PREPARING FOR NANJING
July, 2013
My journey with Nanjing started when I was in living with my parents, presumably between my high school and young adult years, when I saw a book called “The Rape of Nanking” on my parents’ book shelf. I remember that I would glance at the title, and without having any idea what it was about, would still feel some level of disgust each time I walked past it. The odd thing was, my parents never remember having or reading the book which was published eight years after I moved out of their house. My memory could have been wrong, but whatever the case, the book was somewhere in my subconscious mind for a very long time, so that when I was led to deal with China against the backdrop of my Japanese roots this book again sprang into my consciousness.
I had no concept whatsoever of the ways that the Japanese had terrorized the rest of Asia in the 1900’s, until I ignorantly stumbled into a conversation with my Korean friend while in my graduate school seminary program. Throughout the next twenty years after that, I sparingly allowed my naïve mind to uncover the truths regarding the heinous crimes that the nation of my heritage had committed against their Asian neighbors.
When my heart was prodded by the Lord to participate in an international Christian movement of reconciliation between nations, I knew the time had come for me to read the book. The time had also come for me to confront my fears, disgust, and shame on the matter and go to the city where the little known but most brutal mass holocaust of WWII took place, in the city of Nanjing (previously called “Nanking” by westerners).
During my preparation period for the trip, I downloaded an audio book version of “The Rape of Nanking,” but still experienced a violent objection in my spirit to listening to it because of its potential to defile my thoughts. One morning when getting ready for my daily run, I strapped on my iPod and asked the Holy Spirit what I should listen to. The Rape of Nanking stood out to me. My initial objection was there, but not as strongly as I had felt toward it before. I asked the Holy Spirit about it again, and there was no other book or music that was highlighted. Was this the day I would have to start to put these awful images in my mind?
I asked the Holy Spirit for protection, if I was indeed supposed to listen to it. With a brief hesitation I pressed “play.” Almost simultaneously, a shower of what felt like goose bumps came over my head and down my back. It was what I felt in Shanghai when standing in the communist party museum, then again when walking to Mao Zedong’s house, and then when running on my last day on my last trip. It was the same goose bump feeling, but this time it was a constant sensation that would not let up as long as the audio book was playing. Then when I was done with my four mile run, I pressed the stop button on my iPod, the sensation stopped. Was this a psychologically stimulated feeling? I wondered. The brutal images that entered my mind while listening did not seem to carry the bondage to fear and disgust that other horror stories of the like could typically carry into my psyche.
Because the effect was not as debilitating as I expected it would be, the next day, I strapped on my iPod for my morning run and pressed the play button without thinking as much about the consequence of it. Right on cue, the shower of goose bumps fell over my head again, remaining throughout the four mile run. Again the images though horrific, were not able to penetrate my psyche or well being. At the end of my run I pressed the stop button and the sensation stopped. I wondered if I continued to run and listen, if it would begin again. I stepped on the treadmill in my gym and pressed the play button. I was again showered with the sensation which lasted until I stopped the recording. This happened for days until I finished the audio book.
TRIP TO NANJING
Tuesday August 20, 2013
I got to the Xishuangbanna airport just as the only flight that day to Nanjing was being called for boarding. Stressed to find the words to say in Chinese, and cringing at my need to yell past the people in line to the ticket counter agent that I was late, I was shocked at my success at being allowed to cut in line in order to board my plane on time.
I made one stop in Yunnan’s capital city of Kunming. Then, there was a magical moment of realization when I finally got off the plane in Nanjing. It was as if just by landing there, I had accomplished something big. The airport was bright and new and I already picked up a sense of culture and pride in the air.
Ling, a recently widowed 60 year old woman I had gotten to know over Skype, held a sign to make sure I recognized her at the Nanjing airport. She had posted a homestay ad online and her apartment seemed like the right place for me to stay. Ling cheerfully greeted me an ushered me to the bus stop where she treated me to a $.35 (2 kuai) bus ride and took the only seats left in the very back of the bus.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, she mustered up a unexpected question.
“I thought you were American,” she said.
“I am American.”
“I thought Americans had longer noses.”
Then self-consciously as if the whole bus was waiting for my confession, I whispered, “I’m Japanese.”
Ling looked away abruptly. Did I image it or did someone in front of us just turn his head to look at who had made such a horrible admission?
