There's no place/ many places like "home."

Have you ever been unsure where your home is…not because you are lost but because you are found?  As Christians we all have more than one home.  In the words of the old hymn: this world is not my home, I’m just a traveling through… 

Jean and I know the feeling.  We are travelers.  At the moment we are once again “home”: the United States, Minnesota, Bemidji.  But in the past ten months our travels have taken us to a new “home”: China, Henan Province, Xinzheng, Sias University.  When we arrived there ten months ago—this was not home.  We were foreigners in a strange land.  When we left China a few days ago, we left places that have become more familiar than foreign, and we left people who have become more friends and family than strangers.  We are glad to be back at our Stateside home—we have friends and family here as well—but we look forward to our return to China in August.

We have experienced this sense of displacement before: previously we have called “home” both Africa, Liberia, Monrovia; and South Asia, Bangladesh, Savar.  Fellow travelers know the feeling.  We are both homeless, and yet have many homes.  In the words of an early Christian writer (from The Letter to Diognetus, author unknown, date about 200AD)

They [Christians] live in their own countries, but only as aliens. They have a share in everything as citizens, and endure everything as foreigners.  Every foreign land is their fatherland, and yet for them every fatherland is a foreign land.

For Christians every foreign land is a home land and every home land is a foreign land.  Christians can be at home anywhere, but they are never really at home anywhere. 

Where is home? For Christians, it is with our Father and with our heavenly family.  Someday our travels will take us there, and for the first time we will realize the real meaning of the word: home.

Its Not Important-- Part 2

A few weeks ago I posted a blog about the Chinese tendency to keep their personal sorrows private, avoiding the sympathy of friends.  Since then I have added two new examples and learned more about the reasons for this custom.

Here are the new examples:  I made a significant error in calculating the grades of one of my classes.  Fortunately it was just a projected grade I was giving to the students, not an actual grade going on their school records.   I accidently copied the midterm grades from a different class into the spreadsheet for their grades.  Since the other class had done much poorer on their midterms, the result was dropping most of the projected grades of this class by about 5%.  I only discovered the error when a student came to ask me why her grade was so low.  I checked and discovered that every grade was wrong and then I found my mistake.  I gave the students a corrected grade projection and then apologized for the error.  The student response: “It doesn’t matter.” 

The second example is hearsay.  I am told that students in their senior year, including best friends, do not ask each other about how the search is going for a job after graduation.  The reason: in case the search is not going well they do not want to cause each other sorrow.  So best friends don’t talk about important personal matters.

What I learned regarding the reasons for this custom came in a discussion in one of my classes.

During the break between classes Jean had texted me some sad news: our son-in-law’s best friend was killed in a tragic accident over the weekend.  This news really saddened me.  I wanted to share the news with my class, but I knew that the cultural norm was for me to cover my sadness with a smile and not share with anyone.  But as I sat in the back of the classroom listening to a student presentation my feeling of sadness continued to distract me.  Finally I decided to not follow the custom: to briefly share about the sad news I had just gotten, and to ask if they would help me to understand why it is not normal to share such sad news.

The students immediately began chattering with their seatmates—the sound of discussion that is typical in our classes.  After a couple of minutes I signaled for the discussion to end and asked for volunteers to explain this custom to me.  Several students rose in turn to speak.  This is just a summary of their explanations.

One girl said the custom had to do with saving face.  I asked her to explain, and she said that sorrow is a kind of weakness that people don’t like to show in public.  Another student added that it is each person’s responsibility to bear their own sorrows and not to trouble others.  One boy shared that everyone should share happy things with others and keep the sad things to themselves so that everyone will be happier.  This can lead to a harmonious society.  (All Chinese frequently say that everyone’s goal is a harmonious society).  Another student shared that troubles are usually kept within the family and not shared with friends.  But then another student said that when he called his parents he would only tell then the good things and not the unhappy parts of his life, so that they would not worry about him (Maybe college students in the States do that as well!). Perhaps one student summed it all up by saying that Chinese believe that the best way to deal with sorrow is not to talk about it.  They believe that if you talk about sorrow, it gets worse.

