I am a true believer. I may enjoy the more relaxed lifestyle here in China, but I still read the Bible and Letters every day. I enforce the Family’s rules with my younger siblings. I pray and try to listen for divine prophecy to help guide my way.
The dangers of deceit have been ingrained in me since childhood, that if I’m disobedient or cover up a sin, God will not hear me. Over the years, God has been my only constant. He is the only one I can rely on to take care of me, to protect me and comfort me. I don’t want anything separating Him and me. It’s not about the Shepherds. It’s about me and God.
So, I report on myself.
I type a short letter, giving the bare facts—that I’d made out with a System guy from my school—and email it to the Area Shepherds in Taiwan who supervise the few small Homes in mainland China.
The reaction is swift.
A few days later, I get a response from Taiwan. I’m to head to the main Combo home in Taipei immediately for rehabilitation. Mom’s still gone for the summer, so I don’t have to explain to her, which only leaves Dad. I find him in the kitchen and take a deep breath before beginning.
He’s unusually understanding. “We haven’t been very good examples to you recently, with everything your mom and I are going through. Perhaps we allowed too much freedom.”
“No,” I tell him, “this is my fault. I’m an adult, and I’m responsible for following the rules.”
He gives me a hug and tells me he’s proud of me for being honest. He’s the only one. Everyone else thinks I’m crazy for telling on myself.
I am leaning against the red granite counter of the information desk in the Taipei airport, searching for Josh’s white-blond, thinning head of hair. Poor guy, he’s cursed with our dad’s early baldness. Just as I spot my brother, I feel the counter roll under my arm. I look up in confusion to see that the three rows of large, boxy TVs suspended from the roof of the arrivals lobby are swaying from side to side.
“Hey, sis, welcome to Taiwan!” Josh smiles, delighting in my bulging eyes and hanging jaw. “You’ll get used to the earthquakes.”
25
The Big Decision
In Taiwan, I’m put on a typical probation for three months. I’m given a closet-sized room in a two-story, thirty-person Home, instructed to reread the one hundred basic-training Mo Letters, banned from alcohol and movie nights, and assigned the worst chores. Even though I only kissed a System guy, I must take an AIDS test. The results come back negative, and I’m relieved, but I still must wait six months and then take another. Until receiving my second round of negative results, I’m not allowed to even kiss anyone.
The punishment is extreme, but I accept it willingly. I’m okay with the extra AIDS test; glad for it, even, because I did have sex with a Systemite. The rape in England rises like the smell of a dead thing. I try to ignore the memory. It’s done. No use crying over spilled milk, I hear my Mom’s voice in my head.
I never told anyone about the rape. It’s hard to even call it that in the privacy of my own mind. I’m ashamed, as if it were my fault. At the same time, my conscience is clear with God. I didn’t choose that, so I don’t deserve punishment for it. Which is why I didn’t tell on myself. It adds a layer of anxiety while I wait for the second round of blood work results, but I numb my mind by reading the same old Mo Letters over and over again.
I’m only halfway through my three-month probation when Josh shows up from Hsinchu, a city midway between Taipei and Taichung, with a request. Laura, who has always had difficult pregnancies, is so thin and weak after this last one, she can barely use the bathroom. They now have five children under the age of six, and instead of living with other families, they’re living on their own at the moment, the pendulum of Family structure having swung from consolidation and control back to allowing a little more autonomy. Will I come help?
After obtaining permission from the Shepherds—who are only too happy that someone will volunteer for this unwanted task—I’m thrust into the role of full-time mom, cook, teacher, and cleaner for four small kids—Laura cares for her newborn. I’ve never had to do it all by myself before; responsibilities are usually divided up among the Home. But Laura is too frail to help, and Josh is usually gone from dawn until dusk, witnessing, provisioning, and going on garbage runs: touring trash dumps where he is likely to find good furniture, TVs, or equipment thrown away by people with more money than common sense. He can usually fix the electronics and sell them to support his family. He’s never had any formal schooling, but he’s always been able to take computers apart and put them back together again, build them and fix them—all self-taught.
A couple of weeks into my stay, a loud and powerful noise cuts through the black of night.
Crack!
I shoot up in bed to the sensation of the mattress jerking beneath me. In Japan, I’d been through many earthquakes, short tremors, but this is different. The entire house groans, wave after wave rocking its very foundation.
Flinging myself out of bed, I struggle to reach the doorway. The floor is undulating too much to walk. Finally, it stops, and I fly into action. I find my brother in the hallway leading to the kids’ rooms, and together we grab them out of their beds, run them down three flights of stairs, and pile them into Josh’s minivan.
“Stay here! Don’t move!” Josh yells at the half-asleep kids, and then says to me, “I’m going to get Laura!”
He finds his wife stumbling down the stairs with their newborn and rushes her to the vehicle.
Terrified, we head for the nearest open space—a park near the river—as the largest earthquake in Taiwan’s recent history strikes the tiny island. Buildings and bridges collapse, hills and lakes are created in a moment, and a hundred thousand people are left homeless. The damage is unheard of in a country that designs all its structures to withstand earthquakes.
Taichung is the worst-hit area. Phone lines are down, but we finally get word that Aaron’s and Mary’s families are safe and have been moved from their damaged houses to the tent cities the government is putting up for the earthquake refugees.
For the next few weeks, the aftershocks are every half hour. When the ground trembles, we freeze like rabbits staring down headlights. Waiting. When it stops, we release the breath we are unconsciously holding. Just another small one. I’m getting used to the earth rolling under my feet, I think in shock.
In crisis is when the Family shines. Every able-bodied, available Family member heads to the worst-hit areas to volunteer. Josh uses his van to shuttle food and water into the remote mountain villages, bringing down people who are injured and need medical attention. With the discipline and work ethic drilled into us as babies, Family members quickly form well-oiled, effective relief teams.