We got off the bus and dragged my two suitcases down two short blocks in the sweltering ninety degree weather to a tall building. “I’m on the 8th floor, the very top. There’s no elevator but I’ll help you carry your big suitcase.” My cotton t-shirt was dripping with sweat when we finally reached the top floor, where I met her collie Benben who she takes for a walk twice every day (down the stairs, up the stairs, down the stairs, then up once more). I was then shown my bedroom.
After a shower, and within the safety of her home I finally explained my journey and why I had come to Nanjing. I asked if her parents had been through the war. She said yes, her uncle was killed in the invasion. I explained that I was a Christian and that I knew full well what the Japanese did to her family, and was so sorry. Tears welled up in both of our eyes, but we composed ourselves within a few moments. It was too deep of conversation for strangers to have at a first meeting.
In Xishuangbanna I had a lumpy hard bed and had been looking forward to this leg on the journey when I would be in a more conventional living space. To my dismay I found that my visually attractive bed for these next six nights was essentially a straw mat on a piece of plywood. I thought, “maybe she’s having the mattress cleaned and will bring it out any time soon,” but no, this was it. I later asked if there was a blanket I could put between myself and the mat because I wasn’t used to quite as hard a bed as this. She gave me a half inch blanket which I folded over to double it and lay down. To my surprise I fell asleep and rested well.
Ling showed me my running route at 5:30 the next morning when she took Benben for a walk. The sun was already up and I found the city, in spite of the sweltering heat, quite beautiful and scenic with a lot of birds and trees. She introduced me to several friends as her “Japanese guest.” Surprised, I asked if that put a negative spin on me. She said no, they know you are another generation and “we don’t hold it against you.”
As a homestay host, Ling had prepared to accompany me wherever I wanted to go. Somewhat of a surprise to her was my wish to first see the holocaust museum. My second wish was to visit a church.
“I don’t know much about Christianity,” she said, “but churches give me a peaceful feeling.”
I said I think that may be why God brought me here to her. She said she thought so too. By the end of the night we prayed for her to open her heart toward God.
In front of the holocaust museum standing over 30 feet tall was grand sorrowful sculpture of a man carrying his dead child. Along the beautiful waterway leading up to the museum front door, was a row of individual statues reflected a bitter moment: a slaughtered child, a rape, a decapitated body. Ling saw tears streaming down my face and said, “Don’t cry, it’s not your fault. You are from a different generation.”
Not wanting to put herself through the heaviness of the graphic exhibits, Ling sat and waited for me while I took in images of photos, artifacts, movies, written testimonies of victims, as well as heroes. It was indeed overwhelming, but because I had been prepared from the audiobook, was able to balance my emotions and make it through the whole museum.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Ling had been ready to invite Jesus into her life for a long time but her main hang up was, not wanting to go to church with a lot of people. When I explained that wasn’t the main requirement, she was very willing to pray and begin her life with Jesus. She still was not about to visit a church on her own, but was interested in taking me to try and find some in order to help me accomplish my purpose in Nanjing. It was not easy finding Christian churches but after several internet searches we came upon a list out of which I picked three to try and find. I was not sure what I would do after finding them, but just had a sense it was a starting point to get to know this city that had to be in need of healing after being so deeply violated.
The weather was sauna-like and expected to hit the hundreds. Assuming we had a lot of walking to do to find the churches, and preparing for the eight flights of stairs, I put on my running shorts, t-shirt and shoes. I would never have worn such informal attire if I knew the kinds of encounters we would have that day.
We took a cab, and all too easily found the first church we were looking for. Piercing the skyline was a tall steeple and a large gate leading into a medium size sanctuary. Fortuitously, a meeting had just ended and people were walking out the big double door entry way. Ling stopped a woman and asked for one of the leaders, explaining that I was a foreigner. The woman who turned out to be Pastor Zhang, the head pastor, invited me into her study. I explained my journey to her and teared up as I apologized for what the Japanese did. She teared up as well, and at the end of our short talk, embraced me warmly. Pastor Zhang showed us around the rather tall building with two overflow rooms and multipurpose rooms. She said they have five weekend worship services with about 500 people at each service. Ling was not willing for me to tell the pastor she was a new Christian but I thought it was important to connect them, so asked if there were small groups available. Ling was willing to at least act interested, and exchanged information with her.
Pastor Zhang asked if she and I could pray together in the front of the sanctuary. We said the Lord’s Prayer together, I spoke in English and she did in Chinese, a powerful exchange.
