So What?

I saw the dark side of human nature from an early age. My mother was the director of a hospital. She believed a doctor’s calling was to treat illness and save lives. For this she was accused of following a path of professional expertise without political loyalty—of “pulling the cart with her head down without looking at the road,” of ignoring politics and its direction. Whenever political struggles arose, she was subjected to public denunciation. Two incidents remain particularly vivid in my memory.

I was in the first or second year of primary school. One day, coming home, I had barely entered the compound when I saw enormous characters covering the wall along the left side of the courtyard: “Bombard XXX!” “Attack XXX!” The person being attacked was my mother. I suddenly felt abandoned by the whole world, including my friends. I walked home utterly alone and helpless, afraid to turn around while classmates pointed and whispered behind me. Dragging my heavy feet, I finally reached home, only to find denunciation posters plastered over our door and windows too. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to call home. Tears kept coming, but I was afraid someone would see and laugh, so I forced myself to swallow them. When our home was searched, it was just getting dark, close to bedtime. Suddenly a crowd rushed in. I hid in bed, pretending to sleep, covering my face with the quilt while tears flowed. Eventually they dried, and I fell asleep. At that time, I felt there was nothing in this world I could rely on. My parents loved me, but they could not even protect themselves. Being weak was no use—in this world, I could rely only on myself.

Another scene left a deep impression. A doctor who lived on the third floor had brought a paper for my mother to help revise. He had been extremely respectful. But a month or two later, after my mother had been publicly denounced, she sent me to deliver the corrected paper to his home. I knocked on his door and saw a dark, sullen face, utterly unlike the humble, respectful one I remembered. Even as a child, I wondered how anyone could be so calculating. I often recalled that face afterward—the ugliest, most rapidly changing face in my memory. It made me deeply suspicious of human nature.

My childhood taught me that I could not rely on my parents, because they could not protect themselves. From junior high school onward, I studied hard. I performed better than expected on the university entrance examination and entered my first-choice university, one of the best in Beijing. Years of effort had borne fruit, and for the first time I tasted success. I thought I could finally catch my breath. But on the first day, as new students introduced themselves and compared scores, I discovered, to my horror, that I was near the bottom of the class. Most students admitted from outside Beijing had higher marks than we local students. Before I could enjoy my achievement, I was off on another campaign. I rose at five thirty every morning. In winter, when it was still dark and the classroom building was locked, I climbed through a window to study. I did not know where that drive came from; I think I was trying to find something in myself to lean on. Hard work paid off. Within a year I had overtaken my classmates; after another four years I was first in our entire year. My top grades won me admission to graduate school without an entrance examination. Seeing my name at the top of the list, I was happy for a moment—the goal I had pursued for four years was finally achieved. But when my excitement met the indifferent looks of those around me, most of it quickly faded.

Still, I made up my mind: I had to be better than other people. Did I have a goal in life? Spare me the abstractions—what goal was there except competing? Throughout those years, including graduate school, I worked intensely hard. After graduation, my goal was to seize every opportunity to make more money and create, with my own hands, what I imagined would be a good life.

My working life went smoothly. My first and last job as an employee was in the Beijing office of a Hong Kong company. After a little over a year, I set up my own investment company. As a graduate student, I had interned at an organization called the Stock Exchange Executive Counsel, which was preparing the establishment of a securities market in China. I participated in and witnessed the entire process, from the market’s beginnings to its subsequent development; I was among its first participants. At first I dreamed of making ten thousand yuan, thinking that would be enough to get married. I soon made it. Then I wanted a hundred thousand, so I could see more films and enjoy more meals out. That came quickly too. Perhaps, I thought, with a million I would no longer need to work: I could enjoy life instead of slaving at things I did not want to do. A million seemed to come quickly as well.

When I was still an employee, I had boasted to foreign colleagues that my dream was to have a million US dollars. They should not look down on us Chinese or think we had no dreams! At the time, all I wanted was money. I thought it was the answer to all my happiness and enjoyment. Perhaps it was the support I was unconsciously looking for. Once I had a million, I thought ten million might be better. I soon made that too, but still did not feel secure. Perhaps a hundred million would finally do it? Before long, somehow, I had made that as well.

