When I was 25, I bought my first pack of cigarettes. I had no clue which brand would be acceptable, so I pointed to a mid-priced pack beneath the glass-topped counter. I didn’t even know how to say “cigarette”, but pointing proved to be effective enough, and I walked away with my purchase in a little pink plastic bag inside my purse. I was ready.
The cigarettes weren’t for me, and I wasn’t even certain how or if I would employ them. I was in southern China with friends traveling during the Spring Festival Holiday. My friend Josey and I needed to get back to Nanchang, where I was living and teaching, so we could continue north to Beijing where she would return to the U.S. in a few days. The trains were all booked. No one had space because most Chinese flock to their home towns for the holiday months. When a population that large all decides to travel at once, trains fill up quickly.
We were staying at a bed and breakfast type of place in a small town near the famous Guilin. The owner and his wife had taken excellent care of our group, eating meals with us, telling stories from the Cultural Revolution, and giving tai chi lessons on the roof in the morning. My other teacher friends from Nanchang were staying longer, while Josey and I headed back. At that point, I had never traveled alone (ie, without another Chinese speaking friend) in China. I had some grasp of the language, but relied heavily on my friends’ help. When another attempt at buying return tickets failed, our host advised me to buy some cigarettes. He said you can always buy a standing ticket (where you stand in the aisle the whole trip) and then later as people get off along the way, use the cigarettes to get a train attendant to give you a seat. It seemed like our only option at that point.
After hugs and a group photo, Josey and I got into a taxi van and headed for the local bus station to catch a bus to the train station in Guilin. The door slid closed and I was crying before the driver had his foot on the gas.
“Jos! I’ve never done this alone! When we buy tickets, Jeremy always listens to get the numbers correct, M’Lynn knows the words for the types of seats, and I do the city names in the correct tones.”
Josey has been my friend since we were two years old and knows that sometimes a snack solves everything. She nodded and opened a granola bar.
“Here,” she pushed the bar towards my mouth, “I think we're gonna be okay.”
Through the chewing, I slowly stopped crying. The big charter bus to Guilin was mostly empty, so we each curled up on two seats in the back. I leaned my head against the window, watched the sun go down behind the region’s distinctive camel back landscape, and prayed. A calm washed over me. I had no idea what was going to happen once we got off the bus, but in that hour on the bus, God somehow convinced my spirit beyond a shadow of a doubt that He had it all taken care of. ‘Maybe the cigarettes will work,’ I thought.
Once in Guilin, we tumbled out of the bus with our backpacks into the crush of travelers, rolling suitcases, lights, street food, and city noise. We maneuvered around food carts and were carried forward on a wave of pedestrians. At the train station ticket counter, I stepped forward and asked for two hard sleeper (bunk bed) spots on the train that left in an hour. I figured, why not ask for what I want, and then take whatever he can give me? Instead of the no we had received every other time we’d tried to buy tickets, the man nodded and asked if we wanted the beds together, in the same compartment. I said yes, and turned to Josey.
“We have beds, Jos. On the next train! No standing all night. Can you believe this?”
“Oh yeah!,” Josey smiled.
After paying for our tickets, we ate at a cafeteria style restaurant around the corner. When it was time to load the train, we had trouble finding the correct car. I found a train attendant and showed him my ticket.
“We added extra train cars because of the holiday,” he told me, “You’re way down there in the extra cars.”
Once in the correct car and compartment, we settled into our third tier beds, our faces just below the train’s ceiling, where speakers quietly played Chinese muzak. I looked across at Josey. I was shocked.
“These sheets and blanket are new, Jos. I don’t think they’ve ever been used before. Smell them.”
Josey laughed and agreed that we had indeed been handed a miracle. Not only had God gotten us on a train that night, but He had given us beds, next to each other, with fresh, clean bedding. He had done it with no bribing or finagling of any kind.
I saved that train ticket and framed it with a verse written around the border. It says, “Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the Lord has been good to you.” I want to remember that my God will always take care of me; good care of me. He has extra train cars, new sheets, and lavish provision for His children. I don’t have to come with special language skills or bartering tactics, I just have to trust and step forward believing that God is mighty in every situation.
I believe it for you too.
