Chapter 6: "Roosters in the Morning"

[Note: This post is dated 1-24-20 only to create chapter sequence.Back to Chapter 5]

The four largest cities in the  U.S. follow this order from East to West and North to South: New York City: 8,550,405.Los Angeles: 3,971,883. Chicago: 2,720,546. Houston: 2,296,224.

Add the population of all four of those U.S. cities together, and they are still smaller than Shanghai, China, a city of 24,500,000 and growing (first photo). In fact, if NYC was in China, there would be at least ten cities that are bigger.

What about Enoch's home town, the city of Guiyang? With a population just over 3,000,000 it's bigger than Chicago, but ranked #42 by size in China. Guiyang is not a hub of typical urban sprawl where one city blends into another. It is nestled in the lush mountains of one of the least developed provinces in China, Guizhou.

(Click on arrow to view Guiyang promotional video.)

I have watched portions of this video with Enoch, and nearly all of it is as foreign to him as it to us in America. Readers may think, "But wait a minute. I thought you said this was his home town. And in Chapter One, he spoke of a 30 minute bus-ride he takes twice a day from the outskirts of Guiyang to near the city center." Yes. That's true, and Enoch knows that bus route very well. If he is not doing homework on the bus, he has stared at the passing streets countless times. Other than that route, however, his life has had little time for "Sunday drives" or trips to the country or weekend excursions. The schedule for school (also in Chapter One) does not include the notion of a "weekend" or time for recreational sight seeing. When telling me these things, Enoch gave no hint of feeling cheated, but he also was not impressed by the video. He simply says when watching such tourism videos, "They only show the good things. They will not show my district. My district is where the farmers from the country end up living, but we cannot afford to live in the video parts of the city."

Enoch is not a complainer; he is not cynical; but he does have a quiet confidence in the things he has seen first hand. The subject of Chinese propaganda is a serious matter, but when it comes to tourism, let's face it, our US marketing experts do the same thing. Take for instance this "Discover Flint, Pure Michigan" radio spot, promoting one of the most scorned cities in America. It almost makes me want to go their just for a drink of water! 

Living on the outskirts of Guiyang means still living "in the city limits" while being far from the trees, hills, serene lakes and scenic waterfalls in the video. It means enduring a 30 minute bus-ride with the smell of diesel smoke and the shrill drone of countless small motorcycles weaving in and out of traffic like hornets. Then stepping out and onto the busy sidewalks framed in modest modernity but nothing as nice as the "city center" highlighted in the video.

While we watched the video, I said to Enoch, "When I was in Beijing on one of the clear days when we had traveled to the wall, I suddenly noticed that something had been missing all day. It is a natural sound that is common everywhere in Michigan. I heard no birds. I saw no birds, but it was first their song that I missed. And someone told me 'That is because millions of small birds (mostly sparrows) were killed during the Great Leap Forward because they ate needed grain, etc.'  Mao seemed to forget that the sparrows also ate insects, and thus one pest was replaced by another to disastrous results. Someone else told me that the lack of pigeons in the city was because they were all eaten during the same time period. Do you know if this is true. Do you have birds in your neighborhood--like the birds in the video."


Enoch laughed. "The only birds I see are chickens, and the only birds I hear are the roosters. Every morning before even the sun is up, I hear the roosters through my window."

"How are there roosters in the city?" I smiled. 

He laughed, and with no bitterness about it, he said, "It is an old district. People who now live there used to live in the country. They were farmers. Now they live in the city and they bring chickens for sale and for eggs. The authorities let them do it, but it is the rooster making that noise... how you say...?"

"Crowing?" I guessed.

"Yes, crowing while we are still trying to sleep. That is what I do not like." 

"But I thought you lived in an apartment building surrounded by many apartment buildings."

"Yes, we do, but many chickens get out of wire... wire cage... they get out. Even if a rooster is in a cage, he will crow and wake me." He laughed the way we humans laugh at little things we cannot change.

"But do you know what else they do not show in that video? We have problem with the ... tubes. How do you say? The tubes that bring the water..."

"Pipes?" I guessed. "Do you mean the plumbing that brings the water to your house."

"Yes. Yes. That is what are the tubes. For sink and toilet and drinking and getting clean. One day our tubes quit bringing water. No water, and this happened long time."

"When did it happen?" I asked.

"Very long time." he repeated.

"I mean 'When did it happen?' Was it a long time or a long time ago. Like when you were little?"

"No. This happened in 2018 when my father was still in prison and it was for more than half a year. Eight months, I think. It only was fixed a couple months ago while I was waiting to come to Calvary."

"So when your father came home after 2.5 years in prison, you had no running water?"

"Yes. It stopped when he was gone and stay stopped many months. The authorities said, they tried to fix but the people who tried to fix took the money we paid and did not do the fix."

"Was this just your apartment or the whole building?

"No. Not building. Whole district had no water."

"I am so sorry that happened," I said incredulously. "How did you survive without water?"

"The authorities brought a flexible tube...how you say...?"

"A hose?"

"Yes, is a hose flexible? So then yes, hose. It had good water, but it was down by the gate of our district a few blocks away where we live. We fill a (he looked up a word on his phone) a barrel. We fill a barrel and bring it back to our apartment building. And then each family takes water from barrel in buckets to their own place. Very heavy to carry water in big buckets."

"And you live on the second floor?" I asked.

His eyes widened. "No. We live on the fourth floor. Many steps and very heavy. We tried to make the water in each bucket last, but it takes one bucket to flush the toilet. So we had many trips to the barrel each day." he laughed again as he had laughed about the rooster. [This is a picture I took in a modern school building in Guangzhou, China. It represents the style of toilet common in China. It is not meant to reflect the plumbing found in older districts.]

