I’m currently in Bulakan, Bulacan, Philippines, where my squad and I have been busy this month writing a discipleship manual, doing door to door evangelism, and writing a book. The following story is something I contributed to the book, and I wanted to post it here on my blog! It’s from month one in China, but it’s something that even 9 months later is one of my favorite nights on the World Race.
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It doesn’t make much sense that a girl born and raised in the United States would grow up obsessed with the idea of living in Asia, but as soon as the opportunity presented itself, I went for it. At 22 I sent in my application for an 11 month mission trip to 11 different countries in Asia called the World Race, and by 23 I was boarding a flight for Beijing, China.
From the outside looking in, my reason for going seemed crazy—to live with 29 strangers in one country each month, serving various ministries and sharing the Gospel. My possessions consisted of only what I could carry on my back: a weeks worth of clothes, tent, tiny blow up mattress pad, books, empty journals, and my laptop. I wasn’t sure of anything except for my love for the people of Asia and God, and that China was my starting point.
Truthfully, the journey to get there took much more than a 14 hour plane ride—it was the result of heaps of prayer and trust that God would provide the means to bring me there. When I finally set foot in the Beijing airport, I remember the excitement of being in a place far different from any place I’ve ever known. I was quickly introduced to the smothering Beijing smog and the confusion of being a foreigner in a land far from my native tongue, something I’ve since become very used to. The airport was nearly empty and eerily quiet as 29 very jet-lagged Americans grabbed our packs and entered month one of the World Race.
By far my favorite memory in China was a Saturday night when we said yes to a stranger’s invitation to dinner at his private music studio. Earlier that week we met this stranger when he approached us at our ministry site for the month—a second-hand store that used part of its profits to cover the medical bills of children with Leukemia. The first thing I noticed about him was how he dressed so much differently than other Chinese people I had met. His shoulder length black hair was pulled back in a low bun and he wore a neon yellow patterned shirt with black harem pants. He looked like he hung out at any one of the hipster coffee shops in the town I went to college. In very broken English he introduced himself as a local piano teacher named Xiao. To our surprise, he then invited us over to his piano studio that weekend for dinner, so we exchanged contact information. Despite the language barrier, he was really eager to get to know my team and I—with the help of my teammate Jess, who speaks both English and Mandarin.
When Saturday arrived later that week, Xiao and his friends proudly came to pick us up from the store in a Range Rover and a Porche. Sitting in the cars, we nervously exchanged glances as we wondered where this mysteriously cool (and apparently wealthy) stranger was actually taking us. Nonetheless, 10 minutes later pulled up to what looked like a posh condo, but turned out to be the music and art studio where he and his friends taught pottery, painting, and piano classes. There was a large table set up in the living room covered in candles, orchids, and fancy dinnerware. Silently grinning from ear to ear, Xiao stood by proudly as we admired the elaborate dinner decorations. He then shyly disappeared into the kitchen where he and his friends (who he called his “assistants”) were busy preparing dinner.
Still a little skeptical and curious to learn more about this soft-spoken and generous stranger, my teammates and I wandered out of the living room to explore more of the house. Upstairs we found a recording studio and bedrooms that had been converted into classrooms and private studios. Paintings, sketches, and pottery covered the walls and tables. Looking out the window, we laughed when we noticed a full-size Chinese flag set up next to an American flag in the backyard, an unusual and over-the-top gesture of his excitement and hospitality.
The rest of the night took place sitting around the dinner table with Xiao and his friends, pouring glasses of champagne and indulging in ten-too-many homemade dumplings. Our plates were full of salmon ceviche and fresh boiled shrimp as we exchanged little more than full-mouth grins and wordless groans of approval with our new Chinese friends. They felt honored to rub shoulders with a group of traveling Americans, oblivious to the fact that we, too, felt incredibly honored to have crossed paths with generous strangers who gave us a taste of comfort at the beginning of our year-long journey.
The night ended with Xiao modestly approaching the piano bench to show off his talents. We all sat in various places around the living room, eyes and ears fixated on a language we could all understand—music. It wasn’t until that moment that the differences between myself and these strangers from the other side of the world seemed to melt away. For about five minutes there wasn’t a language barrier, and we sat in silent understanding of what was being expressed—longing, loss, joy, resolution. His fingers gracefully swept across the keys and I not only knew but understood—we can look differently, we can speak different languages, and our feet can stand on opposite sides of the world, but God ingrained deep into each of our hearts an impulse and hunger for beauty.
Now, as I write this in the middle of month 10 in the Philippines, I can confidently say that China was one of my favorite months. It wasn’t without unique struggles and challenges, but some of my favorite memories took place in those first four weeks, including that night with Xiao. With China being a closed country, we couldn’t openly evangelize to people or tell them our reason for being there. We got to visit an underground church and spontaneously lead them in singing Amazing Grace (at which point we all realized we only knew the first verse of the song). We had our first taste of Chinese noodles and dumplings—which, even after visiting 10 other Asian countries since then, were definitely some of the best. Also, being a group of white people wearing funny clothes with American accents, we were invited to take a lot of random selfies with the locals who were mesmerized by how we clashed against the communist conformity of Chinese culture.
In the months since Beijing, the 29 strangers I left America with have become my closest friends, I turned 24, and I have a deeper understand of God’s heart for the people in this corner of the world. I’m thankful that China was my first country on this journey, because it sparked in me a passion to eventually come back to Asia and continue loving people here. Perhaps most importantly, I’ve learned that a life following Jesus is rarely boring—sometimes it looks like living in Asia for a year out of a backpack, and sometimes it looks like sharing a meal and music with the coolest artists and musicians in Beijing.
