Flying in the hands of the Maker

by Kevin

We didnt know it, but were about to experience another travel miracle because our lives are in the hands of the maker of heaven.

As we sat down at our gate in Yinchuan, waiting to board our flight, I noticed the sign we dreaded most, "flight delayed." This is was the one circumstance we feared because our two-hour layover in Xi'an didn't leave much leeway for delays. But we figured it was an acceptable risk when we booked because the other available flights all left 4-5 hours earlier. And our Xi'an to Bangkok flight was not only the fastest way for us to get there in one day, but an incredible deal- $150 per person, one way--about half the cost of other options.

When we found out the flight had been pushed back from 12:20 pm to 3:20, we started grasping at straws.

Thankfully we had gotten to the airport more than two hours early, so I quickly used my phone to check if there were any other possible flights we could take that would land in time for ys to make the connection. I remembered that when we were booking there were a couple options that seemed too close for comfort. Indeed there were a few that might possibly get us there in time, but nothing looked promising. The earliest possible arrival was at 2:20. That would give us an hour and five minutes to claim our luggage, check in, get through immigration and security and catch our flight. Not very promising. Another flight would arrive at 2:25 and a third would get in at 2:35. Even worse.

I quickly discovered that if we missed our connection, the earliest we would make it to Bangkok would be the the next day at almost 11 am. We would have to stay overnight in Guangzhoy. Tickets - $334 each. "A thousand dollars," I said pessimisticly, wondering if we would be better off just skipping the days thawing at the beach that we have sorely needed and go straight to our meetings in Chiang Mai.

"Pease God, help us," I prayed quietly. Immediately my mind raced to the travel troubles we had two years ago with Juliana.

Then it went to the story I recently heard about the sovereignty if God and our need to thank him in all circumstances. The story is about a Chinese man living on the border with Mongolia at a time where there were many wars between the countries. One day his horse jumped over the fence and went into Mongolia. The Mongolians stole the horse. The Chinese man's friends came to console him. "Oh what terrible news!" they said. "Why do you think it's bad news?" the Chinese man asked. "Maybe it's a good thing."

After a couple days the mare came back to the man, together with a stallion. The friends came to him and said, "What great news!"

"Why do you think it's good news?" the man asked. "Maybe it's bad news."

Later, while the Chinese man's son was riding the stallion, trying to tame him, he fell and broke his leg. The friends came again. "Oh what terrible news!"

Again the Chinese man said, "Why do you think it's bad news? Maybe it's a good thing."

After a week, another big war broke out between China and Mongolia. A Chinese general came into the town and took all the young men with him to fight in the war. All those young men died, except for the son of the Chinese man. He couldn't go to war because he had broken his leg. The Chinese man told his friends, "See? The things you thought were bad were actually good, and the things you thought were good were bad."

Trevin Wax, The man who told the story, tied it to 1 Thess. 5:16-18:
"Rejoice always. Pray constantly. Give thanks in everything, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."

Really Paul? Give thanks in everything? No matter the circumstance? Even when one delayed flights might cost us more than $1000? Even when we might be adding another day of travel with our sleepy two-year-old?

God's small voice replied, "Even now. Trust me."

Ultimately, We have two ways to respond in difficulty. We can selfishly complain, "why has this happened to me?"  Or trust Romans 8:28: "Everything works together for good for those who love God." As my brother just reminded me, we can take the attitude Joseph had toward his brothers, who sold him as a slave into Egypt.  "Do not be grieved or angry with yourselves because you sold me here. For God sent me before you to preserve life," Genesis 45:5.

This picture puts God in the center, so somehow I know that even the bad things are working out for his glory and my ultimate joy in him, Wax said.

I admit I was struggling. But I trusted. In spite of my crankiness and pessimism about the immediate circumstances, I let go. I knew it was going to be ok. But it still felt like a crisis. And I needed to do my utmost to try and do something. Anything.

I hurried around the airport to see if there was anyone from air china I could talk with, discovering that I would have to go back outside security. Great.

I rushed to the ticket sales area and thankfully one of the women there spoke good english. She wore a China Eastern uniform. Air China had no agents. My expectations were low. My Chinese is getting better but it seemed unlikely that I would be able to persuade the China Eastern agent to see if she could convince Air China to switch us onto the 1:20 China Eastern flight that would land at 2:20. I didn't even have the cute baby card to play. Ruth was still waiting with her at the gate.

Then she broke the news: the 2:20 China eastern flight and the 2:25 Xiamen Air flight only had first class tickets left. Cost- 1200 Rmb each. Almost $200. And we still might not have enough time to make our connection.

She said there was no way Air China would give us the first class seats even though the delay was their fault. However, she was fairly certain that they would switch us onto the China Southern flight- the flight landing five minutes before check-in for our Thailand flight would close. I debated, then decided that it would at least get us closer to our destination. She wrote down the phone number i would need to call, then shook her head and picked up the phone. "I will help you to do this," she said with a smile that hinted, "maybe their English isnt very good." As she called the airline, I checked prices on flights from Xi'an to Bangkok. Amazingly they were the same as from Yinchuan. "A thousand dollars," I thought to myself.

When she confirmed the tickets could be switched, I decided we needed to risk it on the slim possibility that perhaps the Air Asia flight might be delayed. "I think that is the only way we even have the possibility of getting there today," I told Ruth. She and Juliana were still waiting in the secured area, so they needed to hurry out. We were down to about 40 minutes before the flight would leave.

As they switched us onto the new flight, we hit another snag: our luggage was headed for our delayed flight. "Can you get our luggage out in time?" I asked. "We will have it for you in ten minutes, but you must go downstairs to the lobby and wait."

They printed out boarding passes and told us to come back upstairs when we had the luggage.

I gave Ruth my phone and she went to work calling Air Asia to find out if they knew if the flight would be delayed. By the time she got through, I had the luggage in hand and hurried her to the check in desk. They gave us passes allowing us to rush through security because boarding for the flight would soon close. It was a good thing we didn't get onto the flights with first class seats because we would have missed it. As I handed the guard the passports and boarding passes, Ruth was still talking on the phone, discovering that the Air Asia flight appeared to be on-time and that if we missed it,  there was nothing the airline could do. She hung up right as the guard was ready for her to pass the phone thru security.

As we ran to the gate, Juliana in my arms squealed with delight. "We're running!" she yelled joyfully. "We're running!" The sign at the gate said "last call," but we were able to rushed on and find our seats. In the next to last row.

Yet another obstacle. Our next flight might close boarding before we even got off this flight if we had to wait for 200 passengers to exit before us. After takeoff, we explained our situation to a flight attendant. Her English level was low, so she                                                                                 seemed confused about why we would want to be the first to disembark, but we explained that it was the only way it would even be possible for us to make our connection. She said she would see what she could do.

