The pictures... finally...

I've certainly hit the ground running since I've been home - it's hard to believe it's been less than two weeks that we've been back! I finally found some time to pick out some of my favorite pictures from India.

A really long post to make up for the absence of periodic shorter ones

What? Can this be for real? Josh actually updated his blog? We all thought he must have died in India or something. Most of us despaired of checking his blog, each futile effort met only with the monstrous invariable post “India...” he posted like three weeks ago. But nay, vitality and change has once again triumphed in the end. Alright, that’s the epic explanation, and, I admit, rather lame. In reality, Internet has proven to be a remarkably difficult commodity to obtain on this trip. For the past three weeks, we have been in some really mountainous and remote villages where hot water heaters are cutting edge technology.

So much time has elapsed since my last entry, I hardly know where to begin or what to say. Or rather, what not to relate. I could attempt a detailed chronicle of our entire trip as best as I can recollect, but I fear that it would be not only quite voluminous, but would also run the high risk of boredom for me and probably for you, the reader. Instead, I’ll try to give a (hopefully) brief summary of what we’ve been up to the last while.

Where I last left off, we had just undergone the excitement of a near accident with a motorcycle on a wet road, the refused demand for money, and the resulting physics lesson on the capabilities of the kinetic energy of a rock to shatter the back window of our vehicle when set in motion by a very angry man. Although Rachelle ended up with a big bruise on her shoulder, cuts all over her face, and a large piece of glass imbedded in her lower lip, we all thanked God the accident wasn’t more serious. We spent the night in a little town not far away, and were very refreshed and inspired by some astounding views of the Himalayas the next morning.

The following evening we finally pulled into the town of Bageshwar, where we spent the next week working with a young Methodist pastor named Manoj. The town is nestled in a deep valley, so in order to reach the many small villages scattered on the surrounding hillsides, a stiff hike is usually required. As we trekked along some remote trail, surrounded by an amazing variety of flora - everything from oranges and bananas to apples and potatoes - I was often sure we must be so isolated as to be throughly beyond any place where anyone would actually live, when we would come around a corner or emerge from a dense forest only to see a whole new valley with dozens of small clusters of homes sprinkled throughout small terraces of wheat and rice crops. I was overwhelmed by the huge need here. One could be sure that almost all, if not all, of those villages had ever even heard of Jesus, much less a clear presentation of the gospel. As we wandered from village to village, we distributed tracts and when there was a small group of people gathered, we would stop and share with them, using a large chart with pictures from the Bible. Dad would often do some medical work, cleaning and bandaging cuts from sickles or giving medicine for ear infections or asthma. When we would say goodbye and head to the next village, I often looked back at the watching faces of the people we had just ministered to. A certain excitement would rise up within me, knowing this was probably the first time they had ever heard the truth of life’s real meaning and what God has done so they can still experience this life despite their sin. And yet at the same time I couldn’t help feeling discouraged as I wondered what the chances of them embracing this truth really were. The nearest church is an hour and a half hike away and no Christians are around for them to ask questions. Manoj may come by every few months, but there is such a need for more follow up, for pastors and evangelists from the local area who know the people and can teach and live among them.

After spending a week with Manoj, Dad thought we should drive north to a little town right against the Himalayas to see if we could get some good views. The road soon lost the right to be called by that name - wide, rocky trail being a more accurate description - and we knew we were there when it abruptly ended altogether. It was very cloudy, however, and we only got a glimpse of a peak when the clouds parted for a few minutes. I still had a lot of fun, hiking around and hanging out with my crazy sisters and taking even crazier photographs of them. Sometimes I wonder if the “crazy” poses they strike are actually more accurate representations of their real personalities and their “normal” pictures the abnormalities. But now that I think about it, my sisters say the same of me... perhaps they’re right...

