Chasing the dragon jackie pullinger pdf free download

They put out their hands, the backs of which were scarred with needle marks—their aged faces almost without hope. Then I turned into my little alley to the room I rented and opened at night to welcome the Chinese gangsters. Outside, I found a large dark puddle.

The shadowy people around looked unconcerned. I asked fearfully. An old Cantonese man shook his head and muttered, Nothing, nothing. But the others looked away. In a place controlled by Triads, you keep your hands over your eyes to survive. It is safer to see nothing—to not be involved. Then a woman appeared with a broom and a bucket and swept the blood down the street until it was absorbed and obliterated.

Several barefoot children, babies strapped to their backs, played as if nothing were happening. Full of fear for Ah Sor, I unlocked the iron gate—a protective feature of all Hong Kong dwellings, however poor—and went into our small clubroom.

It was dark, damp smelling and hard to keep clean, as there was no water supply for the inhabitants of the Walled City. What water they needed had to be carried in buckets from taps and stand pumps outside. Terrible things crawled out of the sewers and across the clubroom walls. I was always more afraid of the large cesspool spiders than the gangsters, but that night as I sat alone in our room, my thoughts were on Ah Sor.

His mother had sold him as a baby to a childless opium addict who was frightened of going to hell without a son to worship his dead spirit. Thus, Ah Sor grew up with a desperate sense of betrayal—longing to be loved, but unable to recognize it when offered. To counterbalance his sense of total unbelonging, Ah Sor joined a Triad gang. It gave him prestige and a place to belong. He grew up fighting and earned his first spell in juvenile prison at the age of Over the years I had come to know of his life and problems and had tried to help him, but he continued to go in and out of prison and was as hopelessly hooked on drugs as was his addict stepfather.

I felt that I really loved him, but this love had not changed his life a bit, and so I sat on one of our crude handmade benches in the club and did the only thing I could—I prayed. Five minutes later, a girl burst into my room, panting, Miss Poon, go to the hospital immediately, Elizabeth Hospital—they called for you!

I just have to tell you to go quickly—something about dying. The girl disappeared into the dingy labyrinth. She was only a message carrier and knew nothing more. I locked up and collected a couple of boys I knew on the way out. We raced back through the alleys as fast as we could, and once outside the Walled City, they hailed a taxi. Hong Kong taxis need no encouragement to speed, and our driver mentally slew the other drivers. He zigzagged in and out of the traffic lanes, driving deliberately with only one hand on the steering wheel, never slowing but crashing on his brakes at the last moment.

My hands were clenched—I was praying and thinking and racing all at the same time. Maybe my friend die , I thought in Cantonese. What a miserable kind of half-life Ah Sor had lived, and how I longed to show him something better. If only he could know that somebody cared. God, please save his life—let him be saved, I prayed. The driver was, by now, bouncing up and down in his seat with excitement, and for several terrifyingly long moments he took his eyes completely off the road and swung around in his seat to observe the macho impression he was making on us.

By this time, we were all praying out loud. As if finding the Casualty Department were a surprise, our taxi screeched to a sudden halt, and we leaped out to find Ah Sor before he died. But it was not Ah Sor who was dying. It was Ah Tong. It was his blood that had left that sinister trail along the streets.

I had only known Ah Tong by reputation as one of the most depraved gang leaders. He lived off prostitution and used his gang followers, such as Ah Sor, to make collection from the brothels. Even among his own kind he was despised because he used to go to parties, seduce young girls and then sell these ruined lives into the rackets.

As we waited in the passage outside his ward, I learned more of the story. Apparently, the Seui Fong gang had hidden down a dark alley near my room, armed with knives and water pipes. This was reciprocal warfare over a brother who had been wronged years previously. The target was Ah Sor. As Ah Sor moved toward the street with Ah Tong and another brother, he was unaware of the ambush.

A knife glinted; the gang jumped and made for their victim. But Ah Tong saw them coming and threw himself in the way to protect Ah Sor. Ah Sor, with the other brother, ran home, fetched a mintoi Chinese eiderdown and wrapped up their protector, their gang boss. They staggered with him along the streets until they reached an exit and could take a taxi. After delivering their burden to the hospital, they fled. There are police at hospitals who ask questions about gang fights, and they did not want any report of this incident.

Another brother relayed this story before he, in turn, disappeared, but the only information I could extract from the nurse was that the patient would almost certainly lose his arm, if not his life. Sitting there on the hard hospital seat, I thought over what I had heard. I grew more and more impressed with the behavior of the man I had yet to see.

All right, he was evil and lived a revolting life, but I felt he had also shown a rare degree of love. Jesus said, Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.

When his family turned up, they stood aghast at our totally incomprehensible behavior. What were we, good people—Christians even—doing praying for their son? To them he was bad. He had left their home young, ran the streets, organized the gangs, and merited only a turning by on the other side. At last, the sister gave us permission to enter the ward.

