The Land Beyond . . . in His Footsteps: A True Story

By Susan Newman

Do you have a heart for the nations? Do you wish to see people around the world come to Christ? So does Susan Newman. In THE LAND BEYOND...IN HIS FOOTSTEPS, she shares the story of how God called, prepared, and equipped her for years of service to Him in Asia. This inspirational story will encourage the new Christian, strengthen the weak, and embolden believers to serve the God of wonders.

During Susan's time in China, she saw many people turn to the Lord as they witnessed His miraculous saving grace. THE LAND BEYOND...IN HIS FOOTSTEPS details her experience as an English teacher, her unfailing support of orphans, and many other aspects of her work as a Christian missionary in the "spiritual capital" of China. It is truly a tale of God using the weak and the foolish to confound the wise (1 Cor. 1:27).

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496991744

Susan Newman

I am Alan Riches born in Blackburn, Lancashire, England. February 1959 I left school in 1975 with limited educational achievements. I joined the Royal Navy straight from school and served her majesty for 23 years. I left the Royal Navy in 1999 and now work in the water industry. Unfortunately I have been divorced on two occasions but have three children from my first marriage and I am the proud father of three lovely now grown up children  Stefanie , Garry and Daniel and at present two lovely grandsons Ben and Leo both 7 years old (A third a granddaughter due to be born at the end of November.) I live at present in the little Naval town of Gosport England with my long time partner Susan. I have always had a vision to tell a good story ( Or so I am told and my grandson Leo would constantly ask me for a story) I have many unfinished manuscripts in my head that may or may not get finished one day. I want to put my story into a book for my two grandsons for their children as a momento from their grandfather.

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© 2014 Susan Newman . All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/20/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9173-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9174-4 (e)

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Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved. Website

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter 1 Life In The Beginning

Chapter 2 Life In England

Chapter 3 God Meeting My Need

Chapter 4 Beginning A New Life

Chapter 5 The Early Days Of Loving God

Chapter 6 Miracles And More Miracles

Chapter 7 The Call To China

Chapter 8 Teaching And Life In Xi’an

Chapter 9 The Beginning Of The Children’s Work

Chapter 10 Ministry And Life In Xi’an

Chapter 11 The Doors Open And Close

Chapter 12 Daily Living On Campus

Chapter 13 The Exodus

Chapter 14 Getting It All Together When It’s Not

Chapter 15 There Will Be A Highway

Chapter 16 1996-1998

Chapter 17 Doors Closed And Doors Opened

Chapter 18 Facing The Foe

Epilogue

About The Author

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I have written this book primarily to encourage. We serve an awesome God! As you read the pages of this true story, some of you will recall when I visited your churches in Hong Kong, Singapore, the United Kingdom, and America, and told you some of the stories contained within. I pray that you, the reader, will be inspired, encouraged, and challenged to go on in the Lord. God is still a God of tenderness and miracles; He still loves the widows and the orphans. He still is waiting for workers who are willing to go into the harvest field. Will you go? Will you abandon everything that you hold dear to serve our King? Will you not count the cost?My grateful thanks must go firstly to the people who made this story possible – the Chinese people. They are the ones who are responding to the Gospel, simply believing the Word of God and doing what He says. They are the ones suffering persecution for the sake of the Gospel and not counting the cost. They are the ones who are laying down their lives for the Kingdom of God. They are the ones whose eyes are fixed not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.

Secondly, I thank God for men and women who remain true to the principles of God’s Word and are not led astray by fame or fortune. So many have encouraged me to stay on track and have been a source of inspiration throughout my walk with the Lord.

I especially want to thank Mike Dixon (and his wife Ruth) who proof-read the raw manuscript and helped me through many trials that would have crushed me in the natural if the Lord had not been my strength and comfort. God uses people like Mike to step in and be the voice of Jesus when heaven all seems to go strangely and ominously quiet. It is in those quiet times, when crying out for guidance and direction, that the Lord sends one of His ambassadors to uplift and encourage. Thank you Mike, for being that saint the Lord could rely on to bless and encourage me.

