"And grace will lead me home"

“Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come
“’Twas grace that brought me safe thus far and grace will lead me home.”


When John Newton penned this familiar third verse to Amazing Grace, he had abandoned the family business of slave trade and could not have envisioned modern-day toll booths lined up lined up with horns honking and nasty gas emissions.

When I was a little girl and heard these words sung in church, I knew them by heart and could sing with the congregation. I warbled: “Through many dangerous tolls and snares…” My parents had no idea that later on vacation, in the back of the station wagon, I shook with fear as we drove on the Florida Turnpike waiting through the dangerous tolls and snares. It did not help when my frustrated father would in no uncertain terms implore the toll keeper five or six cars ahead to move the line more efficiently. I feared for what could lurk in those “dangerous tolls” and snares, and miraculously we always made it through safely. Amazing grace.

Yesterday, as we finished a yoga class by lying quietly on our backs, our instructor played a beautiful solo rendition of Amazing Grace. I listened and breathed deeply, enjoying the luster of the music and the moment until it was time to move into a seated position and she cut the music. I thought of the “dangerous tolls” I have been through in the last year and smiled in spite of myself and the gravity of the past year.

Yes, we surely have had our share of toils and snares. The wake of losing our beloved adult child is akin to taking one’s worst night mare and making it scary – then adding quicksand, muck, poison and fire. I have told people I know the wallpaper patterns on the inner chambers of hell, as I have stared at them recovering from this tragedy.

But through the pain, toils and snares, I know that grace brought me safe thus far and grace will lead me home. If I were to survive the trauma of losing Nick on my own and without God’s help, survival would not be an option; I would have sunk in the quicksand months ago. An unmistakable presence stays with me and my family and has brought us closer together than ever. There have been times in this process when peace will wash over us at the most trying and difficult of times, and a peace that we could not have drawn on our own.

I don’t know the official dictionary definition of grace, but the one I learned over the years is that grace is a favor that one does not earn. I do know that the grace that has led me safe thus far is one that I did not earn. In our grief, we have often just sat back and passively suffered. God knows we often do not have the energy or strength to work through to a peaceful place on our own, and swoops in to offer inner comfort.

When I shuddered at those “dangerous tolls” as a kid, I am so glad I could not have known the true heartbreak that would be to come much later in life. But, here we are on the other side and faring well despite the snares. I treasure the Amazing Grace that will surely bring me home.

Perseverance and the help of a village brings family together at last

Sometimes patience and tenacity pay off in immeasurable reward.
Spoiler alert: Peter has been reunited with his wife and daughter here in the United States.

That is the happy ending/beginning – kind of the end of the story that is really just a start. The middle is the heart string puller and tear jerker that makes the end/beginning so sweet.

Three summers ago which could be a decade or more in times of life happenings, I had the privilege of working with a young Sudanese man, Peter, as he studied for his American citizenship test. Peter faced every possible odd in passing the very difficult exam. His English was very limited, and his native language is Arabic which reads from right to left. A fact I learned deep into our tutoring sessions.

Together, Peter learned key facts of our country’s history, customs, and government structure, and I refreshed on long-forgotten details. To gain American citizenship is a very hard-earned reward and I don’t know when I ever watched a student work more diligently toward a goal.

Peter works an early-morning shift at our church in Tennessee, and at the time, he also worked full time in a factory. He is still employed as a full-time laborer in addition to working at the church. We plugged away each morning that summer after he finished his job at the church. We tuned his reading skills, as well as test preparation because the test is administered in written form only. I tried to have the test read orally, to no avail.

In August of 2008, I received a phone call that gave me one of my proudest moments ever as a teacher. “I passed” was all he said as a cherry on the top of his dedication. He made the accomplishment of a lifetime and without fan fair, he called me on the drive from Memphis back to Nashville and dropped some of the heaviest good news I have ever heard. This was his first attempt at the American citizenship examination.

Gaining American citizenship holds meaning different for each person who endures the rigors, but for Peter, passing the exam carried a weight of significance far beyond flag waving at the swearing–in ceremony.

