A Casual Essay of Father’s Day

The week before Father’s Day, my wife and I spent the weekend in a seaside apartment in San Diego, also taking the opportunity to celebrate an early Father’s Day with my oldest son Luke, who works in the area. I very much treasure every beautiful moment I get to spend with my children like this.

We had lunch at Mimi’s Cafe. It’s an American chain restaurant we used to visit quite often, because we enjoy its French aesthetic and food. The restaurant was originally founded by an American aviator named Arthur Simms, who’d been stationed in France during World War II. After France’s liberation, he ran into a French girl named Mimi at a party, and thus christened his cafe in her name. Coming back to the present, this restaurant chain has now extended across 24 states in the US.

There weren’t many people there for lunch that day; I contentedly sat in the spacious, brightly-lit restaurant, cracked open the menu, and picked out a seafood pasta, while my wife ordered a salad. The person serving us was a beautiful young waitress. She had a refined and courteous way of speaking and always had a smile on her face, giving off a feeling of friendly familiarity. There was a little lapel badge on her chest that said Trainer; apparently, despite her young age, she was already a senior employee in this job.

I casually turned to Luke and said, “This girl is very sweet. She’s both good-looking and capable, it makes this place feel like a home away from home for us customers.” I didn’t say this expecting any particular kind of reaction from Luke; I was just trying to express how cheerful I was feeling at that particular moment in time.

But my son apparently didn’t quite agree with my opinion, showing what seemed to be doubt towards my aesthetic sense and judgmental abilities. He smiled and said, “Dad, you’re always saying things like this. No matter where you go, I’ve never once heard you say a single negative thing about others. When you were staying in the hospital, you constantly praised the nurses; when we went to get medicine at the pharmacy, you had unending praise for the pharmacist; now here you are in this restaurant, praising the waitress.”

Caught off-guard by hearing these words from my own son, I was for a moment entirely unable to think of a reply.  Was there a problem with my judgment? These past few years my health has been getting increasingly worse due to the constant torment from cancer, and my mind has been getting more slow-witted along with it. At home I’ve changed from being the head of the household to the “tail” of it; fortunately I still know myself perfectly well; whenever anything comes up at home I always listen to my wife and children’s decisions.

Seeing my delay in answering him, Luke quickly moved to smooth things over so that his old man wouldn’t feel embarrassed: “To tell the truth, a lot of my coworkers and friends from church say the same thing about me.”

I curiously asked him, “What do they say about you?”

“Their comments about me are about the same as what I just said about you: I’m always saying good things about people. They say they always have to “minus 3” from my words to figure out the truth about whoever I’m evaluating.” This was the first time I’d ever heard my son mention other people describing him this way. Noticing my great interest in the topic, he continued, “If people need to “minus 3” of what I’m saying, then for you it’d be more like ‘minus 7’ ..”

Ancient Chinese writer Yan Zhitui wrote in his book Yanshi Jiaxun: “When one is still young, their personality and worldview have yet to settle; ...the influence of their surroundings will naturally shape them in imperceptible ways.” Although at the time I couldn’t be certain if the truth hidden in my son’s words was doubting my ability to judge, or half-jokingly praising me, one thing I could be certain of was that he was saying my words and actions had created an imperceptible influence upon him.

Thinking carefully, being that kind of person whose friends can jokingly say they need to “minus 3” is no easy task. Someone whose words are “always saying good things about others” must by necessity have a great heart of his own; he must be overflowing with joy in order to reach such a level that he can continue to do that, even if he is going through suffering at the same time. Someone whose heart is filled with dissatisfaction isn’t very likely to harbor gratitude and praise towards others.

I was quietly happy for my son; who gains such high praise from his friends and coworkers, to be called a young man whose kind words needed a “minus 3”! What better present could I have asked for, this Father’s Day? Thinking about how my cancer had recently come back again, this could very well be the last Father’s Day we spent together - but knowing my child can live with a heart full of gratitude and joy, I really feel as if I could leave this world with no regrets.

What Luke said here reminded me of the grandfather he’d never met, my father Chang Zihua. If according to my son’s words I was someone whose words needed a “minus 7”, then this merit of mine should give credit to my father, because when I was still a youth whose “personality and worldview had yet to settle”, he was the one who gave me the greatest influence.