Our next stop was to see Mahesh, a young evangelist who lives in the town of Pitoraghar. Sprawling along a high ridge, the elevation is much higher than at Bageshwar and the cooler weather was a welcome change. I came down with a pretty bad case of gastro-intestinal sickness while we were there, though, and spent nearly the whole time in my hotel room. But as it turned out, that was the best time to get sick. India’s rainy season was just finishing up, and it gave us a grand finale. For three entire days and three entire nights it poured rain. It soaked the ground so thoroughly little lakes began appearing everywhere. The steep ground along the narrow roads carved into the mountainsides was so saturated that huge landslides took out whole portions of the road and several bridges were washed out. The ground supporting the porch in front of Mahesh’s house was eroded away and nearly the whole porch slid down the hillside, narrowly leaving the house intact. Everyone else had to stay indoors, too, so if one has to be laid up, it is better somehow to be curled up with a good book, with thunder and stormy weather outside than when the sun is shining and the birds are beckoning you to come out. I read nearly the whole time, and it actually was a very refreshing and encouraging time for me. By Sunday I had mostly got over the bug and the weather finally let up. As we hiked up to the little church Mahesh helps pastor, I turned around to see beautiful, golden rays of unfiltered sunlight pouring down on the valley below, shrouded in mist, with green, steep, round peaks poking through. Far aloft these, the Himalayas towered, with Indian eagles circling high above the valley floor.

By Monday the stretch of road we needed to get to our next stop was open and we arrived in Champawat late that afternoon. Just outside the town is a small Methodist church pastored by Surrendra Singh. (Actually, as a side note, all three of the pastors and evangelists we visited have the last name of Singh - Manoj, Mahesh and Surrendra - yet none of them are related. It is estimated that around 30-40% of Indians have the last name of Singh. Before the British came, Indians didn’t have much use for last names, and when it was time to think up one, well, let’s just say originality wasn’t their strongest trait.) Anyway, back to Surrendra Singh, he has a wonderful family and we really enjoyed spending time with them. For the week we were with them, we hiked around stopping in local villages, handing out tracts and sharing. Sometimes we ventured far off the beaten path, into some deep jungles that epitomized for me what Rudyard Kipling must have had in mind while writing The Jungle Book. In fact, at one house we visited we were told they often see jaguars roaming the opposite ridge. One of the highlights of being in that area for me was when we came across a group of young guys playing a game of volleyball with a long piece of cloth stretched out across a courtyard for a net and a partially deflated soccer ball. After playing with them for a while, I got to talk with them for a few minutes. They were paying really close attention, and I could see their earnestness and sincerity in their expressions. You could tell they were desperate for real purpose in life, something to pour all their enthusiasm into and pursue whole heartedly. What would it be? Volleyball or Cricket? A good education and then a high paying job? If they pursued something more spiritual, it would probably be in the radical Hinduism and relentless pursuit of making it the only religion in India, or Hindustan as they would like to call it. Oh if they could experience Jesus Christ, the fountain of living water springing up into everlasting Life, the abundant life that gives us true purpose and by His Spirit within us real life itself, the One in whom we find who we really are.

The following Monday (which was also last Monday) we bade a sad farewell to Surrendra and his family and headed out to go down the steep, winding mountain roads in our descent to the hot plains to visit COI’s work in Sitarganj and see Sunnil. This proved to be a nearly epic adventure, with huge portions of the road washed out and landslides to negotiate, a complete standstill when a jeep lost its front axle in a spot narrow enough only for one vehicle to utilize at a time, and our battery dying with jumper cables an unheard of novelty and batteries difficult to obtain. When we finally got the SUV up and running again, we made several wrong turns, and had to make a long detour along narrow village streets because the bridge over a lake was down. We finally pulled up in front of Sunnil’s house around 9:30 at night and had a difficult time staying awake while they served us dinner. The next day we spent with Sunnil, visiting several of his house churches and meeting some of the local pastors he is training. God is really using him in an amazing way. Since 2003, he has started 65 house churches, 30 of them this year, and he has a goal to start 10 more before the year is up. I think a big key to his success is the amount of regular follow up he and the 10 pastors working under him provide. Most of these pastors still live in the village they grew up in, and they know the people they are working with well and understand the obstacles they need to overcome. Also, they do an excellent job of incorporating Christianity into Indian culture. Certainly some aspects of it must be discontinued, such as their reverence for Hindu deities or Sikh gurus, but much of it should still be retained. Most of the struggling churched we visited on this trip were established by British Methodist missionaries at the turn of the century, and not much has changed in those churches since. Attending large, vaulted ceiling churches with pastors wearing long robes before lighted candles singing old English hymns translated into Hindi is difficult for many Indians to adopt. Here, pastors showing up in a village, informally waiting for a crowd to gather in local homes, everyone sitting on the floor, clapping and singing Hindi style songs and sharing testimonies is natural for them. Christianity can become their life, as Indians, without the obstacles of having to also meet the prerequisite of embracing western customs.

