When Invisible Children Sing by Huang Chi Cheng Tang Irwin Coles Robert

Author:Huang, Chi Cheng,Tang, Irwin,Coles, Robert
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Religious, RELIGION / Inspirational
Publisher: Tyndale House (eBook)
Published: 2013-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

Mingfang lies before us in an open casket, watching heaven. In the front row of pews sit my father, my mother, Chiufang, and me. My father sits stone still. Then he doubles over, and a terrible sob throbs upward through his body. Tears spray the floor. He shakes. Gee, I have never seen my father cry. I don’t like it. Fathers are not supposed to cry. Stop! Stop your crying. You can’t cry and break down. We need to be strong.

To divert myself, I look behind us. Every pew is packed. All three aisles overflow with people. The throng stretches through the church doors and out onto the lawn, all the way to the walkway. I never knew Mingfang was so well loved; I don’t think she did either.

Chiufang’s husband begins reading the eulogy. I’ve been in no shape to read anything, so we asked him to do it. As I listen to my brother-in-law speak, I hear my own words echoing from the past: “Mingfang, you look like our national bird. Yep, the bald eagle.” “Hey, roly-poly, you better stop eating or else you’ll become just a poly and won’t be able to roll any longer.” Perhaps the simplest one was the most powerful: “Retard!” I was young then. I didn’t understand why she was treated the best even though she wasn’t good at much. I was so mean, such a jerk, until the last hours of her life. Now it’s too late to make it up to her.

My brother-in-law is still talking. I wait nervously to sing “Amazing Grace.” My family rarely goes to church, and when they do, it’s for the free lunch afterward and the ESL classes. Most of the time I go to church only because of David Ray Wright. He is one of my best friends and one of the few Christians I respect. He doesn’t shout at me and tell me I’m going to burn in hell. No, he actually cares about people. Nevertheless, I usually fake a stomachache just to sleep in on Sunday mornings.

Mrs. Johnson, the Sunday school teacher, plays a nice, easy opening on the piano. I take a deep breath. I stand next to Mingfang, facing the funeral audience. Mingfang loved this song. I will sing it for her for the last time.

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