Then we began discussing our options: flights via Guangzhou at 5, 6 or 8. All of which would get us to Bangkok the next day at the earliest. We thought through how, in the inevitable likelihood that we missed our flight, we would first need to book a new flight. Then we would need to hurry and call the guest house we booked at the beach in Thailand so their driver wouldn't start making the three hour drive to pick us up at the Bangkok airport. Then we would need to book a hotel in Guangzhou for tonight.

Then we laid out our plan: we would run through the concourse. Ruth would take the backpack. I would take Juliana. She would go to get the luggage while I ran ahead to the check-in counter. Hopefully it would be among the first off the plane since we were the last to board. We would try and repeat what had just happened: I would run as fast as I could to try to get there in time to check in and get boarding passes without the bags and tell them that my wife would arrive with them a few minutes later.

Did I mention Ruth has had a cold the last few days, so she didn't have a ton of energy.

As we began our decent, the flight attendant returned and ushered us up to three open business class seats. Never sat there before, but apart from a few extra inches of legroom and it being at the front of the plane, it seemed the same as any other seat on the plane.

We rushed off the plane with six minutes left before check-in for our flight would close. Six mintues. Is it even possible to retrieve luggage that quickly, or check-in to a flight? Our main hopes were 1) our Air Asia flight would be delayed or that 2) at least we would be in the right terminal.

Neither happened.

When we landed, we had no idea which terminal we knew we were in Xi'an's terminal 3, but we didn't know if the international terminal had been moved there or if it was where it used to be in terminal 2. And the new terminal is huge. We seemed to be at the farthest end of it.

We were in a movie. One of those old scenes (before security restrictions) where a lovestuck man makes a frantic sprint to the gate in an attempt to try and catch their loved one at the gate, only to miss her as the plane takes off. But in reverse and doubled. We were running out as soon as the door opened.

As I ran, Juliana again giggled her head off. She kept laughing and saying "We're running!" There was nobody in front of us. Just long empty hallway after long empty hallway. Couldn't they have used a closer gate?

After several minutes, winded, I spotted a transfer counter with the first listing of flights. I looked at the flights. Ours was not on it. Every one was domestic. Ours was nowhere to be found. I wasn't sure, but it seemed that waiting for the five people in line would only slow us down further. So I made a guess and turned around: we needed to go to terminal two. Crap. Just then, Ruth was passing me up and we strode into the baggage claim area at the same time. Since she could use a luggage cart to get the luggage and our daughter to the check-in counter, she offered to take Juliana. She could sit on top of the bags and free me up to actually sprint without slowing occasionally to rearrange Juliana in my arms.

I looked out the window and spotted my goal: terminal two. Thankfully I knew what it looked like because of our three years in nearby Weinan. It looked about a kilometer away. I ran. And ran more. I kept running right past the international check-in counters.

Dazed, I asked where Air Asia was. The first woman didn't understand me. The second said "back that way," pointing to the familiar place we often flew from in years past. I hadn't recognized it running in from the new terminal.

I ran. My breath was a simple prayer. "Please."

As I approached, there was nobody in line. All the counters looked closed. A clerk glanced at me and looked away as she walked behind a counter and shuffled some paperwork. I asked if we could still check in for the Air Asia flight. She called over to another man and asked him a question. He looked at his watch and said, "we just closed boarding."

"Our connecting flight was late," I told him between heavy breaths. "I ran all the way from the end of terminal three," pointing out the sweat that stained my t-shirt. "Our first flight was late."

It was 2:54, really my one hope was that it had been delayed.

"Sorry. It is closed," he said. Then he asked, "How many people?"

"Three."

"Ni, ni de lao po he shei?" he moved to Chinese. "You, your wife and who?"

"Wo de nu er. Ta liang sui." I replied. "My daughter. She is two," I added her age in hopes that they might have mercy on us on Juliana's behalf.

 "Do you have bags?" he asked.

"Two."

"Where are they? Are they oversized?"

"No normal sized."

"How heavy? More than 15 kg?"

"17 and 18," I answered. We paid for "20 kg each."

"Where are they?" he asked. I will give them until 3 pm to get here. We can't wait any longer than that. We have already calculated the weight. I do not know if they will allow us to let you on."

I called Ruth. The bags were among the first off the plane. She had just gotten them and was racing over the same kilometer I had just run. With a cold.

"Where are they?" he asked nervously after another minute or two.

It was now 3:00, but there was still a tiny chance. They were printing out our boarding passes and making calls to the pilot and the gate.

"Call her again. We can't wait."

Ruth said they were just outside the terminal.

"They are almost to terminal two. They will be here in a minute."

He sent another worker out to look for her. He spotted her rushing down the corridor.

"I think she is coming," he announced.

The man smiled, but didn't say anything. I told him. "We will run."

They weighed the luggage, boarding passes and we hurried to the next stage - the immigration checkpoint. If I had rememberd that we would need to fill out departure cards I could have done it while waiting for Ruth to run. But I forgot, so Ruth and I scribbled our information onto the cards. It was 3:10. Again, there were no other passengers in the area. Just us.

The guard fumbled through our passports looking for our visas. The Air Asia clerk prodded him to hurry. Then he set them down and just asked, in Chinese, "What is your job." "We are foreign students, studying Chinese."

"Where?" In Ningxia. Yinchuan. Ningxia University."

I scrawled it onto the form and stamped our passports, letting us leave Chinese soil. I wondered for a moment what would happen if we missed the plane. Would they let us back onto Chinese soil? The clerk escorted us on to the Security station, I fumbled to get the tablet computer and camera out of the backpack so we could run it through the metal detector. Then hurried through. Then directed us toward the gate. Thankfully the international terminal is so small that it was right after the security check. They were waiting. The door was still open.

We gave the flight attendant our boarding passes, she welcomed us, ran in and sat down in our seats and laughed. "I can't believe it. That was a miracle," I exclaimed to Ruth as we sat, wanting to give every ounce of glory to God. "We had no business making it onto this flight. God is good."

Within seconds they closed the door. It was 3:18. Three minutes later we were taxing down the runway. Then, just a couple minutes after 3:25, we were in the air. My adrenaline still had barely worn off four hours later as we touched down in the Land of Smiles. Nobody wore bigger smiles than us.

A song blaring through my headphones as I typed this on the plane drew me into worship and contemplation.

"I lean not on my own understanding / My life is in the hands of the maker of heaven / I give it all to you god trusting that you make something beautiful out of me ("Nothing I Hold On To" by Will Reagan and United Pursuit).

