Some stories of my childhood.

Woolywootle (Peter Woo), 5/2017 modified 11/2020.

            Introduction.
            This is a collection of 14 articles which I wrote from time to time. So please read one chapter at a time. Unless you have time and energy.
            I wrote them mostly in English, for my girls and relative. This is NOT a biography. I added some explanations for American audience, about difference of life between Hong Kong and America I might add a Book 2 some time

            Table of Contents
            Chapter 1: At Maple St., Shumshuipo, Kowloon.
            Chapter 2: 1943, Move to CSW Road.
            Chapter 3: Year 1945.WWII ends.
            Chapter 4: Memories of my Mother ---
            Chapter 5: My Father: Some Story.
            Chapter 6: Peace came 1946.
            Chapter 7: Year 1952. Hong Kong Spiritual Revival.
            Chapter 8: Memories of Mr Chu KaFai, Chemistry Master.
            Chapter 9: Reminiscence of Mr. Terry Chamberlain.
            Chapter 10: Unforgetable Mr. Man and Classmate.
            Chapter 11: More about the Coots.
            Chapter 12: The Young Ravens (Psalm. 147).
            Chapter 13: Reflections at 45 yrs after Univ.
            Chapter 14: Mama's Arms.
  

         My Schools
            From 1941 to 1946 Homeschooled, WWII lasted 1941 to 1945. No chance to go to school till 1946.
            1947 Spring to 1950 Summer: Grade 2 second semester, to finishing Grade 5 at Kowloontong Elem School, studying mainly Chinese.
            1950 Fall to 1954 summer: Grade 5 to Grade 8 at Yaumati Elem. School, All classes in English except Chinese Lit and Chi. History. Repeating Grade 5.
            1954 Fall to 1959 summer: Grade 9 to 13, in QES: Queen Elizabeth high school. In USA, Grades 7 to 12 is called Form 1 to 6 in British system Secondary School. All Hong Kong schools forced us to take High School Certificate Exam (equivalent to SAT in USA) Grade 13 is equivalent to Freshman in USA colleges.
            1959 Fall to 1963 summer at HK Univ. getting BSc degree in 1962 and "BSc Honours" in 1963 summer, equivalent to 1st year at College in USA.
            1963 to 1968: USC Univ. of So. Calif. at Los Angeles.Getting M.A. and Ph.D.
            (Note: I was the oldest in the family, and an only child until I was 6 years old. I called my father and mother as Aba and Ama since childhood.)

            My Ancestry: I was born at 1940. After less than 1 year. WWII was declared between not just Germany and the West, but also between Japan and China. Japan quickly took Hong Kong, drive away a lot of residents to China, and ruled HK with an iron hand. My Father Woo YanTak胡恩德 was still preaching and spiritually feeding the congregation at ShumShuiPo, Hong Kong, continuing the missions work of Miss Julia Meadows of Louisiana.
            My father Woo Yan-Tak was a grandchild of his grandpa Woo HimHeng , a first believer of Jesus. He was persecuted to near death by his Villagers, but God saved him Eventually he settled in HK, had 10 children and at least 31 Grandchildren. His 3 brothers? They remained nonbelievers, and went extinct today. My grandpa Woo YiDoong was HimHeng's 10th son in the Genealogy.
           

Chapter 1: At Maple St., Shumshuipo, Kowloon

            About 1943. Japanese occupation.
            The Japanese army came and occupied HK (Hong Kong) in Dec. 1941. Volunteer armies of resistence were mercilously killed. There was however not a citywide massacre as Singapore had. I was one year old.
            So HK was occupied for 3 years and 8 months. (Like the 3 yrs & 8 mths of famine in the days of Elijah the prophet in the Bible. God took care of him and others, God also took care of us).
            My mother would shield me from looking at dead bodies on the streets. Sometimes there would be a sudden roar of Emergency alarm from the roof of some police building, occupied by the Japs. Sounds like a fire truck's wailing, but with alto and tenor, very sad sound. Babies would cry. Even dogs would wail, not bark. It means: everybody should take cover, stay away from the streets, because American planes are coming to bomb the Japs' military targets, such as warships and wharves.
            So Aba saw a woman who wanted to cross a street intersection. She went before the guarding Jap soldier, knelt down at his feet, pointed her finger at the apartment across the street where she wanted to return to. (We HK residents spoke Cantonese, the Japs didn't, and we could not speak Japanese either). Somehow she thought the Jap soldier would have mercy and let her cross. She turn her head towards the street, began to cross, and then the soldier shot her at her back with his rifle, point blank, mercilessly, and she died.
          Such was the concept of human rights of residents of a colony conquored by an Enemy, the Japs.
            What happened to British soldiers that surrendered? They were locked up in a half square mile piece of land as "concentration camp", close to my home. Many of them starved and died.
            Some memories of my 3rd year of life. For me at 3, I began to remember things. Each morning, my Aba or Ama would help me learn to brush my teeth, and then washed my face. I liked to wear a little shirt and pants in red color. They taught me the 7 colors of the rainbow. Later on some bigger girls laughed at me for loving the red color. They said, "You are a boy. Boys are supposed to love only blue color. We girls would love red color dresses, you don't." I dare not argue with them, but in my heart I insist there was nothing wrong with loving red shirts and pants.
            The Wet Market.My apartment at Maple Street was only 2 blocks away from the street market. So often Ama would take me to shop. I had to wear wooden clogs, because the streets were wet, with rain water mixed with blood of chicken meat, beef and fish from butchers.
            I like to eat beef. Ama would hold my hand and approach the butcher, "I want one luong of beef (about one and half ounces)". The butcher would go to a piece of meat (I now think it was flank steak) hanging on a hook, and cut off a tiny thumb sized corner from it. I always wished he would cut off more, but he never did. Then he would weigh it with a funny dirty smelly Chinese scale, and wrap the thumb size piece of beaf in paper, and Ama would take it home. Mom would use a horrible 3" wide heavy chopping knife to chop it into ground beef, add soy sauce and some ginger to it in a dish, and put the dish into the boiling rice in a small rice pot.
            Who got to eat the beef? Me, and me only. What about Aba and Ama? They eat some small stinky fish, full of bones.
            Later on I understood that people were starving to death all around. We who could buy those small amount of meat were very lucky. I now wanted to cry when I see how my parents sacrificed the chance of eating beef, all because of me.
            How did we have money? Some of my uncles fled Hong Kong, and some of them left some money to my parents.
            The floor plan.I still remember the apartment. It was on 3rd floor. (The British called it 2nd floor. What Amercans called 1st floor they would call Ground Floor. Cantonese people call it "Lau Haa", i.e., Under the Floor) The apartment had a front bedroom about 10' by 12', then a living room about 10' by 10'. Then a corridor about 12' by 4', a small bathroom, and a small kitchen. Total: no more than 300 square feet.
            But there was a balcony, L-shaped, 10 ft. wide, and 22 ft. long on the east side plus 30 ft. on the south side. No roof. The 4th floor above us is called a "fake 4th floor". I was never up there. A Mandarin Christian lady Ms. Miao lived there. Our apartment was at the southeast corner of a block.
            I dunno where they got me a small tricycle. So I would ride it on that wide balcony. It was boring, no friends to play with.
            There is one thing I did not like. When they carefully put me on a stool next to the 4' high, brick fence of the balcony, I can hardly see the street, because there is a 40 degree slope jutting out from under the fence the wall for some 7 ft. towards the street. So I can see people on the street only of they are on the other side of it.
            A fun day. One day I had a novel idea. I got my shoes and may be Ama's shoes, walked to the brick fence, and began to throw them over it, into the street. It was fun!, and I began to enjoy it.
            Then some minutes later, the Mr Joong on 2nd floor came up and knocked at our door. Ama opened the door. He carried a pair of shoes on his hands, and asked, "Madam, are these from your home?". My Mom began to shout a loud "Aiyah!", ran down to pick up the shoes from the street. Came back up, and began to cross examine me. I saw nothing wrong with throwing things to the street across that brick fence. She said some strong words at me, and punished me to stand on a square foot on the corridor. I began to cry, because she no longer loved me, and I remember rubbing my back on that wall. It must have been years before I found out why it was wrong to throw shoes into the street: people can pick them up and take them away as their own shoes. Ah, that's why.
            The Little Stool. It was about 10" wide, 18" long, and 10" tall, with 4 legs. They must have been fitted into 4 holes under the sitting board, because I don't remember any wooden bars underneath to keep the legs sturdy.
            Why it? So that I can sit next to a 2' high small table for my meals. Aba and Ama would sit next to a 4' by 4' dining table, at every meal, too high for me. I could not use chopsticks, so I still remember scooping with a spoon my rice from my brass bowl.
            Every night, my parents would sit at the dining table. Put an "apron" around the lamp (about 15 watts), and read the Bible. Why the apron? So that the Japanese guard at street corner cannot see. What if he saw it? He may then practice shooting it from his rifle at 100 yards from our apartment, and Ping! the light bulb becomes flying glass shrapnels. What if one hit your eye? You go blind, of course. Can you sue the Jap soldier? Such thoughts were unimaginable in those days. You are lucky if he did not shoot his rifle at you!
            Why such prohibition of electric lights? Really, not even candles were allowed at night, so that when the American bomber planes come, if at night, they would not be able to see the slightly illuminated apartments or streets, and hopefully then they would not drop bombs on us.
            One thing I loved these evenings Bible time is: Aba would read a section, may be 10 verses, and they would sometimes point at the Chinese characters, and I began to learn a few. Then he would share a few minutes of the meaning of the paragraph. Then we would pray. Occasionally I heard my name being mentioned in his prayers. I liked it.
            The Little Stool in Heaven. As I am getting old these days, I would think of the happy time some day when God would take us Home away from this world, and I would see Jesus. But I would also meet my father and mother. Guess what would I do up there in Heaven? I would again grab a little stool, I would sit next to their knees, and I would tell them slowly, what I did in visiting the poor kids in China, . . . because this would be what they would like seeing me to do, after they go back to be with Jesus.
            Ah, Heaven is a sweet restful place.
            My first reading book. It was a 40 page booklet. Each page has one big Chinese character, and some beautiful hand-drawn illustrative picture. I still can memorize the 40 pages, in groups of fours:
            (a) cow, sheep, grass, flowers,
            (b) tree, birds, door, windows,
            (c) lamps, fire, water, tea,
            (d) dumpling, cookies, rice, veggies,
            (e) melons, beans, fish, meat,
            (f) dogs, cats, chickens, ducks,
            (g) river, boats, bridges, roads,
            (h) town, hill, stars, clouds,
            (i) wind, rain, Papa, Mama,
            (j)older-brother, younger-brother, older-sis, younger-sis.
            Ah, I have to learn to recognize, and write these single-syllabic Chinese characters. It was fun. The character for "door" looks like a double door. "Fish" has 4 dots, representing its fins. "Bird" has 4 dots also, representing its 4 claws. They gave me a slate and a piece of chalk to learn to write. Paper and pencil would be more expensive.
            I remember also the story of Little Red Ridinghood, and the Three Little Pigs. I was told that the wolf and tigers are "wild animals". "What are wild animals?" Ama would say, "They have 4 legs, but they like to eat people." "What about cats and dogs?" "They are tame animals, but they still can bite." I gather that if I am a bad boy, a dog would bite off a piece of meat from my leg, and chew, and chew, and swallow into his stomach. So I was very scared of neighbor's dogs. We had no cats and dogs, only a few hen chickens, laying eggs. Who ate the eggs? Only me.
            Then they usually tell me some made-up stories. It usually is called the "red shirted boy". Why? Because I like red color. They would teach me some virtues of obedience to parents. I forget now most of those stories, but I remember another story:
            I was the only child back then, but on some Mondays they would take me to the ferry boat, crossed the harbor, and visit my paternal grandpa, grandma, 3 uncles, one aunt, all living in a place called Prospect Terrace, a 3 story building, next to a grotesque, huge, banyan tree with drooping beards and whiskers. There I would play with my only cousin, Ming Gor (now Alan Wu), and he is older than me by 6 months. I regarded him as a more wise and knowledgeable older brother. He had no younger brother yet, so he loved me as his younger brother.
            Our paternal grandpa was called Woo YeeDoong (YeeDoong sounds like "ear holes", funny name). He was about 60 years old in 1940s, and would tell us two grandsons some stories. One was this:
            The Gooood Boy who lived near a Railroad. "A little boy was living close to a railroad, very dangerous thing. His father was a locomotive driver. One day the father was driving the locomotive, passing by his home next to the railroad. Alas! he saw his own son playing on the railroad. . . "
            "You know a locomotive is not a motor car. It cannot stop within 100 yards, even by stepping on the brakes" (whatever a "brake" meant I never knew.) "So he stuck out his head, and shouted loudly at his boy, Lay Down At Once".
            "His little boy had learned to be obedient, even without asking Why. So he began to lie down between the iron rails, real low, no moving of his limbs. Guess what?" (Grandpa began to picture the boy with his left hand, fingers straight, close together, horizontal, like a dead fish, and his right hand represented the locomotive, with his thumb and pinkie representing the wheels).
            "Then choomp, choomp, choomp came the locomotive." (Grandpa then let his right hand slowly glide over his left hand, without touching one hand with another.) "So the locomotive slowly glided over the boy's body, without crushing it. After the locomotive passed over, the boy was alive, he got up happily, dashed home, and never, never, never, dared to play on the railroad any more. This is the End of the Story."
            "So what is the moral of the story?" Grandpa would ask. My cousin and I would say, "Just obey our parents, don't even ask why." "That is right, good."
            Sometimes one of my aunts would tell us the same story, but I did not like it, because her left hand, picturing the boy was not like a flat dead fish, but she would hold a fist with it, and I think this way the locomotive would definitely knock on it, and the little boy would be dead.
            Ah, very soon, my father would explain to me why the locomotive can run on wheels without running over other things, rocks, sand, mud . . . "The wheels are made of steel, with a rim on the inner side. The wheels are 5 feet apart, but the two protruding rims of each pair of wheels are only 4'11" apart , so that the wheels would stay on the rails, and not skidding away from it. This way, the train can carry more tons of things more than running on a road surface. "
            I can hardly understand all these explanations using the deep terminology from mechanical engineering, so I would from time to time ask him again and again. Finally he would take me to a tram railway, in the city streets of Hong Kong, and explain it. But I still don't understand it, because the tram rails are just part of the Des Voeux Road in Hong Kong, whereas train railroads had to lie over pieces of lumber, called the "sleepers" which are hard wood cut down from trees hundreds of miles away. . . .
            I still like my Grandpa's version of the boy better.
            Mrs Joong's last words. Remember Mr Joong downstairs? His wife had always been sick, as far as I remember. One day she died. I went with my family in a rainy day to walk behind the coffin in a "hearse" pulled by horses. This was different from the typical buddhist funeral with a lot of banners and trumpet noises. Afterwards Ama told me, "Guess what were her last words? She was smiling . . . " "How can one smile at the peak of her suffering?" "She said just the words: I saw the Lord Jesus, and then she closed her eyes peacefully, with the smile."
            Wow, what a good way to depart from this world. I want to know this Jesus that Mrs Joong knew so well . . .
           

