After our ministry time in China concluded we were able to spend three days in Beijing. It was a great vacation for our squad. We stayed in an amazing hostel in an historic neighborhood. Across the street was one of our favorite evening hangouts, a Western bar and restaurant that served a mean burger and fries, delicious apple pie, and Beijing Beer pints on draft for 8 RMB (6.8 RMB = $1).
Our last night in Beijing was Allison’s (our fearless leader) birthday. Fifty of us packed a restaurant on the corner, then visited our favorite western hangout afterward. Within in an hour about forty of us were up dancing and taking a conga line around the restaurant, out one door and back in the other. Passersby would stop to stare in until we waved them to join, at which time they would promptly continue walking. Four Swedes who were staying in our same hostel even joined our conga line.
Eventually one of our Swedish friends came over to my table and asked “How do you all know each other, how are you friends?” I replied, “Would you believe me if I told you we are all missionaries?” She said, “No!” I told her it was true and quickly put my finger to my lips to indicate it was still a very hush-hush detail until we left the country. She then pointed at my pint of Beijing Beer and, with disbelief said, “But you’re…”. I said, “Yeah, it’s cool.”
On my way out I stopped at their table and told them more about the Race and gave them one last “shhh” concerning our true identity.
I like when I get to challenge some assumptions.