Two days later as I post this, I can't attribute our making this flight to anyone but God. The number of things that had to go perfectly for us to make it were overwhelming. Though our faith was smaller than a mustard seed, we held into that tread of hope and He carried us. I truly lean not on my own understanding. But when you place your life in the hands of the Maker of Heaven, miracles can happen. He turns those circumstances we dread into something beautiful because it brings him glory and pleasure.

I also gained a new perspective on the passage in James that says, "faith without action is dead." Had we just sat there when we found out that the first flight was delayed and done nothing we would have missed our chance to experience this blessing. Had we limited our actions to the outcomes that seemed most likely, we'd have given up hope and had no faith. But had we only relied on our faith we'd be stuck. But faith accompanied by action is alive. We acted, showing our tiny glimmer of faith. God opened every possible door to make that flicker of faith flame into fire. "I will show you my faith by what I do," James wrote. I am in no way comparing our saving money and time by catching a flight to Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son, whose offspring God had promised would become as numerous as the stars in heavan, but I do think He wants to bless us abundantly and he wanted to show us a reminder of his love for us.

Granted we'll never know what would have happened had we not acted in faith. Had we thrown up our arms, he could have made another way, but it likely wouldn't have caused us to throw our arms up in worship because it would have have cost us $1000 and taken another day since there were no other flight options to get us in tonight. "I lean not on my own understanding."

A Not-so-Chinese Wedding

The very happy couple

This past weekend we went to Inner Mongolia to attend the wedding of a friend from Yangzhou.  I was happy to hear that she was getting married because even 8 years ago in Yangzhou she was wanting to marry but didn't know if she would find the right guy.  Well, she finally found the right one - a Nigerian man who was teaching in her city!  I was interested to see what their wedding would be like.

We took an overnight train and arrived at 4:30am after very little sleep.  Fortunately, since many people in China travel by overnight train, most hotels will let you check in early in the morning.  Usually not 5am early, but the receptionist had pity on us, so we were able to settle in and get a few more hours sleep.

Our yummy fish stew

My friend was planning to meet us for lunch but she had too many last minute things to do, so she had us meet up with two of her friends who had just come in from Beijing.  They were very nice (and relieved that we spoke Chinese!).  Instead of Inner Mongolian food, we ended up having some kind of traditional Northeastern food I hadn't had before - a big stew cooked in a pot on your table.  The table itself was stone with a fire in the middle.  The waiter came around and added ingredients to the stew and wood to the fire.

At the end of the meal, the girls said they would be going to a rehearsal later today, but they weren't quite sure when or where.  We were wondering where we need to go tomorrow for the wedding, so they both ended up on their phones calling around to see where exactly the wedding was supposed to be.  Fortunately it turned out to be just across the street from our hotel.

The next morning we dressed Juliana in her pretty dress and headed across the street.  Most Chinese weddings are just a banquet with some different rituals included, depending on the part of the country, but the first part of this wedding would be a Christian ceremony similar to American tradition.  A meeting room at a fancy hotel was decorated and chairs were arranged alongside a red-carpeted aisle.  As we came in we were handed small bags of candy, traditional Chinese wedding favors, and a program.  We noticed a poster-sized picture of the bride and groom in traditional wedding photo pose.

The bridesmaids in their fancy white dresses

The wedding started with a procession of the bridal party, the leader announcing each person as they came down.  Leading the group was a 7-8 year old flower girl and flower boy.  They both carried baskets of paper hearts they scattered down the aisle with the help of a mother or aunt who walked along coaching the whole way.  Then came the bridesmaids, all dressed in fancy white gowns, impressive hairstyles, and lots of makeup.  One of the bridesmaids was someone I think I had met a few times in Yangzhou but I really couldn't remember her at all.  Of course, when people get that made-up they tend to look radically different from their normal-life selves.  Finally the bride was escorted down the aisle by her father.  She wore a surprisingly simple and beautiful white dress and veil.  Based on my wedding dress shopping in China, I'd say the commonly applied clothes adage "pretty+pretty=pretty" is only multiplied for wedding finery, so I was surprised to see a dress without large bows, fabric flowers, sequins, or crinoline.

The bride enters with her father

The ceremony was really surprisingly similar to an American wedding.  Everyone sang some songs and the pastor spoke about marriage.  He seemed to spend a lot of time talking about the wife's duty to obey her husband and the couple's duty to continue to care for their parents.  For the sake of the groom's Nigerian friends and a few other foreigners, someone translated most of the wedding into English.  The bride and groom shared their vows in both Chinese and English, exchanged rings, and after lots of prodding, kissed.  The bride and the groom sang a couple of songs for us.  If there is anyone who loves public singing more than Chinese, it may just be Nigerians.

The couple singing together

As in any kind of Chinese ceremony, people talked amongst themselves a bit, but overall the audience was much more attentive than usual.  At least the adult portion.  The kids ran around in the aisle collecting and throwing paper hearts.  Juliana sat on the floor by my chair tearing up all the hearts within reach until an aunty gave her a piece of chocolate.  The aisle was lined with little pillars topped by flower arrangements.  Unfortunately the pillars weren't steady enough to withstand the assault of small children and one behind us was knocked over, depositing the flower arrangement right on my head.  During the middle of the ceremony a small todder wandered up on stage.  The bride smiled and patted his head, and after a few minutes he wandered back off.  I appreciate some decorum and solemness but I can't help but enjoy the relaxed attitude most Chinese have toward children.  They are readily accepted into most parts of life; if they make a little too much noise or run up on stage in the middle of a wedding, it's just not that big of a deal.

Afterward they ask several family and friends to come up and give blessings.  A few days before my friend had said, "Hey, you could say something at the wedding!" and I said, "Um, ok."  So fortunately I had a little advanced warning to find some (hopefully) appropriate things to say.  In a strange turn of events I spoke in Chinese while someone translated me into English!

After the ceremony everyone wanted to get pictures with the bride and groom, then we headed over to the restaurant for the wedding banquet.  We were very surprised to find the banquet was going to be held at a Brazilian barbeque restaurant!  It didn't really seem Chinese or Nigerian, and it certainly wasn't traditional, but it was good.  We helped ourselves to a buffet style mix of Chinese and Western food and then waiters came around to the table and cut off pieces of meat - rib, bacon, tongue...  The especially funny part about this restaurant, a chain we went to once in Weinan, is that the whole restaurant is German themed!  I'm not quite sure where that fits in.

As we ate the bride and groom went around to each table, accompanied by a bridesmaid with a microphone.  They toasted all the guests and the guests said a wish or blessing for the new couple.  In much of China, instead of giving gifts guests bring money in special red envelopes.  A friend from Inner Mongolia had warned me that in her hometown they just forego the red envelopes, though - a bridesmaid waits at the door to collect your money and write down the name and amount in a large book.  This makes it easier to know how much you need to reciprocate later.

