(xaris and shalom)

For the first time in a (very) long time, my heart suddenly feels quiet.  I'm not sure of why exactly. Maybe having finally finished the last requirement for Wheaton and, for the first time in almost three years, not having a nagging (or screaming!) feeling in the back of my mind reminding me that I should be doing some reading or writing a response or researching something or preparing for a class. Maybe, having lived in Sichuan for two and a half years, the incredibly (and I do mean that in the most literal possible sense) slow pace of walking has finally sunk into my body.  Although I still find myself setting out from my apartment at a briskly purposeful American stride, more and more often I find that it slows to a stroll by the time I'm halfway across campus, even if I'm not hanging out with students.  And I notice the irises growing everywhere, the strange patterns of ripples on the surface of the small lake on campus as ducks chase each other across the wat

Each time I give my students a chance to put their thoughts into written words, I am blown away by the facility and creativity with which they express themselves in English.   Each year when we talk about loneliness and fear, my heart is broken by the glimpses into their own cracked hearts.    It’s my honor to share some of their responses with you in the hopes that you may get to know them a little bit more and ask for hope to be brought into their lives, that they would know that they have not been forgotten by the Light. My deepest fear is abysmal sea There is endless darkness on the bottom of the sea And the unknown things I’m afraid I’ll be swallowed up.   My deepest fear is that I am not strong enough to hold my whole family. In my heart, the deepest fear just is That I can’t find anyone to talk. Because I don’t bear silence And I am hungry for coming up   And talk with others. My deepest fear is that some life realities. Some people who n