After hearing these explanations, I told the class that American culture was different, that we often share our emotions with others, both happy and sad ones, so that our friends can share our joys and sorrows with us.  We like to sympathize and to be sympathized with.  The girl who had translated my question to the class responded to this by asking what an American would do if a friend shared sad news with them.  I replied that the friend would probably give them a hug (hugging is not common in China), say they are sorry to hear the news, and ask if the person wanted to talk about it.  Then the friend would sit and listen while the person told them about their feelings.  I said that Americans believe that the best way to deal with sadness is to talk about it.

After I shared this, one student bravely shared her story.  She said that her parents are divorcing, and she is hurting inside.  But when she tries to share her sadness with her dormmates they just say, “It’s not important”—that phrase again—“don’t worry about it.”  I thanked her for telling us, but I knew that she left the class still having no one to listen to her.  To me, that compounds her sadness.  Jean and I made a point to talk to her later, letting her share about this major crisis in her life.

Jean and I have talked about whether this is just a cultural difference: not right, not wrong, just different.   Maybe I am an ethnocentric American, but I feel the Chinese custom is not good.  Jean and I cannot change their culture, but maybe we can find ways to help the students we know be willing to “rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.”

"It's not important"

After almost a year in China the phrase, “It’s not important,” has become the biggest mystery for me as I try to understand the Chinese culture! 

I have used this blogsite to record a few of the Chinese customs and beliefs that we have learned.  It is fair to say that after a year we know less about the Chinese culture than we knew before—or rather, we realize we know less than we thought we did.  Often Chinese culture seems easy to understand and similar to our western cultures, and then something totally inexplicable happens and we are plunged into the mysteries of the dragon kingdom.  “It’s not important” is such a mystery.

I have heard university students use this phrase half a dozen times.  It always seems extremely inappropriate.  

For example, a month ago, Mary was in our apartment with a dozen other students from my classes.  It was Tuesday evening, my regular “office hours” for students to visit and ask questions about class or just to chat.  Most come to chat.  I asked Mary (I have changed the names of all the students in this blog)  about her three week absence from class in March.  Suppressing her tears, she told me that her father had been killed in an auto accident, and she had been with her family.  I expressed my sorrow at hearing this news and she said, “It’s not important.”

Or, last semester Bill had missed classes for six weeks.  His girl friend had told me he was sick.  When he finally returned to class, I asked about the reason and he explained that he had gone through a series of brain surgeries to deal with a pituitary problem.  I expressed my sympathy for his difficulties, and he said, “It’s not important.”

Bonnie was one of seventeen students who came to our apartment for Jean’s office hours one Thursday evening.  With such a large group we decided to teach them the game of Rhythm.  While we were playing, suddenly Bonnie exclaimed something in Chinese.  Her friends turned to help her.  It seems that a tooth had suddenly popped out of her mouth.  She was bleeding so Jean took her back to the bathroom to clean up.  Then she returned to the group and resumed her seat.  I asked how she was doing, and she said, “It’s not important.”

Victoria is a student in one of my classes.  While I was grading that class’s midterm exams I discovered that Victoria’s exam was missing.  I went to her in class and asked if she could tell me what happened to her exam paper.  She was clearly upset by this news and assured me she had turned in her answer sheet the same as all of the other students.  I promised her that I would do a full-scale search to try to find the missing paper.  Since she looked so nervous, I added that there was no need to worry, that I believed her story, and that everything would be all right.  She replied, “It’s not important.”  (The exam turned up, buried inside a different stack of papers.)

Clearly the phrase “It’s not important”—or the Mandarin equivalent—is commonly used in the culture.  It seems to mean something like, “I’m okay” or “You don’t need to bother about this.”  I think it somehow relates to the Chinese custom of “saving face”—avoiding embarrassment for oneself and others.  Perhaps it is related to the strong sense of humility in the Chinese personality.  There seems to be a sense of not wanting others to know about my sorrows so that they will not be saddened on my account.

The most extreme example of this was told me by another foreign teacher.  One of his students’ mother became seriously ill during her time at the university.  She was quite concerned and was calling her mother frequently.  When her mother died she did not want any of her dormmates to know so she continued making pretend calls to her mother!  I suspect she would have said, “It’s not important.”

Of all the mysteries of the dragon culture, this saying has been the biggest for me.  It strikes me as wrong.  I want to show students that I care for them and their problems, but their culture excludes me (and each other) from their personal sorrows.  In China “personal” means “private”—very private.

