The Bridge: Why Me??

Towards the end of my senior year at Anderson University, Ann Smith invited me over for tea one afternoon. If you've not met Ann Smith, she's like the female mix of Gandalf, Dumbledore and Obi-Wan Kenobi, except at least twice as personable, and even more awesome. To say I was awestruck to have tea with her would be an understatement.

But Ann simply wanted to hear my heart. She wanted to know what I would be doing after graduation and how she could pray. At the time, I was concluding a ministry internship where church politics had worn me out, and all I wanted to do was to find a 1-2 year assignment working cross-culturally somewhere before returning to Anderson for seminary. I don't remember how the conversation started, but I found myself telling her about a frustrating conversation I had with God my freshman year.

It was a few weeks into our first semester. Even though the only common language between the three of us were English, I found myself acting as a translator of sorts between a friend from Hong Kong and another from South Korea. It was a classic case of translating bad English to bad English--something I must have mastered growing up in the land of Singlish (another form of bad English mixed with at least two Chinese dialects, Malay and some bits of Tamil). One night, as I was laughing at the ridiculousness of my translator role, I felt this prompting to consider living in China as a missionary after graduation. I remembered thinking God must be crazy. Why would I have had to move halfway across the world only to move back the other way? Wouldn't it have been much shorter if I had simply gone from Singapore to China?

Nothing made sense at the time, but as the years passed, I began to realise if I wouldn't even consider saying yes to moving to China, I wouldn't have been willing to consider moving anywhere. China was slightly more familiar than any other part of the world would have been. It was also the stepping stone for my parents to consider the possibility that I wasn't going to move back to Singapore for a while. It was a lot easier for my dad, a traditional Chinaman, to give his daughter his blessings if she were to move to the "motherland" where our ancestors came from, than to some potato-eating (as opposed to rice-eating) part of the world.

As I shared this part of my story to Ann, she simply smiled and said, "You know, my first call to missions was also to China. To this day, I have lived in Japan and South Korea, but still have not made it to mainland China. I don't know what God is doing with that, but I know there is a reason I'm still passionate about China."

Six years have passed since I graduated from AU. Save from a trip to Canton Province (廣東 or Guang Dong province) in 2009 where our family went to trace our ancestral roots on my dad's side, there still are no signs of me ever moving to China. Instead, I find myself at a cafe in New Zealand, writing this post about why I'm going to help start a ministry to international students in Auckland--most of whom are students who have recently moved here from China for university.

I guess God has a really warped sense of humour.