"I long to create something that can't be used to keep us passive:
I want to write
a script about pumping, how every pipe
is joined
to every other."
- Adrienne Rich, from her poem "Essential Resources"
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Hospitality
“Hospitality, therefore, means primarily the creation of a free space where the stranger can enter and become a friend instead of an enemy. Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place. It is not to bring men and women over to our side, but to offer freedom not disturbed by dividing lines. It is not to lead our neighbour into a corner where there are no alternatives left, but to open a wide spectrum of options for choice and commitment. It is not an educated intimidation with good books, good stories and good works, but the liberation of fearful hearts so that words can find root and bear ample fruit. It is not a method of making our God and our way into the criteria of happiness, but the opening of an opportunity to others to find their God and their way.
“The paradox of hospitality is that it wants to create emptiness, not a fearful emptiness, but a friendly emptiness where strangers can enter and discover themselves as created free; free to sing their own songs, speak their own languages, dance their own dances; free also to leave and follow their own vocations. Hospitality is not a subtle invitation to adopt the lifestyle of the host, but the gift of a chance for the guest to find his own.”
-Henri Nouwen, Reaching Out
“The paradox of hospitality is that it wants to create emptiness, not a fearful emptiness, but a friendly emptiness where strangers can enter and discover themselves as created free; free to sing their own songs, speak their own languages, dance their own dances; free also to leave and follow their own vocations. Hospitality is not a subtle invitation to adopt the lifestyle of the host, but the gift of a chance for the guest to find his own.”
-Henri Nouwen, Reaching Out
Thursday, May 5, 2011
婆婆走了.. .
My grandmother passed away this evening. It has been over two years since she first entered the hospital for reasons I cannot remember at the moment. This has been a long time coming, and now that it is here, it is difficult to process. All the immediate, more expected emotions had come months before this day. I've been sad for almost two years. After returning from Sichuan, I spent practically every other day by my grandma's side with late nights and early mornings driving back and forth from the hospital to try and give my mother some rest. As my wife and I began to settle in, those daily visits became weekly ones on my way into DC for classes. A year later, with the birth of my beloved son, those weekly visits became monthly ones, and then every other month. These past few months I've kept myself busy with my own life, juggling jobs and raising my own family. In the process, it has become difficult to continue the somewhat unhealthy juggle with my mother's tenacious commitment to caring for my grandma. While there is a sense of relief that my grandmother is finally at rest, there is an equal, if not heavier burden for my beloved mother who has invested two years of her life to taking care of my grandma. This will be a very hard transition for her, and I pray desperately for the Spirit of God to bring peace and strength to her. May I have the wisdom to know how to encourage and care for her.
For almost a year now, I treated every time I saw my grandmother as if it was my last. Every time we parted, i told her how much I lover her and thanked her for making me the person I am, for embodying the most perfect love I could imagine in my childhood. She was the pinnacle of safety for a stormy childhood. The last time I saw her she was sleeping rather comfortably at St Thomas Moore Nursing Home in Hyattsville, MD almost two months ago. I was only with her a few minutes before several nurses came into the room. It was time for her dialysis. They woke her up and moved her from her bed into a large sofa-like wheelchair. I asked if I could accompany them to the dialysis room and stay with her a little bit longer. They agreed and I walked with them through a series of rather cold, concrete halls. All the while i repeated myself, "Grandma, I'm here with you. I'm here. I am praying for you each day. I pray God grants you peace. I love you." I had no idea whether or not she could hear me or process anything I said despite open eyes. They were not able to focus very clearly. It was hard for me to imagine she was still mentally conscious and aware. In many ways, I dearly wanted my grandmother to be in a vegetative state the last few months for fear of the kind of anguish she might be experiencing if she were aware. When we arrived, they began to set up the equipment. I looked deep into my grandma's eyes like i had so many times before, prayed for her, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. As always, I treated it as if it were the last time I would ever see her. This time, it was...
