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THE WAYWARD SHEEP

My Journey to Salvation and God’s Love

PEGGY CHAN

Copyright © 2019 by Peggy Chan.

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-5437-4929-8 eBook 978-1-5437-4928-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Chapter 1 Shock and Disbelief

Chapter 2 Ancestral Worship

Chapter 3 Why Cancer?

Chapter 4 The Change

Chapter 5 More Questions

Chapter 6 God’s Love Manifested

Addendum

About The Author

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my mum and sisters, who are dearly missed and forever ed.

Acknowledgements

I would like to acknowledge the of the SPS community in encouraging the birth of this book. Thanks also go to my editor Sara Zibrat, who has been a great source of help with her impeccable editing and most helpful suggestions. Last but not least, my grateful thanks to the Lord for His guidance in the writing of this book. Glory be unto Him, our loving Heavenly Father.

Introduction

Life’s hustle and bustle barely leaves us time to think. It is not uncommon to ask ourselves, “Is this what life is all about? All this rushing from one place to another?” You feel that something’s missing in your life, something you can’t quite put your finger on. Despite your successes, there is this feeling of emptiness — a kind of restlessness — and you don’t know why it’s there. The 9-5 grind and (for moms) the daily school rounds, household chores, baby schedules, etc., etc. … we’re like hamsters running round and round on the wheel. It’s only when a crisis hits us that we freeze in place or pause. That’s when we utter, “Oh God!” “Oh my God!” Otherwise, God is always on the back shelf. On Sundays, some of us go to church, either out of habit or just to conform. Then it’s back to doing what we usually do on a Sunday with family and/or friends, and God is back on the shelf. It was that “Oh my God!” moment when a crisis hit my family. I tried to make sense of the contradiction of what I’ve been told God is and what I perceived happening in my family. Do you know that God is Love? Aren’t you always taught that? God is Love! Well, I didn’t think so, not when I saw how my mum and sisters suffered and He allowed them to suffer. Where was His love, mercy and comion? God had never figured in my life, although I was educated in schools run by Christian missionaries. Now I was forced to confront Him. God works in strange ways. Here was this wayward sheep, stubborn, ornery, digging its hoofs in, or going its own way, although His Hand was proffered many times. But He was Love and He had infinite patience, waiting to bring this sheep safely into His fold.

I feel compelled to share with you about God’s Love and how He finally saved the wayward sheep, doing it His way and in His own time. My journey took an incredibly long time. I went through many doubts and much pain, and finally emerged as a new-born Christian. God has guided me in writing this memoir, to bring you and others the message that He is Love and He wants all of us to have the gift of eternal life. Please read my book. God willing, it will bring you closer to Him, and to establish a relationship with Him, if you still haven’t done so. Please don’t leave Him on the back shelf. That’s why you feel empty and restless. He is waiting for you to accept Him and invite Him into your life. Make Him an important part of your life. This is what is missing. Make time for God in your life before it’s too late. Don’t wait until that “Oh my God” moment! Having Him in your life will bring blessings upon you and yours. God bless and glory be unto God, our Heavenly Father.

Chapter 1 Shock and Disbelief

I sat helpless, as copious tears flowed down my sister’s cheeks. Her eyes, red and swollen, were pools of bewildered despair. “Why me? Why me? Why?” she sobbed. I knew she was thinking of her children, who were still in high school. They still needed her. What would happen to them? Who would look after them? My heart contracted and my tears welled up as I watched her, consumed by her misery and grief. The doctor had earlier confirmed that she had “the big C.” C for Cancer. She had breast cancer. Cancer, the dreaded disease. It strikes terror in all women, especially breast cancer. It meant losing one’s crowning glory, becoming bald and ugly. It meant losing one’s breasts and becoming de-womanized. It meant Death was beckoning. Having cancer was a fate too horrible to contemplate, let alone for one to accept it. I held my sister’s hand, not knowing what to say. Even as my tears rolled down my cheeks, could I in all honesty say, “I wish it were me and not you”? What good would it do, even if it were true? In fact, I was in dread, too. When would it be my turn? I squeezed her hand in our shared grief, hoping to convey what I had no words for. My mind was in turmoil, my thoughts churning over and over. Our mother was at home, dying from cancer and lying in a drug-infused stupor. The doctor said that the primary site was her breast, but the renegade cells had migrated to her brain and finally into her bones. The pain she was suffering was excruciating. Even a light touch on her arm would make her wince, pull back and grimace in pain. All her energy had been sapped, drained by the malignant cells. She hardly had the strength to vocalize.

She used to have a well-rounded figure — the result of twelve pregnancies (one every year), but only ten of us had survived. Now she was only a shadow of herself. It was not just cancer that my sister and mother had in common. They were both Christians. Mum was a Catholic who was baptized very late in life, after my father finally gave her permission to convert when she was well into her sixties. This was a very big concession on his part, because he was a very strict traditionalist who adhered to the religious practices that had been handed down from generation to generation in our big extended family. Our Asian family practised ancestral worship. We have ancestral frames on a family altar in the dining room. On special religious feast days and on death anniversaries, we would pray to our ancestors, offer food and fruit, and burn joss sticks and joss papers (which are equivalent to currency in the after world). These were burnt in the belief that our ancestors would receive them and use them in the other world. Grandma would go vegetarian during festival days and visit the Chinese temple, bringing fruits to offer to the deities. She always prayed for the family, asking for good health and abundant blessings. In the first week of April, during the annual Qing Ming or Tomb Sweeping Day, the family would go to the graves of our ancestors to pray. However, families also have the option of going to the graves during the period that spans the ten days before through the ten days after the actual Tomb Sweeping Day. This is to enable those who live far away to return and to carry out their duty of cleaning the tombs and making offerings to their departed loved ones. The cemeteries were usually located on hilly ground. The higher up on the hill the tombstones were, the better the Feng Shui (energy) and of course, the more expensive it was to purchase those sites for one’s ancestors. On these days, the cemetery was usually a hive of activity, as groups of people huddled around their ancestors’ graves to perform the same rituals. Our paternal grandfather’s tomb was high up on the hill, and it was not an easy climb. We had to walk around other tombs, through long grass and over stony ground. My father and brothers often had to cut our way through the overgrown vegetation to get to Grandfather’s tomb. The site and size of a tomb was an indication of the family’s social status.

