Door to door health salesman

Hop on a bike, and five minutes of downhill coasting brings you out of Yangqu and into Shanxi countryside. Everything is dry, yet somehow they coax crops from this chalky soil. It is also hilly, so the fields inhabit quaint terraces rising like amphitheaters above the road. I feel like I'm riding through a topographical map.

 

Last week I went on a house call with Dr. Kurt Elliot past the farms and up into the mountains. Kurt is about my Dad's age and looks identical to John Piper. We met downtown, and after stowing some medical supplies in a black and turquoise fanny-pack that a middle-schooler wouldn't be caught dead in, we set off. Did I mention we were biking up a mountain? Soon Kurt was out of sight. Luckily for me we planned to rendezvous at a Catholic church near the top, a big one. You couldn't miss it. So I pedaled on, glad for the stiff wind blowing in the right direction. Gusts would lift dust into eerie curtains and let them play in the air before dashing them to the ground. The snow (yes, it is still below freezing... I don't want to talk about it) glided silently by. Eventually I arrived. Be still my beating heart.

 

Kurt let me peek into the church, then we rode to visit his patient. He lived in a traditional Chinese home -- courtyard with raised garden, pig pit and outhouse next to a modest brick structure with cement flooring. There were three rooms arranged like a row of jumbo-sized mailboxes. Inside, a TV squawked in the corner. Above this hung two pictures, one of Jesus and one of Mary. There was a naked light bulb strung from the ceiling.

 

Kurt broke out his stethoscope and blood-pressure cuff -- merely a routine checkup. Things looked good. The patient laughed and talked nonstop, not hiding his sole upper tooth. Every smile swallowed his face in wrinkles and exposed a youth at odds with his real age. Only his shuffled step revealed the truth (or maybe it simply reflected the slow pace of life). But he was not afraid to die. "When God says it's time, it's time." We finished the house-call with a prayer. Then it was back down the mountain. Going downhill is glorious. I highly recommend it.

Creepy Ditch

Every Thursday afternoon I go to Creepy Ditch.  No easy task.  The van bumps and seesaws over 10 cm deep canyons in the road, jostling the packed occupants.  (China has officially cured me of car sickness -- I can now read anywhere.)  The traffic is thick and chaotic.  After almost two months of this, I've become numb to daily near-collisions and my heat-rate barely rises.  It's when the entire car goes berserk -- screaming a torrent of Mandarin two octaves above normal -- that I get afraid.  That's only happened once.  After rough highways and the maze of downtown Taiyuan, we move to the outskirts of the city.  The alleys become narrower, there are fewer shops and more garbage.  Heaps of wrappers and plastic bags marinate in sewage.  Feral cats and dogs grub through the mess, hopeful for a snack.  Then we turn left here, make a right, another left, and at last we're there.  Creepy Ditch.

 

It is anything but creepy.  I'm greeted by a pack of kids dangling on the gate bars.  They are happy and loud.  I can't tell if they're excited because we're there or because it is recesses, and suspect it's a little of both.  About four of them give us an official welcome as we enter the gate.  Usually they wear red handkerchiefs tied around their arms, heads or necks.

 

Suddenly, Jingle Bells blasts from the loudspeaker and the students stampede to their classrooms.  That means it's time to start.  I find my room, take a breathe, and go in.  They all greet me.  The timid ones steal a glance and then turn to giggle with friends; the bold ones shout a hearty "Hallo!" and wave furiously.  I'm glad I have a Chinese-speaking helper to keep order.  By myself, it'd be like trying to pick up oily marbles with chopsticks.  After calming them down I begin the lesson.  It's important to exaggerate everything (which I'm good at): it makes them laugh and understand you more.  By the end I'm smeared in chalk dust.

 

I love Creepy Ditch.  I will really miss these kids.

 

[Picture: four of my 4th graders]

Peek-a-boo

Reputation is everything.  If you come to China, you'll find that out.  They call it "having face," and it's entrenched in the culture.  The government does it, your neighbor does it, your twin sister does it.  I'm reminded every time I ride into town.  Crowning the heights above Yangqu, and prominent from the highway, is a temple.  It is three stories of red grandeur -- an impressive pagoda.  There's only one thing: it's a shell.  There is nothing inside.  It's merely a stage set.  Apparently the country got a face lift for the Beijing Olympics, and backwater Yangqu wasn't overlooked.  This would be like Milford erecting a 10 meter high George Washington statue if the Olympics came to Chicago.

 

At the people level, it's all about respect.  They will never criticize you, and you better not criticize them.  You also can't get angry.  Life is very passive aggressive here.

 

This idea of face isn't completely foreign to Americans.  Not at all.  Take for instance Facebook.  There you can manipulate your image ad nauseam (but remember to keep close surveillance on your wall and untag awkward pics).  Then there are blogs -- the ultimate way to Photoshop your life.  Plus on the street we have fashion, parlance, Starbucks and Macs.  Image is everything.  The difference is that Americans like to HAVE face, but few are careful to GIVE face to others.

