The moment I stepped off the plane, I knew this city was more than a starting place. This wasn’t just my first destination on the World Race, my home for four weeks. It was the kind of city that sticks with you long after you shake its dust from your shoes.
Maybe it’s just the newness of it all. Beijing is my intro into Asia. There are many moments of confusion and laughter as I observe people going about their daily lives. For instance, the rules of the road in Beijing are as follows: stop at the red lights. What happens in between the red lights is frightening and fascinating to watch. Cars weave in and out of each other, lots of honking, and, hey, just take the sidewalk if that guy in front you won’t move.
Even in the chaos, there are moments when the beauty feels too much to take in. Willow trees line streets, gracefully reaching down towards the ground. On the bus I stare out the window and the soft haze of the city lights glow even through the smog. I analyze street signs and billboards and chocolate wrappers… none of the symbols make sense, and the most ordinary objects become like artwork or secret code.
My team and I take the subway and stand in Tiananmen Square and eat meals whose recipes are based on dishes older than our own country. The people around us are just as interested in taking pictures of us as they are in seeing the Forbidden City. There’s no denying we are far from home.
It’s hard to imagine that this is just the beginning. Beijing is the backdrop for recovering jetlag and finding the courage to welcome brokenness in. I ask myself if I’m really willing to allow God to bring me to a point of only needing Him. A willow tree’s branches reach down towards my hands and I don’t try to push it away. I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into, but I keep saying yes.