Grandfather’s was a large semi-circular tomb, where the back wall was much higher than the sides. Once there, we would do the general cleaning. Overgrown grass and weeds that surrounded the tomb were cut and disposed of in rubbish bags. The faded Chinese characters on the tombstone would be re-painted. The younger ones were tasked with laying out multi-colored pieces of paper all around the tomb, each held in place by a stone to prevent it from being blown away by the wind. Then our elders would spread out a feast at the base of the tombstone. Holding joss sticks, we would all kneel and pray, asking for good health and abundant blessings, after which we would burn the joss papers. If the ashes flew high into the air, it meant that our ancestors were pleased with our offerings and we could look forward to a good year ahead. My father had finally given in to my mum’s constant pleas to be baptized. She had been educated in a convent school and had been very close to her teachers (who were Irish nuns). When she had fallen ill, he voiced his concerns that Mum was being punished for “deserting” the traditional ancestral worship practices and forgetting her roots. My sister no longer participated in our ancestral worship because she had converted to Christianity after getting to know her boyfriend (who was a Christian). Many years later, they got married and had three children, all of whom were baptized at birth. Now she was also sick, like our mum. This had a big impact on me. What was their Christian God doing? I knew that people who had been baptized into Christianity are said to become children of God. Children are favoured by their parents, who usually give them the best of things. Yet God, as their Father, was giving them cancer!! Surely He could not be punishing them? They were His children! No, punishing would be too harsh a word. I just could not reconcile this with the general perception of God — God as the loving Heavenly Father of Christians. Maybe He’s testing their faith. In the case of my mum, if she was being punished for abandoning ancestral worship (as my father believed), then why didn’t He heal her? She was one of His own. Yes, that’s it! It has to be! Their God was testing their faith!! But for what? Wasn’t it enough that they had abandoned what they had been brought up to

believe in and had converted to Christianity? They had braved family criticisms, censure and the disquiet of the elders. Surely their God should be happy that He had two more Christians?? Why did they have to suffer? What was His purpose? No wonder I didn’t want to have anything to do with their God! I didn’t want to suffer what they were suffering. I was convinced that Christians had to suffer (in order to a test that their God had set) before they could be acknowledged as children of God. Many of my other Christian friends had also been struck down with the big C. Oh no, becoming a Christian was not for me! Let me be! I was content to be what I was, an outsider. I would rather not be a child of God if it meant suffering like my sister and mum. Not even my son’s letter could move me. Knowing full well that I would certainly brush him off if he were to talk to me about Christ, my youngest child (he was then in high school) had written me a letter. In it, he begged me to become a Christian. He didn’t want to see me left behind — on the other side of the chasm — after death. Christians would be saved, he said, and they would be on one side, having eternal life in Heaven, while the non-believers would be left behind, on the other side of the yawning chasm, destined for Hell. He wanted me, his mum, to be on his side of the chasm, together with him. I couldn’t see it happening. I didn’t want to be a Christian. I didn’t think that his God was a good God — a God of Love — if he made his Christian children suffer so terribly. I was also terrified that a calamity might befall my son, too, if his God chose to test his faith. I dared not voice my misgivings to my son or my sister because they would have pooh-poohed my fears. They would have said that God would never do that. My son was disappointed in my refusal to accept Christ but he said he would continue to pray for me. He would pray for my salvation.

Chapter 2 Ancestral Worship

It is not as if I came from a totally heathen background. All along, I had been educated in mission schools (schools founded by the Christian missionaries) and was familiar with the stories of Jesus Christ, as religious education was part of our curriculum. My sister and I had attended Methodist schools, all the way from kindergarten up through high school and the sixth form. Each Sunday, Mum would dress us in our Sunday best and style our hair, adorning it with pretty ribbons. Then we would walk to the school where Sunday school was taught. Each week we would listen to a Bible story and be given a picture of the story that we brought home and kept in a special file. In elementary school, I used to play the piano as my schoolmates sang hymns. It was the same in high school. A pastor would preach to us about Christ. However, none of this had any effect on me. I dutifully played the piano and listened to the pastor’s message. Just like all the other school girls in the hall, I bowed my head in prayer when the pastor prayed for us. However, despite the regular dose of Christian teachings and prayers, I did not feel moved to become a Christian. I continued to visit the temple with my grandma and practised ancestral worship. When I was in college in the UK, I had a traumatic experience. I was having very severe headaches and Sister (who had been on her rounds, checking on our residential quarters) asked me to follow her back to the sick bay, where she would give me something for my headaches. She was walking ahead of me and suddenly I couldn’t see. Everything had become blurred and grey. “Sister, Sister, I can’t see you!” I shouted in panic. I had lost the vision in one eye and could hardly see out of the other eye. Apparently, I had walked into the flower beds. Sister then led me by the hand to the sick bay. The college matron bundled me off to the eye infirmary and I was hospitalized for quite a while, as the doctors tried to figure out why I was losing my sight.

It was a very frightening episode in my life. A nurse had to take me to the bathroom because I couldn’t see to get there. She ran the bath for me and helped me to get into the tub. Then she closed the door behind me but didn’t lock it. All the while, I was terrified that someone could walk into the bathroom. (There were male nurses at that time and also on the same ward.) I was afraid to voice my fears because I felt they would laugh at me. My condition was eventually diagnosed as glaucoma and it puzzled the doctors because that was an old person’s disease. It should not happen to a seventeenyear-old. Drops were placed in my eyes a few times each day. Slowly, I began to see again and my vision gradually improved each day that I was there. I was given onion soup daily, as onions are good for the eyes— or so the nurses told me, when I asked why I had to drink onion soup every day. I disliked the smell and was convinced that in the impending summer heat, I would soon be oozing sweat, smelling of onions. (It was quite warm in the wards because the other women patients were old ladies who didn’t like drafts, so the ceiling fans were never run at full speed.) It was not at all fun for me to be there. I was the only young person on that ward; being an Asian set me apart even more. I felt isolated and cut off from all that usually comforted me. I also had to practise a kind of lawn bowling in the hospital garden, where I had to roll balls to make them hit one another. I was told that this was to exercise my eyes. During that lonely period in hospital, a pastor frequently came by to visit. He prayed for me to get well, but I knew he was trying to convert a heathen to Christianity. At first, I listened to what he had to say, but in the end, I told him that I was not interested in becoming a Christian. “I cannot and I will not become a Christian. My family back home will not be happy. We practise ancestral worship and I will always do so. I’m the eldest daughter and duty-bound to do what my father says.” The pastor said he would continue to pray for me and for the salvation of my soul, but he didn’t stop by my bed anymore. I gradually recovered my vision and was discharged from the eye hospital, but I had to remain on eye drops to control the pressure in my eyes. My medical file was given to me so that when I returned to my country, I could give it to the

doctor there, in case there were any recurring episodes of blurred vision. The eye drops would be a life-time prescription and my eyes would have to be routinely checked throughout the rest of my life. My college friends invited me to gospel rallies to listen to testimonies and to the speakers. I saw people going forward to affirm their faith, to receive Christ, and the pastor prayed over them. He held out his hands as he prayed. I was shocked to see some of them “Slain” (as my Christian friends put it). Some of these people just fell backwards onto the floor in a faint, while others were caught and held up by the people standing behind them. “Or were they pushed??” I wondered, and I refused to go forward and be “slain,” despite my friends’ urging. “Don’t worry, we won’t let you fall. We’ll be behind to catch you,” they said, trying to encourage me to do it. There was a stubborn core of hardness in my heart. I would not become a Christian, no matter how many times my friends shared the gospel with me. “I know about Jesus Christ and the Bible stories. You don’t need to tell me.” “You know, you’re very ungrateful! Lord Jesus healed you and gave you back your sight. You should thank Him and become a Christian.” “The doctors healed me. They gave me the eye drops that enabled me to see again. Why should Jesus heal me? I’m not a Christian and I don’t pray to Him.” “Jesus loves everyone, whether Christian or non-Christian. He sent the pastor to pray for your recovery. He wants you to be one of His children. He loves you, so He healed you through the doctors.” My stubborn streak refused to see or accept their reasoning. My friends eventually gave up on me. Maybe it wasn’t the right time for me, back then. They wisely concluded that God’s plans for me would be revealed sometime in the future. They felt that God would touch me later, when I was ready to accept Him. I was relieved that they would no longer push me to attend such rallies or tire me out with their constant evangelizing!