Chapter 2: 1943, Move to CSW Road.

            I must have been 4, when we moved to my Mom's 3rd older brother's apartment. They have fled to a sea port called ZhanJiang (see http://www.xwtoutiao.cn/p/7rgvzbcn for pictures) called Fort Bayard by the French army who occupied it, some 200 miles southwest of HK. So we were invited to live on their 3rd story apartment, and supervising a little bit on all their knitting machines on 1st and 2nd floor as factory. They also had an old workman living on those floors.
            Ama's father, Mr Lau Shyu Kwai, had learned to make (or buy?) knitting machines that can knit one row of a T-shirt or a stocking, with just one rolling motion of the machine, causing some 200 smart needles each with a "thorn" over the hooking sharp end to stretch and shrink, catching the cotton thread or string above. So my maternal grandpa bequeathed his skills and knowledge to Ama's brothers, who began to make a living by running such small, apartment-size, factories. Maternal uncles are called "KowFu" in Cantonese. So my #1, #2, #3 kowfus had 9, 11, 14 children, mostly older than I. But during WWII they were all living at some villages in China about 70 miles west of HK, because HK was starving.
            Well, this place was a bit bigger than the one at Maple St. I remember every morning, Aba or Ama would wash my face, then twisted the edge of the facecloth into a little "Q-tip" and stick it into my nose, turned it once or twice, to "clean my nostrils", supposedly. I regarded it as a funny thing, because if you gently touch the little hairs inside your nose, they would have a funny feeling, making your laugh, or sneeze, or both. Ha Ha Ha.
            Japs came to our apartment. There was one problem: our home was now close to the Japs guarded concentration camp.
            One day, our door bell at 3rd floor rang. Ama opened the door, and screamed. Across the scissor steel gate, a Jap soldier was pointing his bayonet at tip of his rifle at her. She had to open the door. the guy came in to search our house. Why? In his broken English, he said some flashlight over the top of our whole block of apartments was flashing at night, possibly signaling secret code to the American planes flying over the city at night.
            My father continued trying to communicate with paper and pencil with him. He kept talking about "tarch light". Suddenly Aba realized he meant "torch light", which means a "flash light". In the machinery of two floors full of our Uncle's knitting machines, there will be some. Then Aba suddenly understood the gravity of the issue, and he was stunned with fear. The Jap soldier then said, "Why are you turning pale? You come with me to my barrack." Whiff, he took Aba away. Then Ama began to think they were going to torture Aba with their horrible methods, typically drowning you in the tub till you nearly die, then jump on your body to blurt out the water, and force you to talk, and if not satisfied, then once again, etc.
            I saw Ama cried for a while, but then she put on shoes, walked out of the house. After 3 hours, she and Aba came back . . .
            What happened? She prayed, and God gave her an idea: Go to cousin Amore. She worked at a Japanese institution as a secretary. She did. The cousin could speak some Japanese, and she then had her ways of finding out who took Aba, and then Aba came back alive.
            This was the first time in my life seeing how God helped my Mother to be calm and found a way to save Aba's life. Wow. It was unforgetable. She may have called a few other Christian friends to pray for him. Hallelujah.
            Afterwards I got interested in the matter of life and death. They told me again and again, to die means to say good bye to your loved ones, just for a while. The next minute you will be in the arms of Jesus, listening to the angels' singing and welcoming songs. Heaven is just our next stage of life, our next home.
            I like the idea: Death is not eternal separation, but a new home to rest our labors and pains. How good it is. I want to know.
            D.L. Moody's story. This is a true story, happening during the Civil War in America, around 1860 . . .
            A brigade of 50 soldiers were lined up in a trench, about 5 ft. apart from one another, all facing their enemy, 100 yards away, in another trench. Then suddenly one soldier at the end of the trench got hit by a bullet. He screamed, "I got hot", and laid down. The battle thundered on, no one could take care of him, and he was slowly dying.
          Then in a weak voice he asked his neighboring comrade, "Can you tell me how to get to Heaven?". The friend said, "I dunno, but I'll ask," He whispered to his neighbor, who whispered to the next neighbor, etc., until they came to the last soldier at the other end. That soldier pulled out a small New Testament from his chest, turned to a page, and passed it to the neighboring soldier, saying, "You get this to the dying comrade, and read this line which I underscored with red ink, to him." So the little book was passed from hand to hand, back to the guy near the dying soldier. The guy read slowly, at his ear, "This is what the Bible says, For God so loved the world, that He gave His only-begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him, should not perish, but have everlasting life . . . "
            After hearing this, the dying soldier made a sigh, laid back and had peace. Suddenly he took a deep breath, lifted up his head, and shouted, "Whosoever!" then he expired, with peace.
            I liked this real, true story. It was the first time I know we can face death peacefully, knowing we are going to move to a better place than this World full of pain and sorrows and hatred.
            Later on, at 3rd grade, I wrote this story down, in my limited knowledge of Chinese with brush and ink, may be as a homework assignment "A wonderful story". Afterwards my Class Teacher Miss Chow told my Ama, "Your child will grow up being a good preacher." I liked it, whatever a "preacher" means. For some time in 1957 I would spell it (in English) as "treacher" which other people would say "What? You mean preacher?" I would say, "No, a treacher". Of course I did not know what does it mean to treach. Ha, Ha, Ha.
           

Chapter 3: Year 1945.

