4:56

I woke up from the jello pool, that is dreamland, at 4:56 this morning. Alert and refreshed. So I tossed on my running shoes and bandanna and iPod and went on a run.

I love getting up before the sun. It makes me feel like I've got a jump start on the day and the rest of humanity, but I'm so lazy it happens about as often as the Vikings win a Super Bowl. The streets are normally teaming with angry taxis and a black haired sea in a rush to hop on the bus or subway. But not quite yet. The streets were silent and I felt completely alone as I ran. It started to drizzle when I hit the Bird's Nest and turned into a full out downpour when I turned for home. And 12.24 miles later I slowly climbed the steps up to the Cloister, smacking my lips to turn on the lights (Here in China, a lot of lighting in stairwells / outside are turned on via sound, so whenever I walk into a dark room I'll smack my lips. Turns out this is a tough habit to break.) as a soggy body of jello.

It was a treat to run in America - clean air and quiet roads. But I'm running a marathon on November 17th in Hangzhou, China, so I better get used to blackened lungs and dodging taxis.

- m -

Back in the Big B

I'm back in the Big B!

Our flight rolled in at 4:50 am.

Jon picked us up from the airport and we rode the subway. He brought roses, but they weren't for me (I was on the same flight as his wife, Kim).

As I looked out and saw a smoggy city and heard the honks of an armada of taxis and smelled the glorious smell of grilling chuan'r and hugged my friends from the alley I thought to myself, "It feels good to be home."

- m -

W.W.T.J.D.?

What would Thomas Jefferson do?

Matt and I kept whispering that to ourselves during the Annual Spring Choral Concert.

Our kids (10 classes of 44 kids) were dressed up in matching outfits with makeup liberally applied to their beautiful Han cheeks. My favorite was Class 1's communism-green shirts with the red star staring at me in sort of a Christmas-gone-bad color scheme. Every class sang a song praising the Motherland. Fostering national idolatry in fertile young minds.

I guess it wasn't very different from the "Family Nights" of my youth. The week before school lets out when kids with freckles are singing patriotic songs on a sweaty May night in the Midwest. I guess if one of my Chinese friends came to our family nights they would ask themselves, "What Would Mao Do?"

Patriotism is a fickle thing. You adore what you are bred to adore. You fight for what you are taught to protect. You wear ugly green shirts with a red star because you are told to.

But one thing I have learned these 10 months out East - is that no matter your skin color, hair color, eye color, language, religion, ear lobe girth, upbringing, political roots, or boxer or brief preference - every human has a hungry soul, a stained heart, and a longing for relationships. Despite all those thorns and canyons, the same River runs through us all.

- m -

Tall Test

Your future decided in four hours.

This is what happens every June during the gaokao (tall test) for high school seniors across the Orient. This is the mother test. Your score decides your destiny - which university accepts you, which determines your profession, which determines your salary, which determines your worth and happiness (some sadly believe).

http://www.npr.org/2011/06/13/137148734/foreign-policy-silence-for-chinas-big-test?ft=1&f=1001

After reading this article on NPR.com it finally made sense why my 13-year-old students are so competitive. Why one of my students named Soup (my theory as to his unfortunate name is either 1) a self-deprecating sense of humor, 2) an intense love affair with chicken noodle, or 3) a wicked primary school teacher) was crying in the corner. I went over and gently asked,


"Soup-Man, what's up brother?"
"Mr. Micah, my mom is going to beat me tonight."
"Why!?!"
"Because I got the lowest score on the math exam."


In China you don't have to be first, but never be last.

Now I understood why one of my brightest students, Lexi, was bent over reading an SAT study book before class. The millions of black-haired students competing and elbowing for position into the already crowded colleges in China had evaporated her childhood. She is a 13-year-old studying for the SAT. Admirable but unhealthy.

There are no sports teams in Chinese schools. No basketball teams, no homecoming football games, no pep rallies, no Prom ... that's because the classroom is the court. Chinese education is one giant training program for a four hour contest where the lead you scribble is the blueprint of your future.

- m -

串

This is the stuff of dreams – greasy, salty, spicy, cheap, and available on every street corner in the city.

Chuan’r.

It even sounds delicious, “Chuarrrrrrrrrrrrr.” Like a pirate’s exclamation after a full day of marauding reveals a treasure chest laden with gems, gold, and diamonds. But this is a treasure you can eat.

Chuan’r.

It was the first character I learned. 串 - it’s a picture of lamb chunks skewered on a stick, roasted over coals, salted and spiced liberally, and devoured immediately.

Chuan’r.

Thankfully this food of the gods is not tough to find. There are millions of red strands of bright lights twisted into the character and hanging outside countless restaurants. The iconic twisted light picture is a bit like the Batman symbol shown on Gotham’s night sky – it is a symbol of pride, protection, and respect; but in 串’s case, it also induces drooling.