I’ll never forget when my father was kicked out of his house by the Red Guards during the Cultural Revolution Movement in 1960s. All of his properties were confiscated by communists, and they drove him and my mother away to live in a few dark and musty little rooms behind a villa on 32 Longjiang Street, Qingdao. During that difficult period of our lives, he sang the same hymn every day: “Let us rejoice and be glad and give Him glory. For the wedding of the Lamb has come, and his bride has made herself ready. Fine linen, bright and clean, was given her to wear.” (Revelation 19:7-8)

I was only fourteen years old back then. As I listened to my father sing this song every day, constantly wondered: How could my father - who’d lost everything he owned, lived in a damp prison-like shed, was treated like Public Enemy Number One by the communist sub-district officers, forced to daily sweep the road outside the door of 32 Longjiang Street, and was ridiculed and humiliated in a thousand different ways - still be able to sing “Rejoice and be glad” every day? Besides that, I didn’t understand a word of the lyrics to this song (back then I didn’t know the lyrics were taken from a passage of Revelation in Bible). Why was a lamb having a wedding? Who was the bride? Why did the bride have to wear linen? I never asked my father any of these questions while he was alive.

Me and my father Chang Zihua. Taken February 1973, in the back yard of 32 Longjiang Street, Qingdao.

But all throughout those torturous days, my father never stopped singing that song. His voice was soft and pleasant when he sang, the music lingering in the air long after he was done; the expression on his face was as pure as that of a child, almost as if he were in an entirely different world. He would sing this song first thing every morning, as he and my mother moved the damp bedding out to the front yard to dry. Whenever Qingdao’s rainy season came, with heavy rain outdoors and a light drizzle in the house, he’d sing this song while placing washbasins to catch raindrops from our leaky rafters. The tiles of our little roof had actually been intentionally destroyed by our young ruffian neighbors, harboring hatred of the class struggle. He’d sing this song whenever he climbed up to fix the tiles. When he was diagnosed with cancer, he and my mother moved to a little house a few square meters wide, in the rear court of No. 6 Xinlin Garden at my older sister’s home in Qinghua University. As my father whiled away the last days of his life in this little house, he continued, as always, to sing this song.

My father Chang Zihua teaching his granddaughter to sing a hymn at Qinghua University’s No. 6 Xinlin Garden. Taken December 1974, four months before he died.

In 1984, ten years after he passed away, I was studying at Biola University in America. That year I took a Bible course focusing on the Book of Revelation, and found to my surprise that the song my father used to sing had originally come from Chapter 19, verse 7-8. It was then that I suddenly understood why he’d continued to sing this song through all his trials and tribulations, as well as the meaning hidden behind those words. This piece of scripture celebrates a grand wedding, a metaphor for the praises those who are redeemed will give to the Lord. Within this metaphor, the Lamb represents the Lord Jesus Christ, and the bride represents the church and all the people who are redeemed by Him. And the bride’s “fine linen, bright and clean”, is a beautiful white wedding dress, representing purity and honesty. This wedding of the Lamb, therefore, is the final union of Jesus Christ and the church at the end of days.

This piece of scripture revealed to me what my father’s inner thoughts had been as he sang it. It turns out that the reason he was able to have a heart full of joy during his times of tribulation was because through this scripture, he saw God’s wonderful promise and the hope that He gave to him: that the marriage between Christ and his people would be everlasting. His singing this song was letting out a voice of praise and admiration to our Father in heaven, expressing his faith and reliance in Him.

My father’s natural voice accompanied me all my life, leaving an imperceptible influence upon me. No matter where I go, I can always hear the lingering sound of his singing voice echoing in my ears. Especially as I approach my eleventh year with late-stage cancer, his angelic song has given me enormous comfort and delight; his words and actions, always so full of happiness and joy, have become the example by which I have modeled my entire life.

As I was immersed in thoughts of my father, a total stranger from the neighboring table suddenly walked over to us, interrupting my contemplation. She gave us two gift cards for Mimi’s Cafe, saying that they could take off twelve dollars each. Because of my delayed reaction to this unexpected gift, by the time I realized what had happened, the stranger had already left the restaurant; luckily my son and wife were quicker to react, and had made sure to express their thanks to her.

I carefully read over the two gift cards: apparently we needed to hand them to the waitress before ordering if we wanted to get those twelve dollars off my meal. I said, “It looks like we aren’t destined to use these gift cards today.”

