The House Painter Who Came to Hear the Truth

Earlier this year, we got our house renovated. My parents just so happened to find a Chinese house painter to paint our house. I think they just chose a Chinese person for the sake of convenience, since they can understand Chinese too.

The Chinese painter is from Shanghai, but has lived in New Zealand for quite some time.

At the beginning, my father and I, who are both Dafa practitioners, just treated him as the house painter. My mother is not a practitioner, but she talked to him a lot, about China, travelling, schooling. She even made him tea when he needed a drink. Thus he had good first impressions of our family.

At the start, I had some hesitations about what to do. I suggested to my father that he should tell the painter about Dafa, but he simply said, "wait until he's not so busy," in a very casual tone. Led by these notions, each day when I made my way out to go to school or when I came home, I would simply say "hi" or "bye" to the painter, and I unconsciously judged him, as though just by looking at him I was judging whether or not he was poisoned by lies, whether or not he would understand. I even wondered, "If he is against Dafa, what if he stopped painting the house for us?" If that were the case, my mother would be extremely angry since she had spent so much money on this project and she may even blame it on Dafa.

That is obviously a strong attachment and shows the irrational nature of human notions. I had already got off on the wrong foot by not looking at things from the Fa perspective, but instead was going along with my father's obvious attachment.

But as time passed, fortunately I came to the realisation that we should clarify the truth to him. It was no coincidence that he came to work here, and of all the houses, he was chosen to paint the house where Dafa practitioners live! Furthermore, my mother is not even a practitioner. Since my father and I are both practitioners, we know the truth; therefore we should do even better and try to save more sentient beings.

I came home from school one afternoon and found that the painter was painting my balcony. My mother had probably asked him to close the balcony door to prevent the smell of paint from wafting into my bedroom. But since I had to talk to him, I needed to keep the door open.

I started asking him about his job, because I knew it was very tiring. I told him it must be very difficult to make a living here and that he was doing a great job. He said, "your mum has told me that you learn Chinese now." I said, "yes, ni hao..." He said "well done, your Chinese is really good."

Then I started to talk about Falun Gong. I told him my father had a liver disease and that after he started to practice Dafa, he regained his health completely. When I mentioned Dafa, he stopped painting and held his brush in mid-air. He asked me whether I practiced. I said, "Yes, after my father recovered from his disease, I saw that Dafa was good, so I started to practice too." Although he couldn't understand my English fully, he gave an expression of acknowledgement.

As we kept talking, I found out that his mother used to practice Falun Gong, but gave it up later. I felt a little bit disappointed and didn't know what to say. I don't know what the probabilities are, but I hope that if the painter's mother gets a chance to read this article, that she may be encouraged to start practicing Dafa again, because her closest family members are also waiting to hear the Fa.

When I mentioned the persecution, the painter said at first, "It is because the people believed in Falun Gong more than the government." In plain English I told him, "Actually, I'm not against the Chinese government, nor are any practitioners against the government." He just smiled.

Another afternoon, he went downstairs to paint the front door. I wondered how I could do better and let him understand what he was here for. While he was painting the front door, I went into the nearby piano room. I started to play Pudu, because Pudu has great energy, and it means "bringing salvation."

I was playing the song for him. My technical skills were quite poor actually and I missed a few notes. At the start, I could hear the sound of his paintbrush sweeping back and forth across the wooden door. However as the song Pudu progressed, the sound of his paintbrush sweeping just stopped. It became very quiet. I knew that he was listening to my playing the song of salvation and I felt that he wanted to hear more.

On the last day of his painting job, he left in a hurry. I had run to my room to get some flyers and a Chinese VCD. I thought I had missed him because he left so hurriedly, but when I went outside to the front yard I realized that he had just gone to fetch his daughter nearby, to come and help pack up the painting equipment.

As the sun was setting, things seemed like they were really coming to a close. There were not really many chances left for sentient beings to be saved. I gave him the Dafa flyer and truth clarification VCD and said, "This is for you." He held them with both hands and said thank you with sincere gratitude.

That was basically the end of our encounter with the Chinese house painter.

When I look back I realize that it couldn't have been a coincidence. A Chinese house painter moved from New Zealand to Australia, to the same suburb as Dafa practitioners, and was then asked to paint the house of Dafa practitioners. How could it be an accident?

It is definitely Master's compassionate arrangement. I should really thank Master for reminding me that everyone is waiting for the Fa, for then I can be more responsible in saving sentient beings.