Above is a nice photo of our family taken at the airport before Don and I left for America. I'm so glad we had a chance to take this photo cos it's pretty hard to get everyone together. I can't even imagine another time where my paternal grandmother could possibly meet up with Don's family.

I have actually never liked my own folks very much, but I love them because they are my blood-ties, and nothing can change that. You see, sometimes, you just don't like someone because they have such a different personality from yours and you find yourself not getting along. But love is not about liking or getting along even. It's about respecting the other person's point of view and giving each other space to have your own views. I find that I do that best in a distance from my family, so that's what I'd done most of my life. Stay away from my family, visit regularly but live in a distance so I could have my own space. Perhaps my favourite family member would be Patricia and Rueben, my brother's wife and son. Though Pat and I meet something like twice a year during Chinese New Year and perhaps Christmas, I find I get along with her much better than anyone else in my family (I can see some of your shocked faces!). Basically, we can talk better and longer together, most likely because we give each other a lot of respect and space to be different. This is so impossible with my parents and brother, whom I feel somehow never understood the way I did things in life because they refuse to. They want me to follow them, be like them. They want me to be fearful of life, to worry, to know that the world will swallow me up if I don't first make myself ugly and bitter so that the world wouldn't dare have a taste of me. They felt I was too care-free and gullible.

But I'm not like them. I've been different all my life. I can't help believing in God, and having my pinciples rooted in love, in helping other people, in daring to give people chances at the cost of making myself vulnerable. All my life, as though the minute my mind was aware of the spirit realm, I had believed in a loving God and in Jesus to save me. I can't remember who it was who first preached to me. And I don't remember being given a choice. It's like I was born a Christian. It's really strange. I don't even recall a significant initial moment when I gave my life over to God (although I do remember many incidents of giving my life to God over and over again later as I went on my life journey with God, haha).

I remember this strange occasion when I was six years old, and I'm sure I have never come across the bible yet, or known about Jesus at that time. I was kneeling on the floor of this huge Taoist temple, in front of a mega-sized, golden buddha statue. My parents were kneeling beside me and making their prayers in all sincerity, joss-sticks held high. I looked up at the statue and the wierdest thought came to my mind. If I were to throw a stone at the statue right now, would it not all shatter to ground? Why do my parents choose to put such faith in a statue that would all but be destroyed by a mere stone? As I continued to kneel there whilst waiting for my parents to finish, I pondered on the reality of the god before me. How could this be god?

That very moment in my heart, I knew I would never be the same as my parents in their beliefs. Later on, I think I must have first heard about Jesus in primary school. By a strange twist of fate, I failed to get into Haig Girl's Primary School even though my brother was already in Haig Boy's Primary School. Instead, I ended up in Kuo Chuan Girl's School, a missionary school (The school has since changed its name to Kuo Chuan Presbyterian Primary School when it became co-ed).

So my life carried on further and further away from my family it would seem. Whilst they prayed, burned their daily joss-sticks, sacrificed their countless animals to their gods and folded innumerous paper money for the spirits in exchange for blessings on the household, I grew in my daily secret prayers and worship of God. The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. I didn't go to church then for I respected their wishes. But I spent nights tinkering on my piano making melody in my heart to God. Nobody told me then that that was worship. But I just wanted to. Felt like it, and did it. When I was lonely, I talked to Him. When I could not understand life's difficulties and pains, I asked Him straightforwardly. God was, and is, always with me. I never doubted His presence. I didn't even know that was called prayer at that time. I even ended up singing in tongues one night without knowing what I was doing. A foreign word escaped from my mouth and I shut it quickly, stunned. I was singing praises to God, whilst lying in bed at that point, so what was this strange word that had come out in the middle of my chorus? I thought I might have overdone my singing in praise to Him that night. I thought perhaps that I might have been too tired since it was already about 2 a.m. in the morning. I apologized to God immediately and told Him I was going to sleep as I must be tired. It was much later on, whilst studying at the University in Manchester up north of England, that I learnt about such things as speaking in tongues from a preacher in one of the churches. I laughed to myself whilst the preacher exhorted the congregation to speak in tongues. So that was what it was...it had puzzled me for so long, I never understood what had happened until then.

England taught me many things about God. I happily attended the Manchester Chinese Christian Church, I learnt more about singing in tongues and I served in every ministry there was in church. I was a Sunday School teacher every Sunday morning; I was the pianist during service; and I was also the conductress of the church choir when we had special presentations. I arranged music for the choir enthusiastically; I attended prayer meetings faithfully; and did just about everything there was to do in the church. I loved it all, I loved the church, I loved the people and I wanted to give my all to God. Whatever talent I had, whatever breath I had left of my waking life, I would give it to God. That was what I felt so deeply called.

Of course I know now that I must have been overdoing it. Perhaps too much thoughts of trying to repay God for His love for me. I know now that I can never repay God for His love. Still, I enjoyed it all thoroughly. I never felt tired and was never unhappy about any of it.

