A Chinese Driving Test

REAL honest-to-goodness questions on a driving test in China, late 2009. Go ahead and try the test yourself . . . You might be surprised at how well you do! (I have provided some American explanations in parenthesis.)

TRUE/FALSE

A) When a vehicle goes uphill on a mountain road, it should change to low gear in advance, speed up and dash uphill.
B) When a vehicle overturns slowly and jumping out of the vehicle is possible, the driver should jump in the opposite direction of the overturn.
C) When driving on a muddy road, the driver should remove the muddy and cover with sands, rocks, grasses or wood if the wheels of his vehicle spin. (We know you’re stuck in the mud, but get rid of the mud anyhow, find some grass, pick it quick, and cram it under your tires.)
D) When the driver senses he will inevitably be thrown out of the vehicle, he should violently straighten both his legs to increase the force of being thrown out and jump out of the vehicle.
E) When putting out a fire, the driver should refrain from breathing through mouth or crying loudly. Otherwise, the fire and smoke will scorch the upper respiratory tract. (Since fires start in cars so often, this is a very important answer to know.)
F) When a vehicle falls into water, the driver should in no way panic. In particular, those who cannot swim should first manage to escape through the windows. As long as they reach the water surface, they will have more chances to survive. (If, however, you are so unfortunate as to not be able to reach the water surface, your chance of survival is slightly decreased.)
G) After a vehicle falls into water, the driver should immediately close the windows to prevent water from flowing into the compartment and to keep the air from flowing out. At the same time, they make telephone calls to tell the rescue personnel the place of the accident and wait for their arrival. (Lock yourself in the car 20 feet underwater, and call for help!)
H) When a wounded person is under the wheel or cargo, the correct method is to pull the limbs off the wounded. (Translation: If you run someone over, pull their arms off!)
I) The main feature of pedestrians participating in road traffic is, they walk around at will and can easily change directions. (They don’t really know where they’re going, and they’re more zombie than human, since they obviously have no idea how to watch out for traffic.)
J) In hot weather, the driver may drive barebacked, barefooted or wearing slippers. (No shirt, no shoes . . .)
K) When encountering a flock of sheep on the road the driver must honk loudly and continuously to drive them off. (Is the answer the same when you meet a family of gorillas? What about an elephant herd?)

Answers:
A) True
B) True
C) True
D) True
E) True
F) True
G) False
H) False
I) True
J) False
K) False

Many thanks to the brave missionary family in China who both passed and sent us this test. I’m sure we’re all very much wishing we could drive our cars where you drive yours!

Contrasing Darkness: Africa vs. America

We all know that children are dying for lack of bread in Africa. Just as we know that children are dying for lack of truth in America. And it is very sad, to be sure. The world is shocked to witness the political reign of chaos and rebellion on the Dark Continent, just as they are shocked to witness the moral reign of chaos and rebellion on the Free Continent. What Africans say with bullets, Americans say with court rulings. It is not the message that differs; only the language.

Their schools are empty because of violence; our schools are empty because of indifference. Their armies of child soldiers kill with machine guns the way our armies of educated students kill with words, texted, typed, or spoken. Their burnt villages are our empty churches. Their rampant diseases are our rampant greed. Their rebel gangs are our undisciplined youth.

What the world sees as blood painting their streets is no more evil than the blood painting our eyes.

They sell and slaughter bodies; we sell and slaughter souls. They watch the enemy abduct their children and make them into callous murderers; we watch the enemy abduct our children and make them into callous businessmen. Their evil men sling automatics over their shoulders and dangle human teeth around their necks. Our evil men hold doctorates in their hands and knot designer ties around their throats. They are unable to provide their people with jobs; we are unable to provide our people with meaning.

Africa kills its old people through poverty and the harshness of living. America kills its old people through neglect and the retardation of dying. In Africa, churches meet under tin and bamboo, meeting in danger of their lives. In America, churches meet under marble and stained glass, meeting in danger of their souls. Their diseases bury them under the ground. Our diseases bury us under paperwork. Their violence is splattered in blood and bodies on the streets; our violence is splattered in words and pictures on the Internet.

The only difference in our suffering is this: A doctor, if one could be found, could heal their wounds. A God, if one could be found, could heal ours. Why is Africa not begging for doctors? Why is America not begging for God? They say they believe in God but do not live under peace. We say we believe in peace but do not live under God.

Africa found simplicity, and it failed them. America found prosperity, and it failed us. They tell us we are sick with money; we tell them they are sick with AIDS. They belong in prison; we belong in counseling. We’ve both served our time and come out on the other side unchanged. We are both dying by the millions.

