Thank you very much for all of your support and love this summer.
Even now, over a month after returning to America, I have not been able to
process through all the things that happened and the ways I have changed.
This letter is an inadequate description of the summer, but I do owe it to
you to share just a few of my stories. When next we meet I hope to be
able to share my pictures and more stories, but I'm afraid this will have
to do for now.
Well, I most definitely needed all of your prayers. Culture shock? I
had no idea what I was getting myself into. Two days in Xinjiang and I
was ready to pack it in. I was seriously contemplating buying myself a
plane ticket and taking off. In particular, our English and cultural
lessons were exhausting--most lesson groups had two American students and
two Chinese students, but I was alone with two local students, neither of
whom were very good at English--or at helping each other learn. This was
especially frustrating because I would end up laboriously explaining the
same thing twice when it would have been relatively simple for them to
explain it to each other. In addition, my roommate "Pat" was quite
intimidating, despite being poor at English. He was tall, handsome,
extremely skilled at guitar and, if that weren't enough, he had just
completed medical school. Essentially, he was everything I had ever
wanted to be and I sometimes wondered if I had anything to offer him.
However, as the summer progressed I grew to love Xinjiang very much.
I am still not sure exactly how or why that happened. There were several
breakthroughs, though, in the first few days. For one, I started talking
with Pat in Chinese (Mandarin), which I had been hesitant about for rather
silly reasons, one of which was quite honestly the fact that he was not
Han (the majority population of China). In fact he, like many people from
Xinjiang, was Caucasian, but of course he had lived in China all his life
and had studied Mandarin for most of that time. Speaking in Chinese
especially helped by making English lessons both more enjoyable for me and
also more educational for him. Another breakthrough was when we were
invited to a local café to hear traditional musicians--and to see some of
our counterparts dance some traditional dances. I made a fool of myself
trying to dance like them (they kept telling me to keep my hips still),
but it was another breakthrough in my relationships with our
counterparts.
I think what
ultimately won me over were indeed the people of Xinjiang. In many ways
they have less than we in America, and yet they have an immense pride in
their traditions and their ways. Their culture was different from what I
have known as either Chinese or American, but incredibly rich and
beautiful. In my limited way I tried to participate in their culture, but
God really magnified my feeble efforts. For example, one student (who was
probably more patient with my dancing than I was with his English) would
occasionally smile and say that I was dancing well. However, I think the
most honoring thing of the summer was that several of the local students
told me I looked like a "local" man. Many of my teammates do not believe
that anyone said this because I look quite distinctively Han and not at
all like the people of Xinjiang, but the local students were not calling
me local because I looked particularly local, but because they accepted me
as if I were one of them. As I reflect on the summer, I know it was
nothing less than the power of God crumbling the walls that divide us.
Indeed, in some ways
I have become a little like them as I try to emulate the way Jesus himself
became like us to better love us. Even now I continue to practice their
customs. For example, I do not step over people with my "dirty" feet and
I do not shake the water off of my hands after washing them because that
would be an insult to the precious gift of water. I respectfully hand
things to people with both hands and, when I cannot, with my right hand.
I try to always keep my head covered--not, of course, to show a separation
between me and God (we're actually very close ;) ), but to show respect to
my friends' ways.
Still, it was quite frustrating that the English level of our
counterparts was much poorer than in previous years. We could not carry
on conversations with most of the students--it was hard to see how we
could communicate enough to teach them English or to share about our
lives. However, I rejoice that each student's English improved at least a
little and my own roommate showed a marked improvement in both his ability
and confidence in English. But I rejoice even more that in spite of all
the love they showered upon us, they still saw something special in the
way we treated them and each other and that Pat came to value me as a
special friend.
I would be remiss to not say a few words about their food. Food has
always been a priority in my life, and there were a number of dishes that
were absolutely delicious. The big favorites were a noodle (hand-made
noodles, of course) dish called laghmen and a rice pilaf dish
called polo--it was always exciting to eat either dish.
Delicious melons (tavuz and koghun) would often round out
our meals or would be a snack at mid-afternoon when the sun was at its
hottest.
As you may recall, I had a tough role this summer, being the only staff
member on the project who also had a counterpart--and this being my first
time overseas on a trip like this. I felt like I had failed my small
group in a lot of ways by not ministering to them in the ways they needed
because of my own needs. Once again, however, God extended grace in my
life and used me despite the fact that I felt like I had not done much for
them at all. This is the lesson he has been drilling into my head for
several months now. Of course, my teammates blessed me greatly. I
especially valued the friendship of Teresa whom I adopted as my little
sister (singlim). In many ways she was much more mature than I,
seeing things that I could not, or would not, see.
I have many stories to share of the things that happened this summer.
Would you want to hear of how God opened opportunities for me to sing
praises to him and to even share my music with some friends? Or would you
want to hear of how Peter was afflicted with sickness and how Linda and I
prayed and watched God grant him sleep and health? Or how Jared and I
walked through the city and encountered God's heart for this people? Or
how God changed the lives of my teammates? Or how God once again worked
through my brokenness? I have not space to tell these stories and
others.
So, how now shall I live? I have gone and seen how big God's world is.
Now I am trying to figure out how I will make a meaningful impact in it.
I am spending this next year in the inner city of Boston, living in
community with some really exciting people and learning about God's heart
for this place. What next year will bring, I do not know--I have some
ideas but it is premature to talk about them. But whatever it is, I know
God will be there.
For Christ's Name,
Jonathan
or, as Pat renamed me,
Keyser
I think what
ultimately won me over were indeed the people of Xinjiang. In many ways
they have less than we in America, and yet they have an immense pride in
their traditions and their ways. Their culture was different from what I
have known as either Chinese or American, but incredibly rich and
beautiful. In my limited way I tried to participate in their culture, but
God really magnified my feeble efforts. For example, one student (who was
probably more patient with my dancing than I was with his English) would
occasionally smile and say that I was dancing well. However, I think the
most honoring thing of the summer was that several of the local students
told me I looked like a "local" man. Many of my teammates do not believe
that anyone said this because I look quite distinctively Han and not at
all like the people of Xinjiang, but the local students were not calling
me local because I looked particularly local, but because they accepted me
as if I were one of them. As I reflect on the summer, I know it was
nothing less than the power of God crumbling the walls that divide us.
Indeed, in some ways
I have become a little like them as I try to emulate the way Jesus himself
became like us to better love us. Even now I continue to practice their
customs. For example, I do not step over people with my "dirty" feet and
I do not shake the water off of my hands after washing them because that
would be an insult to the precious gift of water. I respectfully hand
things to people with both hands and, when I cannot, with my right hand.
I try to always keep my head covered--not, of course, to show a separation
between me and God (we're actually very close ;) ), but to show respect to
my friends' ways.