Peter has a young Sudanese wife who fled that country with her family to Egypt. In Egypt, people from the Sudan suffer terrible persecution. Peter did not have the money to go and visit her and the only way to bring her to live with him and his family was through American citizenship. A great weight rested on this young hard-working man’s shoulders.

We all held the simplistic notion that with Peter as a full-fledged American citizen, he could bring his wife to America. The transition turned out to be a very arduous one. Staff from the church made phone calls and helped as much as they could. Peter’s congressman helped, but the process proved complicated and long.

Peter visited once and a child resulted. Now, the need to bring his wife to his new homeland became even more urgent. Months turned into years; uprisings erupted in Egypt; travel complications ensued.

Last weekend begins the end of his story. Peter’s wife and baby arrived in Nashville, Tennessee. After a life of uncountable obstacles and trauma, this New American and Lost Boy of Sudan rests together in his American home with his family.

Thanks be to God.

Celebration through a new set of lenses

The Fourth of July comes pretty much every year (it really did not happen the years we lived in China), and we celebrate America’s birthday in the usual ways with the aroma of meat cooking over charcoal, desserts featuring Cool Whip, newly singed skin stinging against clothing, and bombs bursting in air.

This year, I had the honor of seeing the Fourth through a new set of lenses and it looked pretty good.

We took a trek to Northern Michigan this weekend at the kind invitation of American friends, Kevin and Amie, who lived in Shanghai at the same time as we did. During our time in Shanghai, when Mary (her given “American name”) who works for Amie, needed additional work, I hired her to help me around the apartment. Her quality work lived up to all of Amie’s bragging, and the year I came back to teach school, Mary took care of the housework for Roger and cooked Chinese meals for him. I am so grateful to her.

As the time nears for our friends to repatriate, they gave Mary the gift of a lifetime and brought her to “Mei Guo” (America) for a two-week trip. The only sky Mary knows in her homeland is gray and pollution-laden, lined with sky scrapers much taller than the ones we visit in New York City. Crowds of people are inescapable and nature consists of spotty flower gardens planted, fertilized and tended in small court yards among city buildings.

Mary and her son, “Daniel,” (also, a given American name) landed in Michigan last week to puffy white clouds and clear blue sky. With jet lag weighing heavy on the mother and her toddler who had never journeyed out of a time zone, they travelled from Detroit to our friend’s cottage on a lake. There, the view consists of tall pines and still water. Traffic sounds involve the occasional Jet Ski, with no horns honking or bicycles disturbing the peaceful setting.

We joined this group at the cottage on Sunday, and at the sight of Mary, tears welled up in my eyes of seeing such a special part of my former life here in my own home land. Mary knows more English words than she did when I knew her in China; I have fewer Mandarin words in my vocabulary, but we found common ground sitting on lawn chairs in the shade overlooking the lake. Daniel played with a little boy his age nearby and the two seemed to have no translation problems at all. They used the universal language of play. Neither of the little boys knows a word to share between them, but they passed the miniature cars back and forth with what seemed to be very accurate communication.

Mary squealed with what I think was surprised delight when I stripped off my outer clothing down to a swim suit and dove off the back of the boat. Lake swimming is just not part of her world.

When Mary worked in my home, and as she works with Kevin and Amie, she does not get first-hand account of watching us break a sweat. It seemed to do her good to sit in a chair watching Amie scurry around the kitchen and me loading the dishwasher.

Daniel is not yet three and though he does not speak English, he knows “dog,” and enjoyed speaking Chinese to Bing and Clover; he also delighted playing in their sleeping crates and crawling around on all fours barking.

During fireworks, Daniel, who is used to enormous amazing fireworks displays filling the night sky during holiday in Shanghai, looked up, then nodded to his mother and simply said “xiao” – little.

Fireworks brought up emotion in me, as all things that remind me of Nicholas. When I sat away from the crowd with tears quietly streaming, Mary came over and consoled me in Chinese. I recognized the word son and the words I love you. That was enough to bring me back to calm.

While we did eat all the traditional American delicacies for the Fourth of July and participated in the outdoor festivities, my favorite sight this Fourth was to see our country’s birthday through the eyes of a first timer. It looked good.