            I remember one morning Aba was very happy, waving his arms in some physical exercise. Ama began to say, "It is your father's birthday." "What birthday?" "I am 38 today." 38 is a big number, more than the thirty-one blue lines on every page of my mother's account book.
            So I know it was May 1945, because he was born May 1907.
            Another Miracle.In that apartment we had a red hen and a yellow hen in some big cage. Sometimes I helped to feed them with rice. Later on they told me a miracle happened: hens usually lay eggs one a day, for 50 days, and then stop for 10 days or so, just to rest their bodies. But this red hen kept laying eggs, one per day for several months, non-stop, so that I can enjoy eating the eggs. This is how God quietly helped me to have nutrition. Can you imagine this: "God so loved Peter Woo, that he gave an egg to him every day through this red hen . . . " I now feel that "love" means a warm hug of embrace. It is wonderful God loves you and me like that.
            Then came August 1945.I heard something called the "atomic bomb" being dropped to Hiroshima and Nagasaki, killing all people in the 2 cities. Then Japan surrendered "unconditionally". The Japanese sholdiers in HK shrank into their own barracks, but then the gangs would lurk on the streets robbing the HK residents, so the Japs soldiers again got stationed on the street corners to maintain some order, until the British soldiers arrive from their ships may be in Burma, to take HK.
            For the first time, I heard joyful firecrackers evrywhere in HK. I liked it when my father took my little hand, and took me to the barbed wired Concentration Camp, where the still surviving inmates, British and American, etc. were now free to chat with us. They are waiting for the British army to not only to take over HK, but to repatriate them back to their mother countries, may be UK, or Canada, or New Zealand, etc.
            My father got some gospel tracts in English, and may be some Gospel booklets too, and gave these precious soldiers. They would smile, shake hands across the barbed wire, and I felt an unusualy atmosphere everywhere on the streets, that of celebration and "we finally have peace again" feeling.
            Soon we moved to a 3rd address in my life after age 2, namely, at 35 Tai Po Road, 3rd floor (Brits forced us to say "2nd floor"). The 2nd floor, two apartment units, had been my father's church, the Haylock Church.
            Why we had to move? Because Ama's 3rd brother and family of 10 kids are coming back. Eventually they did. Can you imagine they lived on 5 bunk beds, plus a cordonned off part of the big room for Uncle and Aunt.
            And then more relatives came back from inland China, with all their hectic stories, some miraculous stories of how God protected them from starvation or being killed by bandits, or killed by bombs that Americans dropped on supposedly Japanese garrisons or tanks or planes.
            35 TaiPo Road is a 1300 square feet apartment!. The front room A adjacent to a 10' by 29' balcony is about 20' by 20', subdivided into a small room for me, a large room for my parents. There was another 14" by 14" living room B, a 8' by 10' dining room C which has the front door, and a 20' x 4' corridor H with 2 bathrooms, I, J, plus a 10' by 8' "middle room" bedroom D, and a 6' by 6' servants room E and a 6' by 8' kitchen K, and a 4' by 5' "servants' squatting toilet room" T. Altogether "1300 sq.ft.", as I recalled.
            Then Ama's sister #6 and her hubby Paul Cheung and 2 kids came from Kunming, Yunnan province. They lived in Room B, and Ama's sister #4, lived in room D. We got 2 ahmahs to live in room E. Ooh, that was a noisy crowd. The two kids were my rivals. Grace was 1 year older than I, David was 1 year younger than I. I was not Peter. I was just "Ah Poon". My father would take us 3 kids to walk about 1 mile to a very prestigious school Kowloontong Elementary School each Day, and some servant to take us back at 4 pm each day, sun or rain. We had to learn to cross the busy HK streets with cars. Occasionally I saw a kid knocked down by cars or even get run over by a bus, one dead in a bloody mess, and another still alive with crushed legs.
            Among my father's siblings, only Aunt Elsie and her doctor husband Onward Szeto came back from Hunan province, with stories of how he saved lives by doing surgery on people, sometimes with inadequate anesthesia (scary stories). 2 cousins were born, Simon Szeto and Cathy Szeto. I loved to play with them, besides playing with Alan Wu my cousin.
            Well, I had to face my maternal cousins everyday. One day David Cheung and I were standing looking out of the window. I said, "I am taller than you." (implication: you are obliged to respect me.) He was 5 inches shorter than me, but he put his hand like a salute gesture, touching the top of his head, and then moved his hand to somewhere 3 inches above the top of my head, and said, "See, I'm taller than you." I have never met such a ostentatious fellow who would lie against scientific facts with such random, shameless, confidence and ardor. I did not slap him in the face. I was boiling instead with anger. I was mad that my parents and his parents did not teach him that lying against facts is a sin that takes one to Hell. Lying openly with a straight face! My school's principal would have punished him to stand in the middle of the school yard with a poster advocating his sin, to everyone of the 400 students in my school!. . . .
            Luckily I did not step on his shoe nor break his books nor hit him. So I did not get punished, not even a lecture from my parents.
            35 years later, David and Grace and 2 more siblings got Ph.D. in sciences, from U. of Missouri and may be elsewhere. They beat me in financial wits of investing money. Is God fair?
            I now know why: their father was Hakka people. Strangely, the Hakka people are in many southern China provinces and could never explain where and how their ancestors come to existence in China. I now firmly believe they were from some Israelite lost tribes, perhaps due to the Assyrian captivity of the northern kingdom, about 700 b.c. That is why God bless them so much. Good explanation, Amen.
            Moral of the story: I began to agree with the Bible, that I am a sinner, with so much sources of hatred in my heart.
            So China people lived happily ever after 1945?
            Only for 3 years. Stalin, after careful planning, sent its Communist army into NE China (called Manchuria) on Aug. 9th 1945, the very day that US dropped its 2nd Atomic bomb on Nagasaki, Japan, causing them to surrender. Later on they quickly trained up Chinese communist army, conquering one city after another, until 3 years later, in 1948, they conquored the whole China, except HK and Taiwan. Chiang Kai-Shek's Nationalists party were too weak and corrupt to put up a fight, and they fled to Taiwan, with some of the treasures of the Imperial Palace and museams.
          So I had plenty of stories of how Christians were persecuted, martyred, here and there in China. So many times I asked my father, "Would God stop me from feeling pain when they torture me to deny Jesus?" Aba and Ama would say, "Yes, or else He will give you exceptional strength to bear the pain." One story was: the Commies took 2 Christians and a Buddhist monk, and forced them to deny and curse Jesus. The two Christians, one after another, refused, and had their heads chopped off. Then they came to the monk, just for jest, asked him "Do you still want to believe in Jesus?" Surprisingly, they heard the monk say, "I do." Wow, they thought this monk had gone nuts, and with some humiliation, they set him free.
            Later on the Monk became a Christian, and told the other Christians, "I saw two hands with crowns being laid on the heads of these 2 Christians. So I knew Jesus is true. So I said "Yes", ready to receive that crown too."
            Still, I was afraid of death, until one day in 1948, in my quilted bed, I prayed, "Lord, I want to settle this in my mind, once for all. I want to confess I am a sinner, and I need you to come into my heart and be my Savior." Afterwards, things began to change in my life. I began to have less fear of death.
            A little book that helped my new life to grow was the "Pilgrim's Progress", Chinese comics version, with something like 200 pages of pictures. Aiyaah! I want to get a copy now. Also at 3rd grade in 1948, I could read the entire Chinese version of that book, plus the Bible.
            =================
           

Chapter 4: Memories of my Mother --- Anna LauMeiTo Woo 胡劉美徒 (1918 - 2015/11/05)

by Peter Y. Woo, 2015/11/05
           
            1. Her Background.
            My mother (I call her "Ama") was born on Mar.10th, 1918, in Hong Kong. Her father was Lau ShuKwai 劉樹逵(1872-1933), her mother was Wong WaiMing 黃惠明(1878-1927). They spoke Cantonese with a heavy JoongSaan 中山 County accent.
            Ama was the youngest of nine children. The first three were my uncles, begetting 35 children. The next three were my aunts, followed by two more uncles, then came Ama. The oldest aunt "Aunt Four", Lau JingHaan劉靜嫻, was a preacher and missionary all her life. The next aunt, Lau MayYook劉美玉, was a HeadNurse at Nethersole Hospital in Hong Kong all her life.
            There was a photo of Ama's mother, whom I never met. She was holding and staring at her Bible, with a peaceful smile.
          I think she was converted to Christ by a missionary Julia Meadows (1873-1942) from Louisiana, single, who labored in Hong Kong visiting many families, especially in the poor district of Shumshuipo in Kowloon. I think she brought her and my aunts to the Lord, and then other family members followed. Ms Meadows started a women's Bible study fellowship group first, but more men became converted, and it became a small church, called Haylock Church today, but officially as "Hephzibah Evangelistitosc Centre" back then.
            My father Woo YanTak (I call him "Aba", his life is another story) felt divinely called to be a pastor back around 1927, and soon became a leader of that church around middle 1930s. Ms Meadows was a close friend with another missionary Magaret E. Barber (1866-1930) from England, who was famous being a mentor of the great Watchman Nee who started a church group that had 3000 homegroups in China when Mao TseDong took China in 1948, persecuted, but cannot wipe out the homegroups. So the Haylock church was modeled after the Brethren churches in UK and USA, where laymen who have the spiritual gift can be preachers and elders, and women can preach and teach, and God blessed such church groups very much.
           
            Photo taken at Yee Kuk St., Shumshuipo, Kowloon.
            1936
            As you can see this group photo of Haylock Church in 1936, most people are from middle and lower class. There were no pastors or preachers in this photo (this includes my father), nor Miss Meadows (who returned to America and died in 1942). Most of them were young people.
            Ama stood at middle, in a coat with big squares pattern. She was only 18.
            2. Her dedication.
            Here is the problem: Aba was a man dedicated to live by faith on God's supplying his daily needs, like George Mueller of Bristol. He was serious in his demeanor. Why would Ama chose to marry him?
            I saw one clue: Aba before he turned 60 was a humorous man. His sermons often got the whole congregation to roar in laughter. Ama was a jolly happy optimistic girl, not minding laboring in daily duties. So even when their spiritual gifts differed, they were complementary to each other. Ama respected Aba highly, as a man of God, and it was an honor to serve him "for life". Thus they fell for each other.
            3. Marital Arguments?
            Now I suddenly realize, they have been married for 66 years, yet I never saw any arguments. Aba often travelled to other countries to preach or teach, but never had once Ama said anything about some aspects of his personality that needed improvement, etc. Nor were they once that she would discuss with some close relatives, chummy friends, about faults in Aba's character. Really none. What a good role model for pastors' wives today! Both of them lived more than 97 years, which surely was a miracle, but it may also be Divine reward for their mutual harmony, which is a rare thing these days.
            Many ladies would consult Ama above their love and marriage. I never heard her say "If you two get married, then watch out against as diverse opinioned as us . . . " Truly, I never heard any such words from her lips. On the other hand, she did warn my wife Gloria that marrying me will encounter problems, etc. etc. Ha, Ha!
            So Ama was a good marriage counselor, yet never had she read any books on psychology. Reason for this? A successful marriage is the fruit of whether you are willing to yield your selflife to God first, and then to your husband.
            ============
           

Chapter 5: My Father: Some Story.

