And the Greatest of These is Love

China is currently 13 hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time.

Last Saturday morning we drove to Wuhan to attend our Zhong Relations Christmas Party.  It was super fun and Leila looked super cute in her red Christmas sweater from Gram.  I kept thinking I should get her picture, but never did... there's still time!

It was at the party that I first heard the terrible news about Sandy Hook Elementary.  It was mentioned and was prayed for specifically, but we didn't yet have much information about it.  

We drove back to Huangshi that night and started exploring internet news.  It was too much.  I wanted to know more but couldn't bear it.  It wasn't as much the articles that we were reading, it was the pictures.  I couldn't bear to see people so distraught, so grieved.  As a new mother, an aunt of elementary school boys, and especially as a teacher, the pain hit me hard. 

The next night I tried again.  I read articles.  I found out that the principal had just completed her first paper for her doctoral course.  It was an on-line program.  (This also was so real to me as Brad and I JUST finished our Master's degree.  All of our classes have been on-line.)  I heard an excerpt from her professor.  The students had turned in their papers earlier that week.  The topic had been about facing one's fears.  Friday morning the professor heard about the shootings, but then turned her attention to her work.  She read Dawn Hochsprung's paper the morning of the shooting.   

Understanding first hand the time, attention, and emotion needed in order to write a powerful paper, I was convinced that Mrs. Hochsprung's paper in some way prepared her for the fear that would ultimately take her life.    

I continued searching the news sites.  I wanted desperately to know more.  I spotted several pictures of the children.  My stomach turned and my heart ached.  I couldn't close my computer fast enough.  Again, I was sick for the rest of the night. 

Monday night I finally looked at the pictures.  The pictures of the children were so cute and their bios were so sweet.  I loved each of them.  But it was the pictures and bios of the teachers that pierced my heart the most.   

They sacrificed their lives to protect their students.   

What if I had been a teacher in that situation.  Would I have known what to do?  Would I have been able to be so brave?  The fact that I even had to ask myself that question made me weep. 

It has been the faces and stories of these teachers that have continued to capture my thoughts.

The teachers died defending many students, but they would have died to defend just one.

I get that.  I understand that love.  I feel that love.

A couple mornings ago it finally struck me that the love these teachers had for their students was the same as Christ's love for us.  He died for many, but he would have died to defend and save just one.

I had never quite understood that before.  Christ died for humanity to be saved, but would he have died if humanity was only me?  I never could comprehend that before.

But because of the heroes at Sandy Hook I get that.  I understand that love.  I feel that love.

Amazing Grace - DaYe Church, part 2

So the story doesn’t end there.

At the end of the service we were asked to come to the stage to say a few words. The pastor asked us to do this during our initial conversation with him, but I neglected to mention that in the previous post for purely blog purposes.

Both Brad and I knew that really meant HE would say a few words for the both of us as that would be what China would expect. Remembering my father doing the same type of thing when we visited churches in Ghana, I gave him a brief run-down of ideas and left the specific words up to him.

Contrary to our hope, the pastor did not forget he had made a request. Upon conclusion of his sermon (around an hour) he invited us up. We walked to the front, up the stairs and to center stage. We were both handed a microphone and Brad started saying a few words, “We’re teachers here from America. We’re excited to worship with you… We’re looking forward to also worshiping the Lord with some fellow friends in Huangshi and Wuhan…” (The pastor for some reason didn’t translate that last part for the congregation.) My two cents were when I pointed to my belly and mentioned that we were also expecting our first baby. Everyone clapped.

We thought we were done but we weren’t. There was one last request. Jenny, who had come to the stage with us, asked us to sing a hymn, “maybe As a Deer” she whispered. Brad was NOT going to do it so I boldly knew this was up to me. Immediately concerned with not remembering the words to “As a Deer,” I turned around and sang the first verse of the hymn I did, Amazing Grace. I was off pitch and suddenly sounding a lot more country than I ever would want to admit to, but I got through it …. and then immediately tried to forget it happened. Not my best display of talent. Guess that was the point though, it wasn’t for my display, but for God’s goodness of bringing people together.

Brad was given a call a few days later and we were asked to join what he thought was the youth group meeting that next Saturday night at 7:00PM. Brad, I could tell, was super excited and wondered if we should get some little fun choruses together (and by ‘we’ did he mean ‘me’???) that students in the U.S. sing. I asked him if he really thought we would be asked to sing and he replied a big-eyed and confident, “YES!”