During my sophomore year of college, I had to interview a family member for my world history and civilizations class and write a reflection on it. I chose to interview my grandma and spoke with her over the phone for around 10 minutes. While It did not feel like very long, it was a life changing conversation. It was the first time I got to know my grandma as a person with an entire life behind her instead of just "grandma." It brought me to tears, inspired me, and shined a light on truths typically taken for granted in today's hustle bustle lifestyle. This evening, as I begin to process what the passing of my beloved grandma, I re-read that essay and ponder what my grandma's past means for me and my family's future...
---
Easten Law: CPO 1602
World Civ Seminar
Prof. Woodburn
A Long Way from Home, Yet a Faith that’s Never Changed
The early 1920’s contain some of greatest stresses China has ever experienced both internally and externally. The history books record stories of political, military, and economic intrigue. Yet within these epic tales, there are millions of untold tragedies and triumphs. These are the stories of everyday Chinese men and women who experienced the backlashes of a middle kingdom that was brought to its knees by years of struggle. They are often stories of a slow ascent into the modern world of today. They are almost always stories rooted in family, filial piety, and faith in something more. One of these stories is my Puo Puo’s (Grandma) story. It is a unique tale of the early Christian faith in China, the tragic effects of war, and a never ending commitment to God and family while longing for a home that has yet to be fully realized.
It was a time when great intellectual revolution and hopes for China’s reunification were rising after the May 4th movement in 1919. Yet my family was not so much captivated in the movement. Instead, my great grandfather and great grandmother were some of the first indigenous Chinese evangelists in China. Unlike Watchman Nee or Wang MingDao however, my great grandparents never brought about great stories of Christian heroics. They lived lowly and poor lives traveling while preaching and studying the Word of God. My Puo Puo was the youngest daughter to be born into this family on August 9th, 1922 in a village somewhere in the Hubei province. Shortly after she was born, her father died months later leaving behind his wife, my Puo Puo, three elder sisters, and an older brother. My Puo Puo never knew him, but what she does remember was the intensity of her mother’s faith to continue the good work her husband started. She remembers nights of intense Biblical study in the midst of very poor circumstances. So it is with this faith that my Puo Puo was raised, and it is with this faith that kept her strong in the series of tragedies to follow as Japan began its military campaigns.
1931, Japan invades Manchuria after report of a railroad explosion claimed to be an attack. This event is but the beginning of Japan’s conquest to overtake China. It is during this time that my Puo Puo’s family was separated. As my great grandmother attempted to continue evangelism, my Puo Puo and her siblings were raised in some of the first Chinese Christian boarding schools. The schools were poor and the education was simple. Puo Puo remembers being one of the calmest students in the class. While still a young student in elementary/middle school the boarding schools made emergency moves as Japanese forces advanced westward. As the schools moved so did my Puo Puo. Ultimately all this moving separated her from her mother, brother, and two of her three sisters. It would not be until my Puo Puo safely settled in Taiwan in the early 1940’s before she would be able to contact her lost siblings. She never managed to contact her mother again.
As war raged, Chinese families traveled endlessly to find safety as Japan continued their invasion. Upon ‘graduating’ from school, my Puo Puo went on to teach herself for about a year before meeting my Gon Gon (grandfather). He was a factory worker that had connections with the sister that she managed to stay together with. They married in 1941, and although Gon Gon was not a Christian when married, my Puo Puo made it a point to boast that he became one with time. As my Puo Puo continued traveling in China, two daughters would be born to her. In the midst of the separation and the movement, my Puo Puo seemed to finally find some elements of stability in family.
The US finally defeats Japan and VJ Day is declared in 1945 bringing WWII to an end. By now, my Puo Puo had managed to escape the turmoil’s of war by moving to Taiwan with my Gon Gon for employment purposes. Settling in an apartment in Taipei supplied by my Gon Gon’s company, my Puo Puo began housekeeping and taking care of the children. Life began to calm down and my grandparents began to live a peaceful life away from the civil war between the communists and nationalists.
