Bay Area 4th of July

Along with San Francisco’s cute, eclectic homes, food-snob restaurants, and beautiful parks, comes a major night life and LBGT culture.  The San Fran values were immediately apparent and a bit overbearing.  We only spent 10 waking hours in the city, so it’s admittedly not a fair representation of the culture or the people.  If a foreigner came to Qingdao and wrote a review of the city after only spending 10 hours there, it’d be pretty offensive. Hence, why I’m not posting this particular blog post on Facebook.  Some dear friends have lived, grown up, or loved visiting the bay area, so I certainly don’t want to share an ignorant view.    

We got in to the city by the evening time and ate dinner near our hotel at an excellent Indian restaurant.  Indian has become a favorite of ours, so we were excited to try out a local place.  The chicken curry with garlic nan bread was delicious and hit the spot. 

After dinner, we wanted to catch the fireworks show.  As we began our trek in that direction I noticed that the city was much dirtier than I expected, with lots of graffiti and trash.  It also felt a bit unsafe.  So, Ben and I set some expectations for our evening:

Amy - “We need to make a deal here.  If we get mugged, you need to give up your iPhone.”

Ben - “Of course. You’re worth more than an iPhone.  What do you have to offer?”

Amy - I’ll give them my 3 Musketeers bar. But I’ll throw it at their face for the element of surprise.”

Ben - “Good!  And I can throw our leftover nan bread at them like ninja stars.” 

Amy - “We got this!”

With full stomachs and a facetious plan for the dark alleys, we were ready to try our hand at holiday evening life in San Francisco.  We waited for a bus to take us near the fireworks, during which I definitely felt like a foreigner.  Very few people where white with English as their first language.  And it felt very comfortable.  The multi-racial and international dynamic of this place is crazy-cool.  People spoke their native tongue with their friends and family, and spoke English to others around them who were not from the same ethnicity.  Some English was perfect, other times it was broken.  Everyone was very kind and patient with everyone else. It did not matter your language, color, or background.  I really enjoyed how different cultures chose to interact with each other.  One black middle aged woman said to a Vietnamese older lady, “I really love your shoes. They look so comfortable.”  The woman replied, “Yes, thank you. They are great.”  Another time, a Chinese man on the bus asks us which stop to get off.  Of course, we take the chance to speak a bit of Chinese with him.  As we reflected on this later, our experience in Minneapolis was not similar.  We saw many different races in Minneapolis, but they rarely interacted with one another.  It’d be interesting to go back to Minneapolis with this in mind to see what it is actually like.  

Some people may ask, “Why is race so important to you?”  In my current lens on life, someone’s culture affects everything I say and do.  If you’re living in white-America, you don’t realize how “being white” is a culture in itself.  In my daily context in China, I cannot view the world only through my lens as a “white, middle class, Midwest, American.  I need to educate myself, appreciate differences, and lay down my preferences for others.  It’s a constant and beautiful thing, and I love learning how to do this better and better.  It’s a way to love them.  It’s an automatic “in” for relationships and gospel conversations. 

Back to San Fran, as the firework bus was approaching, a group of lively black people were asking how to make sure to get on.  (…I was eaves dropping, since it’s really hard not to do that when people speak English in such close quarters).  I laughed and suggested, “You just gotta push!”  One guy joked, “Oh, I’m ready to knock some people over!”  Well, we pushed on the bus… something I’ve never done with a bunch of American strangers.  

Once on the bus, I had a conversation with a woman in that same group of people.  She gripped the pole next to her tightly as the driver hit the break suddenly.   I smiled at her and asked, “You don’t take the bus often, do you?”  

“No, not really.”  

“Are you from around here?”  

“Yeah, I just moved here a few months ago.” 

“Oh, where from?” 

“South Cali.”  

“Oh neat.”  

“How do you guys like the area?” 

“Oh, we are just visiting, but it’s nice.”  

“Where are you from?”  

(It’s always tricky to answer this question)…  “Originally from the Midwest, but we currently live in China.”  

“Really? How do you like China?” 

“It’s great. Very different from here, though.  We do get to ride a lot of buses.” 

“Ha! So you really know what your doing!”  

“Yeah.”  

The firework show was about a half an hour, and a bit disappointing.  Maybe China has ruined me for good firework shows.  It seemed like any given day in January or February during Chinese New Year (especially since it was about 55 degrees outside).  After the show, it was about 10:15, and there was not much else to do.  The crowds were too big (and drunk) to really want to go to a restaurant or bar, which costed money that we didn’t want to spend.  So, we walked with the crowd and did some free things (like people watching!).  I have never seen so many different kinds of people in one place.  