When I returned home after completing my studies, a very zealous friend tried to convert me to Christianity. Whenever she called me and started on her spiel, my reaction was “Oh, no! Not again!” Finally, unable to stand it anymore, I told her that I wasn’t interested in her “sharing,” and that if she continued to persist in harassing me toward that end, I would no longer be her friend. That put a stop to her evangelizing. I was happy to be left alone and dutifully participated in the ancestral worship, especially during the Chinese Lunar New Year. The eve of the Chinese Lunar New Year was a very important day. We had to pray to our departed ancestors and invite them to come into our home for a sumptuous feast, specially laid out for them. The main door would be left wide open for our ancestors’ spirits to enter the house. My father would light three joss sticks and pray outside, to invite his departed parents and other departed relatives to come in and feast. Then it would be our family ’ turn to light joss sticks and pray before the ancestral tablets on the family altar. We (the grandchildren) would pray to our departed grandparents and relatives for their continued blessings, for good health and for excellent results in our school examinations. These departed relatives would feast at the main dining table in the dining room. Platters of chicken, pork, prawns, fish, vegetables, special New Year cakes and fruit would be laid out on the table, together with tiny cups of brandy and cigarettes. Seven place settings of rice bowls, chopsticks and soup spoons would be laid out and there would be seven empty seats at the dining table. I do not understand why there are always seven place settings and I failed to ask my grandmother. Now I will never know. Another table of similar offerings would be set up at the open back door of the house. This was for the in-laws (my departed maternal grandparents), and we would invite them to come in and feast at that table. We also prayed for their blessings upon us. At this table there were only three place settings, as my departed grandparents would be accompanied by a spirit guide. During the period of their feasting, we would pour refills of brandy into the tiny cups and light cigarettes at the places intended for those whom we knew used to smoke.

After an appropriate length of time, my father would take two coins and pray, before tossing them into the air. This was to find out if our “guests” had finished partaking of the meal. If the coins landed with one “heads” and the other “tails,” it indicated that they had finished the meal. This meant that we could now burn the joss money, the paper clothing, shoes, and gadgets like tablets, smart phones, etc. — all artistically made of paper — so that they would receive them in the other world. The spirits also needed to keep up with the latest in technology! We had a large basin in which we would burn these offerings. When the last of the joss money had been burnt, we would pour the little cups of liquor (using a circular motion) onto the still-burning ashes. This was to prevent other spirits that might be lurking around from stealing what we had burnt as offerings for our relatives. When the ashes flew high into the air, we were happy because it meant that our ancestors were pleased with us. This ritual was repeated for the back table, too. When all the offerings were burnt and done, we re-heated the food and sat down to dine on the delicious feast. These were special dishes, some of which were expensive delicacies that were only available during the Chinese New Year season. However, my Christian siblings would not us. They said the food was not acceptable. It had already been offered to spirits and this was against their faith. In fact, with Mel (one of my siblings who was a very devout Christian), this was a big bone of contention between her and her non-Christian spouse. In the end, her very enlightened father-in-law put aside food which had not been prayed over, so that she could eat it. There was an incident which I need to share that had me thinking hard. At one of our New Year Eve prayer rituals, my brother (my father had since ed on and he had taken over my father’s role as head of the family in these matters) tried many times to check if our departed “guests” had finished dinner, but to no avail. The coins always showed two heads or two tails. Then he asked, “Who hasn’t prayed? Come and pray now!” Those among us who hadn’t prayed were those who had converted to Christianity— one of my sisters and a nephew. So they had no choice but to hold the joss sticks and pray. After they had prayed,

my brother tossed the coins again and this time he was given the positive message. Our “guests” had finished their dinner. So, it is hard not to believe that their spirits were present at the table and they, as invited guests, rightly wanted to be honoured by everyone in the house. After all, one of the ten commandments is “Honour Thy Father and Mother.” (I think my sister and nephew later asked for forgiveness from their God.) But could ancestral worship be considered idol worship? There are no idols to speak of, just the names of our deceased parents and ancestors on a piece of paper, which is framed. I was not convinced. It is the time-honoured way of ing them and paying respect to them. It is part of our cultural heritage, handed down by our fore fathers. Then what about the Catholics? Their churches have statues — statues of Mother Mary and Lord Jesus on the cross. They pray to Mary, Mother of Jesus. They also pray to saints, e.g. St. Jude, patron saint of hopeless cases, and St. Christopher, patron saint of the highways. Yet, Catholics are Christians. Or could the statues be there to help them focus on their prayers? This was suggested when I asked a Catholic friend. I was confused. To avoid further conflict, my siblings and family of the Christian faith would only come to us after the prayers were over. They had eaten elsewhere before coming to the family get-together. They came to participate in the tossing of the “Yee Sang” (raw fish salad) for prosperity and success in the coming year and to enjoy the fellowship, as not all of us resided in the same city. This tossing of the raw fish salad or “Lou hei” is a tradition still practised today by all Chinese people in Southeast Asia. Everyone in the family gathers around the table and, using chopsticks, would toss the salad as high as they can, wishing for good health, prosperity, good luck etc., etc. so that we would all have a good and prosperous year ahead. This salad has a mix of julienned carrots, radish, cucumber, small crackers, pounded roasted peanuts and a sweet and sour sauce plus a little bit of oil and slivers of raw salmon or jellyfish. The tossing ensures that the salad is thoroughly mixed and then we help ourselves to it.

Chapter 3 Why Cancer?

“Don’t let Mum know. She’s sick, so don’t let her or Papa know about my illness.” My sister’s thoughts had now turned to our elderly parents. Her concern for them had turned her focus away from her own illness for the time being. Her in-laws were very staunch Christians and her church would rally around her with their prayers. As siblings, we gave her our moral and prayed to our own gods, in our own ways, for her recovery. All her lymph nodes were removed, followed by chemotherapy and radiation at the government hospital. Private hospitals were too expensive. All of us (her six sisters — myself, Suzie, Renee, Mel, Angie and Ruthie) also went to the hospital to be screened, to find out if any of us had cancer, too. That was the first time I heard about tumour markers. Our blood was drawn to test for cancer. If the results came back with higher readings than normal, then we had to be on the alert for physical symptoms. For example, we were advised to do self-breast examination and feel for lumps. We also had to go for annual mammograms. My sister Lori (who already had the cancer) went one step further. She went for gene testing to find out if she carried any defective gene that pre-disposed her to cancer. The doctor had advised it since our mum had cancer. The results came back positive. She did indeed have the defective gene, which meant that her daughter could also have the gene and be at risk for cancer, too. This was a very expensive test and was not available in our country. She had hers done in another country. The rest of us didn’t do this gene testing since it wasn’t locally available. In truth, we were probably afraid to find out. What we didn’t know wouldn’t frighten us as much as knowing that we had the defective gene.