My Puo Puo began investing in the local church only 5 minutes away from the three room apartment building they lived in. The faith that kept her strong in tragedy was now the faith she wanted to live out to others in service. She always served eagerly in whatever way she was needed; most evidently when she began to learn to play piano at age 30 for daily church Bible studies and prayer meetings. She remembers serving the poor on Saturdays and living in community with other families of the church. Christmas was certainly a special time for my Puo Puo but to the rest of Taiwan, Christmas was little more then an excuse to have a big meal at the western culture’s expense. My Puo Puo would spend her Christmas quietly at a special church service, and provide her children with a new set of clothes. In 1949 the nationalists lost the civil war of China and fled to Taiwan. It was also the year my mother was born. Two sons were later born to my Puo Puo as well. These were times of peace says my Puo Puo, despite the tense political situations and being financially poor herself in many ways. She seemed to find all she needed in the simplicity of her faith and family.
As time continued however, her children began to move to America one by one. A daughter married and followed her husband, and others, like my mother, left to expand their education through college and grad school. They were opportunities my Puo Puo never had. By the early 1980’s all her five children were in the States and my Puo Puo suddenly found little reason to stay in Taiwan. It seemed home was where the heart was and my Puo Puo’s heart was with her children. In 1983 my grandparents moved to America just in time to help my mother bear me. My Puo Puo had little to say about her immigrant experience. To her, nothing felt specifically funny or strange outside of the obvious language barrier and the inconvenience it provided her. She calmly stated that she went to church a lot, continued to study the Word, and played the piano while taking care of me and later, my sister. With little to do in the states, my Puo Puo committed herself to helping her children raise their children and make a home in America for us best she knew how.
Today, my Puo Puo stays with Gon Gon in Chinatown, Washington D.C. in a Chinese retirement home. Her children are all grown up, and few outside of my mother and one uncle make an effort to keep in touch regularly outside of holidays despite the closeness of proximity. They all stay in Maryland. It bothers me to know that fact because my Puo Puo had spent her early years family-less so to speak. With that experience, it was easy to see why my Puo Puo invested so much time, love, and effort into her children and even into me. With all the forced traveling and moving in her life, it seems to me the concept of home was something hard to grasp outside of the family. It breaks my heart to know that even now, home is just out of reach for Puo Puo because family members have moved on attempting to accomplish the American dream.
Despite the disconnection in family these days, as I interviewed my Puo Puo for this paper the same calm she claimed to have throughout the tragedy and triumphs of her life was evident. Although she avoided mentioning any details unless I asked specifically, she would always manage to bring faith into the topic. I think it is because faith was the place she found the peace and safety of a true home. It was faith in Jesus that raised her when her parents and family had gone. It was faith in Jesus that carried her through the harsh realities of war. It was faith in Jesus that encouraged her to raise her family strong and with opportunities she never had. It was faith in Jesus that helped her live out her life in America, a place foreign and in many ways lonely. And it is still faith today that carries her through family disparities. She still finds whatever she needs in Him.
I thank God and praise Him that my mother is one of those children that has committed to taking care of my Puo Puo in her older age. Perhaps it is because my Puo Puo has done so much to help my mother raise my sister and I after my parents’ divorce. Whatever the case, I realize how much I owe to her. Her faith and identity have shaped mine in more ways then I ever knew. When I first asked her in my broken mandarin over the phone to describe her life to me, her only response was, “I was raised in a Christian family, and so I raised a Christian family, and today, you are also a Christian, and that’s all there really is to say.” I had to ask a plethora of follow up questions to attain the information for this paper. Yet understanding the place she comes from makes her opening statement all the more meaningful to me. Yes, I am a Christian. Thank you, Puo Puo, for living a life that really shows me what that means and for raising me in a way that truly prepares me to live it out.
For almost a year now, I treated every time I saw my grandmother as if it was my last. Every time we parted, i told her how much I lover her and thanked her for making me the person I am, for embodying the most perfect love I could imagine in my childhood. She was the pinnacle of safety for a stormy childhood. The last time I saw her she was sleeping rather comfortably at St Thomas Moore Nursing Home in Hyattsville, MD almost two months ago. I was only with her a few minutes before several nurses came into the room. It was time for her dialysis. They woke her up and moved her from her bed into a large sofa-like wheelchair. I asked if I could accompany them to the dialysis room and stay with her a little bit longer. They agreed and I walked with them through a series of rather cold, concrete halls. All the while i repeated myself, "Grandma, I'm here with you. I'm here. I am praying for you each day. I pray God grants you peace. I love you." I had no idea whether or not she could hear me or process anything I said despite open eyes. They were not able to focus very clearly. It was hard for me to imagine she was still mentally conscious and aware. In many ways, I dearly wanted my grandmother to be in a vegetative state the last few months for fear of the kind of anguish she might be experiencing if she were aware. When we arrived, they began to set up the equipment. I looked deep into my grandma's eyes like i had so many times before, prayed for her, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. As always, I treated it as if it were the last time I would ever see her. This time, it was...
