When I was a little girl

When I was a little girl
I imagined flying up to the stars
I thought if I could reach the diamonds
I would stay on those sparkling islands

When I was a little girl
I considered what life was all about
I pondered why the ant-like people
Toiled aimlessly in sweat and soil
Why were there deep lines on their faces
Why were there tears on their lashes

When I was a little girl
I speculated if the clouds would be a good hideout
I wondered why the universe so vast
What possibly was behind this mysterious mass

When I was a little girl
I asked who governed the moon
Why did it come up only when dark
Why did the sun appear to make its mark

When I was a little girl
My heart was a puzzle
There were so many pieces missing
I questioned why people talked about blessings

Many years later
A Prince found all the pieces
Without me knowing
He quietly completed the puzzle
He then declared: Everything's settled

He is from where the diamonds decorate the heavens
Where the moon meets the sun
The clouds were His pillows
He is the only Son

He chose to forgo
All that He had for me
A little girl whose heart was a hopeless puzzle
But now it's complete and free

Shower Ministry

Anne Perdicaris is a TEDS graduate, we became friends in the course of her taking Field Education courses. Anne is now serving in Athens, Greece at the Athens Refugee Center sharing the gospel of Jesus with refugees, many from Iran, Afghanistan and Iraq. There are increasing number of refugees that are from Africa also. Most of them are Muslims. In her recent newsletter, I read this most amazing story about their "shower ministry", I would like to share it with you, maybe God will bless you through Anne's words and her work in Athens. The following are Anne's own words:

It seems like just yesterday that I arrived in Athens, but time is quickly flying by. My prayer is that every day, I’ll allow the Holy Spirit to keep me near to our Lord, and to work in and through me to show the many refugees at the Athens Refugee Center (ARC) how they can have that same nearness with Him.

There’s so much to tell you about what God is doing at the ARC, so much evidence of Christ being shared and so many remarkable, touching incidents that occur here.

One of these happened a week or so ago during the ARC’s “shower ministry.” This ministry allows the refugee men—many of whom aren’t privy to showers of their own—to clean off the grime of living, working, and often sleeping on Athens’ very dirty streets.

To you and I, cleaning up is a given, a basic need, but for the refugees, the 7-minute stream of hot water that the ARC provides is nothing short of a luxury.

Of course, as a woman, I’m not out and about when the shower ministry is in gear. Instead, I’m in the ARC’s office, getting ready to teach the new believers’ class. But I can hear the whole process through the thin walls: the missionary guys warmly welcoming the refugee men, the refugees’ grateful murmurs as they take a towel and soap, the whoosh of the shower jets, and the genuine glee and gratitude that the men express as they leave the ARC and step out onto the street clean, with renewed dignity.

One man who came to the shower ministry, perhaps an African from Somalia, seemed to glow with gratitude after his shower. "Very nice,” I heard him gush to one of the male missionaries. “I’ll never forget it! Yes, I'm clean now, very nice."

Last week, my roommate Susie told me that a Somalian mother and her children (the same family that I told you about in my last letter) wanted to use the showers. I thought to myself, can you imagine the shame it must cause this woman to ask strangers—foreigners and folks whom your own religion considers to be “unclean” (as some Muslims believe non-Muslims to be) to use their shower?

But the woman came, looking world-weary, toting her garbage bag of possessions, trailed by her thin, solemn-eyed, very perceptive children. As Susie turned the showers on, I was surprised to hear something that I never thought I’d hear: children’s laughter, and singing in the shower! These kids, so sad and serious, were laughing and singing in the shower, delighted at being clean again, and perhaps delighted at having this one element of their normal life restored, if even for 10 minutes one afternoon.

I stepped out of the office to see the kids getting dressed in the new clothes that Susie had given them. Iman, the little daughter, was thrilled with her new Halloween-themed socks. She leaned over, giggling, and looked at us from her upside-down position—the sort of playful gesture that any normal little girl might do, and suddenly little Iman and her family became much more human to me. I saw how giving a cup of cold water—or, in this case, a warm shower and clean clothes—in Jesus’ name, can restore life to weary, hopeless people. The mother hugged us tightly as she left, reminding me again of how so little can mean so much to those in need. Please, pray for Iman and her family. Pray that she and her mother and siblings will find physical and emotional rest and security in Greece. And, that they will find ultimate peace and healing, and new life, in Christ.