Later, we got the news that Lori had gone into remission and we were all very happy and relieved. Life went on as normal until the cancer cells returned with a vengeance. Living in a country that had better medical care and better drugs, she went into remission again. In the course of twenty years, the disease returned three times. However, each time it recurred, it was caught in the early stages, thanks to the advanced medical technology available to her in her adopted country. She is still being monitored, with routine check-ups twice a year. She attributed this triumph over the disease to her God. Her prayers, the prayers of her friends and church had been answered. Their God had granted her remission from the cancer. She continues to praise her God for His love and mercy. I, the non-believer, was not convinced. Why give her the disease in the first place? Was it to show His power over life and death, and He granted her remission so that she would always praise and worship Him? He didn’t have to do that! As a Christian, she always worships Him in church and reads the Bible daily. My sister is a good Christian. She never misses church services and she is always helpful and kind, doing voluntary work to glorify her God. I simply could not understand her God. In fact, when she embraced Christianity while she was still in high school, my father had laughed at her, scornfully saying that she went to church to “search” (not for God, but for a boyfriend), but she persisted in attending church services. (There was a modicum of truth in what my father had said, because that was where she met her boyfriend, who is now her husband.) We have learned to not take life for granted. We could be healthy one day and could be incapacitated by the next day. Disease comes stealthily, like a thief in the night. It doesn’t matter whether you pray fervently every day or not. You get struck down, in the blink of an eye. That’s how it happened with Mum. She was always up and about, despite her age. She used to drive herself around in her small car, running errands and doing a load of other stuff. One day, she had a blackout while driving and, fortunately, her car came to a stop on a grassy bank. She was very lucky that the young man who came to her aid was a hospital assistant and that he had been one of her former students. He

recognized her, resuscitated her and had the ambulance take her to the hospital. It was there that they discovered she had cancer. On top of her high blood pressure and diabetes, she now had cancer! She was by now a Catholic and almost seventy years old. As in the case of my sister, she, too, could not believe that she had cancer. “Why me? Why?” I her saying at the dining table when I was with her on one of my rare visits home. I was living in another part of the country, across the South China Sea, and the airfares home were exorbitant then, as there were no low-cost budget carriers. I could only afford to fly home with my children once a year, during the school holidays. I could hear the unspoken question in her mind. Why did God give her cancer? She wanted to live for many more years so that she could travel. She loved to travel overseas, visiting countries she had only read about in the past. Cancer meant death— a horrible, slow and painful death. I how insensitive and cruel I was then, when I told my mum plainly that all of us had to die someday. We couldn’t hope to live forever. Once I said that, I couldn’t take back those words. How I wished I hadn’t been so direct! Those words must have shocked and hurt her terribly. I should have realised that she wanted sympathy and love — hand-holding. But that was me then, brash and unthinking before I opened my mouth. Mum had always told me to mind my words. I was always too forthright and never minced my words. Now in my old age, I would like to think that I have managed a degree of control. So that brought me back to the subject of the Christian God. To me then, He was an unkind and unloving God who would let His Christian subjects suffer the terrible disease of cancer. I began to hate Him. He was the omnipotent God. Nothing was impossible for Him, yet He let my mum suffer, my mum who had become a Christian. Why didn’t He heal her? Why wouldn’t He heal her? My heart hardened even more. What I didn’t know then was how much more cruel He would be. Mum suffered terribly from her pain. We were fortunate that a doctor friend made the effort to come to our home daily to inject her with the pain-killing drug

that would give her some relief. However, the drug soon lost its effect. It was such a hopeless feeling, looking at her frail figure lying semi-conscious on her bed, her face grey with pain. I would like to think that she could sense our presence when we, her children, gathered around her. As I was not living in the same city, I was not with her when she ed on. It had been an excruciating two years of intense pain for her as the cancer slowly devoured her. My younger sister, Suzie (who is a housewife), was able to spend a lot of time with her. She told me that when Mum was ing, she had cried out, “Light… Light” and the house maid (who was also a Catholic), realised what was happening and told Mum to follow the light. “Follow the light, aunty! Follow the light!” Mum then ed on. I received the news from my brother. Sorrow and devastation set in. My mum was gone! She had left us. This left a big hole in my heart. Even though I had been the most rebellious of all her children and had always argued and fought with her, the fact that she was now dead cut me to the quick. The woman who had loved and nurtured all ten of us was no more. Death had released her from her pain and I was relieved that her suffering had ended, but I felt the loss of Mum acutely. I cried throughout the flight home for her funeral. We were all dressed in black. Grandchildren did not have to wear black, as their parents were still living. Her coffin stood in the living room, surrounded by flowers. The garden was inundated with huge bouquets of flowers on stands. A large marquee had been set up for visitors who came to pay their respects and give donations to help with funeral expenses. This was known as “White gold.” White gold is always associated with death and is regarded as a mark of respect for the deceased. The monetary donation is enclosed in a white envelope. Friends and relatives came and went throughout the day and night, bringing along with them the obligatory white gold. All the white gold donations that were received were recorded and later channelled to charities in my mother’s name.

The wake was held for two nights and Christian friends and from her church came to our house. They sang hymns and prayed for her repose. I also ed in the singing, as I knew the hymns from school. It touched me that her church and friends came to pray for her and sing the hymns she would have been familiar with. My tears flowed freely as we all sang the hymn “Amazing Grace.” In their prayers, they referred to her as “our sister-in-Christ.” This was the first time I learned the phrase “sisters and brothers in Christ” and that Christians referred to themselves as a big family in Christ. I tucked that nugget of knowledge away in my mind. Then came the day of her burial. My brother walked ahead, carrying her portrait as he led the hearse out of the compound of our family home. We all walked behind it. Later, we boarded the chartered bus to accompany Mum on her last journey. (My brother had hired a bus to take relatives and friends who needed transportation to the cemetery.) My father had to stay at home because tradition dictated that the surviving spouse could not accompany the deceased on her last journey. His brother kept him company. She was buried in the Christian cemetery in another little town about 40 kilometres away, where there were still burial plots available. Those who had accompanied us to the cemetery were given a white towel and a red packet containing a small amount of money which had to be spent later, on the same day, to buy sweets. I don’t know the real reason for this. It was a customary practice which is still observed today. It could possibly be an acknowledgement of their presence at the burial and a token of appreciation. It could also be that the red packet was to ward off any evil spirits lurking around, since the cemetery is considered to be an unlucky place. Red signifies good luck. After my mum’s ing, my father’s health deteriorated. It is a well-known fact that the surviving spouse goes into depression. At first, he seemed to lose the will to carry on. It took a while before he recovered. His younger brother kept him company and they went traveling. Two frail old widowers in their midseventies, they even went back to visit their ancestral home in China. They also came to visit me. A few years later, dementia set in. My father suffered from Alzheimer’s. He was

