One night, my roommate and I were talking before bed, and somehow the conversation reached Grandpa. I told him I wanted to cook a dish Grandpa had taught me, to remember him, and share it with people I knew. My roommate immediately replied, “Isn’t tomorrow night’s pizza party the perfect opportunity?”

In fact, the idea had been with me since I heard the news on Sunday night. Fortunately, because I did not trust my own memory, I had recorded the entire lesson when Grandpa taught me. Through a screen only a few inches wide, I could still see him, almost as though he were beside me.

I had the instructions, but the ingredients became a problem. I had arranged for a local host family connected with the university to take us to the grocery store. When the appointed time arrived, I discovered that I had class. (How did this not occur to you when you made the plan?!) So it was not until Friday morning that I began researching how to take the bus to Walmart, all while worrying that the wait alone might swallow the entire gap between my morning and afternoon classes.

By coincidence, I ran into Professor Zheng from my church and poured out the whole problem to him. He thought for a moment. “I happen to be free. I can take you.”

In my delight, I was considerably more alert during the extra Chapel session that day. I had slept through most of the Monday and Wednesday ones.

At Walmart, Professor Zheng helped me select pork belly, scallions, ginger, and garlic. We immediately returned so I could prepare the ingredients. Back at the dorm, my roommate helped me message Mrs. Woodworth, whose family was hosting that night’s party, to ask whether I could use their kitchen. After my afternoon classes, she replied yes. I collected the pressure cooker I had borrowed from Mrs. Gowing, and a little after four, I set off for their house.

The cooking itself turned out to be the least remarkable part. Mr. Woodworth told me to use anything in the kitchen and even found oil and sugar for me. Apart from a minor derailment while caramelizing the sugar—meaning I filled the entire house with smoke—everything went smoothly. I put the pork into the pressure cooker, looked up to see that the time was about right, and video-called Grandma.

By the time I came back to myself, quite a few students had gathered in the house. The moment I opened the pressure cooker and lifted out the pork, I knew I had cooked it too long. On one hand, I worried that it would turn cold if it sat out. On the other, I was waiting for Mr. Woodworth to return. He had gone out to buy the pizza.

Ah, I could not wait any longer. I looked at my roommate. He gave me a thumbs-up. I cleared my throat.

Everyone! May I have your attention? I have an announcement—cross that out. These two plates of pork were made from a recipe my grandpa taught me while he was alive. Ever since he died in a car accident not long ago, I have wanted to do something in his memory. But I am very far from China now, and this is about all I can do.

My grandpa was born in 1949, the same year as the People’s Republic of China. He was a good man, and he lived that goodness throughout his life. My parents and I shared the gospel with him more than once. He said he was willing to accept it, but wanted to wait until just before his death to be baptized… Everything happened too suddenly.

But I believe that, in his final moments, he must have thought of Jesus. He must have thought of the faith of his son and his grandson. And I believe that one day I will see him again.

Thank you to the Woodworth family for letting me use their kitchen, even though the host himself is currently absent. (Laughter.) Thank you to my roommate, Joel, for encouraging me to take this step. Thank you to Professor Zheng for taking me to buy the ingredients this morning. Thank you to Mrs. Gowing for lending me the pressure cooker. Thank you to everyone willing to listen to me today. And, more importantly, thank God for making all of this possible.

…

Afterward, many classmates came to tell me they would pray for me. Both large plates of pork received unanimous praise, and almost nothing remained by the end.

At last, I picked up a piece and tasted it too.

It tasted familiar.