Snow! When I opened the curtains early this morning, big flakes were falling. Snow was dusting the pavement outside the paper recycling plant and the Gansu government archive. It was melting in the water bowl of the dejected archive guard dog and squandering its whiteness on the gray concrete facade of the unfinished apartment block. I sighed, as I have so many times, yearning for the beauty of the Hudson Valley. There are some lovely places in Lanzhou, especially the parks along the river, but they are far from here and require time and planning to enjoy. The streetlight at the end of the alley used to make lovely shadows out of the opportunistic vine growing on the fence of the government archive, but the cold has long since stripped that vine. This raw neighborhood simply has nothing to delight the eye, save for the occasional star that manages to penetrate the haze of the night sky. But I recognized the potential in this morning’s snow, and charged out into the frigid air as quickly as I could. The Yan Tan Park, with its man made lake and curving paths, is just four bus stops away, and I was there in minutes. I can’t say it was exactly "fairy land," but the snow continued to fall peacefully as I strolled along the icy paths.

Energized, I walked home instead of taking the bus. I didn’t need to shop, but walked through one of my favorite open air markets just for fun. The chickens were conspicuously absent – those who used to await their doom in cages, as well as the ones who used to peck about underfoot. The chicken vendors were still offering a full menu, including the stall that sells my favorite take-out. But apparently the new government regulation banning live poultry in cities is being enforced here. Good! "Christmas is coming, and the goose is getting . . . vaccinated!"

Advent 1. Rae and I sang "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" in English, odd counterpoint to the host of Chinese voices around us. The four of us (Ruth, Kendra, Rae and I) defected to the Roman Catholic church about a month ago. Enraptured as we were with the choir at the Protestant Church, we had gradually become uncomfortable with the worship style. The sermons were always at least an hour long, delivered in an unmistakable tone of exhortation. When our Chinese friend Daniel began translating a bit of it for us, it became clear that the content fit the tone – our own Puritan, Jonathan Edwards, had nothing on these preachers. For me, though, the most difficult thing was the Eucharist. It occurred once a month in the form of a kind of afterthought, tacked on at the end of the service after many worshipers had already left. I never dreamed that transubstantiation would become an issue in my daily life – but then I never dreamed I would find myself living in a remote city in China, either. To make a long story short, we sought out the Catholic church. None of us had appreciated quite how much we missed our (Anglican, Lutheran) style of worship. An altar! Candles! Vestments and even incense! "Ascribe to the Lord the honor due his Name; bring offerings and come into his courts" (Ps. 96). We are home at last. The service is easy to follow, albeit all in Chinese, because it’s exactly like our own. We have even looked up the R.C. lectionary on the internet, so we can read along with the Liturgy of the Word. We have been made to feel welcome, as we were at the Protestant church. Today a very old, bearded man made me a gift of a laminated card with an image of Mary and some Chinese text. Watching the very aged people going to Communion, I think of how they must have suffered during all the years that the churches were closed. I know I have, at times, been guilty of taking the Eucharist and its beautiful setting for granted. Lord, forgive me! Advent. It’s always wonderful, but this time, it’s extraordinary.