"We kept clean each day from bucket, but we took our showers on Sunday morning before church. Pastor "T" [I will call him this]  is the other pastor who did most of service when my father was gone. He lives closer to the city center on our way to the church. We would go to his apartment one hour before church and each take a shower. We did that every week for over half a year. But now our tubes... plumbing you say... have water again."

"Enoch, it is just unacceptable that such a thing would take so long to fix for all those people. How could the city get away with that. Did no one complain?"

"Everybody complain all the time, but it did not bring water." Here he did not smile. I think he saw the sadness in my eyes and knew that my heart hurt--not at the creative way they learned to cope--but that this basic need went unaddressed for over half-a-year. I still don't understand. Perhaps someday I will.

Now in the morning when I hear Enoch singing quietly in the shower behind the closed door of his bathroom, I;m very happy he is here. I am happy that God made this possible, that his parents saw the benefit of it, that they have entrusted us to make it a positive time in his life. I think he "feels at home" in an American sense of the phrase.  For his own sake, I hope he feels safe, secure, befriended, loved, and very much like he belongs already. But I also know he is far from home, and we wish to do nothing to replace his feelings for home in the truest sense of the phrase. I know not to do that because I have learned to love the hardest parts of my life--the far-from-perfect parts of my childhood.  Life is rain and sunshine, sorrow and joy, our worst and best days. When family is involved, we are who we are because of the quiet hours, chaotic days, cozy nights of shared life.

I believe that someday Enoch will hear a rooster crow in the distance on a morning far from now--Who knows where or when?--But I'm confident that someday Enoch will hear that sound again, and the same crowing he hated as a boy will bring back all of these memories--the smell of diesel from the bus, the drone of motorcycles on the street, the blur of a thousand nameless faces passing by, the weight of water buckets stretching his tired arms, the quiet tears of missing his father, the meals his mother made each day, his little brother's laugh... I hope a rooster crow will awaken all of these old familiar sights and sounds and feelings in his mind, and I pray they make him smile.

[On to Chapter 7]

Chapter 7: "I've Been Sleeping Less of Late"

[This post is dated 1-23-20 for chapter sequence. Back to Chapter 6]

I’ve been sleeping less of late

stirred by thoughts of no one there--

No one but the hand of fate

writing something in the air.

With the hand a pair of eyes

blink softly like a moth

set not on seeking light but lies

and falsehoods of whole cloth.

Ever-watching are the eyes;

ever-writing is the hand;

ever-pacing are the spies

who cannot understand.

© Tom Kapanka, February 21, 2019

It's true. I have not slept well this week. I'm not anxious or worried, but sometimes the hardest kind of learning happens in the night. I catch myself waking up and thinking about Enoch's parents and what the past six weeks have held for them. This morning, I woke and wrote these 12 lines. At first, I didn't even understand them myself. That's a bad sign.

Several hours later, I read them again and they reminded me of Daniel 5 in that they hint at the warning given to two arrogant kings, a father and son, who rejected God. One was humbled until he understood God's role over the affairs of man; the other was "found wanting." The lines are also a warning to the kind of men that serve such leaders; the kind who bring down good men to prove loyalty to those in control; the kind who ignore truth to cry treason; the kind who find false accusation more useful than the facts. Such crimes against character can happen in any political systems where authority is not earned but grabbed. We see it in the East; we see it in the West.

I learned this week from someone in our "network" that the authorities who watch Enoch's home 24-7-365 recently began asking where he was. I've wondered if this would happen.

His parents did not answer the question, because the fact is all the information they need to know is typed in plain sight on legal documents that went through all the proper channels at the highest levels of both countries. It is as clear as "the writing on the wall."  It is only at the provincial, plain-clothes, gumshoe, neighborhood "house arrest" stake-out level that Enoch's disappearance took weeks to notice. Only to those "spies" did the missing boy (who used to catch the bus each day) seem to be a mystery.

Having been in prison on trumped-up charges means that when you are released from prison you remain under house arrest indefinitely. If more trumped-up charges are needed, no problem. If they cannot be fabricated of whole cloth then they can charge you for having a hole in cloth. Those in power control the game board and the dice. Consequently, whenever such a released prisoner leaves the fourth floor apartment of his eight-story building with barred windows at all levels, he is shadowed by at least two plain-clothes officers whose sole job it is to know where he is at all times. When mother and children leave the building, they are not followed as tightly but their goings and returns are noted. It was the interruption of that daily pattern--of Enoch going and coming--that they finally noticed. It was that that led to the questions about the missing boy.

I asked Enoch if his father ever speaks to the men who watch their building or if he just leaves and lets them follow. Enoch said it is routine.

"My father is free to leave. They just follow. There is no attempt to be secret, but they do not speak. My little brother, he is very outgoing. When he and my mother walk to his school, and he passes these men, he always smiles right at them and says 'hello.'"

"Do they speak back?" I asked

"Not really," Enoch replied. "Guiyang is known for being rude. We don't try to be rude. It is just natural for most people. Like in America, you say 'Hello' like that. Like it is a song. But we just say 'Hello' like we are saying 'Be quiet!' We don't mean to be rude. It just comes out in our tone. Because of this when a person from Guiyang is in an argument with a person from some other province, the person from Guiyang almost always wins the argument. This is why I try to have a pleasant tone when I speak. And that is how my little brother always says 'Hello' to the men who watch our building... in happy voice, but they say nothing back."

"So how did the men ask about you?" I asked.

"They came up to the apartment and knocked on the door. There were many police, but only one of them asked where I was since they have not seen me for a long time. My father did not tell them where I was. I do not know how he got them to leave. Maybe they think I began boarding at my school like some of the students do. At my school, in 12th grade it is required to live at the school. He did not tell them this, and I am only 11th grade, but maybe that is what they thought. I have no idear." (The "r" at the end of idea is not a typo. For some reason, Enoch adds the "r" sound.)

