I love China.
I love the people. I love the culture. I love the nation. It's hard to know which came first, whether it was a heart for the faraway nation itself or the adoption of one of its abandoned beautiful daughters. I guess it doesn't take much imagination to understand the weaving that both have done in my heart over the many years. But since we have brought Annika home a strange weaving of another kind has happened. Of course there is the heart of a mother expanding the resources of her love for yet another child, but this particular weaving is in the hearts of my men.
They all, husband and sons alike, have taken all things Chinese into the fabric of their daily thinking. Some of this is to be expected. Not a day goes by but that Annika's heritage finds it's way into our thoughts and feelings. But beyond that is the longevity of the conversations that seem to springboard from these things. Sometimes I hear them wrestling with the thought of whether they want to go on vacation or back to China! And my men love their beach time, let me tell ya.
And than there is the child like faith of my smallest man. Today he asked how long we would all be staying in China the next time we went. All of us, as in the whole family is going next time, apparently. I answered with the standard 2 weeks, even though it was 3 weeks with Annika. George's reply was that he hoped it would be 11 weeks! In fact, he followed that up with he hopes just to go live there awhile. Dreams start young my friends.
So in the smallest way, we chip at the understanding of all things Chinese. For us. For Annika. For our dreams.
:: Chinese New Year celebrated at the Nelson-Atkins Museum
:: Even the massive statues bring understanding. All idols hold the same empty space and the philosophies that they embody do nothing for the redemption of the human soul, for they are dead. The underground christian church of the chinese people is a heartbeat of truth resounding in the midst of it's suppression. Pray on.