We went there straight from work at 7:00 as that is when my last class of the day ends. My feet were hurting and I was exhausted, but I knew it was important. We got there around 7:20/30 and walked to the building behind the sanctuary where we heard singing. We walked in the rear door and found a seat in the back row. Jenny, who was leading the music, allowed the group gathered to sing a bit on their own as she walked back to meet us, and then promptly separate us. We had not noticed there was a girls’ side and a boys’ side. She also moved me from the back to the front where she had reserved a seat for me next to an English speaking young 20-something and had left her English NIV Student Devotional Bible opened to the text of the talk that evening. (She later told me that everyone in her seminary was given this Bible.)

On that note, it was easy to see that this was not a youth group as we thought we had been told. Basically, if you were older than 16 and younger than 70 you were among peers. (If you were between the ages of three and seven you were to run around outside unsupervised and come in as needed to peek in on your mom or dad and make sure they were listening and behaving themselves.) I would say there were close to 80 people there, more women than men.

Jenny sat herself in the front row and led us through the same chorus a number of times, and when I say “a number of” – I mean like 100 (shout out to We are Schuberts blog). After that the speaker (who we found out the next day was her husband) got up to start his talk. He was speaking out of Isaiah. After he got started and Lillian (my translator) got her Bible opened and found her place, she pointed in my Bible to the verse where everyone else was. The first verses I read along with the group were Isaiah 6:9+10, “...be ever hearing, but never understanding; be ever seeing, but never perceiving.” I had to stop there and chuckle to myself as I continued to listen to the pastor speaking Chinese and glancing at the Chinese characters posted as notes on the LCD.

God’s funny.

At the end of that sermon, as the case with the previous Sunday, Brad and I were each asked to come to the front and briefly explain how we came to know the Lord. Brad, going second, also then took questions from the audience about Christianity in America. The biggest question posed was how Brad most gave to God, through time or money. We’re teachers – he chose money… haha… I mean time. He was also asked about how Christians in America tolerate other religions. He said that even though we may disagree, Jesus calls us to love everyone. I guess the room agreed because they gave him a round of applause.

Before we left, we were graciously driven home by a ‘brother’, we were given two more bags of goodies, one full of a Chinese fruit, the other full of crispy goodness something. Think of the little crunchy pieces of french fries that get stuck at the bottom of the McDonald’s bag. Now, transfer that thought to doughnuts. That’s what the crispy goodness was. What is it about fried, crispy things that make me unable to STOP eating them? Once I got the bag home and had my binge, I had to walk away…never to return. I never did try the fruit. I think people just eat the whole thing. I didn't feel up to too many new things all at once so we brought that bag to work.

The next night (Sunday before last) at church Jenny’s husband extended an invitation to dinner with some other ‘brothers and sisters’ for Tuesday night. We gladly accepted. We were picked up at our school (it’s difficult to explain where our apartment building is) and brought to the restaurant where everyone else already was. What a spectacle we made when we walked in! The restaurant was pretty crowded and workers and patrons alike looked up to stare us down. I just nodded, said, “Ni Hao” and kept walking.

We were led up the stairs and into a back room. One thing that’s really cool about Chinese restaurants and coffee shops is that most offer a privacy option. Many restaurants have private rooms and many coffee shops have curtains that you can pull around your table if you wish. Very cool. If Brad and I ever open a coffee shop feel free to come in and enjoy your privacy. :)

The same English-speaking girl that I sat next to on Saturday night was there again to help translate for everyone. There were about 4 or 5 different couples, each with their kids. Everyone sat around the table, again divided by gender (interesting) and the kids sat on the couch behind the table and ate off the coffee table. (A few glasses were broken by the end of the night as the kiddos started getting a little restless.) Jenny’s husband introduced us to each couple by name. The last man we were introduced to was simply called ‘The Boss’. I don’t know if he’s “kind of a big deal” (he has THREE kids) or nicknamed in honor of Bruce Springstein (he happens to be able to carry a tune quite nicely and sings in the choir.)

Dinner commenced by singing a chorus. I smiled as I wondered how much my mother would have LOVED that. The next step was grace. Jenny’s husband led the blessing. All through the prayer others around the table kept saying, “Amen.” It was the only word that I understood. I didn’t know quite when to open my eyes and start eating. Unfortunately I got a little distracted from grace and chuckled at myself.

