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Lily's Story


 It seems strange to think that I've never written this all out before. It's a bit jumbled up, coming out all weird. But I guess certain things have to come out all jumbled for them to make sense. This is my story, my faith journey, my testimony, whatever you'd like to call it. It's definitely still a work in progress, as all faith journeys should be, but nevertheless, here it is - winding roads and all. 

 I guess I should start from the beginning. 

In the winter of 1997, my family immigrated to Vancouver, Canada from China in the hopes of creating a better life. Though it was quite comfortable and stable in China, my parents wanted to seek out bigger and better opportunities for their only daughter - me. Thus right in their prime years, my parents uprooted everything, and left behind all that was familiar to come to a country they could barely pronounce -- Canada. 

The first couple years (as any first-generation immigrant would probably tell you) were difficult. Living accommodations, lifestyle changes, cultural differences and languages all contributed to many frustrations and sleepless nights. Because I was only a toddler at the time, my mom would have to stay in to take care of me, leaving my dad to be the only adult able to seek employment. Finding jobs were difficult and it was hard to make ends meet despite living as frugally as possible. It was, however, during this challenging period that we had our first encounter with church.

The people at church (Praise God!) were one of the first ones to extend a helping hand towards us. I distinctly remember the first time I set foot into a church building. Though I was only four at the time, the memory seems to be ingrained in my brain as it had left such a strong impression. I remember playing games with the other kids and feeling warm, safe and welcomed. It was a curious feeling as it happened so naturally, almost instinctively. That was my first memory of church.

Time passed, and after a few years of attendance at church, both my parents dedicated their lives to God, and committed themselves through baptism (Praise God!) Though this seemingly monumental and life-changing event had happened in the lives of my parents, I failed to see how these decisions would affect me. Though I never doubted the existence of a higher deity (I reasoned that there had to be some explanation for the beauty in nature and the incredible uniqueness life seemed to contain), I did not see how a God could possibly have anything to do with me. At the time, ten-year-old me treated God, the Almighty, as some sort of "good-luck charm". I would pray to God every night to grant me a goodnight's rest since I would get night terrors often as a child. I would pray this simple prayer every night, as a ritual, a mantra that I would chant, believing that it would somehow protect me. It was a simple prayer, albeit a sincere one. Ironically, though I prayed to this higher deity every night, I failed to see how God could possibly have a personal relationship with me aside from this nightly routine. 

The first time I experienced God's realness, was when I experienced the power of prayer. As I was growing up, my family moved many times from place to place and during my late childhood and early teenage years, we were experiencing some financial struggles and were not a happy family. It was during this time that my mom began to distance herself more and more from church and her faith. Previous to that, we would always go to church together as a family, but as she grew increasingly distant, this stopped. It worried me, but regardless of how much my dad and I prodded, insisted and urged for her to come to church with us, she resolutely remained defensive and unresponsive. Sunday mornings quickly became a frustrating time for the whole family as neither side was willing to budge on their position. Going to church became awkward as eager church members would ask of my mom's absence and my dad and I felt responsible to say something credible. It became awkward as we were embarrassed to reveal the real reason for her absence (How can you say she doesn't want to come, simply because she doesn't want to- no reason given?) We didn't know what to say to those who were so caring in their inquires as we equally reluctant to open up about our family issues to them. Plus, we thought, what could they really do if someone has resolutely made up their mind not to go? 

Being a simple girl who's understanding of God at the time could only be described as rudimentary at best, I did the only thing that I believed worked for me before - prayer.  Every night before bed (thanks to that robotic repetition from childhood, this good habit actually stuck), I would pray a simple prayer. I prayed that God would somehow touch my mom and change her heart. In my mind, I just wanted my whole family to go to Heaven together. That was it. I didn't want anyone left behind, and I most certainly didn't want to abandon anyone. I prayed and prayed, but it seemed as though nothing was changing. In fact, if anything, things seemed to worsen as my mom grew increasingly more distant from God. Family relations continued to strain and financial burdens started to weigh us down. It was during this time that my mom received a great job offer in China with an indeterminate work term. This job would mean that our family would be in two separate countries - something that had never happened before. After some consideration, she took the job and my dad and I remained in Canada. During that time, my dad and I also moved to a different city in Vancouver and everything was new again.

Those mid teenage years were awkward and angsty to say the least. It was very strange living only with my dad. Up until then, my family had always lived together and adjusting to a missing role in our lives was surely difficult. Dinnertime conversations were all but absent as my dad and I both sensed the importance of my mom's role through our silence. There was no medium, no in-betweener for us and it was difficult trying to find common topics to talk about beyond the simple day-to-day event regurgitation. I missed my mom and I could see the strain it put on my dad having to take on the responsibilities of both roles. Having to get up extra early to prepare breakfast, taking on the tasks of supporting the family along with upholding his responsibilities as a business partner as well as an employee at his job were all roles he had to juggle.

The move was challenging for me as I moved to a completely new school and I was struggling to find my place in it all. I remember one day coming home from a bland day at school and calling my mom. What started out as a joyful conversation quickly turned desperate as I realized how much I missed her. Soon I was bawling on the phone and asking her when she would be coming back. As she listened to my cries, she also cried. During that time, my father was also going through the struggle of battling a physical disease, and it was worsening quicker than expected. I was vaguely aware of this happening, but my father was quick to brush it off as he did not want me to worry for him. After my dad finally told my mom about his health, my mom came home. It was an important moment as she realized that though the job opportunity was a good one, her priority, ultimately, was her family.