Wednesday we survived the long, jarring drive back to Delhi, and that evening and all of yesterday had a delightful time with our translator, Max, and his family.

So that brings us to today. It is our last day in India - tonight we board our plane for the U.S. I am both excited and sad at the same time. More than ever, I have been so impressed with great need there is in northern India. With 300 million people living in the northern Ganges plain - the population of the United States - hardly more than 20,000 Christians are actively working there. This makes it the largest concentration of people with the the least amount of Christian work in the entire world. Truly, God must be so sorrowful, longing for all these precious people to experience all that He meant them to be. I pray that I would never forget, that this burden would always be fresh and impact my heart the way it must burden God’s.

P.S. Sorry I still don't have time to post any pictures. Once I get home, I'll post like 20 of my favorites. And then, I probably will not update my blog for like another 4 months...

India

India... vivid, noisy, dirty and yet so beautiful... A land of so many contrasts. As we stepped out of the Delhi airport, waves of familiar sights, smells and sounds came rushing towards me. After being in a completely new country and culture in China, I was somewhat surprised to find myself almost feeling like I was coming home, or at least to a place I knew well, as we jolted along the Indian highway, dodging motorcycles, rickshaws and huge Tata trucks. We finally reached our hotel around five in the morning, and as I had slept for nearly our entire 8 hour flight from Beijing, I decided not to try to sleep to help adjust to the new time zone.

That afternoon we needed to change some dollars to Indian Rupees, and planned to head to a central part of Delhi where some of the best conversion rates are. As we stepped out of our hotel, two auto-rickshaw drivers eagerly told us they would take us there for a cheap price. We agreed, and so we took off, each holding three members of our family, plus the driver. If you have never ridden in an auto-rickshaw in Delhi, it can be an exhilarating experience. It is like a three wheeled motorcycle with a top, a windshield and open sides. They can go surprisingly fast, and as they fly around sharp corners, dashing between trucks and cars with only a few inches on either side, you have to be sure to keep your limbs inside the rickshaw or face the possibility of an amputation. When we finally screeched to a stop, we were not at the destination agreed on with drivers. They had taken us to some shopping strip, apparently bribed by the owners to get tourists to buy their goods, and refused to take us farther. When we realized any more disputing was futile, we walked the remaining mile or so, trying to shake off numerous beggars and hawkers all along the way.

After exchanging our money and haggling over prices in the markets for some commodities for our trip, we headed back to the office of COI, a Christian organization we work with, and the home of its director. This time we opted to take the Delhi Metro back, and other than all six of us piling into one rickshaw this time to take us from the station to the apartments, and getting lost a few times along the way, our journey back was relatively uneventful.

That evening we had a joyful reunion with some of our great friends here - Nana & Nani, Jojo, and Max and Della. They are such a blessing, and it was great catching up. We had such a good time and it was so good to see them all again.

The next morning, we started early and began strapping our mountain of luggage to the top of our small SUV to head in to the remote, mountainous and almost completely unevangelized province of Uttaranchal. We were so blessed to have Max able to join us, and by 7:15 we were rolling out of Delhi.

The drive is a long, grueling one along a two lane highway with everything from water buffalo drawn carts to bicycles to trucks whizzing by, not necessarily in their lane. It is slow, hard going, with lots of jolting and stopping for the huge potholes and dodging the slower, unconventional vehicles along the way.