Before saying goodbye, she walked us to the bus stop and encouraged us to visit the biggest and oldest church in this city. “Go now, they will be glad to receive you,” she said confidently.
Mochoulu Church, the biggest church in the city which seated about 1000 people at each of their four services was indeed open that Wednesday afternoon. We were warmly greeted by two volunteers at the welcome table, but were told the pastor was not available. Disappointed, we sat and chatted with them. Feeling so moved after a few minutes, I pressed in further and asked if the pastor might not be willing to meet me. Ling told them I was an American, which seemed to have some effect, because within a few minutes, the head pastor of Mochoulu Church came down fully dressed in a suit, bringing with him a young woman who served as translator.
Pastor Li was a stately man with broad shoulders and although not much taller or older than I, carried himself with such grace that I immediately felt embarrassed I was dressed in such informal attire. Walking Ling and me into an air conditioned office with diplomatic style seating arrangements. Pastor Li urged me to sit on one of the important seats next to him on his right so that we faced forward in the same direction, and had his translator sit on his left and Ling on my right so that they faced each other.
I told him my story as I did with Pastor Zhang, and again teared up. He thanked me for coming from so far away, and admitted I was the first Japanese American he has ever met. I said there are many Japanese Americans who truly apologize and want to help Nanjing in any way we can. He told me he was touched by my sincerity that I was truly forgiven.
He asked someone to bring out an official book with a big felt black pen and asked me if I would be willing to sign and date it. He had me sign in English then in Chinese, specifying “美国的日本人” which meant, “Japanese from America.” Wanting to match my informal dress as best he could without compromising himself, he took off his jacket and unbuttoned his collar a notch. We then took several pictures together in several different settings, he and I, then he and I with Ling, then us with his translator and Ling. To Ling’s chagrin, I asked on her behalf if there were any small groups for her. “Of course!” they replied, exchanging information with her.
Friday, August23, 2013
I wondered to what end all those doors were so open to me and marveled at how unexpectedly fruitful this leg has been so far, however I somehow had a feeling there was another reason for me to be in Nanjing. Admittedly I haven’t had a chance to run since I’ve gotten to Nanjing. It has been so swelteringly hot that if I didn’t go before 6am it became too late, and up until now I had not been able to get up before six. Additionally, when we are out and about and on our way home, and my mind would anticipate a cold shower and a breezy fan, I would always forget there was still the 8 story, 138 step staircase to climb, and think that perhaps going out several times a day is plenty enough exercise.
That being said, today I finally ventured out for a run and stumbled upon an entry to the city wall. Nanjing is the largest walled city in China. This wall was built in the Ming dynasty some 600 years ago and defined the city proper. It served moderately well as protection from 14th century onward during times when the capital of China was moved back and forth from this city to Beijing. From this portion of the wall, one could get a good view of the purple mountains to the east, the dream-like Shui Wu Lake to the south, the stately well kept government buildings to the north and the sprawling middle class downtown as well as the poorer suburbs.
Out of all the six highly developed cities I have visited on my tour this summer including Shanghai, Chongqing, Chengdu, Xian and Beijing, Nanjing has been the most naturally lush, attractive and scenic. Running in the other cities started to make me feel like they were all more or less the same with a few differences in climate. From the outset, Nanjing had a different character. People seemed to have a sense of respect and love for the land and a sense of beauty, culture, and balance. I was intrigued at how resilient the land has seemed, in spite of what I knew had happened here. I found it was actually invaded and ransacked three times: back in the sixth century, then in 1853 with the Taiping Rebellion, then lastly in 1937 by the Japanese.
Throughout China’s long history, Nanjing has been seen as a literary, political, and cultural capital. In other cities I have visited, my conversations with the young guides revealed they knew and cared very little about Mao Zedong’s negative effect, the cultural revolution and its impact on China, and WWII, and more than one young person had made a bookish summary statement, that “Mao was a good man but made one big mistakes,” and an attitude that, “we are not concerned with the past, China is different now.”
Unlike the young adults I met in the some of the other large developed cities, Nanjing’s people seemed to know and care about their history. They seem to care about being clean, and taking care of their health, and giving up a seat on the bus to a young mother or a struggling older person.
How is it that this city, that was so brutally violated by its aggressors less than a century ago, was able to come back with such life and vitality? With each step on the Nanjing Wall, my curiosity moved to greater obsession to find out. Caught up in my quest, I ran for miles in the heat, more interested in the scenery and revelation I was getting than how far I was getting from my starting point.