[Enoch often abbreviates conversation with "I have no idear" It is his "go to" utility phrase, and it usually means "There is no point in discussing this further. My thoughts have run dry." or just "This is boring to talk about." But I had not yet learned this cue, so I continued asking questions.]

"Does it make you nervous that they know you're gone?" I asked.

"No. I am not their concern. My own school already told me I can never return. I have no student ID in China anymore. The right people already know what these men pretend not to know. I think these men do know I am gone, but they ask just to show power... just to remind my father they are in control. They think maybe he will say something that gets him in trouble. Like if he got nervous and made up something not true, they might arrest him. But he is very smart. He says nothing."

I took some comfort in Enoch's calm assessment. He said they knew a day of such questions would come, but now that Enoch's absence is noted not just at school, there seems to be a new level of scrutiny from the men with watching eyes. These events have also raised a new topic that cannot be discussed in this space except as a vague reminder for continued prayer.

Like Rahab in Hebrews 11, there are helpers involved who do not share her profession but are equally heroic in their efforts. I have been assured that the worst is behind us and no one is in real danger (partly because of the high level of international attention involved with Enoch's father), but we pray for God-speed for all involved in the weeks and months ahead.

[On to Chapter 8]

Chapter 8: "Enoch Face to Face with The Law"

(This post is dated 1-22-20 to create chapter sequence. Back to Chapter 7.)

Until recently, Enoch's only experience with the law was in China. That adversarial relationship was formed through experiences like the following:

[Actual dates and details redacted]

"When I was seven, my dad and another pastor established the _________ Church. At that time, the church was only 30-40 people, but the church rented a space in Guiyang. I remember meeting in that space, but some things I did not know back then because my parents tried to protect me from these things. That was the first space that the government began to harass our church even though they did not stop the congregation from meeting weekly. Later, the government pressured the landlord to no longer rent the space to us

"Sometimes our church had large gatherings in public places with permission from local authorities. Sometimes these events were weddings. One time, I remember we had permission to gather at an open park down by the river. Hundreds of people were there. Many people were being baptized in the river that day. (That reason for gathering was not mentioned on the permit.) Soon many police forces were there. It was very frightening. My father talked to the police while the other pastor finished all the baptisms. The police sent everyone home. Large public gatherings, even when proper steps are followed and a permit is granted, the police do not like.   

   

"After that, the church decided to buy a place to meet not in public places. I remember the church members praying about this for a long time, and then, with the help of some businessmen in the congregation, we bought a large space in a tall office building in Guiyang. In August we moved into this new space and the government's harassment of the church was greater than before. Dad and the other pastor were often called to meet with the government, but they have always adhered to the principle of “house church” (meaning independent church like in America). By December, [the] Church had about 600 people, meeting in the office space and two other spaces each week. The government tried to force our church to join the "three-self," a church system they control, they dictate meeting hours, they forbid attendance of young people under 18 or college students, and recently they add facial recognition monitors to three-self buildings so they know who goes there. Dad and other pastors resolutely opposed the church being dictated by government over God’s word in the Bible.

"Eventually, the government came to the church space and arrested people, confiscated all computers, books, Bibles, and teaching materials in the church building. There were more than 500 police on the scene to intimidate and control all those present, and on that day they took my father away from the church. When my mother went to pick him up at the jail (after ten day maximum without a trial), she saw him taken away with a black hood over his head to await his sentence in prison.

"Even though my father was in prison, my brother and mother and I were not idle. Although the government people did not come to the school to harass me, they did stay outside our house all day. Whenever my mother or us go outside together, these police officers followed us, and sometimes even block us from re-entering. One time, my family was kept outside the door by the police for 24 hours.

"Another time. I remember the date because it was Children's Day in China, June 1st. My mother tried to take my brother and I to McDonald's. A mother from church came to our house and extended special treat. As we step out of the building to go to the bus, the plain-clothed police who are always posted there tried to stop us from leaving, but my mother still insisted on going out. They follow us to the bus stop, shouting loudly to both mothers that they cannot take us anywhere. The bus was coming soon. My mother talked firmly with the police who kept trying to block our way. I don’t know why I felt brave enough to do this but I couldn’t help but shout out loud at them: "Dining! Is it illegal?" After that, they listened and pretended to be nice and asked us to go by their car to McDonald’s, but my mother refused their kindness.

"So we took the bus to the McDonald's store where we stayed for more than an hour. But even there, the policemen followed to guard us. When we got up to return home, they came over and said softly: "Sister ______, now you are done eating you will take our car and go back. Right?" Mom saw them with this pleasant attitude. She took pity on them because they are assigned to do this thing, and it must be hard, so this time, we just went to the police car. The other lady took the bus.

"At our apartment building, people saw us getting out of the police car like criminals. For no reason we were treated like that. Fifteen is almost not a child but also not so old. I forget many June 1 “Children’s Days,” but this one I will never forget. I never feel like a child again after that day.

"Later that same year. I came home from school on the bus around 6 o'clock in the afternoon, went up to our 4th floor apartment, and when I opened the door, I was shocked. There were strange men in the living room, all dressed in plain clothes but looking and acting like police. They were tall and tall, and they still had cameras in their hands and looking all around taking pictures. I glanced at my grandmother, my mother, and my brother who said nothing so I went back to my room, sat on the ground, and panicked in my heart (though I did not know what was happening, I was still a little scared). I prayed silently for a few minutes in my heart, slowly calming down. But I didn't go out and watch, I stayed in my room all the time, picking up a book to pass this disturbing time. 