But most of all, I thank the Lord for who He is. He has proven Himself dependable, trustworthy, faithful, and loving throughout all the years, and I know He will continue to do so until His return.

INTRODUCTION

It was never my intention to write a diary. However as was the case with almost every other Western child at that time, someone would give me a birthday present of a five-year diary which would be energetically filled for the first few days. I even went through the year and inserted family birthdays. But the pages after March at the latest in the first year would remain crisp and unused. The writing of diaries is an odd affair: when something of great importance occurs, we’re so involved with the occasion that we’re too busy to write it down. On the other hand, when nothing is happening, we try to fill the demanding blank pages with things of no importance whatsoever.

This journaling treadmill all changed in 1998, two years before coming to know Jesus Christ. Some peculiar things started occurring that were so unusual that I felt strangely moved to write. The first thing I noticed was that my sleeping pattern was being disrupted. I had always enjoyed excellent nights’ sleep, with no difficulties either with falling asleep or staying asleep. But gradually I noticed it was taking me some little while to fall asleep. I would lay in bed feeling as though I was being picked up and held in an enormous hand. The second finger and the thumb would then roll me slowly around in the palm, as if examining me. This was odd but was not an unpleasant sensation; in fact, it was quite a nice warm, secure feeling. It did not occur every night, but several times over the course of many months.

Then started the waking up; wide awake, as if I had concluded a full night’s sleep. There was no memory of any disturbance, and at first I found it quite interesting, as I had never lain awake at night before. I would wake up, fully alert, and lift my head off the pillow to look at the digital clock. How odd it was that, each time I looked, it was 5:55. This didn’t happen every night, the other nights I would sleep until our normal rising time of 7am. But if I woke up and decided not to look at the clock, I would lie there, unable to drift back to sleep, and eventually would lift my head off the pillow and look at the clock: it would be 5:55. Over the next few months, the 5:55 awakening time changed. I would then wake up at 4:44, then 3:33, then 2:22 and then 1:11. I started chronicling this strange cycle in a notebook that had no off-putting dates in it, but by the time it had got down to 1:11, I was starting to feel more than alarmed. Was this some kind of countdown? Was I drawing close to the end of my life, or was it the end of the world? Although I tried to dismiss my thoughts as ridiculous, I had a nagging feeling as if something was about to happen.

The night my husband John and I came to Jesus, as the following chapters recount, we returned home quite late at night. As we were preparing for bed, I joked to him that at least the odd countdown couldn’t get any lower. He said Look at the clock. I read 0:00. Something momentous had happened, I knew it deep inside me, but at that point I did not know what it was.

God has spoken many times to me since then through dreams and night visions. He gently wakes me up sometimes to speak with me, or I will remember the previous night’s dream. But once I knew of His love and care for me, I would no longer be alarmed: He reveals things to me in dreams and visions so that I can receive what He is showing me. Sometimes the meaning will be immediate, at other times it will unfold over a period of time.

I pray that as you read the following chapters of God’s preparation and then sending us to China, you will be blessed with an increased awareness of the Lord speaking to you. He says He speaks in the Scriptures, but so many will not hear Him because they are not receptive to His voice. He speaks first one way, and then another. If He has a lesson that He needs you to learn, He will repeat the message again and again in a variety of ways until you receive it. But if you harden your heart, or are fearful of what He is saying to you, like a gentle dove, He will withdraw. Hebrews 12:25 says not to refuse Him who speaks. If you are not sure it is the Lord speaking to you, then it is all right to ask Him for confirmation. He is incredibly patient and kind. He is God.

And as for diaries? I’ve kept up the habit of writing down what the Lord says to me. I wanted to be like young Samuel who let none of the Lord’s words fall to the ground. As I re-read my diary entries many years later, the rice paper pages I used in China have become yellowed and the ink is faded. But in times of doubt and weakness, my writings comfort and encourage me to continue.

