Tears of Laughter: A Letter to Mom
[2005 Writing and Art Practice Camp Life Echoes]
Dear mother:
I just came back from the writing camp and I have a lot of feelings. I had only a few luggage when I went there, but I dragged my heavy steps feebly into the Maria Monastery. I thought to myself that my mother was in jail and she was unjustly imprisoned, but I was running away to go to the monastery. Wasn't it right? Now I know I did nothing wrong, because this time something happened to you, and I saw too much ugliness in human nature, and I need to feel the warmth of human kindness. In the camp, the Lord allowed many brothers and sisters to surround me. Some were like older brothers and sisters, and some were uncles and aunts. They were all very kind to me and loved me very much.
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During these two weeks, there were hymns and spiritual practice in the morning, followed by creative writing studies, and sometimes I went hiking in the afternoon to practice writing travel notes. When I sing hymns every morning, I sing with all my heart to God and my mother, imagining that He sends angels to package my singing in a music box and send it to you to comfort you. I often burst into tears when I sing... Oh, I hope you will receive it there. All that came were notes, no tears.
While listening to the sermon, I silently recited the scripture I learned in my mind: “No one will be able to stand before you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you. I will not abandon you...have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid, and do not be dismayed; for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." (Joshua (Archa 1:5, 9) Joshua’s name represents “salvation.” I know that God is reminding me that He will save me, maybe today, tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow. He told me and my mother not to lose faith and lose faith. Emboldened. So mom, don’t be sad, but have hope.
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On the first night after arriving at the monastery, I was just like my mother when she entered the prison. I cried miserably for a long time and couldn't fall asleep holding the pillow. My little room is simple and quiet, lacking everything. There is a flat table on the right, facing a large window. Looking down, you can see a small courtyard. A single bed is placed in the middle, and there is a small sink on the left. Half the world away, I looked at the same moon, thinking that my mother's and I's bedrooms should be about the same size, but our worlds are one in the sky and one on the ground! Leaning on the bed, I shed tears and murmured a prayer, asking Heavenly Father to show mercy to my mother in this spiritual and temporal battle we were fighting together.
▲Cute and open-minded "Jin Kabo" Chen Bowen.
I got up at six o'clock the next day. As soon as I got out of bed, I looked in the mirror to see if my eyes were swollen. Fortunately, except for the redness and dark circles under my eyes, I can't really tell that I cried last night. When I went downstairs for breakfast, I met Kincub. He had four filial daughters, each of whom gave him a gold card to use, hence his interesting nickname. He spent several years in political prison in Taiwan. He was first imprisoned by the Kuomintang when he was nineteen years old. He stayed there for six or seven years and was later arrested twice. He was an authentic fighter for democracy. Apart from a few wrinkles on his simple and modest red face, there is really no trace of the ferocity he had when he took to the streets to demonstrate and shout slogans. He and I sat around the round table, eating porridge with meat floss, pickled cucumbers, peanuts, and poached eggs. We felt so happy... I felt so sad when I thought that I had such food, but you had to eat moldy bread there. , couldn't help but ask Jin Kabo: "Abo, during the years you were in prison, what was the most sad and uncomfortable thing for you?" He answered without thinking: "No, not sad at all. They were all very good, very Okay!" I looked at him and was so moved that I forgot to pick up the porridge.
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My teacher in the writing camp is named Su Wen'an. He tells stories very vividly and the class is very interesting. He taught me to live a simple and simple life, to retain a pure heart to observe and record this Heavenly Father's world, and to make the gray thoughts in my head that "the world is not my home" become more colorful. Teacher Su's "Ten Tips for Writing" also talks about how to stop, look, and listen - pay attention to the chirping of insects and birds, pay attention to the people walking in a hurry, and stop to reflect. I thought to myself, why are things that were always discouraged before now being encouraged by Teacher Su? When I was a kid, I was often read by my primary school teachers (I will never forget that teacher Chen who had a big mouth and a lump of rice noodles on his head!), saying that I was always absent-minded and daydreaming, and scolded me for practicing. Scribblings on the notebook. Now I know that this is called "imagination", "association" and "writing inspiration notes". Not only is it not guilty, but the more the better.
In the afternoon we went on an outing to a small town known as the "Switzerland of America" to practice writing travel notes. I was actually very nervous, afraid that I would have nothing to write and not write well. I know that my literary thoughts and writing style are very naive, but when I think of Teacher Su saying: "Sincerity is better than everything," I feel more relaxed; no matter how bad my words are, words written sincerely will not be laughed at. Mom, I know you usually laugh at my ugly words just for words, otherwise you wouldn’t put the Mother’s Day card I wrote you on the wall of your office so that guests can see it when they look up when they come in.
When I came back from a hike and was about to start writing, I looked around half-heartedly and gnawed on my pencil. If you were here, you would scold me for being childish again. But I had to peek and eavesdrop on the expressions and words of the students, so I could squeeze out these two pages of painstaking work in just a few hours, and added a lot of words (I didn’t have time to look up the dictionary). Although the wording is not very profound or knowledgeable, Teacher Su's comments said that I have a unique and ingenious way of selecting materials, which shows that it is not without merit. Teacher Su is very good at comforting people. He himself said that he once published manuscripts to encourage potential but not very good writers. I think he probably modified my articles with such sympathy, right?