Why? Why are Africa’s physical evils such a mirror image of America’s spiritual evils? Why is their physical death our moral depravity? Why are the stomach-empty children in their cities echoes of the mind-empty children in our schools? Why do their soldiers wield machetes to the same affect that our educators wield lies? Why does senseless violence rule their streets as broken promises rule our homes?

WHY?

Because we have both forgotten God. Because God’s people, child by child, spanning every town, city, and village, have not thrown ourselves on our knees before God Almighty, repenting of our sins, and screaming out for God to hear and act.

We are busy; we are upset; we are dying. But we are not sorry.

The Glove Compartment

It wasn’t what I was expecting to see when I opened the glove compartment. Nestled in with my car registration, a faithful Oldsmobile manual, and sundry other bits and pieces. I don’t actually remember why I yanked open the drawer in the first place, but I had most certainly not anticipated company. Nonetheless, there it was, blinking up at me, small, fat, and twitching.

It was a mouse. Quite a large one (I think it was pregnant). That, in and of itself, was in my unbiased opinion right and proper provocation for a very loud, very high-pitched scream. Shriek might be a better word.

Now I’ve recently read The Borrowers, and I’m all for the little people in this world. (Little in this case meaning approximately three inches tall.) Just not in my car. Although if they’re looking for another sequel for the Clock family (that’s the heros in The Borrowers for those of you uneducated in children’s book lore), I could make a suggestion. Just imagine what would happen if the Clocks tried to live in a car for awhile. Better yet, make it an RV. You’d get all sorts of adventures.

Too bad I wasn’t facing a three-inch human. I might have had a fantastic story to tell. Not that anyone would believe me. But instead I was face-to-face with a three-inch mouse, and I didn’t really fancy the notion of keeping him. Pets in your house are one thing - but in your car? After wrapping up my very necessary and impressive shriek (I took voice lessons, you know), I slammed the glove compartment door shut again. Sort of like a magic trick, I guess. Now you see him . . . and now you don’t! Then I gave the door a few solid smacks with the palm of my hand. Hm. What next?

Rid of the rodent temporarily - or, at least, he was out of sight - I peeped into the glove compartment for a closer look at the damage. Do mice nest? Cause I’m pretty sure that’s what this little guy was trying to do. A fairly good-sized ball of yarn/foam/insulation stuff had appeared from who knows where, and this was sprinkled with a lovely assortment of chewed-up paper. The pink flakes of which happened to be my car registration paper. I have a three-year old niece who has a habit of eating these little forms, so I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. In fact, I should probably be grateful. My little visitor only nibbled on the edges; my niece chomped down the whole thing.

Then I shut the lid, pounded on it a few more times, and started the car.

Yep, that’s right. I purposefully tried to scare the little mouse into running away (hopefully into the intricacies of the car engine) and then turned the key. I think I expected my car to blow up. Or to hear a “Yee-ow!” and see a little ball of fuzz go flying through the air. Well, it didn’t. At least the car didn’t. The mouse might have; I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him since. I’m rather hoping I don’t ever.

My newly-designed car registration paper now resides safely in my back seat for the wind to blow where it pleases. I hope I don’t get pulled over any time soon. On the plus side, I have to say that my glove compartment has never been cleaner . . . So, here’s a friendly word of warning from one who’s been there: Always beware when opening the lid to your glove compartment. You never know what might be in there.

Saving Batman

All in all, it had been a fairly decent day. Made a pretty little windchime out of seashells. Rode my horse while the setting sun flamed brilliantly. Named a deaf puppy Beethoven. Managed to cook without getting anything burnt, flooded, smelly, or started on fire.

But that was before me and my sister decided to watch Batman. Horseback riding had taken a little longer than anticipated, and it was quite late in the evening when we started the movie. Late and dark. Heedless, we sat in the shadowy living room of the large, empty house (my parents are gone just now to Washington), staring at the TV screen. Impressive scenes of karate and jujitsu, grave danger and heroic rescues, gaudy mansions and squalid alleys filled the screen. And bats. Most of the scary scenes had bats.

Especially that one part where the little boy (Batman in his younger years) falls into the well and sees the dank, dark hole out of which shoot hundreds of the small shrieking creatures. We were somewhere past that bit - somewhere after he’s gotten out of jail but before he saves the world - when IT happened.

IT was a hurtling boomerang of frantic energy, zooming dizzying circles up near the ceiling, now buzzing over our heads like a war plane threatening attack, now ducking into another room only to come shooting back. In our living room. Batman had come to life.