I didn't get to see too much of my friend during the weekend.  I expected she would be busy with the wedding, but she really wanted us to come over to their new home after the wedding to visit.  Unfortunately our train left earlier than she thought so by the time the wedding festivities were over, there wasn't enough time.  I was still glad to be able to attend her wedding though.  In a few months we will attend the wedding of another Yangzhou friend - one I expect to be much more traditional.   I am glad to have these friends that I have known for almost 8 years now and have been able to keep up with since we have parted.  Once you become close to someone in China, you have a friend for life.

Sleeping on a Train

My previous experience with trains (and btw, what all trains should look like)

By Juliana (okay, with a little help)

This weekend we went to someplace new for mama's friend's wedding.  The wedding was okay.  There were a few nice things about it like
1) They gave us candy
2) I got to play around with some other kids
3) We got to eat lots of good food.

Mama will probably tell you more about all that but I want to tell you about the Really Important Part: I SLEPT ON A TRAIN!!  I don't know if you know this about me, but kind of like every other toddler on the planet, I love trains.  Real, imagined, Thomas - they are all interesting.  Mama and Daddy were talking about riding on a train and it finally happened.

One night I took a bath, got in my jammies, and then instead of going to bed I put on my outside clothes and boot-shoes and got on a train!!!  Wouldn't it be great if every night were like that?  "It's bedtime...just kidding!  It's train time!!"  Anyway, first we got to ride in a taxi, which is pretty fun in itself. 

I was a little confused when we got to the train station because I couldn't see any trains.  Where were all the trains?  Inside was very big with lots of people, and I walked around and looked and looked for the trains, but some big rails were blocking us from the windows.  Why would they do that?  We walked and waited and I was starting to get pretty sleepy just sitting there (don't judge; I was bored and it was past bedtime), when finally they let us go through the big rails.  And there were some trains!

I'm really sorry to tell you this.  I'd like you to keep your childish innocence, but I feel an obligation to tell you the truth: these trains didn't look like Thomas at all.  Once I got over that disappointment, it was still pretty interesting because they were so big and long and there were people sitting on the train and sleeping on the train!  We climbed on and went into a little room with some small beds and a big window.  I looked out the window and said, "It's a train!  We're riding a train!" for a while because mama and daddy didn't seem to get it.  At least, they weren't nearly excited enough.  I just want them to experience life fully, you know?

Settled down for the night...I fit just right until Mama tried to squish in too

After a while it was just dark and boring outside so I settled down in the bed.  It was just about right...until mama said SHE was supposed to sleep here too!  What?  That's taking the sharing thing a little bit too far, don't you think.  This bed wasn't much wider than my crib, and she doesn't try to come and take that from me!  She put on my little green blanket (a nice touch) and I gave her 40% of the bunk.  Then we settled down to sleep.
I was pretty excited about sleeping on the train.  There was just one problem: when you are sleeping, you miss out on every other thing that is going on in life!!  I'm not the kind of person that wants to go through life missing out on all the great experiences.   So I laid down and thought about riding on a train.  And talked and sang about it too.  I had to pop up and look out the window to make sure I hadn't missed anything exciting in the past couple of minutes.

Sleeping so close to mama wasn't bad either.  I got to play with her hair and her face and her eyes and breathe in all her air and hug her shoulder and her neck and her face.  She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep but I know she wasn't because everytime I poked her face she said, "Go to SLEEP, Juliana."  She didn't sound like she was having as much fun as me (talk about someone who misses out all all of life's great experiences...).  She did giggle a little when I kissed her face for the tenth time, though.

Other than someone trying to steal all my joy, it was pretty fun.  Unfortunately, it was getting pretty late and I just...couldn't...keep my eyes...open.

No matter, approximately 2.5 hours later I woke up completely refreshed and ready to experience life again.  Mama was even less responsive this go around but I successfully evaded sleep for the remainder of the trip.  Mama actually looked a little relieved when we had to get off the train, even though it was only 4:30am.  And I was so cute that the other people in our little room didn't even complain about how much noise I was making.

Looking out the train window

After all that wedding stuff with lots of people wanting to touch me and take my picture, we got back on the train again!  This time it was still light outside and we didn't have to sleep for a long time.  I looked out the window and played with my toys and ate some hot dog and walked around.  The other people in our little room fell sound asleep while I was still singing and playing.  Mama and daddy could really learn something from them.

This time I slept on daddy's bed since he said he wasn't going to sleep anyway.  It's pretty hard to fall asleep on a train.  I finally fell asleep and what do you know - all of a sudden they were waking me up again saying we had to get off the train.  I was very confused and started crying.  They never wake me up!  We had to put on all our outside clothes and get off the train.  It was still dark and mama said it was the middle of the night.  We got in a taxi and went home.  I was happy and excited to be at home and I said, "It's playtime!!"  Mama said it was 2am and that meant it was bedtime.  I got all settled in my own bed.  It was more comfortable than the train bed and nobody was trying to share it with me.  It's not quite as fun as sleeping on a train, but then when you are on a train, who wants to sleep anyway?

Fun with Words

Juliana has been saying a lot of funny things lately.  She likes to talk a lot anyway, and in the past month or two she has gone from just repeating everything we say to experimenting liberally with word and sentence structure.  The other day when she said, "The TV is back there, on the table," I thought, ‘Look at her, learning directional compliments,’ something I practiced not too long ago in Chinese.

Since Juliana is not limited by parts of speech, she comes up with all kinds of useful words.  Her favorite word form is adding -ing to any noun.  For example:
"I rounding!" (spinning in circles)
"Daddy classing." (when he’s at class)
"I louding!" (her favorite - yelling of course).

She likes to imitate the things we say.  "I'm going to class.  Bye," she says, heading for the door.  Or she holds her back and says, "Juliana's back hurts.  I'm going to stretch my back."  After I have been reminding her to do whatever I asked, she often says solemnly, "I need to listen to mama."

She also repeats many things to her dolly.  When dolly is lying on the floor Juliana stands over her saying, "Do you need help?  Say, 'help please,’" before picking her up.  One day I heard her in the other room saying, "Don't hit!  Don't hit!"  I walked in and saw her hitting her left hand with the right, then looking at the right hand saying, "No! Don't hit!"  She went back and forth until each hand was thoroughly scolded.

She is also fond of combining Chinese and English, particularly when speaking with her ayi.  "这是Juliana的!" (This is Juliana's.  She says that a lot.)  She‘s a big fan of the possessive.  One night Juliana was very excited to eat quesadillas. She cried, "It's a quesa-Juliana-dilla!!"

Some others worthy of mention:
Daddy: Do you need a boost?
Juliana:  No, I’m not boosting right now.

Juliana at dinner: “Juliana’s stinky.  Daddy’s SO stinky.  Mama…mama not stinky.”