During my sophomore year of college, I had to interview a family member for my world history and civilizations class and write a reflection on it. I chose to interview my grandma and spoke with her over the phone for around 10 minutes. While It did not feel like very long, it was a life changing conversation. It was the first time I got to know my grandma as a person with an entire life behind her instead of just "grandma." It brought me to tears, inspired me, and shined a light on truths typically taken for granted in today's hustle bustle lifestyle. This evening, as I begin to process what the passing of my beloved grandma, I re-read that essay and ponder what my grandma's past means for me and my family's future...
---
Easten Law: CPO 1602
World Civ Seminar
Prof. Woodburn
A Long Way from Home, Yet a Faith that’s Never Changed
The early 1920’s contain some of greatest stresses China has ever experienced both internally and externally. The history books record stories of political, military, and economic intrigue. Yet within these epic tales, there are millions of untold tragedies and triumphs. These are the stories of everyday Chinese men and women who experienced the backlashes of a middle kingdom that was brought to its knees by years of struggle. They are often stories of a slow ascent into the modern world of today. They are almost always stories rooted in family, filial piety, and faith in something more. One of these stories is my Puo Puo’s (Grandma) story. It is a unique tale of the early Christian faith in China, the tragic effects of war, and a never ending commitment to God and family while longing for a home that has yet to be fully realized.
It was a time when great intellectual revolution and hopes for China’s reunification were rising after the May 4th movement in 1919. Yet my family was not so much captivated in the movement. Instead, my great grandfather and great grandmother were some of the first indigenous Chinese evangelists in China. Unlike Watchman Nee or Wang MingDao however, my great grandparents never brought about great stories of Christian heroics. They lived lowly and poor lives traveling while preaching and studying the Word of God. My Puo Puo was the youngest daughter to be born into this family on August 9th, 1922 in a village somewhere in the Hubei province. Shortly after she was born, her father died months later leaving behind his wife, my Puo Puo, three elder sisters, and an older brother. My Puo Puo never knew him, but what she does remember was the intensity of her mother’s faith to continue the good work her husband started. She remembers nights of intense Biblical study in the midst of very poor circumstances. So it is with this faith that my Puo Puo was raised, and it is with this faith that kept her strong in the series of tragedies to follow as Japan began its military campaigns.
1931, Japan invades Manchuria after report of a railroad explosion claimed to be an attack. This event is but the beginning of Japan’s conquest to overtake China. It is during this time that my Puo Puo’s family was separated. As my great grandmother attempted to continue evangelism, my Puo Puo and her siblings were raised in some of the first Chinese Christian boarding schools. The schools were poor and the education was simple. Puo Puo remembers being one of the calmest students in the class. While still a young student in elementary/middle school the boarding schools made emergency moves as Japanese forces advanced westward. As the schools moved so did my Puo Puo. Ultimately all this moving separated her from her mother, brother, and two of her three sisters. It would not be until my Puo Puo safely settled in Taiwan in the early 1940’s before she would be able to contact her lost siblings. She never managed to contact her mother again.
As war raged, Chinese families traveled endlessly to find safety as Japan continued their invasion. Upon ‘graduating’ from school, my Puo Puo went on to teach herself for about a year before meeting my Gon Gon (grandfather). He was a factory worker that had connections with the sister that she managed to stay together with. They married in 1941, and although Gon Gon was not a Christian when married, my Puo Puo made it a point to boast that he became one with time. As my Puo Puo continued traveling in China, two daughters would be born to her. In the midst of the separation and the movement, my Puo Puo seemed to finally find some elements of stability in family.