The loud, attention hungry teenagers

The young parents with sleeping kids in strollers

The party hardy millennials

The slower moving elderly

The very apparent LBGT

The many, many homeless

The foreign tourists with maps and large cameras

And the many ethnicities with different language, dress, and social norms including: Arabs, Latinos, Russians, Blacks, Indians, British, Koreans, Germans, Chinese, and the varying types of us white folk.

All on the same bus, the same crowd, talking with one another, joking with one another, asking each other questions, getting along just fine.  I don’t know if this is the norm for everywhere in San Fran, but this seems to reflect the bus culture that we experienced.  In many ways, it’s amazing.  We experience this as expats, but haven’t experienced it in America.  As expats in China, we connect because we are foreigners. We all have one thing in common: We live in China and we are not Chinese.  In San Francisco, it seems that the common point is: We love San Francisco and we want to party.

But, Ben and I…. we are just not partiers.  Neither of us ever have been.  So staying up until 1 a.m. with a loud crowd, smoky rooms, and crude strangers really doesn’t sound like a good time.  And man, were some crude people.  But just like pushing in China is not rude, throwing around the F-bomb doesn’t seem crude in San Francisco.  Every one does it.  And it doesn’t mean much.  I think I heard more F-bombs wandering around San Francisco for 10 hours then I did during my last few De Niro films.  There was also very explicit sexual conversation happening between people in public places.  One woman described “Furries” to a man on the trolly.  I hadn't heard of this before, and without any context, I thought she was talking about a job, something like pet-sitting or dog-walking.  It is in fact, a fantasy-life, believing that one is an animal and dresses as such in the night time.  This has perversions in the sexual-realm as well, and enters into dominatrix like behavior.   Like I said, they were talking in normal volume on the bus about this, and it was quite surprising and disturbing.  Since we were back to our hotel by 11, we didn’t see much partying, but rather saw the “before crowd” finding their way to restaurants, bars, and clubs.  To me, what was most  interesting about it was that, in some way, there is community in it.  

On the bus with us was a young 20 something “white wanna be black” type of guy. He spoke with F-words in place of adjectives and was just rude, loud, and crude.  He asked his friend, across the crowded bus to pass a cigarette back to him.  So they pushed into and reached above the crowd to pass a cigarette, took a draw, handed it back, and then proceeded to spit out the window.  I really wanted to tell him he’s being rude to those around him, but I knew that wouldn’t go very well.  I continued to eavesdrop (‘cause what else can you do, right?), and my attitude towards him began to change.  I really enjoyed the exchange he had (albeit loudly) with a black woman on the other side of the bus.

“Hey you.  Where’d you get your leggings.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, I’m looking at you. Where’d you get your leggings?”

“Nordstrom.”

“How much you pay for ‘em?”

“46 dollars.”

“They’re cute, ya know?”

“Thank you.”

“Well, maybe they’re not that cute, but you rock ‘em cute, ya know?”

“Thanks.”

“What you sippin’ on?”

“A Lemonita.  But it’s already gone, baby.”

“Ah, you already sipped on it. Where you going?”

“[such and such a bar on a certain street].”

“Oh, you’re goin' to a bar? Why don’t you come to the club with us. This one is rockin’!”

“Naw, thanks though.”

“Alright, well this is our stop.  Stay safe, ya’ll.”

“We will. You too.”

They had an automatic connection and a mutual understanding, right off the bat.  He respected her decision, and she was very polite to him.  I would have never had that kind of interaction with him, since I judged him before I even spoke with him.  I still think he was acting rude, had a foul mouth, and would probably be making some poor decisions over the next 5 hours.  However, I saw the human side of him during that conversation, and I would much rather start there, instead of creating an animal out of someone just because I didn’t understand him.

At that point, a few young white women (who seemed to be in the Lesbian party crowd) got on the bus at this point, and turned on their portable speaker (that had amazing quality for being so tiny, by the way!).  It was an R&B song that I hadn’t heard, and something remarkable happened.  Those women started singing and dancing (albeit mostly inappropriately).  Moments later, the black woman in leggings and her friends began singing along.  The older adults of multiple ethnicities in the front of the bus started bobbing their heads and smiling.  The whole bus seemed to be a part of an international hip-hop musical that was happening before our eyes.  Community, on some level, was happening, and I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.  