Coming to an end

The semester is coming to an end, a student just asked me what am I going to do on my 'summer vacation', I told her I don't have a summer vacation, she was shocked to learn that I have to work through summer. The end of the Spring semester is the busiest time for me. Reading through about 200 sets of paperwork from students is not exactly a small project, but I do it twice every semester. Professors will have papers to grade, unlike me, they will have a summer break to catch their breath.

My time at Trinity is also coming to an end. Not only that, we will go all the way over the big pond to the Philippines. People always ask me if I am excited. I don't know how to reply. Yes, I am excited that we are going to launch into a new phase of our lives, doing new ministries, and for me, being able to stay home with Kioni and not having to shoulder the responsibility of being the bread-winner anymore. I am excited about all the new changes that are coming our way.

However, I am not that naive about ministering and living cross-culturally. I have done it once 10 years ago, adapting cross-culturally, I have to say is not on my list of 'favourite things to do'. There are many challenges that I would rather not have, but looking back, they have built my character and patience in ways I did not know before. It seems like whenever I get too comfortable, God always moves me out of my comfort zone. He did it to some people, but for others, He will keep them where they are all their lives. I don't quite understand that, but God is God, what can you say.

I am also starting to feel a bit sad about leaving Trinity, because I am going to miss the interactions with students, the administrative assistant ladies whom I become close to, faculty members whom I have gotten to become friends with. I will miss all these. However, as a follower of Christ, I am glad to go where God is leading us to.

I pray what will NOT come to an end is the relationships that I have developed at Trinity. I am thankful for emails, the Internet and blogs, as evil as many people think they are, they do bring people together. I have a track record of keeping in contact with my Hong Kong friends through emails, even after 10 years physical absence in my home church in Hong Kong. Much have changed in 10 years, but friendship does not change, feelings do not change.

OK, got to stop, something is bothering my eyes......

God Sighting in a Bottle of Tylenol

It seems like Kioni gets sick whenever we go out of town. We visited Park Hills Evangelical Free Church in Freeport, IL, two hours east of our home this past weekend. Freeport is a good size town, with a population of 26,443. On our drive there we made note of how the town is dotted with numerous churches of various denominations.

While in Freeport we stayed with the senior pastor and his family. But that night Kioni got sick, screamed many times because she felt congested, and threw up all over me at 2:30 AM. We didn't know the town and didn't want to wake up our hosts for help, so we just suffered though the night as a miserable trinity. (The pastor and his wife don't have small children, so they wouldn't have had the drugs we needed anyway.)

The next morning, Kioni felt a little better. Yet she wasn't up to going to church, so Dan went to the church alone to share our ministry, while Kioni and I stayed back at the pastor's home alone. A few hours later, Dan came back and we packed up and began our trek back to Mundelein.

On the way out of Freeport, we decided to stop by a pharmacy to pick up a bottle of Children's Tylenol for Kioni. The pharmacy at Cubs Food was the first one we came across. Dan went in by himself to get the Tylenol. When he came out, he told me the amazing story that follows.

Dan picked out the Children's Tylenol, but because it had something special in it, it was kept behind the pharmacy counter. By asking for it, Dan caught the attention of the pharmacist. In the process of paying for it, the pharmacist took the medication and scanned it and then took a card out from his wallet and ran it though the register. To Dan, it seemed that perhaps the card was something special needed to activate the register or to login the pharmacist as the presiding cashier. When Dan went to present his credit card to the pharmacist to pay for the medicine, the pharmacist handed Dan the Tylenol in a small bag nicely stapled and accompanied the gesture with the startling statement, "Good luck in the Philippines!"

Dumbfounded, Dan stood there for a moment and then asked, "How do you know we are going to the Philippines." The pharmacist replied, "A few years ago, we had a couple who were from the Philippines stayed with us a couple of months." This, however, didn't explain his knowledge of our trip. But then he came clean, "I was in the first service at Park Hills Church this morning. But I didn't have the opportunity to talk to you after you shared your mission to the Philippines. In fact, I exited out of another door, since I needed to go home quickly so I could report here to work this afternoon."

