generational blessings: curating a legacy of abundance
Watching a passing train glide by fills me with peace + tranquility. Being on a train reminds me that this life I live is by God’s design – I can simply do all that I can to enjoy the ride, support those around me, and take in beautiful views. Being caught behind a train in traffic is a call for patience .
For me, trains are a symbolic backdrop for jii-chan, my paternal grandfather. Jii-chan passed away when I was eight. As a child, time was spent physically together and emotionally distant, mostly because he really terrified me! When I was around him, everything had to be perfect. The slightest inconveniences or disruptions would set him off and he had a way of letting us know it.
Looking back now, I realize how much I inherited so much of the fear and discomfort that he likely held in his body as a child who grew up with an experience in the camps. Amidst World War II, President Franklin D. Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066, which would kickstart the eventual forced evacuation of 120,000+ Japanese Americans through Lieutenant General John L. DeWitt’s Proclamation No. 4. My grandfather and great-grandparents were sent to Tule Lake under this order amidst anti-Japanese sentiment and perception of being a “public danger.” For many families, homes, businesses, and personal items would be lost forever in the shuffle. In relocating, families would be packed together into small army-style barracks at internment camps in remote areas.
Earlier memories of jii-chan were often just as confusing as he must have felt as a child. There are many I have with him that aren’t as rosy or picture perfect. Growing up, that often took center stage and became my focus as a coping mechanism for grappling the grief of his passing. I’ll never forget how sad my dad was the day he passed over someone who I found to be so mean at the time.
Post-war, my ancestors found gardening to be one of the rare economic pathways of hope available amidst an anti-Japanese society. Gardening was a diamond in the rough in the sense that it was a way that Japanese Americans could actually own a business with few resources. They were barred from the resources and opportunities that could be afforded to them in other industries and supported by mainstream institutions. With the growing emergence of Japanese-American gardeners, larger labor organizations looked to absorb the industry and politicians looked to regulate the field more aggressively through licensing. The industry began to grow and there became a demand for Japanese gardeners who utilized their creativity to meet clients’ homes, community gardens, and local parks with great care. Among upper class families and celebrities, there became a demand for their work.
As the daughter of three generations of gardeners, I can now look back at my family experience through a lens that is humbled, inspired, and thankful. I feel immense love and gratitude for my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather who made ends meet because they saw opportunities through the blades of grass. They taught me that a small job done well could make ALL the difference. That you can always make a new path. That something meant to keep you down can be the very thing that lifts you up. For my father, gardening is his passion and he grew up working the routes my grandfather would make.
While there are many things that can be attached to my recollections of jii-chan, (The Little Rascals, old school game boy, smurfs), it's the trains that stick. As time goes by, memories of the harder stuff are now fading away and love is all that remains. By the time I came to know jii-chan, he was retired and mostly grumpy. And yet, the most peaceful, relaxed, and joyful I found him was on the day that he took me to see the trains. He would often go to the station in his free time to watch the passing trains and then come home and make model train installations with all the details. One particular weekend and out of obligatory compliance, he took me to his little patch of heaven on earth. Scared out of my mind, I saw my grandfather unfold in front of my youthful eyes. He was relaxed. His hardened composure softened. He had friends. They all lit up when they talked about trains and engines and all sorts of things. He was proud to introduce me as his grandchild and we enjoyed that day together over burgers and fries.
On days where I’m weary, being able to carve in mindful moments of rest + give it all to God breaks up the cycle of hurrying so I can catch up to myself. The trains remind me of that.
Four generations ago, the seed was planted. Three generations ago, something was made from nothing. Two generations ago, something became someone’s everything so someone like me could know what rest could feel like.
A legacy of struggle, pain, and strife that blossomed into one of dedication, hard work, and passion.
In this generation, I’m passing on space + stillness. What I once viewed as generational curses and cycles in need of breaking, I’m keeping my mindset focused on building upon legacy in gratitude of all of the contributions of the ancestors before me.
If you’re ready to unleash generational blessings, you can schedule a 1:1 complimentary consultation here.
Kim Yamasaki is a Christian wellness coach who supports her clients in cultivating space + stillness in the mind, body, and home through collaborative processes of co-creation. She provides services that create space + stillness for deeper connection: coaching, home organizing, and yoga. Her methods are affirming, grounding, and nurturing – all interlaced with playful creativity. She is a native Angeleno with Japanese and Chinese roots.
This article was originally published for the “selah space” newsletter, reclaiming abundance’s care package for go-getters that is released on a monthly basis. “Selah space” offers content to support readers looking to for greater balance by living, loving, and learning deeply to be their most calm, confident, and complete selves. In the Bible, selah means “to pause or to reflect.” It appears most heavily in the Book of Psalms and Habakkuk as musical notations at the end of verses to draw attention back to what was previously expressed.