Isaiah

I am the first-born of a Chinese family in Singapore, and took my first breath outside my mother’s womb just before midnight on May 9, 1970.

Dad was a Chinese teacher until his retirement and mom has always been a housewife since I was born. Two brothers followed me — my parents’ 2nd son arrived 4 years later, while their youngest 9 years after. Today, it’s just my younger brother and I, as my youngest brother passed away a couple of years back in a motorcycle accident. He was just 26.

As a young child I was quite sickly and never did a week go by without me having to see the doctor for a bad cough that can keep the entire household awake all night. Exasperated, my mom took the advice of my paternal grandmother, and prayed to Guan Yin (the Chinese goddess of mercy) to cure me.

I did get better and in return for curing me, my mom, again at the advice of my paternal grandmother, made me a ‘godson’ of the goddess. How that happens is beyond me as I was too young to comprehend. All I can remember was my paternal grandmother always reminding me how fortunate I was and that I’d be blessed from then on.

Naturally, as a child, these things don’t bother me much, and I never gave thought to it. All I knew was that I was then able to run amok with my cousins in the kampung (village).

When I was 5 years old, mom brought me to a large temple to give thanks for some issue or other. There must have been some festival for some deity that day, for the temple was very crowded, with the fumes from joss sticks thickening the air, making it extremely difficult to breathe.

In addition, I was seriously peeing in my pants looking at the fierce and unkind faces of the Chinese gods.

Not being able to breathe well and scared stiff, I began asking, at the tender age of 5, what kind of fierce gods they were and why I would want to have anything to do with them.

From then on, I began looking out for my own god. I didn’t find the gods that my family pray to appealing — there’s nothing great about gods that are always angry, demand so much food on festivals, and scare little children like me!

When I was quite a lot older, in Primary 3 or so, my father started giving tuition to a neighbor’s son, Roy. Teachers didn’t get paid much back in those days, so it was a good way for my dad to supplement his income as the sole breadwinner.

Roy was about my age, and came from a Peranakan Roman Catholic family. We became fast friends very quickly, and I wasted no time asking him about his family’s religion as it was the first time I had come into contact with Roman Catholicism.

He told me about the Virgin Mary, the Pope, Jesus Christ, the saints, then showed me the family altar at his house.

I was intrigued, because from what he told me, this Jesus was a very nice and caring person who cured the sick, raised the dead, and made the blind see. I’ve never heard anything like that about the Chinese gods!

One thing bothered me greatly, though. Those statues and images of his Jesus and Mary and Joseph and saints — aren’t they just alike the ones I see at home, with only the color of their skins different? I don’t know why, but from a young age, I never believed that a deity will need to reside in some man-made carving.

Christianity still piqued my interest though, but I decided that it was not in Roman Catholicism that I’d find the real Jesus Roy told me about.

I did well enough in my Primary School Leaving Examination in 1982 to enter a prestigious all-boys school. If you’re interested, the school bears the name of the founder of Singapore and boys wear all-white uniforms.

And it was in my first year there when I met Wee Khim, an old boy of the school, quite by chance and he gave me my first copy of the New Testament. I had thought at that time when he approached me that he was someone from the Ministry of Education as the principal had announced that morning that there’d be some officials scouring the school to do some surveys.

Happily I brought the book home, holed myself up in my room and read the entire book of Matthew (the first book of the New Testament) in one sitting. When it came to the part where Jesus Christ was crucified, I cried.

I don’t know why, but from that moment on I made up my mind to follow this Jesus. Having heard about him was one thing, but finally reading the Gospel told me that I’ve found the truth.

The next day, I contacted Wee Khim, and he helped me say a little prayer and I became a Christian that very day.

Needless to say, there were trials and tribulations along this path that I’ve chosen. However, I shan’t delve too much into the details as I believe they are quite common among most Christians who come from families that follow other faiths and religions. All I will say is that my parents threatened to disown me, cut my pocket money to zero, grounded me from going to church and we had many fights.

In the end, my perseverance and God’s blessing made them accept that I’ve chosen another path for myself.

And this is my testimonial, and you probably understand by now why I am so passionate about following Jesus Christ. For me, it really does feel like I was led to Him since a young age.

However, there are still two unfulfilled issues — one is that my parents have yet come to know and accept God, though some of my aunties and uncles have, while the other is this gnawing call to go out and minister, be it as a pastor or a missionary. I have yet the courage to pursue the latter in earnest though, because I’m still so tied to the ‘flesh’.

If nothing else, I hope this testimonial of mine helps you gain some insight into who I am. For young Christians facing strong opposition at home, know that you’re not alone — many Christians like myself have gone through the same or worse, and bear in mind that there are Christians in the world facing worse things like state persecution. Ask for strength from our Lord.

Thank you for taking the time to read this.

God bless, and Shalom.