            An incident of My Father's Love
            Peter Y. Woo, 12/01/2016
            I remember this incident in 1950 because it occurred when I was in 5th grade, at Kowloontong Elementary School. I love art lessons, but I hate handcraft lessons. They usually are taught by the same teacher, about the 2nd session after lunch, and school ends at 3 p.m. or so.
            One day, late morning, before lunch break, I was in some morning lessons (perhaps Chinese literature, or composition). Suddenly came the school's agent. He said to our teacher, "Woo YamPoon (Peter Woo) is needed outside the classroom. . . "
         
            The teacher aroused me in my daydreams, and I went outside. Lo, there was my father. He had in his hand a 2 ft by 2 ft piece of thick rough cardboard. Back in those days we called it "horse dung board" because literally it was made of cows' or horses' manure dried under the sun until all the germs are believed to be dead. Father said, "You forgot to bring this this morning, and only your cousin Grace told us by phone, that you need to bring some materials for your afternoon handcraft session."
         
            I was angry, because I had been embarassed by 30 pairs of eyes staring at me. I was also angry at life, why I had to remember to prepare some things to please the teacher at the handcraft lesson, which I hate. I was also humiliated because my cousin remembered some orders from the teacher given to us days ago, which I totally forgot, to my detriment.
            So I grabbed the thing from Father, turned back and walked inside my classroom, under the stare of those 30 pairs of eyes, some with snickering grins.
            After the lunch hour, at that handcraft lesson, I just roughly drew a "floor-plus-walls-plus-roof" diagram on the horse-dung card, cut it out, folded, glued the edges to make a cottage. Did some drawings of windows and doors. Did not colored it with crayons, and handed the "craft" over to the teacher.
            Two weeks later, the craft was given back to me, with the teacher's grade: 65 (or so). Passing grade is 60. A-minus is 80, etc. So my grade w as C.
            May be two days later. My mother got me to sit down after dinner.
            "Do you know your Father that day, wearing his pastoral gown (called "churng sarm" in Cantonese), suddenly learned from your cousin who called by phone from school, telling us you forgot everything about your duty to prepare materials for the handcraft class?
         
            "Well, your Father hurried to the stationery store to buy that cardboard, then walked for 1 mile under the hot sun to your school with that thing, and gave it to you. What was your response though? You grabbed the cardboard from him, with pouted lips, did not even say "Thank You" to him for all his labor, and turned away from him towards your classroom. I thought at least you will show your gratitude by making a good object for a good grade. But no! All you got was only 65 points, a C. Is that the way to treat your father? "
         
            I began to boil with rage. My mother did not understand my feeling hurt because I was stared at by 60 eyes, with sneers and scorn. Mother did not understand my hate for handcraft lessons. Why would she even sided with my cousin in criticising my forgetfulness. I was born with forgetfulness. So is that a sin? Why should I confess forgetfulness as a fault and sin? etc. etc. etc.
         
            Twenty years later, I became a father of 2 lovely girls. Now I know how it feels to be a father, how I would love every scene of their innocent, childish laughs and ways. I began to realise how my father loved me so much when I was young, that he would walk a mile in the hot sun that day just to bring me that cow dung board, hoping it will amend my forgetfulness in life. But that day I did not say thank-you to him. In fact, I had my anger tantrum. Over the years I never even confessed this offense to him. My father finally died 11 years ago. I wish I could have told him I now understand the Father's love, but I never did.
            This is my unforgettable story about my father's love.

            My Remedy to Father, 2001.
            In 1985 we lived in Orange County, Calif. I had an episode of brushing with death in 1985. Pastor Murphy Lum prayed earnestly for me on the pulpit with tears, and my health grew back to normal in a year. I felt very grateful. I told people "Henceforth I am living on borrowed time ----- my days are now borrowed from the Lord. He can take it back any time He wants, and I am willing and ready."
            Somehow my father knew of my feelings. I was thinking of going either into pastoral ministry or into missions. Doors were opened for me, and I would drive two Sundays per month to a small Chinese church in Riverside to teach or preach there. Meanwhile, I began to attend regularly prayer meetings of the OMF, and attended one of their prayer conferences at Redwood Camp in northern California, near Santa Cruz, where I was watching with envy some younger medical couples dedicating themselves, with young children, going to Laos or China to serve the unreached peoples. Oh I wish I were 10 years younger, and did the same. . . .
            Meanwhile, I enjoyed these new opportunities of preaching and teaching on 2 Chinese churches of the CMA (Christian and Missions Alliance churches, originally established by missionaries A. B. Simpson and Robert Jaffrey, and others). Then my father quietly whispered to a Mr Chui (not real name) at northern Calif. that I had some desire to be in ministry. Eventually I went to preach a little at that church.
            But I also enjoyed a first time missions trip with a group of CMA leaders from San Francisco to Guizhou province, visiting the home town of Pastor Paul Bartel, at a tiny town called YouYang where he lived during the 1940s, near the border of ChoongQing "province" and Guizhou province. This trip established my final decision to be involved with missions in China, even I may not go as a thirty-year old new missionary anymore.
            Eventually in 1997 we went to Beijing, then in 1998 to QingYuan in GuangDoong province (south China), got involved with supporting poor students in the villages, and then in 2002 began to go to Yunnan province almost every year, sometimes for a few months, until 2012.
          So I did not live out my Father's dreams of having me as a pastor or a missionary. I was neither. But from 1998 till 2012 were the happiest 15 years of my life, because I was involved with missions.
            In 2001 Father was almost dying, at 94. I rushed back to Hong Kong visiting him at hospital. He was too weak to even turn about in the hospital bed.
            Then I told him my little trips to China. I saw I had been visiting places and peoples that his heart would love. I began to see him smiling, getting excited, wanted to hear more. Eventually he got his hand on the bed's rail, and turned. Oh I saw him being so happy, because I finally was doing things he wished me getting involved with. I told him some of the young highschoolers from the farming country getting helped, and believed in Jesus. He was happy.
            Later on, my younger brother told me Father got better and better afterwards, and eventually got out of the hospital from the Front Door! (Back door is the morgue! :) ) My brother said, "You may have saved Father's life this time". Afterward I wrote an article [http://woobiola.net/articles/papabed.htm] which someone said it will be the best webpage I have ever done in my whole life. :)
            Father went home to be with Jesus in 2005.
            These days I am happy of one thing: When I see him again in Heaven some day, I shall again sit at his feet, like a little boy, over a 12" by 6" by 6" stool, and tell him all the things we did in Yunnan and GwangDoong, these years after he departed from us. Such a hope of reunion is something only we who know Jesus would have the confidence of.
            Reader. Would you like to have this confidence too?
            ===============
           

