Is this what it's like?

I first heard the news through Facebook. It was late in the evening, Carly talking to herself as she fought the evil minions of Gannondorf, and I killing time before I took myself to bed. I saw a friend had posted an article, and suddenly, the whimsical feel of the evening faded as fast as a breath.

7.4. Two numbers that gave me pause barely had time to create any impact before two more did just as well a job.

8.9.

I can't remember the last time I felt absolutely frantic over a natural disaster. I desperately hunted for a news feed, anything that could give me constant update on what was going on in my beloved nation of Japan. Tokyo had been hit. What had happened to Tokyo? What other places where affected? Why don't I have a map of this nation with all of these prefectures memorized so this all doesn't sound so confusing? Why don't I have these places memorized yet?

Why do I care so little about a place I love so much?

Do those questions sound familiar? Looking back, I realize a lot of them sound the same when used in relation to someone we know who has passed away. Why don't I know more about it? Why didn't I try harder? What else happened? Why didn't I care enough?

For a split second it seemed like I was overreacting. I've never been to this beautiful nation, only admired all of the pictures of the majestic Mount Fuji and the countryside littered with cherry blossoms. I probably won't be going there any time soon. I don't even know anyone there. There was no one to worry about.

Except, in my mind, there was defiance to all of those statements. Japan has been a nation that's captured my heart since I was young. At ten years old, it was because of anime. At twenty-four, it's because there is a people there who are so lost and so blinded... and yet have small samples of the Answer staring back at them with nearly every glance. People were dying. Children have become orphans. Siblings have now become an only child. Trying to take all of it in was too much. Afterward, I went into bed and stared at the ceiling in the darkness, feeling absolutely powerless to stop anything that was going to hit Japan in the coming hours.

Is this what it's like to have a heart for a nation? To feel like your very breath has been taken from you, and that a small part of your soul has been threatened in some way? To wish with every moment that you could do something to help someone - anyone - even if you can't properly speak the language? That when aftershocks continue to rock what small measure of peace people find, you feel as though you're right there with them, teetering and wobbling on unsteady ground, wondering when the world will stop and you can finally pick your life back up?

I have a yen that I wear on a chain daily. I discovered this morning that I occasionally play with it, and, thinking about it further, I rub it when I'm nervous or distressed. The grooves on its face are as familiar to me as the back of my hand. I feel so very connected to this country and to the people who try to make a simple living day by day, and I feel just as lost as the rest of them when I wonder... is there something worse coming soon?

Is this what it's like when God places a nation on your heart? When you know that your only weapon is prayer, and somehow prayer doesn't seem like enough?

Unfortunately, at this time, it's all I've got. I continue to watch. I continue to pray. I urge others to do the same. More importantly, though... I wait.