Most of you will remember the testimony of what God did during Daniel’s birth, but for those who do not know, the short of it is; towards the end of my labor, during my worst contraction, I sang a worship song and it eased my pain! I wasn’t planning to sing, but when I went to open my mouth I suddenly felt the desire to sing instead of moan in pain and although my contractions continued to bring a lot of pain, singing helped ease it and kept me focused on God.

This was truly amazing for the staff to watch and hear and caused them to ask how I could sing while in labor. (I even ask myself this question!!) The singing was a testimony to the staff of my God’s peace, power, and ability to help a person in need.

After this happened, I told the Father that I would walk through any doors He might open with this hospital for relationship building.

Now, 19 months later, they called and said something like this; “Since you like to sing, we want you to come to the TV station with us and sing for our program.”

Gulp.

I quickly responded with, “No, no, I don’t sing.” I am a shower singer, a back row singer…not an on stage, in public, at the TV studio singer!!

Of course they reassured me that indeed I do sing (how kind of them to inform me) and to please bring my children with me, so we can all enjoy their program.

*Sigh*

Tis the life of a foreigner in China. Unless you have more back bone than me, you might find yourself in the most odd places doing some odd things to appease friends. It can be fun and overwhelming.

I found myself Tuesday morning standing in line, having consented to sing with Lily’s help during the hospital’s program. Still, having an unclear understanding of what I was doing, I followed the only other English speaking person, a nurse from the hospital, who was gracious and translated for me.

The group of women who also came on buses, foot, and bicycles to watch the program soon filled into the TV studio to be the audience of about 30-50 people. I was told to stand in a line with the others who had (what I thought) volunteered to sing. I really had no idea of what was happening, I was just following my translator and rehearsing in my head what I would say in Chinese to the audience in case I was asked about my delivery.

While waiting in line the nurse called me by name, she is also a nurse at the hospital, although was not working when I delivered Daniel. Once she said my name, the pregnant lady standing directly next to us, whips around and exclaims in her most enthusiastic voice, “You’re Jenny? THE singing Jenny?!?!?!”

I’m dumbfounded and speechless.

The nurse says to me, “You’re famous at the hospital! We tell everyone how you sang, you’re quite famous.”

Speechless. Is this really happening to me?

I’m given a sticker with a number on it to put on my chest. I think this is a bit odd and wonder why I would need it for what I assume is a karaoke program of sorts, but still no one really explains what is happening or perhaps my minimal Chinese has fooled them enough to believe that I actually understand what is being said by the workers at the TV station! Once again I regret being a language faker!

I follow the line into the TV studio and look in wonderment at all the lights, cameras, and wires.

Lily has fallen in love with a Veggie Tale movie titled, “Princess and the Pop Star” I used the skills of a mother and the addiction of a Veggie Tale to get her really excited about singing in front of all those attending. She ate it up like cake. Wait a second, Lily doesn’t like cake. She ate it up like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!

All my rehearsing what I was going to say in Chinese was in vain though. Minutes before it was my turn to go forward the nurse whispers to me, “Speak in English, they want me to translate.”

Speak in English? I had no idea what I was going to say in English! I memorized my script in Chinese and switching like that, last minute, really threw me for a loop.

Breathe. Hand it over to God. It can’t get any worse can it? CAN IT?!

No, it didn’t. Whew!

Lily and I walked up in front of the cameras with the nurse, I fumble by speaking in Chinese instead of English and then switch over to English. The host tells me that the show is aired all over the world and I smile really big acting like perhaps I knew this, but really, I didn’t even know I would be on a “talk show” setting. I thought I was just one act of many in a program of sorts. I didn’t know there was going to be this fashionable young male and female host talking to me from their table, I thought they would be introducing acts and MC “ing” the show like they do for Spring Festival.

I answer their few questions about where I am from and then am given the okay to start singing.

I bend down to Lily’s level and we sing “Jesus Loves Me” partly in English and the chorus in Chinese. After the song Lily sings a little tune, words that I don’t understand and probably no one else does, but it sounds cute.

I stand up and wait. The female host makes a big fuss out of Lily and then they ask me, “How do you feel about your performance?”

Um…how do I feel? Performance? Am I suppose to care how I feel? I thought this was like a karaoke program of sorts thing; everyone knows you’re not great, but you’re all having fun doing it, right? I just smile and say “So, so” and shrug my shoulders.

They then say something rapidly in Chinese and I only pick up on “Will give you a phone call” I smile and say “Okay!” but I’m thinking, “Why, why would they call me? I hope they don’t want me to return!”

I walk out of the room and am ushered down the hallway to do an interview. The same kind of questions come up, “How do you feel about your performance?” Again, I’m speechless, perplexed at this question and how I’m suppose to answer it.

