Oops

(The Entrance to The Forbidden City)

One Day, I was lost in Beijing.

On our week off, we had visited the Forbidden City and Tienanmen’s Square. Little did I know that I would be seperated from the others. I had no way to get back to our little hostel, nothing written in Mandarin to help me, no way to say my hostel’s name in Mandarin nor did I have a cell phone. Dark was quickly descending and I had to find a way back. I was a very easy target. The Taxi drivers I had tried became a vain attempts. I tried walking in the direction I thought the hostel was. I found myself having walked in a huge circle walking back the spot I’d started and have since decided never to trust my sense of direction again. (Apparently I do not have one.)

“God, you’re the only one who is going to get me out of this mess, so please just get me back safely.” I said aloud to myself.
“Hello!” said a nearby bicycle driver. “Where are you going?” He asked thickly in his Chinese accent. “Do you know where the Far East Youth Hostel is?” I enunciated. “Oh! Yes, the Fa’ East Hotel, the Fa’ East Hotel – I know!” That was enough for me. If it was the wrong hostel, at least I could talk to somebody who spoke English.

I took my chances, (it was the only one I had left) and stepped onto the thin rickety metal bench attached to the back of the bike. I marveled at the coincidence that a bicycle driver could speak English well. We carried on a conversation. Usually, only the educated can speak semi-fluent English. Only a bicycle driver would know where my small hostel was in the back streets of Beijing as well.

He took me through endless back alleyways, streets, and turns. I was getting a little anxious. Surely, the hostel wasn’t this far away, I thought. I kept praying.

Finally, the driver stopped in a random street and said “Just walk five minutes that way.” He pointed in a general direction. “Ok…”I said slowly. “How much?” I’d forgotten to ask the price beforehand and hoped it wasn’t too expensive. It shouldn’t be, it was a bicycle ride! “300 RMB” he said. My mouth dropped open. “I only have 20!” I exclaimed. “If you take me to a bank, I can get you more…I’ll pay extra…” I halfway asked him. That seemed to clinche his motivation and we set off again. Finally, I recognized near my hostel and was thankful that he knew the place I was talking about. I paid him double for his trouble. After three and a half hours when I made it safely back and everyone was at ease to know I was safe, I was teased at mercilessly for being ripped off so badly. (We found out I should have only paid him 30 RMB)

Hey, at the time, all I cared about was getting back before dark. God sent an angel, even if he did rip me off. I take it as a lesson. Don’t get lost alone, always have a sure way back home, and don’t get ripped off, no matter how bad you feel for the guy getting you there.

English Whirlwinds of Conversation

English Conversations….

Words came from my mouth formed by my mind
But the experience comes from my memories.
The Ghost of conversation and Fruits of its motivation
Lead me like a dance speaking Wisdom’s parodies.
I am an amateur and I don’t know if they understand
Were their hearts spurned by my words at hand?
Only gratitude am I able to utter in my mind’s thoughts -
joy not unsettled by anything the world could understand.
It was not me speaking, but were utterances & knowledge from a God unseen;
As visible as you and me.
Talk: one of my greatest fears hampered by a tongue of silent years
Moved like a being all its own
Speaking things my soul had always secretly known.

(written by Erica Pisarchuk)

“For I(Jesus) will give you words and wisdom that none of your adversaries will be able to resist or contradict“(Luke 21:15).

The Art of Children in China

Western China is very isolated as far as knowing about any of the rest of the world’s views. Not only that, but they get most of their ideas about the western world from TV shows like “Friends” and from movies. My friends and I were quick to tell them that entertainment embellishes the reality of American life. Not a lot of westerners go to the city of China that my friends and I went to. The chances of finding another Christian was very unlikely. But we’d actually run into one very shortly!

It was a May Day holiday and everyone was in the streets shopping and having fun. Greg, Liz and I were busy trying to get to a specific province to pray over a monument within the city. The place was filled with people. Then, from behind Greg, a man asked us, “Are you from America?” “Yes.” We’d replied. From there, we struck up a conversation. It was not everyday that you happen meet someone who could speak English. He was kind, and he always seemed to be smiling. He told us how he worked at an orphanage. He was a teacher and taught the orphans how to paint pictures and calligraphy. He seemed to radiate as he talked about loving his job, giving of himself for the sake of the children. He said that if the children know skills, it keeps them from becoming beggars. We asked if we could visit the kids but of course, the government doesn’t allow foreigners to visit. He did ask us to come up to an art exhibit, where his students were displaying their art. If their paintings were sold, the money would go to help clothe, shelter and feed the orphans once they got old enough to fend on their own. We followed him up a skyscraper to the eleventh floor. The paintings were beautiful. He showed us around and told us that each painting had a story.