Chuan’r.

To think that I will be away from my favorite nighttime snack (that only costs 30 cents a skewer) for two months this summer is enough to make a hungry man cry.

Chuan’r.

But 串, my greasy lover, I shall return to thee…

The Belly is Back

The Belly is back.

Nothing quite like seeing the lint-laden navel and the fleshy cascades of back fat.

The Belly is back.

Summer has officially arrived.

The Belly is back.

Who needs a calendar when you have shameless man showing off their less-than-sexy mid-drifts?

The Belly is back.

I may or may not have just puked in my mouth a little.

The Belly is back.

Children, avert your eyes.

The Belly is back.

When is the due date?

The Belly is back.

I guess ventilation is the key to happiness.

The Belly is back.

Calling all men between the ages of 23 to 76.

The Belly is back.

Even if you haven’t exercised since the 7^th grade, it’s hot so don’t be ashamed to show off something you shouldn’t be proud of.

The Belly is back.

Uncharacteristically Classy

Last week was uncharacteristically classy. Here are three unforgettable events that I witnessed in the past seven days that I would consider uncharacteristically classy (at least for this skinflint).

SATURDAY

At school on Thursday I saw a newspaper tacked to the wall. Usually my eyes just glaze over it quickly, scanning the pictures for a familiar face or jersey. But on this Thursday my eyes connected with that newspaper at just the right instant because I saw a horse on the front page. Needless to say, my eyes locked on that prancing animal and I trotted to the newspaper like a fly flying trancelike to that seductive neon light (P.S. – I love horses). The only character I recognized was, 马 which means “horse.” So I asked a passing student to translate. She said that there was a horse competition at the Bird’s Nest on Friday and Saturday. I began to salivate. After wiping up my puddle of drool I texted my friend Huo (who I met on my train ride to Shanghai – God is awesome, it was no coincidence we sat next to each other on a 12 hour train ride) and asked him if he would like to accompany on a man-date on Saturday. It took a little persuasive speaking on my part, but I had a date to see horses in the Nest!

It was a perfect May day and we waltzed into the Nest – that iconic tangle of steel and parked our booties in a shady seat and watched some blue blooded horses jump an obstacle course. It was called a Grand Prix, but after you see a few horses jump over the same jumps even a horse-lover like me gets a bit bored. So Huo and I explored the Nest. I imagined the sulfury smell and thunder of fireworks storming overhead during the opening ceremony three years ago. I imagined the sound of the crowd roaring as Usain Bolt shattered the world record in the 100. I imagined the countless nameless men who built this breathtaking structure.

It was a pretty classy Saturday.

THURSDAY

A few months ago my friend Hannah (a teacher in Beijing for 7 years and an awesome friend) texted our group and asked who was interested in going to The Egg (the National Theatre) to watch the Italian Ballet perform Romeo and Juliet. I replied within seconds, “DIGGITY!!!” How could I pass up a classy night at The Egg watching athletic Italians strut to Bill Shakespeare’s classic? So I put on my fitted shirt (if you are a man, please let this next sentence sink in: If you ever come to China, please get a fitted shirt, it is cheap ($18) and will change your life!), shined my shoes, flossed, and met up with my amigos as we waltzed into The Egg – a gorgeous structure that looks like a giant neon egg - to watch some athletic Italians do things I have no urge to try.

It was my classiest Thursday in China.

SATURDAY at MIDNIGHT

I didn’t even finish Kung Fu Panda 1 because Jack Black’s voice annoyed me. I don’t like 3D movies. I didn’t have time to go the midnight showing at our theater. I didn’t want to die on Saturday from lack of sleep (I had to teach Catechism in the morning and a Bible study at night). But Matthew Jamison Werner is a persuasive man. So we along with Ruby, Teri, and Maria (an MLC friend) walked into the theater at 11:51 pm. We goofed around with those 3D glasses (which look oddly similar to my Dad’s sunglasses – can you believe they completely surround his bifocals?) and as the movie began Matt and I cracked open our Red Bulls.

I left that theater in love with Jack Black’s annoying voice. Maybe it was the Red Bull. Maybe it was the rush of a midnight show. Maybe it was the fact that I saw a movie about China, in China.

I’m not so sure that watching a 3D cartoon at midnight is classy, but it was sure unforgettable.

- m -

Bird's Nest and Back

I’m pretty sore right now. In the words of my friend Stevo, “My legs have assumed Klunkatron 5000 status.” During Klunkatron 5000 status your legs feel like cement pillars. In layman’s terms, you’re bloody sore.

I’m sore today because I did my weekly pilgrimage to the Bird’s Nest … and back. I’m going to run a marathon in Hangzhou (near Shanghai) next November and I’ve been running off and on since February. Well, my body was switched OFF for 11 days, and I flipped the switch a few hours ago. Hence my Klunkatron 5000 legs.