in his late seventies and went downhill fast. On top of that, he was diagnosed with cancer. His nephew visited him and shared the Gospel with him, trying to get my sick father to accept Jesus Christ. I don’t know if my father could understand what his nephew said to him or what he was trying to do. Later, his nephew insisted that my father had nodded in response to his question and accepted Christ as his Saviour. But one thing struck me. Why is it that people always try to get the sick and dying to convert to Christianity? Some could have converted because they feared that they would go to Hell after they died. Most people, even the non-believers, especially the old people, know that Hell is a place of suffering — a pit of raging flames that consumes the spirits of those who have led evil lives. Even my sister Mel (who was a staunch Christian) used to say that nonChristians would go to Hell after they die because they didn’t accept Christ and thus were not saved. So, could it not be fear of Hell that led them to convert, rather than a belief in Christ? In my heart, I couldn’t have hated God more. If indeed my father had accepted Christ, then why did He allow my father to suffer from stomach cancer? Did he (already suffering from Alzheimer’s) still have to a test at that age? Cancer was stalking us! Was He singling out our family? There were millions of families out there. Then I realized that they could be suffering too — from cancer or from other forms of suffering. It wasn’t just us. There never was an answer except the usual one that says “God has His plans.” Lori, my Christian sister, always said, “It’s all in God’s plan.” God granted her remission because He had plans for her. My reaction to that was this: “Okay, God has His plans. Let it be. I’ve had enough of teachings about God and that God is Love.” I could not reconcile God’s love with the suffering inflicted on people. But God must love my sister because He granted her remission and she is still alive and well. She must have ed His test! She does charity work and always helps others. Was this His plan for her? Grant her remission so that she could help other people? So she could be a testimony of His love? “God is good. I’m blessed,” she always says.

Maybe her prayers and her church ’ prayers for her recovery had moved God and so He answered their prayers. Many people had prayed for her, so this must mean that many people’s prayers are more powerful and God is more likely to listen and answer their prayers — prayers by their brothers and sisters in Christ. I kept this on the back burner in my mind.

Chapter 4 The Change

My office clerk transferred the call into my office. “Meg, Renee is undergoing emergency surgery. Ovarian cancer, stage four. She may not make it.” Oh no! Not again! My sister Renee was another sibling who had accepted Christianity. Oh, dear God! Why? “I’ll be on the next plane. Which hospital?” Instructing the school clerk to apply for emergency leave on my behalf, I rushed home, threw a few clothes into a small bag, and headed to the airport. I managed to get on the earliest flight back to the capital city. On board the two-hour forty-minute flight, I thought back to the scene just a week before. It was the Chinese Lunar New Year and our extended family was gathered together in the family home. We were chatting and munching on cookies and Mandarin oranges as we caught up with one another. I had noticed that my sister Renee was looking wan and tired. Her abdomen looked very bloated. I sensed that she was not well. Since it was the holiday season, doctors were not available, so I told her to go for a check-up once the holidays were over. Being the oldest in the family, and knowing that I had to fly home the next day because of work commitments, I had tasked my sister Lori to accompany Renee to the doctor’s office. As soon as we de-planed, I rushed to the hospital. Renee was out of surgery — a terrible sight with all the tubes sticking out of her. Her eyes were closed and her face deathly pale. My other sister, Lori (the one in remission), spoke to me outside of Renee’s room.

“It’s confirmed. Renee has ovarian cancer. Her tumour markers were more than 800. Normal figures are less than 40. It’s stage 4.” There were tears in her eyes. My own tears welled up and spilled over. Oh no! My sweet little sister, Renee, with the lovely long neck. So beautiful, timid and soft-spoken… how could this happen to her?? Why?? The doctor came along. He wanted to speak with us. Renee’s husband was also there. “I’m sorry. We couldn’t remove every growth. There were too many and a couple were too close to the vital organs.” “How long …?” Renee’s husband could not finish what he wanted to say. “Two months, six at the most.” The doctor patted my brother-in-law’s shoulder and walked away. Heavy-hearted, we were lost in our own thoughts, oblivious of the tears coursing down our cheeks. Our beautiful Renee was going to die very soon. My sister Mel, a very devout Christian, rallied us. She said that we must all pray for her recovery, that we mustn’t give up hope, for God is mighty and merciful. She would marshal her church to pray for Renee, and we must do likewise. I had my inner demons to fight. Another member of my family! Why was God doing this? “Everything is God’s Will.” This statement is always uttered by Christians. “Everything is God’s will. His Will be done.” How cruel could He be? Renee’s son had just completed elementary school. He was only twelve years old. How could God take away his mum from him when he still needed her? She was still so young, barely fifty. I railed at God. I was seething. If He were a physical entity, I would have punched Him. “I hate you, God! Christians say God is Love. Pastors have always stressed that God is Love. Is this love, God, to rob a child of his mum? How can You be Love and do this? Why? Why?? Tell me, God! I need an answer!”

When Renee left the hospital, she had to undergo the mandatory rounds of chemotherapy. The cocktail of toxic drugs that are meant to destroy the cancer cells also killed the healthy ones. Each session would leave her depleted. It drained away her energy, robbed her of her vitality. Her system seemed to be burning up and ulcers formed in her mouth. Her hair dropped off. Sick and miserable, she covered her bald head with a headscarf even though she was at home. She had good days and bad days. On bad days, there were bouts of nausea and vomiting. She couldn’t get out of bed. On good days, she was mostly fatigued and couldn’t do much. Friends from her church and my younger sister Mel (the devout Christian) prayed very hard for her. Mel photocopied special healing prayers and prayed with Renee, reciting those prayers three times a day, just like taking medication. Renee always had her Bible and healing prayers in her hands, reading and praying. She desperately wanted to live, to be there for her children, who were still at school. They needed her. She prayed very hard. Mel prayed very hard. She got all her church groups to hold prayers for Renee. By then, I had already flown home, as I had a school to run and classes to teach. I couldn’t stay away too long. My thoughts were constantly with Renee. I thought back to what my other sister, Lori (the one in remission), had said. “God is Love and He answers prayers, but in His own time and according to His plans.” First my mum, then my in-remission sister, Lori, followed by my dad, and now Renee. My back was to the wall. I had railed against God but that had no effect. I wasn’t a Christian. Why would He take any notice of me? He wouldn’t have time for a non-believer who raved and ranted — a stubborn, wayward, puny being who dared to shake her fist at Him, the omnipotent God. I standing at my bedroom window, looking out at the setting sun and the darkening sea. I recalled what Lori, now in remission, had said about prayers. I decided I would give it a shot! If I prayed, would He listen? Would He accept my prayer? Would He listen to a non-believer praying to Him? I determined to try. There was nothing to lose.

I think this was the turning point in my journey. I had never before felt the urge to pray and to ask God for help. I needed to help Renee, my beloved younger sister. I would do anything for Renee, even to beg her God to spare her. So, standing at the open window, looking at the setting sun, I beseeched God — the Christian God — to spare my sister Renee. My tears were streaming down my face as I spoke to God. “God, please let my sister live! Do not take her away. Her son is still so young. He needs her. Listen to me, God! I only know You as an unkind and cruel God because You let cancer take hold in my sisters and parents. It was Your will. God, You must hear me! “I never wanted to be a Christian but I promise to become a Christian if You let my sister Renee live. I will not hate You anymore if You do not take Renee away. Her son needs her. Please God, leave Renee be. I will be a Christian if You let Renee live.” I kept on and on, asking God to let Renee live. I cried and I promised over and over to be a Christian. I begged Him. “Please, God, take away four years of my life and add them to Renee’s. Her young son needs those four years with her. Please God! Please spare Renee!” Why four? Because by then her son would have completed high school and be four years older. Each day I would say the same thing. I would be a Christian if Renee lived. I don’t know if God heard me or whether He even cared that a non-believer was beseeching Him to spare her Christian sister, but I persisted. The days ed. The two months ed. Then the six-month limit also ed. Renee was still alive! The doctor was wrong! I received the good news that Renee was in remission. Maybe God had heard and answered my prayers!! I was excited! Maybe God had paid attention to a non-believer and heard my desperate prayers! No, that could not be! Maybe He had heard my prayers but it was more likely the prayers of my Christian sisters, Lori, Mel, Angie and Ruthie and those of their church . All our combined prayers! All our prayers were answered!