(Aside: obviously I'm not completely against Facebook and blogs.  They connect people, which is good.)

 

Does God have face?  Yes.  One theme running through the Old Testament is the Name of the Lord.  God saves his people (and sometimes punishes) so that everyone will fear and glorify his Name.  I recently read Daniel 9:15-19, which talks about this.  It's in the New Testament too.  I read Luke 11:5-13 the other day.  There are probably better examples, but that's what came to mind.

 

Does God give face?  Yes -- in Jesus.  The perfect example of God giving us face.

 

I thought this was an apt post to include my picture.  Notice that I chose a decent one.

 

Sometimes I forget

I heard my alarm this morning; it was going off somewhere in China.  Then I opened my eyes and saw it blinking at me.  So I reached over and flicked it off with my hand.  I got out of bed and walked across the room, using both my legs.  My stomach didn't hurt, and I didn't even have a headache.  I exercised.  I read.  I ate.  I studied.  It's been a good day so far.

Striders

People walk differently here.  At home I see herds of legs swinging in confusion.  There is no order, just dizzy limbs on the move.  But here, here it is different.  Close friends look like close friends.  They synchronize, whole lines of them.  Four girls walking in step, shoulder to shoulder, exuding camaraderie, blending into a single new organism that was born for laughter.  It reminds me of a graduation ceremony.  They're even wearing matching school uniforms -- white and blue windbreakers.  They march, like in a parade.

 

Why?  Maybe it's because they're the same height.  They see eye to eye.  Maybe it's because they're going the same direction and the same pace.  Whatever it is, it's no accident -- I've seen them.  They file through gaps between idling cars and kiosks, then stutter-step to restore solidarity.  I've seem them.  Even on bikes, I've seen them.  They pair up and hold each other's handlebars.

 

It makes me happy.  And then it makes me sad.  I think about where most of them are going, hand-in-hand, and my stomach tightens.  Few are Christians.  I still can't give directions in Chinese.

 

A kid and a king

"And then, and then Stand, and then we have to drop the bombs on them before they shoot us.  And, can I tell you something, Stand, we have green core energy."

 

Sixty feet below us rests a pool.  The drop is sheer.  The valley's dehydrated walls are bare.  Slabs of compacted dirt clutch the cliff face, waiting in the sun, waiting for gravity to take notice.  Some trees grow here, though I don't know where they find water.  It's all down there, in that pool.  Up ahead the trail keeps following the rim of the gorge.  Mountains rise along it's left, flanking the path between steep inclines.  It is picturesque.

 

"Hold your fire men.  Roger, Roger.  Ok and, and FIRE!"

 

Two rock-hard dirt clods fall from on high.  One shatters against the ground, reduced to a cloud of dust -- a staccato death.  The other makes the pool.  Mine didn't make the pool.

 

"Stand, can I tell you something, Stand, and then we have to get back to base."

 

I am Stand.  He is Collin Stern.  Faint freckles, a spontaneous mess of hair.  This kid is 100 percent six years old.  He is the playwright of his life -- in total control of every bullet wound, castle storming and alien attack.  Total control of everything, everything except reality.  He is also the youngest.  Collin knows of life's injustice.

 

I can relate.  I am not in control here.  And I like escaping too: in books and, today, a hike with my biggest fan.

 

More Culture

About once a week it happens.  Some unremarkable stretch of pavement gets the royal treatment.  A red carpet unrolls, masking the ubiquitous Yangqu dust.  A red canopy rises.  This is capped by a banner -- red cloth, white lettering, bold font.  And then there are the girls.  About 16 of them form two sides of a tunnel; all wear traditional dresses that are, you guessed it, red.  Each rank is armed with cymbals, which they use.  All day, in fact.  The cadences are often unoriginal, but attention grabbing, and thus effective.  If this weren't enough, it gets better.  Nothing in China is done without fireworks.  The musicians retreat, and the street is enveloped in a gunpowder rant that would make even Crazy Kaplan take cover.  This frenzied eruption lasts a quarter of an hour.  Then back to our cymbal serenade from 16 girls, who by now are quite deaf.

 

Why this exhibition?  Advertising.  It's often some grand opening or anniversary.

 

I went by one the other day (and beat them in who-wants-to-be-the-most-exciting-spectacle).  Up close, I noticed something missing: smiles.  These girls were bored.  All this pageantry, all this gaiety; all pretend.  I certainly don't blame them -- I'd be bored too.  But it made me think: do we sometimes do this as Christians?  We put on our costumes, set off our particular brand of fireworks, clang on cue, and we're even clever enough to fake a smile.  But we're not really celebrating, we're advertising.  It's just cosmetic joy.
 