"After the police left, my mother came to talk to me about this, saying that today the police came to copy the house. They came with more than 20 people, rummaging around, checking out the computer, U disk, and so on. By the time I arrived only these few tall men were still there.  My mother asked me if I was alright. I said I was afraid at first. She shared that she was also frightened. But then I told her that I calmed down after prayer. My mother praised me and said that I am very good. She also said: "It is the grace of the Lord to experience these things when you are young. It is good for your life." I seem to accept this without knowing it.

"Since my father was arrested, our family has been harassed by the government and police. In the neighborhood we live in (there are nearly 500 households in many apartment buildings), those neighbors often use strange eyes as we pass or say things they only guess about behind us. Mom also told us how to face these situations. Mom said: "Dad is not arrested for crimes, but for faith, for the Lord's church. For this he goes to jail. This is to be proud. We should not be ashamed. We will continue in faith to do as we believe. Let others say what they will..." So when Dad was not [my mother says “was not” like the story of Enoch in the Bible] but I mean to say when he was gone in prison the past two and a half years, my mother, brother and I were under surveillance from police and gossip from neighbors who saw all those police going through our house with no explanation, and we are not free to tell the truth about where my father was."

We have never met Enoch's mother. We communicate through translators and friends. We serve "in loco parentis" here in his home away from home. But it is clear that both of Enoch's parents are  strong in their faith and spirit, and both helped prepared him for the current chapters of his life.

Until recently, however, the above experiences and many more were Enoch's only context for "life on the wrong side of the law." So I hope you find the following as refreshing and funny as we did when Enoch confessed to us his brush with law enforcement here in the states.

Calvary Christian Schools is a fully accredited private school. In the state of Michigan we are required to jump through all the same "hoops" required of public schools: fire drills, tornado drills, lock down drills, "active shooter" drills, etc. We also have many parents who are in public safety and emergency first  response teams. A few weeks ago, three local fire and police departments scheduled an "active shooter" workshop to take place in our building DURING SCHOOL HOURS. The idea was to keep the whole training session very low profile. No notes home; no media, etc. Fire engines, ambulances, and squad cars were all parked behind the building. Most of the reenactments were happening in the cafeteria and the main hallway. Several victims in "bloody" makeup were in triage on the floor. Everything was going fine while the students were in class. Then the bell rang.

This interruption and call for "crowd control" was also part of the drill. A big burly bald officer was assigned to stand in the hall, strike the universally "STOP" position (wide foot-base, tall posture, and right hand up, palm facing oncoming pedestrians). Did you know that this is a universal non-verbal communication? All around the world a police officer in this stance means "STOP.! Do no proceed. Do not take another step. Danger ahead," etc. Everybody knows that. Right? Well... right about this time, Enoch was coming down the stairway from Art class. His next class is in the main high school wing, which was on the far side of all the "dead bodies."

But Enoch did not see the "actors" on the floor; he saw only the big, burly bald officer standing about fifty feet ahead of him. You have to know Enoch to fully imagine his response, but he rightly assumed that "law enforcement" in the US, as opposed to his family's experience in China, is a very positive thing. Police are the good guys, and here was one of the good guys standing right in our hallway with his hand held high. True he was not smiling like the guy in the photograph, but that detail went unnoticed.

When Enoch saw him, his walk changed to a friendly spirited pace directly toward the officer, and with a big innocent smile on his face he smacked the upright hand thinking he was trying to "high five" him.

"Easy there, fella!" the officer said firmly, "STOP. This means do not go past me. You need to find another way around this hallway."

Enoch's smile was dashed. His shoulders drooped in humility. He turned around, as all of the other kids in the hallway had already done, and slunk into the restroom, took out his phone, and called "mom" for help.

"How do I get to my next class if the hall is blocked?" he whispered.

"Where are you?" she asked from the school office, forgetting momentarily that there was a police drill in the hallway.

"I'm in the bathroom by the gym. I think the policeman is not happy with me. He told me to stop."

She explained an alternate route, and the rest of his day went as usual.

Enoch did not share the part about the high five until later that night. By then his embarrassment brought laughter to the whole family and more importantly to him as he re-enacted the story, snickering as he spoke.  Even now, weeks later, if I see a police officer (as we did in our recent trip to Chicago), I'll say "Hey, Enoch, I dare you to go high five that policeman." He just laughs. This was not only his first encounter with the law in America, it is his first experience with what American's call "an inside joke." What he doesn't yet know is that "inside jokes" can orbit in family circles for a lifetime.

[On to Chapter 9]

Chapter 9: "Sunshine above the Clouds"

[This post is dated 1-21-20 only for chapter sequence. Back to Chapter 8.]

Before I share this chapter, I need to review a common ailment that is experienced by 300 million people across the world every year. If talking about this microscopic infestation makes your skin crawl, that is because it is caused by thousands of mite crawling in your skin. In order to fully appreciate this chapter, we must first have a basic understanding of an unpleasant subject: scabies.

The eight-legged mite that causes scabies in humans is microscopic. The female mite burrows just beneath your skin and makes a tunnel where it deposits eggs. The eggs hatch, and the mite larvae work their way to the surface of your skin, where they mature and can spread.... The itching of scabies results from your body's allergic reaction....In prison situations, scabies is most often spread by improperly washed linens or a mattress previously occupied by an infected person.

Imagine being imprisoned under the worst of conditions, and being visited by a tormentor who says,“I am a torture expert. I know how to beat you up without leaving a mark on your body for people to see. Doctors won’t be able to diagnose you. Even you won’t know what you died of.” Then during the times when you are allowed to send mail, you send the following letter to your wife who is still at home with your 15-year-old and 6-year-old sons.

The following is prison letter from Enoch's father. For the full letter, click here.