Ben and I were able to see a lot of the city, and experience much of the local culture.  We enjoyed the food and worked our calfs on the large hills.  We enjoyed the ease of public transportation and met many interesting people. We sung what we remembered of the Full House theme song and paid the 7 dollars to cross the Golden Gate Bridge.  We made it to our road trip destination, and I’m glad we did!  But, neither of us have a desire to visit San Francisco again.  The party-culture leaves a very dark and empty stamp on the city.  I’m glad that many people are called to live in cities like this.  I don’t have the life-experience to be heard in a place like San Fran, and just as it is in many ways, it is often more beneficial to speak truth into the life of someone who you have shared similar experiences.  As we drove away from the bay area, what I hoped for the people of the city is that clubs, bars, and parties would never compete with the One whom community is truly grounded in. 

A Little Travel, A Little Trouble

Ben's studying hard.

The first three weeks of the summer, Ben has been doing Master’s coursework in Beijing.  It’s intensive, and includes a lot of work in a short amount of time.   I joined Ben for this last week in Beijing, but for the first two weeks of the summer, I stayed in Qingdao.  I worked on my own coursework for the program I am in.  I also cleaned up the house a bit and spent quality time with people who were leaving our community.  It was a very blessed time. 

One of my goals for those two weeks was to literally get lost.   I wanted to explore areas of the city that I am not normally in by myself.  I feel very safe in our city, especially during the day time.  It is not too big, and if I get too lost, I can always take a taxi back to my house.   Unfortunately, I didn’t get time to do this in Qingdao.  Fortunately (maybe), I found myself lost in another way!

I had planned to visit my friend, Tricia on Thursday the 19^th, so that we could catch up while both of our husbands were in BJ. I left my house, got a taxi, went to the QD train station, and waited for my train.  I don’t travel by myself since I’m usually with Ben, other staff members, or with students.  So, I was hoping everything would go smoothly.

By train, it's a 4-5 hour ride, about 350 miles.

I got to my first class ticket, and I had plenty of space to relax, sleep, and do some work.  At one of the stops, a young Chinese man and his mom entered the train and asked if I could switch seats so they could sit together. He had great English and we talked for a few minutes. He asked me where I was going, so I told him Tianjin, and then went back to my work.  Well, as we came closer to Tianjin, I called my friend to confirm which train station to go to.  She confirmed that the south station is not correct, but rather the main station is much closer to her house.  Little did I know that my train only went to the south station.  As we stopped at the south station, the kind English speaking man asked me if this was my stop.  While I got my ticket out, I let him know that I believe it’s the next station.  However, after a quick look at my ticket, I realized that THIS is my stop.  Just as the doors were closing.   Sigh.  I asked one of the train staff what to do, and she said, “Mei You Banfa.”  (There’s no solution.)   Well, great. Thanks. So, I missed my stop, and was heading to Beijing.   Sigh.

No worries. I just have to catch another train going the other way.  This would be a piece of cake… if I spoke better Chinese and was familiar at all with the train stations.  This was a great time to call my Chinese teacher and friend, Susie, to help with translation.

As Susie talked with the train staff I found myself able to understand most of what they were saying.  They confirmed that I could buy another train ticket back to Tianjin, and gave me a few options of train numbers.  Okay.  At this point, I wasn’t worried so much as upset at myself.  Susie made me smile when I text her to tell her thank you.  I said that I was so silly for missing my stop.  She replied.  “No, sweet Amy. You are not silly. Ni shi congming.”  (You are smart).

As the train approached the Beijing South Station, a man who was sitting in the back convinced the train staff lady to help me get to where I need to go.  He said, “She doesn’t speak any Chinese. You need to help her.”   I’m glad he said something because I don’t think she would have helped me otherwise.  We get off at our stop, and then some official people were clearly annoyed at me, my situation, and how little Chinese I spoke.  Well, I knew enough to understand they didn’t want to deal with me.  Oh, the life of a foreigner!  

They filled out some random paperwork, which seemed unnecessary at the end.  I just had to go to the ticket booth and buy a ticket back to Tianjin.  My guess is that they were going to have me take that paperwork as my ticket, so I didn’t have to buy one.   No such luck in the end.  It’s okay, it was only 8 dollars to get back on the train.  I bought my ticket (which I’ve never done before, and was really proud I figured it all out). 

