Can I tell you a story about where I'm from?

I first published this post on August 26, 2017 and I took it down the same day.  It was simply not safe to declare all this so publicly while we were still engaged in missions work in country, which is straight-up illegal activity there.  Since then, our hearts have been broken as we were forced to leave, to flee from this land that we love, from our home of nearly twelve years. Since the original post, I've added a few details about the most recent forces at work in our province, the terrifying and unjust oppression that has ramped up under Chen Quan Guo's leadership since mid 2016.

We've been gone for almost six months now and we are certainly not yet through the deep waters of grief although our own trauma is in the process- the long process- of healing.  But when the grand scale horror of the government's oppression continues to swell, our sorrow does as well.  

This post is a long one, but if you can spare a few extra minutes to read any of it, please skim the lengthy bulk and don't leave without reading the end.  Some of it I wrote as a record of our experiences there- may i never forget!- and to delete it now would break my heart even more.  This whole thing is a mess of emotion.  Our joys and our sorrow and anger all swirled into one swirling story.  

Thank you for treading through this, for letting me share so much of our heart of the love the Father has put in us for His people and the story that He wrote of His faithful care for us.... 

... here.  

I'm from the sixth floor, 98 steps into the sky, #612, where you'll probably be stopped for a chat with a neighbor, or maybe two, on your way up.  And from the patio on the seventh floor with the chimney that delivers the smell of six floors of neighbors below and their tasty, oily cooking.  And if you stand by that chimney, you can see "The Drill Building" far off, tiny, in the distance, and you-can't-beat-'em beautiful sunrises and sunsets.  The pollution accent on those colors sometimes intensifies it, sometimes dulls it. And there's the brightest moonlight I've ever seen anywhere.  (Really, is it the northern latitude?  Something about this city sees glitteringly bright moonlight.  Another magnificent gift.)  

I’m from the dan yuan (stairwell) with the gladdest giant flowers (Hollyhocks!) I’ve ever seen.  Our door’s got the best in the whole complex and we're rightfully proud.  Dark pink, and some almost wine-black, and seven feet tall.  (Or more?) A whole garden patch full.



And the crabapple trees across the driveway.    And the apple trees that line the street out front that bloom in May.  The trees whose fruit is regularly picked by ours and all the neighborhood kids and happily devoured- however ripe or unripe.

I am from an all wool traditional carpet (that smelled like a petting zoo for the first few weeks) on the floor of our living room, and a dear friend cross-stitching the same pattern framing Scripture written in it for our living room wall.

From Polo (the rice dish) and Laghman (the noodle dish) and Kava Manticie (steamed buns with pumpkin and lamb).  And the always staple of nan and tea, boiled lamb meat and spicy kabobs.  

I’m from the street with a handful of butchers who keep their motorcycle truckbeds filled with the next meat still "bahhhhing", on the sidewalk where we walk by.  And only occasionally, from flocks of sheep marching down the street like they're center stage on a parade. 

And the fruit and veggie vendors who are always too close to the carcasses for my taste.   But our veggie "boss" (that's what he's called) is always a cheer to the whole neighborhood... he didn't grumble even when he could barely speak for a severe toothache.  

I’m from the grocery store, the one on my street that's Halal (Muslim clean food only) that's got refrigerators where I can buy frozen chicken (usually, hopefully!), where the local music is always playing loud, and the cashiers all wear the traditional hats embroidered with flowers that too few people wear on the streets anymore.   

And from the big grocery store (that's certainly not Halal) by the Bazaar that sells all the majority people's food... all the squid and fish and shrimp in their shells and more noodles and soy sauce  and vinegar varieties and more meaty animal parts pickled and packaged than I know how to describe.   

And spices.  Everywhere spices.

I'm from "we grow the best watermelon on the planet... and the best cantaloupe and honeydew too."  And surely no other place could be quite so proud of their melons and fruit and food in general.  (Even though there's mainly just three or four meals you'll ever find around here.)

I'm from old ladies, all dressed up, chatting on benches in the center of our complex...  enjoying the sunshine together and watching all the kids.   Where the ladies sometimes like to match with their grandma friends and wear sparkly things, and leggings with pantyhose on top.   




And old men who gather 'round for a good, high-stakes, battle of Chinese checkers.  And by high-stakes, I mean probably a few dollars.

