Being Called

My only hope after I dedicated myself against my own will was that God would not call me, because I had heard the spiritual elder mention that one had to be clearly called to become a missionary. Dedication meant that you gave yourself to God, calling meant that He chose to use you. I thought that it would be best if God did not want me; then I could do whatever I wanted for myself. I would rather serve part time with a job or be the wife of a pastor. Either one was much better than such a dry and dull life of concentrating on prayer and the ministry of the Word of the Lord for a lifetime. Anyway, I had never heard God's voice, so when he called me I would not know it. I even thought that if He really called me, I could pretend that I did no hear His voice. At that time, in my foolish and simple heart I felt that the most dreadful thing was to leave every worldly thing behind to become a missionary. However, God's calling clearly fell on me. In 1949 the year I graduated from the university, Hangzhou was just about to be liberated by the Communists. My father telegrammed from our hometown, Chenghai, asking us to return there immediately. He had already sent his fourth wife and her children to Dinghai and he planned to join us there to go to Dinghai together. Besides the youngest son of his fourth wife, he favored my younger sister, my mother and me. My mother obediently brought the two of us, Grandmother, and my cousins to Chenghai, but God amazingly hindered my father from taking us away. He allowed my mother to be in the sulks with my father. He was delayed from going for many days. He was unwilling to leave us behind; however, he could not persuade my mother to go with him. At the end, he missed the last ship to Dinghai, and he, himself, could not leave. He made a prompt decision to send us to our own Buddhist convent in the mountain. He stayed in the city by himself waiting for a chance to leave Mainland China. Then we sadly departed from our father, and we have never seen him again.

When we returned to the mountain valley where we had spent our childhood, it was springtime. The peach trees were blooming, and the willow was green. Everyday, my younger sister and I brought some books with us and strolled about in the deep mountain forest. We sat beside the creek, watching the murmuring stream and listening to the sweet singing of the bird on the tree. I could not help thinking to myself: "I will stay here all my life." The scenery of my hometown was enchanting. I planned to put up racks for grapevines, build a shed for chickens, and lead a wonderful leisurely life in this valley. I thought it would be nice if I could just teach in the suburban elementary school. Next morning, I was a little bit sick, so I sat on my bed to read the Bible. Coincidentally I read 2 Kings chapter 5, which talked about commander Naaman whose leprosy was healed. I was very familiar with the passage, but as I read to the end, verse 26: "Is this the time to take money, or accept clothes, olive groves, vineyards, flicks herds or menservants and maidservants?" I was tremendously shocked. The words "Is this the time" especially stood out to me. This was like a hard blow right on my head so that I was awakened from my daze. What is this time? I asked myself. It is the time that the Lord is at the door and He is coming. While the power of the Antichrist has fallen on Mainland China, I was thinking to be away from the turmoil of the world by living in the suburbs. What kind of dream was this? I clearly understood in my heart that this verse of Scripture was the calling from God. I was clearly called and there was no way to deny it.

After one day, I found an excuse to refuse to become a missionary. It was springtime. My hometown was abounding in delicious plums and peaches, which were my most favorite fruits. Also it cost only one silver dollar to buy a suckling pig, which was on sale by the farmer because of his fear of being robbed by the army. Our maidservant in hometown Achi was so good at cooking dishes and refreshments. The refreshment she cooked by using the suckling pig and flour was so delicious that one might even "swallow one's tongue" -- just as a saying. I was enjoying this delicacy, and I was thinking that I had been eating dainties of every kind ever since my childhood. Still I did not have a good appetite to eat well, and I was always very weak. If I became a missionary and led a life by faith, how could I have good food to eat? I had seen the food of a female missionary of our church had. It was dreadful when I thought of it. It was only a bowl of vegetable and a bowl of clear soup. If it had been for me, I could not even have a bite of it. Then how could I live? Oh, Lord, it was not because I was unwilling to obey, rather my health prohibited my from being a missionary. God is a God who indeed searches our minds and thoughts. The next day I had a relapse. Early in the morning I started to vomit and could not stop it. Every few minutes I vomited. It bore down on me menacingly. After I threw up the food in my stomach, I started to vomit green gall. If I kept vomiting like this, I would die of vomiting blood. I looked at the fruits and dainties all over the table, and I felt nausea. I told the Lord: "I understand now. All of this is a blessing that you gave me, so I can live and enjoy the dainties up to now. If I disobey your will and refuse to be a missionary, then as soon as you take back your grace, I will fall back to my old miserable situation -- I sought death all day long but could not find it. I longed to live but could not make it. I wanted to commit suicide all day long. Now I understand, and I surrender myself willingly." My vomiting stopped, and I recovered speedily. Then we received a letter from Hangzhou saying that it was pretty stable over there since the liberation. My younger sister and I went back to Hangzhou first, and my mother planned to join us later.