I scrambled to hit the “pause” button just as soon as I stopped screaming and managed to extricate my hands and head from under the blanket I suddenly found myself buried under. Don’t get me wrong - I like Batman. I like bats. But they are both much more charming - and a lot safer - on the other side of the glass.

On the other hand, we couldn’t just leave him in here. Not for his sake - neglect, cruelty to animals, save the whales, and all that - but for ours. So, we began the rather delicate process of extrication. I blocked one doorway, leaping up and down, furiously waving my blanket, and yelping every so often in a tone that I hoped would convince the little guy not to dive-bomb into my head. My sister took the more casual approach, actually aiming her blanket in concise movements that ultimately showed mini-Batman the merits of life out-of-doors.

The way I see it, we saved his life. Even with all the spiders and ladybugs we keep inside our house, I doubt a bat could survive here indefinitely. So, we rescued Batman. Practically. And saving a super hero from cruel and certain death is not something you get to do every day. I’m just glad we weren’t watching Jaws.

All I Wanted Was a Bouncy Ball

This evening I went to Walmart. Right after attending a dinner to wrap up the end of Royal Family Kids Camp. That’s the camp I led singing for in the mornings and then went to school to direct the last week of Robin Hood play practice in the evening. It was what you might call a busy week.

So, I’d just played my last note on the keyboard, smiled my last tired smile, and gotten into the car for the long drive home. But I needed a bouncy ball first. Preferably one with blue and green swirls. Turns out they make great crystal balls for rogue heros dressed up as gypsies (That would be Robin Hood and Little John, in case you were wondering.).

So, I went to Walmart. But first I had to look in the make-up section. For a gilded mirror that Prince John could smack over Sir Hiss’s head. Under two dollars please. We don’t want to break anything expensive. But Walmart doesn’t carry cheap gilded mirrors. Only I must mention the detour because it was there that I saw my first strange sight. It was a little midget. Three feet tall or so. Blonde hair. I think it was a girl. In fact, I do hope it was, cause she had on a knee-length dress, fashionable black pantyhose, and no shoes.

And I had always been under the delusion that Walmart was a respectable “no shirt, no shoes, no service” store like the local Pump and Pantry.

Well, I shrugged this one off (I’d just been through camp after all. Shoeless dwarves aren’t THAT odd.) and began making my way towards the toy section. Which is when I spotted the six-foot dude with the tennis shoes and stubble on his face. Not enough to be called a beard. And THAT wouldn’t have been so strange either except that he was wearing a dress. Quite a long, sunny one with puffed sleeves and a creamy yellow hue to it. Did I forget to mention the blonde wig?

I began to think I might need to set up an eye appointment in the very near future. The people around me walked on as though nothing was out of the usual. I swallowed and tried to do the same. To the toy section! Oh, except first I pulled off a nonchalant loop in the women’s clothes department (I felt just like Sherlock Holmes) to get a better look at the guy in the dress. Coming out of the loop, I saw the sixty-year old. The one with the frazzled beard - looked like he might have belonged to a motorcycle gang. Only he was obviously missing his bike and his buddies cause he was all hunched over his cart with his feet up on the bars and booking it down the aisle just as fast as he could go. I think I even heard a “vroom, vroom,” from him as he raced by.

That’s when I began to wonder if I had ever really left camp at all.

Well, I finally did make it back to the toy section. Found my one dollar blue-and-green swirled bouncy ball (Walmart might have disappointed me on the gilded mirror, but they sure came through on the fortune telling paraphernalia). But you can’t just buy any old crystal ball, you know. You have to make sure it’s bouncy enough. That’s very important. So, I was bouncing it down the aisle, moving along with all my years of latent basketball talent finally finding release in a display of brilliant dribbling. Except for that one second when the ball rather got away from me, and I went dashing after it, and the floor was a little slipperier than I expected it to be (not at all like the courts they play on in the pros), and, instead of coming to a smart, squealing halt, I slid and stuttered and very nearly fell flat on my nose. All right in front of a wide-eyed eight-year old who happened to be walking towards me at the time. She leveled me with a very strange look, I said something about being careful on the slippery floor, and she walked on without a word.

That’s when I began to worry that I might be going insane. I decided to get out of there before anyone else noticed. Payed $1.07 for the crystal ball (they add tax, you know). Got out to my car just as a van was pulling up, and I watched in horror as its two occupants unloaded for all the world as if they hadn’t just parked opposite a car full of 27 rubber duckies. And, really, how do you ignore a thing like THAT?

I got in my car and drove homewards. Thinking I had seen enough of the crazy side of life, and it was high time for a change of pace. Normality might be good after all. Little did I know about the cop who was going to pull me over on the way home. But that’s a different story . . .