寻根之旅
• 到柘城县老家扫墓
（接上文）
这次来洛阳十分凑巧，姑姑的大女儿——我的大表姐——也正好在洛阳。她得知我们计划前往柘城老家扫墓，心情十分激动，随即决定与我们一同前往。
临行前，我向大表姐询问需要准备哪些东西。她说：“春海，你带上苹果、桔子等四样水果，再带上香烟，因为你奶奶抽烟。”起初，我以为这些是为探望亲人准备的，后来才明白，她的意思是在扫墓时将这些物品摆放在墓前。
我随即向大表姐解释，我们作为基督徒，前往墓地时不摆放供品，而是选择献上鲜花，并以祷告来表达纪念与感恩。同时我也补充说明：“奶奶生前已经信主，后来也把烟戒掉了，她在世的时候已经不再抽烟了。”大表姐听后表示理解。于是，我们只为探望在世的亲人准备了水果，预备在见到他们时赠送，以表心意。
在此，有必要简要回顾一下奶奶的一生经历。
童年的记忆中，由于从小没有爷爷奶奶在身边，每当看到白发苍苍、骨瘦嶙峋、满脸皱纹、步履蹒跚的老人，心中总会生出一种莫名的战兢，仿佛他们身上带着某种神秘的力量，会把人拉向死亡的深渊。
爷爷是富农的儿子，在旧社会里曾做过教书的私塾先生；奶奶则出身于当地县里一个大地主家庭。然而，时代的洪流很快席卷而来。政治风暴之下，原本稳固的家庭秩序被彻底打破。她的父母因出身成分而遭遇斗争与残害，人生轨迹也随之急转直下。
为了生存，父亲在十三岁时便逃离河南，隐姓埋名，来到黑龙江农村谋生。父亲与母亲结婚时，从未提起自己在河南老家还有一位年迈的母亲。直到姐姐稍大一些记事后，父亲带着她回河南老家探望奶奶。姐姐回家学话时提到“见到一个老太太”，母亲这才得知，父亲的母亲仍然健在。
我小时候一直没有机会见过奶奶。直到十五岁那年，奶奶才从河南老家搬来，与我们一同生活了四年时间。她半裹着小脚。奶奶曾说，在旧社会，中国女子若不裹足，是嫁不出去的。她小时候，太奶奶心疼她，偷偷把缠得很紧的裹脚布放松了一些，结果她的脚长成了介于裹足与不裹足之间的样子。那对半裹着的双脚，仿佛也见证了她一生在传统、苦难与变迁之间的挣扎。
当基督的福音进入她所在的村庄时，她的人生已经走过大半，然而神并未忘记她。当村子里有人信主，教会成立之后，奶奶也跟着信了耶稣，并且积极参加敬拜。
刚到我们家时，奶奶仍抽着旱烟。她每周都与我们一同去教会敬拜主，并且她口里也常唱着赞美主的小灵歌。没过多久，她却把烟戒掉了。她从前常说：“谁也改不了我，你爷爷都没能把我的烟戒掉。”然而，耶稣的大能却改变了她。她后来只要一抽烟就觉得恶心，于是便不再抽了。神真奇妙，一个连丈夫都无法改变的生命，却被基督触摸改变了。
从奶奶零星的回忆中，我在脑海里勾勒出爷爷的形象：农家小屋便是课堂，屋里坐着五六个学生，一位教书先生踱着缓慢的步伐，口中低声吟诵着《诗经·关雎》：“关关雎鸠，在河之洲；窈窕淑女，君子好逑……”学生们也一句一句地跟着朗读。可惜的是，爷爷英年早逝，姑姑和父亲在年幼时便失去了父愛。这一场早来的丧偶之痛，也深刻地塑造了奶奶此后一生的艰难处境与坎坷命运。
6月10日清晨7点，春雨载着大表姐、乔治和我一同出发从洛阳驶向柘城。一路上气氛轻松，我们有说有笑。车里循环播放着信主的诗歌，也穿插着春雨自己演唱的歌曲。大表姐则分享了她在抖音平台上颂唱的民族歌曲。音乐成了彼此交流的桥梁与背景。
借着这段同行的时间，春雨、乔治和我也分别分享了自己信主的经历。大表姐听得十分投入，不时点头回应，显出浓厚的兴趣。她说：“听你们讲这些像听故事一样，有曲折的情节，挺有意思的”。
谈到家族历史时，一个长期困扰我们的问题再次被提起：“爷爷到底是怎么死的？”我只知道他英年早逝，却始终不清楚具体原因。大表姐也说不清楚。她有时甚至觉得，爷爷也许并未去世，而是在那个动荡的年代去了台湾。她说，自己曾在梦中见过爷爷。这个模糊而未解的疑问，也成了家族记忆中挥之不去的一部分。
上帝在无形中将人类彼此连结，亲情中存在着一种无法割断的纽带，无论是活着的人，还是已逝去的人。
我十五岁那年，因心脏衰竭，曾在生死线上徘徊了半个月，几乎分不清白天与黑夜。有时大小便失控，有时会歇斯底里地抽搐，甚至完全失去自我意识。最严重的一次发生在吃午饭时，我突然剧烈抽搐起来。当时的主观感受是，仿佛全村的邪恶势力一齐向我扑来，企图把我的灵魂从身体的躯壳中带走。