Why in December 1937 did the 500,000 people within the walls, 90,000 of whom were soldiers, surrender so easily to the 20,000 Japanese soldiers who approached the city? Japan was well aware of how greatly they were outnumbered, and after taking six times longer than expected to conquer Shanghai, they had much to be concerned about when attempting to take on the capital of China. Yet, by applying just a little intimidation tactic, they caused all of the citizens of Nanjing to surrender without even trying.
I ran several miles on the wall until I came to a dead end, then turned around, all the while praying and pondering my insights gained by being on the land, many times feeling the shower of God’s presence. This was my purpose here. It was to run the wall of the city.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
I attended another dinner where the brothers and sisters from the churches welcomed me to come back in the future. Now the questions remain, why were doors so open to me? My church back in the US had called a prayer meeting specifically to support this leg of my trip, and I no doubt the reason that the road was laid so wide open that I could walk into the biggest churches in town and have the senior pastors readily available, and welcoming me with open arms, even to the effect of making a small ceremony of it. But to what end does this take me on this trip?
Monday, August 26, 2013
On Saturday, my last evening with Ling, I prayed with her as I had done every night before bed time, and it always seemed to open up vulnerable places and conversations would then go for another hour. I was discouraged that on my second to the last night she made herself unavailable for that and I felt resistance. The last night she was wanting to engage again and it brought us into some difficult but sweet places that I think God will do something in. He graced us Sunday morning with a hunger for more relationship in the future. Nanjing welcomes us.
RUNNING THE LAND
What does it mean to “run the land?”
A pedestrian experiences an intimacy with land that that is not at all similar to riding a vehicle, in fact the less machinery one is working with, the closer to the land one feels. As a pedestrian, one can experience each building, street, alley, and point of interest. One can stop easily at any given point to look more closely at the thing at hand, and go more quickly when there is less detail to take in.
In addition to the endorphins and anandamide, one experiences at a faster running pace, there is also the feeling of covering much territory. In a new city, running the land has always given me a feel of a city or a piece of land in a way that driving or walking could not. I have met the Lord while running, and have even had times when new sensations hit me in meaningful ways, like the goose bumps over my head and down my back, or jab on my elbow, or a fountain of tears. Of course pace, weather, terrain, altitude, environment and geography all stimulate and influence thinking, processing, and prayer content.
In Genesis 3 God creates the human, giving him authority and dominion over the garden and all other living creatures on the earth. During recent years, a sense of closeness to God’s original intent for man and land had been released in during my run, giving me an important sense of connection and ownership in those locations where my feet tread.
When I ran that day in Nanjing it gave me a perspective of the city under God’s authority that was grander, not only spatially, but also with reference to time and history.
April 20, 2014
When Ron and Gayle Tanaka came to meet me in mid April of the following year, I had a sense we needed to go to Nanjing.
Ron and Gayle had also closely been walking along this journey with me and had been preparing their hearts for the emotional impact they would have. They had hosted Ling when she was in Los Angeles late last year got to know her. Ling was all too happy to host us back in her home town, though this time perhaps this time, living on the eighth floor was not all that practical for the three of us.
One of the top items on our agenda was the Holocaust museum, but it would have to wait until later in the week.
Before this, Ling was happy to take us to the Purple Mountain, a 1450 foot mountain famous for the purple clouds that sometimes hover around its base at dawn and dusk and the many relics that make it a national park and one of Southern China’s most famous attractions.
It is the mountain that captivated my attention on a run during my first trip here, causing me to recommend we go there first to have a look around.
When Ling brought me here last summer in the sweltering weather there were few others who ventured out, and we were able to enjoy the lush green forests and quiet lakes in the early morning calm.
It was a warm spring day when we returned, perfect for thousands of crowds to swarm and invade any and every possible nook of seclusion. My partners who usually have the energy of teenagers at a party suddenly had the energy drained out of them faster than an iphone battery when using all of its apps at full power.
Trying to get them out of the crowds as fast as I could, I ran ahead with Ling to find a cab or a bus to rescue them. On our way out, Ron took a breather from the sun under a pagoda shaped shelter, then was led to a map of the many sites on vast the Purple Mountain area. He called me over to ask me about a location of a certain Aviator Martyr Museum and Memorial in the War of a Resistance Against Japan. I took a picture of the name of the place before the others called us saying the cab was here and ready to take us away.