Then I sit down for my box lunch and all the pieces of the puzzle fall together. You see, as I’m sitting there feeding lunch to Lily, I hear them ask the same questions to all the other singers (whom I might add are really good singers) and tell them they will call them.

The puzzle pieces are coming together and I realize that I was in a singing competition! (My Chinese friend later confirms it when I tell her the story.) I am so embarrassed.

Can I please move back to America?!

When the nurse returns to find me to thank me and tell me I can go home, she also says, “I can let you know when the show will air so you can watch it!”

No,No,No…No thanks…I’m humiliated enough! No need to watch it!!
Singing competition?! ME? In a singing competition?

What. did. I. get. myself. into?

On a note (no pun intended) of trying to keep perspective in all things; if just one person watching that show realizes that Jesus loves them and it changes their life for eternity, then it was worth it. Yes, worth every part of the embarrassment and silliness of the whole thing!

I understand the words, but the meaning seems to elude me. I flip to the back of the lesson to read it in English, just to make sure I’m not missing anything. Nope, I’m not.

And yet, I am. Why can’t I figure out why they mention the Japanese man has three kids who all wear glasses? It just doesn’t seem to fit in anywhere. Here’s the paragraph word for word from my lesson book, maybe you can make sense of it:
“Mr. Xie is Japanese. He has three children-two sons and a daughter. This year, the eldest child is a university sophomore, the second eldest is Junior High School 3rd grade-a young daughter-is only Primary School 6th grade. One day, an American friend of Mr. Xie’s-Dr. Li- came to his home. When Dr. Li saw that the Xie’s three children all wore glasses-and if they didn’t wear them they wouldn’t be able to see clearly-so he talked with Mr. Xie about the problems of education.”

The rest of the lesson is the conversation between Mr. Xie and his American friend, Dr. Li. They discuss the differences in education between the two different countries and never mention the glasses again. So, when I finished reading the story I kept thinking to myself, “Why did they ever mention the glasses? What was the point in ever bringing it up? And what does it have to do with education? Why did it lead into Dr. Li talking to Mr Xie about education?”

Then it dawns on me.

Almost every time we are in public, we are asked why Lily and Isaac wear glasses, which is followed closely by the question: Do they study too much?

The conversation between Dr. Li and Professor Xie in my lesson is comparing the hours of education Asian children have versus Western children. The above story is actually based on the children wearing glasses, that’s what brought up the discussion of education!

We are always amazed at how many Asian people wear glasses. We’ve been told it’s because of the long hours of study, but this article suggests that might not be the whole story.

**I also seen this article, stating about the same thing as the above one, but might be of interest to you**

While Daniel and Lily played on the slide I noticed a little boy sliding down with his split pants on. I also noticed the wet spot on the ground near the slide.

Hmmm, what do I think of this method of potty training? Seems there are lots of opinions on the web, just google “split pants china” and not only will you get to see those cute bums sticking out, you’ll get an array of opinions.

All of which I agree with!

Split pants means: less waste in the landfills, gross messes on the ground for me to avoid, money saved, seeing a child’s personal anatomy in awkward moments, a child isn’t sitting in their mess, and split pants means I’m often wondering if it’s okay for my child to slide down after that bare bum just did!

Split pants…what’s your opinion?

I really miss speaking to them and sharing my life with them. I’m not saying that China doesn’t have elderly people, but because the gap between my language and theirs is so wide, I seldom get an opportunity to talk to them about anything beyond my age, nationality and income.

I imagine they have a plethora of stories that would knock my socks off if I could just sit with them and question them.

There’s this one elderly man who comes outside every day at 3 p.m., well, every day it is sunny. I see him just outside my window; clutching his cane, rocking forward and backwards, face bent towards the sun, chin up, while soaking up the sun rays. He stays like that for at least 30 mins. keeping his  rhythm going. I would love to ask him what he’s thinking, where he’s been, and where he thinks he’s going after this life.

Then there is the chicken lady. She lives in the building directly next to ours and every spring her daughter-n-law purchases her 4-6 chickens. Imagine an apartment complex with a handful of chickens running around it!

I love it!

The woman is in her late 80s and walks slightly hunched using her cane to poke and swat the chickens to keep them in front of her building. She is layered in clothing even though it’s warm outside, she smiles at me every time I walk by and asks about my children. That’s as far as our conversation has gone. Except her appreciation for my blue eyes. I wish I could ask her to take me back to the time of her childhood, tell me what it was like in China when she was young, what she learned from her life and what I can learn from it too.

http://www.seniorsworldchronicle.com/2009/10/china-chinas-elderly-find-life-and-joy.html

And then there’s the group of elderly that meet down by the river park. Their legs are stretched as high as their ears. They are signing to themselves, with each other, and to no one in particular. Some have bull whips snapping and crackling in the air, while others move slowly with their swords dancing to a music I can’t hear.