I’m from water outages for a few hours or maybe a few days... "for the subway that’s being built" or "for the crack in the pipe" or "for security reasons maybe" or who knows….  

I’m from a police station every 500 meters across the city.  Five of them within sight of our seventh floor patio.   I’m from spot checks and phone checks and bag checks and sometimes pat-downs at the fastfood, the cell phone shop, and Daddy’s office building all done because  China thinks this is how they'll prevent Xinjiang from becoming the next Syria- ISIS disaster.  And this is just the tip of the iceberg of China's deception that grows far deeper and fouler from here.      

I’m from VPNs for American websites and all our homeschool online sites better run or we’ll have to wait til the middle of the night to talk to customer service about that.  So we’ll probably just drop that class option because this mama is not staying up til the middle of the night for a web site.

I’m from “pay-for-your-electricity in advance” where you put credit on a card and charge up your meter in the hallway downstairs, and in eleven years of this system we still have blackouts that are entirely our own dumb fault because we waited and let it run dry again, and then again.   (Seems like it's usually in the evening, when the shop to recharge is closed.)

I’m from mamas hollering for their kids to come home for dinner after playing all afternoon and they holler like opera singers performing on stage…. “Isai-YAH!!!!” with the last syllable an octave higher than the first and held five times as long.



From where so many children are doted on with all the parental affection you could dream to see....  even though it usually includes love in the form of candy and ice cream from morning til night and not too few local kiddos have black and rotten teeth for all the love.  From where bigger kids  (maybe seven years old on up) play outside all day long, all summer through, and often fend for themselves til evening.  

From where animals are usually treated with very little compassion or consideration, and often downright awful:  rabbits picked up and tossed by their ears, cats and dogs kicked and hit.  And it's normal here and it makes me cry. 

I’m from the land of little emperors, the one-child policy, and I have four children.  Some people look at us as if we’re a non-possibilitiy, a non-reality.   But it’s true, and I love to remind them, “I have four kids and your grandma probably had twice that, am I right?"  

And from a few neighbors who have more kids than I do... whose kids are unregistered, might not go to school and most probably won't ever get a passport (unless they pay the enormous fines for having or for being a 3rd, 4th or 5th child...).   But all Uyghur passports are being held by the government now, for so-called "safe-keeping" which shows another loss of their universally declared human rights.  

From where we're sought out as alien/exotic subjects for onlookers’ photos because of hair and skin and eye color and for our big noses- just like every westerner-  and it still disturbs me even though they mean it as a compliment almost every time.  And I hate that it makes me timid to take photos of my neighbors even though they'd probably think I was heaping up compliments if I did.   I'd feel like a hypocrite.  



I'm from two languages to learn.  One that I could use to communicate well after five months of study (Mandarin) and one that leaves me grappling for meaning and shaking my head after many more years of work....  I'm seven years in on this second language and I still sound like I'm three years old.  I have a Master's degree but having the language level (and it feels like also the intelligence level) of a toddler, is good, haaaard humbling.  

Where I'm from, I daydream of eavesdropping on English.  But what I really hear from voices outside is long shouted-calls for knife sharpening and degreasing stove vents, and early morning and sometimes afternoons- soldiers shouting a block away, obedient replies  to commanding officers.  And always I hear  The Propaganda Song that is played ev.er.y.where (at the bank, office buildings, restaurants, on loud speakers from the police stations on every street corner, on the phone while you should hear ringing...)

I'm from pigeons flying overhead, over the patio when we have dinner up there on summer evenings.  And from the two guys on the building next to us that wave and shout and call their dozens of pigeons home from stretching their wings every morning and evening, snow or shine.

I'm from oppression and racial tension, general hatred, loathsome injustice and smothering, powerless fear.  I'm from tyranny that overrides a constitution and gets himself to be the leader for life.  I'm from approximately one out of ten of the people in our province being detained either in prison or in political re-education centers with no charges, no sentence, no known end date.  (And the number is only increasing.) I'm from living terror.  And yet life must go on and everyone has told me that on the streets, they pretend to be happy, to try to look normal (for surveillance cameras) and in messages on We Chat that are as broadly known and read like billboards.