家人后来告诉我，我当时的头不断往墙上撞，几个人合力都拉不住我。从中午一直到下午五点多钟，赵桂芹和我们全家人，以及几位弟兄姐妹，一同流着眼泪为我恳切祷告。
终于，我从“死荫的幽谷”中苏醒过来，从死门关走了一遭，又被带了回来。就在那时，一位姐妹读出《马太福音》12：31：“所以我告诉你们：人一切的罪和亵渎的话，都可得赦免；惟独亵渎圣灵，总不得赦免。”听到这节经文，我心中一惊，暗暗警醒自己：千万不可犯亵渎圣灵的罪，否则将永不得赦免。与此同时，我的头脑忽然清醒过来，先前那种混乱与压迫感骤然消散。
醒来的那一刻，在经历生死边缘的考验，冥冥里似乎浮现出爷爷的身影，形象虽然模糊，难以用言语描绘，却难以抹去。这段刻骨铭心的经历，加深了我对灵界、灵魂以及上帝真实存在的信心，也让我对亲情的意义有了更深的体会与认知。
辗转反侧，下午2:10，我们终于抵达了商丘市柘城县梁双庙村。家里的老宅子映入眼帘（现已卖给邻居）。物是人非，奶奶从前住的小茅草房早已被买家改建成了小红砖瓦房。然而，那块小小的土地依然有奶奶的足迹。那里承载着她独居的日日夜夜，也留下了她一针一线、一点一滴的生活足迹，那里处处写满了她对远方儿女的深切思念。
尽管奶奶命运坎坷，一生守寡大半，但感恩的是，她后来信了主。这间小屋曾回荡着她带着浓重河南老家乡音的唱诗赞美主的声音，与老姐妹同心祷告的声音；这里也一定有天使昼夜环绕的安慰，以及她临终时在主面前的虔诚祈祷。她是主的孩子，主已擦干她一切的眼泪与冤屈，使她永远在主的荣耀中得安慰。
车开过村头，我们穿过一片麦秸地，来到两块地中间的墓地，终于找到了爷爷奶奶的安息之处。由于长久未有人来扫墓，墓地上杂草丛生。大姐、乔治和我便动手拔草，清理墓地。哥哥曾亲手立下的墓碑浮现在眼前：墓碑上刻着十字架，以及“李廷选、曹凤仙，二零二三年八月十三日立”。
我们齐心合力，用了半个多小时，终于将墓地清理干净，并为爷爷奶奶献上鲜花。我恭敬地祷告，大表姐则静静站在旁边。
“主啊，你世世代代作我们的居所。感谢你为我预备机会，让我为爷爷奶奶扫墓……逝去者永远在主里面得安息。愿我们活着的后辈生生不息，跟随你，走到世界各地，为主作美好的见证。以基督之名，阿门！” 我们带着泪，带着愛，带着对祖先的敬仰与感激，也带着在主里的盼望，祈祷着、祝福着。
扫完墓后，车驶回村里，许多老乡围上来，亲切地打招呼问候，暖暖的乡情扑面而来。他们的热情甚至比我在黑龙江老家的老乡更为亲切。说明来意后，大家都显得惊讶又好奇。有的长辈说：“你爸爸小时候就和我们一起玩儿的。”还有的感慨：“哦，你怎么大老远从美国跑来了啊？”甚至有一位单身的大叔，非要拉着我到他家院子里坐一会儿。
当被问及爷爷的去世原因时，许多人对那段历史并不熟悉。最终，我们遇到一位老奶奶，她给出了明确的答案：
“爷爷年轻时曾加入（XX党），后来另一个（XX党）来了，他带着联防队投降了新的政权。然而，先前的（XX党）又回来了，将爷爷和另外四个人叫去谈话，给他们摆上一桌鸿门宴。紧接着，他们被就地正法，再也没有回来。爷爷是五人中的组长，同时负责文书工作。” 那位老奶奶的哥哥，也是五人之一。那时，爷爷二十五岁，奶奶二十七岁。
这便是带着血的家史——在风云变幻的历史中，爷爷成了那个残酷时代的牺牲品。有时我会想，如果爷爷有幸活着听过福音，他一定会信耶稣。我相信，在圣灵的光照下，他有文化，他一定能够明白基督为人类赎罪、赐下真理之光、带领人走上永生道路的深意。
（未完待续
A Journey of Seeking Root
(Continued)
• Visiting Our Ancestral Home in Zhecheng to Sweep the Graves
This trip to Luoyang was quite providential. My aunt’s eldest daughter—my eldest cousin—also happened to be in Luoyang at the time. When she learned that we were planning to return to our ancestral home in Zhecheng to sweep the graves, she became very excited and immediately decided to go with us.
