Father stopped abruptly, and I came up close behind him. I motioned to the bushes on the right.

There it was again. Fear tingled down my back.

Father pointed to the ground and quickly went down ahead of me.

I dropped flat, my heart pounding wildly. Scraping our stomachs in the mud, we crept sideways, drawing closer to the tall stalks of cane for cover.

We lay motionless for a few seconds. What if we’re caught? I wondered. Would I squirm like a captured serpent under the jolts of the cadre’s electric rods?

Moving nothing but my eyes, I scanned the edge of the hill where I first saw the movement. Then I recognized broad shoulders and a familiar wave.

“It’s Liko,” I whispered hoarsely. Getting back up but staying hunched over, I ran toward him.

“Chen Liko, what are you doing out here? I thought you were the cadre!”

Liko motioned me to be quiet. His eyes searched until he saw Father crawling toward us. The three of us knelt in a huddle in the bushes.

“My father is uneasy,” said Liko. “He thinks he’s been watched this week. He sent me out to scout the trail and the main road for signs of the PSB.”

Just last week Liko’s father, Pastor Chen, had warned our church that the Public Security Bureau was putting more pressure on the village cadres to enforce Communist law and eliminate house churches from the surrounding counties.

“The trail looks clear,” I said. I tried to sound fearless in front of Liko, but within I shuddered at the thought of being caught. Liko and I were both eighteen, and young people were the most forbidden at house-church meetings. The government prided itself in the loyalty of the young to the Communist Party.

“Still, let’s use caution,” said Father. We set off again, threading our way along the edge of the forest.

Father was right; we had no trouble finding the path in the moonlight. Liko led the way into the darkness of the trees. The abandoned barn where our house church met was nestled in the next valley. It could be reached either from the old dirt road or this wooded path, but the path was safer.

Fifteen minutes later we approached the weathered barn. An abundance of weeds had long overtaken the old gray structure—a perfect hiding place for our services. Father cautiously opened the creaky door, then motioned for us to go in.

The golden glow from lanterns hanging on the walls and the crackling fire in the old black stove near the door warmed my heart. And the cheerful greetings from our Christian family helped me forget my fears on the cold path.

I laid our food basket in the empty feeding trough at the back of the barn and returned to the benches, my notebook in hand.

“Liko, you can sit with me across from Mei Lin if you’d like,” said Father.

“And your family will share our food after the meeting?” I offered.

Liko’s eyes twinkled as he smiled. “I’ll tell Mother.”

I watched him walk toward his mother. He was tall for a southerner, but every bit the well-mannered Chinese gentleman.

Our parents were friends before Liko and I were born, often socializing during evening tea gatherings.

As small children we often slipped away from the adults in our courtyard to play on the hill behind my house. We’d race to the top of the hill, then fall flat on our stomachs and roll back down to see who could reach the bottom first.

That was before Mother became sick, just a few months before I started first grade. After she died, our family teas were less frequent. Still, Liko and I had managed to remain friends through the years. Even though we were both in the same class of 1997, planning to graduate in just eight more months, our schedules were different this year and we rarely saw each other. I looked forward to our talks at the house-church meetings.

A few more people trickled in, the men sitting on the right and the women on the left, about sixty in all. Our little gathering was growing in number. I sat in the second row and tried to imagine what it would be like to worship God freely as some do in other countries—to sing to Him whenever my heart was bursting with praise, to pray openly, to own a Bible and set it up on the mantel where anyone could see it, but no one would care.

My thoughts turned to Shanghai University. Like some of my friends, I planned to escape the poor peasant life and Communist oppression through higher education.

Liko returned and sat on the bench directly across the narrow aisle from me. He leaned across so we could talk. “Have you been well?” he asked.

“I applied to the university this week,” I told him with excitement. “You’re still planning on WuMa Medical College, aren’t you?”