For lunch we stopped in a little shop opening up to the main road. As we walked in, I was immediately reminded of how different table manners are in India. None of the tables had been wiped for a month, the floor hadn’t been swept for at least that long, and over on one table a man was sprawled out taking a siesta. When the food was served, no plates were given as the preferred manner of eating is using a chapati - a wheat tortilla like bread - to sop up sauce and scoop up meat and vegetables from a dish shared by all. Bethany exclaimed to me, “Can you imagine how rude this would be back home? Everyone reaching across the table dipping their bread in the same dish and then shoveling it in to your mouth before the sauce runs off!” The food was really good, though, and I think everyone enjoyed the meal, if not the cultural experience.

All this while we had been traveling along a vast, flat plain and it was so refreshing to see the foothills begin poking their heads out of the fog. As we approached them, I was once again amazed at their steepness. The sides of the hills are almost perpendicular to the valleys below, and the trees seem to grow at right angles in an attempt at being horizontal. The cool, crisp air was so invigorating, and the blue sky - the first we had seen since the United States except for in the plane - was a welcome sight.

The steep, narrow road, undulating up the sides of the hills, was even slower going than it had been in the plains, but it provided us the opportunity to pass out Christian tracts and Gospels of John in Hindi to villagers walking along the road or nearby shop keepers, calling out “Ek tofa ap kelia!” (A gift for you). Most seemed interested or even grateful. Pray that the message of Life will touch their hearts, a shaft of Light in the darkness of Hinduism.

As we continued down the road, we came to a place where the traffic had come to a complete stand still. When Max asked someone what was going on, he was told that a Hindu procession was taking place. Max and I ran down the road a little ways to see if we could get a glimpse of it. As we got closer we could hear bells ringing, gongs, enthusiastic chanting and an ominous rhythm beaten out on large drums. They were moving the idol from one shrine to another, and all were so wholehearted and earnest in their commitment to this deity. I was keenly reminded of just how desperately these people are pursuing religion and how fervently they are seeking to fulfill the spiritual vacuum in their hearts. I thought how painful a sight like this must be to God. They fear, revere and even love these gods who not only do nothing for them but even in their legends and stories are just as or more corrupt and perverted than man, while the all perfect God, the One who created them, cares for them, and loves them so passionately above all else is not even acknowledged. How much God must long for them to return that love.

The following day we were once again on the road when torrential sheets of rain began pouring down. The rainy season in this area lasts from about June to September, and each storm can last for several hours or even several days. The roads were starting to get quite slick when a motorcycle came flying around a corner. The roads up here are too narrow to have two lanes, so when one is going around a corner, it is difficult not to drift into the center of the road. When the motorcycle saw us, he braked hard and spun out, falling off his bike and skidding along the road a ways. Fortunately he was not injured except for some minor abrasions and his bike was fine, too. He was very upset, however, and demanded Dad pay him for compensation. Dad refused and started to drive off. I felt bad for the young man, wondering if we had done the right thing, when my thoughts were interrupted by a loud smash and the sound of glass shattering. In his anger, the man threw a brick sized rock into the back window of our SUV. Rachelle and Sarah were sitting in the back, and the rock narrowly missed hitting Rachelle on the head, careening into her shoulder instead. When I looked back, I saw blood all over her from cuts from the shattered glass, and a large piece embedded in her lip. We all praised God for protecting Rachelle from a more serious injury. Later, once we were back on the road again, while Rachelle was leaning across Bethany’s lap holding tissues to her mouth trying to stop the bleeding and while Sarah and I were in the back attempting to keep the rain out of the car with a make shift tarp, I struggled with feelings of discouragement. What were we really here for, anyways? Had we really handled that situation as Christ would have? What if God had allowed that man to have his accident with us so he could have the chance to come into contact with Christians? I felt God was using it to teach me just how important t is to abide in Him, to be tapped into Him for strength and real newness of Life. Without Him, we have nothing to offer; without Him we really can do nothing.

