I was born and educated in China, where schools indoctrinate Marxism and brag how one day the proletariat will come to dominate the world. Marx’s theories do make sense but it would be so narrow-minded to obediently accept what my teachers taught me. So, at my age of sixteen, driven by intense curiosity and eagerness to know the world, I endeavored to get myself elected by YFU (a foreign exchange program), and experienced an extraordinary year in the United States.
America was as different and fascinating as I had expected, so was my host family. We have different skin colors, speak different languages and eat different foods. However, what distinguishes them from me the most is their belief in God. I, a family member, undoubtedly should go to church on Sundays with my host family. And literally, it appalled me the first time. You can easily picture how awkward it was for a nonbeliever to sit among a crowd of reverent Christians listening to a solemn-looking guy preaching hysterically. For sixteen years, my world had inculcated in me with the idea that the universe started with a big bang and people are offspring of jumping monkeys. It was seemingly impossible to merge an all-powerful God into the concepts I had already developed.
A few months later, I learned some basic Christian tenets and interesting religious stories, and could also sing doxology pretty well. One Sunday morning, we drove to church just as usual. The decorations indicated that it was a day of importance but I did not pay much attention. Singing, praying, and listening to the church’s leader briefing, I felt boredom gradually taking away my consciousness. Just as I started to doze, a group of people stood up and my host mother told me to kneel down in the front with everybody in a whisper. Since my English was still a little shaky, I hoped that I had misunderstood her. Kowtow in Chinese culture is a symbol of hierarchy and feudalism. Surely, I travelled across the Pacific Ocean to experience different customs and cultures, but getting down on my knees for some god I didn’t even believe in was definitely not what I had expected. My host mum made it clear, however, that all of us were to kneel down.
So I did. And every bit of that moment is deeply engraved in my soul. Looking at everyone’s devout expression, I could almost felt God’s presence in the air. Although I still did not believe in him, the pious atmosphere touched me. Those people were true believers and they deserved my respect. So, however embarrassed by this cultural dilemma, I followed all the procedures of the ritual.
Throughout the whole exchange year, miscellaneous incidents sparked countless petty quarrels, but my affection for my host family only grew each time the conflict was resolved. In the very first place, I believed science and religion were so fundamentally contradictory that people who hold these two disparate beliefs could never get along well. But my host family turned out to be so endearing people. I learned that no matter what backgrounds we are from, so long as we keep a respectful manner, misapprehensions can always be resolved and resonance can be acquired.
Before I came back to China, my host mum reassured me that Jesus loved me and exhorted me to talk to him on every Sunday. Well, I tried, and each time ended up talking to myself eccentrically. As for whether God exists and loves me, it is too profound a question for a teenager like me to answer, nor does it matter to me anymore. All I need to know is that my host family loves me, and I love and appreciate them. They give me a broader perspective of the world and galvanize me into pursuing higher education in the United States.
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