I was very happy! I was no longer angry with God. I felt a sense of calm settle in myself, a kind of peace and wonder, the hard core within me softening. Renee, with Stage Four ovarian cancer had survived the six months that the doctor had given her. This was a wonderful realization. I thanked God for granting Renee remission. Maybe God was Love after all. I couldn’t hate Him anymore. He had done the impossible. My younger sister, Mel, the devout Christian, had always maintained that “With God all things are possible.” “Praise the Lord. Glory be unto You, Lord. Thank You for Renee’s remission,” she cried. Renee was still alive, although the doctor had said that she would not live beyond six months at most. I couldn’t thank God enough! Soon she was well enough to travel and she went to visit Lori in Australia. At the same time, she also went for medical check-ups, as there were highlyqualified oncologists in Melbourne. By then, I had retired and was able to travel. I visited both of my sisters, Lori and Renee, in Australia, both of them in remission. We had a good time, visiting places of interest. I stayed with Renee and we used to walk along her favourite street, stopping at certain shops where she did her shopping. She introduced me to Japanese ramen, the likes of which I had never tasted before. Two years ed and Renee was reasonably healthy. She went for regular check-ups. I realised that I had yet to keep my side of the bargain with God. It was time to keep my promise. I didn’t want any repercussions from my failure to keep to my word. I asked Renee if she knew of any Methodist Church where I was living. She said she would find out, and soon she gave me a telephone number to call. Yes! It was the number of the Methodist Preaching Centre and the pastor answered the call. I said that I would like to attend church services and be baptized. I attended the Sunday services and on Christmas Day in the year of 2000, I was baptized as a Christian, much to the joy of my Christian siblings. I was happy

too, that Renee was still in remission. I thanked God and praised Him. I was then 57 years old. He had healed the wounds in me. His healing balm soothed the hurt in me. I was now at peace and getting to know the Christian fraternity. I not only attended Sunday services but also taught Sunday school. The Sunday school was short of teachers, so I volunteered to teach. I taught different classes. Following the prescribed courses, I was very happy to teach the young ones about God and His love for us. By teaching them, I was at the same time learning more about God. Renee’s story did not have a happy ending. Her cancer returned and we knew that it was the end of the road for her. Ovarian cancer patients rarely live beyond five years from the onset of the disease. She was weakening very fast and her dearest wish was to see her eldest daughter get married. She was still in Australia when her condition worsened. The doctors had told her that she couldn’t travel but she badly wanted to return home to have the traditional wedding for her daughter. We all rallied and prayed earnestly to God to allow Renee her final wish — to return to her home and see her daughter get married. God was good and He made it possible for Renee to return home. Her condition improved to the extent that the doctors allowed her to fly back. She looked radiant as she stood on the stage (together with other family ) to toast the bridal couple. It was a wonderful evening for our family, tinged with both happiness and sorrow as we knew Renee was on her last legs. She had her wish come true. Her daughter was married in splendor, according to all the traditions. Her Caucasian son-in-law had offered her the traditional cup of tea in the wedding tea ceremony. After the wedding, her condition deteriorated. She was now in a wheelchair and she could barely eat. We watched helplessly as the cancer consumed her. Once a beautiful woman, she was now a shrunken shell of skin and bones. The beautiful bone structure of her face and bare head was a shocking contrast to the protruding bones of her shoulders, arms and hips. Her eyes had become dull and there was no light in them. She had no energy to talk to us, but we could sense that she found comfort in our presence and the love that surrounded her.

My three brothers would come to visit in the evenings after work, and gently massaged her feet and hands. She liked that. It relaxed and comforted her. It also helped her to sleep. Three weeks later, Renee ed on, a skeletal shell of her once beautiful person. Thin, transparent skin covered her emaciated body but the beautiful shape of her skull remained, poised on her swan-like neck. Her wig covered her bald pate and she lay in peace as we viewed her remains. Our lovely Renee was now safe in the arms of the Lord. I praised God that He had taken her home and relieved her of further pain and suffering, for she had suffered from intense pain that could not be alleviated by the pain-killing drugs. I was deeply grateful to God for having given her the four-and-a-half-years. Even the doctors realized it was miraculous that, despite the widespread cancerous growths within her body, she had outlived their initial prognosis of a maximum of six months. I had witnessed God’s miracle with my own eyes and realized how omnipotent and loving He is. I also realized that I was wrong to hate Him and vilify Him, as I had done in the early years when cancer struck my sisters and my parents. I repented and regretted my vilification of the Lord. Now I wondered if that was God’s plan — to use my sisters, Renee and Lori — to show that He is God, the Almighty Father who loves His children. But I could not help thinking what a terrible price it was that my sisters had to pay, just for me to become a Christian. The secret question “Why?” still lurked in my mind. I knew there would never be an outright answer, as even the pastors could only answer that God has plans for all of us and He would only reveal them in His own time.

Chapter 5 More Questions

My mind would not rest. I had become a Christian. Yes, God had given Renee an extra four-and-a-half years, when the doctor had given her at most six months. I was grateful to God for that. Yet, I couldn’t help wondering. Did Renee have to suffer so much just to pave the way for me to become a Christian? Was that God’s plan? But what about Mum? Why did she have to suffer so much? What had God shown us by Mum’s painful death? Was her death meant to prod me towards accepting Christ as my Saviour? But it didn’t! I was still the non-believer, years after Mum died. Renee died ten years after Mum. I tried to rationalize. Lori, my sister-in-remission living abroad, suffered because she was the means to show that God is Love and He does answer prayers. She is now healthy and enjoying her grandchildren. In Renee’s case, our prayers were answered too. Her children had those extra years with her and they had come to accept that their mum was very sick and would leave them one day. He was a magnanimous and merciful God. For Mum, I still have no answer. I can only pray that she is at peace and God’s Perpetual Light is shining on her. This was not the end yet. After Renee’s ing, my devout sister, Mel, had a car accident. That day was my 60th birthday. I received the news from a panic-stricken Suzie (now my only non-believer sister) that Mel had been in a car accident. “Oh no! Is she hurt?” “No, no, she’s not. She’s sitting by the roadside.” “Praise the Lord! Mel was not hurt!”