Some are hugging the trees. Literally. And others are using the exercise equipment while gossiping. I want to talk with them. I want to know where they have been, where they are going, and what I can learn from them.

I miss the elderly.

This was said by a Chinese immigrant to America.

I find this unsettling, so much so, that it’s hard to write what is going on in my head. Especially since I am an American living in China and enjoying it very much.

When asked to explain his meaning, he said that in America everyone has access to quality health care; it doesn’t matter if you are poor, middle class, or rich. If you are poor, the government will actually help you pay your expenses, whereas in China only the rich can afford insurance.

My experience and knowledge of health care in China is very limited, because although I live here, I receive insurance through my American company and thus have better options than the typical Chinese person.

The little I know is that it is not unusual for Chinese people to keep a fairly large sum of cash hidden in their home for the “just in case” moment of needed health care.

When they go to a hospital, they will not be treated unless they can pay first. I have a friend who said he sat in the emergency room and saw for himself people dieing, simply because they did not have the cash in hand to pay for the services.

I’ll admit, I’m fairly ignorant when it comes to the American health care system. I don’t understand the policies that were recently put into place and their ramifications. I know I don’t enjoy seeing how much we have to pay every month in order to insure our family! I don’t like dealing with all the bills, the coverage plan, and the bureaucracy of the insurance provider, but I also don’t want to be in an emergency room dieing because I don’t have enough cash on hand!

Another story tells of a mom, newly green carded in America, who had cancer and was amazed that she was given the same doctor who did surgery on Steve Jobs. She was so amazed that she was given one of the best surgeons, even though she had very little money. She said that this experience later caused her to believe in God.

I love this about my country!  That a person with no money can be given the same quality of health care as a person who is rich.

Now wait a minute. I’m not saying America doesn’t have her faults and China her perks. But I wonder if we would ever hear an American say, “I’d rather be a dog in China than a person in America.”

**More insight on the topic of insurance in China can be looked up on here and although this website  is outdated, it still paints a true picture of what still happens**

I just found this note from Isaac, after reading it, my heart is full with love for him. I hope he doesn’t grow up or get married. EVER.

(typed just the way he wrote it, with the xoxox too!)

I Love My Graet Mom

My mom mops the floors.

My mom never scrachess the floor.

My mom never slams a door.

My mom makes me a good man. I love my Mom. xxxxxxxxxxx

oooooooooooo

Love Isaac

They plague me and rob me of my freedom, good attitude, and love towards man kind. What’s a mom of 4 kids to do when stuck outside with the three evils of winter?

Become the woman you never thought you would be! Aggressive. Selfish. Yuck!

One of the things I often notice that is totally different from any experience I have ever had in America is how the Chinese person is aggressive. They have no qualms pushing their way towards the front of the line, cutting in line is normal, perhaps in their mind even clever!

I vowed several days after arriving that I would not use any aggression to get my way.

Yeah right **read that with sarcasm**

That sentiment lasted as long as it took me to realize that I would stand in line forever if I didn’t block someone from cutting in front of me. I need to move quickly, swiftly and occasionally stop the person in back of me from sneaking their veggies over my shoulder and onto the scale!

Sweet hubby of mine, laid back, roll with the punches guy, has even been known to jab an elbow or two out to block someone from cutting in front of him!

After leaving our “annual Christmas present” hotel visit we towed our suitcase, two backpacks, and one pack-n-play, all four kiddos and headed down the block to find a taxi. We immediately experienced the three evils of winter. Wind. Freezing temps. No taxi’s.

Picture it with me. We are on the side of the street, cold wind hitting our faces, taxis, buses, and car loads of people passing us. Chinese people rolling down their windows to look at us, pointing at the children, smiling from ear to ear because they think the kids are so cute to look at. Me, wishing I could drag them out of their car and get in where it’s warm. Why don’t I get my driver’s license? I think for the billionth time.

It went on like this for awhile. We would stick our hand out and try to flag down an empty taxi, the driver would shake his head “no”. We stood by the sign that told us to wait for a taxi here, but no taxi would stop and pick us up. We checked our watches and noted it wasn’t during the taxi driver shift change.

My anger is beginning to simmer. I take my scarf off and wrap it around Daniel’s red cheeks, I ask Peter to get Lily’s out of the backpack and wrap her up too. I scold Jolie for not bringing her hat or scarf with her for the millionth time. Isaac stands by with a big grin on his silly face, he’s pretty proud that he is wearing all his winter gear.