In three of the stories above, my response to the phrase “It’s not important” was to say, “It is important because you are important.”  I explained that Americans share their sorrows so that we can comfort each other.  I told them that I care about them and I want them to know that.  They silently listen.  I think they are grateful for my concern—at least I hope so.

Next year, one of my goals in returning to China is to better understand the mystery of “It’s not important.”

The Day I became a True Man

If you could read the Chinese inscription on the monument above (I can’t read it either), you would read: He who has not climbed the Great Wall is not a true man—Chairman Mao Zedong.  On April 15 I became a true man. 

Sias Unversity had two Sports Days on Thursday and Friday making an ideal four day weekend for Jean and me and a student friend (the guy seated beside me in the first picture) to hop the fast train to Beijing.  We had three wonderful days seeing the major historical sites from this ancient capital of the Chinese empire.  We were able to walk through the Forbidden City, the emperor’s gigantic palace.  If we had dared to enter while there was still a reigning emperor we would have been put to death instantly.  Now we wandered and took photos with thousands of other tourists from all over the world.  We toured the Forbidden City with Rob Olson, an Oak Hills alum who lives in Beijing.

Inside the Forbidden City

More impressive than the Forbidden City was the Summer Palace, the smaller palace surrounded by trees and a lake where the royal family went to cool off during the hot summer months.  We were impressed by the story of the empress dowager (the emperor’s mother-in-law) who had him locked inside the summer palace so she could control the government.  Such was politics during the Chinese empire.

The 17 arch bridge at the summer palace

We ate Peking duck in a Beijing restaurant-- very good.  But we avoided some of the foods for sale in a street market.  The photo does not show that the scorpions are still alive and wiggling.  Our friend Rob says he has eaten them before--tastes like chicken. 

The only negative side to our journey was our first night in our hostel.  The hostel was wonderful, an old building typical of the style of houses a century ago.  It was located just a half mile walk from Tianenmen Square.  But the first night was HORRIBLE!  Our room was on the ground floor the furthest from the lobby with a window that looked out on a side alley.  Across the alley was a building under construction.  All night long trucks of bricks pulled up to be unloaded into metal wheelbarrows, less than ten feet from our pillows.  We hardly slept all night.  Our thoughts were not very Christian that night!  Fortunately, the hostel was able to move us to a different room the next day where we slept in peace and quiet the remaining nights of our stay.

A view of the courtyard in the hostel

The Lord God Made Them All!

Look at the billboard in the photo above.  The poem ends with a comma not a period, indicating that there is another line which was not included. Without the next line the poem is not only incomplete but meaningless!  Why, we must ask, are there bright & beautiful things, wise & wonderful things, Creatures great & small?  The poem by Alexander has an answer, but this billboard only has a comma.  Maybe the final line was omitted due to China's official policy of atheism.

The billboard is near the entrance to the Giant Panda Research Center near Chengdu, China.  This was the last stop on our five week travels during the long break between semesters at Sias University.  Our travels took us to Hong Kong, Australia, and Chengdu. 

The highlight was seeing our family: Cheri, Jared and grandkids: Alice, Bethany and Cameron who live in northern Australia.  We had 3 1/2  wonderful weeks with them: hiking, swimming, birthday partying, and joining with their aboriginal friends for church and for Bible study.

The second best part was enjoying all the creatures great and small along the way.  We saw giant pandas, red pandas, wallabies (small kangaroos), crocodiles, pelicans, cockatoos, peacocks, bats, snakes, termite mounds, and various fish, birds and bugs too numerous to name. We didn't see but we got to eat kangaroo and yak. 

I hope you enjoyed seeing a few of the creatures great and small as we saw them on our trip.  We appreciate all things and creatures because we know the completion of the poem.  Because of their Maker, they are bright, beautiful, wise and wonderful!

How sad that for many people in many countries-- not just China-- the poem is still incomplete.  The final line brings completeness to the whole picture. We hope your life-poem ends with more than a comma.  In case you've forgotten how the poem really ends:

All things Bright and Beautiful, All Creatures Great and Small, All things Wise and Wonderful,
The Lord God Made Them All!