Solid Joys

We’ve had stunning fall color in Changchun this year. It was a welcome surprise for me compared to last year, when the leaves didn’t turn color–they just turned loose, as winter swooped down upon us at the end of October.

Joyce Kilmer’s poem “Trees” has come to mind.

“I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.”

The early morning air by Hangzhou’s famed West Lake is warm and wet, a layer of white fog hiding the blue-gray mountains that border the water. It’s not the murky green waters that fascinate me; it’s the culture of health and wellness buzzing on the wide walking promenade that rims the lake.

Few of these Chinese have extra fat to burn. Consequently, few jog by or sweat to the beat of loud aerobics music. The exercises engaging them–tai chi, dances with fans or aluminum swords, slow-paced martial arts, gentle stretching with feet or hands propped against ancient trees–promote flexibility, muscle toning, deep breathing, and harmony of mind and body. Even the two happy gray-haired men on inline skates sweep by at a leisurely pace.

Children learn martial arts from old men; rows of middle-aged women wave their arms in synchrony, their silk sleeves rustling. These morning routines are not about elevating the heart rate, but about mildly maintaining the body in a context of traditional community.

Our two-week English Olympics Summer Camp ended August 9, as the Beijing 2008 Summer Olympics began. The English camp, attended by more than 200 Chinese college students and coordinated by more than 30 foreign teachers (from America, Singapore, the Philippines and Russia), promoted English learning and fostered relationship building. Many of the students will treasure the memory of this camp for the rest of their lives, and several will adore the One they met during camp for all eternity.

A winning combination, no matter what country you are in! A new bookstore/cafe opened last week, to which all are invited to come learn through conversation, English corners, and special events about the things that matter most, in life and eternity. We had a dedication ceremony with music and words from those behind the project, and words of praise for the One behind it all.

These are people from my college–my boss, shuttle driver, and wonderful foreign affairs office liaison, who organized a weekend getaway for all the foreign teachers at our school. Americans, Koreans, Japanese and Chinese together enjoyed the beach, a park with rides, and a safari park.

It’s been a week since the earthquake, and the death toll keeps rising. Today at school, we were asked to observe three minutes of silence, from 2:28 to 2:31 (the time of the initial quake last Monday), in memory of the thousands who have died. Lots of fundraising and relief efforts are underway among students and brothers and sisters.

Meanwhile, up here in the Northeast, Spring is still struggling to spring. Today was chilly and rainy, but last Saturday, I spent a sunny hour in a peony garden in full bloom.

The magnitude 7.8 earthquake that struck this afternoon in Sichuan province was a very long way from where I live, so I didn’t feel it, but several of my students are from Sichuan.

I’ve been getting text messages from my students as they hear from home. “My home is gone. Mother is ok, but father is injured.”

Another: “Bad news: my house collapsed! my family are ok! in my hometown about a dozen people died. many houses down! our city is in the worst condition now.”

May this natural disaster open doors for significant conversations.

Have you ever stood on a beach, opened a sack of bread, and offered a morsel to a seagull? The inundation of birds that quickly results is the picture that came to mind today as I stood on the sidewalk outside #53 Middle School. In this case, the English language was the bread, and the 11-, 12-, and 13-year-olds on their lunch break were the gulls besieging the native English speakers.

The kids, who bought us purple popsicles, made no effort to conceal their delight in listening to English spoken by real live foreigners. Many bravely practiced the phrases and questions they’d learned in English class as well as some sentences of their own invention.

“Do you like China?” “What do you do on weekends?” “When are you going back to America?” And, “Will you take us with you?”

The day before Easter, I dyed eggs with a few friends and talked with them about the real meaning of the holiday. It was the first time some had ever heard the whole Story.

Later that same day, some of my students taught me proper dumpling folding techniques.

I and a couple of friends, one Chinese and one American, took a whirlwind trip this week to Shanhaiguan (overnight train rides, with a day of sightseeing in between). In the smallish town of Shanhaiguan, the Great Wall of China ends (or does it begin?), extending 60 feet out into the Yellow Sea’s Bohai Bay. The end part is called “Laolongtou,” which means “Old Dragon’s Head,” because that’s what it looks like. I can see that, although to me it looks like an old dragon’s head made out of Legos.

The three of us were the only ones on the portion of the Great Wall that we climbed at sunrise, a much more serene experience than joining the hordes at the Badaling section near Beijing, which I visited last autumn.

We relished the sunshiny day on the coast and rested our eyes on our Father’s stunning artwork: rugged mountain ranges, yellow-green budding willow trees, sparkling blue-green waters, tan sand, and shimmery blue seashells.

Maybe the best part of the trip, though, was sisterly talks about the One we love most.

And He hears my stumbling tongue, and He knows my dull ears. As I try to learn even a little Chinese, He knows my struggles and my recent discouragement in my slow progress. I’ve started to talk to Him more about it, and He has been bringing into my life some friends, both American and Chinese, to help.

One is Yu Ling. Today, when I “ran into” Yu Ling, a 50-something fellow teacher in my department, she told me to call on her whenever I need help with anything, and she seemed so sincere that I asked if she could come over sometime and teach me to make jiao zi (Chinese dumplings). “Yes! I make very good jiao zi, because my son loves it! It is not easy, but I think you can learn if you practice and take some time.”

“Yes,” I answered. “It seems that many things in China are like that. Including learning Chinese.” She asked if I had a Chinese teacher and how much I paid her, and she told me that she had once taught an American family, and then she offered to teach me–for free! She was serious, too, and went back to my apartment with me right then, and we had a nice conversation and a bit of a lesson. I could tell within just a few minutes that she will be the best Chinese teacher I’ve ever had. She’s a confident, professional educator and, unlike the student-aged teachers I’ve had, she is not afraid to drill me and to correct me. Yet, she’s still kind and encouraging, and for some reason, she seems to enjoy the idea of taking me on as her special project.

He who can make the deaf hear and the dumb speak can also grant me grace to learn a little Chinese.