The other day as we were getting ready to head out, she randomly decided she wanted to pray.  She scrunched her eyes shut and said, "God, Jesus...Mama and Daddy...thank you for friends...and pajamas.  Thank you for couch and chair.  Thank you for God and Jesus.  Thank you for Amen."  She definitely makes us laugh a lot!

Jesus was a two-year-old

By Kevin

This year at Christmas, I'm amazed by the fact that Jesus was once a two-year old. I see him running into a room and yelling, "I'm hiding," then screaming with delight when someone finds him. I find myself picturing Juliana playing with him like she plays with her little friends, running around in circles till he's dizzy, laughing his face off, then tripping over his feet and falling to the ground, crying for Mary to pick him up and hold him. I picture him spread-eagle, sleeping wedged between Mary and Joseph, while they struggle to find an inch of space to sleep.

I see him climbing into Joseph's lap, asking him to tell the story of the Exodus for the hundredth time (what did they do before picture books?). I picture Joseph laughing with Mary about the peculiar phrases he comes up with. "Daddy, I'm Exiting," he says in Aramaic as he tries to play the part of Moses in the Parting of the Red Sea, using a pile of rocks and a bowl of water as his toys. "He's trying to say he's leading the Exodus," they laugh, wondering if he meant it or it was a grammar mistake, after all he has been adding "ing" and "ly" to an awful lot of words lately. Could the Son of God have made Juliana's grammar mistakes as a two-year-old?

All the while he sings Psalms at the top of his lungs while he plays, then pauses, mid song, when he realizes he desperately needs a snack. And they beam with pride as they look at him and wonder just what he will become, just like we wonder with Juliana. I can see him excitedly mimicking the sounds of every donkey, chicken and cat he sees, then laughing when Mom and Dad remind him where he was born. I wonder if he wandered around seemingly unsupervised like the two-year-old in the shop downstairs did last winter, while her parents worked. Or maybe, when Joseph was working with wood and Mary was doing some chore, his grandparents followed closely behind him, forgetting the shame and doubts they had once had about her untimely pregnancy, wondering if her insistence that it was a miraculous conception may have been true.

I wonder if, perhaps, he was like Juliana was this morning -- giddy with uncontainable excitement -- when the Magi came to bring him strange gifts (after all, we don't really know how old he was at that time -- Could have been a newborn. Could have been two -- after all, Herod killed all the kids 2 and under after learning from the Magi that the King of the Jews had been born ). I picture how some Chinese two-year-olds look at a rare foreign face like they've seen a ghost. Would Jesus have been startled if those Magi from the East were Chinese? Persian? Blonde? Or would he have smiled and welcomed them like other two-year-olds, who haven't yet learned to divide people by race. (as a side note - The possibility that they could have been Chinese, which a teammate mentioned reading about, fascinates me. It's for another time, but in Brent Landau's book (which just went on my reading list) Revelation of the Magi: The Lost Tale of the Wise Men's Journey to Bethlehem a Harvard scholar apparently proposed that a recently-translated 8th century Syriac texts suggests they came from China.)


 But more than anything, I'm just as blown away that God would confine himself to the limits of a two-year-old's little body as I am amazed by the fact that he was once a newborn. Maybe it's because I never thought of him as a two-year old before. My mind has followed the Biblical narrative and hop-skipped through his life from the the baby in the manger, to the young boy him lagging behind in Jerusalem making his parents frantic. Then boom, he's about my brother's age, healing the blind and telling people that "blessed are the poor in spirit for they shall inherit the kingdom of God." Then, at my age, he takes the sin of the world upon himself on the cross and days later comes back to life.

I desperately want to fill in those gaps. Not just out of idle curiosity. But because He matters. For the same reason I want to know the stories of what Ruth was like before I knew her. Because those stories shaped who she is. Trying to imagine him at Juliana's age each step of the way is helping me to see all the holes of my knowledge of Him. I pray that He can fill my imagination to give me a fuller picture of who He really is through the eyes of our two-year-old.

Foreign Experts Once Again

It's only been 1.5 years since we were "foreign teachers" (although 2.5 years since I was actually in the classroom), but sometimes I forget how different our life is as foreign students.  Not just our daily activity, but also our status in China.  We certainly still get lots of attention as foreigners, but we live on a campus with close to 100 foreign students, half of whom look noticeably foreign.  People almost get used to us.  As foreign students, we have no prestige.  But as teachers, we actually carry a "Foreign Expert Card," which we sometimes literally use to "pull the foreigner card."

Yesterday we helped with a Christmas program for another university in Yinchuan, and we got a reminder of what it was like to be Foreign Experts again.  We don't know any foreign teachers at that university - there may not be any - but we had a few connections so our team decided to go help out.  This campus was only about a 25 minute bike ride away, but it was pretty far out on the edge of town.  Past long rows of greenhouses and mud sheds.  Past large fields of newly sprouting trees.  Past the fancy new buildings of other college campuses also sprouting up on the edge of town.  No neighborhoods, no shops, no restaurants - just one bus stop down the road and a few fruit sellers by the campus gate.  A group of mini-vans for hire waited on across the road since no taxis come out this way.  Their drivers were gathered around a bonfire, waiting for someone to come along and request their services.

This is not a top-level or even mid-level school.  The students are almost all from small Ningxia towns.  Many of them have probably never seen a foreigner before and most have never talked to one.  The word about the Christmas program spread and the original 70 students mushroomed into a couple hundred.  The teachers scrambled to move us into a new classroom - a large auditorium with stadium seating and giant screens connected to a computer in the front.  This campus was only a year or two old, and it was still looking quite new and fancy.  The teachers ushered us in, eager to show how much they were honored by our presence and wondrously amazed to find we could speak Chinese.  See what I mean?  Prestige.  Nobody treats students this way.

Our friends who were heading up the program talked about some different Christmas traditions and beliefs, interspersed with the whole group coming up to sing several Christmas carols.  When the students spotted our teammate's daughters (Juliana had stayed at home), a couple hundred cell phones whipped out and started snapping pictures.  Each time we came up to sing a Christmas song, the students clapped enthusiastically and took more pictures. 

After the formal presentation was over we moved to different corners of the room for question and answer.  The students shyly gathered around and awkwardly looking at each other hoping someone would talk.  A couple of brave boys came in a little closer and several girls linked arms for moral support. 

One of the brave boys shook my hand and said, "Nice to meet you!  You are very beautiful."  I had to laugh.  I almost forgot how people used to say that all the time.  I'm not being vain, they really did.  Guy and girl students, random grandmas and shopkeepers.  Usually at inappropriate times like when you are trying to have a serious conversation with them or trying to buy milk at the supermarket.  I would be more flattered but mostly they think I am beautiful because I look so foreign and because I have such white skin, which is enviable in China.  And because I have yellow hair and blue eyes.  I don't have either, by the way, but reality does little to sway preconceived notions.