Dinner was wonderful. I think I counted 16 dishes placed around a lazy susan. Last year when we went to dinners like these, people moved the table on their own, allowing each person ample time to grab a piece of meat or vegetable with their two sticks and successfully transfer it to their plate. This time the lazy susan in the middle of the table ran on its own motor. Thank goodness we already had practice using chopsticks! If you didn’t time yourself appropriately, your chopstick coordination was doomed and you were bound to make a mess on the big table. A few times Lillian, who was sitting next to me, held the table steady so I would have enough time to get my piece of meat or noodle. I tried to act like I didn’t need her help. She was on to me.

We sat around and talked for a while after dinner. Jenny’s husband was next to Brad, who was next to me, who was next to Lillian, who was next to Jenny. We were the only ones speaking English as the others talked freely in Chinese. No one seemed to mind. We learned that many people are becoming Christians in China. Brad asked why. We were told that people want to copy much of what is done in the West, including Christianity. Isn’t that interesting? At a time when many people in the US are becoming more and more interested in Buddhism and other ancient eastern things, Asians are becoming more and more interested in Christ. We learned last year that the largest Christian church in the WORLD is in Seoul, Korea. Amazing.

The kids were running in and out of our room and starting to do a good job at bothering their parents. It was time to get going. In order to end dinner officially, we were all asked to sing again. This time we all could. Jenny asked if we would sing Amazing Grace so that Brad and I could also sing along in English. Everyone agreed. The Boss put it upon himself to lead us in a slow but steady, Chinese dominated yet English supported, first verse of Amazing Grace. How sweet the sound it was.

Heaven is going to be such a wonderful place.

Love.Hope.Believe. DaYe Church, part 1

Last year Brad and I both worked on Sundays and couldn’t take part in the great Christian ex-pat fellowship in Qingdao. (In bigger cities foreigners and nationals cannot worship together, unless at a government sponsored Chinese church.) We were able to go occasionally and from there were able to join a small group of couples, but it just wasn’t the same as being able to go to church every week. I missed more weekend church last year than I probably had my entire life previous. Church became a luxury, a sought after event. I hated it – but I realized that was probably a good lesson to experience. Having only ever experienced life on an American public school system calendar, I have never had to sacrifice going to church before.

Being able to participate in church services was a must as Brad and I considered our options for this year. When we voiced that concern last spring to Mei and Mr. Embree they assured us Sundays off. We were thankful and excited about getting back into worshiping with other believers, especially English ones. (It's tough for me to stay focused when I sit through a whole service in a different language.)

Then we got here and realized we WERE the English speaking believers in Daye. Our little school was actually still hoping that we would be able to teach on Sundays since that is one of their busy days. Should we have made Sundays off such a big deal?

We were told there was a church in the city. Brad tried to ask around the office for directions but it was hard for the others to explain them (if they knew at all) so it was up to us to find it on our own. We’ve averaged one good, long walk a week since being here. Two weekends ago we walked in the direction of where Brad thought the church to be. Since he has superhero super directional abilities, of course we found it.

It was about 1:20 on Sunday afternoon. The gate was open a bit at the front of the grounds so we walked through and peeked in the windows and through the smidgen of space between the doors of the sanctuary. A lady walked up behind us and started talking. Even though we can recognize the “Where are you from,” and “what do you do” questions, what she was saying had us at a total loss. She motioned for us to follow her.

She led us to the building behind the sanctuary where she knocked on a couple doors and said something which encouraged people to peek their heads out to look. The man who must be entitled Bearer Of The Keys (in Chinese of course) quickly slipped out of his inside slippers and into his outside shoes and led us back towards the sanctuary where he opened the side door. A few others followed and sat with us inside. They knew enough key words in English and we knew enough key words in Chinese to figure out that the church had three services: 7:00AM, 2:30PM (the lady who initially spoke to us was here for that service) and 8:00PM. Since I was sporting Nike shorts and sweat, I preferred to come back to the later service. They seemed excited to have us back and told us to get there by 7 because it would get crowded (…we think…).