My dear wife: Greetings!

I have received all of your letters: the first on Oct. 5 and the second on Nov. 8, which were written on Oct. 4 and 14.

My scabies were healed. Around Sept. 20, I was taken to a doctor who applied sulfur ointment all over my body. Finally, it healed. I have the same experience as Job. My fatty liver disease was diagnosed in prison. The suffering is bearable. The Lord has grace. The canker sore has not returned since May of this year. Thank God. There is not anything wrong with my eyes or waist either. You need not worry about my health. Now, I sleep well.

The reason why I did not reply to your letter in a timely manner is that I wanted to answer them together after the second letter arrived.

Pray and wait for God. My heart is calm and quiet, and it has no anxiety.
I can use sulfur soap inside the detention center, because God is kind in this way. I have enough clothes, as well as winter clothes, and I don’t feel cold at all. I have 3,500 Yuan [$512.00], which can last for a half year. It’s no use worrying about these things. You need not come to deposit money for me any time soon. It is not convenient for you to take a bus, and you won’t be able to see me. Some brothers and sisters came to deposit money for me. You just take care of our sons and our home. [Enoch's] birthday is on Nov. 17 and should be celebrated. Buy his favorite cheesecake and share with [his brother]. Wish him well on my behalf.

After reading your letter, I know some of your concerns. Praise the Lord by singing the song “The Sun above the Clouds.” The Lord has prepared this [song] for you and me. I sang it many times and am so joyful. I am sharing it with you. Never see the dark clouds covering the sky and always see the sun above the clouds. When you take a plane, you will see the sunshine all over the world, after it breaks through the clouds.

Never be dejected and despondent, always look up at our Lord, and always keep the spiritual life above the chaos of the real environment. Rest in God’s arms. “Some rely on chariots, some on horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord,” [Psalm 20:7]. Be upright and take care. Be prepared for the rest of the road. I will go with you. If the Lord doesn’t allow it, not a single hair [from your head] will drop to the floor.

You need not take [sermon] notes when you copy the hymns; the Bible, which I memorized by heart, always comes to me. I have plenty of time inside for meditation and prayer. This is the best preparation. Recently, I’ve often been reciting Nehemiah, Ezra, and Esther. Esther could have gone back to Jerusalem in order to build the city wall, [traveling] from the alien country to which [the Israelites] were carried off. Esther didn’t become extinct but turned into a [safety net], turning those days into a time of celebration.

[God] is so great and wonderful; who can be like Him? Our wonderful God, our Lord forever. Who can guess His wisdom and mystery? Our faith is built on His words (He never changes and never does wrong; this is the unchangeable maxim). Sometimes, somebody will decide something by guessing and then [testing their theory], but we don’t. We listen more to God and less to human beings, especially to [nonsensical] noise.

Greet everybody on my behalf and thank them for worrying about me. Encourage and give hope to each other in the days that God has prepared for us.

Your husband, who is always missing you.

I had never heard of the song "The Sun Above the Clouds" but I do know that my wife and I have certain songs that we consider "ours." Notice also that Enoch's father says, "When you take a plane, you will see..." This is because, as I understand it from Enoch, his mother has never been on a plane. The first time he was ever on a plane was in route to America in January. So his father is explaining to her that cloudy, dreary days are only seen to man. From God's perspective, the sun is always shining. There is always hope. It is much easier to read this letter and hear this song knowing that Enoch's father has been out of prison since mid-June, 2018--just days before Enoch first wrote to me about coming to Calvary.  I did find this song by that title on Youtube. 

When you soar on high,

in the sunny sky,

Or walk through the valley

far below the sky

Wherever you are,

you will always find

God prepared it for you and me

High above the clouds
the sun stays the same
Though rain drops
may sprinkle on your eyes
High above the clouds
the sun stays the same
Ah-ah, it stays the same

But it may very well be this version song by a church choir much like the one at Enoch's church before it was disbanded in 2015. . Be sure to click the CC button to see the lyrics in English:

[On to Chapter 10]

Chapter 10 : "When Even Happy Songs are Sad"

[This post is dated 1-20-20 only for chapter sequence. Back to Chapter 9.]

What is the most popular song known around the world?
Hint #1: The song was written more than a hundred years ago.
Hint #2: The original song writers, two sisters, sold the rights to this song for only $250.
Hint #3: Over the past 20 years, the copyright holders, made millions of dollars each year by charging royalties for any public performance of this song.
Hint: #4: Only in 2017 did courts determine that this song was in “public domain,” meaning no one can charge anyone royalties for using the song. (In fact, for about two decades, public restaurants began singing their own version of this song to customers rather than pay the royalties.)

Before I tell you the answer to the above question, let me share another happy song sung on a happy occasion that strangely puts a lump in my throat whenever I hear it: "Auld Lang Syne."

Was there ever a happier song and a happier ending to a movie? Why then  does it put a lump in my throat ? Because the scene transcends the song. The "old acquaintances that should never be forgot" are there on the screen. All but Zuzu have passed away. I remember as a kid staying up with our parents and grandparents and even a great grandpa when Guy Lumbardo or Lawrence Welk helped ring in the New Year. Now I'm the grandpa in the room. Maybe that's it. Whatever the cause, I confess that "Auld Lang Syne" touches something deep inside me that blurs my eyes even as I now type these words.

But this chapter is not about "Auld Land Syne." It is about the song "Happy Birthday." 

What, you may be wondering, could possibly be sad about the happiest song sung 'round the world?  Read on...