I'm from "Our lives are not as good as animals. We live in such fear of being called on the phone or hearing a knock on the door when we will be taken away."  Husband taken.  Father gone. Brother, mother taken away.  Fear and powerlessness.

And from "Will you store this artwork I painted?  Authorities told me that a still life with an ancient book or ancient coins or ancient musical instruments is too provocative and unsafe.  Will you keep it for me? I don't want it to be destroyed.  But I don't want to go to prison for it either."  She said it to me, just like that, trembling.  (And not it hangs in our living room, the prized possession of our home.)

I'm from villages abandoned and schools turned to orphanages because so many parents are gone. I'm from some towns where the only people around are grandmas and little children.  Injustice.  God will repay.  

I’m from towns in the south where some girls are still married off in their early teens, where they might be afraid to tell their moms or aunts that they’ve begun to have a period because that makes them marriageable age.  From where very few people boast of having sex outside of marriage but a dozen (or even two or three dozen) marriages in a lifetime is nearly normal... at least it's not unheard of.  From where a young bride may find out after her wedding that she’s a second or a third wife.  (And it’s illegal, to be sure, but it still happens.)

I've given birth to three of our four babies here.  The fourth came at home and it was my scariest, loneliest birth even though my best friend-husband and one more precious friend were there with me, and a sweet midwife who flew in from the states.  And although she was the only fair-haired child for as far as the eye could see, it took days of city-searching and finally a DNA test in the upper chambers of an odd old building just to prove she was ours.  

I'm from more scolding than I can recall or retell... for all the times I showed my ankles, brushed my teeth, drank cool water, ate ____  or stood and walked around in the first weeks after giving birth.   Who else would care for my big kid?  I have no family here. They had no idea...

I’m from mud walls built generations ago in all the towns around this city.  And from the high-tech modern speed train that zooms through the desert and passes a few nearly modern small cities on its way to the east, where modernity increases considerably. 

From endless, countless grapes growing in the lowest elevation city on earth, where you can cook an egg in the sand of the desert as you're surrounded by snow-capped mountains not far in the distance.  From the buses that zigzag the city carrying everyone everywhere.  And from markets of Turkish food imports and Pakistani, Afghan, and Iranian carpets and wooden carvings and glamorous sparkling tea sets.   

I’m from locked gates at every apartment complex and police checkpoints whenever, wherever they deem.   I’m from thick stacks of visa paperwork and health checks and tax documents verification needed every year…  from where everything culturally is opaque to our eyes and understanding.  Be our Help, Lord!

I'm from a land and a people that I deeply, dearly love!  I'm from a people that were made by You, for You.

I’m from more than 99% Muslim.  

From more than 99% who have never heard the Gospel, never known that the Bible exists in their language, never met a Christian or seen a church.  Never heard a promise of God that is good and true and written for them, to them.  Never known a God who is Love.  Never known the Savior.

I'm from "Only one life, twill soon be past.  Only what's done for Christ will last." 

I’m from “my sheep hear my voice and I know them and they follow Me" (John 10:27)  and the wake-up-to-the-alarm truth "No one comes to the Father except through me" (John 14:6).

From the privileged* commission "Go and make disciples of all nations" 
and the call “let us go to him outside the camp and bear the reproach he endured."  (Hebrews 13:13).  

I'm from the promised presence:  "I am with you always."

I'm from the eager expectation of the consummation of all eternal joy: "Let the peoples praise you, Oh God, let all the peoples praise you!"  

From the graced position of His ambassador with the astonishing appeal of God being made through us:  "Be reconciled to God." And from Spurgeon's reminder "If God calls you to be a missionary, don't stoop to be a king."

I'm from the peace that all humanity craves: "He will wipe every tear from their eyes and there will be no more death or mourning or pain."  (Revelation 21:4)

And from the certain hope "Behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, "Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!" (Rev 7:9-10)

And the heritage "May the Lamb of God receive the reward for His sufferings."

I'm from the assurance that "Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved" (Acts 2:21) and the conviction that eternity is real and that the Judge will be just according to His promise in the Word and His provision in the cross.  

I'm from the certainty that the glory of God is worth all that we could possibly dare to give from the fallen brokenness of here and now.

Which is all 

why I’m here, 

this land that I love,

that I’m not 

really 

from.  