Before setting out, I asked her what we needed to prepare. She said, “Chunhai, bring four kinds of fruit such as apples and oranges, and also bring some cigarettes, because your grandmother used to smoke.” At first, I thought these were things to bring when visiting relatives. Only later did I realize that she meant to place them in front of the grave during the tomb-sweeping.
I then explained to my cousin that, as Christians, we do not place food offerings at graves. Instead, we choose to present fresh flowers and express our remembrance and gratitude through prayer. I also added, “Grandma believed in the Lord before she passed away, and she had already quit smoking while she was still alive.” My cousin expressed her understanding. So, we prepared fruit only for visiting our living relatives, to give to them as a token of our affection.
At this point, it is necessary to briefly revisit Grandma’s life.
In my childhood memories, since I did not grow up with my grandparents by my side, whenever I saw elderly people with white hair, emaciated frames, wrinkled faces, and faltering steps, I would feel an inexplicable sense of trembling—as if they carried some mysterious power that could draw one toward the abyss of death.
Grandfather was the son of a wealthy peasant and had once worked as a private tutor in the old society. Grandmother came from a prominent landlord family in the county. However, the tide of history soon swept in. Under political upheaval, what had once been a stable family order was completely shattered. Her parents were persecuted and harmed because of their class background, and her life trajectory changed drastically.
In order to survive, my father fled Henan at the age of thirteen, concealed his identity, and made a living in the rural areas of Heilongjiang. When he married my mother, he never mentioned that he still had an elderly mother back in Henan. It was not until my older sister was old enough to remember things that Father took her back to Henan to visit Grandma. When my sister returned home and spoke of “an old lady” she had met, my mother only then learned that Father’s mother was still alive.
I had no opportunity to meet Grandma during my early childhood. It was not until I was fifteen that she moved from Henan to live with us, and she stayed for four years. Her feet were half-bound. Grandma once said that in old China, a woman who did not bind her feet could not get married. When she was young, her mother secretly loosened the tightly bound cloth out of compassion. As a result, her feet grew into something between bound and unbound. Those half-bound feet seemed to bear witness to her lifelong struggle between tradition, suffering, and change.
When the gospel of Christ entered her village, most of her life had already passed. Yet God had not forgotten her. After some villagers believed in the Lord and a church was established, Grandma also believed in Jesus and faithfully attended worship.
When she first came to live with us, she still smoked her pipe tobacco. Every week she went to church with us and often sang short hymns of praise to the Lord. Not long afterward, however, she quit smoking. She used to say, “No one can change me. Even your grandfather couldn’t make me quit.” Yet the power of Jesus transformed her. Later, whenever she tried to smoke, she felt nauseated, so she stopped completely. How marvelous God is—what even her husband could not change, Christ changed.
From the fragments of Grandma’s memories, I pieced together an image of Grandfather in my mind: a small rural house serving as a classroom, five or six students seated inside, and a teacher pacing slowly while softly reciting from The Book of Songs:
“Guan guan cry the ospreys on the islet in the river;
A graceful and virtuous maiden, a gentleman’s good mate.”
The students followed him line by line. Sadly, Grandfather died young. My aunt and father lost their father in childhood. This early bereavement deeply shaped Grandma’s difficult and turbulent life thereafter.
At 7:00 a.m. on June 10, Chunyu drove my cousin, George, and me from Luoyang to Zhecheng. The atmosphere along the way was relaxed; we chatted and laughed. Christian hymns played in the car, interspersed with songs sung by Chunyu herself. My cousin shared ethnic songs she had sung on the Douyin platform. Music became both the bridge and the backdrop of our fellowship.
During this time together, Chunyu, George, and I each shared our testimonies of faith. My cousin listened intently, nodding from time to time with genuine interest. She said, “Listening to you feels like hearing stories—with twists and turns. It’s quite fascinating.”
