Japanese Origami Paper Folding: A Metaphor of Life
My young awareness of paper folding began with a paper airplane my dad showed me how to make. It had three simple folds that made a body and wings. I’d pinch my thumb against my forefinger on the bottom crease and, hopeful, with a forward throw starting behind my right shoulder, send the plane floating into the living room—again . . . and again. I had power.
Years later, married with two daughters, I read of a Japanese girl who, at age two, was exposed to radiation by the atomic bombing of Hiroshima in World War II. She had developed acute leukemia from this horrific destruction. By age twelve, Sadako Sasaki was living a significant amount of time in a hospital bed. Inspired by an age-old Japanese belief that anyone who makes 1,000 origami cranes will see their wish come true—hers was a desire to live—Sadako devoted her days to folding paper cranes. Her wish for recovery did not come true. But her family and classmates confirmed that Sadako did complete her 1,000 cranes and—even more. A statue of Sadako holding a crane above her head stands in Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park in Hiroshima, Japan—having become an international symbol of peace visited by many believers in her story.*
In November 2014, I began an eleven-month rewriting of the final draft of my book, A Flower for God: A Memoir, changing the format from topical to chronological. One chapter had concluding sentences that were ultimately replaced, but I kept them tucked away in my mind for their inspiration. They are for me the meaning of origami paper folding:
My journey is origami paper in the hands of God,
being folded into the shape I am becoming.
When done, I will recognize myself.
My realization is, “Courage, hope, a mission to accomplish—all are without an age limit.”