* Regarding our privileged commission: David Livingstone said " If a commission by an earthly king is considered an honor, how can a commission by a Heavenly King be considered a sacrifice?" 

(Inspired by a post from Ann V who first introduced me to all the beauty of where she's from.)

Of Grace and Grief and Gratefulness...

I've struggled quite a bit recently with keeping my heart and eyes down on the page here.... keeping my hand on the plow right in front of me, rather than letting my eyes drift to a dream, a fiction future that has no roots in reality.   I wonder how long the Father will keep us here, use us here?  When can we live nearer to family, know the great grands and grandparents and cousins and all better?  When will our kids get to go to a school?  When might our family be able to find a grassy field and run and play together?  When can we buy groceries that we enjoy, pull into the driveway and offload them right into the kitchen?  When can I find any book I need at the library?  When a church? When a home with a yard? When a dog?  When could we call all that our very own?

There's been a bit of a new kind of grieving, a new season of dying to self, for me lately.   I've never had such grown up kids to imagine futures for before... and now that I do, seeing their future here kinda scares me.  Lord, give me faith.  Help me to die to myself and lean hard into You for this.  

For most of the eleven years we've been in China, we've felt like China is home.  We're used to things here... the kids' bunk beds and their own pillows, their favorite toys and books.  We do life here well... at least we're used to living in the rut we've dug for ourselves and it works.  (Though I'm still illiterate!!)

And this is actually a great grace....  What a gift to not be able to call America or our human rights or culture comforts "mine."  Because even for Americans, none of it is promised you or due you or actually, fully yours.  Its a tender help that living here enforces this view of how alien we really are.... It's true:  We don't belong here.  Nothing in this world is Ours.  This is a sweet grace that I pray our kids won't miss being shaped by.

May they, may we, always know that we were made to be pilgrims in this world, made for an unfallen world with our King and Maker as The Glorious Light and Center.  We were made to be in the world and not of it, to be radically serving, radically loving, poured out offerings, exuberant evidence of JOY Himself, undistracted and unhindered- not storing up junk for ourselves here....  May they, may we, be heaven-smitten, cross-captured, simple sheep, delighters in this God of Majesty that made us for Himself, well worn as His image bearers bringing His kingdom down.

a similar scene, taken a few years ago in the south of our province

Two weeks ago, as I was walking home from the veggie shop, I stared into the face of a little beauty whose eyes were right level with mine.  I walked not too far behind her daddy and she stared at me right over his shoulder.   I was a little shocked to think of how deeply I'd miss her, miss all this one day, whenever we might not be here anymore.  

I'd have to find a way to bring it with me.  To capture it and capsulate something of the beauty-wonder-pain-sorrow-joy mix that it is for us to live here....

How could I ever contain in any way what it means that we live here now?  There's no amount of photography or video that could tuck these relationships,  these 360 degrees and depths of sights and smells, these expectations and assumptions of what's so everyday regular here, these experiences into any others in the world....   The six of us, who see it together, who process it and are growing up in our own K ways on this side of the earth while it wildly spins...This is ours, in a way.  (Just like every family gets to say.)  This mess of what we love and what we'd love to leave... this is our home, our place, the city we share with this precious mix of neighbors that will never fully understand, but brokenly fully love, and one day may never be with again anywhere in history, except before the Throne.

As I watched that little girl, I was pierced with grief, grief that was somehow all smothered in gratitude, for the life that the Father has given us in this great city.  Oh may You take our frailty and weakness and every crack in the pots that we are in your hands, and shine through us, Father.  Shine through us, your grace.

Thank You, that giving thanks for this land has been such a healing for my heart in this way, Lord.   Help me to live here, now...   slow and worshipful, rich in relationships, serving with joy.


______


So this has become a new hope for me.  I'm dreaming of and drafting up a few more posts that I want to link together under the label "U-Town".  I hope it will give you insight and joy and fuel prayers for the city and people we love and I hope and trust it will fortify my own heart too....

Summer Adventures {the boys' bike trip}

In May, Matt and I began thinking over what fun we could plan for this summer.  For me, this weighed in kinda heavy with the voices of two wise women who had spoken with a bit of friendly-motherly love to me while we were in the states a few months ago:  "You really need to find a way, a place, to rest your souls there... and enjoy China."