“You really like that waitress, right? Let’s give a card to her later, and see if she really is as good as you said she is.” Luke showed me a crafty smile as he spoke, as if seeking to prove his theory that you needed to “minus 7” of my praises to approach the truth of the people I mentioned.

“Won’t this cause trouble for her?” I felt as if doing things this way would be a bother to others.

“It doesn’t matter if we can’t use it today, it was a surprise present to begin with,” said my wife, joining in the conversation.

“That’s right, all we’re doing is asking a little question. Don’t worry, we won’t be bothering anyone,” my son agreed, comforting me.

After a while, that young waitress came back to our table, amiably asked how we were doing, refilled our drinks, and asked if there was anything else we needed. Her voice as she spoke was gentle and soft, always keeping up the same “trademark” smile. Just then, her sharp eyes caught the Mimi’s Cafe gift cards in my son’s hand. Quickly taking one, she didn’t wait for him to open his mouth before saying, “Did you want to use this gift card today? No problem, I’ll use it to deduct twelve dollars from your check.”

“My powers of insight and judgment aren’t too bad, huh?” I proudly said to Luke, after the waitress had left.

As we were leaving the restaurant, Luke took the remaining gift card and gave it to a pair of strangers at another table. I stood at a distance, watching him chat with the two women; their faces showed the same pleasantly surprised expression I’d made myself, not too long ago.

That night, I slept in the seaside apartment. Midnight was the time for high tide; the rhythmic sound of the waves against the sand was like a lullaby playing outside my window, lulling me slowly into the land of dreams. I dreamed of my father, and said to him, “Dad, thank you for following me with your song all these years. Before I reunite with you in the Kingdom of Heaven, I’d like to happily say that your grandson Luke will continue your legacy of singing your most favorite song.”

Original written by Joseph Chang in Chinese on June 9, 2019

In a seaside apartment at Pacific Beach, San Diego

Translated by Ida von Mizener on June 16, 2019

Edited by Joseph Chang on June 20, 2019  

A Brief Meeting

Over the eleven years I’ve had late-stage kidney cancer, I’ve lived in seclusion, spending most of my time convalescing at home and barely ever going out to visit friends. Especially with my increasingly worsening condition in recent years, including a lowered immunity to disease, the doctor’s recommendation is that I keep my distance from crowded areas. However, last week I went to Arizona to attend my son Mark’s medical school graduation ceremony, after which I made an exception to the rules by visiting an online friend in Phoenix. I knew this friend, a female author, on a site called Overseas Window a few years ago; to tell the truth I don’t actually know her real name, just that she has a very beautiful pen name: Bird of Paradise.

Last August I sent Bird of Paradise a private message online: “Time really flies, my youngest son will be graduating from medical school next May. If I’m still alive then, we’ll be going to your city to attend the graduation ceremony - I might even get to meet up with you.”

Bird of Paradise immediately replied: “Phoenix welcomes you! I’ll look forward to getting to congratulate you in person, too. Do your best with God’s blessings, Joseph! I’m praying for you.”

But in the nine months after making that promise with Bird of Paradise, I had two visits to the emergency room, three hospital stays, and two surgeries. Although Mark had long since booked a hotel for us near his school, it wasn’t until a week before his graduation that anyone could predict whether I, who had just undergone heart surgery, would be in good enough condition to travel. After all, Phoenix, Arizona is 360 miles away from where we live, and it’s difficult to say what sort of ill effects a bumpy 6-hour drive could have on a weak heart.

It was five days before our scheduled departure when I began to feel like I’d pretty much recovered, and we finally settled our plans into concrete form. Bird of Paradise and I decided I would go to her house for a visit the day after Mark’s graduation, on May 29th in the morning. I checked a map online: it wasn’t far from our hotel to Bird of Paradise’s house, only about a thirty-minute drive. Before I left the hotel, I told Bird of Paradise that I wouldn’t take up too much of her time, no more than half an hour, because we’d have to drive the long trip back to California afterwards.