We rushed to the scene. Her car was a total wipe-out. Praise the Lord that she was safe! Her spouse arrived and whisked her off to the hospital. Later, when we asked her about it, she said that she had dozed off momentarily. It had been a very hot, humid afternoon. During those few seconds, she had veered off into the opposite lane, grazing another car before crashing into the huge monsoon drain that ran parallel to the road. Her car had landed squarely astride the drain, tightly wedged in. The airbags had inflated and that had jolted her awake. She managed to clamber out of her car with the aid of the people in the other car. Apart from being in a daze, she was none the worse for the accident. It was truly a miracle that she was not hurt in any way — considering her badly damaged car, which was beyond hope of any repair. God was good. He had protected her from harm. At the hospital, she was given a thorough check for any internal injuries. Other than a few bruises, she was fine and good to go. She attended my birthday dinner and we were grateful that she was fine, despite the shock she had had and the loss of her car. Praise God indeed! Life went on as usual. I returned home across the South China Sea. Mel, being a prayer warrior, had taken great pains to guide me in praying to the Lord. For me, she made copies of prayers for all situations — prayers for healing, prayers for protection, prayers for the family, etc. In fact, she gave me a prayer wheel that indicated when to pray and what prayers to pray. She also gave me books to read and workbooks that would help me to understand the Bible better. I’m ashamed to say that I tried to follow the schedule she had set, but I could not keep up with it. It required great discipline, which I didn’t have. She usually spent four hours praying, from early in the morning until she completed the prayer wheel. She scrapped our morning golf because she wouldn’t interrupt her prayer wheel to have a round of golf with me. Unfortunately, I didn’t share her zeal in performing her daily devotionals. I only recited the prayers for protection, to be suited in the armour of God and to wield the sword which is the Word of God, against evil which comes in many forms. I tried, but was not disciplined enough, so I didn’t go through the workbooks. Life usually gets in the way. I also found it difficult to go through the whole Bible. Reading Genesis was hard because I found it boring. I found the Old Testament dry and uninteresting and I

didn’t like the God of the Old Testament. He was such a vengeful God. I preferred the New Testament. It was easier to read, although I hardly understood some of the verses in the Gospels. They were too profound. I studied the Acts of the Apostles in school for the Cambridge “O” level examination. The teacher taught us well, so I was able to understand and enjoy reading the Acts, but my understanding was still superficial. It was after I had accepted Christ that I began to read the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Even then, it was on an ad hoc basis, rather than a daily ritual. My friend told me to pray for guidance before reading the Bible. She said that God would show me which part of the Bible to read. I found this advice helpful, for whenever I opened the Bible after praying to God for guidance as to what to read, it would open to verses that were relevant to whatever issues that I had. I was taking in the teachings of God in small doses. What I liked to read most were the Proverbs and the Psalms. I found them very illuminating. Some of them I could read again and again without getting tired of them. Each time I read, I would find something new. It was just like reading Shakespeare’s plays. The more you read, the more insight you gain, as you discover more. The bad news came a month later, when Mel went to the hospital to check on why the bruise on her upper chest did not disappear but had remained there. An x-ray was done, followed by a biopsy, which revealed that she had breast cancer! She must have the defective gene, she concluded. Praise God, the accident was the early warning that something was amiss within her body. Without the accident she would not have gone for a medical check-up. No one simply goes for a check-up if everything looks fine, and Mel looked great, always poised and elegant. God was good. Cancer is an insidious disease, cannibalizing the body surreptitiously without any symptoms for a while. By the time it is discovered, it is usually too late. Mel, a prayer warrior and a very devout Christian, took the news calmly. She did not question the Lord, “Why me?” She took it in her stride, accepting it as God’s will. She continued to pray while undergoing chemotherapy. Her regular prayer group prayed fervently for her recovery.

I myself was more calm this time. I no longer railed or ranted at God. Maybe because I was now a Christian? I was expected to behave as a Christian should? To take calamities as part of God’s plan, to acknowledge that He had a purpose in making a situation happen? I couldn’t fathom what His plan was and why Mel had to have cancer, too. I felt helpless and vulnerable. As a Christian, I had to accept and not question what God had decreed. I was resigned to the fact that Mel would go the same way Renee had gone, and I felt very sad. Mel was strong. A prayer warrior, she prayed constantly and fed on the Word of God. When I compared the experiences of Renee and Mel, I guess this made a difference. Mel took everything in her stride. She researched the types of food and nutrition a cancer patient should have and what kinds of food to avoid. Her friends cooked the special food and nutritious soups for her. She was determined to beat the disease that was ravaging her body. She could still drive herself around, attending church activities and prayer groups in friends’ homes. As far as we knew, she was not in any pain, at least not yet. She had chemotherapy in a neighbouring country that had better medical facilities than those available locally. It was very debilitating, but she persevered and never complained, praying constantly. She had great faith and trust in the Lord that she would beat the disease. Although she grew thinner and thinner, her inner spirit was strong. She didn’t have much pain, at least not until the end, when pain management had to come into play. One day, she lost her sense of balance while walking and she fell down. A subsequent check-up revealed that the cancer had metastasized into her brain. Even so, she was still able to eat and her friends could take her out. However, the onslaught of the cancer was relentless and soon spread into her bones. The pain had intensified and she knew that her end was near. Still, she never stopped praying and I marvelled at her strength and her faith in the Lord. In fact, she was only hospitalised towards the end, when she had breathing difficulties. While she was in the hospital, she spoke of seeing someone in her room. This alerted my non-Christian sister, Suzie. She was aware that when someone is

about to leave this physical world, he or she would almost always see another person in the room. My dad had said that he saw his own father lurking in the garden, waiting for him. So it was with Mel. She was ready to leave but didn’t. She hung on, waiting for her daughter who had rushed to the hospital, bringing along her baby. Mel had wanted to see her granddaughter one last time. Then she left peacefully. I received the news of Mel’s demise from my youngest brother, just after we had finished our dinner. Even though I had been expecting Mel’s imminent death, it still came as a shock. God had taken his beloved prayer warrior home. She was safe with Him, without any more pain. For that, I was very thankful to the Lord. My tears this time were tears of joy for Mel, who had gone home to her beloved Lord. We flew back the next morning to pay our last respects. She looked so beautiful and peaceful as she lay there in the casket. The wake services were very wellattended and there was hardly room for all of the friends and relatives who had come to pray for her. It was an indication of the love and respect the attendees had for Mel — a warm-hearted, cheerful lady who “gave her all” to whatever project she undertook, for the glory of God. I going with her once, to feed the homeless in the late evening. Her car was parked a distance away and we walked into the narrow lane, carrying baskets full of pre-packed meals to distribute to the homeless, some of whom looked quite frightening to me. She did this on a regular basis, apart from other charitable work. Ministering to others, following in the footsteps of the Lord, she was a selfless, comionate person. She also had a long list of names of family and friends whom she included in her prayers every day. Mel ed on four years after Renee. They left a very big hole in our lives, especially mine. These two sisters were my constant companions whenever I returned to the capital city, and we would do many things together — going shopping and enjoying different kinds of food, which Mel was very adept at locating, often in places I never knew existed.