It then dawned on Dan that the card that the pharmacist had pulled out of his own wallet was not an activation or log-in card. Rather it was his own personal credit card. The pharmacist had purchased the Children's Tylenol for us and stapled the receipt to the bag.

I was in absolutely astounded as I listened to Dan tell the story. Through Kioni's sickness, God showed us, even in the smallest area of life, that He was still sovereign and was still taking care of us through his people. Think of all the 'coincidences' that happened: (1) Kioni got sick when we were in a strange town. (2) We picked the first pharmacy that we came across, which (2) just happened to be supervised by someone that had gone to one of the many churches in Freeport, and (3) the church he went to just happened to be the one where Dan shared the ministry that morning. (4) The pharmacist wasn't obliged to pay for Kioni's medicine, but the Spirit moved his heart towards us in charity. And (5) before Dan even had the opportunity to say a word, or even notice what was taking place, the transaction was complete. The funny thing is that the pharmacist didn't even utter a word to Dan until he handed him the medicine, certainly he must have been setting Dan up and got a big kick out of the shock and awe on Dan's face when out of the blue he made his pronouncement, "Good luck in the Philippines!"

Do you still think daily events are just random occurrences? It's when we pay attention that we see who God truly is. Are you paying attention?

Past, Present, Future

Since I have started auditing the Chinese Church History course this Spring semester, every Monday when I left the two and a half hour class, I left with a heavy heart, I would find myself arriving home without knowing how I got there, which is quite scary. Not that Dr. Cook did not do a good job explaining the subject, quite to the contrary, he is doing such a good job that the history comes alive, everything suddenly means so much to me, and THAT is what is weighing on me. The past 200 years of Chinese history was nothing but a vast display of chaos and hopelessness. I can't help but ask where is China going in the future with this much baggage on her back?
I came to partial realization of my identity as a Chinese on June 4th, 1989, when the tanks rolled into Tienanmen Square, I found myself weeping uncontrollably in front of the TV. I remember my mom looking at me with a strange expression on her face, then she said, "It's OK, the tanks are not in Hong Kong." I was there for every single protest rally and memorial service, until I got married and left Hong Kong in 1996. (There were rumors that some secret service people video-recorded those rallies to see who were in there, so I am not worried that this exposure will cause my name to be listed on a certain blacklist, because if they indeed did that, they already know who I am. If this rumor is just a rumor, then, oh well, as Forrest Gump said, "stupid is as stupid does.")
Growing up in Hong Kong, I never felt oppressed as someone living in a colony. The British has brought countless good things into Hong Kong, an excellent law system, sound civil education, laissez faire policy, and using English as the official language has no doubt helped Hong Kong advanced to the status of a major international city. One thing that was never stressed in the classroom though, and understandably so, was that we were Chinese. We were taught that we were 'citizens of Hong Kong'. This made perfect sense since those of us who were born in Hong Kong held British passports with a big old UK seal right in the middle. Inside, where it said 'Nationality', it was printed 'British'.
At the time when I was born, China had just gone through the Great Leap Forward, where millions and millions of people died of starvation. There was virtually no news coming out from China, except 'rumors' of people dying. Not only did we not know what was going on in China, it did not seem like we cared, even though one of my father's older sisters, whom refused to flee to Hong Kong in 1949, was still in China. It was not until at least 10 years after her death that we learned that she was sent to a labour camp in Xinjiang. With her being the daughter of a wealthy landlord, I will not be surprised if she was put into the catagory of 'extreme rightist', which guaranteed her life and the lives that were connected to her (her husband's and two sons') extraordinary difficult, however, starvation took her life first. I need to find out more about her life from her two sons, whom eventually fled China by swimming to Hong Kong for days in the South China Sea, fighting off sharks. They are now in their 50s, living comfortably in Hong Kong.
My father often told us that the communists took EVERYTHING away from them. My paternal grandfather was a landlord and a businessman, he was an extremely wealthy man with seven wives, the seventh one being my grandmother. He owned blocks and blocks of prime real estates in Guangzhou, my father still remembers the huge house they lived in. My maternal grandfather was a chic entrepreneur, he owned a construction company in Shanghai, extravagant business luncheons and parties were everyday events for him. (Later while in Hong Kong, he disapproved of my father pursuing my mother, saying, "The tip I give to waiters in a meal is more than what that guy (my father) made in a month!" My mother verifies that it was true. My father at that time worked in my grandfather's construction company. Don't you think it should have prompted my grandfather to consider paying his employees better?