Back in Chapter Nine, there is a letter that Enoch's father wrote to him mother while he was in prison. In it, he says, "You just take care of our sons and our home. [Enoch’s] birthday is on Nov. 17 and should be celebrated. Buy his favorite cheesecake and share with [his borther]. Wish him well on my behalf." Then at the end of another chapter, I wrote: "Enoch did not see his mother cry upon reading this letter, but the letter mentions something that Enoch would later call a small miracle. And it was that miracle that brought the tears first to Enoch's eyes and then to his mother's."

By November, 2016, Enoch's father had been in prison for eleven months. He had not seen him for nearly a year. Phone calls could not be made into the prison, but on rare occasions the prison warden would allow prisoners to make phone calls out. The times of the calls were not of the prisoners' choosing. The privilege may or may not be extended every-other week. Sometimes there were longer gaps between. 

When Enoch's mother received that touching letter (Chapter 11), she shared it with the disbanded church family which had continued to meet in many different homes around the city. (The letter was also translated and discreetly shared with an American advocacy organization, which is how we have an English version three years later.) And so it was that about thirty ladies in Enoch's church gather together in his apartment home to surprise him on his  15th Birthday upon his return from school. Many of them had brought "his favorite cheesecake" (the one his father had mentioned)--so much so that the sheer quantity of cheesecake they had that night and for the next week to follow caused it to fall from his favorite dessert list. 

When he walked into the 4th floor apartment, he felt like he was walking into the Women's Mission Society with a party already in progress. Never had so many people--let alone ladies--been in that small space. His little brother was somewhere in the mix, but Enoch could not see him. It was quite overwhelming so he did what any red-blooded American strike that--Chinese boy would do. He greeted all the happy faces politely while he snaked his way through the crowd to the sanctity of his bedroom, which he was pleased to see unoccupied. Door closed, he sat on the edge of his bed eating cheesecake and wondering how long this birthday party would last. And then a knock came at his door.
It was one of the church ladies, "Enoch," she said, "Come quickly." 
Like any fifteen-year-old boy under such circumstances, he did not come quickly but followed the lady with a bit of caution, but to his amazement, the ladies had involuntarily formed a gauntlet of smiles waving him along to the far side of the room where his mother stood facing the corner for a pretense of privacy and holding her cellphone to her ear.

"The call is for you," a voice said as he passed, and then his mother turned and held out the phone to him. "It's your father," she half whispered, "It's a miracle." 

Enoch made his "shock face," and then cleared his throat and said, "Hello?"

The room was silent so he could hear what must have been a string of happy sentences. His head nodded and unseen smiles beamed toward an empty wall. When finally made some small talk about school and cheesecake and the crowded room. The miracle his mother mentioned was the fact that he did not request to call home on that very night, his son's birthday. Based on his treatment and the various degrees of spite that colored his days, he knew such a request would have fallen on deaf ears--in fact, it may have produced the opposite result. As he dialed the number, he knew it was his son's birthday, but he had no idea how such a divine gift had been delivered to him. Soon his father was told their time was up, and Enoch made a request he had never made before or since.

He turned his face away from the crowded room and asked, "Father, will you sing 'Happy Birthday' to me?" 
In telling me this story, Enoch paused to say, "This was a strange thing for me to ask my father. My mother has a beautiful voice. She is the piano player at our church, and she sings often. My father sings often his favorite songs, but he does not have so beautiful a voice as my mother. So I don't know why I asked him to do this but he tried his best.

"Is it the same song we sing in America?" I asked.

"Yes. Same song; same tune, and he began to sing. You know it repeats. He sang first 'happy birthday to you,' then second, then half way through the third time, his voice quivers with each word and then right before he says 'Dear Enoch...' he started to cry but still tried to sing through tears. I had never heard my father cry, and it made me cry, but he kept singing with words and cry. My mother saw me crying and put her ear next to phone to hear the end of the song with me, and she started crying. We were all three crying. It was a very sad kind of happy. I could not talk. My mother tried to talk. And then a voice on the phone said 'time's up' and he was gone. My mother and I just stood there in front of all those ladies. None of them cried. They just stood there staring until my mother could thanked them for coming and told me to thank them, but my face was wet. I had tissue at my nose. I just nodded like 'thank you' but did not want to talk. Pretty soon there was only my grandmother, my mother, my brother and lots of cheesecakes left in the room."

As is often true when Enoch shares a vivid memory, he paints a story-picture that I see so clearly my eyes blur. I just sat there at our kitchen table until I had to wipe my eyes with my napkin. 

"And that is the miracle of my 15th Birthday," he smiled.

I sniffled a bit, smiled back, and we both exhaled in unison.

Learn to sing "Happy Birthday" in Chinese here.

[On to Chapter 11]

Chapter 11: "Lost in Translation"

(This post is dated 1-19-20 for chapter sequence only. Back to chapter 10.)

The masthead of this blog suggests these chapters are based on real events and conversations, and yet I ask that they be considered fiction. This is in case thee is someday regret for sharing too much information, and that concern is based on a distrust for the authorities that put Enoch's family in this separated state. There is, however, another reason that caveat my be prudent. Sometimes there are weeks or months between the first and second "telling" of a story, and what was shared in a first draft may be corrected in a second due to misunderstanding. This type of confusion is sometimes called: “lost in translation.” 

Imagine that a game company made an English and Chinese version of the same game.  Let's say it's something like Scrabble except with full printed words on little wooden squares (rather than single letters).

Now let’s say that the Chinese and English game pieces were accidentally combined in one box at the plant and you were at an English-only party where the game box was opened and you had to use all pieces—even though half of them were in Chinese. My guess is that the English-only guests would write some pretty funny sentences if there was a guest who could read both Chinese and English.

Enoch's grasp of our language is improving with time, but his mental word search during conversations is sometimes like that grab-bag of mixed Chinese and English Scrabble pieces.

