Strange Medicine — Going Off Script
I love playing tour guide whenever friends visit from far away.
I don’t know if it’s because people enjoy having me lead them around or whether I enjoy feeding them random bits of information. I’d like to think it’s the former. I take their nodding heads and raised eyebrowed “Really?” to mean “Keep it coming… Tell me more of what I don’t know.” It’s really a win-win situation. Someone doesn’t know very much about something and I know a little.
It’s a lot like marketing really. I remember what my manager told me when I was asked to give a presentation at some schmuck-schmuck meeting as a newbie. I was an engineer by training, but donned with a black pencil skirt and 90′s wrap blouse for a top and a bright smile, I was told not to fear. If all you know is just a little more than the person next to you, you can call yourself the expert in the room.
I guess that’s why I like taking people to visit a Chinese herbal store. You don’t even have to take one step in the doorway — just walk by an open door — and your nose starts to twitch. A cocktail of roots, shrubs, and God-knows-what-else wafts through the air and your brain does a 180. It doesn’t even know what hit it.
The smells of a Chinese apothecary shop are literally, downright foreign.
Familiar and Strange
If you’ve ever taken a whiff of Tiger Balm, you’d know what I mean. They actually sell it at Costco now. It comes in a jar so big, it’s ridiculous. It’s not just french fries we like super-sized. So, I wouldn’t bother pointing out Tiger Balm to you in the store. You already know about that.
No, if I were to take you there now, I’d walk you up to the shop I frequented since I was pint-sized. It’s crazy to still see the shopkeepers. They were old and wrinkly way back when. Now, they seem a tiny smaller and the entrance feels way more narrow. But they still look old and wrinkly.
One thing hasn’t changed. The wall of herbs look exactly the same.
They are kept in small drawers that pull out, like old-school card catalogs in libraries past. As a child waiting for the apothecary to fill a prescription, I’d sit on one of the unpacked shipping boxes and just stare at the wall of drawers. Slow and steady, the pharmacist would methodically curate the appropriate ingredients, opening and shutting some drawers, while bypassing others. It was fascinating. He shuffles, as if in a trance, moving his arms up, down and across the boxes, like a mechanical arm in a jukebox.
What was even more mysterious was the Chinese doctor’s writing on the prescription itself. It was a swirl of Chinese characters, a cross between doodles and ancient art, while inscribing a combination of healing remedies that the apothecary decodes.
It didn’t matter how the ingredients were listed. Everything was so Chinese. It was all very familiar to me. But, it was also so very strange.
Drinking It In
You see, I’ve taken both western and Chinese medicine. Western medicine is sweet. It’s covered with Cherry, Peppermint, and Grape flavors.
I took plenty of penicillin back in the day. Back then, pediatricians dispensed it like Baby Tylenol today. Enough to stain my baby teeth I bet. I can still picture bottles of the stuff in the fridge, next to the gallon of milk. Mom would walk me over and put a cold spoonful on my tongue. One swallow and it would all be gone. If you don’t think about it too long and imagine watching an episode of Looney Tunes, it’s over quick. Short and sweet.
Not Chinese medicine. You wish. No, the Chinese boil their herbs slow. An hour minimum, simmering leaves, berries, twigs, and crazy stuff that stinks up the whole house. The sicker you are, the smellier it gets. You know you’re in for it, when you hear your mom hollering because the medicine’s bubbled over, spilling into the drip pan.
Didn’t matter. You still had to drink it. Three cups of water boiled down to one. It was poured black into a rice bowl. Sometimes it was so black, you got scared even looking at it. I’d whimper and cringe, claiming it was way too hot. Mom would blow on it and let it sit for a bit. But, Chinese herbal medicine needs to go down warm, while the molecules are still in motion. Heat penetrates deeper, you know.
To get it even near your lips, you must hold your nose. You know when drinking coffee, an open mug is best? Those coffee lids are cheating you 100% of the experience of java. You’ve got to smell it before you taste it.
Well, the opposite is true of Chinese medicine. The more bitter it tastes, the more effective it is to kill whatever’s ailing you.
I learned that bitterness is good. Especially when I was very sick and the healing needed was deep.