Chapter 6: Peace came 1946,

            1946: Joseph was born
            I could not explain why people have babies when the world has peace. David and Grace's mother gave birth to a 3rd child in 1945, David, who eventually became head of Electrical and Electronics Department of Hong Kong Univ. Science and Technology, 1991.
            Then my brother Joseph was born in 1946. It is fun to see Ama and her sister eating all kinds of funny smelly herbal foods to replenish their bodies. Both boys grew together and played together. Both had strong stubborn characters. Joseph like to smell a little woolen towel, which he called "mo mo" (hairy). I learned more about how parents love their child more by watching his life, than from my own life.
            Soon I got jealous of him. Adults in my presence began to praise how smart and how good he was. (Implication: he is better than his brother. Implication: his brother is not an attractive character. etc. etc. You see, I have a flair for logical deductions.)
            There was a college graduate, Mr. Liao, who married a daughter of a missionary-pastor to Vietnam. The daughter stayed in our house for weeks. I dunno why. Now I think my parents took her like a daughter on behalf of her parents who were in Vietnam. In any case, I liked Mr Liao because he taught me to make photo prints from a negative, using some liquids called a developer and a setter, in a dark room in our house. Fun, fun, fun. However, he saw Joseph in his frequent temper tantrums and wailing cries, and he said it is not sin, but from psychology, Joseph is a very innocent child who did not care to hide his feelings. Huh! My parents did not agree or disagree with him. I never heard of such subjects as psychology nor psych counsellors.
            In any case, at their wedding, I had a good time. Both of them were graduates of one of the best universities outside Hong Kong, namely Ling-Naam Univ. in Canton (Cantonese: Gwong Jow). Back in those days it was a great honor to graduate from college. Even my father did not graduate from Hong Kong Univ., due to suffering from tuberculosis. But my father compensated it by reading plenty of English books, and could talk fluently in English.
            After the wedding, Mr and Mrs Liao went to Indonesia. Back in those days if you want to make money, go to Malaysia or Indonesia or Philippines. Risks: hot climate, diseases, plus riots and even massacres of these money making Chinese immigrants. Ama has a brother whom I called "7th Kowfu", whom I almost never met. He went to Indonesia before I was born, and then 20 years later, in the 1960s, came back to Hong Kong. His assets were all confiscated by President Sukarno of Indonesia, and he was almost penniless. His wife remained a good friend of Ama for years.
          Back to Joseph. I called him Ah Ting. Did I love him, even when we quarreled from time to time? I did. Worst day was about 1953, he tore up one storybook of mine, may be "Pilgrim's Progress". I hit him. He cried, I was also mad. I think Ama punished him, standing in the corner and/or writing a confession note. But Ama's older sister #4, who lived with us, in tears, quietly took some celephane paper (plastic wraps of today was not yet invented), and cut and pasted the torn pages, with some glue. As I think of it today, my tears come. This is the way to repair damage, of books, and of hearts. Slowly I was learning the lesson of forgiveness.
            Later on, I forgot the details. I again complained to Ama, with my finger pointing at Ah Ting, "Ama, see him, doing that again." Ama said, "See how miserable he is. He has no friend except you his brother. He cannot help but get into his bad moods more and more often." Ah, this gripped my heart ---- he needs my love.
            What a new revelation! After I went to HK Univ. in 1959, he would be in 8th or 9th grade, pretty good in math too. Every Saturday when I took my laundry and things back from my dorm in HKU to my home in Shumshuipo, he would quietly sneak to the dining table, with a textbook in algebra or geometry, and asked me to help his homework problems. He was as tame as a cat. Nevermore would he argue with me, nor say "thank you". I discovered I began to like his attitude. Perhaps this was his way of making up for the bad times we have had. I also began to feel, "Hmmm, perhaps he is finally admiring my math abilities, and wants to imitate . . . !" In any case, those days were unforgetably sweet. Later on he got his Ph.D. in math, at U.C.Berkeley.
            My own schooling:
            From 1947 to 1950, 7 semesters, I was at Kowloontong School. I started piano lessons in 1949. It was almost an elitist school. The teachers were not Christians, but fine teachers with Confucian morals. Naughty boys who steal or do mischief will be punished to stand in the schoolyard until they agree to confess and apologize. Moreover, in my Chinese language textbooks there were many stories (in Chinese) of children who would sacrifice their lives for their parents, lessons of famous people such as George Washington (confession he chopped down his Grandpa's cherry tree) and Thomas Edison for his discovery of electricity, and young Andrew Jackson for daring to refuse to clean the boots of a British soldier ordering him to do so, during the American independence war. Each class has to plant a "class tree" each year at "tree planting day" at Mar. 12nd, in memory of the death of Sun Yat Sen, the father of modern democracy of China (later Taiwan).
            From 1950 to 1954 I was sent to Yaumati School. It is tough, not only we had to do all math in English, we had to learn to listen to teachers teaching us math and history and geography and sciences in English may be very soon. I finished 5th grade in Kowloontong School, but had to repeat it in Yaumati, just to learn English. Many schoolmates were children of parents who may be selling vegetables on some stalls in the middle of Shanghai St. or some filthy dirty shops at sidewalks. Many of them used curse words, because that is the environment there. I had to travel back and forth on bus, because it is 2 miles from my home.
          Why had I been sent there? Because my parents wanted me to learn English, for a better future. Hong Kong is a place where without ability to speak English, there is almost no chance to get into HK Univ. and better job opportunities afterwards.
            God had grace. I vaguely remembering my losing my ink box one day and later found it after I prayed. What is an ink box? It is a 1.5" by 2.5" metal box with a cotton wool soaked in black glooey Chinese ink, so that we can write Chinese caligraphy dipping a Chinese brush into it.
            Anyway, from 1954 to 1959 I was in a good high school, Queen Elizabeth School, from 9th grade to 13th grade. HK Univ. gave me only 3 years of education, equivalent to sophomore to senior years of American colleges. So the 13th grade is equivalent to freshman classes in US colleges, but tougher, scholastically.
            An unforgettable lesson 1953 or so.
            My cousin Simon Szeto lived in Kowloontong area, and had to take a bus to Yaumati school too, he is about 2 years below my class. One day, as I got off the bus and tried to cross the busy Nathan Road from East side to West side, where Yaumati school was, I saw a man in the middle of the road holding Simon's shoulder. Somehow I gather that the man's car hit another, perhaps trying to avoid hitting Simon as he crossed Nathan Road. So Simon was the culprit causing his accident. I may have asked the man about it. Simon was quietly weeping, standing and may be trembling there. I then rushed to the eastside of the road, got to a herb store, asked to borrow the telephone (cell phones were not invented yet) and called Simon's mother, my Aunt Elsie Szeto. She then rushed there in her car from Kowloontong in may be 15 minutes, apologized to the man, and promised to pay for damages, and then Simon could go with me into the school.
            Afterwards, my Ama told me, "You should have stood next to Simon, who were so scared there in the middle of the road, being the object of all the stares from onlookers all around." Ah, I thought I was already a hero, tushing to successfully call upon Auntie Elsie. It is hard to learn such lessons of life. But it was an unforgettable day.
            Do you know, at times when you are trembling with fear, you can have the Lord Jesus sending an angel to stand by your side and protect you?
            Birth of Betty She was born in 1950, and she was a smiling laughing little girl that everybody loved. At age 3, she could touch the piano keys by tiptoeing and touching the keys above her head, but soon she could play a little melody. Wow, we got her a very good child piano teacher, Ms Woo Wing Tsi, and Betty began to bloom as a piano prodigy. So often I had her sitting on my lap, and I played the piano. She loved it. I may also have sung some hymns while holding her, and she loved them.
           

Chapter 7: Year 1952. Hong Kong Spiritual Revival.

            Can you imagine: high school students in tears confessing their sins, even to their nonChristian parents? We don't know whether this outpouring of the Holy Spirit was due to some secret saint's fervent prayers.
            I think the 1950 Baptist Churches Youth Summer Conference was the first outbreak. I think my father was one of the speakers.
            I vaguely remember going with Aba in 1951 or 52 to Cheungchau Island, on a rainy day, walking on wet footpaths (CheungChau forbid motor cars) I listened to him preaching on II TIm.2:21, "If a man therefore purge himself from these, he shall be a vessel unto honor, sanctified, and meet for the master's use, and prepared unto every good work."?There are so many ways to preach positively on this berse. He could portray the heart of God, longing for us to grow up, into maturity, and out of all these old habits and encumbrances.
            Later on the Baptists churches would have their joint youth conferences in the campus of St. Stephens high school in Stanley, a good beautiful campus at southeast of HK island, and the Evangelical Free Churches' summer camps would be at the New Territories, Flood Waters Bridge village, at the campus of Park Yu boarding high school. His own church Haylock Tong, would have our conferences sometimes at Flood Waters Bridge, and sometimes at Alliance Seminary campus at CheungJau Island.
            It was my turn, in 1952, and 1954, to see my own classmates from QES (Queen Elizabeth School) broke down during a summer conference, cried over their sinful behavior, like rough words to siblings, shouting back at parents, etc. I remember a lively girl confessed how she would pinch at her younger bros and sis when their parents had to go away leaving her to watch over her younger bros and sis. We laughed at the stories, but she was all in tears. Some bros confessed having Playboy magazines at home (most likely their parents spent money on such stuff). However, behind it all, I saw a hopeful confidence, that God promised and will grant us a new heart that will gladly live the new life without these filthy habits in our lives.
            The change of behavior in these high school friends of mine were genuine, and was impressive to other classmates, who would go to church and accept Christ. Billy Graham came to have a crusade in Hong Kong in 1952, 1956, 1963 and we invited our schoolmates to listen.
            In many churches at Chinese new year holidays, there will be evangelistic meetings at evenings. I remember it was 1957 or 56, at YanChuen church at Kowloon City, my classmates, Calvin Leung, his older brother Clement Leung, my classmate Ng WaiKwok (Edward Ng), and Cheng SaiWah all preached. We were at 10th grade, and amazingly in that small 400 sq. ft. church, some 20+ people walked to the front to accept Jesus into their heart at Calvin Leung's session. What did I do? I might have played the accordion.
            Did I have such a thorough repentence in my life? I did not have it so dramatically, but I did very seriously confessed my sins before God at nights, and started to read the Bible seriously, from cover to cover, during those years 1952 on. I will tell about the fruit and results of such efforts later.
            My Health. My health was feeble. I had fevers, may be 3 times each year, and I had to take bitter Chinese herbal tea, like Sunn Cook, gumm Low, and sometimes worse. By 5th grade I began to have malaria, with temperatures up to 103 F. I would have hallucinations. Once I told my aunt, a cousin of Ama, as a joke, "Perhaps I would die." Wow, that scared her. She took her Bible, and made sure that I have accepted Jesus as my Savior. I convinced her I did. But I did cause the adults some worries.
            Then about 1950, my cousin Simon Szeto, age 8, and myself, had our tonsils removed by uncle Onward Szeto, a surgeon. It took some hour to do so, because my tonsils, after so many times of inflammation, has been covered by new skins and tendons. So Ama said when they pushed me out of the operation room, Uncle Onward was "Yutt Tow Dai Hon (one head all sweat)". Ha Ha. Thank God I recovered, and since then I had no more of these fevers, and my math skills began to excel. Hallelujah. Moral: Remove your tonsils, your math skills will get better.
            =======================
            Sunday, June 21, 2015
           

Chapter 8:Memories of Mr Chu KaFai, Chemistry Master.

            Peter Woo YamPoon,School Cert. 1957
            [Explanations added for US readers]
         