Chapter 6 God’s Love Manifested

Besides attending church services, Christians meet in small groups, known as cell groups, to study the Bible and the words of God. The discussions are meant to help us bond as brothers and sisters in Christ and to grow spiritually. God’s words are meant as food for our souls as we get together to discuss and learn more about His teachings. We are often asked to share our experiences of God’s presence in our lives and how His love has impacted our lives. It is always stressed that God is Love. He is the God of Love. He died on the cross for us and delivered us from our sins. He is comionate and merciful. I sharing with my group how God had saved my life when I called upon Him. I was trying to cross a busy road that had cars moving non-stop. I saw a gap in the traffic flow and began to cross the road. I was half-way across when — all of a sudden — I saw a car driven by a woman heading straight at me. I was mesmerized, frozen to the spot, thinking, “Is this how I’m going to die? How will my children know that I died, hit by a car while crossing the road? No, that cannot be!” I screamed in my mind and I called out to the Lord, “Father God, please save me!” I stared at the car as it screeched to a stop, a foot away from me. My heart was thudding so hard that I thought it would jump out of my chest. The woman driver (who wore glasses) just stared at me, without saying a word. I quickly walked across the rest of the road, breathing a prayer of thanks to God, who had just saved my life. God had answered my prayer and stopped the car that would have killed me. I was truly shocked and shaken. This was God’s love manifested in my life. Nowadays, before I cross a road, I always pray to God for a safe crossing. When I’m driving, or even when my spouse is driving, I always pray to God for “journey mercy” and to guide us across the three lanes of fast-moving traffic so

that we can get to the U-turn and drive safely to our destination. When I’m about to get into a lift alone by myself, I pray to Jesus and ask Him to be by my side and to hold my hand. Then I am no longer afraid as I go up in the lift. I can feel His presence whenever I ask Him to hold my hand and keep me safe. God has also made His presence felt in my life when He answered my prayers for help in situations where I was totally at a loss and needed help. I would pray and ask Him to resolve the issues for me, for I had learned that we only need to cast our troubles on him and He will provide. In the hymn “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” we are told to “Take it to the Lord in prayer.” I have done that and the Lord has sent angels to help me. Some of these angels are my brothers and sisters in Christ while others are total strangers from different parts of the world who have now become good friends. I now believe firmly in the power of prayers and dialogues with God. I’m sure He listens and He will answer. Patience is a virtue that we need to cultivate when we pray, because God sometimes takes His time before He answers our prayers. As my wise sister Lori always reminds me, “God will answer our prayers, but in His own time. Just keep on praying.” She also has me in her daily prayers and has shared that God’s timing is always perfect. We must pray and have faith. We must keep on praying to the Lord. All my sisters, except one, are Christians. My brothers have yet to accept Christ, although their wives are Christians. I have three younger brothers. The oldest of the three did not become a Christian even though his wife is a Catholic, because he had been told that as the oldest son in the family, it was his duty to perform the final rites for our father. We gave our father a Taoist funeral because we were not sure if he had really accepted Christ. He already had Alzheimer’s and it was more than likely that he wouldn’t have understood what his nephew had been talking about, so we thought it was better to perform the Taoist funeral rites. My second brother isn’t a Christian, although he is more inclined towards the Catholic faith because our mum was a Catholic. Mum taught him to say prayers and he would go to the Catholic church to pray if he had any issues. However, he did not have time to attend Catechism classes, so he didn’t become a Catholic.

My youngest brother does not profess any beliefs. He is very fervent in adhering to ancestral worship because all along our father had practised it and he always abided by my father’s beliefs. It is in his house that the ancestral tablet is kept and that is where we gather annually to observe the rites and perform the prayers on the eve of the Chinese Lunar New Year. If my brothers were to accept Christ, what would happen to the ancestral tablet in my youngest brother’s home? Who would perform the annual prayers on the eve of the Chinese Lunar New Year? What would be the consequences of abandoning the ancestral worship that has been practised for generations? What about the annual Tomb Sweeping Day? Therein lies the conflict. These are the issues for which I have no answer. However, I think that the practice of ancestral worship will most likely come to an end when our generation es on as the younger generation do not really adhere to it. Most of the young people today are either Christians or non-believers. By nonbelievers I mean that they do not subscribe to any religious beliefs. Many do not believe that God exists. Even among the young who come from Christian families, they hardly have time to worship God, as weekends are regarded as family bonding time and social activities are given priority. They go to church once or twice a year, usually during Christmas and perhaps Easter. Some congregations consist of mostly the elderly and as time goes by the numbers dwindle until the church doesn’t exist anymore. I have come across church buildings where there are no church services but which have been converted into shops or theatres. The pastor stresses in his preaching that God has given us the great commission — that is, to share the Gospel or good news with others. We have to go out and bring the non-believers to church and get them to accept Christ as their Lord and Savior so that they too can be saved, like us. This, I believe is also my duty as a Christian, to share the good news with others. I have testimonies to share, which I hope will bring the non-believers to Christ. Unfortunately, or fortunately, all my friends are of the Christian faith. With whom can I share the Gospel — that Jesus Christ died for us? He died on the cross to save us from our sins and to give us eternal life.

I hope and pray that my sharing in this book will bring someone to Christ. My journey has been an eventful one, and it is by no means over yet. I still don’t know what God has in mind for me, but I will take up whatever mission He calls me to. With that, I say amen and thank Him for His guidance in sharing my experiences along the road to salvation, through the writing of this book. Praise the Lord for not giving up on this wayward, ignorant sheep (I was born in the Chinese Zodiac Year of the Sheep). With long-suffering patience, over a period of fifty years, He finally brought me into His fold. Indeed, He is the Shepherd who goes after the stray sheep and brings them back safely in His care. Praise the Lord that this wayward sheep has found salvation and God’s love. Amen.

Addendum

Two years after the publication of this book, another of my sisters has been diagnosed with breast cancer. This came as a shock as there were no symptoms and she had always enjoyed good health, adhering to a healthy life style. Is the Lord testing this prayer warrior? She is a devout Christian and a prayer warrior. I always ire her ability to pray and to recite prayers so effortlessly. One of my younger brothers is now a staunch Buddhist, who goes for retreats abroad to meditate together with other Buddhists. I guess the future of the ancestral tablet will be assured, in his hands. Otherwise, it will be moved to a temple and for a certain sum of money, the priests of the temple will offer prayers on festival days. Rituals will have to be performed when the ancestral tablet is moved to the temple.

About The Author

Peggy is a retired educator, holding an Honors Degree in English. She has published English grammar books in Malaysia: English Grammar: A Malaysian Student Guide and Casey and Penny’s Guide to English, a series of four books. She has also published the Yes, I Can Read series of well-loved tales, retold in simple language for young readers. Bragging rights include three children and four grandchildren. Her hobbies are golfing, traveling, reading and creative writing. Her short stories and non-fiction books are also available online. She also blogs at Blogger.com. www.swingingby.blogspot.com shares places of interest which she has traveled to. In www.bubblyluv.blogspot.com you can read the musings and random thoughts of an Asian woman straddling a liberated society and a conservative background.

Other Books By Peggy Chan

Colors of My Soul is a collection of poems that captures poignant moments in life and paints the colors of emotions: the colors of happiness, conflict, despair, loss, sorrow and solitude. The human psyche that soars in the joy of rekindled love and plummets in the agony of betrayal, that trembles in grief and despair and ponders in hope for the future, is no stranger to people who live, love and hope. The author has put into words what most of us can never say about how we feel or what’s happening in our lives. It connects you to your soul and provides powerful food for thought and self-reflection.

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