Western Taro and Local BeanWestern Taro and Local Bean

By Mo Yan

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. (Mt. 11:29)

There is agricultural produce called potato and it has a nickname called Western Taro. So it went that Western Taro was very proud of himself because his name was prefixed with the word Western. One day, Western Taro came to a place and discovered that native people called his fellow potatoes as Local Beans. Western Taro said to himself: You see, I am Western Taro and you are just a bunch of local beans. So all of a sudden, Western Taro felt he became much bigger now and he was really proud of himself.

From America back to the Southwest China, I used to share a lot of Western Taro's stupidity. I often spoke a few western words and my body language also betrayed my vanity. Although I kept telling myself to identify with native people, my western superiority often invaded my heart and excited my arrogance.

Heavenly Father examined me in the dark; He reminded me and disciplined me so that I would not continue to live in self-deceit like the Western Taro. The first part of the training sessions for village English teachers was finished. Forty students came from three different counties. They came to class at our training center and they lived in the dorm. The Lord arranged for me to be in charge of the kitchen, and I was supposed to prepare three meals daily on time for the sixty-five students and teachers. I also participated in the job of leading devotional studies and care for local coworkers.

Our cooks were the two young sisters, pretty typical of village girls. So from seven in the morning to seven in the evening, Western Taro had to work closely with Local Beans. They brought me to the market; they taught me how to tell the difference between pork from old pigs and pork from young ones. They taught me how to prepare food and how to cook. So there were a lot of things to learn. Although they didn't quite go beyond grade school, they still impressed me a lot with their rich working experience and perseverance.

I had to humble myself to learn from them. I carefully followed their cooking instructions. Tears were all over my face when I cut bags of onions, but I continued with my sunglasses on. They laughed at my western style. We worked together and we talked and sang together. The filthy kitchen was often full of joy. Laughter and songs often emerged from the kitchen along with smell of pepper. Gradually, they stopped calling me teacher. They called me Mo Yan.

Every morning right after breakfast, local coworkers and I went to a little windowless room to worship. The smell of the poor-quality paint made me hard to open my eyes, but we continued to worship. I taught them hymns; we read the Word of God and we prayed together. Their praying posture was different from mine. I sat and they kneeled. Our tones were different too. Mine was calm and plain, whereas theirs was anxious and wholeheartedly. The contents were different too. I often prayed for the people and events about the training center, while they often thought about all the unsaved souls throughout China.

I suddenly realized that I wasn't really leading them, but they were leading me. I confessed to them my sin of arrogance and I asked them to help me and pray for me. That morning, every one of them anxiously prayed for me.

The Local Beans spoke in plain and honest words that greatly touched me the Western Taro. As we held our hands together and prayed again and again, my tears kept falling down.

It was one of the most memorable moments in my life during those two or three weeks. As I was downstairs preparing for food and hearing the English Christmas songs from the students upstairs, my heart was filled with joy. When delicious food was served on the tables, I looked around in pride and my heart was full of joy.

The author emigrated from Shanghai to America. She is now participating in helping the poor in a remote area of China.