Finally, keeping my diaries has also taught me something else. I think one of the hardest things to learn as a new Christian is to wait on the Lord. I can re-read pages and pages of comments about times of waiting. In those pages, like a newborn baby, I’ve screamed out to God as if crying for my milk, a diaper change or a cuddle. I’ve learned that maturity comes slowly and is very confusing. We think we know where we are heading, but only God knows the things we need to learn as individuals.

We rarely need the same lessons as others need at the same time they need them because God has made us wonderfully unique. Our Creator God, our heavenly Father, delights in us as we trustingly wait in times of silence and uncertainty. To God faith is more precious than all the gold in the world. And faith in God means trusting Him, even when everything in our eyes and understanding seems to be going wrong.

I know about trusting God. Welcome to my journey and as you read, may you be inspired to trust Him too.

CHAPTER 1

LIFE IN THE BEGINNING

I was born in Bellville, Ontario, Canada in 1950, the second child of my parents. My father, a psychiatrist, and my mother, trained in nursing and engineering, were first-time immigrants from England. Unfortunately, that first emigration did not go well and they returned to England when I was six months old. My younger sister Angela, was born three years later.

My childhood years in England were quite colorful and I remember snippets of scenes.

For example, my older sister Gayle would torment me mercilessly, that is, until I took revenge by hitting her on the head with a pail. I can remember having bronchitis, and the nurse coming. She made me lie face down on the bed with my head hanging off the edge over a steaming bowl of water that was on the floor to make me cough to relieve the congestion. I remember once taking my sister’s doll and wanting to give it a bath in the downstairs bathroom sink. Being called to go out, I forgot about the running tap and we returned home to a flood of water over the ground floor. I also recall being outside with my mother during a frightening thunderstorm. She was impatient with my fear, and made me sit outside on my own to get over it.

I have no early memories of my father. Even though he lived with us he just did not figure into my everyday existence. We did not have any contact with my father’s side of the family – we didn’t know why.

At the age of three I went to school. My first teacher, Miss Cloud, caused me to love school and I did quite well, as young as I was. When I was five though, my parents decided to immigrate to Canada again. There they discovered I was not old enough to even start school. When I finally was allowed to attend, my two previous years at school caused me to be bored and hence very naughty. We moved once again, but this time across Canada to New Westminster, British Columbia, just outside Vancouver. The house my parents bought was large and spacious. While there, my brother Kim was born, seven years my junior and I adored him and would take every opportunity to take care of him.

Once my sister and I met a little girl who lived across the road from us. She told us she had been adopted. I didn’t know what that meant, and when she explained that her parents had chosen her, I wanted to be adopted as well. Our parents had always told us that we were unplanned and not wanted, so the thought of being adopted by parents who would want me sounded very appealing to my young mind.

Although it had been unusual for my Father to pay us any attention, he uncharacteristically made us a miniature puppet theatre, with which my sisters and I would perform shows for the local children. We tried to charge, admission, but no-one paid.

At the primary school I became very aware of my poorly kept clothes, and tried sewing the holes and putting on buttons. My mother would cut our hair; I was given a crew cut fringe in a triangular shape which my classmates found very funny. One year on my teacher’s birthday, everyone was getting her presents but I didn’t dare ask my parents for money, so decided to steal some from my mother’s purse. I took ten dollars and at lunch time went to a small store near the school and purchased a present. The trouble was, I was given change and didn’t know what to do with it, so I put it in the trash bin in the classroom. The janitor found it, and wanted to know who had put the money in there. I didn’t dare confess it was me.

My parents were very anti-religious and scoffed at people who went to church. Still I must have heard of the name of Jesus, because I remember one time walking home from school seeing a silver-lined cloud and wondering if that was Jesus. Soon after that the local vicar came to visit our family and invited us to church, but my parents believed they were far too intelligent to believe in God. Mum told me that people who believed in God were stupid and needed a crutch. However, our curiosity had been piqued. One Sunday when I was about seven Gayle, Angie and I decided to go to the vicar’s church and see what it was like. We walked in and sat down at the back. The vicar was in the middle of his sermon, when he suddenly spotted us and cried out, Well, look who’s here! We never went back again.