Outward prosperity could not remove the uneasiness and confusion that haunted me. I began to think: something was wrong. One case followed another, just like children going from one game to the next. Where did it end? Was my life to be consumed endlessly by a game designed for adults? On one side, it required almost all my time and energy, while I faced pressures concerning family, loved ones, relationships, my child’s growth and education, investment choices, health, and financial risks. On the other side, I did not enjoy the game itself, and it was gradually becoming detached from the goal of improving actual life. The price was unbearably high, while the outcome seemed almost meaningless. The scales of life would not balance. Sometimes I deceived myself with the thought, “This is for my career!” But another voice would immediately ask, “So what?” Even if every investment succeeded, what would come after that? I could find no answer.

During that time, I tried all sorts of ways to find life’s meaning. I explored religion, even traveling to Nepal, the birthplace of Shakyamuni. Perhaps I lacked knowledge, I thought, so I studied intensively and attended every kind of training I could. Perhaps I lacked experience, so I traveled around the world to broaden my horizons. Yet the more I searched, the fewer answers I found and the emptier I felt. Who could rescue me from this suffering?

Every day I faced a meaningless life that I could not stop living, along with situations beyond my ability to manage. Why did I have to continue such a hopeless existence? I could not understand it, until I felt utterly desolate. One morning I opened the curtains and the sky seemed dark. I thought, “Why am I still alive?” I wished this meaningless life could end, but I did not dare take my own life: I feared what it would do to my parents and my son. Living was too hard, yet dying was not an option. I felt trapped in a vast, dark pit, unable to get out. At that time, my “hope” was that I might die in an accident.

I began trying dangerous sports: skiing, horse riding, even paragliding. I took paragliding to such an extreme that my instructor said I was the only woman to complete all the training in a single day. I went from ground exercises—an absolute beginner carrying the equipment and learning to face the wind—to practice on a small hill, then straight up a mountain that evening to launch from a steep cliff. Standing there, I thought it would be wonderful if one misstep ended my life. I felt almost ready to embrace death. Looking back, it frightens me. At the time, I was seeking a way to die that I could somehow regard as safe.

I was a little like Forrest Gump, stumbling through the early years of China’s reform and opening up. I witnessed the securities market grow from nothing into a major industry, along with all kinds of strange events. I saw people become rich overnight, rise suddenly, and fall just as quickly. I seemed to have been present for every dramatic development. I also saw how people in official circles lost their influence when they left office, and how selfishness and betrayal exposed the coldness of human relationships. It all stayed with me. Apart from fleeting vanity, I could find no real beauty or meaning in life.

How could I become happy? I had done so much, but everything seemed beyond my strength. I had kept holding on, and I was exhausted. There was nowhere to rest. Family, money, pleasure, career, religion, courses, travel, dangerous sports—each new pursuit seemed at first to awaken a new hope, only to bring deeper disappointment and helplessness. Everything seemed futile; only my son seemed worthwhile. So I poured enormous energy into his education. Because I had not found a meaningful direction and had become so distressed, I wanted to build a coordinate system for his life, to give him guidance when difficulties came. Geography was the horizontal axis: I took him around the world. History was the vertical axis: I spent two and a half years reading Five Thousand Years of Chinese History with him, hoping it would help him establish direction and goals. Even that was not enough for me. I cultivated his interests, arranging lessons in musical instruments and all kinds of sports. At the time, I thought I must be the best mother in the world, a mother who had done everything she could.

At about twenty-seven, I retired and immigrated to Canada. People there often preached the gospel to me and invited me to Bible studies. But having grown up with atheism and materialism, I found believing in the Lord especially difficult. My heart was hard, and I refused. I divided believers into two categories: weak people and people seeking extra benefits. I thought I could support myself by working hard without seeking any special advantages. They wanted God’s blessing; I did not need it. Still, sometimes I sensed that people did not control their own destiny. A Chinese saying speaks of Heaven above our heads. I knew there was a sovereign power in the universe beyond the material world, something one might call God. But where God was, or where to find the real One, I did not know.