Have I ever told you I don’t like being cold? No doubt if you have hung out with me anytime during the past few winters you have heard me bemoan the woes of winter. I’ve had 37 of them and am ready to go south. I don’t care about the first snowfall being all white and pristine. Trees limbs weighed down by shimmering ice. My heart’s desire is south bound! I’ll look at pictures if I miss it.

Peter and I are debating back and forth. We don’t know if we should cross the street. Wait where we are a little longer. Return to the hotel and ask them to call us a taxi (Why didn’t we do that in the first place?!?!?)

A taxi drops off a passenger and Peter rushes to the door, opens it and gives him our address. The driver points across the street and drives away. Can you imagine the rejection we feel? So close. Yet not close enough. We race across the street while there’s still a chance!

I’m literally pulling Lily by her coat shoulders, good thing it’s thick. Her feet drag on the cement as I desperately try to keep Daniel from sliding down my waist while also getting her across the busy street. (He’s wearing a snowsuit and the material easily slides down my coat.) My grip on him is failing but I have to, I must get across before the next row of cars come! Peter helps, but bless his heart, his arms are also full.The other two race besides us as we try to keep up with the crowd crossing together. I remind myself that all this stressing out over getting a ride home is meaningless.

When will my misery end?

We see an entire row of empty taxis waiting at the light. The light is red–now’s our chance! My spirits are lifted, we walk over now confident we will get a taxi.

One rolls down his window and I tell him our address, he shakes his head “no”.

I’m now at the boiling point and out of desperation yell back in my broken awful Chinese:“We’ve been waiting out here for so long. It’s so cold. You should take us. Take us! Take us!” Just writing that makes me feel pathetic.

I even pout. Like the Chinese women do.

He apologizes and tells me he doesn’t have enough time. Apologizes again and the light turns green, he rolls up his window. Drives away and so does the rest of the empty taxis with their red meter lights that give us false hope of a ride home.

We wait again…and wait…n wait.

Peter and I begin our debate again. Do we stand here, do we cross the street? What about going back to the hotel. Should we go to that corner? Each of us have our opinion. Neither of us know which is the better one to follow.

The three evils of winter are about to crush me.

I’m mad. I’m desperate. I’m frustrated. I’m cold. I get ear aches easily and Daniel has my scarf. Someone should scold me for not wearing my winter hat. But who scolds mom?

Two taxis pull up to the curb, both are dropping off passengers. Peter and I take action.  He carries the heavy pack-n-play and rushes to the first taxi. The driver shakes his head “no” without even hearing where we want to go. Moving on to the second taxi, Peter opens the back door (because there is a man in the front passenger seat)  and tells the driver where we need to go. The driver shakes his head “no”.

I get aggressive. It’s amazing what you find your self doing when the three evils of winter descend upon you. Along with the three evils pushing me forward to actions I never thought myself capable of doing, I want my kids to be warm. I’m tired of feeling desperate. I’m tired of debating with my husband.

I open the passenger door and at the same time holler back at Peter and the kids. “GET IN!”

I tell them I don’t care if the driver said “No” just GET IN. The driver isn’t volunteering to open his hatchback, so I encourage Peter to just shove our suitcases in. Imagine, three kids, a 6 foot tall man, 2 backpacks, and a pack-n-play trying to hurriedly shove themselves into the back of a small sedan. The pack-n-play doesn’t fit.

And then I find myself doing something I can hardly believe. I actually grab the passenger who is trying to pay his fare and pull on his arm sleeve a little. Not too hard, but enough to let him know I am staking my claim on this taxi and want that seat just as soon as his bottom leaves it. Oh my. Gasp! What has become of me?!

He gets up. I slide in quicker than I thought was possible with a child on my lap.

The Chinese passenger is now standing on the curb and asks if he can please have his receipt from the taxi. Oops, I had ushered him out so fast he didn’t have time to get what he needed! Can I claim “mother bear” for this offense?

The driver hands me the receipt I pass it to the ex-passenger and remain seated. While this is happening, Peter opens the hatchback, shoves the pack-n-play in there. I wonder what the driver will do now that I am in the passenger seat, door closed and the kids are squishing themselves in the back.

He amazes me. He asks, “Where to?” I tell him where and off we go.

The driver and I talk about children, America, Spring Festival. I wonder why he told us no in the first place and then yes in the second place, but I don’t ask.

I’m just thankful we are warm and heading home and a little scared at what has become of me.

Do Spirit filled people do this sort of thing?
Am I just following the laws of this culture?
I’m not sure, but I think I would still be waiting at the curb if I hadn’t done what I did.