A painting he had done was a story about love and marriage surviving even through hardship. Greg asked him, “Justin, do you mind if we pray for you and what you’re doing at the orphanage?” Justin’s face lit up immediately. “You are Christians? You are my brother in sisters!” He exclaimed in his thick Chinese accent. So, each of us prayed for him. It was amazing. Later, as part of ministry, we came back and bought several of his student’s paintings. The painting I fell in love with was painted by a 15 year old girl whose parents had divorced and then decided they didn’t want her. She painted plum blossoms and said that she hopes whenever someone looks at her painting, that they will see the strong love of the plum blossom and persevere love in marriage even if it is hard. (her painting is below)

Earlier that week we had met a young man who had no arms and yet did beautiful calligraphy with his feet. We gave him some money to help him and he gave us a free scroll. Since then, every time we passed him working on the street, he would smile at as as we waved back. He was Justin’s student. I don’t think it was mere coincidence that we met him or Justin.

Am I Enough? Am I Worth God’s Love?

The first week we were in China, we were just beginning to learn how to love unconditionally. And what we were supposed to do with it. I just wanted to be useful. I somehow thought that God’s love for me was limited on what I did, and how effective I was. I knew in my head, that that wasn’t the key. But it took an old homeless woman to help me know it in my heart. Two of my friends and I were out looking for ways to help people. We walked around the hot city of millions, giving money where we could, and handing out cold water where it was needed. Then, we came upon an old woman. She sat alone, against a wall. She was covered in filth. She seemed to stare out at nothing as if her mind had gone elsewhere. The ground around her was covered in grease. She seemed to collect trash, but other than that, she simply sat there. We went to the nearest store and picked out some pants and some shoes which she lacked. We came back to her spot on the ground, sat down next to her, gave her the pants and laced the tennis shoes we’d bought her. (Her last pair were lying in tatters next to her.) In less than two seconds we gathered a crowd. People couldn’t believe what these white foreigners were doing. Nobody does that sort of thing. So we backed away to at least give her some kind of dignity.

God told me something very important. Because we hadn’t done much evangelism in the first few days, I’d started to doubt and fear that I was being useless. Didn’t God care that we were wasting money and time? But we don’t know what impact we had. Plus, God’s love does not depend on what we do. I had been basing my worth so heavily on my own talents and abilities that I had to relearn that I could do absolutely nothing, and God would still love me the same; more than all the stars in the heavens. This old woman does absolutely nothing. She doesn’t even beg. She just sits! Yet God loves her just as much as He love me. I don’t have to do anything to earn His love, or else, it wouldn’t be real love. That’s motivation enough to want to do something as a result. I knew this in my head. Now, I know it in my heart.

Good Stories

Home is always as I’d remembered it to be and six months is really not a very long time. It seems as if nothing has changed. Except me. America seems less as desirous as I expected. My mind still seems partly in China where people are literally thirsting for God, and partly in Northern Ireland where they are on the brink of reconciliation. I wish that everyone could understand what I saw and did and maybe coming home wouldn’t be so difficult, or weird. I fear that the US is so isolated that there is so much that people do not know – or care to know. But it’s not about me. I wish somehow that people in my own generation were more connected with the rest of the world and then, the way we live our lives and what we see as truly important, would be severely altered. What do I tell people about my trips? What do I tell them and what do I leave unsaid? What will people care to hear and what would they become bored with hearing? How do I fit myself back into the life I knew before it was changed? I can’t. The least I can do is tell people how much God has changed me and used me even when I doubted everything. The least I can do is tell people how much God did. God is the same in America, as He is in Northern Ireland as He is in China. It is said that all missionaries have at the end of it all, are good stories. Not fame, or recognition, or worldly riches, just good stories. For the sake of God’s Love, that’s enough for me.