I also learned to look into a cup of darkness and willingly open my mouth to drink it in.
Home Remedies
There are dark days and strange days lived within the walls of my childhood.
I didn’t want to be different. I didn’t want the memories that nobody else seemed to have. I wanted my life to look and smell like candy, sweet and happy.
I didn’t understand why I was born into a family where life wasn’t simple and the past clashed with the present. I wished I never had memories of my parents slinging words through a screen door, tossing me back and forth, like a grenade in their emotional scuffle. I hated having rush hour traffic as the front lawn of our duplex. I wanted grass, the soft and even kind, to invite friends to play Slip n’ Slide on, rather than heckled by men with ugly voices driving by, as I walked home from school.
When it came to home remedies, we were a praying family. One time, my cold and cough was especially bad. I needed to see the doctors and needed the money. I’ll never forget standing in the parking lot, staring at the entrance of Ching Ching Restaurant, where my father worked. I hadn’t seem him for a long stretch. He had stopped visiting. I went into the lobby and asked to see him.
Sit over there. I was pointed to a seat. Would he be happy to see me? Did he look the same?
Just as I nervously wondered, he appeared, more jostled than me.
“What is it? Why are you here?… You shouldn’t have come in the front door. It’s for customers.” His eyes looked troubled and his mouth parted, trying to find the next words.
“I’m sick…” I croaked, swallowing hard from a sore tonsil and awkwardness. “I need some money to see the doctors.”
He reached into his back pocket and opened his billfold. I felt sorry for him. I didn’t want to take his money.
He counted some bills, folded it in half. As he came down close to put the bills in my hand, I could smell the mixture of gel, cigarettes, and sweet and sour pork in his hair.
He led me out the door, looked straight into my eyes and said, “Never come in here like this again… Okay?”
I fought back my tears and nodded to him and myself. I will never ask him for money again. I walked away wobbly, swallowing my cry and drinking in the black bitterness down my throat.
No Purpose
What’s the purpose of all this strangeness in my story?
I must be born for some particular use. This cup has been so bitter, dark, and foreign. I drank my role, my place willingly. I trusted that it all served a purpose.
I concluded that I must have been born different. Others arrive in this world with much more fortunate circumstances. Why did God choose my particular set of happenstance?
I haven’t managed to make much sense out of it, to be perfectly honest. At least, not in the way I’d like to understand it. Yes, I know the theological answers to how we are born into sin, and the world is broken, and that is why there is suffering. But, at the level where I live the everyday, I have tried to figure out some perfect ending that will transform all the bad and make it look good.
It has felt like trying to finish a puzzle, with all the wrong pieces.
I had finished the cup that was handed to me, believing that it would bring healing to the darkness. But, it never got better.
No Specific Use
As I stood there taking pictures of the old, wrinkly man measuring and weighing a concoction for a waiting patient, I got a very distinct feeling. A very peculiar awakening.
I wasn’t the only one coming back to visit this shop of little wonders and mysterious ginseng, chrysanthemum teas and honey nectars.
Someone else had sat next to little Bonnie on those old crumpled boxes decades ago.
I never noticed him. Hadn’t known him, then. He was so quiet. But I realized zooming back in time, that he was the same person who sat next to me on those red vinyl chairs at Ching Ching restaurant, where I was waiting to see my father.
He was there quietly in tears with me, as I walked out the door swinging shut in back of me, with cash in my hand. He was drinking in my bitterness right along with me, to the very last drop. He tasted my painful memories, dark and lonely.
Jesus was there.
Strange enough, my eyes began to cry behind the camera lens.
There is no purpose to all the black. I wasn’t born for any specific use.
I was born to be loved.
Jesus loved me, faithfully in every unseen circumstance. He didn’t change them, but He protected me from letting it poison my heart.
Somehow, Jesus kept His life pulsating through me. Look at who I’ve become.
I am not that cup of bitterness and black.
God’s beautiful light never burned out inside me.
God was there all along. His Light — a shield of goodness, beauty and hope — preserved me in the safety of His love.
A power stronger than self-determination and survival has kept my heart soft and my spirit tender. I see beauty around me and love deeply.
Even as I drank it all, even when I thought it was meant for me — He drank it with me.