In between awkward pauses the brave boys yell out mildly coherent questions.  They are supposed to be related to Christmas, but we give that up after a few minutes because really any question will be an accomplishment.  The usual questions proceed, in somewhat more garbled English than normal.  They also repeat their questions in Chinese, which is helpful when the English doesn't make a lot of sense.  When in doubt I just make up my own question to answer and they are happy since they don't understand most of what I respond anyway.

When the awkward silences start to build up, I try asking them questions instead.  Where are they from - that's usually easy enough to understand, what year are they -  freshmen, what do they do when they have free time - sleep, shop, one girl said "farm work.

Over in Kevin's group, the students are even more intimidated by the thought of trying to talk to two guys.  Kevin looms about two heads above the group.  The students are all too shy to ask questions, so their teacher starts ask questions for them.  "These students are not very good," she says, "Their English scores on the GaoKao (the huge standardized test to get into university) were around 30 out of 150pts."  Not exactly a motivating speech, but if the students even understood, they are probably used to hearing that type of thing.  The main education philosophy seems to include "learn through shame and scolding."  The students know this is not such a great school, but probably some of them are just happy to be going to any college.

I've missed students.  I miss their awkward shyness as they stand around forgetting every word of English they've ever learned but still desperately hoping you'll talk to them.  I miss how intimidated they are just by the foreign face.  They are so cute and so young at 20 going on 15.  I want to get to know them better, especially these students who have likely never been to a city bigger than Yinchuan.  I even miss their dumb questions like, "Can you use chopsticks?" (after I just told them this is my seventh year in China), their ever-repeated questions, "Do you like China?  Do you like Chinese food?", and of course the one that never will die, "How do I improve my oral English?"  I miss even that.

As the time ends and the students file out, they stop to mob us for photos.  Once the photo ops start it's hard to end them, with a dozen more students crowding around waiting to grab your arm and turn you toward the appropriate camera-phone wielding student.  I forgot what it was like to be all famous.  Tonight my picture will go up on twenty more qq or renren pages (kind of like Facebook), probably with some caption like, "My foreign friend!!  Did I mention we are very close?  Like best friends!  p.s. She knows Obama."`

Tale of a Nursling

Note: I am not writing this to make anyone feel bad about whether they nursed or how long; I am writing because I want to share my story of what a great experience nursing can be.


Nursling Baby
Juliana nursed for the first time when she was about half an hour old.  It must have been very comforting, after being thrust into a loud, confusing world, to once again be surrounded by a familiar smell, a familiar taste, and a recognized voice.  Her tiny hands flickered over my skin, and she looked up at me with big, bright eyes.  I could hardly believe she was mine, but she obviously knew I was hers.

The first couple of weeks of breastfeeding were very difficult.  Juliana latched pretty well from the start, but she was jaundiced, so keeping her awake long enough to nurse was nearly impossible.  We took off her clothes and annoyed her in every way possible but she still slept on.  Getting enough milk was important to reduce the jaundice, so the hospital lactation consultant recommended I started pumping and giving her extra feeding from a syringe.  Each feeding I spent 30 minutes trying to wake her up enough to nurse her, then I spent 30 minutes painfully pumping while Kevin fed her tiny bits of colostrum from a syringe.  It was so hard to relax, and the high blood pressure I developed just after leaving the hospital didn‘t help.  She nursed every 2-3 hours during the day and we had to wake her up every 3 hours at night, so there wasn't much of a break before it was time to start over again.

Once the jaundice started to go away, Juliana became more alert and nursing was much smoother.  I was happy to leave the breast pump behind for the most part.  For the first month or two she mostly ate every 2-3 hours, for 30-45 minutes each time, and I felt like I was nursing all the time.  I read 20 books in the first three months, mostly in the middle of the night!  I also watched a lot of TV, both of which were helpful in allowing me to relax.  Once we both started getting the hang of breastfeeding, it became much easier.  I loved the way Juliana would close her eyes and start rooting around when she was hungry, and she would wail pitifully if she had been hungry for longer than 30 seconds.  I loved the way she predictably drifted off to sleep at the end of every nursing session, too warm and cozy to resist.

I first started nursing in public when Juliana was 5 weeks old and we had a 37 hour flight back to China.  I was a little nervous about it since I still wasn't entirely comfortable with nursing even with no audience, but it went fine.  By the end I felt much more comfortable nursing on airports and airplanes and with people looking over my shoulder.  Nursing isn't as popular in China right now, but people do seem to be a bit more open about it.  When we would have (female) students or teachers over and I was nursing Juliana, they would come sit by me and watch her nurse.

When Juliana was about 2 months old I developed mastitis.  A student took me to see the local doctor and then tried to translate his diagnosis: "He says you have too much milk."  Eventually we were able to translate the word "mastitis" which made things a little clearer, but then he prescribed some medicine I shouldn't take and told me to stop nursing, which I knew I shouldn't do.  After a call to the doctor-aunt of another student and a bit of self diagnosis, I bought some amoxicillin and it started to improve.  Everything I read said that rest was very important…they probably didn't mean "take a 14 hour train to Beijing and then trek across the city on bus and subway."  But Juliana had a 2 month check-up and immunizations, and at least I was able to see a better doctor in Beijing who confirmed that the mastitis was improving.

Once we got past the early days, nursing was pretty easy and I enjoyed it.  I loved the connection I felt with Juliana and the peace I felt knowing I was providing the nutrition and comfort she needed.  She continued to nurse during the night, but a particularly nasty stomach bug forced me to learn to nurse lying down, which was helpful.  She went through several stages of supreme distraction, and there were times when she drove me crazy by picking at my skin.  She learned to do some pretty complex acrobatic moves while nursing, a skill I didn't always enjoy.  But overall, things were going great.  She became a more efficient nurser and started to nurse for 15-20 minutes instead of 30-40, and she wasn't nursing as frequently so it was much easier to schedule going out or being away from her for short periods of time.  She was never on a strict schedule, but she naturally fell into a relatively predictable routine.
 
Nursling Toddler
Shortly after Juliana was born I distinctly remember telling a friend I planned to nurse her until she was about a year old and that was long enough.  I said, "Once she can start asking to nurse, that's a little weird."  Now I have to laugh at how much my thinking has changed.  When she reached the one year mark I thought, "One year is such an arbitrary time.  Just because it's when most people stop nursing doesn't seem like a good enough reason to stop."  So I didn't.  To my surprise, I found that nursing a past-one year old seemed completely normal.