When my son was a little over thirteen, he entered adolescence and began to rebel. All my energy, emotions, and dreams were invested in him. Suddenly this obedient child was no longer as I had imagined. Why would he not listen to anything I said? Criticism and instruction did not work; neither did threats or rewards. I was at a complete loss.

One day, after a debate lesson at his tutoring school, my son told me that the principal wanted to take him to a gathering of young Christians. I thought these people seemed kind and reasonable. As long as he did not become fanatical, a little faith and friends his own age might be good for him. So I let him go. He returned full of joy and told me a Bible story he had heard. When Solomon’s son became king, he had ignored the older counselors and quickly lost much of his kingdom. My son thought that was a pity and began reflecting on it. He said, “Mom, older people are sent by God to speak to me. You are an older person, so it seems God sent you to speak to me. I should listen to you more in the future.” I thought, “Wonderful! Who is so good at saying things like this?” Had they not just solved the problem that had defeated me? I immediately asked where I could find a Chinese-speaking meeting. I attended several video training meetings. Although I understood little of most messages, some points deeply touched me. First, the truths they spoke about addressed the very questions I had struggled with but could not resolve. In the Bible, there were clear and penetrating answers. Second, their speaking seemed balanced, without extremes. This seemed like the real God—vast, harmonious, and natural.

Persuaded by the truth, I kept listening and asking questions. They answered patiently, and this great family felt very warm. Sometimes people urged me to be baptized. “Don’t even think about it!” I said. “Listening to your teaching is fine, but baptism is unnecessary.” Privately, I had decided that once I completed the residency required for immigration and returned to China, I would find a Buddhist teacher. Buddhism, I thought, would fit our culture better.

Then, on January 19, 2007, there was a gospel truth discussion meeting. Several brothers had come from the United States to preach the gospel in our area. My life seemed to contain everything and yet nothing. I felt a loss I could not name. All my searching had ended in sigh after sigh, and I was living, wearing myself away, in that hopeless helplessness. So when I heard the hymn “Listen! Wonderful News” that evening, every line seemed to reach directly into my heart.

Listen! Wonderful news, shaking heaven and earth: You are a vessel for God, made to contain Him. He not only created you; He wants to fill you, To be your life and dwell within. To let you enjoy His reality and make your life beautiful, To fill your living with meaning—if only you are willing. In eternity past He chose you; compelled by love, He came to earth for you. Lifted up on the cross, He passed through death and rose; now He comes to find you. He brings the living God to you, imparts His life to you, And gives you grace to satisfy your heart. When you have Him—the Triune God Himself— Your whole being can experience the miracle of life: Vitality in your spirit, real joy in your soul, and hope for your body. Simply open your heart; simply breathe His name. In just a moment, He and you are one.

It was wonderful. A life with vitality and hope was exactly what I lacked. The brothers asked, “Who would like to be baptized?” But I remained seated. It sounded good, I thought, but I had read only a little of the Bible—and that had been at university, to show off my learning. I had not really understood it. So I stayed in my seat. My heart was pounding, yet I stubbornly refused to move.

At a meeting not long before this, a sister had asked whether I wanted to find the real God. “Who wants to find a false one?” I replied. She said I should tell this God what I really thought. “Can He hear me?” I asked. “If He cannot hear anything, there is no point speaking to Him, and He is not God,” she answered. “How do I tell Him?” I asked. “Just say, ‘O Lord Jesus!’ That is the name of the real God. Then tell this good Friend what you are genuinely seeking and see what happens.” I thought, “Fine, I’ll call. Nothing will happen.” Back home, I tried: “O Lord Jesus!” Then I began pouring out my worries. My child would not listen, my wisdom was insufficient, and I could not persuade him. “They say You are the real God, that You are wisdom and the way. What should I do?” Then I decided to give God a difficult task: “If You really are God, make me believe in You.” I thought that was impossible. Having been educated in materialism since childhood, how could I believe in God, let alone speak to Him? Surely that was absurd. Yet simply by speaking this way, God began working wonderfully within me.