My chauffeur for this trip was my older son, Luke. On the way there, he curiously asked me why I, a man with incurable disease who never goes out to visit his friends, would make an exception to go visiting an online friend in Arizona whose real name he doesn’t even know. I explained to him that this wasn’t an ordinary online friend; she’d come to California to visit me twice before, and each time had written sincerely touching articles about the visit afterwards. In all my life, this was the first time I’d ever met someone who’d write two entire essays about me after only meeting me twice. Based on the pictures she’d posted in her social media, I knew she had two outstanding daughters, the older of which was studying at America’s famous George Washington University of Medicine and Science. This is the medical school with the hardest entrance exams in the country, with only a 1% acceptance rate for new admissions. Her second daughter isn’t one to be trifled with either, having gotten into one of America’s eight elite Ivy League schools, Brown University, where she was an editor for the school’s Daily Herald newspaper. Many alumni of the Daily Herald have gone on to enter news-related careers, often earning Pulitzer Prizes for their accomplishments. Bird of Paradise herself had graduated from China’s Jinan University with a degree in journalism; it looks like her younger daughter is leaning towards inheriting her legacy. For a mother to be able to raise two such excellent children is something that fills me with nothing but respect.

Our car turned off the 10 freeway and onto the 51, continuing the drive north. Luke chatted with me as he drove, while I spent the trip enjoying the view outside the window, amazed by this city built within the vast desert. As our car was approaching the freeway exit, I received a text from Bird of Paradise: “Make sure your son is mentally prepared for a very big slope. Just be careful coming up, cars at the top can make U-turns.”

“Phoenix has hills?” I asked myself seeing her text. After all, the only thing I’d seen throughout this trip was a flat desert vista dotted with buildings and streets.

“Dad, look, there’s a mountain up ahead!” Following the instructions from his cellphone’s satellite navigation, Luke turned the car off the freeway, speeding towards the foot of a dark mountain.

I looked in the direction Luke was pointing: This black rock mountain range that jutted out of the earth wasn’t particularly high, but it did look precipitously steep, with a few beautifully-designed homes visible around its midsection.

“The person we’re visiting doesn’t live in one of the mansions on that mountain, does she?” I wondered, thinking back to the text Bird of Paradise had sent me not long before.

“We’ll be arriving at the entrance to her house soon,” said Luke as he drove the car onto a narrow mountain road. It was here that I realized what Bird of Paradise had meant when reminding us to be “mentally prepared”. This slope was probably around a 45 degree angle, and from my position in the car it felt as if I was in an airplane in the process of taking off. Luckily the slope was a short one, and it wasn’t long before we reached a private parking lot situated halfway up the mountain.

The moment I got out of the car, my attention was drawn in by the surrounding view; from this spot halfway up the mountain, I had a panoramic view of practically the entirety of the city of Phoenix. Add to that the gently blowing mountain breeze, clean air entering my lungs, and I couldn’t help but feel relaxed. I turned to Luke and said, “This place is like a tourist attraction - it’s really added some color to our trip.”

Bird of Paradise came out of her house and walked down to the parking lot to welcome us. Between this parking lot and her front door was a stone staircase of more than 20 steps. Looking at this distressingly long flight of stairs, I felt a bit of cowardice overcome me, worried that my heart - still fresh from surgery - would be unable to bear such a level of “strenuous exercise”. So I asked her: “Can we take the elevator in your garage to get up?” I worded my question in this way because I’d noticed that her house seemed to have been built following the topography of the mountain; looking from the outside, the first floor appeared to be a garage, the second was probably the living room and kitchen, and the third most likely held the bedrooms. But she somewhat apologetically replied, “I’m really sorry, our house doesn’t have an elevator.”

“Will you be able to walk up these stairs?” Bird of Paradise asked me, seeming deeply concerned. “I can handle it! I’m feeling pretty good today.” I gathered my courage, and without other’s support, clenched my teeth and climbed those twenty-plus stairs to the top.

Upon entering her home, I felt like the Lady Liu entering the Grand View Garden for the first time in Dream of the Red Chamber; in the 30+ years I’ve lived in America, I’d never before seen such a uniquely-designed, spacious and bright, ultra-huge living room. The south wall of this enormous living room had four huge floor to ceiling windows, through which one could look out and see the entire city spread out like a beautiful picture scroll. I couldn’t help but remember a famous verse by the poet Du Fu: “When reaching the great peak of Mount Tai, we hold all mountains in a single glance.” The living room’s north side had a gigantic floor to ceiling window as well, one with a glass door. Through it, we could see a garden full of tropical plants and a swimming pool, as well as a beautiful husky dog excitedly greeting us from the other side of the glass. We played with Suki the dog for a while, then returned to the living room to chat.

