As I headed for China in the pre-digital days of the 1990s, one of my greatest fears was that I would not have enough to read. Books, words, and learning had been protagonists in my story up to that point, and I worried that my new home, an economically depressed region in what was then a developing country, would be as intellectually barren as the surrounding drought-stricken lands.

On my arrival, I was relieved to find the shelves of my apartment lined with books in English left behind by previous expat occupants. As I began to peruse the pages of Chinese culture, I was also pleasantly surprised to find kindred spirits among my colleagues and students at the university that hired me to teach English.

For a Chinese speaker, the English language is not easy to acquire. The two languages have different writing and pronunciation systems and roots, and English grammar is more complicated than Chinese which does not have tenses or different word forms. Moreover, the core of English learning in China has long been the intensive reading course where teachers dissect difficult passages for students. Line by line and word by word, they teach vocabulary, grammar, and sentence structure. My students and colleagues labored to gain mastery over the English language in this way. They memorized lengthy passages and long lists of English vocabulary—some I’d never heard before—which they’d casually drop into conversation. Many of them borrowed books from my shelves, soaking up their contents. They viewed my expat colleagues and me as a valuable resource like a prized foreign published English dictionary which was a rare possession then.

When no good opportunities presented themselves, some kindred spirits created their own. One colleague described his journey out of China in order to participate in a visiting scholar program. He used the long international flight to prepare for communication in English with the citizens of Great Britain. His headphones were on, the end of the plug to his lips as he talked to himself, carrying on his internal conversation externally. He found this approach such a worthwhile strategy that he later put his English writing skills to work and published an academic article sharing his experiences and advice.

Another kindred spirit, a student, decided to hone her skills by memorizing the English dictionary. Years later, assuming she gave up near the beginning of the alphabet, I asked how far she progressed. “I finished that semester and then reviewed the next,” she glibly replied. Then, seemingly as proof, thirty years after the fact, she spiced up our conversation with a few of the words she had acquired. “I was so pedantic and obstinate,” she claimed. A colleague who became well-known in our school for her excellent English proficiency, she “obstinately” passed on her skills to her son and bequeathed to him a love of language and learning. Starting his third-grade year, she communicated only in English with him, determined that he would excel in at least one subject when he was struggling in school. (English is a required subject from grade three in elementary school through two years of university.) Her stubbornness became amusingly clear during the first few weeks when she queried me about expressions—like bodily functions—in everyday English. Her persistence paid off. By high school, her son could respond to anything I said in English, and then with a touch of pride, he’d turn to his friends and interpret my words into Chinese.

In more recent years, other kindred spirits have appeared in unexpected places. In a country with a literacy rate of 97%, I have been blessed to interact with a portion of the 3% in some of China’s most desolate regions. Many have been women who were not important enough to educate in a family and society that traditionally 重男轻女^ℹ️, gave boys precedence. Lacking literacy skills, however, does not preclude these women from being kindred spirits. While I sat in her simple rural home, one woman, although insecure in her own worth, boldly expressed a dream that her ten-year-old daughter would follow a different path from public school through university and possibly into the medical field. Another woman had a son in high school five hours and a world away in the provincial capital. She was determined to support him even when that meant shamelessly begging other parents in their social media group to “translate” teachers’ text messages to voice.

Like me, most of my kindred spirits could trace their love of books and learning back to their family roots. Their storyline, however, would also weave in threads from a societal value for learning. In fact, not many years ago, having access to education was considered a rare gift. In order to matriculate to university, students in China need an acceptable score on the College Entrance Exam, a grueling standardized test of Chinese, math, and English. When the exam was first instituted in 1978, only 1.5% of eighteen-year-olds secured a place at university. By the 1990s when I arrived in China, that number had grown slightly to about 3%. (Now, since the number of universities around the country has increased, it’s about 60%.) Tracing back the threads of my kindred spirits’ story also leads to ancient traditions expressed in sayings like, “活到老学到老”^ℹ️ (as long as you live, keep on learning). Follow the storyline further back in time, and there, through my faith lens, I see our threads reconverge. A love of learning was imprinted on us in the earliest days of history when mortals were made in the image of God.

Not surprisingly since I am an educator, one of my favorite ways to view the Maker is as Master Teacher. During His days on earth, after humbling Himself to human classrooms at home and in the Temple, He became 拉比^ℹ️, Rabbi. In this role, I see Him as a kindred spirit who loves books. He authored 66 of them after all, having moved mortals to record His thoughts over 1500 years. He curates the library that contains these volumes and invites people in to commune with Him over their pages. He also makes home visits. When we answer His knock, He enters with food for us to ingest and then deeply digest as He imparts understanding and encourages us to find underlying principles for putting into practice.

Although most of my kindred spirits do not follow the Master Teacher, in them I glimpse His image. The value they have for books and learning inspires me to treasure words and Word as precious gifts. Their persistent pursuit of knowledge, particularly in spite of obstacles, motivates me to 活到老学到老^ℹ️, to “keep on asking,” “keep on seeking,” and “keep on knocking” as long as I have breath.

Photo by Ricky Esquivel.