At this gospel meeting, although I felt this was precisely the life I wanted, I still would not move. Finally a sister beside me asked, “Why don’t you get baptized?” “I’m not ready,” I said. “I’ve only read a little of the Bible. Let me read some more.” “Do you believe there is a God?” she asked. I said I did. “You are like a child still in its mother’s womb,” she said. “If you stay inside, your life can never grow up. You need to be born.” Thank the Lord! I needed to come out and be born so that I could grow. “And today there are so many people to witness your birth. What a rare opportunity!” With that turn, I quickly raised my hand and became the last person baptized that evening.

As I came out of baptism, a particularly kind minister’s wife opened her arms and embraced me. It was so warm. I wanted to cry, but held the tears back. I considered myself a very strong person. How could I cry—especially in front of so many people?

But that night was extraordinary. When I returned home, I realized that God really is light. As soon as I called on the Lord, I wept uncontrollably. I had thought myself an especially good mother: teaching my son Chinese history, taking him around the world, and reading many books on education. I had worked so hard at being a mother. But that night God showed me how terrible and selfish I had been, how for years I had imposed my own wishes on my son, and how I had spoken to him. In that light, I saw myself as I really was, and cried bitterly. I said, “Son, I am so sorry. How did you end up with such a bad mother?” After sorrow and repentance, something wonderful happened: before long I was full of joy. I began singing the hymn from the night I was saved, “Listen! Wonderful News.” I sang with all my strength: “Vitality in your spirit, real joy in your soul, and hope for your body.” I sang it over and over until half past midnight. My whole being felt light, joyful, and full of peace.

Praise the Lord! Through so many people, so many events, and so many brothers and sisters, He brought someone as stubborn as me back to Himself. This is my genuine experience of being saved.

I remember a brother often telling a story about a glove. A glove is made in the shape of a hand, but without a hand inside, it is empty and unfulfilled. Likewise, we human beings are made in God’s image; without God within, we are empty. That is exactly right. We have dug one leaking cistern after another, trying to fill them with degrees, education, romance, family, money, career, status, power, even our children. In the end, everything leaks away little by little. Only when this God is within us do we have real satisfaction and real joy.

Five or six years after I was saved, I was tidying things up and came across a photograph taken when I entered the country as an immigrant. I compared it with my recent passport photograph. In the old one, I looked fierce and miserable; now my face seemed much gentler. I remembered crying and laughing on the night I was saved, with such joy in my heart. It was clear: without God, that change would not have been possible. A friend of more than twenty years said, “You’ve gone from a fierce Big Bad Wolf granny to a kindly wolf granny! Let my daughter go and read the Bible with you too.”

The Lord’s words became my living and my expression. I am so thankful to Him. God knows our needs—He knows what we truly need. After believing in the Lord, I still had ups and downs. Our experiences before God are rich because He is rich. Along the way, I have learned all kinds of lessons through which to experience His riches. I began with little things: learning to stop buying clothes compulsively and not to love the world. While driving, I would wonder: should I go to that clothing shop, or straight home? Or I might toss a ball of paper toward the bin and miss. I would think of picking it up, then feel rushed and decide to leave it. But God would say, “Come back!” So I went back and picked it up. That is how it has been: small exercises here and there.

Through these little daily exercises, the divine life grows day by day. One evening, very late, I was alone at home holding a cup of coffee. Suddenly I noticed the framed words on our wall: “Christ is the Lord of my home.” Tears came at once. I said, “Lord, I have always acted as though I were the master of this home. Sitting at that table, I behaved like a ruler over everything. Lord, I call You Lord, but when have I ever given You that place and allowed You to be the Lord of this home?” From then on, I began to have some genuine submission, and with submission came peace.

Later, I also experienced that God is the “I Am.” He is the God who created and governs everything, while I am nothing. Through these exercises, although the lessons gradually deepen, I do not find them bitter. Instead, I am filled with the peace that comes as life grows. I have truly experienced the words of Scripture: “I am able to do all things in Him who empowers me.” (Philippians 4:13)