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I thank the shopkeeper for letting me take pictures. I say, Goodbye, I must be on my way now. I’m getting closer to my destination, but I think I will take a detour instead. The journey there is proving to be strewn with unexpected discoveries. I am no longer afraid to linger. I want to wander a little more.
Strange medicine indeed…
To Be Continued…
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What happens next on my journey?
Tune in next time, as I continue the story — “Going Off Script”.
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Faith. It takes us off script.
Going Off Script is a collection of scenes from my story, interspersed along with my regular brews. I'm telling it fresh, for the first time, as I take the journey to remember. Be sure to stay tuned in for my next Going Off Script post, as I continue my story. SUBSCRIBE NOW to get the next post in these series and more from FaithBarista hot and fresh directly in your mailbox via email (click here) or RSS (click here) news reader.
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thank you for your reflections and for sharing your life story…I am drawn to your words in a way that feels familiar, as if I have been there – whether it’s the emotions of it all, or the little girl in me asking the same questions, seeking the same answers – no matter, it is helping heal a wound in my heart. again, thank you.
Thank you, Bonnie!
Thanks for sharing this, Bonnie! Your story could be my story – in a different place and a different time. He was with me, too. I am trying to sort this all out. Why me? What about my cousin who I just saw for the first time in many years? She has not weathered the years well. It almost seems that all is lost with her. The light is gone from her eyes. What about little Dasha in Ukraine? Taken away from the only real family she ever knew by a government who is not looking out for her best interest? The world is truly broken. But at the same time, Jesus is truly here. I have seen Him at work. What makes the difference? How can we help make a difference? How do we pray? Thanks for the thoughts and for putting words to many of mine. I’ll be chewing on this all day.
“The world is truly broken. But at the same time, Jesus is truly here. I have seen Him at work.” This is beautiful and true. Our stories are similar because Jesus is there. Thank you.
Bonnie, my heart breaks for that little girl. And yes, Jesus was right there with you crying. I am so glad that He found you and chose you and saved you. A little girl desiring love was loved and is loved by Jesus. He is the only One who can comfort you. It’s so hard to understand some things about our lives and why they were allowed to happen. But one day …
And in the meantime Bonnie, your story helps others. They may have different circumstances but we’re all hurting one way or another in this world. And don’t forget; we know the end of the story.
We are being prepared for an eternity of perfect love.
This isn’t our permanent home; we’re just passing through. Sometimes when life gets really tough, I cling to that promise.
Blessings and love,
Debbie
.-= Debbie´s last blog ..Love is in the Air Cooking with Love =-.
Amen. His story is the most beautiful, alluring, and true one living through us. Thank God for His beauty. Thank you, Debbie.
“Jesus loved me, faithfully in every unseen circumstance. He didn’t change them, but He protected me from letting it poison my heart.”
I love this thought, Bonnie. So often I ask God why He’s allowing things to happen to me, instead of thanking Him for walking me through it.
Your story is so intriguing and I’m enjoying going through it with you. Thank you for sharing this with us!
.-= Melissa Brotherton´s last blog ..Why You Read =-.
I know you’re story is amazing as well! Thank you for sharing it with us.
This is an amazing telling of your story and it inspires and reminds me why I continue to walk with women through Wounded Hearts….hearing their stories and seeing that somehow, someway they still find His love. THANK YOU
.-= becky´s last blog ..2 Kings 23 2 Chronicles 35 John 7 =-.
God love is where it everything points towards. It’s the storyline behind every scene we walk through in life. What a treasure we have.
This may be my favorite post of yours. Ever. It could just be where I am today, questioning God about things and stories that aren’t mine, frustrated over answers that should be easy but are bitter to swallow, because they are seen as defeat instead of victory.
“There is no purpose to all the black. I wasn’t born for any specific use.
“I was born to be loved.”
Oh, these words hurt. In the best way. But wow.
Thank you for sharing in this journey, Bonnie.
.-= Kelly Langner Sauer´s last blog ..“how grace used to drift in with the night” =-.
I feel so blessed to share this space of grace together, Kelly. Really, I do.