It was getting dark, and so we stopped in a little town we had never been to before for the night. As we were unloading our bags from the top of the car, Dad suddenly pointed to something high above the clouds. When I saw what it was, I stopped short in amazement. Towering far above the valley below was a portion of the Tibetan Himalayas. They were the most beautiful mountains I had ever seen, so sharp and rugged, so insanely high, they appeared to be from another planet, even as if heaven had opened up in the sky. The valley at their bases was around 6,000 feet above sea level while the top of the peaks reached to around 21,000 feet - we could see a 15,000 feet elevation gain. I was so awed by God’s majesty, the smallness and insignificance of man, and yet the fact that the same immensely powerful God who formed these magnificent peaks cares for us above all else on earth. The words from a song ran over and over in my mind:

From the highest of heights to the depths of the sea
Creation’s revealing Your majesty.
From the colors of fall to the fragrance of spring
Every creature unique in the song that it sings
All exclaiming

Indescribable! Uncontainable!
You placed the stars in the sky and You know them by name
You are amazing, God!
All powerful! Untamable!
Awestruck we fall to our knees as we humbly proclaim
You are amazing, God!

Who has told every lightning bolt where it should go?
Or seen heavenly storehouses laden with snow?
Who imagined the sun and gave source to its light?
Yet conceals it to bring us the coolest of nights?
None can fathom

Indescribable! Uncontainable!
You placed the stars in the sky and You know them by name
You are amazing, God!
Incomparable! Unchangeable!
You see the depths of my heart and You loved me the same
You are amazing, God!

P.S. The only internet cafe here is really slow, but I'll try to post some pictures later.

Last Days in China

A lot has happened since my last blog entry. For our last day in Beijing, we visited the Summer Palace, a huge, beautiful park on the outskirts of the city built hundreds of years ago as a place of respite during the hot summer months for the royal family. In the center lies a lovely lake enclosed by massive and yet elegant water lilies. Running along one side of the lake is a long hall, covered with over 8,000 paintings exhibiting graceful, enchanting classical Chinese art.

That evening we boarded a plane for Chengdu, a large city in central China where a friend of ours is working with an organization called Global Tribes Outreach (GTO). We had packed around 200 pounds of Chinese Bibles in our check in luggage to bring there from the U.S., and since it is illegal to distribute any Christian literature in China except for that approved by the government, we were all nervous that there might be complications at the multiple security checkpoints. The bags passed through each one with no problems, and we all breathed a pray of thanks when we safely reached Chengdu with all the Bibles.

The next three days were filled with catching up with old friends, getting to know the GTO missionaries and observing their work there, and experiencing the unique culture and cuisine of the area. Chinese believe the more exotic the meat, the better it is for you, and I promise I had never before seen so many strange things consumed as food, and food they presumably enjoyed. Long, squiggly octopus tentacles impaled on a shish-kabob and grilled were avidly slurped up, suction cups and all. Pickled chicken feet are the rave, and slimy brown pig snouts, feet and tails (I didn’t realize pigs even had tails long enough to eat) were delicacies at the meat markets. Fortunately our friends knew the restaurants that served sweet and sour chicken and lo mein, and I had some really good meals there. I also was pleased that I ate three entire meals using only chopsticks, though there was a ring of rice strewn for a one foot radius all around my bowl on the table, and I usually ended my meal not because I was full but due to my exceedingly sore fingers.

On Saturday we visited an old market street where various Chinese arts and crafts were made and sold. It was fascinating to see silk being extracted form the silk worms’ cocoons, spun into string and then made into fabric. We watched an artist create exquisite landscapes using tree bark and paint, blending the two so well that though the paintings conveyed a sense of dimension, you could never discern where the bark ended an where the paint began. Hints of beautiful oriental music wafted throughout the street. When I came closer, it was being played on flute type instrument with a gourd affixed to the top to give it increased resonance. I was mesmerized by it, so soulful and sad and yet tinged with a hopeful, almost magical expectation. As we headed back to our hotel, I was impressed by the Chinese’s love of beauty and a desire for the peaceful and perfect. This is evident in the fine details on their teacups, the intricate carvings on their older buildings, the names they give - Gate of Heavenly Purity, House of Peaceful Longevity, Temple of Perfect Equity - even in their names for the mundane (their word for Coca Cola means “delicious happiness”.) Deep within their culture and their hearts is a longing to transcend the ordinary, commonplace existence of man. They searched for it for centuries in their traditional arts and through Taoist and Confucius ideals without discovering it. Most have given up, attempting to find fulfillment in a successful job and urban lifestyle. If only they could realize these yearnings for the transcendent are not empty desires, but God’s image implanted within them, craving to discover its real existence, its true identity in a relationship with a perfect and complete God.