We moved again, from the outskirts into Vancouver city. Our home life was very unhappy; father was working long hours and mother was very lonely. The arguments between them became violent. One time my father attacked my mother while she was ironing, and was going to burn her with the iron. I was there and in desperation, I kicked my father in the groin. We called the police, but when they came, he was sitting in his study. He calmly told them we were the problem, not him, so they left.

At this time Mother decided that she was going to go to university to study Italian. My father was not at all happy about this, but she persisted and got her way. Over the ensuing months my mother changed a lot. She met a nice young male friend who would come over and spend time during the day at our home. He was learning Chinese, and was very proud and pompous. We didn’t like him.

I desperately tried to be accepted by my parents, but they made it clear that children were to be seen and not heard, we were all accidents and they hadn’t wanted children in the first place.

Gayle rebelled and got punished. I saw the beatings she received and went the other way.

For example, my help with the cooking, cleaning and caring for my younger siblings earned the praise I needed from my mother. She said years later that without my help, she never would have obtained her degree. My father’s violence against my elder sister gradually got worse and worse. Once, when she had spat at me from the upstairs landing, my father beat her so badly I begged him to stop. I thought it was my fault. Another time, I was playing baseball in the garden, and accidentally hit the ball towards the house and broke a window. As punishment, I was sent to the attic for three days and nights without food. There were spiders up there, and I was terrified, but I vowed from then I would not cry when I was beaten. It was the first step towards rebellion I took to try to fight back for not being loved.

Our father just could not cope with having four children, he could only pay attention to one at a time. When it was our turn to be in favor. Father would actually talk to us. Once he even took me out to buy something new from the department store (I hadn’t got a clue what to get, and ended up getting a v-neck pink sweater which on the first wash, Mum shrank). When it was not our turn we kept out of the way. Watching television became our life, from early in the morning to late at night.

At the age of twelve, I developed a friendship with Kerry Turner, a classmate from school. She was such fun to be with. One day she asked me to her house and as we arrived at the back steps, I could smell the sweet aroma of a freshly-baked angel cake, to which her mother was adding the finishing touches. I was amazed to see that her mother was at home. The atmosphere was so warm and nice and she seemed so pleased to see us. She then asked Kerry to ask her father if he would like a piece of the cake. I was so frightened because her father was home! But Kerry went into the living room and from the kitchen I could see her father sitting on the sofa, contented and relaxed. This was my first chance of seeing a normal happy home and the experience impacted me very deeply. I spent as much time as I could with Kerry, but I was not a good influence on her. We would go to the local university gates and hitchhike to the swimming pool. To become sophisticated, we would practice smoking in her bathroom. Each time I went to her house, I managed to tread on the cat’s milk bowl and break it.

Kerry and I were interested in boys from the age of twleve. On Friday nights we would travel up by bus to the local ice rink, and then walk home to see how many boys would ask us to ride with them in their cars. One time we were doing this accompanied by my sister Angie. A car stopped just beyond us and four boys stepped out wielding chains. I heard the words, Let’s get them! and the three of us ran for our lives.

When Kerry left Vancouver to live in California, I took my sister Angie with me wherever I went, including on my dates. She was always with me, but only once to my annoyance when my date wanted to kiss me, but didn’t appreciate my younger sister being there watching. I told her to go away, and she cried so bitterly that I felt very guilty.

In Vancouver at that time there was a free line on the telephone exchange. There would be perhaps a hundred people on that one line at the same time. The object was to hear someone clearly enough to get his phone number, and then arrange a blind date with him. Once we waited for some boys to turn up in our favorite Chinese café. When two very unattractive boys came in and asked if we were Sue and Angela, we said no.

The problems between my parents deteriorated so badly that my father one day was not there. Mother told us that he had gone to England, but we didn’t realize that my parents had separated. It was a period of about a year of peace