Once back on the train, it was only a 30 minute ride back to the Tianjin Main Station.  The funniest part of all of this is that I think I spent less money missing my stop and taking a new train than I would have if I stopped at the Tianjin South Station and took at taxi to my friend’s house.  The taxi ride from the South Station would have been very expensive.  The main station has a subway that costs pennies in comparison!   So, I took the subway from the main station to near Tricia’s, which was much easier than expected.  

I got to her house about two hours later than I was hoping, but once I was there, it was all worth it.  We had a fabulous couple of days to hang out, and then we traveled together to Beijing.   

Celebratory Selfie! We made to to the train!

On Sunday, we left the house by 8:15 in the morning and we were fortunate enough to get a taxi right away.  It was a short drive to the nearest subway stop, and we took the subway back to the train station.  We got some train tickets, hopped on the train (just 5 minutes before it left!).  We got off the train in Beijing, but where our husbands were staying  was nowhere near the train station.  We headed to the subway and had to make a few changes of lines. 

The best part of this trip was how much dongxi (stuff) we were able to handle.  Tricia has a one-and-half year old (adorable!) boy.  So, she pushed him in the stroller and had on a large backpack, a purse, and a back of snacks.  I had her suitcase (which was pretty huge) and then my smaller suitcase, both with the 4 wheels (which I highly recommend for lots of travel).  I also had a backpack and a purse.  

Now, the sidewalks, streets, and subways are not like in America.  They are not meant for easy travel.  They are uneven, broken, with lots of stairs and no ramps.  The subways are packed full of people, most of whom are pushing to get through. It’s in the heat of June, and AC is not a common thing.  If you are imagining this comical, sweaty, muscles hurting mess with all of our dongxi, then you have about the right picture.  It was insane, and hilarious, and an adventure. 

Getting some good food and time to chill in town.

Tricia’s husband met us at the end of the subway line, to which their son was so excited to be reunited with his daddy.  I was excited to see him, mostly so he could take some of this luggage!  We then headed to the bus stop, stopped at a mall for lunch, and then hopped back on the bus for a 30 minute drive.    

SHEESH!!   Tiring, and awesome, and memorable.     

Ben’s plane was delayed that night from where he was at (another whole story with that one), so I didn’t get to see him until 1:30 in the morning.  We’ve been here for a week now, and we’ll be leaving to the States tomorrow!!!   Exciting, but ...sigh… more travel.  :)

Three Years in the Making: How I've Changed

Below is a personal response and reflection after reading the book How People Change by Paul Tripp and Tim Lane.

How People Change seemed to tell the story of the last three years of my life.  When my husband and I first arrived in China, we had a difficult time on a number of levels.  For me, I had great difficulty in my job as a counselor and slowly began to admit feeling incompetent and incredibly insecure.  I fought this notion for the entire first year in China, as I pushed through loving, godly advice and criticism with defensiveness and a personal expectation of perfection (106).  This made my work more difficult and made ministry impossible as I put others’ opinions of me on a high pedestal.  It wasn’t until God humbled me enough to see that the evil inside of me was greater and more dangerous than the evil outside of me (44).  This began a year-long process and painful discovery of my idols and pride.  During this time, God also revealed his holiness, sovereignty, gentleness, and forgiveness.

During our second year in China, God spoke to me in various ways regarding my good deeds that were as filthy rags and my insecurities that were deep-rooted in sin.  One of those ways was through the community of believers around me.  I couldn’t agree more that “living in community pushes us to die to ourselves” (183), since this is exactly what happened as people pursued me with greater love and pushed me closer to the gospel with greater force than any other time in my life.  At the end of this year of growth, our closest friends left the country, and there was some major changes coming for the next year.  In the expatriate community, change is one of the few consistent happenings, and at the end of that year, change proved to be “something God intend[ed] his people to experience together” (170).  We were in this together, for better or worse. There was no hiding from our sin in relationships, incompetency at work, or even our sadness in losing friends.  We grew in Christ as a community, although our community was spreading across the globe.  There are few things that are as equally beautiful and painful as growing in the gospel through community.