Sunday morning we joined the GTO missionaries’ worship service in one of their homes, and had a wonderful time. This is illegal for Chinese nationals, and everyone present was American. It is illegal to be a Christian in China unless you attend one of the state approved churches. There is only one of these in Chengdu. Around 800 people attend there, but given Chengdu’s enormous population of 10 million, this is a fraction of the city. Also, you are not allowed to attend if you are under 18 years old. The goal is to prevent children from growing up as Christians and inhibit the next generation from embracing Christianity. In addition to this, very little church participation is encouraged or even allowed, which often turns Christianity into something you observe instead of something you live for, and this often makes it difficult for Christians to have active spiritual lives. For these reasons, multitudes of illegal house churches are springing up all over the country. A spiritual explosion is taking place in China right now like nothing before. Millions are discovering their true purpose and life in Jesus Christ, and it is spreading like wildfire in underground churches. Some estimate there are around 100 million Christians in China, and it is still growing. Along with this tremendous growth is a tremendous need for competent pastors and especially for Chinese Bibles. This huge growth is so exciting, but the support for these Christians and the remaining 1.2 billion people in China is still an incredible mission field.

It was interesting to learn how the GTO missionaries evangelize in a country where it is illegal. They have to use a lot of caution, and their main focus is to support the local house churches. It is a very different approach than the type of evangelism I have done in India - distributing thousands of tracts, hiking into villages and doing Creation to Christ presentations, showing the Jesus movie in Hindi. You have to have a “reason” to be in China if you are a foreigner, so most of them are either studying at a college or running a business there. Evangelism is on a much smaller scale, and personal with friends as you begin to gain their trust. I was encouraged and challenged by the commitment necessary to be effective for Christ in such an environment.

Sunday evenings the young people have dinner at another of the missionaries’ homes and play games. We had a lot of fun getting to know them and learn more about their work here. It also reminded me of the great times we have with friends at home, though, and it brought feelings of homesickness. But I was really glad we were able to come to Chengdu, and get a glimpse into the Christian effort in China.

Monday afternoon we flew back to Beijing to pick up Hindi literature we had left locked up in the airport, and then embarked for New Delhi, India - sort of. We almost missed our plane, racing down the long gate terminals and barely passing through the jet door before it was closed behind us. One hour later, however, we were still sitting on the runway. The reason, given over the intercom in the silted, choppy Chinese accent of a flight attendant, was “technical difficulties”. We later found out one of the jets was not operating at full power, and after another hour in the airport we were transfered to a different airplane. We finally arrived in New Delhi around three in the morning, ready to start the next chapter of our adventure.

The Great Wall of China

What an exciting adventure today has been. We got up a little earlier this morning to embark on a tour of the Great Wall of China. Our bus was to depart at 7:00 am, and when we stepped outside our alley, I noticed a brand new, shiny charter bus parked along the street. I joked to mom, “There’s our bus.” Then to our amazement, we were lead up to and then in it. “Wow. This is for real,” I chuckled.

Beijing is a massive, sprawling metropolis with around 17 million people and it was nearly two hours later until we finally left its last suburbs. The longer we drove, the scenery looked increasingly more like a third world country. The gleaming high rises shrunk to lower, squat buildings with living quarters in the upper stories and small, dirty shops below. More rickshaws, bicycles and pedestrians were common instead of late model sedans. As we passed into a more agricultural area, the countryside strikingly reminded me of farming villages in India. Small, stained homes opening up to courtyards with various domestic animals milling about were dotted throughout acres of corn. Women could be seen husking corn while small groups of old men squatted together in close circles, chatting or playing cards.

As I looked out the high bus windows, I pondered the lives of these people. What do they live for? What are their hopes and dreams for the future? Most imagine happiness and success can be found in an affluent western lifestyle. Chinese are moving to the cities by the droves, hoping to get an education, find a good job and buy a house, car and flat screen TV. If only they could know the emptiness and dissatisfaction that haunts such a life. My heart was heavy for them, wishing they could discover the source of real life, the abundant, ebullient joy within that is so much more than just happiness, and realize their purpose to live in a relationship with Jesus Christ.