Bird of Paradise was clearly very happy at our visit as she enthusiastically steeped a pot of tea for us. Looking at the fine teacup placed before me and smelling the rich scent wafting from the tea within it, I - who, due to doctor’s orders, never drank tea - was unable to resist its allure. I lifted the cup and delicately tasted a sip. Jokingly, I turned to her and said, “I’m breaking all sorts of records on this visit today!”

“That’s right, I heard you only just had heart surgery - I was actually afraid you might not be able to come.”

“It’s a good thing I insisted on coming, or else I’d never have had the chance to see the beautiful view of Phoenix from your house,” I cheerfully replied.

“The view here really is nice, you can watch the sunset every day.” Seeing how interested I was in this unique house’s design, Bird of Paradise began to tell me how it was designed by a famous Arizona architect named Vernon D. Swayback. No wonder I’d smelled the strong scent of culture when I entered her home, as if I were in a modernist museum. Once I heard her talk, I finally understood.

From our idle chatter, I came to understand that Bird of Paradise’s father was a famous senior poet in an author’s association in China; she gave me three books of his poetry collections as well. As I took the books from her hands, I told her that I myself was preparing to pick out a few of my articles to collect into a book, and that it would be titled “My Eleven-Year Dance With Cancer”. I wanted to get her permission, in person, to include one of the articles she’d written after a visit with me - “In the Evening Wind”. I said to her that every time I reread this article, I was always moved to tears. She cheerfully consented to my request.

Another thing I said was that we might actually have some sort of telepathic link, because on the second page of my soon-to-be-published book, I’d chosen to include my favorite and most poetic Bible verse, which happened to be the exact same verse she’d written in a card when she visited me in South California last fall:

“I had only heard you before, but now I have seen you with my own eyes.” (Book of Job 42:5)

To be honest, this might not actually have been a complete coincidence. Bird of Paradise and I share many similarities in our faith, life philosophies, and interests: We’re both Christian, and like writing about religious experiences in our daily lives to share with our readers. We both like animals - she has a husky, and my family has one too, the only difference being their breed. We both love the natural world which God created - she often posts pictures of her tropical plants in social media, a hobby I share as well.

As for our parenting ideologies, she greatly respects her children’s decisions. Her older daughter has had good grades all throughout medical school, and when taking the all-important Step One USMLE test, got scores high enough to qualify her as a brain surgeon; on top of that, her score in the surgery field was the highest available “Honor Passed”. But this daughter went on to say that what society needs is family doctors, and that being a family doctor can be a distinguished and rewarding career. She was even considering joining Doctors Without Borders, out in Africa. Upon hearing her daughter’s decision, her only reaction was to jokingly say, “If all you want is to be a family doctor, then getting such high scores was really a waste.” While my son’s scores aren’t as high as her daughter’s, I’ve never interfered with choosing his field of study, either. We both hold a similar viewpoint, that these are our children’s lives, and that we should trust that each of their decisions was made with careful deliberation.

Before we noticed, half an hour had passed, and it was time for us to part. As I was leaving, she told me how grateful she was that I was able to come and visit her; she and her husband are most likely going to be selling this house in the near future, because with both daughters studying out-of-state, it felt a little too big for just the two of them.

Having said goodbye to Bird of Paradise, Luke slowly and carefully drove the car down that 45-degree slope. Once he’d gotten us onto the freeway, my wise son said to me, “I understand now why you wanted to visit this online friend whose real name you don’t even know. Your friendship isn’t built on worldly matters; you’re connected through spirit.”

That afternoon, as Luke drove us down the 10 Freeway towards California, I noticed that Bird of Paradise had posted a new message online: “An arrangement made last August finally became reality today. This morning I welcomed some rare guests into my home, Joseph and his oldest son. Joseph was in town yesterday for his younger son’s medical school graduation ceremony, and stopped by here on his way home today. Before this, neither of us knew whether or not we’d be able to meet this time. He’s been fighting cancer for eleven years, and even had a heart surgery three weeks ago.  What a miracle of God it is that, despite it all, he can still manage to travel across states to appear at his son’s graduation ceremony! His cup is brimming with good fortune.”

