Guest Blogger: Echo Chow
I was the only one in the family who dared to pose dad “silly” questions. And he was delighted to get an audience who’s willing to listen to his repeated accounts.
Like many people in his generation, my dad Chow Loi Yum was born on 1924 in Jie Yang City of Guangdong Province in China. It was at a time where everyone had to struggle for survival. Whenever I showed him stories about famine and civil wars in Africa, he didn’t express much shock and sympathy like my friends normally did.
Instead, he cited me loads of examples in his old days, such as “You couldn’t even find tree bark to fill your stomach”, or how they lived in deep fear because of the brutal killings and bombings by the Japanese army during the Second World War, etc.
Isn’t wisdom found among the aged?
Although dad attended school for only nine months, his knowledge was far beyond my understanding. All of my siblings, except my oldest sister and I, were delivered by dad with his own hands. “I used to work for a wealthy family. I fed pigs and delivered piglets. Piglets and human babies are similar. The skill is just the same,” dad said.
“Your brother didn’t cry when he was born. So I spanked him,” dad said explaining it’s kind of life-saving techniques he learnt from the village elders before he got married.
The traditional wisdom is that if the newborn doesn’t cry, it’s probable his or her throat is stuck with something else. If it’s not handled properly and immediately, the baby will suffocate and die shortly.
This sounds scientific. But traditional belief sometimes also has its superstitious side. It was said that in order to bring blessings to offsprings, parents have to bury the placenta of the newborn under a tree.
Dad was unfortunately detained by a policeman who mistook him a murderer for he was holding a bag tainted with blood. Dad was released only after the police confirmed mom just gave birth to a baby delivered at home.
We couldn’t help laughing when hearing such memoirs. But these happy moments were rare. Dad’s life was full of bitterness. He lost his parents at the age of 15, and was then adopted by a widow. He married my mom Lee Sin Ching through an arranged marriage. As life was too difficult, he came to Hong Kong alone to earn a living to feed the family.
Several years later, mom also came and 8 of their 9 children, including me the youngest, were born and settled here.
For when he is weak, then…
As father, dad was the very strict and stubborn type who got irritated easily. Working restlessly as a coolie to make ends meet, dad was too tired to talk to his children, not to mention arranging family outings. “Freedom” was almost non-exist as dad had a very strong sense to protect (or over-protect) his children, especially daughters.
Though a traditional Chiuchow family values boys more than girls, on the matter of religion, dad was equal. I recalled how he scolded my brother who went to church, “Ask your Heavenly Father to give you food and pay you school fees! Don’t ask me for money!”
It was understandable because the people of dad’s generation had been told (or probably brainwashed) that all missionaries came with a political purpose to colonize China. He was such a hardline opponent of Christianity that I never imagined this iron man will eventually confess to Jesus Christ.
I think dad’s heart was softened when he realized that his physical and mental conditions deteriorated drastically as he aged. His stance on Christianity was not as hard as before. Evidence was his responses toward the same question he asked me in three occasions.
Like Peter, I was questioned three times
On the Christmas Eve of 2008, I didn’t know why I felt uncomfortable when dad worshipped our ancestors with idol rituals. “Dad, don’t burn incense stick anymore. It’s harmful to your eyes,” I used such an excuse hoping not to offend him. “Are you believing in Jesus Christ?” Dad suddenly asked. “No, not yet,” I stuttered but felt uneasy at heart. And this was the night I made my confession to Jesus (see “A journey of faith: the day I met my best guide in Jerusalem”).
The dilemma is that, Christians also respect our ancestors, but we’d remember them with prayers but not the idol rituals that local customs perform. But it’s not easy to persuade the elderly at this point.
A few months later, dad raised the same question again when I was watching a Christian TV program. I admitted. He didn’t say a word.
The third time occurred when I was hiding in my room fearing that dad would ask me to worship mom on her death anniversary day. Again, dad kept silent for a while when I said yes. “Jesus doesn’t like his followers to worship ancestors. Let me do this on behalf of you.”
What?! I couldn’t believe my ears but it did come from dad’s mouth. It’s certainly a miracle! I did nothing and the most difficult part was fixed! Total relief.
I was luckier than the Apostle Peter who denied Jesus three times in an era of religious persecutions. I was given 3 chances to confirm my belief in a comparatively freer environment. Witnessing dad’s attitude change but not knowing what to do then, however, I truly believe there’s an invisible hand guiding me and others to open dad’s heart steps by steps.
Actually I couldn’t recall starting from when, I felt like I should hug and chat with dad more. “You seem to love and care for your parent more after becoming a Christian,” dad told me one day. I was not aware of this at that time, but when looking back from now, I think it’s God who taught me how to love, and passed His love to dad through me.
Coincidence or plan?
One day, I asked dad if he wanted to go to church presuming that he would reject. “Yes, but I want a church who preaches in Chiuchow dialect.” To my surprise, dad gave me a specific answer. But I had no idea where to find such a church.
Some weeks later, I accidentally discovered an invitation poster on the notice board of the building I lived in. I didn’t even know the church which fulfilled dad’s requirement had been set up for over 20 years, and it located just in the opposite road of my home! But then the challenge came – dad always fell asleep during the Sunday service. Did he hear anything? What could I do?
Strangers or angels?
Fortunately a stranger I met on the street by chance had offered great help. He was the pastor of the church mentioned. He spoke dad’s dialect, and served the elderly. He told me he would visit dad soon. I only realized later that he not only visited dad but also gave dad one-to-one teachings every week. In one afternoon of 2013, he sent me a whatsapp message saying that dad had accepted Jesus Christ as savior.
Dad was baptized at the age of 89. He died one year later.
I am sure the last few years were dad’s happiest time in life. Apart from using me as a passage to convey love to dad, God also used dad to help me understand the heart of a father. I used to think that God is too great and too abstract. I couldn’t use human language to praise a perfect God. But when one day I thanked dad for what he has done for the family, his sparkling eyes and sweet smiles reminded me this would be the exact response from our Heavenly Father when we praise Him with our genuine heart.
God is eternal but our earthly father isn’t. So I lived every moment like the last moment with dad. I intentionally conducted video interviews and took farewell photos for him, for I wanted to capture the very happy moments in my very last memory about him. I had offered dad the best of my everything when he was alive. I have no regrets in the rest of my life. Still, I miss him a lot but I am sure he’s in good hands.
We will meet again when the time comes.
“Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved—you and your household.” (Acts 16:31)
Echo is a graduate of Intercultural Studies and Public History and is now a communicator in an organization based in Hong Kong pursuing poverty alleviation. She loves traveling but often gets lost even in her own hometown. She is a curious life adventurer keen on learning new things and meeting people.