As we talked about family history, a long-standing question resurfaced: “How exactly did Grandpa die?” I only knew that he had died young, but never the specific reason. My cousin did not know either. At times she even wondered whether he had not died at all, but had gone to Taiwan during those turbulent years. She said she had once seen him in a dream. This vague and unresolved question has remained a lingering part of our family memory.
In ways unseen, God binds humanity together. Within kinship there exists an unbreakable bond—whether among the living or the departed.
When I was fifteen, I suffered heart failure and hovered on the brink of death for half a month, barely able to distinguish day from night. At times I lost control of my bodily functions; at other times I convulsed hysterically, completely losing consciousness. The most severe episode occurred during lunch, when I suddenly began convulsing violently. Subjectively, it felt as though all the evil forces of the village were rushing toward me, trying to pull my soul out of my body.
My family later told me that my head kept striking the wall, and several people together could not restrain me. From noon until after five in the afternoon, Zhao Guiqin, my family members, and several brothers and sisters in Christ wept and prayed earnestly for me.
At last, I awoke from the “valley of the shadow of death.” I had passed through the gate of death and was brought back. At that moment, a sister read Matthew 12:31:
“So I tell you, every kind of sin and slander can be forgiven, but blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven.”
Hearing this verse startled me. I silently warned myself never to commit the sin of blaspheming the Holy Spirit. At the same time, my mind suddenly cleared, and the confusion and oppression vanished.
In that moment of awakening, after having been tested at the edge of life and death, a vague image of Grandfather seemed to surface in my mind—indistinct, difficult to describe, yet impossible to erase. This unforgettable experience deepened my faith in the reality of the spiritual realm, the soul, and the existence of God. It also gave me a deeper understanding of the meaning of kinship.
After many twists and turns, at 2:10 p.m. we finally arrived at Liangshuangmiao Village in Zhecheng County, Shangqiu City. Our old family house came into view (it has since been sold to a neighbor). Though the place remained, the people had changed. The small thatched cottage where Grandma once lived had long ago been rebuilt by the new owner into a small red brick house. Yet that little piece of land still seemed to bear her footprints. It had carried her through countless days and nights of solitary living, preserving every stitch of her needlework and every small detail of her daily life. Everywhere there lingered the deep longing she held for her children far away.
We drove past the village entrance, crossed a field of wheat stubble, and came to the burial ground between two plots of land. At last, we found the resting place of Grandfather and Grandmother. Since no one had come for a long time, weeds covered the grave. My cousin, George, and I pulled the weeds and cleared the site. The tombstone my brother had erected stood before us, engraved with a cross and the words:
“Li Tingxuan, Cao Fengxian — erected August 13, 2023.”
After more than half an hour of work, we finally cleaned the grave and laid fresh flowers before it. I prayed solemnly while my cousin stood quietly beside me.
“Lord, You have been our dwelling place throughout all generations. Thank You for giving me this opportunity to sweep the graves of my grandparents… May those who have departed rest forever in You. May we who live, their descendants, continue from generation to generation to follow You and bear beautiful witness for Christ throughout the world. In the name of Christ, Amen.” With tears, with love, with reverence and gratitude toward our ancestors, and with hope in the Lord, we prayed and offered our blessings.
Afterward, we drove back into the village. Many locals gathered around us, greeting us warmly. The affection of the hometown enveloped us. Their hospitality felt even warmer than that of neighbors in my home in Heilongjiang. When we explained our purpose, they were surprised and curious. Some elders said, “Your father used to play with us when he was little.” Others exclaimed, “You came all the way from America?” One unmarried uncle even insisted on taking me to sit in his courtyard for a while.
When asked about the cause of Grandfather’s death, many were unfamiliar with that period of history. Finally, we met an elderly woman who provided a clear answer:
“When he was young, your grandfather joined (XX Party). Later, another (XX Party) came, and he surrendered with the local defense unit to the new regime. But then the former (XX Party) returned. They invited your grandfather and four others to a meeting and laid out a banquet for them. It was a trap. Immediately afterward, they were executed on the spot and never came back. Your grandfather was the leader of the five and handled clerical work.” That elderly woman’s own brother was one of the five. At the time, Grandfather was twenty-five, and Grandmother twenty-seven.
This is a family history stained with blood. In the storms of history, Grandfather became a victim of that cruel era. Sometimes I wonder—if he had lived to hear the gospel, he surely would have believed in Jesus. I believe that under the illumination of the Holy Spirit, as an educated man, he would have understood the profound meaning of Christ’s atoning sacrifice, the light of truth, and the path to eternal life. (To be continued))