We got there a couple minutes before 7:00 and were the first ones to arrive. We were quickly greeted with water by this sweet older lady who we realized later was the gatekeeper. She spoke no English. A few minutes later we were greeted by Jenny, who knew enough English to explain that she had been through seminary in Wuhan. The older lady left and came back a few minutes later with a bag of little green oranges. Jenny left a few minutes after and came back

with….um… something else. The older lady also gave us her Bible covered in dark pink felt. After showing her our own, she accepted hers back. There aren’t many times when China reminds me of Ghana, but this was one of the times it has. People in the church being so happy you’re there they bring you whatever they have as a gift.

By 7:10, 20 people had arrived. At 7:15 we

started singing out of the hymnal. The music leader sang a few notes and the congregation mimicked his notes. I tried to mimic. I thought I was so cool, learning to sing in Chinese.

That is until I realized I recognized the sounds a little too well - he was teaching the song using solfège syllables! My 9^th grade chorus teacher would have been so proud. Also like my 9th grade chorus teacher, he was a stickler for making sure everything was right! If he thought the congregation wasn’t singing up to par, he shook his head from side to side, sang it again and made them repeat. “Ra-me-fa-so-sooo.” It wasn’t until much later when he trusted them enough to let them sing the words. He continued to correct as needed.

By 7:30 there were 80 people. We started to hear the choir practicing in the foyer. Their sound competed with the sound of the congregation singing the SAME SONG they had for the past 15 minutes. As Brad put it, "they're bringing it, aren't they!?"

At 7:45 (125 people?) the piano player started accompanying the congregation on their sole hymn, taking the music leader by surprise. He flipped around to see what was going on behind him. I guess he didn’t feel his people were ready. A few

minutes after that the choir had their processional down the middle aisle, sang a couple songs and then exited to the right to find their reserved seats.

Around this same time we met the evening’s preacher. Since he’s an English teacher at a nearby high school, he came to chat with us for a second. He’s been part of this church for 20 years (this specific building has been here for 13) and is a volunteer preacher on a monthly basis. He said he used to teach Chinese, but about 20 years ago he started to teach himself English, and has been teaching English to high schoolers ever since. His English was actually pretty good – impressive! He then excused himself and went up the stage to prepare for his 8:00 start.

I seized the opportunity of a minute sans Chinese/English conversation to snap a picture. The music leader started talking to the congregation. Apparently he was alerting everyone to our presence. As I lowered the camera after not finding a suitable scene, I noticed Brad waving. I wondered to whom he was waving and looked up to see everyone turned and staring at us. Nice. The congregation turned back around. A boy about 4 on his grandpa’s lap, in a row close to us, started blowing kisses to Brad. Brad blew kisses back. The boy returned the kisses again and then giggled. His grandpa laughed, squeezed him in a hug, and curled him up on his lap.

The minister started his sermon. The music leader came to the pew to the left and in front of us, smiled at me, and sat down. The minister acknowledged his two non-Chinese speakers by calling out in English the text of the sermon. We quickly flipped to Matthew 15. The orange giver - gatekeeper had been sitting all along one row behind us to our left. She leaned forward and peeked at my Bible. “Yingyu, English,” I replied. She repeated my words and smiled and then pointed in her Bible to the number 11. The music leader, sensing that something was going on behind him (that most likely needed his attention) turned to be involved in our conversation. I pointed to chapter 15 and said “she-woo (15).” The leader nodded and smiled. The woman waved her hand and went back to pointing at her Bible. She then leaned forward and turned my Bible pages back for me to find chapter 11. She pointed to chapter 11 and smiled. The music leader grimaced at her, waved his hand in front of her face, and helped my pages find their way back to chapter 15. She sat back and turned ahead a few pages in her Bible. Having figured everything out, we all leaned back in our separate seats and finally started to listen.

Jenny had situated herself directly in front of us. Every now and again she turned around and translated as best she could. “Faith is built on God’s Word which is good and right…’Lord help me’ is a beautiful prayer from your heart…Pray from the heart and spirit. Worship from the heart and spirit… Love, hope, believe.”

Love, hope, believe.

Here’s looking to many more Sabbaths off from work.

pictured above: bearer of the keys is the sole gentleman, next to him is the gatekeeper, me, jenny is in the front in the short-sleeved sweater over the black and white shirt, jenny's daughter (English name = Sophia) is next to her.

