Stories, stories and more stories by Dr. Wendy Cheung
"I was only 5 years old when we first met,” said Hannah. Now twelve and almost as tall as I am, she proudly told me that she achieved an average of over 95% in all subjects at school, and that she wanted to be a teacher when she grew up. “Do you remember we played badminton over there?” she asked, pointing to an open space beside the pharmacy building. Of course I do. I remember the laughter we had playing together, I remember the singing we had at dinner with the local hospital staff, I remember the rich fellowship I had with my team mates, and I remember the little boy with uncontrollable seizures and the emotionless faces of his parents. These and many other images from that trip in 1999 are seared into my memory.
“Let me tell you the story of the big rock,” enthusiastically said one of the hospital administrators during our welcome dinner. “Not again,” I thought to myself, “I have heard it many times already!” He continued, unaware of my silent protest. “It was in 1998 when the roads were not as good as they are now. I went to Chengdu to pick up the medical team. A big rock rolled down the hill and completely blocked the road. We had to wait for someone to come and put explosives into the rock and blow it apart before our vans could continue our journey.” He went on to count the people on that first team: Stephen, Po Kee, Richard, Carter, Peter, Derek and Matthew. He hardly had any occasion to use English in his daily life, yet he had committed these 7 unfamiliar English names to memory. Those 7 gentlemen must have left an indelible impression on his mind.
“Christians are different!” our driver declared. He went on to back his statement up with evidence. “I have picked up and sent off every single medical team since 1998; and I have watched you. You guys don’t wear flashy clothes and with the exception of one lady doctor, none of you wear any gold or silver jewelry. Moreover, when you ride on my van, you always leave it as clean as when you board it. You don’t spit, litter, smoke or swear, and you’re always polite. You guys are different!”
What astute observation! I didn’t even notice the absence of jewelry on my team mates! We sometimes feel hindered that we cannot share openly. Yet opportunities to witness abound, often in the smallest of details! Our actions and reactions in various circumstances have become a ‘tract’ for others to read. Through the last eight years, little by little, one team after another, one story at a time, seed was being sown and fruit is coming forth.
At our team’s debriefing meeting, one of the team members raised the question of whether it was worthwhile to expend so much energy and resources in one rural hospital, when the measurable effect was so limited. It is a good question and not an easy one to answer. As we strategized and theorized, these and other stories kept popping up in my mind. Long after the medications we brought have passed their expiry date, and long after the medical knowledge we taught has become outdated, these stories will continue to be told and retold. Perhaps it is not so much what we teach or do or donate that matters, but our presence, as representatives of Christ, as salt and light that does. We are so privileged to be invited to witness His hand at work.
‘For as the soil makes the sprout come up and a garden causes seeds to grow,
so the Sovereign LORD will make righteousness and praise spring up before all nations.’
(Isaiah 61:11)