As we drew nearer to our destination, we began to get faint glimpses of steep, verdant mountains emerging from the dense fog. Once closer to them, I was shocked at just how sheer the sides actually were. Walls of dense vegetation shot up almost perpendicularly, and then abruptly plunged down over the top of ridge. It was then I noticed the Great Wall, stretching on an on, undulating over the highest ridge as far as the eye could see. I could hardly believe my eyes, incredulously staring as the wall climbed impossibly steep ridges and then plummeted out of sight, only to rise again to the next apex along the ridge.

The Great Wall of China began as a series of smaller walls constructed along China’s northern border to protect against invaders. Some portions dating back to the 6th century B.C., it was expanded upon and later joined into a formidable wall throughout successive dynasties. At its peak during the Ming Dynasty, it spanned approximately 4,100 miles and was guarded by over one million men.

As I climbed along the wall, I was blown away by the tremendous amount of labor that must have been required to accomplish such a feat. It was pretty hard work just hiking along the top of the wall - I couldn’t imagine hauling load upon load of bricks, stone and mortar up the mountainside. The vistas were incredible, and we all immensely enjoyed the fresh mountain air and the exercise after the smog of Beijing.
After walking along the top for about 6 miles, we came to the trail to take down to our bus. As a shortcut, a “cable route” was provided. You are strapped into a harness, clipped onto a cable, and pushed off the edge, hanging 80 or so feet above the river below. Rachelle and I were clipped on together and after the first rush of adrenaline as I fell of the edge, it was a blast. Bethany and Sarah and then Dad and Mom followed, and then we took a small boat back to the bus. It was a terrific way to end an amazing day.

China

Photo courtesy Rachelle Grizzard

Photo courtesy Bethany Grizzard

Photo courtesy Bethany Grizzard

Wow. It’s hard to believe we are really in Beijing, China. The last three days blur in my memory, but I’ll try to relate some of our experiences thus far.

We left Denver for San Francisco Monday morning, laden down with 11 check in bags, just one shy of our total limit of two per person. The bulk of these are comprised of Christian literature, and nearly every one weighs within a few ounces of their weight limit of 50 pounds. But despite lugging around 500 pounds of baggage, we were able to navigate the airports relatively easily and we were soon in California awaiting our Air China 747 to take us to Beijing.

While in the San Francisco airport, we quickly noticed that we were already the minority. All throughout the terminals, among hundreds of passengers and even employees of the airport shops, Chinese was obviously the most commonly heard language. While in line to grab some lunch at a Burger King, I was trying to tell Dad one of the 4 Chinese phrases I know, “Nee hwua shaw yinwin ma?” (“Do you speak English?”). An ethnic Chinese man in front of us spun around, looking greatly amused and slightly disgusted. I’m sure never in his life had he heard his mother tongue so excruciatingly butchered.

Some 15 hours later we touched down on Chinese soil. To say the Beijing airport, newly renovated in time for the Olympics, was impressive would be an understatement. We walked down vast corridors of granite slabs and expansive ceilings swelling up in a similar design to the Bird’s Nest Olympic stadium, equipped with the latest in technology and aesthetic design. I looked around, noticing in every direction large, colorful posters sporting “Beijing 2008 - One World, One Dream.”

To say that the Chinese script is daunting to decipher would be an even greater understatement - impossible would be a more appropriate description - and we were inexpressibly grateful for the English subtitles to aid us in negotiating the airport.

It really is an exciting time in China’s history. The world is observing the country in the midst of an unfinished revolution. It is in drastic contrast to the Communist Cultural Revolution of the 70’s. Instead of clamming up and isolation, it is throwing the doors wide open to the global market. Instead of destroying the old and traditional, China is attempting to restore it, if for no other reason than tapping in to the prosperous tourist market. And with its enormous population and booming economy, China is undertaking an unprecedented transformation of the country, attempting to modernize and develop at breakneck speeds. In less than 15 years, China has nearly eradicated every trace of the 40 years of stagnant Maoist socialism. Beijing and Shanghai are teeming with new cars, neon lights, state-of-the-art skyscrapers and the latest mobile phones.