Tai Shan’s Steps to Heaven’s Gate

After 6,293 steps (officially…more if you go through the temples), 11 gates, 14 archways, 22 temples, and with thousands of Chinese comrades, our climb finished 5,059 feet higher and 4 hours later than we started. At 4:30 a.m. we found ourselves at the summit of the "most revered of the five sacred mountains" in China (as is inscribed on one of the 819 stone tablets found on the mountain). Dana and I set out on this journey to experience one of the many traditions of ancient China, and this trek has been made for over 3,000 years. Traditions don’t die easy here, and from the turn out on this given Monday, this one will live another 3,000 years.

The people of China will gladly tell anyone Tai Shan is known for its sunrise and its bond to birth and renewal. This bond is why worshippers have been making their way to the top dating back to the earliest inhabitants of the Middle Kingdom. And as Chinese tradition would have it, paying homage to the heavens with sacrifices at its summit was a rite of passage for the new emperor. It is no surprise that the mountain’s name, Tai, "泰" means “peace.” It seems peace is the reward received for faithfully reaching “heaven’s gate.”

For those readers that have not traveled to China, don’t believe that China’s government, during any period, has restricted the people’s faith (religion maybe but not faith). Faith is strong here in the People’s Republic. There is evidence of trust in the government, a strong belief in family is obvious, an allegiance to the group is felt and a faith in the

teachings of Confucius, Buddha, Tao, and ancestors are lived out. As a country that lacks Christianity and God, it does not lack gods. As a country that lacks the Holy Spirit, it does not lack spirituality. As a country that lacks the Creator, it does not lack creators.

As I made the steps up the mountain in the darkness minding each step so as not to step into a Buddhist, Taoist, and Confucian statue, the stories of Israel and Judah, of their turning from God and his pursuit of their worship, ran through my mind. In my mind I traveled back and forth between modern China and ancient, biblical times. As we passed by each new temple I connected more and more with the stories of the wrath of judgment poured out on His chosen people because their hearts loved gods of their own creation not the God of Creation.

The smell of incense was inescapable as these stories became more alive with each step. I was reminded of Jeremiah 1:16, “I will pronounce my judgments on my people because of their wickedness in forsaking me, in burning incense to other gods and in worshiping what their hands have made.”

When we reached the top I looked for Jeremiah. I heard him but I couldn’t find him. I heard him saying, “They say to wood, ‘You gave me birth.’ They have turned their backs to me and not their faces; yet when they are in trouble, they say, ‘Come and save us!’ Where then are the gods you made for yourselves? Let them come if they can save you when you are in trouble! For you have as many gods as you have towns, O Judah.” “…their idols cannot speak; they must be carried because they cannot walk. Do not fear them; they can do no harm nor can they do any good.” So many have made this pilgrimage to honor these “worthless idols” and to see the sunrise for with it brings the glory of Good Luck!

So, as I sat waiting for the sun to show itself my thoughts turned inward. Instead of hiding my idols inside, what would life be like if they were out on display? I immediately tried to stop that line of thinking, however it didn’t work. The thought of my idols and having them on display was embarrassing, condemning, and offensive. I was quickly relieved in knowing that, unlike the ones I passed on the way up and in the temples with incense burning all around, my idols

are hidden from public view. I am free to move around and ‘worship’ my idols at any time. I do not need to make pilgrimages to them, but at times I do. I do not need to make sacrifices for them, but I do so often. I do not need to hang flags, give gifts, or make gestures on their behalf, but I find myself doing so time and again. My idols are locked away from the public but not from God. And this truth stung like the mornings below-freezing air. I again heard Jeremiah reminding me that I am like Israel and Judah who “strayed so far…followed worthless idols and became worthless themselves.” And how I “exchange my Glory for worthless idols.” I was told that I could not look at the idolatry of this mountain (or country) as a foreign practice. I was told, while I sat there, that I must take ownership of it as a familiar practice and repent as was asked of my Christian forefathers.

Tai Shan had once again provided a worshipper a place to worship, to gain understanding, make connections, and offer praise. Though the journey began as a way to experience China it ended with me experiencing so much more than China…I experienced Holy Spirit accountability. As the sun came over the horizon with all its awe and splendor, it did bring a renewal of hope. A hope that brought the words, “because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion.’” This filled my mind like the sunlight filled the sky. It looks as if peace is the reward for those that make it up to heaven’s gate!

Mao Zedong has been quoted for saying, "To die for the people is weightier than Mount Tai, but to work for the fascists and die for the exploiters and oppressors is lighter than a feather.” I would like to give one of my own, “To die serving an idol is weightier than Mount Tai, but to die serving the Creator of stone and wood is lighter than a feather.”

