(Minghui.org) I’m a Falun Dafa practitioner living in Missouri. I came to the United States two years ago. Like many practitioners in China, I experienced the persecution that began on July 20, 1999—being detained, sent to labor camps, and I watched my father lose his life as a result of the abuse. By a turn of fate, I was able to bring my whole family to the United States. Coming here meant starting over in many ways—learning how to live in a new country, and also learning new ways to clarify the truth to people. Today, I would like to share my cultivation experiences over the years. I hope they may be of benefit, and I welcome constructive feedback.
Cultivation, in many respects, is a process of continuously overcoming tests. Since July 20, 1999, stepping forward to validate the Fa and clarify the truth has meant breaking through barrier after barrier—some of them life-and-death trials. I will never forget the first time I faced such a test.
My father had been detained for appealing for Dafa in Beijing. Less than two weeks after his release, he developed severe illness symptoms, fell into a coma, and never woke up. Standing by his bedside, I faced a profound question. If Dafa protects its disciples, how could this happen? My years of cultivation up to that point had been filled with blessings—my father, who once had a terminal illness, recovered after practicing. How could it end like this? For a moment, I even wondered whether the Fa was real.
I asked myself, “Why am I cultivating?” My answer was, to reach consummation. And for what purpose? To safeguard the sentient beings in my own world. If you can’t see, how do you know it is all real? But if cultivation were fake—if Truthfulness-Compassion-Forbearance were not true—then life and death would have no meaning. I could not see divine beings with my eyes, but I believed they existed, and I believed Master was by my side.
At that moment, I felt as if my inner world shook, and a sacred, indescribable state arose in my heart. That renewed faith laid a solid foundation for my future cultivation. Whether the tests were big or small—even if I did not pass them perfectly—I felt supported.
When I later went to Tiananmen Square to appeal for Dafa, fear still arose on the surface, but an endless strength allowed me to shout, “Falun Dafa is good!” five times. The first four times, police ran back and forth but could not find me. On the fifth, they found me and slammed me head-first onto the concrete—but I felt nothing, as if numbed by anesthetic. I knew that Master had been protecting me.
After coming to the United States, my environment changed, and so did the way we practice and clarify the truth. I no longer faced life-and-death tests, but new tests arose in how sincerely I could work with others and let go of self-centered thinking.
The year I arrived, our area hosted a Shen Yun performance for the first time. There were no other local practitioners, so when the coordinating practitioner contacted me, I joined the effort—handed out flyers and guarded the Shen Yun vehicles. But at first, I felt the coordinator’s methods were too cautious and wouldn’t be effective.
For example, I once delivered flyers to a neighborhood without noticing the “No Soliciting” sign at the entrance. Afterward, the coordinator asked me to retrieve them. My first thought was, that it’s already done, and they are good materials. I’ll just be more careful next time. I then reflected, “Was I simply making excuses not to cooperate? Even if his approach seemed too cautious, he surely had his reasons.” I corrected myself. It turned out the coordinator was right—some neighborhoods had called the theater to complain about the unauthorized flyers.
In these two years, I also noticed differences from how we were in China. Trust between practitioners was sometimes lacking, complaints arose, and some newer practitioners seemed less active. Looking inward, I realized that I was measuring them with my own notions that were developed in China. Is it normal if the group is totally harmonious?
As a cultivator should I measure the relationships among fellow practitioners with my own standards? Why was I the one hearing complaints? Was there something I needed to improve on in my cultivation? And perhaps those who seemed less active were doing more behind the scenes. This process helped me see my own gaps and human attachments that I had not eliminated.
In early July, a Western practitioner invited me to join truth-clarification activities in Washington, D.C. At first, human notions held me back. I had summer classes, an unsettled life, and poor English, and I thought I wouldn’t be of much help. I then learned that only two people from my area were going. Was it because everyone was too busy to go? Cultivation depends on oneself. Nobody was forcing me to go to Washington, D.C. But was it really OK for me to refuse to go? Was I just going to stay behind? Didn’t I have human notions? It was a poor notion. My goal of coming to America was not to live an ordinary people’s life. So I realized I had to step forward.
Once I decided to go, things changed. The very next day, after months of silence, my Congressman’s aide wrote back to ask if I was a constituent. I replied truthfully that I was an international student who had lived there for two years, but that my entire family had been persecuted in China and my father was persecuted to death. Unexpectedly, the Congressman agreed to meet with me.
We spent two days in Washington, D.C. Most of the meetings were with aides, as direct meetings with Congress members were rare. On the afternoon I was scheduled to meet with my own Congressman, I sent righteous thoughts that I must meet him. On the surface, we’re seeking help, but in reality, this is his best opportunity to position himself well for the future.
When we arrived, he was voting. But his aide offered to take us directly to him outside the chamber. On the way, human notions arose—What if I forget my points? What if I don’t speak well? I sent righteous thoughts again, that we are here to save people; we have wisdom. And I also thought of those practitioners who died from the persecution, so I asked them to help me.
When I told him about my father and other practitioners killed in the persecution, a deep sadness rose from within—I almost cried, something that had never happened when writing or speaking before. I could feel that he was moved. Another practitioner then explained the facts about the transnational repression. The meeting achieved its purpose.
This taught me to never let human notions block truth-clarification. In those two days, I met many practitioners who have come to D.C. year after year to do this work. Compared to them, I still have much to improve. Yes, sometimes aides are perfunctory, but we should not be swayed by ordinary people’s attitudes. Sentient beings are making choices, and we are there to save them. We should all proactively clarify the truth to mainstream society. Some practitioners seemed tired. Fellow practitioners—let us keep going. Every sincere effort has value. Those who understand the truth are like seeds—we may not see them sprout, but one day they will blossom. Many Congress members who now support Dafa do so because of earlier truth-clarification efforts, sometimes after many conversations.
(Selected article presented at the 2025 Midwest Fa Conference)