1. I was born in a poor corner of China--- rural Huaibei in Anhui Province. When I was a child, I knew nothing but the limited area in which my forefathers and grandparents used to live. Every morning, because there were no mountains in sight, if it was fine, I would see the early beautiful sunrise in the far east. I liked the life I knew there, quiet, peaceful, slow-paced, and everyone living there knew their neighbours and the secrets of their neighbours.
When I was born, my grandfather had passed away, because of a common disease---diarrhea. I got the story about my grandfather only from my grandma when I grew up. My grandfather was the fourth son of my great grandparents. He was short, thin, weak-minded, and very shy and very kind.
He didn't get married until over thirty, which usually meant he would possibly live a single life throughout his life. Fortunately, he later was introduced to my grandmother, who was a widow, with two teenage daughters. They married. And a couple of years later, my father, their second son, was born.
My grandmother also told me that when villagers got ill, they usually came to my grandfather, who didn't know medicine although. And in fact, he was just an illiterate farmer, knowing no Chinese characters. But as he cursed in a strange voice and drew a circle around the diseased part of the patient, the illness would once for all perish. That was something magical to my child head. And I couldn't help but believe that something supernatural existed in my grandfather.
But, he couldn't cure himself. Because my family was very poor, my grandfather even didn't go to any doctor, or any hospital. He died at home within only a week, with his eyes opening desperately.
My grandfather's death left my grandmother three young sons and a humble clay house. Poor, but harmonious, they continued their living. They lived a life unknown to Chinese people living in cities such as Shanghai or Beijing. And they didn't know what was happening in cities or in other countries.
2. The first time I entered a church happened during my college student years. That was in Fuyang, in northern part of Anhui province, in 1980's.
That was an autumn day. After I browsed books in the bookstore, I wandered in the backstreets, looking up and down. It was a relaxing and enjoyable moment. No thinking about future, no pressure from reality, no care about the worldly world. As I was walking along, out of my expectation, I suddenly found myself standing beside a church. It was not new, but looked very impressive. I was at once attracted by its architectural style. And I stood there, looking at its wall, its widows, and the red cross on the end of the roof. I stared at the cross, thinking about its symbolic meaning and the relationship between the cross and Jesus.
There was nobody around me. Everything seemed quiet and permanent.
I looked, and then wondered whether I should enter the church.
Before I entered the church, I had the knowledge that Christianity was one of the most influential religions in the world. It originated in the western part of Asia, and it had existed for many centuries.
But from the primary school years, I had been insistently educated that Chinese youngsters should hold communism as their religion, and as a modern Chinese college student, I should understand that it was my glorious duty to devote my whole life to the great cause of realizing communism in China.
Although I had been educated for more than ten years to be a revolutionary communism holder, in my heart I knew clearly that I had no idea about what communism really was. Was it really possible to realize communism in the world? I doubted.
Having stood for a while beside the church, I stepped to the entrance.
Nobody was guarding the door. I easily entered.
It was quiet inside. But there were some people. They were old. Their clothes and their faces told me that they belonged to the lower class of the society.
Nobody noticed me. I quietly found a seat and seated myself.
I didn't make any sound. I sat there, looking around, first at the platform in the front, the pictures and decorations behind the pastor's desk, and then the walls and benches.
Are all the people who believe in God old and poor? I asked myself. Should I find a Bible and read? Does God really exist or some concept existing in the Christian people's mind?
I sat there for minutes and then got up to leave.
When I stepped out of the church, I suddenly remembered my grandma's words. According to her story, my grandma was once a Christian when she was young.
As I turned around and looked at the red cross again, I told myself in the depth of my heart, perhaps I one day will come to church again, not only because of me, but also because of my grandma.