One day Juliana started walking and suddenly I was nursing a toddler, something I would have never seen myself doing before Juliana was born.  But once again, it seemed pretty arbitrary to stop nursing just because she started to walk.  I read more about the benefits of "extended breastfeeding" both for Juliana and myself.  We were both still happy to be nursing, so why stop?  I knew it would seem strange to some people, but fortunately I discovered many friends who had nursed into toddlerhood.

As Juliana started to enjoy drinking cows milk and became less dependent on nursing, I gradually started nursing her less.  By 15-16 months I was just nursing her before bed and first thing in the morning.  It was nice to have more flexibility during the day, and I enjoyed a chance to cuddle with my increasingly active child.  At bedtime when she asked, "Nurse?  Nurse?" it seemed sweet rather than strange.  Sometimes she would stop in the middle of nursing and look up to give me a kiss.  I could tell these times were important to her for a lot more than just nutrition.  In the mornings I brought her into bed with us and enjoyed not having to get up right away at 6am.  Sometimes she would doze off and we'd both get a little more sleep.

Weaning a Nursling
I planned to stop nursing when Juliana was about 2 years old, but it took a little bit to actually get around to it.   I kept thinking, "I guess I should stop nursing," and then I would think, "But why?  We are both still happy with it."  I don't think there is anything naturally strange about nursing a toddler (in fact the worldwide average age for weaning is four!), though I realize it is a bit countercultural.   At some point I think we have to take cultural norms into account, but let's be honest - there is quite a bit about my life that falls outside of the cultural norms!

Around 26 months I decided to stop nursing at night, since Juliana was only nursing for a few minutes.  I usually prayed for her as she nursed, so instead I just held her and prayed with her.  For a few weeks she sometimes asked, "Nurse?"  I would say, "No, we'll just pray together," and she was fine with that.  A few weeks later she randomly, wonderfully started sleeping much later in the morning, so the morning feeding disappeared rather naturally.  Since her entire weaning experience was so gradual, it was never difficult for either of us. 

I admit that I am a little sad to think of this sweet part of our relationship coming to an end.  It is just one more milestone to show how quickly Juliana is growing.   But mostly it seems like the right time for us to let it go.  I am so grateful for the opportunity to nurse Juliana as a baby and a toddler.  I am grateful for all the support from friends and family and doctors who never doubted my decision.  It has been a beautiful experience.

On Gratitude and Growing Green Stuff

This Thanksgiving Day was not the greatest.  We weren't planning to celebrate until the weekend, since we still had class on Thursday, but it still seemed like the day should be a little special, since it was actual Thanksgiving.  I thought maybe I could at least do a little Thanksgiving craft with Juliana.

I picked up a few things around the house and was emptying the trash in Juliana's room when I saw it.  Nasty growing green stuff.  My eyes traveled along the edge of Juliana's windowsill and everywhere I looked the mold was sprouting up again. 

The window in her room is already not the best part of the house – the ridiculously thin inner windows aren't enough to keep out the cold and the landlord is unwilling to fix the broken outer windows, so we constructed our own window replacements with old window screens, thick plastic, tape, some wooden supports, and yes, chopsticks.  The room has been much warmer, but every day the windows cover with condensation...water which drips down into the old windowsill boards.  We re-varnished the boards a few months ago, but they are so cracked and warped that the moisture keeps soaking through,  The radiator is directly underneath the window, so we have our own mold breeding ground.  And it was certainly breeding again.

On Thanksgiving morning as I stood looking at the mold I felt frustrated and defeated.  I was pretty sure that no matter what we did, the mold would just come back.  Suddenly our apartment felt like a giant, toxic mold breeding factory.  The bathroom has no ventilation and is covered with water every time we shower, so it molds.  In the wintertime all the windows cover with condensation (or ice, when it's cold enough), and all the radiators are directly under the windowsills.  Even the kitchen windowsill, which is tile and generally stays pretty cold, manages to produce mold.  Our stupid little stove alcove is almost impossible to keep clean, so in the wintertime it forms frozen mold!

I grabbed my vinegar (the strongest cleaning supply I have around right now) and scoured Juliana's windowsill and then moved on to attack the kitchen.  As I cleaned I thought about what we could do.  Move!!  No, not really.  We have no place to move to, and anyway have already paid rent through July.  But this would mean we'd need to move Juliana out of her room.

Juliana has been coughing for the last two months.  I don't know if the mold is the cause, but I know it's not helping.  When I took her to the doctor the other day he said he though she had an infection and gave her antibiotics.  I hope it is an infection.  I would like it to be that easy to clear up!  But I know doctors like to give antibiotics for just about everything here, so I remain a bit skeptical.  Besides, if you only have to pay 60 cents to see the doctor, doesn't that make you a little leery of their medical advice?

As I spent my Thanksgiving morning cleaning up mold, I did not feel grateful.  I felt frustrated and overwhelmed and angry.  The kind of angry that spreads from one specific area to encompass every wrong recently experienced.

I was angry with this old building that is a mold machine.  I was angry with Chinese builders for not making better buildings that wouldn't turn into mold machines.  I was angry at the landlord for not having higher standards.

I was angry at the doctor for prescribing Juliana medicine that was banned in the US because of possible liver damage.  It's probably the third or fourth time that's happened to us.  I was angry at the whole Chinese medical system.

I was angry with all the people who keep telling us that Juliana is coughing because she's not wearing enough clothes or not drinking enough warm water or that we would dream of giving her cold milk and yogurt.  Doesn't anyone understand germs – and mold?

I was angry at the roaches who have taken us up on the “our home is your home” mentality though I'm quite sure we never extended that invitation.

Of course mold and roaches and poor construction and well-intentioned advice can happen in any country, but somehow this all seemed like CHINA'S FAULT.  This is what we call a “bad China day,” and I hadn't had one of those in a long time.

So here it was Thanksgiving and I was feeling less grateful than I had all year.  I knew I should feel grateful, but that wasn't helping.  Even in the midst of my terrible mood I could recognize that old familiar feeling: entitlement.

It's not enough to have a warm, mostly comfortable home nicer than most people in the world – one large enough that we had another room to move Juliana into – I want a better house.  It's not enough to have medical care when many people have none – I want the standard I am used to.  It's not enough to be surrounded by caring people who are concerned about Juliana – I want their concern to be scientifically accurate!  All these expectations seem entirely reasonable because I am American.  If I just lived in America I could have all these things (more or less), so even though I choose to live outside America I still feel like it is my due.

I can't think of much that is less conducive to gratitude than a sense of entitlement.  It’s pretty ugly, but I find it creeping in much more often than I would like.  For some reason it’s so much easier to recognize the things you don’t have.  This summer we heard several messages related to gratitude and generosity that have been on my mind ever since.  Erwin McManus said, “It is a life of gratitude that makes us whole, overwhelms us with love and moves us to live generous lives."  I really do think that gratitude and generosity are intimately linked.  When we become so busy looking at the small lacks in our own lives, we lose sight of the genuine needs of others.  Entitlement leads to bitterness and stinginess.  Gratitude leads to joy and generosity.