He sometimes struggles to find the right word. I can almost see his brain sorting through wooden squares in search of a better way to say something. Then he settles on the word within reach which is usually in the right category of meaning, but it is not the more precise word he will someday know to use.

For instance Enoch will say unsweetened tea is "bitter." When it's not bitter like a persimmon; it's just bland--not sweet--but his range of words that mean "not sweet" is very limited, so he uses "bitter" to describe many things that lack flavor.

His grasp of new words grows each day, but in the meantime, it is safe to say that some of the details of stories we share are “lost in translation.” For instance, we recently had some company and I was assisting Enoch in telling the story of “Children’s Day” in Chapter 8.  As I said, “...the mother from his church came to get them to go to McDonald's...," Enoch stopped me and said, “No. She was not there when we were stopped; we met her at McDonald's.”  I quickly revised the story to reflect this new understanding, but in my mind I thought: Oops! I got that detail of Chapter 8 wrong, The second lady was already at McDonald's, and yet the first time I heard the story, I thought Enoch said that the lady came to get them.

So I often ask myself: “Does it matter if I have some details wrong?”  Answer: probably not to the current readers, but when Enoch someday reads these chapters it will matter to him. With that in mind, I try to be accurate but I do wonder what else has been “lost in translation” in the passing months of our shared life with Enoch?

Our ability to communicate improves each week. I'm especially glad that we communicate at a more transparent, emotional level. My wife and I sense that a familiar trust is forming. 

Sometimes Enoch’s language improvisations make us smile. For instance, this morning as I was eating breakfast and Enoch was up in the bathroom, he suddenly stepped to the top of the stairs and said, “Dad, I need  tooth you know…” and then he began to pantomime brushing his teeth.

“You lost your tooth brush?” I guessed.

“No. I have brush. I’m out of… tooth bubbles.”

I went up the steps and into the bathroom where I saw the small white bottle of Colgate lying on its side. As I squeezed the bottle only air came out, but I could feel that some was still some in the bottle. I closed the lid and tapped the top of the bottle on the sink edge. Then voila!  Plenty of tooth bubbles squirted out on his brush.

I saw Enoch’s “shock face” in the mirror followed by, “How’d you do that?”  

“Store the bottle up-side-down on the lid and the tooth paste settles over the hole. Tapping it like this  speeds up the settling.  You should get a couple more days out of that bottle.”

“Oh. That is so smart.” He nodded.

“We’ll get more tooth paste for you soon....More tooth bubbles,” I clarified, holding back a smile.

[On to Chapter 12.]

Chapter 12: "Solace in the Spring"

(This post is dated 1-18-20 to create chapter sequence. Back to Chapter 11)

I am not a golfer.

Over the course of fifty years, I've played golf seldom enough to keep my beginner’s luck in tact. It’s been years since I’ve swung a club, so even that statement may no longer be true, but I used to be able make par on a handful of holes with years between games. This was very frustrating to my friends who golfed regularly, but the truth is:

I’m not a golfer. Neither is Enoch, but I do want to tell you about last spring when some of his classmates coaxed him to "try out" for our Calvary golf team.

The Chinese Communist Party (CCP) banned golf several decades ago. Then in 1984, they caved to a growing class of foreign businessmen and built the first golf course in China. Two decades later the CCP banned the word "luxury" to deflect charges of elitism. Shortly thereafter, the Party banned all members from joining golf clubs for the same reason. None of these policies affected Enoch or his family, of course, but evenso Enoch had never seen a golf course in his life—never held a club—never touched a dimpled ball—never even played putt-putt. Zip. Zero. Nada. BUT… two of his classmates are golfers, and when they asked him to come “be on the golf team” at school it was a social opportunity he could not refuse.

Enoch borrowed some clubs from his “brother in law” (or as he puts it:  “the husband of my American sister, Natalie") and began going to golf practice in late March.

I was not very involved in the process. His being at golf simply meant that I went home after school and had to go pick him up two or three hours later.

“How was golf?” I would ask.

“Cold. Very cold,” he would shiver. “The wind hurts my face. But today was a good day. I found four balls in the woods.”

“What were you doing in the woods?”

“I lost my ball. Twice. But I found four balls.”

“Were two of them the ones you lost?”

“No. Someone else will find those, but I am ahead two balls.”

“Well, that’s one way to keep score.” I smiled.

This went on for a few weeks until one April day over Spring Break.

Michigan never quite knows when to turn the page on winter. It can still be freezing cold in April, and this was a particularly blustery day. Enoch had no gloves. I offered him some that were in the car but he declined. “I will borrow golf gloves from a friend,” he said. I winced because golf gloves are very thin. "Use your pockets if your hands get cold," I said to a closing door.

About an hour and a half later, my phone rang unexpectedly.

“Dad,…”  [I should explain that some time between January and April, Enoch began calling Julie and I "Mom and Dad." This was not an easy decision for him. At school, students often call us "Mr. K" and "Mrs. K," but this did not feel right for Enoch, and one day at breakfast, he explained that even though his real mom and dad are in China, it would be much easier to say "Mom and Dad" if that would be okay. This made sense. But quite often when Enoch says the word “dad," he elongates it into a two syllable word  that drops a note mid-way through like a door chime.]

 “Da-ad, can you come get me?”

“Is golf practice over?”

“No just first nine-holes, but I cannot go on.”

I could tell that he was very sad, and it was not just because of the cold. Ten minutes later he plopped down in the passenger seat of our car. His bare hands were red, but his eyes were, too.

“Here. Put these gloves on. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. There is nothing to talk about. I am no good at golf. The coach is nice to me, but I know I am just no good. I am holding up the whole team. Even when they separate the players by how good they are, I hold up the other bad players.”