Our Cooper River Bridge

While many Southeasterners were concerned with getting over the bridge last weekend, (Cooper River Bridge Run) Brad and I concerned ourselves with getting up a mountain. This wasn’t just any mountain, but the first of five sacred mountains in China, 3^rd in height. Emperors who used to be carried by caravan EVERYwhere, would be carried to Mt. Tai, but then actually get down and make the ascent with their own two feet, so we’ve been told. They would walk up the mountain to extend gratitude and prove fortitude soon after the gods had made them supreme ruler over China.

This mountain is also not like any other mountain in that it has 7,000 (but who's counting) beautiful stone steps. They made me think back to when my dad built a rock patio in our backyard in Connecticut. How I loved that patio! I vaguely remember it being constructed, but I do remember that it wasn’t an easy task. Can you imagine lugging stones all the way up a mountain in order to make steps for an emperor? I guess if your people can build the Great Wall, nothing else seems too much for which to ask.

These steps were not easy and as the hours passed they seemed to increase in difficulty. That wasn’t all that increased! You should have seen all of the people! I know this is China, and granted we were warned that it would be crowded (Monday and Tuesday celebrated the annual “Grave Sweeping” holiday so people had a couple days off of work), but seriously – it was nuts. It was especially nuts about 1/2 of the way up when we reached a MASSIVE group of people getting off buses to make the final trek up themselves. RUDE! Brad and I had already stopped to rest twice and now these people were coming in with excited smiles and fresh legs? Please.

The mass of people who crammed onto these steps was unreal and something I never could have expected. I really felt like I was running the Cooper River Bridge. I got mad at people who were going too slowly, Brad told me once to “get over to the side” because going up the middle was too crowded, and then later we both moaned at a group of college-aged kids who had stopped and sat down right in the middle of the stairs. Seriously, right there in the middle?! Mind you, all this was happening in the dark of night. We didn’t start our hike until close to 12:30 A.M. Not only were those people sitting in the middle of the steps, but they also couldn’t be seen until you basically stepped on them.

Ha. This makes it seem like it was terrible. It was nothing of the sort. It was cold, but the perfect weather for climbing. It was difficult, but not unable to conquer. It was crowded, yet just like on the bridge, being surrounded by so many people was intoxicating. Everyone was in it together. You felt badly for those who seemed too tired to keep going, and you felt proud of those who looked as if they should be too tired, but were still persevering.

It took us right about 4 hours to get to the top. We were up there for about 2 hours. In that time the wind picked up, our fingers neared frost bite, and our toes went numb. Also in that time, the stars gave way to the sun’s rays, the sky began to blossom with light, and more and more people successfully summitted the mountain, gathering round for our communal reason for this exertion.

He was slow coming. He took so long I began to question if maybe he never really shows himself at sunrise, maybe he just sends up his rays and calls it a morning. After all, he’s too busy cooking up Jimmy Dean sausage for his family. I saw him on TV once. His daughter is such a cutie.

We all waited… and waited. I knew something had to be coming because the Chinese people were a l l still there, gathered around on the rocks with their cameras ready. This was not their first rodeo. They had to be waiting for something more than just a lit up sky. After what seemed like forever, I heard a gasp and cheer and then lots of chatter. I looked up and there was the tip of the beautiful red sun, in all of its glory, rising upward in a picture perfect, blue sky. Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

My heart smiled as I thought it was just like God to make us wait on one of his miracles. He promised it, and it would come, but was I willing to wait, frozen fingers and all? I know I’ve made mistakes in my life when I have not waited long enough. I’ve rushed down the mountain too soon, just missing God’s miracle that he had planned to give me one minute later. Thank goodness, no thank God, this morning Brad and I decided to grin, bear it, and wait. Waiting is worth it.

And then we had to get down the mountain… with 10,000 of our closest Chinese friends.

o.h. m.y.

It's not a religion - Our days with the Sister.

Last month, Feb. 3rd to be exact, was the Lunar Chinese New Year. (Shout-out to all you Rabbits!) Brad and I decided to leave behind the land of dancing dragons, dumplings and firecrackers, to accompany our dear friends Travis and Marissa to the Philippines. Marissa’s parents are both originally from the Philippines, but immigrated to the United States after college. They met once in the U.S. Neither has been able to go back to visit their dearly loved and missed families, and none of their three children have been able to meet the majority of their huge extended family, until this past week. Marissa, my friend who is pure gold in heart and mind and spirit, was the first in her immediate family to make the pilgrimage back home to their motherland. Brad and I were beyond lucky to be part of this trip.