Thawing at last

I'm used to South Bend springs.  The calendar is spangled with dazzling warmth surrounded by depression.  In one day the perma-cloud lifts and the sun ignites, leaving no choice but to cast off homework and outer layers and play.  This is followed by more stretches of gloom interspersed with joy.  And eventually, spring wins.

 

Here, we recover from winter like recovering from a wound.  Slow, steady.  Unnoticed.  You don't consciously acknowledge the new season, you just gradually forget about the old.

 

One of my friends here is an Aussie.  They don't even have winter.

 

Acclimation

"Welcome to China, here is your bike."  Mike Stern handed it over and grinned.  I love that grin -- full of loving sarcasm.  Mike is Evergreen's language coordinator, and my life coordinator.  He's also my library, soup kitchen, guide, guru, personal trainer and mom.  "Time for the grand tour, you ready?"  This was my first day in China, of course I was ready.  We set off.  "Over there's a good restaurant... and that's the, whatcha-call-it, market... and here's where you'll get your fruit, and..." My head was spinning faster than the wheels.  It was a phantasmagoria of red flags, vendors, vans, dust, ads, vegetables, fireworks and people.  Hello China.

 

Now, a month in, we're acquainted, me and China.  I pass the familiar and it doesn't even register.  Still, there are plenty of  mysteries; take for instance the men on main street.  Nearly 60 of them sit for hours, listless, lining the park-front curb.  They're wearing five layers of cloths, maybe even six.  Some are talking, some are staring, some are spitting, most are smoking.  And then some are stooped in a tight circle ringed with onlookers.  These are the energetic ones, and these are the mystery.  Is there a snake?  A fight?  Or maybe it's Chinese chess (my competitive side starts salivating).  One day I venture closer and see dice and money -- it's gambling.  Later I find out the men are waiting to get picked up for work.  And that's what they do: make money and then gamble.

 

This is actually a huge problem.  Not all men hazard their income on lucky dice, but many play even longer odds with their careers.  They start businesses intent on actualizing the Chinese dream.  They want to get rich, and fast.  What happens, though, is this forces their wives to take steady, low-paying jobs, while they skip from one failing scheme to the next.  Haste makes waste.  And that's what's happening.

 

Life goal... check.

Les Miserables is this mammoth beauty that's been on the back burner my whole life.  Every few years it taps my shoulder, I turn, then cower, then retreat.  But I couldn't resist forever.  Like a sand castle ignoring the ocean, I was eventually sucked in.

 

This week I finished it.

 

And sorry Lord of the Rings, but I might have a new favorite book.  Every page is epic, profound, and sublime.  Well, almost every page... he likes to digress at times.

 

Don't worry, I won't spoil anything -- not that you could.  Even if you've memorized the musical, it doesn't ruin it.  And this is coming from someone appalled by spoilers.  It's as different from the musical as reading a blog about China is from being there.

 

You should read it.

Acceleration

You know that feeling at the start of a roller-coaster?  The sick twinges of  anticipation and then -- BAM! -- you've left your life 10 meters behind you.  You forget to breathe, while the world reels in fury.  Well, that's how I feel.  I'm back in South Bend.  Or rather, the part of me that counts.  Here there is just motion blur, and I'm stuck wondering if I'll find myself when I return.  Maybe the me that's missing will discover its wings and then break free forever.

 

And then I remember who I serve.  That He has placed me here with wise purpose.  That He knows my needs better than me, and is faithful, powerful, gracious, and loving.  That He has given me a charge.  So I'll get my head and heart in the game, and thank God that the Bible kicks hard.
 

Tunes

I have a guitar.  It's not mine, but they're letting me borrow it.  And it sounds good too... I guess... you should ask my neighbors to get an unbiased opinion.  Well at least I for one am enjoying it.  I don't think I could survive without it.  When stress starts collecting in all the hidden depths, it's a sure way to flush it out.  Words articulate my mind, music articulates my gut.

 

So here I am, singing away my frustrations and fears; longing; thanking; praising; baring my naked soul to God.  And then I realize something.  I can hear every word from the street below.  Every word.  I forgot that cities aren't exactly private.  And then I realize something else.  Every word is in Chinese.  Good thing I'm broadcasting in English, eh?  (Hopefully by the end I'll be spouting some Mandarin too.)

 

I'm not just playing in my room.  My guitar has made several guest appearances at the schools, and the foreign fellowship, and this, and that.  What I'm really excited about is giving guitar lessons.   The music here is... not good.  But for a good reason.  I forgot how luxuriously we live in America, and how expensive instruments are.  China may groom an elite set of musicians, but the average guy is a different squirrel.  This is generalizing, I know, but I think it's true.  Anyways, I'm giving mass lessons to about 10 beginners and doing one-on-one with a few.  Fun stuff.

Happy Easter!