Dressed as I was in old jeans and a sweater, I could understand their curious stares. We were hardly a conventional group come to administer the last rites in the middle of the night. I stood by the bedside and looked at Ah Tong. He lay desperately pale from loss of blood, with drips in his uninjured arm and a huge wad of dressing over the sutured injury.

He was deeply unconscious still. He did not immediately sit up, although I believed he might, and as long as we were there he did not recover consciousness. The bulletins from the hospital each day thereafter, however, were extraordinary. It seemed that Ah Tong was making amazing progress—almost miraculous?

And then, to our joy and with the incredulous consent of the medical staff, he was discharged. His release was within five days of the attack. He had made a remarkable recovery, keeping not only his life, but also the full use of his arm.

Anyone would think that after this miracle Ah Tong might be pleased to see one of his intercessors, but far from it. In the following months, if he ever spotted me in the dark and dreary alleys, he would run as if I were the Chief Inspector after him. He was afraid to see me.

But I did get several messages from him saying thank you. Thank me for what? I asked the message bearer—a yellow-toothed youth with a grown-out perm. He believes your prayers saved his life. The boy was sniffing and sweating and clearly in need of a fix, but he looked at me with respect.

Anything his boss believed, he was prepared to believe, too. But if Ah Tong believed that my prayers saved him, why did he run from me? The illogicality of it all puzzled me for some time. Months afterward, I found the pathetic reason behind it all. He was an addict, and he needed a shot of heroin several times a day. All the time he had been in the hospital, his girlfriend, whom he had originally raped and sold into a live sex show when she was 14, had been bringing him drugs.

Ah Tong knew I was a Christian. He knew that Christians were good people, and he knew that drug addicts were bad people. So, in his mind, it was wrong for him to express his gratitude in person. He felt dirty—not clean enough for those good Christians. It was nearly the middle of the night. I do not think he had come through any conscious decision. Can you help me? Jesus can. You did something very wonderful. A lump of spit shot from his mouth and he looked bitterly at me. You must be joking!

Your brother is one thing, but no one dies for his enemy! That is just what Jesus did. He not only died for his own gang but also for everyone in the other gangs. He was the Son of God. He never did wrong but healed people and made them whole—and He died for His enemies—for us. If we believe in Him, He will give us His life because He loves us. Four things: 1. Rex is the main protagonist in both novels; 2.

Both stories have captivating and complex plot lines, and they're also chock-full of brutal action scenes; 3. Buy Chasing the Dragon Rev. Chasing the Dragon tells the whole amazing story exactly as it happened. Equally amazing has been the reach of this ministry, now detailed in this updated and revised edition.

That's chasing the dragon. This term is a bit more complicated than merely "smoking opium". It starts when you have your first high, the world is peaceful, everything is perfect, you're numb, but in.

George failed in his mission, and the Dragon still walks the Earth, protected by an undead army, hiding in Author: Nicholas Kaufmann. It forms the. I have many of her books waiting on Kindle and now I understand why everyone gifted those books or convinced me I needed my own copy.

The writing in this story is breath-taking. By: Jackie Pullinger,Andrew Quicke. Narrated by: Deryn Edwards. Cancel anytime. The Culture of Honor is a book of reformation. It is intended to disrupt our current model of authority. Jesus put it like this in Matthew "But Jesus called them to Himself and said. Addicts and family and friends share their experiences with opiate addiction. January 5, View Transcript. George failed in his mission, and the Dragon still walks the Earth, protected by an undead army, hiding in the shadows and slaughtering men, women, and children for its prey.

Expenses of diplomatic officials in Haiti and Santo Domingo. Letter from the Secretary of the Treasury, transmitting a copy of a communication from the Secretary of State submitting an estimate of appropriation for expenses of diplomatic officials in Haiti and Santo Domingo.

Chasing the Dragon is the story of British missionary Jackie Pullinger to what was the squalid Walled City area in Hong Kong and her efforts to bring the Christian message to the poor and needy. Chasing the Dragon is one of my favorite internship books. Pullinger's autobiography of her ministry in Hong Kong's walled city of Kowloon inspires, challenges, and captivates. Chasing the Dragon book. Read 52 reviews from the world's largest community for readers.

Centuries ago, St. Requiem for Medusa and Chasing the Dragon are unequivocally the two best prequels in Anspach and Cole's outstanding Galaxy's Edge series. What makes them so outstanding. Four things: 1. Rex is the main protagonist in both novels; 2.

Both stories have captivating and complex plot lines, and they're also chock-full of brutal action scenes; 3. Buy Chasing the Dragon Rev. Chasing the Dragon tells the whole amazing story exactly as it happened.

Equally amazing has been the reach of this ministry, now detailed in this updated and revised edition. That's chasing the dragon. This term is a bit more complicated than merely "smoking opium". It starts when you have your first high, the world is peaceful, everything is perfect, you're numb, but in.

George failed in his mission, and the Dragon still walks the Earth, protected by an undead army, hiding in Author: Nicholas Kaufmann. It forms the. I have many of her books waiting on Kindle and now I understand why everyone gifted those books or convinced me I needed my own copy.