At the very least I can tell you that 1) not a minute was wasted, and 2) I did not go hungry. I will start by introducing Marissa’s Tita Inday, her mom’s sister. Marissa’s mom’s immediate family (parents and siblings) all moved to the U.S. some time ago, but Tita Inday became the lone ranger of her family and stayed behind in the Philippines in order to serve the poorest and neediest there.

Tita Inday is soft spoken but strong, quiet but courageous, humble yet extremely talented. She is steadfast in her pursuit of a life pleasing to the Lord, but she does not judge those whose lifestyle choices are different from hers. She is a servant to the needs of Manila, yet she is a leader of the people. She is revered and she is loved.

“People here won’t mess with you since you’re with the Sister. I mean it. They would think twice about doing anything to you if you were with a priest, but you’re three times as safe being with a sister.” That was told to me by a friend of Marissa’s cousin.

We absolutely did feel safe, but the impact of traveling with Tita Inday didn’t stop there. Taxi drivers felt compelled to tell her (and thus us) their life stories to which she graciously listened and asked questions. (I took advantage of these situations and asked questions as well.) University students greeted us with “Hellos” in English because they also greeted her as they walked by. Tour guides gave us reduced rates because we were just humble traveling missionaries as Tita described to them. (“That’s what you are you know, teaching English in China, you’re missionaries.”)

Tita is in her early 60s. She has been a nun for 40 years. She felt her calling when she was in nursing school, but followed the advice of her mother to first finish her degree before entering the convent. Thinking back upon that time she said, “I was just so in love with the Lord, so in love with Jesus.” She has enjoyed serving the poor, sick, and working with troubled children. She has performed a variety of jobs and held a variety of roles (including Mother Superior), but at the current time she is assigned to teach and carry out managerial duties at a school about 3 hours from Manila. The school has about 5000 students, grades kindergarten through college. (In the Philippines the school structure is K-6 grades, then four years of high school. There is no middle school. Also, a ‘university’ is superior to a college.) There are over 200 employees at this school. She works in the religious studies department. She loves her job.

I asked about her funniest story. She laughed and flashed her amazing beautiful, big smile as she thought back on the silly story. She was running to catch a bus, but saw she could not make it. She knew the bus would be turning the corner so she ran across to the side street instead. There was a police officer on the side of the road. She asked him if he could stop the bus to let her get on. He of course obliged her request (the Philippines are 90% Catholic and NOBODY messes with a nun!). As the bus turned the corner the police officer flagged him to stop. The driver obeyed, opened the door towards the officer, and Sister Rosalyn stepped up the stairs. Sister giggled as she recalled that the passengers made fun of the driver, all saying “Ooooooh…” because it was obvious he was nervous about being stopped by a cop. Sister said she made sure to never put herself in that kind of situation again!

About a decade or so ago, Tita (aunt) was afflicted with breast cancer. I asked her about the history of the disease in her family. She said there was not a history, that she was the only one. She explained at that time in Manila her responsibilities were great in number and stress. She was becoming tired and worn out and pleaded with God for rest. Sheknew that just a week or even a month would not be long enough. She was completely worn out and running on empty. One night she had a dream that she had cancer in her left breast. She went in to see the doctor and although he thought she was healthy he also determined that there was a small possibility of cancer in her right breast. She told him he was wrong, that her dream had told her she had cancer in the left. He respectfully responded, “Okay Sister, we will check.” She was given a mammogram and it turned out that she in fact had cancer in her left breast. She flew to Marissa’s house in the States for better treatment than she could find in the Philippines and allowed her sister’s family to take care of her. She went through all the things women go through as they fight cancer. Her fight was victorious; she was healed, and then sent back to work in Manila.

Brad asked her how she has seen the role of religion change in the past 40 years. Her facial expression made it obvious that a lot has changed over the years. She mentioned that modern-day media (especially American movies and TV) has destroyed the family. She said that it is harder to teach religion now because people are actually more pious than they used to be. “But,” she added, “People are also more hungry for the Lord. There is a big difference between religion and spirituality.” I told her the pastor at our church in Charlotte, NC, has been saying the same thing: It’s not a religion; it’s a relationship. She agreed.