“Well…" I searched for something to say. "You gave it try. I thought maybe you’d find a hidden talent or have some beginners luck.”

“No talent and no luck. Just swing and miss or ball goes wrong way. I hate golf.”

“Well… don’t be too hard on yourself. You mostly just wanted to be with friends, right?”

“Golf course is very big. Today we were separate. I didn’t even see my friends except when I told them I was going home. They said they understand.”

“Well… [It was my third reply in a row that begin with “well…” but I’m not sure he knew this pattern was a signal of deep consolation.]  I’m proud of you for trying. You’ll feel better when you warm up. We’re almost home. You don’t have to go to practice anymore.”

There is a non-profit called "passiton.com" that puts inspirational billboards up all across the country. You've probably seen them. This one of John Wayne is near our home. It's a quote from the movie True Grit. I've passed this sign with Enoch many times. We did not pass it on the way back from the golf course, but it did come to mind when we pulled in the driveway and Enoch broke his silence..

“Are you mad at me for quitting?”

“No." I wondered out loud. "Do I look mad? Have I said anything that makes you think I am mad?"

[Time for a confession: Have my own children ever seen me mad? You bet. Has my wife ever seen me mad? Of course? Bless her ever-loving heart.... But you all know how it is. Getting mad with loved ones requires testing an incredibly strong "tie that binds." Sad but true is the old song "You Always Hurt the One[s] You Love," and though I do love Enoch, that bond has not yet tested the rope, and to be honest, Enoch is a thoughtful young man who is somewhere in this same cautious spectrum with us. I share this merely to say .... Enoch has never seen me upset, and if he ever does, I hope he will smile and says, "Does this mean I'm family?"] 

I was not even disappointed about him quitting golf. I felt bad that he kept going for so long. These thoughts were running through my head as he asked again:

"So you are not mad that I failed?"

"Not at all. Enoch. You didn't fail. Until a few weeks ago, you'd never swung a club. I just thought it might be worth a try to see if you like it. In this case, giving something a try gives you the right not to continue, but that is not failing. You succeeded at trying. That’s all anyone can ask of you. There are sometimes in life when you cannot quit trying because... well... it's important to keep going, but... I would never make you keep chasing golf balls in the cold if it's not something you enjoy."

"So why do I feel bad?"

"Well... I suppose you're disappointed, but that only means you really tried, right? There are lots of things I have tried and failed at, but do you know what is really sad? There are some things I  think I might be good at, but I have not tried them."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I'm afraid of the difference between what I think I'm good at and what others think is good. Does that make sense?"

He nodded. I realized that I was talking to myself out loud as much as I was talking to Enoch. I suppose that is the nature of advice whenever age talks to youth.

We stepped into the warm house. The rest of the day and evening was quiet. I was in a recliner watching the news and Julie was upstairs reading. I assumed Enoch was in his room, but he was not.

Our house is a tri-level. It has a lower-lever family room where we spend most of our evenings and a living room on the main floor which is more formal. In in is our family piano; a very old family pump organ; and harmonicas and stringed-instruments of various sizes. Despite these many instruments, it is a room that has been largely silent since our last daughter was married (and now has a house and  piano of her own) It is a great room to read in or to take a nap (on the seldom-used couch), but in the four months that led up to that quiet April night, Enoch had never sat at our piano, and I had no reason to think he ever would.

Then in the distance I heard Beethoven and wondered who was in the house.

Enoch noticed me recording him with my phone, but it did not seem to bother him at all.

I recalled a previous conversation many weeks before when Enoch told me that his mother made him take piano lessons as a child, but he did not like and quit. The level of playing I was watching reflected a much longer story.

When he was done, I put down my phone and said, "Okay, Enoch. Tell me more about those lessons you took as a child. You are very good."

"No. I am only so-so. I have not played a piano in many years."

"You've walked past this piano for four months and never been tempted to play?"

"No. I did not want to. It is bad memories for me."

"How so?"

"My mother knew a very famous concert pianist in our city. This friend knew we were poor and told her that she would teach me lessons but not charge. She did this for free. And so every week for seven years, I had to go to that lady's house [apartment] for piano, but I did not like it at all."

"So you were seven when you started?"

"Yes. Elementary school at first, but as I got older, I had long days at school...homework... church...and then piano. My mother made me practice many hours each week--not on a piano because we do not have a piano... on one of those keyboard things. It plugged in.”

"Most kids do not like it until they get past the notes on the page and the song is inside them. Our first two daughters took piano, but it never really took them. Natalie [our youngest] learned to love it." 

"I never felt good enough. I make mistakes, and I knew I would never be a concert pianist."

"Very few people ever get that good, but they still play piano. You are good. Why did you quit?

"My mother made me play until the Government put my father prison. Things got hard then. It just happened. She let me quit piano."

"Has it been that long since you played?" He nodded yes. "I think it would make your parents very happy to know that you have not forgotten how."

"I made many mistakes, but it did feel good to know I could still read the music."

"Our daughter Natalie used to spend many evenings here. We did not make her do it. She enjoyed it. I would lie on the couch and listen to her. I miss that. It is very good to hear it again, so please make yourself at home and play whenever you want for as long as you want."

He smiled, and began playing again.

To this day, neither of us has talked about why it was on that particular day after feeling like he had failed at golf that he suddenly went down to the "parlor," turned on the piano light, adjusted the bench, slid back the wooden lid, thumbed through the Schirmer's collection, and began playing notes that had not coursed through his fingers for over three years.

On that night, mistakes did not matter to him. The notes on the page went from eyes to brain to memory and to a song that brought him solace in the spring. It does not happen every evening or even every week. Playing piano is not something he HAS TO DO, but like the shepherd David at his lyre, it is something that soothes his restless mind when his thoughts are far away.