“At least WuMa is close to our village,” Liko answered, suddenly very serious. “Shanghai is so far from here.” He leaned forward on his elbows, his dark eyes flashing. “What’s in Shanghai that makes you dream so?”

“The way to know the new China is to know Shanghai,” I answered. “I want to walk down Nanjing Road. My political class teacher said that the whole road is one long line of department stores jammed with people as far as you can see. Many of the stores are just like the ones in the United States! And I want to visit Old Town and see the way our ancestors lived years ago.”

“You don’t need to attend the university to see all that,” Liko teased. “Just go visit.”

I ignored his comment and continued. “I want to stand on the top floor of the highest building in Shanghai and see the electric lights at night. Besides, I hear everyone in Shanghai owns a colored television and a bicycle.”

“Mei Lin, you know there is more to one’s destiny than colored televisions and electric lights.”

“And your own bicycle, don’t forget.” I couldn’t help giggling.

“Your father will be lonely for you, with only your grandmother to talk to,” Liko pressed.

“He’ll get used to it.” I turned away, hiding a smile. Perhaps it was not just my father’s loneliness Liko was worried about. But a hint of Liko’s affection for me was not enough to make me want to stay in Tanching Village. Almost every family in Tanching had lived and died there for generations, never moving out to seek higher goals.

Turning back to Liko, I lowered my voice so our parents couldn’t hear me. “I do not plan to be a lifetime member of Tanching’s farming community, furrowing fields of rice and sugarcane for the rest of my life.”

Now Liko was smiling that warm smile again. “I don’t blame you for wanting to leave,” he said softly. “I dream about the day I’ll be a doctor with enough money so that my mother and father won’t have to work so hard in the fields and garden. And I hear there are plenty of Bibles in Shanghai.”

“I know! What if God leads me to some Christians there who have extra Bibles? I could smuggle them from Shanghai back home to Jiangxi Province. I wonder what the house-church meetings are like in the city.”

“Probably bigger!” Liko glanced at his watch. “It’s twelve-thirty. They’re getting ready to start.”

The meetings in this musty old barn were the highlight of my week. Here I could be who I really was and say what I actually thought without being forced to mouth agreement to communist jargon. I felt secure among my Christian friends. I knew I was entrusting my life to those who worshiped with me, but I also knew they would keep my trust, as I would theirs.

After everyone was seated, the room settled into a quiet expectancy. Pastor Chen always led the meeting standing behind a small wooden desk, with a spray of lantern light over the Bible. “I’d like to start our meeting with prayer,” he began. “Of course, you are all welcome to participate. Please stand and make your requests known.” Then he sat down in front of Liko in the first row.

A man in the third row stood up. “I have big trouble with my wife, who was once a believer but left God since her mother passed away. She always yells at me when I want to pray or sing hymns. She once took papers I’d written Scripture on and tore them all to pieces.”

Before he could finish, Mrs. Huang stood to her feet behind me. Her daughter, Yan, was in my political science class at school. “I am in great distress too. My husband wants to divorce me. He strongly opposes my being a Christian and won’t let our daughter come to the meetings here. Sometimes when I get home late from a house meeting, he has locked the door and will not let me in. He leaves me outside all night, all alone. In an outburst of temper he too has taken my papers with Scripture written on them and torn them to pieces. Please pray for me.”

After a moment a young man stood and said, “I have a word of encouragement as well as a prayer request from my cousin in Zhaoyi Village. He wrote to us that their cadre has chosen to turn his face and ignore the house-church meetings! My cousin believes that the cadre’s heart is softened. He asked that we pray for their cadre, that he will come to know Jesus and have wisdom to handle the pressure from the Public Security Bureau.”

Mrs. Chen, Liko’s mother, stood up in front of me. “My brother is a pastor in Guandong Province. His family is always being visited secretly by the PSB. When he was not at home, some people pretending to be believers came to visit his family members and questioned them about his occupation and his overseas friends. Please pray for his family’s protection.”