I only live four miles from Olympic Park. It sounds exotic to say, but its become normal. Kind of like after driving past Miller Park a hundred times makes you calloused and you no longer schmusch your nose to the window in childlike awe. Well, I try to run to the Bird’s Nest and back once a week. I always feel a wee bit proud as I run down the crowded plaza, foreigners are snapping pictures alongside their guides. They are trying to capture in photos, what I call home. I’m no longer a foreigner, I’m a Beijinger.

Running in China is a challenging task.

First – horrid air quality. Beijing is a smoggy city (that may or may not be the understatement of the month), and after a few miles you start to feel your lungs tighten and complain. And around mile five you are hawking up some yellowish filth.

Second – crowds. There is a saying in China that I find pretty witty, “人山，人海：ren shan, ren hai” which means, “people mountain, people sea.” In a land of 1.3 billion and a city of 20ish million ren shan ren hai is a constant. So trying to run in the crowded streets and even more crowded parks is like playing black-haired dodge ball. I’m the blonde ball trying to dodge, duck, dive, and dodge between the black-haired masses, honking taxis, and buses that resemble boxy brontosauruses.

Third – stares. I’m an oddity when I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt. But when I’m running in short shorts, a teal blue shirt, bandanna, and aviators – I’m like the last of my species on the planet. But to tell you the truth, I kind of like the stares. At first I was uncomfortable, I would crank up the Blink-182 (followed by Jonny Cash and The Police) on my iPod and try to outrun their prying eyes and escape their scrutiny. But after nine months, I’m used to black eyes always tracking me, if they are not then I feel like something is askew.

I must say, I’m pretty excited to get back to the blue skies and open roads of America to stretch out my Klunkatron 5000 legs.

Persecution

The word persecution has always been a distant word to me.

It has always been distant. Just a noun you read about in Paul's letters and in the occasional history book. Just ink on a page. Nothing in my life has ever come close to persecution for my beliefs. Yeah, maybe a few people laughed at me for being an "altar boy" a dozen times growing up. But that is nothing.

That formerly distant noun is now near and I can hear his snarl and smell his breath.

Here in China the government is cracking down on a church named Shouwang. The government is not letting them worship in a building they bought and so they are forced to worship outside. But large groups gathering outdoors brings flashbacks of Tiananmen Square to the communist leaders. So they stated that any worshipers of Shouwang that would worship in the park on Sunday would be arrested. They were not lying. A close friend of mine spent the night singing songs to herself (ala Paul and Peter) in a cement cell. Here is one person's account of what happened and what is happening to our brothers and sisters in Beijing.


http://www.facebook.com/notes/pray-for-beijing-shouwang-church-%E5%8C%97%E4%BA%AC%E5%AE%88%E6%9C%9B%E6%95%99%E4%BC%9A/48-hours-of-amazing-grace/201877649851657


Pray that our leaders (the Lord's chosen) realize that this is a Fire they cannot put out.

- m -

An Unforgettably Forgettable Day

I may or may not have ruined a life today.

Before class started yesterday I was informed we had a new student. So I waltzed over and introduced myself. He had a typical Chinese boy haircut - bangs swept to the side with the sides vertically buzzed. He was wearing some sort of boarding shoes and his voice was surprisingly deep and manly for someone not having exited the gauntlet of puberty. I asked him if he had a name, but he said, "No." So I said I'll come back with some options.

I returned with two timeless picks: Amos or Dirk. He chose Dirk without hesitation. I said, "Nice to meet you Dirk." And he replied with the voice of a young grizzly, "Nice to meet you." It is always a rewarding feeling to give someone a name, but there were a few question marks itching the inner recesses of my brain.

As I walked to consult with my name-committee chairman and informed him of our new student - Dirk. Matt smirked. I then asked, "Dirk is a boy right? I'm 87% sure he is." Matt glanced Dirk's way and replied without hesitation, "Dirk is definitely a boy." The question marks itched no more.

During class I called on Dirk, he stood up and dominated the question with manly poise and with a manly voice. I lauded his efforts and said, "Way to go Dirk! Nice work young man." All of a sudden a contagious and awkward giggle swept over the other 42 students. The leader of the posse, George Washington (China's next chairman) informed me with a smirk, "Mr. Micah, that is a girl." I curtly thanked George Washington for his untimely intelligence report and moved on to the next question before I started to blush and sweat.

Well, I may or may not have ruined a young life today, calling one of my students a boy. But when I went to apologize later, young Dirk embraced her name. Today I'll ask if we can feminize it - Dirka.

- m -

P.S. - This was the same class where I asked one of our students Tommy (whose English level is in the negatives, his response to anything said in English is a nervous smile) what my name was, and he nervously smiled and had to ask one of his classmates (even after investigating he came up with "Mr. Mike." After nine months I'm still a nameless gringo to 'ol Tommy.