God is Good (eBook)

Chapter 1

Separating Human Purpose from God’s Plan for His Children

I was born in Chongqing, China in the early mid-twentieth century and grew up there until the age of seventeen. It was a tumultuous time in China. My birth country was then an occupied nation during the second Sino-Japanese War. On my second day of life on Earth, my mother was carried out of the hospital on a bamboo stretcher as patients were being evacuated to a bomb shelter. She held me in her arms. Despite the horror and massacres around me, I was, even from the beginning, secured in the love of my parents. My father worked for the Central Trust of China and was sent to the United States to attend NYU for postgraduate study where my family stayed from 1944 to 1946. Once back in China, my parents would escape to Hong Kong in 1948. Later, when I was seventeen, I left home to attend the University of California at Berkeley where I majored in chemistry.

I was the first-born of my parents who were admirable people. For the first eight years, I was the apple of my parents’ eyes, happy, healthy, and cared for within the family. I was born average in many ways that may seem a contradiction to the life of abundance and accomplishment that I now lead—all of which is attributable to God’s influence in my life. I was taught modesty and respect, and followed closely the Chinese traditions of obedience and honoring my parents as well as avoiding any behavior that might shame them or cause my family to lose in their community. Quite simply put, I was a very good girl in the ways that my Chinese parents expected me to be. I did not question them or any of the rules and customs by which I was taught to abide.

When I was eight, my brother was born. As was the longstanding tradition in Chinese culture at that time (and unfortunately, one that continues today in much of the culture), a boy is a much-favored child over a daughter and the heir-apparent. The warm light of my parents’ adoration for me faded, and instead the glow of it shone on my brother. He became their everything; I became invisible. My brother, simply by virtue of his gender, could do no wrong and was lavished with all of the attention (and far more) that I once received from my parents. Though I remained obedient and did all that I could to honor and please my parents, it was my brother who received their praise. Once happy in their light, I now felt I was of no value. I can see now how this image of myself later allowed me to think that I must tolerate treatment that nobody should tolerate and that God does not intend for His children to endure.

As far as my attitude toward my brother was concerned, I was very happy and proud to be his big sister and enjoyed taking care of him. I have not stopped loving him from the first time I set eyes on him the day he was born at French Hospital, Kowloon, Hong Kong. I harbor not resentment, jealousy, or bitterness today, though I must admit that I had such moments earlier in my life. As I understand intrinsically, my parents were upholding 4,000 years of Chinese culture and tradition by favoring a son over a daughter. Despite this, I am thankful that God gave me a brother to love and care for.

My learning of the values of obedience, modesty, and honoring my parents and ancestors continued when I attended St. Stephen’s Girls’ College, an Anglican high school in Hong Kong. By the time I was twenty-one, my junior year at UC Berkeley, my father was pressuring me to marry. I was well educated. I came from a good family. I was obedient, cheerful, and quiet. These things made me a desirable bride, and I had several suitors from which to select a husband.

My selection—I’ll call him Ex throughout this story as there is no purpose in my sharing his name—seemed perfect. His father was an elder in the local church that we attended, and his sister was my roommate at Cal. When he wooed me, I was impressed with his brilliant intelligence and his devotion to God. He was a fountain of compliments, praising me for my qualities, lavishing attention upon me. To say that he was romantic would be a gross understatement. He was positively gallant, generous, and adoring. He placed me on that proverbial pedestal, seeing me as perfect. I felt adored. I was an innocent then, not only in the ways of the flesh but also naïve of heart. So I did not know to look deeper—past his romantic gestures and his glowing adoration—to know the man beneath the facade. And truly, he was also very convincing.

I would learn in the most painful way that there is a vast difference between being adored and being loved, respected, and honored.

This marriage began as most do, under an umbrella of idealism and romance, promises of affection, and with the intention of unending commitment—until death do us part. These were vows I made with sincerity, fully intending to honor them for life.

Almost instantly after our wedding, Ex became distant. I thought it was his pressure getting his Ph.D. in Physics. Initially, it began with criticisms in which he would blame and demean me. This was a painful change from the romantic, wooing suitor I’d married. Of course, I wanted to please my new husband, so I went to the Lord. “Is there a lesson for me?” I prayed. “Do I need to adjust my attitude or behavior?” I repented for my shortcomings, thinking that I was, as Ex said, not a good enough housewife.

So at first, I attributed Ex’s negative commentary to my shortcomings. I was raised to study hard and excel in academic studies, but with little expectation or training in what were then the traditional American household duties of a wife. But because I was sincere about my inquiry to God and about my dedication to make my marriage work, I set about to learning how to be a better wife. I approached it as I had in researching my studies. Soon I learned to purchase the best produce, to mop and wax the linoleum floors until they shone, to clean the oven and copper-bottomed pans until they gleamed. I learned to shampoo carpets and to properly and efficiently iron Ex’s shirts. I worked diligently to improve all of my home-making skills.

Meanwhile, Ex seemed dedicated to sabotaging my efforts. He left his clothing, newspapers, and all other belongings in a constant trail of messes around the house. He tended to be a hoarder, refusing to part with even the most useless of items. When I say useless, I’m not talking about someone who holds onto too many books or tools. He retained used motor oil from when he changed it in the car, ten-years’ worth of old newspapers stacked everywhere, used razor blades, and hundreds of other items that most anyone would consider garbage. Truly nothing was discarded. I viewed his messy trail as my task to clean, thinking it was there simply because he didn’t have time to deal with it, though later I attributed his clutter to his qualities as a hoarder.

I set about to master the other household skills to please my husband as well. My father, like so many, told me that the secret to a man’s heart was through his stomach. I studied cookbooks, trading recipes and learning cooking skills from friends and a chef from Peking Restaurant. After a few years, I became a skilled-enough cook to host an entire banquet meal to entertain Ex’s friends and business associates.

Despite all of my progress learning to cook and clean, Ex’s criticisms mounted. Nothing was adequate. He complained about the cost of everything, and that is when I realized that money was a major issue for him.

While being frugal and careful with money can be an admirable quality, and one that I continue to value, Ex took it to extremes. Every penny he had wore a bruise from his pinching of it. He was not frugal; he was miserly, bitter, and angry about any expenditure. Despite his successful position, he was upset over every expense. To prove that I could be a good wife, I again began to study. I learned to sew our children’s clothing, made slipcovers for furniture, draperies, and bedspreads. Back then one could economize a great deal by making, rather than buying such things. Again, thinking my efforts to economize would please my husband I was stunned when the opposite was true.

If I questioned him or displeased him in any way—which was utterly unavoidable, given the absurdity of his expectations—I punctured his illusion that I was “perfect.” By Ex’s measure, he deserved perfection, and if I did not reflect the perfect image he expected I was worthless. He was perfect; I was a failure. The bloom of his adoration withered and died, leaving me with no pedestal, and with no love to replace it.

Looking back now, I realize that Ex’s charms during our courtship were a manipulation, the tools he needed to gain me as a conquest. It was competition against the other suitors—which I believe made me more attractive to him—so he used his best skills to stand out and to win the contest. As soon as we were married, Ex was no longer in pursuit. The conquest had been made and the charms were no longer necessary. That is when his true self emerged.

He would insult and attempt to humiliate me at every turn. He ridiculed me for whatever he saw as the smallest infractions in meeting his absurd and mercurial expectations. Every day he made it his mission to tear me down and to make me feel small and worthless. He wanted to control my every move and had ridiculous standards and expectations. Though I’d try in every way to please him, this proved impossible. Nothing I did was right. Nothing could ever be right. He was menacing and threatening, occasionally...