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▲It is a beautiful tradition of the literature camp to start the day’s course with worship.
Hanging from the ceiling of our classroom is a row of little angel message bags that are exclusive to each student, teacher, and co-worker. Whenever you feel moved, you can write some loving words and put them into the bag. Once, I received a small paper boat with three cursive characters on it: "Please open." I opened it excitedly and read, "Dear Yanjun, I admire the quality of your article, it's rare! "I was dumbfounded. I took a look at the signature. It turned out that it was written to me by Aunt Yue'e. How could she be so honest? The sarcastic tone is a bit like yours. No, when I took a closer look, I realized I had mistakenly recognized a word. Auntie's handwriting is as cursive as yours, and I regard "beautiful" as "poor". This is really a far cry!
Aunt Yue'e loves me very much. Her husband's surname is also Liu, so she often calls me her little daughter. She told me that her husband passed away due to nose cancer a few years ago, and she relied on the Lord to get through it all the way. She also showed me the poems she had written on the anniversary of her husband's death. Every sentence was so true that I seemed to hear her heart breaking and couldn't help but feel sad for her at that time. Life is full of pain, but fortunately God carries us on his back, otherwise we really don’t know how we would live our lives. After all, Aunt Yue'e survived, but what about us? Let’s still wait for God’s great hand of salvation.
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We make dumplings ourselves in the evening. After cutting the leeks, I helped everyone make dumpling wrappers, but sister Lichun from Xinjiang kept returning them, saying that my wrappers were too thick. I tried harder, but she said it was "as thin as a cicada's wings" and couldn't be used. Later, I imitated what Uncle Wei did. Hey, it became more and more impressive. My classmates could no longer tell which piece was my "masterpiece." Everyone sang while making dumplings, including "Looking at the Spring Breeze", "High Mountains and Green Mountains", "Tianwuwuwu", and some songs that I am too old to sing. Finally, we sang "Green Island Serenade" to Kim Cube because he said it was his school song when he was in prison. I sang along, but the more I sang, the quieter I sang, because thinking of you made my nose sore.
When the last day of the training class came, I felt an indescribable melancholy in my heart. Except for me, Uncle Lin, Aunt Yue'e, Jinghua and Ren Junyuzhen, who are staying to continue their studies in the deep class, everyone is leaving. I couldn't help but wonder, who is more reluctant to leave, the person who left, or the person who was "left"? Looking back on the past few days, most of the topics revolve around "making good use of resources." From Sister Li's "Life Investment Principles" to Teacher Su's "Every Day Movement", they all taught me to cherish the time and talents given by God, and to live for Him in a regular and purposeful way. The friends I met at the literature camp are all precious gifts from God. Friendships can only flourish if I spend time and effort to cultivate them. Relationships between people must be invested with sincerity!
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After lunch, everyone gathered in a circle to share and give an overview of the training class. I began to feel uneasy, fearing that I would no longer be able to put on my normally peaceful smile. In fact, I didn't wear a mask on purpose. I was really happy from the bottom of my heart when getting along with my brothers and sisters. It was just that there were a few tears behind my smiling eyes that would overflow in the dead of night. I have been holding back in front of people for this week. It is best not to let anyone cry now, otherwise my "four days of practice will be destroyed in one day" and my power will be broken.
Alas, the sentimental Weiwei shed tears first. I listened to her farewell and thoughts while taking a deep breath. What should I do? I sat very close to her. It will be my turn to speak soon. My mood should be calm and calm. Don't cry later and don't let your voice shake.
But my expression and voice were disobedient at this time, and the scenes of the past few days kept popping up in my mind—walking in the mountains and forests with Lan Hui and Teacher Su in the early morning, talking to Jinghua about her seriousness and struggle in believing in the Lord, and filming Jiang Che with Yuzhang. Chives, making dumplings with Lin Bopi, and talking to Minwen about the daughter she prayed for for a long time. The last scene stayed at the scene of frying poached eggs for Aunt Yue'e in the morning. At that time, I stared blankly at the edges of the eggs that were gradually getting crispy and turning yellow, and I thought, have I ever fried eggs for my parents when I was so old? It seems not, I’m really ashamed...
Now that it's my turn, I want to tell a joke first to break up the sadness. After I finished speaking, not only did I not laugh, I shed tears first. Alas, the situation is over, I just tell everyone about my mother and cry my heart out. At this time, Sister Li Li said, "Let's all pray for Yan Jun's mother right now." Everyone immediately came up to surround me and laid their hands on my back to pray for my mother. I felt the sweetness of God and the warmth of my brothers and sisters. My tears slowly stopped and my heart gradually became calmer.
Mom, you must have seen our prayers for you there, right? If there is a window, look out at the white clouds floating outside and the green trees swaying in the wind. Listen, God is promising salvation!
I miss you, Xiaojun.