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I wrote this journal entry on February 7, the night we returned from the Philippines. How coincidental that on that following Sunday our Charlotte Pastor, David Chadwick, spoke on this exact topic. You can check it out if you wish by viewing the past series here: http://www.foresthill.org/southpark/message-video.cfm RELIGION VS. RELATIONSHIP Feb. 12, 2011

A Nike kind of guy

I don’t wear a black robe on Sunday or a black and white collar throughout the week, so I struggle with hearing God’s voice. I have even hiked to the peaks of mountains to be alone with silence to hear from God. Yet, I have been wondering, is it God’s voice or my hearing? Are peaks or silence necessary?

I have been challenged lately by some of the Old Testament writers. I read their interactions with God, and they don’t seem to have a problem hearing him. So, what’s the deal?!?! Has his voice changed that much over the years that I have a harder time hearing it? The scripture tells of a just and fair God. A God that would change his voice, speak a different language, or begin speaking with a SAT vocabulary just seems unjust and unfair to me (not to mention confusing). Then are these writers challenging me to get my hearing checked?

If it is the same voice that has been speaking to people for centuries, then it must be my auditory system that has begun to deteriorate, right? It must be technological advances that are to blame for the inability to hear the Almighty. Then again, this theory seems to leave me serving a Lord that isn’t compassionate to hearing loss or is willing to sit and watch me damage something that is so precious in my relationship with him. If either is true, God doesn’t sound like a creator who wants the best relationship with his creation. So, maybe, just maybe, my hearing is, in fact, created equal to man of ol’.

So, if it’s not God’s voice or my hearing, then what is it? Why am I struggling to hear Him? Could it be that He speaks and I hear, but I lack the courage to act on what I hear so I claim that I can’t hear him? Now, that does sound like some of my Old Testament contemporaries. They all speak to people in need of repentance, which nobody wants to hear because of the implications. How easy would it have been for any of them to not follow through with the messages they heard? How easy would it have been as a common shepherd to not hear when told to go to the wealthy and speak against materialism? How understandable would it have been for a layman who was told to challenge the priesthood about just going through the motions to not hear his command? Jonah heard, and ran, and ended up in a fish! As a result, he ended up going to deliver a message of hope to people he hated. Hosea heard to marry an adulterer and he did, who does that?!? They each prove that it is not God’s voice or my hearing that is the concern, but my willingness to take action!

Many of our New Testament equals struggled with taking action even when they heard it from the mouth of Jesus – the best example of one that takes action! Jesus had the courage to take action knowing his end. Which makes me wonder, if Jesus or any of these other men, would have worn Nike? If anyone should wear a brand that markets, ‘Just do it!’ it would be Jesus and these guys. If not wear Nike, I would have to think he would have worked it’s bold urge to act in conversation a time or two. Can’t you just hear it, “Peter, get out here. But Lord the waves. Peter ‘Just do it’!” or “If you have not sinned go ahead and throw your stone at this woman, go ahead ‘Just do it’!”

I, for one, have never been a huge Nike fan. I don’t really know why. I have had a Nike poster since about high school (that even now is put in my classroom somewhere each year) that reads, “Just do it.” It’s there and I see it but it really doesn’t call me to action. Like God’s voice, it’s there and I hear it but I don’t act on what I hear. Then I redirect my lack of action to not hearing. Maybe I don’t consider Nike’s call to action in the context of God’s voice.

Like Jesus and the prophets, my Dana heard the Voice and had the courage to “Just do it”. She didn’t doubt if it was God’s voice. She didn’t question or redirect her hearing. She didn’t leave it up to Jordan, Tiger, or Lance.

This Christmas I spent the afternoon watching my beautiful wife giving out ‘free hugs’ to the people of Qingdao, China. She ministered to me in a Godly way…a way truly worthy a wearing ‘the swoosh.’ She was told to go and she went, as the shepherds did many years ago. She gave gifts, as the Magi did many years ago. She showed love, as the Christ Child came to do so many years ago. She took action! She did not let being in a land of strange surroundings and uncommon norms redirect her hearing to not acting.

I may not wear a black robe or a collar, but I need to start wearing more Nike. I need to stop doubting God’s voice or questioning what I hear. I need to be like the prophets, Jesus, and my Dana and ‘Just do it!’