Dreaming as a Boy

Reading can show you the world

It was around fourth grade when my mother issued a transformative challenge to become a reader. She promised that through books, I could traverse places and witness sights beyond the reach of reality. She assured me that reading would unfurl the world before me. That year, I embarked on this journey. She guided me to the library, and I earned a certificate for surpassing the reading goal. I can’t recall the exact number of books, but that was the beginning of a lifelong love affair with reading.

While reading those books, my imagination soared. The life stories of my missionary heroes are what I read. I read the life of Hudson Taylor, Adoniram Judson, David Livingstone, and many more. I dreamed I might live a life like theirs someday.

Working in the garden in the cool of the early morning, I dreamed of preaching in Africa, going to China, and making a difference with my life. I watched the jets leave their trails across the sky and asked God to allow me to get on one of those planes and travel the world preaching.

I’m not sure you will understand this. As a boy, I often went to sleep, and my feet did something weird. My dad said my feet went to sleep, but I could feel needles in my feet. In my dreams, I thought of missionary life. I dreamed of being tortured for my faith in a Chinese Concentration Camp. I would wake up scared because of what the anti-God communists were doing to me.

Thinking of the mission field consumed my life. Every book I read fueled the spark. Every dream seemed to take me there. I wanted to live like those men of God.

Now you have to realize I am living on a farm. I see more cows and pigs than I ever do, people. Dad leaves me a list of things to do as they go to work. My siblings and I get the list of chores done or else.

There are only three snowy channels on TV, and during the day, they only play dumb soap operas. Boring shows on TV, but books opened an entire world to me. My mother was right. I was traveling the world, preaching in villages in Africa. I traveled in sampans in Chinese rivers to share the gospel and dreamed of what God might do with me someday.

In the summer, I attended a camp for boys, Royal Ambassador Camp, sponsored by the Baptist Churches. There, I met Jeandoc. She was a retired doctor who had served in China. She told me stories. When they gave us free time, I would run to her cabin as an 11-—and 12-year-old boy and listen to her stories. She let me ask questions.

During Vacation Bible School, there was always a missionary story. It was my favorite time of VBS. People were doing things I could only dream about.

My pastors were always there, a steady source of encouragement. I yearned to be an instrument of God, a missionary. I craved a mentor, someone who could guide me in fulfilling the divine calling I felt in my heart.