I know well that I run the risk of sounding super complainy and totally unspiritual, but I'll just shoot straight with you:  China is very hard for me to enjoy a lot of times, and I don't know if I've ever felt refreshed, rested after any "time off" here.   We're here for the people but sometimes we get worn out and need a little pause to the action, the translation, the continual adjusting of perspectives. We enjoy sitting across a table for good conversation and knowing and sharing hearts with friends here.  But we don't enjoy being a public spectacle simply for being foreign, my heart sinks for every pile of trash, and my nose scrunches and my skin crawls anytime anyone (especially us girlies) in the family has to use a public bathroom.

But our kids are getting bigger and this seemed like a summer worthy of adventure.  Little did we know our dear friends who are especially drawn to a mountain minority group would plan a bike trip to be among those people... in this spectacular scenery.

the ancient mountain fort of Tashkorgan

Sadly, the biking was too heavy duty and the "ride in the van alongside the cyclers" option was of no interest to our girls, especially Marian, who was confident she'd be car sick the entire week.  

It felt really unfun and totally undesirable to go separate ways for a boys week of adventure a short flight to the south and a girls week a day's train-ride east... but that's what we did. 

The beauty on the bike is one of my best friends here... love this lady and love her love (His love) for the precious Tajik people.

Studly boys.... Isaiah is so grateful to have such a tight group of young men to be with in our city.  

And these two.... I get teary even thinking what to write about my husband.  He's too great a gift to me- generous with encouragement and affection and he serves us so kindly.  And this John Timothy?  What a joy....  he's super committed to his buddy Noah J (who just broke his leg rollerblading!  So glad he made it through the bike trip before he got couch duty for the rest of the summer!)

God's promise.  My treasures.

Our kids' former Chinese tutor, friend to many of the friends on this trip, went along for this journey too.  And I think it was while everyone was gathered for devotions one evening that she came running in, announcing "彩虹, 彩虹!!!"  My boys didn't even know the whole story, but I heard from others: she had decided after earlier rains she'd love to see a rainbow and she prayed for exactly that.  And when it came- doubly so, in radiant brilliance- she just about came undone and spilled over with the joy of this evidence of God's promise... and answer to prayer!

I can't hold off any longer to tell you how blown-away grateful I am for the friend who shared his talent with us in these photos.  Josh, of www.farwestchina.com, is over-the-top in his collection and quality of talents.  Matt really loved connecting with him on this trip and I am crazy thankful to get to appreciate and keep in our family record all the beauty he so fantastically captured of their time.  

Josh has a drone... and our John is pretty starry-eyed over that flyer, just like I am over these photos!

The photo above and below are from another friend who I think snapped these on an iPhone!  The bikers were so excited to "stumble upon" a game of ___  (I forgot the local name but they call it "goat" in English, which is not a very accurate translation- just descriptive of the game.)  These two teams of horsemen are all after the goat carcass, and whoever gets it to their team's goal first wins.   

the Central Asian version of polo (upping the tough-guy-ness, minus the country club)

The first and last day of the trip they were in the biggest city in these parts.... the cultural capital of the people group we love.  Such a great place, such great people!!

We are so glad our boys could have such a great experience, with their dad and their dearest friends, seeing the richness and depth of beauty in this precious people.  May you plant deep in them, Father, a compassion and perseverance like your Son when he came so far to reach us.  And please stoke into flame in their hearts affection for you and ambition to serve the least reached and the most needy.  

And.. here's a video of their trip that Josh also put together.

The Girls' Adventure...

With our boys heading off for a week of cycling, we jumped on a (new) speed train headed for a city with a few girls we know who speak English.  Our girls have been hurting for more fellowship lately...  there are two girls in our town that they dearly love but sometimes two feels terribly few.  We went on a girl hunt, of sorts, and found several great girls for our girls to make some fun memories with.  

This is "Kanbula Forest".... except that there's no forest to it.  Still, it was beautiful.