Written on May 31, 2019

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Appendix

In the Evening Wind 晚风中

Author: Bird of Paradise 鹤望蓝

That Monday evening, I looked out upon the falling darkness of the coming night. There was surprisingly no blood-red sun gracing the desert horizon. My thoughts fluttered along with the October evening wind. I thought back to the conversation I had with my friend Wei Yu earlier that day, about our respected friend Brother Joseph Chang; his cancer had come back for the sixth time.

To be honest, this wasn’t anything new. Eight years ago the doctor had announced that he had late-stage cancer, and only had a year left to live. But Brother Joseph has continued to dance with cancer up to this day. This July, he went back to the hospital for another examination. After his meeting with the doctor, he and his wife went to a restaurant to eat. He then humorously posted pictures online and let his friends guess what the results of his exam might have been. What everyone saw was the couple’s gentle smiles paired with a splendidly red restaurant for a backdrop, looking entirely happy and at peace. One after another we all guessed it must have been good news that Joseph’s cancer cells were still in hibernation. Sadly, that turned out to just be wishful thinking on our part. In fact, Joseph went in for another surgery on September 1st. All the nurses in the hospital ceaselessly praised him as a professional patient. His sons were moved as well, calling their father a superhero. Joseph then humbly said, “I know in my heart, without our Heavnly Father’s mercy and grace, how could I manage to live to today?” That’s right, our Heavenly Father has grace to spare. But it’s also important to be able to let go of yourself, and place your life in His hands with full trust. After having fought against cancer for eight years now, Joseph is truly undergoing a journey filled with faith and heavenly grace.

These eight years, he’s lived in seclusion, yet written a shocking amount on the internet and a variety of other forms of media, relying on them as evidence of his experiences. His articles “Dancing With Cancer”, “Where Does My Help Come From?”, “The Heart of Joy is a Good Remedy—Writing During A Fifth Recurrence of Cancer”, among others, have garnered countless views online, encouraging more people than I can reasonably imagine. His writing is able to strengthen many people’s faith, and turn their lives around. He’s truly living bathed in the Lord’s glory, like a modern-day Jesus Christ. I’ve gotten used to seeing his daily messages online, as well. They’re filled with insight from an extraordinary man who’s gone through multiple life-or-death experiences. Before and after his fifth surgery, he didn’t forget to share the news with his friends. Reading his calm and optimistic words, seeing the daily photos of his recovery, we all gradually felt relieved. But after October, his posts rarely mentioned himself, and came up less and less often. Not knowing why, I asked my friend Wei Yu, who also lives in South California, about Joseph’s current situation. It wasn’t long before that I’d heard her say the ever-helpful Joseph knew how much of a headache all the proposals and ballot’s this year’s general elections were giving her, and had warmheartedly shared with her some insight he’d gained from his time as an inpatient. It’s really moving to hear, and makes us perfectly-healthy couch potatoes feel ashamed of ourselves. Upon inquiring, Wei Yu told me unexpected news: Joseph, after his fifth surgery, had now discovered a brand new tumor. Wasn’t that too soon…?

Joseph and I have met in person once. Suddenly I thought to myself, what if that once is the only meeting we ever get? Usually I simply enjoy interacting with him online; I’d never thought to worry about his physical health before. You could say that I’m a poor speaker, struggling over how to word my thoughts. This was someone else’s personal matters, would it be rude of me to talk about it? In the end I still summoned my courage and sent Joseph a message. I’d only just said hello, and he replied almost immediately, “Hi, is something wrong?” All my hesitation dissolved at that, and I promptly told him all the questions I’d been holding back. His reply was as open-minded and magnanimous as ever: “It isn’t very good news. My cancer cells have reappeared a sixth time. They’re growing fast this time; my sixth sense is telling me our Heavenly Father is calling out to me to return to Heaven. I’ve been busying myself with withdrawing from the social media group these past few days...I was thinking I wouldn’t tell my friends until after the doctor tells me the treatment program.” It was just as I’d imagined: He was withdrawing from our social circle and putting together funeral arrangements!