So I’m still working on the generosity thing, trying to keep my small problems, like mold, in perspective.  It may not be ideal or good for our health, but it’s not going to kill us like starvation or unclean water.  I may have spent the day cleaning up mold and rearranging the house, but I have a whole lot to be thankful for.  Like thankfully we got the house moved around before I sprained my ankle! :)

Thanksgiving jiaozi and noodles

By Kevin

She called at 3:30 to ask if we were home and if she could come to see Juliana. The woman we affectionately refer to as the “Bike Lady” (because I met her last year while riding my bike back from a supermarket in the old city 40 minutes away) wanted to bring some instructions for making Chinese medicine for Juliana's cough. She used to just show up at our door without any notice (like a typical Chinese person), but after coming a few times while we were out, she's started calling to make sure we'll be home. I almost said that we were busy because I knew Ayi was about to arrive and take Juliana outside to play. But this was the only day of the week we didn't have tutor time. I was looking forward to a little bit of a break in a busy week, but it was really the best time for her to come.

Twenty minutes later, just after Ayi arrived to watch Juliana and Ruth returned from class, The Bike Lady knocked on the door. We invited her in and she started playing with Juliana, excitedly recounting to Ayi the story of how we met. She marveled at how far along our Chinese has come since we met last spring. She laughed as Juliana sang and danced. “She is so clever,” she said as Juliana sang the words for “Are You Sleeping?” in English, Chinese and French. “It is difficult for adults to learn, but very easy for young children.”

Within twenty minutes, the conversation turned to food. The Bike Lady was asking if Juliana likes to eat Chinese food. “Of course,” we said. “We all love Chinese food.” She made up her mind. “Do you like noodles?” she asked. “Yes.” “Then I will cook you some noodles. I make some good noodles.” Before we could say no, she began making a list of things for Ayi to go and buy at the vegetable market, running down the list of things we had in our kitchen and things that were missing. “They usually don't have many vegetables at home,” Ayi said.

Then she wandered into the kitchen, spotted the dirty dishes leftover from lunch and went straight to work cleaning them. Ruth tried to get her to stop, because she was our guest, but the Bike Lady would have none of it. “We are all a family,” she said. “I want to help.”

We were overwhelmed by her generosity. I couldn't help but be reminded of the ways we are called to care for one another. And I was challenged. How often do we go out of our way to help those around us, even just with a simple thing like washing the dishes for them or offering to make them a meal? Even more, how often do we in turn let someone else serve us? How easy it is for us to get so busy and schedule our time so tightly that we have no room for hospitality. How easy it is for us to feel inconvenienced when someone shows up at our door and miss out on both the chance to bless them and give them an opportunity to bless us.

When Ayi returned, the Bike Lady started going through our cupboards, trying to find the right ingredients for the noodles she wanted to make. I pointed her to the salt, the vinegar and the soy sauce. “Do you have 酱?” she asked. Since 酱 generally means “sauce, I asked,”“What kind of 酱?” “ 酱”she replied. Clearly I was missing something. I told her I wasn't sure. She said it didn't matter. Then she shooed me out of the room and set to work on making the meal, making everything from scratch.

 She laughed at our miscommunication and smiled, “You have both made a lot of progress, but one day we will all be able to understand one another very well.”

With us, Ayi is generally not very talkative, but with the Bike Lady she opened right up, marveling at the way everybody adores Juliana and communication difficulties with us. She eagerly noted how she thought Juliana was “像洋娃娃 (“like a foreign doll”) - a phrase Chinese people often use to describe particularly cute babies.

In think I found out more about Ayi in 10 minutes than I had in the last six months.

The Bike Lady smiled as she placed huge bowls of noodles in front of us. We invited her to join us and she reluctantly agreed, constantly suggesting that Ruth hadn't eaten enough and marveling at Juliana's attempts to use chopsticks.

When the clock struck 6:40, she blew right back out the door. She'd made plans to visit another friend who also lives on campus. A day that began with the strong jolt of an earthquake (4.7 on the Richter scale -- thankfully no damage) ended with a whirlwind.

Perhaps inspired by the Bike Lady, yesterday, Ayi insisted that she make us jiaozi. I hesitated. I told her she didn't need to. It was too much trouble. But she insisted. “You don't eat enough Chinese food,” she said. So tonight, we'll celebrate American Thanksgiving in style with – what else? – Chinese dumplings Saturday with other foreigners in town, we'll eat 火鸡 – fire chicken – turkey). Tonight will be our little version of the first Thanksgiving, with the locals showing the outsiders what to eat. I am reminded that I need to cultivate a heart of gratitude. I need to be thankful for these blessings and so much more.

Smiley two-year-old

Smiley two-year-old, a photo by kevsunblush on Flickr.

Last week China held their National Party Congress to elect a new leader. One of the results was a big crackdown on VPNs, what we use to access Facebook, blogs, or other websites not in favor in China. The Congress is over and we've been hoping for the VPN to start working again, but so far no such luck. In this week of silence, when we have been effectively shut off from the outside virtual world and had to resort to email to contact others. Kevin can still get to all his fantasy sports web pages, an activity which apparently poses no threat to China, but I'm more of a Facebook/blog girl myself. Something important could have happened in a friend's life and I'd never know since they'd just assume I saw it on Facebook. Of course probably all I'm missing is pictures of the food people ate and some inconsequential moments of their lives, but you never know. Somehow I have survived the internet withdrawal, sitting at the computer realizing there is nothing left to do except...study Chinese. Rough.

In our non-virtual, unrecorded world (sometimes referred to as reality), Juliana has been busy absorbing the kindness/politeness messages she has been receiving.

A few days ago I saw her standing over Dolly, who was lying on the floor. She fastened her serious gaze on Dolly and said, “Do you need help? Use your words. 'Help please.'” To my knowledge Dolly did not use her words, but Juliana picked her up anyway.

The next day I heard her yelling, “Stop! Don't hit!” I walked in to see her slap her left hand with her right, then turn to her left hand and say, “No hitting!” She repeated the scenario with the opposite hand until they were both thoroughly chastised.

Today Juliana was talking and laughing to herself in the mirror. She and mirror baby were having quite a nice time until she gave mirror baby a stern look and said, “No! Too loud!” I don't think it harmed their relationship too much though, because in another minute they were back to playing peek-a-boo.

She may not quite have the actions down yet, but it's funny to hear her mimic the things I say.

(p.s. We can't actually get to our blog either, so this blog is brought to you in a round-about way through flickr.)