There was also a rather significant incident that happened in England that I know will stay with me for the rest of my life. I was staying in the halls of residence during that time. It was a convent hall only for girls, but during the vacation times, the halls would be opened for some of the public to rent the rooms and justify the costs of running the place. It was during one of those times that the strangest thing happened to me whilst I was playing the piano and worshiping God on my own in the chapel.

You see, I did that every night for hours in the chapel, so it was not a special night of worship for me. But there was that one night, after I finished singing one of the worship songs, I heard a loud but spaced out applause. I turned my head sharply to see who it was. The sight of the man who had clapped frightened me quite badly as I could see immediately from his reddened face and rolling eyes that he was drunk. I noticed that the exits of the chapel were far behind the man and I could not escape if he were to attack me. It did not help that he was dressed completely in black. He had on a neatly pressed, black shirt, fully buttoned, and matching black pants. He had a dreadfully receding hairline, leaving mostly only hair on his sides.

As if noticing the fear in my eyes, he knelt down in the middle of the chapel and tried to explain why he was there, listening to me sing. Meanwhile, I thought to myself that he was either a drunkard man or worse, the very devil himself manifested before me. God help me, I screamed inside of me! If he opened his mouth then and said he was satan himself, I would probably believe him. He just looked so mysterious and had seemingly appeared in the middle of the chapel out of nowhere! Maybe I was too deep in my own praise and worship to notice his entrance, but still, his appearance baffled me.

Thank God he said he was human (ok, he didn't say this first bit, I did in my mind) and was in the bar downstairs when he heard my playing and singing. He said he couldn't help himself but come upstairs. He begged my pardon for intruding my privacy but he beseeched me to come with him downstairs and play on the piano in the bar for them as they all wanted badly to hear me sing. I wondered if this was all a bad joke. I told him I only sang worship songs, nothing secular, and he said that was exactly what they wanted. Of course, I asked God in my mind immediately, and all I got was,'what harm could there be?'. So moments later, I found myself clad still in pink pyjamas track pants and a black-and-white sweater, hesitantly following the dark, mysterious man down the stairs to the bar.

The bar where about 15 well-dressed people gathered was blaring loud music and most of the people were sitting around chatting when I appeared. Thank God the only one drunk was the one who came up to fetch me. Apparently, they had really heard me above all their blaring music and thought it was the most beautiful music they had ever heard. Their story was that after some egging around, they sent the drunkest of them all in search of me.

After their explanations had been done, I reiterated that I could only play praise and worship songs, and that I couldn't play secular music. They actually said that was what they craved. One lady called someone to turn down the bar music. Another lady started saying she remembered hearing such singing when she was in church as a child, but it was so long ago. I started sharing a bit about myself, my Asian background, how I became a Christian and the persecutions I faced from my family. They were all intrigued that a Chinese girl would become a Christian, when they themselves bring born into the religion, had somewhat watered down their faith in God. I could see light flickering in their eyes, as though trying to kindle a long-forgotton faith.

As I sang the night away, the group of them gathered around my piano listening quietly and joining in when they could remember the words. It was such a crazy night for me. Totally unexpected. It was like God had called me to witness to a group of at least 10 people who had needed to remember Him again. I recalled one of them said they were Norwegians from Norway. I had no idea where that was, and still am a bit fuzzy about the landmark and its culture. But the real significance of the country came unto me when I later heard that Pastor Prince felt the calling to go and preach in Norway. I felt absolutely honoured. For perhaps I had been a part of a bigger plan of God to save the people in Norway. That I might have paved the way for one among the group to be revived, or maybe all. That would be so exciting. I would never know I suppose. There were no exchange of names and addresses that night. Whoever they were, God bless them all, especially the drunkard.

There were a few things I learnt that night. One was that you never know when you'd be called. Just get yourself ready by continuing to invest in your talents, whatever they may be. So when He calls, you're ready. Secondly, never think yourself too small to be used. Even drunkards can be called to His kingdom and be put to good use! As for voice quality, whether you sing loudly or not, and angelically or not, is not a factor God considers when He calls you to worship. Some might dispute that but I know I did not have a good voice. And whatever the Norwegians heard of my singing, they really only heard God whispering to them in their hearts. Thirdly, I was reminded that when we sing in praise and worship, every word is significant to God. I was singing in my normal voice and my normal nature, I'm sure my voice was far from being angelic. But God uses whatever we have, and brings it above our physical understanding. I'd never understand how my paino and my singing could have been heard from the bar downstairs whilst it blared its music so loudly. Sound travels upwards right, so how did my voice go downstairs and above all, entice them enough for them to ask me to go down and play for them? Therefore, the final thing I learnt was this: somethings cannot be explained. The ways of God cannot be limited by our human ability to understand. He is far and above, beyond that. We would never scarcely even been aware of how we have been part of His plan. And I love that about God. It makes Him God. It makes me safe. Praise the Lord!