So fun that they each had a friend come along for this day!  Marian (our most extroverted) told me "This whole trip got a lot better when Aria came along!"  And Vivi was pretty delighted to get to play with the ever-so-silly Keeva E..  And a treat for me too... Ryan (Keeva's daddy) drove and I got to talk long with his adorable wife who I just love, who gave birth just two weeks after our forest drive to the bundle she was carrying...  Welcome sweet Abel! 

winding through Kanbula

The Yellow River with it's rugged beauty cliffs in the distance...

and the mud pit - "quicksand" - they made with all their sloshy jumping!

After two days in town with friends, the girls and I headed out to the mountains for two nights, just the three of us.  They were brave but I think that all of us felt pretty lonely.  Still, it was a really sweet place we got to stay.  (Tibetan prayer flags kinda covered this area.)

They indulged me in a little posey posing... but my photo skills at this time, and still, have not yet appeared!  Where are you Manual Mode Magic abilities?  I'm taking a cheap online class and I'm really trying but I'm having such a hard time getting photos crisply focused!  Still... these girls are pretty cute even with a little fuzz, right?   And if you noticed Vivi's pajamas... she didn't take them off for three days.  Somehow warm clothes for our little girl never made it into the luggage, but pajamas worked.  Perfectly acceptable outer wear....  (and I'm not joking in the least!)

I know this might just sound ridiculous, but it's so very true.  Our normal, outside lives are pretty surrounded with plastic and trash.  This mountain retreat place felt so good to be able to fill up my eyes with natural materials- wood, brick, stone, even thatched roofs- and even with moss growing delicately.  This was one of my favorite things from our time there.  

Here's our little mountain town...  What a name, eh!?

Hello Mr. Yak!

more poor photography... but still sweet girlies.  

When this camel stood up, the girls faces went instantly from "how cool is this!?" to "too high, too wobbly, too scary... get us down!"

We loved our little room.  The girls called it our mountain cottage.

this patio was my favorite

Leaving this mountain town was when we stumbled into one of my favorite moments of our week.  We waited half an hour on the side of the road for the first of two buses we'd need to take toward the city.  When it finally came, I gathered luggage and let the girls hop on ahead of me.  Just as I stepped up to climb in, I heard the whole bus of about 40 people gasp and chuckle with delight.  I'm guessing there were at least a few Tibetan herdsmen on board who hadn't seen any little blondies before.  The whole bus seemed lit up with smiles as we squished our way to the back to find seats... where the girls put their feet up on bundles of mountain herbs and veggies being taken to market.

heading to the pool...

And for our last night away... (actually, our last-last night we slept on the train riding home, but our last stationary night away)...  we stayed in a downright fancy hotel.  It's plain crazy how sparkly this place was, and that we stayed there for the price of La Quinta by the Orlando airport... well, that's crazy too.  Such a treat to get to go swimming and eat a stupendous western breakfast!  And even better than the cushyness of all this, was that somehow our room came with four tickets to breakfast.  I pretty-pleased and the girls smiled big and they said we could invite two young ladies to join us as our "fourth ticket".  Such a gift to get these sweet sisters with us for the morning!

I hope so much that when our girls look back on the memories of this week they'll remember that the three of us can tough our way through hard things, we can trust God together and for each other, we can be content with instant noodles and we can be content with bacon and french toast, and we can step out- even lonely- and see the Father who is always with us, do great things in and through even us.   

Oh, girls, Love Him with all that you are.  There is none more worthy, more glorious, than our Savior!

And I love you too.  Love you so.  Thank you for this special week with you, my treasure girls.  

~ your mama

lately...

The moment of reconciliation...  after some sweet guy was climbing a rock and mom thought he was with dad's group and dad thought... and well... we found him and mom cried and ....

two trees is not quite enough for two hammocks.  

Worth a try... and the boys made a mostly fun hammock war out of the opportunity.  

That this beauty is just an hour and half from our house is a bit shocking.   #magnificentcreation

This is Vivi's "best friend outside our family, because of course Marian is my best friend in our family."

There were lots of cheeks kissed in this little photo shoot and to end it all, both beauties needed a little wipe down.  

our neighbor kids are just exquisite!  Love these little friends!

Sweet ladies... I asked if they're sisters and nope, just friends.  (But matchy friends are especially special!)

She recently heard a challenge of one girl who wanted to jump 1000 times... and she's following hard that way.

Isaiah's always drawn to this- painting Chinese calligraphy at a park with a huge water brush. 

#justlovely!