I got to know Joseph through reading his article “Life and Death in the Waiting Room” on the Overseas Window website. The article is a written account of what he experienced in the third floor waiting room of City of Hope Hospital in Southern California. Those who come here are all patients diagnosed with incurable terminal cancer. Their last hope is to go through experimental clinical trials, using new drugs still in development which have yet to be approved by the FDA. As you can imagine, every patient awaiting treatment here clearly recognizes that death is heading towards them like a speeding car. Nobody knows how much longer they’ll last. According to Joseph’s observations, they simply wait peacefully for their departure, quietly disappearing within an average of around 4-6 months. But Joseph managed to persevere for seven years. And it’s precisely because he was a record-breaking frequent visitor in this waiting room that he was able to recognize every new face that came in. In this dismal and depressing waiting room, Joseph still refused to let the people he cares for lose heart. It was in this very life-or-death waiting room that Joseph met Matthew II Smith and his father, and built an unforgettable friendship. He selflessly shared his own experiences in the fight against cancer, using this to motivate his fellow cancer friend in running from the grim reaper, and prayed to God Almighty to placate young Matthew’s spirit. The article wasn’t long, but tears obscured my field of vision several times as I read it. What a strong and loving heart he must have, to be able to write such moving words!

To be honest, I’d read another of Joseph’s works before that, one about his daughter’s graduation ceremony. At the time I hadn’t paid much attention to all the descriptions of the spirit and tradition of the USC campus; what left the greatest impression on me was the “weak and sickly body” mentioned at the beginning of the article. He’d originally believed he’d be too weak even to participate in his daughter’s graduation ceremony. It was only at the moment his wife was leaving that he decided to brace himself and make an appearance. I couldn’t help but wonder, what kind of person is this writer? Is he a sickly man who’s been bedridden for years? It wasn’t until I read “Life and Death in the Waiting Room” that I learned the story behind his words. After that I looked up more of Joseph’s writings, and found myself falling more and more in love with reading them. Joseph doesn’t only write about serious and depressing topics, either. He’ll also write about the fishpond at his house, and the beloved family dog. This is too much of a coincidence; my family has a fishpond and a dog as well. He’ll even write stories about his homeland of Qingdao, or about his children’s growth and his feelings as a father. I learned from his writings that he lives in South California. Isn’t that a place I go to often? Thus the desire to meet him sprouted within me.

Just when my thoughts began to stray as I watched the changing red clouds on the horizon, I noticed the chairman of the Overseas Window Authors’ Association had posted a new message online: “Sent to him, a man I respect.” Ms. Hai-yun didn’t mention in this message who it was that had brought her to tears. Intuition told me it was the same man I was currently thinking about. I was filled with distress. Suddenly I realized how weak I was, and couldn’t help giving Wei Yu another call: Had the doctor said something? Had Ms. Hai-yun learned even worse news? Wei Yu explained that she’d told Hai-yun the same thing she told me. Who would have expected that she’d burst into tears the moment she heard the news? At this very moment in time, there were no words that could adequately express our feelings; anything we could say felt meaningless.

January 1st of this year was the day the three of us had the good fortune to meet Joseph Chang. I was only an extra guest on this visit. It was all because of Ms. Hai-yun’s reputation and Wei Yu’s friendship that I was lucky enough to form ties with Joseph. After our meeting, he even wrote a new article titled “New Year’s Day Guests”. A few months later, this article was even turned into an audio program for the radio. Chatting with Joseph in his living room, I saw that he was just like I’d imagined from his writings: calm, easygoing, wise, and generous. The first time we met, our cheerful conversation had occasionally made reference to the topic of life and death. What I remember most is the music room at their house, which contained an enormous glass window. Through it, the passionately cheerful sun lit up the entire room, just as Joseph’s tenacious vitality energetically showed itself before us. Looking out that window, I could see the backyard. There was the fishpond he’d written about, and his beloved loyal guard dog, Snowy. Before we parted, Joseph took us to see his special room. He’d prepared a little room in a secluded part of the house, where he would spend his final days. The idea was that before he left this world, he would no longer have the energy to climb the stairs to his bedroom - so he arranged a little bed here, where he could pass his days in peace. Unexpectedly, as time passed and the Grim Reaper failed to grace him with his presence, this little empty space transformed into the study from which he’d write and publish all his works. It was right here that the written chronicles of his life moved the hearts of thousands, giving hope and consolation to countless people. And it was right here that God blessed His loyal servant, granting him light in a time of darkness.

I pray that God stays with him, and that we can witness together God’s grace upon him.

Written on November 14, 2016

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Translated to English by Ida van Mizener on June 6, 2019
Edited by Joseph Chang on June 6, 2019