No one else stood. Then there was a moment when everyone seemed moved, all at once, to pray aloud. Simple prayers for our brothers and sisters shot up like arrows over the rafters and into the heavens. A few of us were kneeling, some were sitting, some standing, and others lay prostrate on the packed dirt floor.

I prayed first for Liko’s uncle and then for poor Mrs. Huang, who gets locked out of her house. The presence of the Almighty drifted down upon us. I could feel Him. I felt like a princess in the palace halls instead of a simple peasant girl in a deserted barn. God lifted me into a place where all things are possible and all things are perfect.

After a while, just as spontaneously as we had started, we all stopped praying. No one spoke. The atmosphere was charged with the presence of God.

My father, still on his knees beside Liko, led our small gathering in his favorite hymn about the cross.

A woman behind me began another hymn, and so it went until Pastor Chen stood behind the wooden desk and opened our Bible.

“ ‘Therefore, I urge you brothers,’ ” he read from Romans, “ ‘in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—which is your spiritual worship.’ ”

The lantern light made his eyes sparkle as he spoke, and the obvious similarities between Liko and his father made me smile. Pastor Chen was shorter than his son, but Liko definitely had his father’s kind eyes, full lips, and strong jaw.

“My brothers and sisters,” said Pastor Chen, “we must live every day as though it were our last, willing to sacrifice everything for the freedom of knowing God.”

Pastor Chen spoke with great conviction. Inwardly I struggled with his words. I dated my sermon notebook and wrote: Romans 12:1 says we must offer ourselves as a living sacrifice. My heart is set on teaching after graduating from Shanghai University. What sacrifices could possibly be required of me?

Pastor Chen leaned over the desk and said, “I should tell all of you that I have been watched by the PSB this week.”

I shivered, remembering Liko’s warning on the path.

“I realize that all of you brought your food baskets for our meal after the service. However, I feel it would be better this evening if we dismissed our gathering earlier than usual and ate our meals in the protection of our own homes.”

The bench sitters stirred, looking at one another.

One man stood. He shuffled his feet, glanced around, and said, “Pastor Chen, the PSB asked me questions about you this week while we harvested the sugarcane.”

“They talked to me too,” said another.

“And me,” a man at the back of the room put in.

Pastor Chen hung his head for a moment, then looked up, studying each face. Our eyes locked for just a moment, and I felt as though he stared right into my soul.

“Do not be afraid,” he began. “We are not a poor village church. We are rich in the love of God. Jesus himself was betrayed by Judas—a man, a friend, who had worked with Him for three years. Even though the Lord knew His betrayer, He continued to love him just the same.”

A murmur rose among the villagers, and as I looked at each one, it seemed their thoughts were written across their foreheads: Will one of us betray our pastor?

Referring to another passage in Romans, Pastor Chen said, “I am convinced that no matter what happens, nothing and no one will be able to separate us from the love of God.”

Although I’d heard about people in other parts of China who pretended to be Christians just to watch the meetings and report to the PSB, I never imagined it would happen to us. I felt a little scared.

“I have no reason to believe that it is one of our own who is reporting to the PSB,” said Pastor Chen. “But who is reporting our activities isn’t very important. What matters is whether or not we will all love as Jesus loved—unconditionally, with forgiveness for every person.”

Several people nodded thoughtfully, and a few mumbled “yes” and “that’s right.” The room settled into silence.

I glanced over at Liko and wondered what he was thinking. His father was definitely in danger—but what could he do? I reached up and put my hand on Mrs. Chen’s shoulder. She glanced back at me, and I could see that her eyes were brimming with tears. She placed her hand over mine and patted it gently.

For years Father had warned me that house-church meetings were illegal and that we could be beaten or imprisoned if we were caught. Yet today, for the first time, it seemed that the warnings might become reality. I wanted to block out the horrible danger as I always had, but this night the realities seemed to find me, and I felt shaken.

After some time Mrs. Huang stood and ended our meeting in song: