't. I was so breathless that I couldn't waste any air on words. It seemed like no time before Joe was crossing the finish line. The roar of the crowd was deafening. Joe had finished his half-mile in 1:58. He had run 880 yards in less than two minutes, and we had won.
"Hooker?"
"Yes, Coach," I gasped, still struggling for breath.
"Want to know your time on your leg of the race?"
"Yes, sir. I guess so."
"2:11."
"Is that okay, Coach?"
"As good as our normal third leg." A big smile came across my face as I realized I had succeeded. I had done my best, and it was pretty good.
It was some years later before I realized the wisdom behind Joe Atnip and his "just-one-more-lap" philosophy. Many things challenge us. If we look too far ahead, we can become discouraged.
Joe knew that I was already tired and winded after the sixth lap. If he had said, "Just five more laps, Hook," I would have tried to pace myself, for I was already hurting. By saying, "Just one more lap," Joe kept me from looking too far ahead. I would never have thought I could kick for five laps, but I did. You are supposed to use up everything in that finishing kick, and I had given it everything I had five times. I found that I can usually do more than I think I can.
Life, I have found, is the same as that two-mile relay race. We get tired and weary in the battles of life, and we often want the victory immediately. Children want to be teens, and teens want to be adults, and adults want prosperity and success. Few want to fight the daily battles of life that must be fought before true victory is obtained.
I found that when I'm impatient, I must take one lap at a time. When weary, when hurting, when broken-hearted and unable to see how I can go on, I can go just one more lap. I cannot run tomorrow's race today. I can only run today's lap today.
Eventually, I will finish my race if I run just one more lap!
I will Be True is a Gospel song written by Brooke Hooker Williams. Visit their family website at www.hookpublications.com for great life changing Christian books and Christian music.
Turning to the page marked 'February 22, 2011', Mrs. Jane Evangeline read the day's message, and after reading the Bible, said a prayer. She switched on the TV and walked to the kitchen to prepare coffee. When she heard the word 'Christchurch' not once, but repeatedly, she froze. Walking back quickly to the living room, she saw pictures of devastation on the TV screen. An earthquake of 6.3 on the Richter scale had hit Christchurch at 12.59 p.m. It was Tuesday, a working day, and it had happened during lunch hour.
She stood rooted to the ground, dumbfounded with fear, seeing familiar places that had crumbled to dust as live pictures flooded her living room. It was the city where Belinda Veronica, her only daughter, resided with her husband Ryan, and their two sons Christian and Clement.
Last year, as soon as the September earthquake struck, Veronica had called her and had assured her mother that everyone was safe. But now there had been no phone call, even an hour after the quake. With trembling hands she dialed Veronica's number there was no ring, not even static.
After a long time, Clement called her. He was agitated, because he was not able to contact Veronica's cell phone, or her office landline.
Veronica, had always been a very careful person, she made it a point to inform her family of her whereabouts, and it struck everyone as very odd that she had not called her family in Christchurch, or her mother in Hyderabad.
Mrs. Jane waited. And as she waited, she prayed.
"Look Rachel, they have cleaned the ground of all the debris," exclaimed Belinda Veronica Ryan, to her colleague Merlyn Rachel as she looked out from the huge window of her office on the fifth floor, "It looks neat now."
It was 12.30 p.m. and as her lunch was heated in the microwave oven, Veronica had walked over to the dining room window and saw that the three-storey commercial building opposite theirs, which had been destroyed in the September quake, was now cleared of all debris.
Veronica loved to enjoy her midday meal as this was the only time she could have a real hot meal. She used to get up very early in the morning when it was still dark, and gulped down a mouthful of milk and rushed to reach her office by 6.30 a.m. at Linwood, an inner suburb in the city of Christchurch.
After lunch, as Veronica was sipping her coffee, the earthquake struck. Both, Veronica and Rachel got up from their chairs in panic as the whole building literally shook violently, not the gentle sway they had felt during the earlier earthquake. They ducked under the dining table.
Then as suddenly as it started, the violent shaking stopped. As soon as it stopped, everyone rushed back to their cubicles and grabbed their bags and coats, and ran out. They skirted around fallen computers, gingerly stepped across broken glass panels, and shattered partitions, and made their way out. It was chaotic inside the office, but better sense prevailed as they were guided outside to the nearby Victoria Park.
As they assembled at the Park, they heard the rising crescendo of buildings falling down, and heard people scream. The police sirens blared away, the dust and the smoke rose from everywhere, and made Veronica weak in her knees. She tried calling up her two sons and her husband and found to her utter dismay that no calls were getting through.
It was like the worst scene from a disaster movie and it bewildered her that she was not safe on the other side of the TV screen, but was actually a participant in the movie.
Suddenly, it looked as if she would have to do something herself to get home. Home was where peace would be; home was where she would feel safe and comfortable; home was from where she could face any kind of disaster and be prepared to be brave amidst the falling rubble, glass, and broken water pipes.
Veronica knew that unless she started making her way back home now, she would find herself stuck here for hours, without the comforting touch of her husband, Ryan, without the chatter of her two sons, and the cosy comfort of her home. Without her cell phone, it all felt strange, like as if she was in a strange place, in a strange situation, amidst strange people.
She knew only one way home from the office, but she had heard that the road was blocked now by the debris of buildings. The bus service had yet to resume after several buses had been destroyed by the debris. Her manager, Mrs. Amelia Allen, told everyone that they could leave, but not alone. A colleague offered to take some of them in her car and drop them off at Riccarton, from where Veronica was sure she could manage to walk home.
Getting to her colleague's car, which was parked just around the corner, took them a good half hour, as a cathedral had turned to rubble. Six people piled into the small car, which could comfortably accommodate only four. And added to that was Rachel's bleeding knee, which made the journey a painful nightmare. The car virtually crawled, with traffic jams at every junction. Police cars and ambulances were given right of way, and it was an excruciating exercise trying to get through the jam.
Several roads were closed because of the debris strewn all across the roads, and the broken water pipes, that made driving a dreadful experience. Some roads were closed because wide cracks had developed in it; and in some cases, the cracks were one meter deep. People were walking in a daze looking at their cars that could not move because the tires were stuck in the cracks.
They tried to go towards Riccarton, but as a bridge had collapsed, they were asked to go in the opposite direction towards Linwood. Every road they took, they had to take a detour and they realised after a while, that they were moving further away from their homes. As soon as she reached Hornby Mall, Veronica got off, and wishing everyone best of luck, she began walking home. As she walked home, she prayed for all her colleagues and everyone in the city who had been stranded far from home. She prayed that her Mother stayed calm, and prayed that her small family and the home they had made with so much love, had stayed safe.
As soon as she saw her familiar gate, she heaved a sigh of relief. And seeing the parked cars outside, she knew that her family was safe and snug inside.
She called her Mother.
"Veronica! Imagine! Six long hours! It felt like eternity, waiting for this one call from you. It was one long prayer," said Mrs. Jane, crying softly as soon as she heard Veronica's voice. Veronica heard her mother cry, and wiped away her own silent tears.
"Veronica, as soon as I heard Clement's voice, I was relieved, but when he said there was no call from you, I panicked. These live pictures on the TV added to the fear as one newscaster after another described the devastation, the number of fatalities, people trapped in office buildings I went weak with fear. I didn't know what to do. If I see the TV, my heart beats faster with rising fear, and when the phone rings, my heart beats even faster with hope, that it must be you. And those six long hours, I was with Hope, my God, my Creator, praying for you, for Ryan, for Christian and Clement."
Veronica could hear only her mother's heavy breathing and not the cries, she smiled.
Veronica heaved a sigh and said, "At such a time when you are alone and cell phones are down and you can't contact anyone, you realise that only God is your strength and shield, always present in times of trouble."
"Yes, only God is our strength and shield," said Mrs. Jane, "When you are settled down e-mail me."
"Yes I will, bye Mom."
"Bye, child. God bless."
Victor Jasti lives in India and is passionate about writing short stories based on the Bible and real incidents. He also writes Christian fiction and poetry. Five of his poems were published in Temporal Currents compiled by an American author, Ms. Christine Tricarico.