But behind the impressive economy and hype, a confusing picture lurks. The gap between rich and poor is better described as a chasm, the government resists any progression to democracy, and restrictions on free speech and access to information are intensifying. As Damian Harper describes it, “The government pays lip service to Marxist-Leninism while knowing that its grip on power may depend purely on embracing capitalism for economic growth.” In the midst of all this, Chinese society gagged by censorship and restrictions struggles for expression and real identity. I believe this is one reason for the incredible growth of Christianity in China. God is using this search for meaning and the spiritual bankruptcy at the heart of their society to cause the Chinese to find true purpose and life in Jesus Christ. Due to the necessity of secrecy for security, it is impossible to know just how many Christians are in China, but many estimate it to be around 100 million. This is equivalent to one third of the population of the United States, but with China’s population topping 1.3 billion, it is still only a thirteenth of the total amount of Chinese. Please pray that the church here would continue to grow and prosper, and that Christian materials so desperately needed could make it into the hands of Christians.

As we attempted to secure a taxi driver and haggle over the fare to bring us to our hostel, I became painfully aware of just how little I know of the language and culture. Since I was 12, I have only spent time in a country where the predominant language was either Spanish or Hindi. It was amazing to discover what a difference knowing just a few words and phrases in those languages makes in day to day travel.

Fortunately Dad had the phone number to the hostel we were to stay at, so the taxi driver, who knew no English, could call the manager and ask her for directions. When we finally stopped in front of a dark alley and were told this was the place, I couldn’t help but begin mental preparations for some dark, dank rundown operation. The manger came out to usher us down a series of alleys that would not have been too long a walk had it not been for our multitude of heavy bags. When we reached the gate, I was delightfully surprised to find my fears proven quite false. The hostel is designed to mimic classical Chinese architecture, with cozy rooms opening up around a lovely courtyard. We ate dinner in the courtyard, savoring wafts from the fragrant plants growing nearby and enjoying the cool summer breeze.

This morning’s adventures began when we decided to seek out breakfast in China. After ambling down several streets we came across a “dumpling” shop. When we came up to the counter to order, I glanced up at the menu - an intimidating series of columns of Chinese characters, almost menacing in their impossibility to be understood. Dad attempted to order with various sounds and gesticulations, but as the waitress was having considerable difficulty making sense of them, we were blessed to have a man who understood a little English help order. We received a steaming tray of these “dumplings” - flat strips of flour filled with vegetables or meat, rolled into a ball and then boiled. A few were quite tasty, depending upon their filling. This ranged from egg and mushroom to broccoli and spinach to pork to fish to shrimp, most of which my stomach was having difficulty mastering for breakfast.

After breakfast we hopped aboard a very crowed, albeit quite new bus and rode to Tien’amen Square. This large concrete expanse is the epitome of Maoist propaganda, with several monuments honoring various communist leaders called “Liberators of China” or “Heroes of the people”. Flanking these on either side are the building in which the communist legislature meets and a museum on the history of China, and on one end of the square one can go see the embalmed body of Mao himself, if so inclined. Surrounding this are remainders of the old Beijing wall built during the Ming dynasty, ironic remnants of a more beautiful and dignified age.

After this we entered the exquisite Forbidden City. Built in the 1400’s, 24 different emperors ruled China from this vast network of walls, palaces, moats, halls and gardens all ornately decorated with intricately carved wood, bronze and marble. Its name was earned because for nearly 600 years no one could enter it unless given express permission by the emperor himself. We had a very enjoyable time wandering through the vast halls and expanses in awe of the mighty empire that once governed this country.

Afterward we decided to stop in a local restaurant for some lunch. While we were there, we attempted to learn the discipline of eating with chopsticks. This, of course, had comical results, much to the amusement of our fellow diners. Finally a couple of them patiently tried to show us how, and when we could finally pick up one grain of rice, we felt like maybe we had started to get the hang of it. The eggplant and rice was good, but the meat seemed a little strange. Sarah was confident our shish-kabobs were comprised of dog meat, which actually, according to one of our guidebooks, “is eaten commonly in Beijing, especially in the winter months.” I can only hope Sarah was wrong...