We all took a long rest for the remainder of the day. Ron said if anything, he would like to go to the Aviator Memorial Museum.
Early the next morning Ling handed some bus passes to us and explained that the closest bus stop to our destination was still quite far and we would transfer to another bus before taking a quarter mile walk. The ride was bumpy and long but our sense of adventure kept us bright and cheerful. On our walk, Ling asked a passerby in his sixties if he could tell us where the museum was. As the man rattled off directions, he took thoughtful pauses while looking into the air and squinting his eyes as though entering into the map himself.
When Ling told him we were Americans he entered even more deeply into his thoughts and started on a long discourse about the Cultural Revolution. He told us of his experiences being forced to farm and immerse his body in the mud and grime while growing up just outside of Nanjing, all the while, struggling to survive until the next day. I did not understand all of what he said, but he spoke with the conviction of a teacher and the serenity of a philosopher. When I asked about his trade, he said it was neither.
We walked away from the conversation bewildered, as if we had just encountered a great thinker. It was as if he was placed in our path as a narrator opening the door into another land. I likened today as an Alice in Wonderland journey.
As we walked further on the road we came across a man in his thirties or forties sitting in a tent by the roadside wearing a head lamp placing something in each hole of a honeycomb. It fascinated Ron, who stopped to take a video for the grand kids. As we walked further we saw several more, and then quite a few more, each with a gypsy style tent where they made their homes while apparently following the bees around as they buzzed over the land during honey season. Each vendor seemed to smile peacefully at us, a stark contrast to the busy Nanjing streets and bustling tourist crowds.
We turned a corner through a parking gate where we were confronted with a magnificent statute towering over the entrance of the museum. Ling said it stood for justice. The building was very attractive, small and new, and since Ron was the one who wanted to come here, he led the way through the exhibits. About halfway through, I was startled by a statue of General Claire Chennault, leader of the the Flying Tigers, a secret group of volunteer US Aviators that assisted China in WWII against Japan.
I remembered in Chongqing last summer how I was led to the Flying Tigers museum, having no idea who they were, and how if felt a rush of the Lord’s presence over me. I had noted that Kunming and Nanjing were the two other memorials and thought how odd that was that those were two cities in my upcoming itinerary that summer. By the time I had gotten to Nanjing I had forgotten about this but now Ron felt on a whim that this is somewhere we needed to go. We were amazed at how we were led here to this place, to the man that was called a liberator for China, and Ron blessed me to walk as General Chennault did, bringing liberation to captives within this great country.
Ron who has an uncanny knack for being able to pull out the most obscure passages and relate them to the situation at hand did it again by finding Judges 14:8 and reading to us the story of Samson and the bees. After killing the lion The riddle Samson asked his friends came from Judges 14:14. Although that story itself left a lot of unanswered questions, it seemed to hit upon some relative strain in the spiritual realm, because tears streamed down both of our faces as he read:
“Out of the eater, something to eat;
out of the strong, something sweet.”
And then:
Before sunset on the seventh day the men of the town said to him,
“What is sweeter than honey?
What is stronger than a lion?”
When something hits our spirits it may cause a physically response, which if left unsubdued by our self-consciousness or unexplained by our gnawingly inquisitive minds, we can receive God’s impartation in its fullness and walk away a changed person.
That day, I received the blessing from spiritual father (Ron) and Heavenly Father, and spent another few moments enjoying the feeling of intimacy with these words that were proclaimed over me, and then collecting myself from the surge of emotion.
Thinking we were done with the assignment, we meandered outside. Little did we know this was just the beginning of what God had in store. Gayle, a very sensitive and caring woman who loves the Lord and who loves people, who because of her leg has not been able to climb stairs very easily was suddenly overcome by a determination, declaring that we ought to go to the top of the hill to overlook Nanjing and make proclamations. Seeing that this determination could only have come from the Lord, Ron and I followed her lead. With some effort we climbed up several flights of stone carved stairs up the mountainside, to find that at the very top a there was a monument with statues of 4 soldiers and a stadium-like terraced area with large marble blocks with inscribed names of Chinese, American, and Russian aviators who were killed in the war against Japan. After walking around a bit, I felt drawn to the top right corner of the stadium-like area. Unbeknownst to me, Ron had also felt drawn to that corner and the three of us converged, spontaneously praying for the martyrs who had sacrificed their lives to save the rest.