            When Mr Chu came to teach at QES?[Queen Elizabeth School, a high school in HK],[it caused quite a stir. I was in Form 4A][equiv. to Grade 10 in US],he was head teacher for class 4B, and some friends there told me he was very good, or very severe, but all said he taught very well.
            So one day he started to teach our class. He was confident, full of energy, and his lectures contents were rich and well-organized. But he was severe. Soon he gave us a table of "valencies" to memorize, such as sulphate is 2-, ferric is 3+, aluminate is 3-, bicarbonate is 1-, etc. Then 1 week (?) later, he quizzed us orally in class. One classmate loudly proclaimed that "oxide" is of valency 1, and he was immediately punished to write it 100 times. He did give us warning of the quiz, so the diligent students did not get caught. .
            After this we knew he meant business. I wish I could have used such methods of pedagogy in my math classes in college here in US, but I had no such freedom. I do sincerely believe public humiliation, when used properly, can generate great motivations and improvements on student behaviors, better than the whip or the spanking ruler. .
            I began to like him. He was very confident that his teaching will generate great results in terms of distinctions and honors in School Cert and Matric exams, and we never even dreamed of challenging him in class.[In HK, School Cert is a colony wide high school graduation exam, more severe than SAT. For each subject, about 10 percent will get distinctions (like an A in US) and 20 percent gets credits, (like a B+ in US), and 30 ro 40 percent will fail.]?I thought he had taught in another high school before, but I also believed he was a fresh graduate of HK Univ. (I now know from his orbituary he taught at St.Paul Boys' Highschool before he came to QES.) He enunciated English very clearly, even with his peculiar Hong Kong accent. He was better than other teachers who would pronounce "same thing" as "Sam sing". He invented some peculiar English phrases which he would use on us if we misbehave. One of them is "you are stupid fool!"
            I don't recall him writing very much on the board. He simply dictated his lecture notes orally, and we copied like crazy. He would write on the board only special terminology here and there. So we learned there are something like 12 properties of oxygen, 15 properties of chlorine, and some 20 properties of phenol and benzene. Why so specific? So that we can reproduce them at the School Cert. or Matriculation (university entrance) exams. This may sound like a ducks-stomachs-stuffing pedagogy, but we liked this stuffing stuff, and immediately we scored better than Kings College and caught up and even beat Queen's College when results of these public exams came out each summer.?[The most prestigious high school in HK are called "colleges"].
            So his teaching method is simple: Prepare the students for the public exams, and they will be eternally grateful. .
            But he was so full of energy that we students also learned a lot of qualitative analysis and titrations at the lab. .
            He taught us how to mix extremely dilute lead nitrate solution to a very dilute potassium iodide solution, and after a few seconds, golden crystals will precipitate in the test-tube. .
            Another time he taught us to fill one test tube with hydrogen sulphide[Americans say 'sulfide'], and another with chlorine, both gases. Hold them in both hands, the tubes being plugged with our thumbs. Then face the test tubes mouth to mouth, and remove the thumbs. In a second or two, there will be an explosion in a small "pop". This was absolutely delightful for us students. Then classmate TCC took a test tube, filled it with the hydrogen sulphide, but stuck it into the outlet of a chlorine generating Kipp's apparatus, and turned on the chlorine tap. The result: a giant explosion, filling the lab with fumes. Mr Chu turned green with rage, and, I guess, must have shouted "stupid fool" at him a few times, but I saw a touch of his kindness by asking us to open the doors to clear the air, and he still did not forbid us to do this experiment in future. .
            One day, at a mid-term test (or a final exam?) he gave a problem something like this: A mixture of X and Y were dissolved in z amount of water, and titration showed that it took p amount of P or q amount of Q to neutralize the mixture. Find the percentage by weight of X and Y.
          Luckily, I was good in algebra. So I solved it. It turned out I was the only one in class that got it. In fact I thought it a bit unfair to those in class who may be weak in algebra but were otherwise good students. I did other problems in that test very well, so I got 107 points out of 100. .
            Mr Chu is unsparing in giving very low grades to students, and 20 or 30 points out of 100 was quite common. So this 107 points was one of the most charming moments in my life. Mr Chu never praised me in front of the class, but he would give me a smile which is a sort of a grin. But that was good enough for me. .
            I had him as teacher for 3 years or more, and I majored in math and chemistry as undergrad in HK Univ. Back then, many of my friends wanted to become Einstein, so they worked very hard at physics. I did too, but I blamed it on poor teachers that I eventually lost the ambition, and went for math instead. I never got any distinctions in physics. .
            I can still recall those high school days when my enthusiasm for chemistry, being fanned by Mr Chu, would prompt me to acquire my set of test tubes and chemicals in many bottles, at home. .
            After we went to HK Univ., sometimes we would come back to QES, to visit who? Mr Chu of course. He would kindly inquire on our affairs. He is genuinely in love with his students. .
         
            ==============
           

Chapter 9 Reminiscence of Mr. Terry Chamberlain

            by Peter Y. Woo, HK School Cert. 1957
Assoc. Prof., Biola University, La Mirada, CA
            Here are three recent tributes to Mr Chamberlain:
            (a) I was teaching calculus for 16 years. One day I said, "You people are so lucky to have me as your teacher, all because of ---- Mr Terry Chamberlain, who influenced me to choose a career in math, in my high school days".
         
            (b) In various math classes, I enjoy with devilish glee forcing the American youths to memorize the 12-line poem of trigonometry. "I want you to memorize it, not because we Asians like to memorize things (and force others to do so), but because I was taught such, by an Irishman teacher, Mr Chamberlain. Here it goes:
            Sin sum equals sin cos plus cos sin,
            Sin dif equals sin cos minus cos sin,
            Cos sum equals cos cos minus sin sin,
            Cos dif equals cos cos plus sin sin
            Two sin cos equals sin sum plus sin dif,
            . . . . etc. . . . .
            If you don't like to memorize these 12 lines, then you may as well memorize chapter 8 of the book of Romans in the Bible. The choice is yours . . . . "
            (c) Another occasion: I was teaching partial fractions techniques in 2nd semester calculus. There was a trick taught by Mr Chamberlain to express something such as
            (2x+5)/(x+1)(x+2)(x+3) as
            A/(x+1) + B/(x+2) + C/(x+3).
         
            Mr Chamberlain taught us a nice trick to compute A, B, C. So I told my students: this trick is called the Irishman's method, in honor of him.
         
            * * * *
            Really, I treasure the numerous times that Mr Chamberlain got us to chant the "12-line poem" in class, day after day. He taught me math from Form 4 to 6, (equivalent to 10th to 12th grade high school in US) from 1955 to 58. Back in the 1950's we students memorized many, many things, and we Chinese are good at that. We memorized Tang poems, many verses in Confucius' Analects, quite a few essays of Han Yu, Liu ZongYuan, and other scholars, many dates in world history, memorized chemical formulas, some 14 properties of chlorine and 20 properties of benzene under the merciful pedagogy of Mr Chu KaFai. I regrettably did not, but others did, memorize English poetry, Shakespeare, or modern Chinese prose, or biological subjects.
         
            Before Mr Chamberlain came, in Form 3, we were taught math by a Mr Kell. He was not as loving to us kids as Mr Chamberlain, and I frustrated him once by asking him an innocent geometry problem which got him spend hours on it and could not solve it unless he used trig, which we did not learn till Form 5. So the next morning he almost "threw the book" at me.
            So when we had Mr Chamberlain for the first time in Form 4, we noticed he is kinder, nicer, never getting angry. One day someone in class did something messy and very untidy. I forgot whether it was homework or something else. Mr Chamberlain saw it, and exclaimed "Aiyah!" which got the whole class to laugh like crazy. Cantonese "aiyah" means "a frightful surprise", such as when you go into the kitchen and discover 3000 ants all crawling happily over spilled food on the floor.
            I began to notice that he got "lazy", by giving us less homework, but doing more problems in class with our participation. High school teachers in Hong Kong carry a pitifully inhumane load of teaching some 5 hours of classes per day, like us teaching 25 undergrad units per week, plus Saturday. So Mr Chamberlain managed to get us all to work under his nose during class, and he got to call us by our Chinese names. Result: we all did better.
            Classmate Ng WaiKwok (Sch Cert 1957) asked me whether I remember how many distinctions and credits we got in math back those years. I vaguely recall that our achievements in math and chemistry paralleled those of Queen's College, and we always beat King's College. We did beat QC once. And we were better than Wah-Yan or DBS. The only school we were no match with was St Paul's Co-ed. (If some of you can check the School Cert and Matric results as reported in South China Morning Post back then, it will be appreciated. SCMP has a storeroom of all the newspapers from 1940 till now, at their office near Taikoo City. )
            As another tribute to Mr Chamberlain, these days I repurchased some of the textbooks he used in those days, which I collect with fondness. From British used bookstores such as www.abebooks.com, I ordered C.V. Durell's "A Geometry for Schools", but I could not get Durell and Robson's "A New Trigonometry for Schools". I also bought in HK some paperback version of S.L.Green's "Advanced Level Pure Mathematics", and Nightingale's "Higher Physics", which was a great help to me in those days, but I never got a distinction in physics in my whole life.
         
            Just before School Cert Exam, Mr Chamberlain bought a heavy box to class one day. It was a tape recorder. Cassettes were not yet invented. He would get all of us to say something in English, and play them back. I got the most embarrassing moment in my life, as I stammered and muttered what thoughts that came to my mind that day. But I appreciate greatly his creative ideas of his helping us with our spoken English.
            * * * *
            Just a few years ago I reconnected with him. I wrote him a letter, "I'm Woo YamPoon, whom you taught from 1955 to 58, Form 4 to L6 . . . I wonder whether you still remember me ...." He replied (in my own words, because I cannot find his letter now) , "I remember you real well, as well as Ko HonYim, Tsui WaiFat, Cheng SaiWah . . . Perhaps I had a deep impression of the classes I first taught in HK. I caught you reading a book (under the desk) one day during class. But then I discovered it was Calculus. So I let you off, with a warning not to do it again. You were 2 years ahead of the class..."
            I truly did not remember such a thing, because we all often read other books under the desk, especially during lectures by boring teachers. But Mr Chamberlain was never boring.
            Of course I told him about the above mentioned three episodes. He was quite happy about them.
            * * * *
            Finally, one more great thing about Mr Chamberlain: The syllabus of Advanced Level pure math for Matriculation includes too many things, and most teacher would drop a few topics. He however, managed to find time to teach us a chapter on circle inversions, which is a part of modern geometry invented by Steiner in the 19th century. It is a technique that can solve some plane geometry problems involving circles. What it did for me was: Today I am one of the handful of people in the world that can solve such problems as published in a Canadian math magazine, the Crux Mathematicorum, if such technique is applicable. My solutions to these problems got published a few times, and I am greatly indebted to Mr Terry Chamberlain.
            =================
           

Chapter 10: Unforgetable Mr. Man and Classmate

            Peter Woo, 2015.
            Q. Peter, You are in mid seventies now, age-wise. What do you think of your life?
            A. There are two kinds of people: One looking back at life and find some meaning thereof. Another looking forward to the future life when we step across the threshold from this life to the future.
            Q. You are suggesting I am the first kind, and you are the second?
            A. A lot of people are “temporarily” the first kind, but longing for something to justify them switch to the second kind.
            Q. You know I am an uncertain atheist.
            A. I like this term: uncertain atheist. I understand. Often I look back at my life, I love the unforgettable moments I had with my father, a cousin whom I visited just 2 months before she passed on. I am looking forward to the day I can sit at the feet of my father, and tell him stories of what I did. I also have unforgettable recollections of some of my highschool classmates and teachers too. There I saw the glimpse of the best model of a good human soul, with unselfish love for others.
            Q. Like what?
            A. Like the marks of a drop of blood stain, on our exercise book where we had to write our Chinese compositions in half-inch squares, with Chinese brushes. Why such blood stain?? The teacher, Mr Man JongLit, would persevere to teach us about morals and values of life, from the class called National Literature (Gwok Man), and despite his nascal pharyngical cancer (uncurable in the fifties), he still struggled on, putting cotton balls in his nostrils in day time.? Now, I see that is his way of loving us students, unto his last day in life. These blood stains to me are worth millions, telling us about his soul.
            Q. What a story!? Something more
            A. Then one day he was too weak to stand up to write some notes on the blackboard.
            Suddenly a classmate, Tsang Kwok Pui, raised his hand, “Teacher, let me do it”. Tsang is famous for his award-winning calligraphy. From that day on, he would be the teacher's clerk, writing anything he wishes on the board, with a calligraphy matching that of the teacher's. This persisted until perhaps 2 weeks before the teacher died. Recently I looked up Google for this model classmate Tsang. He went to Taiwan for college, came back to teach in some schools in Hong Kong, and some students wrote something praising his character and personality. Now he is our age, retired, but I think I still can pursue on his whereabouts. Tsang to me is a beautiful specimen of goodness in human character.
            Q. Go on!
            A. Too bad, I reached my page limit. Next week.
            =======================