In trials, difficulties, and uncomfortable circumstances, God continues to shape me and mold me into what he wants longs for me to be.  Looking back on the difficulty of moving overseas, owning my sin, and placing myself vulnerably into community, I see now that God was “willing to compromise [my] temporal happiness in order to increase [my] Christlikeness” (30).  During this past (third) year in China, God has been continually rooting out my selfishness, specifically with my time and space.  My heart is “easily enticed by comfort” and I sinfully feel that I deserve time to myself (134).  There needs to be room for grace, rest, and Sabbath, but my heart should not consider these things above those God places in front of me.  My flesh wages war on my soul as I make these daily, difficult decisions to follow Christ instead of my desires.  To serve as an example, I am currently praying about getting involved in the local youth group, which would be a great sacrifice to my time, and challenging to do through the little energy I have left at the end of the week.  However, the need is there, and I can think of no better way to starve my flesh and allow Christ to work in my weakness. 

Looking upon the next season of my life, I see that God is shaping me again.  This seems to be a time of preparation for the unknown, for the emotionally draining—a time of war of some sort.  Admittedly, I do not know exactly what this means, although I don’t believe I am looking for a demon behind every bush, so to speak.  Whatever circumstances or trials come over the next year, I want to hold on to the truth that was so beautifully expressed towards the end of How People Change: “Each morning that greets me is full of hope, not because I am successful at what I am doing, or because the people near me appreciate me, or because circumstances are easy, but because God is, and he is my Father. To look at the morning any other way is to believe a lie. To live in hope is to live in truth; To live in truth is to bring him glory; To bring God glory in my daily living is the highest form of worship” (456).  

Am I Interesting Enough?

Below is a short reflection from my class "Helping Relationships."  It's regarding an off-handed comment by the author of the book I’m reading.  

“Ever since I wrote about patients’ stories in a book many years ago, I assumed that new patients consulting me might be wary of being written about.  Hence, I’ve reassured patients about confidentiality and assured them that I’ve never written about patients without first obtaining permission and without using deep identity disguise.  But in time I have observed that patients concerns were quite different—in general they were less concerned with being written about than with not being interesting enough to be selected.”

The Gift of Therapy, Irvin Yalom

In chapter 23, Yalom mentions that his patients desire to be interesting enough to be selected for his writing.  I believe this comment says much about humanity.  People want to be important to someone.  People want their efforts to have been worthwhile, and for their hearts to be remembered.  Expatriates are currently leaving their host countries, the jobs they’ve worked so hard to improve, and the community they have cherished.  Was it all worth it? Did I accomplish anything?  Am I interesting enough to be remembered?  Will the students remember anything I’ve taught them?  Is the community any stronger because I was here?  To some degree, these are very valid and important questions to reflect upon.  It would be unwise to leave your home without remembering the joys and the struggles, and to have hope that it was time well spent. However, these thoughts cannot stay at this level.  As believers, we know that we plant many seeds, and God sows them at the proper time.  We have hope that Christ used us to sanctify others, although we may never know to what extent.  It is a beautiful thing to feel important to others, but it is not the ultimate thing, as we live to please God, not man.

An Overflow

For my class "Helping Relationships" I had to answer the question: Can you think of a specific example of how your relationship with Jesus overflows into daily life?"

Yesterday at work, I was in short supply of patience because of my long to-do list before our high school’s spring trip.  One student was having visa troubles, so I offered to send her a scanned copy of her plane ticket receipt to hopefully speed along the process.  This should be a five-minute job, and I was happy to do it, even though it wasn’t a foreseen issue.  I had given the finance department advance notice to retrieve the receipt, but to my dismay, when I returned to their office later in the morning, it had not been found.  In China, the way to store receipts is to glue them together into a booklet for for efficient storage.  Unfortunately, these plane ticket receipts were glued where the students’ names had been printed.  So, I offered to find the receipt instead.  I sat down and attempted to separate each of the 50 receipts of the booklet in order to locate the names of my students.  My to-do list rang in my head like the morning alarm, or maybe more like a fire alarm.  In addition to my list and the receipt issue was the need to connect with one of the students who was particularly emotional that day.  After fifteen minutes of separating receipts, I found the one I needed, and tried to remove it without tearing it.  This was impossible.  My heart turned ugly fairly quickly towards the Chinese way of storing financial information and then to general Chinese culture.  My thoughts expanded to various other things that I dislike and don’t understand about this country.   I tore the receipt more than I hoped for, which became the last straw to my unraveling patience.

In that moment, my relationship with Jesus saved me from my own anger, impatience, and prejudice.  There were ugly words on the tip of my tongue, of which the Holy Spirit immediately convicted me.  I am incredibly thankful for God’s grace for me as a sinner, and I want to become quicker to apply that grace to those in my life and to the culture around me.  

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