When the communists took over in 1949, both grandfathers lost all that they had. My paternal grandmother fled to Hong Kong on foot with seven kids in tow and with practically no money. At that time, my paternal grandfather had already past away. My father remembers the hardships they had to endure when they struggled just to stay alive after arriving in Hong Kong. My maternal grandfather was able to go to Hong Kong with some money and opened up a construction company again in a much smaller scale. My mother was born in Hong Kong into this relatively well to do family. So she has less things to say about the communist. However, she did go to a Kuomintang school, so she got some 'education' as to who the communists were also.
When China finally opened up, my father was the first one in his family to go visit. The reason being most of my uncles were in the Royal Police Force, and my oldest uncle was actually in the political section of the police force, namely, they kept the communists' activities in check! They were afraid to go back, I guess the memories of the how everything was seized from them was still fresh in their minds. My parents, my younger brother and I boarded a big ship in Hong Kong, overnight we arrived in a port in Guangzhou, that was August of 1980. In the warm summer morning mist, we stood on the deck overlooking China, it was the first time (except my father) that we saw China. The first words my father said were, "This place has not changed in 30 years!" As I look at the land, I was thinking, 'This is my root. But how can it be? How can it look so different from Hong Kong!"
Did not think too much about that trip after we went back to Hong Kong, I only remembered how inexpensive everything was, how dull their clothing colours were, and how lack of smile everyone was. Though there were 'Friendship Stores' everywhere, people who worked there were hardly 'friendly'. I was not interested in knowing my 'roots', not interested in learning about China at that time. Afterall, my life in Hong Kong was great, there was no need to go back to my roots and explore them. We have a new life in Hong Kong, we are a new generation. I did not consider China as my mother-land until that earth-shaking event in 1989. It was impressed upon my heart from the images on TV that those people in Tienanmen Square and I are both Chinese.
The Chinese Church History class has moved into the time period when my grandparents were adults living in China, and my father was already born. I wonder what they were thinking in this chaotic period of time. Did they see that their lives were going to be changed so drastically? Did they even think for one moment that what they had built up will be yanked right out from their hands soon?
Attending this class has given me an unsettling desire to dig out as much as I can from my father, what happened when he was a teenager in China, what did he experienced, what does it mean for him to live under the communist's rule now in Hong Kong. I wanted to find out from my mother what did her father say about his life as an entrepreneur in Shanghai, what were the definitive events that made him decide that he had to leave Shanghai and everything that he had built up with his own hands. How has all these affect the way my parents live their lives? How does that affect us, their children? And how are we, my sister, my brother and I, are going to teach our children about our family, and about China. I want to be able to understand the past, so I can look into the future.
The future has become a bit complicated though now that I am not a 'British' anymore, rather an 'American'. It's ironical, isn't it? I am never officially a 'Chinese'. Though I know full well my identity in Christ, I have never come to full grasp of my identity on earth.
I never liked history, never understood it, never treasured it. Now I can see why people study history, and why people like Dr. Cook are crazy about it. We study history because the past is the present, and the future too.
P.S. My dear blog readers who are from Mainland China, it is a privilege to know you, I have learned from you how China has evolved all these years, and what China is like at the present time. This is a lesson that I will never learn from my family since they are not there to witness all the tremendous changes. The purpose of this post is not to criticize China, rather, recording the point of view that my parents have presented to me towards the life under the early communist rule in China.

No more fun?

What am I doing? Not even thinking about this very important day of the year! Therefore, nothing is planned. I used to love this day, you can pull all the pranks you want and people will just laugh and say, 'Yeh, I forgot it's April Fool's Day." They never get mad, what a great way to have some fun.
A fellow blogger pulled a pretty good one on his faithful readers. You have to know Jeff to see why all these people cried and lament about the 'news' that he put forth in his blog.
Maybe next year when I can map out all the important fun days, I can plan something fun. There is always hope.