Chapter 11: More about the Coots

            Peter Y. Woo5/15/2015
            Do you feel you are like a coot, unnoticed, insignificant, unimpressive in this world
            Your family may not have treated you well. You did not impress your teachers at school . . .
            So some day this little coot was hungry, running around seeking for food, but found none. She got desperate, eventually she collapsed on the sand, crying out "caw, caw".
            The Bible said God heard its cry.
            You say, that is impossible, the world has 6 billion people like me, and may be 1 billion coots. How can God listen to one little coot
            Have you known some governments are producing computer gadgets that some day will monitor all people on earth, on their actions, even on their thoughts, by sealing some gadget on their forehead under the skin . . .
            If humans can do such, why can God not hear all our cries?? Hmmm.
            Q. You mean there is some One out there that has an interest for me, this little flotsam of protoplasm in this universe
            A. That is what the Bible tells you.
            Q. Would His heart be touched with my desperate cries and my pains
            A. That is what Psalm 147 says.
            Another story: Father Abraham has a maid Hagar, who got pregnant under?permission by her mistress Sarah, bore a son Ishmael, but one day the mistress also got pregnant, and so there is no more room for Hagar and the boy Ishmael. So they got kicked out of the house, and wandered in the desert, parched and thirsty. Ishmael fainted, and Hagar went under another bush, and cried her heart out. God heard her cry, pointed her to a little spring of water, and she and Ismael survived.
            Q. Good story. But does it mean this God is real
            A. Try Him. Wait someday you have something hanging on your heart. You can pray, "Father God. Woolywootle the Old Man told me You are real. If so, please hear my cry . . . and deliver my loved one from his/her plight, and deliver me from all these tears . . . "
            Q. You think this will work?
            A. If you have a sincere heart, you will see Him as a merciful Hand in control of your life. You should be ready to say, "If He is God, I am ready to change my attitude in life, and seek Him more."
            Q. I will give it a try.
         
            A. Many did. I'll tell you some stories next time.
         
            Thursday, May 7, 2015
           

Chapter 12: The Young Ravens (Ps. 147)

            Praise to the Lord on the harp . . . who covers heavens with clouds, who prepares rain for the earth, and caused grass to sprout on the hills. He gives the cattle their feed, and the young ravens that for which they cry . . . Ps. 147: 8,9.
            There is a "Mile Square Park" close by. Sometimes we took evening walks there. There are small lakes, small island, and plenty of birds. We Chinese loves the green herons, white storks, white pelicans, sea gulls. We only dislike the jackdaws and crows big and small.
            Why? Just because they eat dead animals' meat. . .
            Q. Did you really see them eat such stuff
            A. Never in my life.
            Q. So you are believing in superstition. . .
            A. It was taught to us from our parents, we Chinese respects parental teachings as decades-tested immutable truths.
            Let me continue. One of the most neglected birds are the coots. They are all black, like crows, yet with pointed, short beaks, plus yellow webbed feet, like small ducks.
            Q. So they are ducks
            A. No, wild ducks we Chinese call them “Ngaan”, which are seasonal birds, some flying from Alaska to Peru, and lodging in California just for a few days in between. They have colorful graceful necks and heads and cute and lovely.
         
            These coots ain't. They have no necks, chatter not as awful as crows and blackbirds, but still noisy to my ears. They go in flocks, running on the ground, looking for worms (just because there are no dead carcasses . . . ?). They are not scared of humans unless we get to within 5 feet. We Chinese don't like them, because they are not beautiful like the herons and cranes.
            Q. But God made them that way, why don't you love them as if they are herons and cranes
            A. The Calvinists say God pre-determined and predestined us Chinese to naturally love herons and cranes and not the coots. But I ain't no Calvinist . . .
            Back to my story. I found out that God loves the coots, which Psalm 147 says "young ravens". We Chinese don't love ravens, and of course this includes young ravens. Yet God not only give them food, but also hears their cries.
            Eventually this compassion and tenderness of God moved me to tears. God loves you and me more than young ravens. 

===========

Chapter 13: Reflections, these 45+ years (1968 to 2013)