The US finally defeats Japan and VJ Day is declared in 1945 bringing WWII to an end. By now, my Puo Puo had managed to escape the turmoil’s of war by moving to Taiwan with my Gon Gon for employment purposes. Settling in an apartment in Taipei supplied by my Gon Gon’s company, my Puo Puo began housekeeping and taking care of the children. Life began to calm down and my grandparents began to live a peaceful life away from the civil war between the communists and nationalists.
My Puo Puo began investing in the local church only 5 minutes away from the three room apartment building they lived in. The faith that kept her strong in tragedy was now the faith she wanted to live out to others in service. She always served eagerly in whatever way she was needed; most evidently when she began to learn to play piano at age 30 for daily church Bible studies and prayer meetings. She remembers serving the poor on Saturdays and living in community with other families of the church. Christmas was certainly a special time for my Puo Puo but to the rest of Taiwan, Christmas was little more then an excuse to have a big meal at the western culture’s expense. My Puo Puo would spend her Christmas quietly at a special church service, and provide her children with a new set of clothes. In 1949 the nationalists lost the civil war of China and fled to Taiwan. It was also the year my mother was born. Two sons were later born to my Puo Puo as well. These were times of peace says my Puo Puo, despite the tense political situations and being financially poor herself in many ways. She seemed to find all she needed in the simplicity of her faith and family.
As time continued however, her children began to move to America one by one. A daughter married and followed her husband, and others, like my mother, left to expand their education through college and grad school. They were opportunities my Puo Puo never had. By the early 1980’s all her five children were in the States and my Puo Puo suddenly found little reason to stay in Taiwan. It seemed home was where the heart was and my Puo Puo’s heart was with her children. In 1983 my grandparents moved to America just in time to help my mother bear me. My Puo Puo had little to say about her immigrant experience. To her, nothing felt specifically funny or strange outside of the obvious language barrier and the inconvenience it provided her. She calmly stated that she went to church a lot, continued to study the Word, and played the piano while taking care of me and later, my sister. With little to do in the states, my Puo Puo committed herself to helping her children raise their children and make a home in America for us best she knew how.
Today, my Puo Puo stays with Gon Gon in Chinatown, Washington D.C. in a Chinese retirement home. Her children are all grown up, and few outside of my mother and one uncle make an effort to keep in touch regularly outside of holidays despite the closeness of proximity. They all stay in Maryland. It bothers me to know that fact because my Puo Puo had spent her early years family-less so to speak. With that experience, it was easy to see why my Puo Puo invested so much time, love, and effort into her children and even into me. With all the forced traveling and moving in her life, it seems to me the concept of home was something hard to grasp outside of the family. It breaks my heart to know that even now, home is just out of reach for Puo Puo because family members have moved on attempting to accomplish the American dream.
Despite the disconnection in family these days, as I interviewed my Puo Puo for this paper the same calm she claimed to have throughout the tragedy and triumphs of her life was evident. Although she avoided mentioning any details unless I asked specifically, she would always manage to bring faith into the topic. I think it is because faith was the place she found the peace and safety of a true home. It was faith in Jesus that raised her when her parents and family had gone. It was faith in Jesus that carried her through the harsh realities of war. It was faith in Jesus that encouraged her to raise her family strong and with opportunities she never had. It was faith in Jesus that helped her live out her life in America, a place foreign and in many ways lonely. And it is still faith today that carries her through family disparities. She still finds whatever she needs in Him.
I thank God and praise Him that my mother is one of those children that has committed to taking care of my Puo Puo in her older age. Perhaps it is because my Puo Puo has done so much to help my mother raise my sister and I after my parents’ divorce. Whatever the case, I realize how much I owe to her. Her faith and identity have shaped mine in more ways then I ever knew. When I first asked her in my broken mandarin over the phone to describe her life to me, her only response was, “I was raised in a Christian family, and so I raised a Christian family, and today, you are also a Christian, and that’s all there really is to say.” I had to ask a plethora of follow up questions to attain the information for this paper. Yet understanding the place she comes from makes her opening statement all the more meaningful to me. Yes, I am a Christian. Thank you, Puo Puo, for living a life that really shows me what that means and for raising me in a way that truly prepares me to live it out.
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