That was a very interesting post. I too always wished for the happy, normal childhood – like I saw on TV. Instead, I had an angry drunk/abusive step-father, a scared, unhappy mother who yelled all the time, and scared siblings. When I think back to my childhood – even recalling the house I grew up in, it is all dark and fearful. So unhappy. When I became a Christian – 10 yrs. ago, I really struggled with where God was in my childhood. I have come to terms with most of it, and see how He did protect me in many ways from turning out like statistics say I should have. It is a hard road, that is true. I praise Him for saving me – from that life, and for all eternity!
Praise God for you, Kristy! You are an amazing story. Not a statistic but His light bright and beautiful into all eternity – what a contrast. Thank you for adding such a personal experience to this post.
Absolutely powerful and beautiful, Bonnie. I’m so glad you’re writing your journey. We get the benefit of your processing as well. It’s a powerful thing to realize Jesus was there with us even in our darkest, most desperate moments just as He is with us today in every situation. Thank you again. In strength or in weakness, tell your story. It’s going to bring a lot of healing.
.-= jasonS´s last blog ..Who Needs Your Help =-.
“It’s a powerful thing to realize Jesus was there with us even in our darkest, most desperate moments just as He is with us today in every situation. ”
That is so true. I didn’t expect it, but yeah – once I saw Jesus in my yesterday, I could suddenly see Him much closer today. Thanks, Jason.
Strange medicine indeed–our journeys oftern are. Now…I see what has forged the strong, compassionate person you are today. To be rejected by your father when you were sick, must still sting. How glad I am that you have a good family now and know a Father who will never toss you aside. Your story is beautiful although sad. I love learning more about your life. Often I have read stories about people who have overcome difficulties, and as they bring the reader closer to their truth beauty shines out. The beauty that I see is in the struggle and the overcoming—the finding of the truth of your own wonderful worth regardless of the obstacles. You may never know how this story gives courage to others trapped in their own silent hell—courage and truth. I know that Abba has touched the wounds of my heart and given me strength through others’ stories; and in retrospect, I have finally seen that He was always there. His spirit is miraculous always wooing us to Him. I love the colors and textures of your story. Thank you for sharing its blessings with us!
Dee, you are blessed to look back and see God always there. It makes a world of difference to know you were never alone.
I also learned to look into a cup of darkness and willingly open my mouth to drink it in.
Bonnie ~
So many things in this post caught my heart. Why does one person drink the bitterness and become bitter, while another drinks bitterness and becomes sweet?
Only the miraculous touch of God can do such a work. I don’t think we ever stop feeling the sadness. But His love transformed it into such beauty that I look at your face and am afraid to stare too long lest I feel too much.
Your Potter’s touch could not be more fine.
.-= Anne Lang Bundy´s last blog ..Conquest =-.
Thank you, Anne. Such beautiful words of encouragement!
I always wondered, too. Why did I have to drink in the darkness? Why didn’t I have the happy childhood and youth that others have enjoyed? I could have had a normal childhood striving for something, but ended up striving for nothing lost in the swirl of emotional confusion and having no one I could trust to talk to about it nor the words that would describe it.
I always asked myself: Do I let my circumstances victimize me or do I do something about it? I only did something about it late in life. I can safely say I have forgiven them, but I am on a healing journey now. I think I’ll always be on that journey. Some days it still hurts when I see a happy family and their little ones and other days I am happy for them. I’m learning that others are on this journey, too.
But I am trying to recall the good memories.
It’s something we will be grieving, as different seasons or events in life cross our paths. The encouraging thing is that God uses the grief to build something stronger and beautiful in it’s place. Our hearts will keep open, alive, and also soft to comfort and lift others. Thank yo for adding your voice to this post, Nikole!
Yes, He does. He’s shown that. Keep up the good work, Bonnie!
Bonnie.
I’m so glad you felt Him there in that moment. Otherwise, I would just have to hop a plane and come out there to give you a hug. Thankfully, He gives better hugs than I
Sounds like you got a good one.
Beautiful post.
.-= Laura´s last blog ..Imperfect Prose and Paintings on Thursday =-.
Laura! You are so sweet! Be sure to let me know if you get a chance to visit out there. I’ll take you there myself for that hug.