Suddenly Gayle was startled by the ground moving under her. I felt it as well. The ground kept rolling under us but Ron standing a few feet from us felt nothing. Gayle and I prayed as the rocking sensation under our feet continued for a minute. On a whim we prayed to close the portal (if there was one) and the rocking came to a stop.
Amused and bewildered, we then walked to another site overlooking the city and proclaimed God’s love, redemption and cleansing over the land. Ling, who had invited Jesus into her heart last summer never really taken interest in going past the first step, followed us around politely that day, but never really understanding what we were trying to do. As a Nanjing citizen looking over her city allowed herslef to participate in the prayers as we poured water over the ground to symbolically cleansed the site.
That evening Pastor Li’s assistant texted a very elaborate schedule, saying that if we were willing, he would like to invite us to several activities, including tea hosted by their church staff, lunch at their new 5000 seat church, and leader’s meeting where we would be invited to share a few words. In addition we would be chauffeured around and taken to any additional sites of interest over the next two days. Gratefully accepting these opportunities, we fumbled through impromptu speeches, lacking in grace but full of joy and thanksgiving for these brothers and sisters who so loved to honor us. The VIP treatment was all completely baffling to me.
Since the beginning of this trip God had been speaking to Ron about “prophesying to the breath.”
The weather was cold and rainy when we made our journey to the holocaust museum on our second to the last day in Nanjing.
Since I had been there before and seen all of the exhibits, I walked through with familiarity, though still not absent of emotion. A pain developed in my side and Gayle asked if perhaps I was not supposed to be going through the exhibit. I was surprised at the suggestion and to my shock, when I asked the Holy Spirit, he confirmed I was indeed not supposed to continue through the exhibit.
It was rather inconvenient to stay outside since the weather was cold and rainy, and stepping off the path meant that I had to find them on the other side of the building. I ran from pavilion to pavilion sheltering myself from the rain. When I found them 40 minutes later the rain stopped.
Before us was a field of rocks. On this field were bones, relics from piles of dead bodies heaped on top of each other. Silence filled the air. And then the winds picked up.
Ron took out his bible and opened to the book of Ezekiel and spoke into the wind:
“Prophesy to the breath; prophesy, son of man, and say to it, ‘This is what the Sovereign Lord says: Come, breath, from the four winds and breathe into these slain, that they may live.’” 10 So I prophesied as he commanded me, and breath entered them; they came to life and stood up on their feet—a vast army.” (Ezek 37: 9-10)
Gayle and I not able to bear standing in the face of these words, knelt and prayed. We apologized on behalf of the Japanese armies who came into Nanjing that day in September 1937 to terrorize, rape, and slaughter hundreds and thousands helpless civilians that peacefully resided in the then capital city of China.
The winds picked up even stronger. We stayed on our knees until the winds subsided.
Ron poured water over the ground symbolizing a drink offering to the Lord.
We stood there in the cold, unwilling to leave until God was done.
We were invited to one last banquet on the following night, a celebration of sorts with their sixty member choir, drama team, and families. Pastor Li invited us to sit on his right, while government officials seated on his left, apparently on very good terms with him.
To be sure, Pastor Li is no suck up. Born in Nanjing just before the Cultural Revolution to a Christian man who lost all his eyesight from a bomb explosion, Pastor Li grew up learning the bible during a time when Christianity was illegal. All Scripture was memorized and passed on from his blind father through song. After the Cultural Revolution, Pastor Li opted to go to seminary, a very unpopular and even dangerous choice at the time. He took his first ministry position at a small run down church, and through perseverance, character, and grace, he grew it to the four thousand member church it is today; himself considered sort of a “bishop” of Nanjing connecting the thirty six public churches with the government officials, in a way that they don’t feel threatened, in fact allowing them to provide seventy five percent of the funding for their new five thousand seat Holy Word Church building.
The government official leaned over to me when Pastor Li left his seat, and asked if I would like more chicken. He put some pieces of food in my plate. Ron, Gayle, and I were given a chance to address the hundred and fifty or so that were present. The lively buzzing crowd suddenly came to a hush when Ron broke down in front of them and apologized on behalf of the nation of our heritage and the disaster that was caused. We were again warmly and gracefully embraced.
Does land bring out the beauty and resilience of its people? or do people bring out the beauty and resilience of their land?
Nanjing is truly a city that is worthy of visiting again. And again.