by Peter Y. Woo 12/2020
         
            Q: Hello Woo YamPoon, where have you been these 45+ years?
            A. I had my ups and downs, my own lot of frustrations and setbacks in life, but also joys and pleasant memories. I was a software programmer for 12 years(1968 - 1980) , then a math professor for 28 years at Biola Univ. (1980 - 2008)
            Q: Have you any deeply felt observations after all these years?
            A. All of us want to be successful in life, successes in career, in our children, etc. When I compare myself with others, I see I am just an average guy, win some, lose some. But I am learning not to pin my values or happiness on one's successes.
            Q: How is that?
            A. Back 20 years ago, I went back to HK, and had a dinner with my science major classmates of HKU. None of them majored in math, but we all remember our times in the chemistry lab or physics lab. Lam WingChee will remember names such as Shen ChaoMing, Au KwokLun, Chan WaiKin. I remember Kong ShiuChung, my QES classmate, was there.
            I suddenly discovered that the guys who had the sharpest minds, getting distinctions in those days, turned out not necessarily successful in life. Whereas some who finished HKU with not much fanfare turned out to be very productive in their career, research, etc. Their secrets were perhaps (1) a longer, stronger drive to do more, learn more, etc., and (2) to acquire a pleasant, understanding, affable personality.
          I also notice that back when we met in our 30's, we talked about accomplishments, job successes, to build up our self-image. But when we were over 40's, my old friends would ask me about life in California, and how they can send their own children to colleges in USA, etc. Suddenly I feel we were back to our undergrad days, our hearts feel closer drawn. Life has less need of boasting and bragging, but openess towards one another.
            Q: I agree, life is liberated when we can talk to one another without putting up a face of achievements and accomplishments, But I thought you were pretty good in math back then. Have you done much academic publications?
            A. Back in high school, my math ability was my crop and prop, I mean, my way of getting respect from others. Otherwise I was a socially backward, shy, self conscious little guy. Slowly, through various life experiences, the Almighty began to help me get mellowed in speech, and learned about how to understand other people's views and feelings about things.
            Once I see that I am living daily in love, from God and from my family members, I have less need of academic accomplishments in my life goals. I still admire many friends [2] who have produced hundreds of academic papers. For me, I only have two or three such. One is called "Constructions with a ruler and no compass, plus a given parabola in the plane."
            Q: You mean you did not go into advanced things such as geometric algebraic topology, etc ?
            A. I learned a bit of those things, but I see not much those abstract stuff. On the contrary, I still have my boyish fascinations with plane and 3-dim. geometry, being taught by Mr Terry Chamberlain, and then by Dr Busemann, a giant at Univ. of So. Calif. I am most fortunate.
            Q: It seems you have not lived to the fullest of your intellectual capacity, some may say.
            A. May be you have overestimated my potential. Well, last 9 years was engaged in solving math problems in a magazine of the Canadian Math Society, then submit my solutions. I liked this magazine because they occasionally publish my solution, and otherwise at least put my name in the 'Also solved by??' paragraph, for each problem. This activity kept my math alive, and help me in preparing undergrad students for an 'Putnam math competition" every first Saturday of December.
            On the other hand, life is not valued merely in accomplishments, but more in giving to and inspiring others. The Bible said, "better to give than to receive". I by nature is a most self-centered, self-interested ego-filled man, but 20 years in computer industry plus another 20 years in teaching had helped me find much joy in helping others and giving to others.
            Q: How is that possible?
          A. One example in industry: One day they told me a hardware engineer that me, a software guy, worked with him for a few weeks, is suddenly dying of cancer. I rushed to the hospital, and chatted with him. Finally I asked, "Do you have fear of your prospects (death)?" He said, "Frankly, yes." I shared with him something about our future hope, from the Bible. He took it all in. Then afterwards I visited him once a week until he died 2 months later. His memory was fuzzy, but he began to tell others he has no more fears about eternity. This experience changed my values.
            Another experience is to see the famous quadriplegic girl Joni Eareckson on TV, around 1975, witnessing on how Jesus gave her strength to live on, after her debilitating accident. I then got interested to find how I can use computer technology to help the handicapped. That was before the days of Microsoft windows and microcomputers. I also got interested in inventing a way of writing and printing Chinese on the computers.
            At my late forties, I started a new career as a college professor. Teaching really helped me to become articulate, more confident, and even recognizing the attitudes of the listeners from their faces. This in turn helped me at church. I can tell in one glance what percentage of folks are listening, or daydreaming, or [3] enjoying my talk. Occasionally I have to switch my talk, switching my story (then everybody wakes up and stop day dreaming ) or turn on a different emphasis. This audience interaction turn out to be fun.
            Q: What happened to your musical ability?
            A. Well, at HK Univ, a "senior" at my dorm was a good violinist. He got me to accompany him on the piano whenever he had a chance to play before' the public, such as at son union activities at HKU. That opened my eyes into the repertoire of violin music, and in turn helped my sense of direction in improving myself at the piano.
            For the last 10 years, I finally begin to put something together on CDs, not for sale, but just to share the joys with friends. I have developed my own style of improvising a Christian hymn, to make it sound folksy and a bit jazzy in harmony. Sometimes I mixed in a few pieces of Chopin. I play less flair to show-off tricky skills, but pay more attention to present the songs in a warm, with a fireside chat atmosphere (as if you are sitting in my living room after a dinner. I like to give you some, and see whether you like it.
            Recently I reconnected with our music teacher back when I was in Kowloontong elementary school. She is only in her eighties, in Vancouver. I sent her some CD of mine, called back and share her deep thoughts from it. If I bring a bit of joy to others, that in turn make it all w( .
            Q: Tell us about your children.
            A. We got twogirls. The older one, Celest, is literature professor in VUte Plains, NY. The younger one Rachelle is an artist, teaching part time at my university, with a 10 year old son Jeremiah. Both girls are good in math, I chose to excel in their careers. My wife Gloria was a history major at HKU, with a sharp analytical mind. She teaches ESL (English for immigrants) for over 20 years.
            Q: Did you write a lot about your recent trips to China?
            A. Yes, and I think I can pick 100 photos plus my best essays and publish a little book. I am seriously thinking about it. I found out that in So. California I can print a 180 pages book,with glossy color cover but only black and white pages, for about 3 USD per copy. I guess I can do it 5 times cheaper in China, but shipment is horribly expensive.
            Q: How did you get in love with people in China?
            A. In 1994 I and my brother were visiting Guizhou with its beautiful mountains, caves, waterfalls, etc. There at a Miao village, a dancing girl looked exactly like my daughter side view, smiles, dimples, etc. I began to see a bit why the Bible says God loves you and me, not because we are good, but because He sees so much more in us than we see ourselves e started visiting some poor students in Gwong Doong province financially supported by our friends. Our hearts were moved when we visit their homes in the villages. Their families are poor farmers, yet very simple and honest and lovely people. Their organic fresh vegetables taste so much better than from our supermarkets in US. Then in 2002 we went to visit a friend in Yunnan. There we met many Westerners and Asian Americans some serving in agriculture, some in medical clinics, some helping the handicapped, even ex-lepers, to find ways of living. We were moved to tears-by seeing so many folks loving China and doing good things there. Yunnan is as big as California and with same population, about 40 million, half of which are tribal peoples. I found out that renting apartment and food are 5 times cheaper than in US. So we came back in 2004 for 5 months. It was like a second honeymoon for us. We can help with little things here and there. Eventually in 2005 we went again for 9 months, I taught part time math in an international school for the kids of foreigners. Again, we get to know more people deeply, both foreigners and locals. We tread on the grounds of some foreigners who came to China back 90 years ago, lived and served among tribal people, for decades, and visited the grave of some. Actually other provinces are equally worth visiting.
            Q: Are your computer and math skills useful there?
            A. Not as useful as medical skills. However, I would like to see more families bring their teenage or older children or grandchildren to visit China, see the poor people. It will be a life-changing experience for such kids, getting them to see new human values, joys of giving rather than getting at things. Computer skills are useful. A doctor there wanted to set up a database system, so that for some handicapped patients they can shoot a 10 second video of how they walked or moved their arms and neck, and then save it on the internet, so that medical experts in USA can look at the video and diagnose the problem and the cure. Too bad my skills in database were still not good enough to help him.
            Second career is when you faced your mid-life crisis and made some changes. Similarly, third career comes with its pros and cons.
            Pros: 1. You are more mature, wiser, more patient with cantankerous oldies, as well as impetuous younger folks. 2. You have learned to be grateful for all the good fortunes that happened to you. 3. You have a lot of good stories to tell to your children and grandchildren. 4. You have more leisure time.
            Cons: 1. Your body behaves like an old machine, but when you look at others in wheelchairs, you say, "Thank God, I am only slightly handicapped. I still can go about, do things I like." 2. You worry about how much time you have, and what to do with them. We had our 40th anniversary while in Kunming. On a Sunday noon, we went to our favorite Cantonese restaurant, with an American couple who just had their 49th anniversary. The man is a scholar in Japanese and Tibetan language and culture, and they lived in the 15000 ft. level in Tibet for years. Now they are very active working for a charity foundation in Hong Kong, helping newcomers from the West to adjust to life in China. Then at the restaurant, we happened to meet another American couple, who just had their 60th anniversary. They are in their eighties. They were so successful in writing small size bilingual textbook for learning English, they got invited to teach in a Budhist monastery in Cambodia. I have seen their books, printed in English on left pages, and Thai or Burmese or Chinese on the right. They are so happy, they talked of making another "ten year plan." of their life.
            ===========
            I felt God was speaking to me, "Don't groan and moan that you are 66. Look at these couples. I can use them at their old age, I can use you. You have at least 20 years to catch up."
            Q: I like this positive attitude to old age. We like stories like these.
            A. One thing we have at senior age is leisure time. Each day we all have our chores to do, like: go on the exercise machine, take all kinds of pills or health food, check your emails, feed the cat, water the lawn, etc. While doing all that, a good way is to do a prayer, 'Lord of the universe, bless us today, give me a lively, joyful heart, help me look at things not from a dark cloud. Give mci smiles that can sweeten the lives of others I come in contact With."
            Q: But should I pray to a God whom I am not sure exist?
            A. Ah, you may not be a Christian, but such prayers do no harm. Jesus said, You need to have simple hearts like a child, and then you can see God. Really, with a simple, quiet heart, you will feel an discern God's loving hand guiding and protecting you the whole day. You begin to feel not only there is a Mind that designed all the physical laws of the universe, but also a Hand that is gracious enough to cater to the personal needs of you, a small, puny human soul. Perhaps you have not read the Bible for 20 years, now if you read it again, you will feel as I do, that old age helps us to be wiser, think deeper, and see the love of God for you, in more ways than you saw while you were in your forties or twenties. Reading it becomes a delight. Suddenly you discover the secret of heart peace: you can rest daily in the hand of His love. You can discover how glorious is the life of Jesus and the life of any one who follows Him. You can even face death, with peace, even assurance.

Chapter 14. Mother 'sWarm Hands

Peter Woo 11/2020, Biola Univ., Calif.

 There is a comforting verse from the Bible: God said, "How can a mother forget her milking child? Even if she forgets, I (i.e. God) shall not forget thee."
            Q: To the end of my life, I suddenly thought: "I shall go back to Heaven, in fact, back to the warm arms of my mother in Heaven, as if when I was a child in the warm embrace of my mother, so precious." Is it true?
            A: It's true.The most precious thing in life is the love of your parents. So the Bible says, "God loves the world, and even his son He did give it to them. I have a cat called Purrkin.One year I went back to Hong Kong for a few months and handed him over to a friend. I didn't understand cat language, I couldn't tell him I'd be back in a few months, and he was sad and soon died. See my article: woobiola.net/articles/purrkin.htm . God loves you is the same feeling.There are many Christians, seriously ill, dreaming of walking alone into a tunnel, with bright glory on the other side. Suddenly there is a bright person, said to her: "It's not yet time here, go back!" They wake up and live a little longer.
            We have a pastor here called Chuck Smith. He had cancer, but was still wearing a hearing machine and hobbled to the podium every week. One night, his son-in-law slept near him, with a curtain in the middle. Suddenly he heard him shout: "Oh, how Glorious!" And then he passed away.What a glory!
            There is an old servant named Ah Yee . Only a little literate, one day she said to her mistress, "Somehow, after I believed in Jesus, and I have much peace in my heart." It turned out that she had tasted God's love. Later on I went to Qingyuan, to her hometown, Pearl Light Town for a visit.
            When I was a few years old, I lived on the third floor of an apartment, and on the second floor was Mr. Zhong, and his wife died. I was only four years old going to a Christian funeral, Afterwards my mother said to me "she was smiling 1 at her deathbed. One asked what she saw, and she said, "I see the Lord Jesus coming for me." It's a great joy. This is the first time in my life that I have attended a Christian funeral, and it's very different from a Buddhist funeral with loud walking and blowing horns. They're saying eternal goodbye, we Christians 're saying "Goodbye till we meet again that day."
            Q: How do I prove God's existence?
            A: God is a loving God.You can try him: "God, I need You right now: I lost my keys." (or "I've pain here", or "I'm going to lose my job." Or: "My child is ill.") "If you really love me, please show me the way and solve my troubles. I promise you, if you are true, please open the way for me, I will repay you."
            If there is no God at all, do you think he would answer you prayer?"
            Q: No.
            A: But if there is a God who loves you, he will certainly find a way for your relief. You just wait and see. Isn't it?
            Q: Of course.
            A:Then try it with God! Ten years ago, I once lost my whole string of keys. My wife and I can't find the house and the car. As a result, we were weeping and prayed. By dinner, suddenly the phone rang and he was a stranger.
            He said, "Are you Mr. Woo? I picked up your keys on a grass at Biola University! " Wow, that's great! Then he told me he would wait for me on campus.I drove like a mad man back to school, saw him. Found that he was a school workman's friend, going to meet his friend. Suddenly he saw near a parking lot on the grass, something shining, it turned out to be a string of keys! with a little card from a gym near the school So he drove half a mile there to find out my name and phone number and called me. I went to that parking lot, the plot I do not often go. That small plot of grass, the original spot where the key lit up at the right time, not stolen by others, (then blackmail me), has been a miracle. It took him a few hours to find me, and it was a miracle. It turned out that he believed in the Lord, honest, was also rare. Are you saying God is real!? I was so happy that I forgot to write down his phone and buy him a present later.
            Tell you a true story. A Chinese American man Sean (pronounced "Shawn") works as a hardware engineer and I worked in software in same company, so I know Him a bit, in Santa Barbara, 1974-78. One day they told me he is dying, of cancer, I guess. I rushed to the hospital, saw him only a bit sick, and we chatted. Finally I asked him, "Do you sometimes think of death?" He said "Sometimes, but it gives me fear." I said, "Have you invited Jesus into your heart?" He said No. I asked "Do you want to, now?" He said "Yes."
            I was stunned, very surprised. So I mumbled "May I teach you to pray?" He said Yes. So I taught him a simple prayer, "Lord, please come into my heart now . . . , " Afterwards I asked "How do you feel at heart?" He said "Strange. I don't feel fear anymore."
            I went home. I visited him once a week, sometimes he sat up and ate. In four weeks he died. The Pastor said, "I asked him who led him to accept Christ? And he said, "Quite a few people I worked with", and he said to everyone, he has peace in his soul".
            I am glad I was one of those anonymous few. This is a good incident where I brought peace to a man in his last days.
         
            A: It is good to bring peace to a dying man.