I was overjoyed, not only because she came home, but also because she seemed to do a complete 180° turn in her faith as well. It was as if those short months of separation and my dad’s health condition were the catalyst to her change in attitude towards faith. Through diligent prayer and a successful operation, my father’s health recovered and we were closer than ever as a family. My mom was really the spearhead of the family during that time and it was as if a fire had been ignited within her and she was really passionate about God.

Her marked change in attitude reminded me of Saul’s conversion on his way to Damascus when he met the Lord (Acts 9:1-18). It was a complete revelation as if she had realized and seen the necessity of the Lord and the error of her ways for pushing Him away and putting other things before Him.

Through her radical transformation, our family dynamics changed. Sundays were no longer a drag and became a communal family time. It wasn’t long before we found our spiritual home in our new community since the move and it was there where I examined my own faith more closely.

As I started learning more and reading more of my Bible, I began to realize the sheer magnitude of what was expected of a Christian. I remember reading Jesus’ words in Luke 9:23-26:
Then he said to the crowd, “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must turn from your selfish ways, take up your cross daily, and follow me. If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it.
During a particular summer retreat, we studied the words of Paul in Romans 12:1-3: 
Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

In clear and direct language, Jesus and Paul lay it out very clearly for us that what is expected of Christians is to lay ourselves down as a sacrifice to God. This wholehearted and complete self-sacrifice would be considered our spiritual act of worship. These verses deeply challenged me and I was faced with a decision.

In short, I was torn. On one hand, I believed in God and was grateful and thankful for what He had done in my family and the ways He had led us, but on the other hand, sacrificing my life and giving up what I want, my goals and ambitions for Him seemed like too much to ask-- too much for me to offer to Him. It didn't seem like an appealing trade, and definitely one that I was wary of making. I didn't want to do it. I wanted to pretend those verses in the Bible did not exist so I did not have to deal with the notion of giving myself up for His purpose. So, with that, I buried my annoying thoughts of surrender and sacrifice aside, squishing out all the nudging voices that told me instinctively to trust in God (Sorry God). 

I continued on like this throughout my life for a while, continuing to go to church, even still obediently helping out at church, even getting baptized....all the while knowing that there was something bigger that He was asking, and I was purposely ignoring because I thought it was too much and didn’t want to do it (even though in my heart, I kind of, sort of, maybe, buried deep down, knew that it was the right and good thing to do…and that it would be okay in the end) (Sorry God, I pray and ask for your forgiveness.)

Life went on uneventfully and on this same trajectory for a while until university. After roughly a one year hiatus from church and any church-related activities (due to certain bitterness and resentfulness I harboured towards some hypocrisy and inaction that I accused the church of), I was introduced to a certain Christian fellowship group on campus by my roommate at the time (Praise God!) I went without any expectations, and something curious happened. I was amazed that I actually met young people my age, my peers, that I witnessed were real Christians (Praise God, praise God, praise God!) 

Up until that point in my life, I felt that I had never really witnessed anyone my age, really serious about their faith or going to church because they chose to go. It seemed as if everyone was putting on a show, obligated to be there each Sunday due to their parents. Some resented it, others were indifferent, and others didn’t really seem to distinguish enjoying church and going for God vs. simply enjoying the community church created. Personally, I thought I liked church, but now in hindsight, I think what I really liked about it back then was being able to hang out with my friends every week. It was a mere activity that I partook in due to family obligations and the joy of seeing and talking (gossiping) with friends. Faith was simply something that was passed down to me, a sort of family heirloom – valuable and precious, something that was co-owned by me, but not really something that was “mine” in fullness.

So imagine my surprise (amazement) when I saw people my age, whom I could tell were real and serious about their faith for the first time in my life. There was something alluring about them, how they were the same, yet different from myself. The differences seemed to be in the little things, things I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but were undeniably noticeable and decidedly evident in their life. Faith to them was not something dead or abstract; rather, it was alive and firm. It seeped through all corners of their life and changed (transformed) how they lived.

Seeing the authenticity with which they lived their lives, the honesty and their willingness to share life and it’s struggles with one another as a community moved me. Their genuine love for one another as brothers and sisters and those around them impressed me. It reminded me of a verse I had read before, “In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father” (Matthew 5:16).  I thought, ‘Wow, this is it! Faith is actually real for them, and they really believe these things for themselves.’

As I grew more drawn and curious with this bunch of people whom I got to know more, the idea of self-surrender which I had so securely pushed away slowly came crawling back up again. Again, I grew reluctant when faced with the decision of giving my all to God. Yet, there was something about my peers that moved me, and I could see that there was a steady confidence in their lives, an inner peace that could sustain them through unprecedented life happenings, a joy in them that seemed to persist despite mishaps and above all, a love for others that was displayed. I wanted those things, but I somehow knew innately that getting those things needed my complete surrender to God, hence the dilemma. It wasn’t until third year of university during a retreat that I realized something spectacular that completely shifted my thinking paradigm of this whole thing (Praise God!!!)


As if a lightbulb went off in my brain (ding!), I suddenly realized that God was the Creator. As in, the Creator of my life. He was the one that made me (Psalm 139)! Do you know the implications of what that means?! It means that if He was the one that gave me my life to begin with, then technically I am His. He owns me, owns my life because He created it. Thus, the whole idea of 'surrendering my life' wasn't so much giving up my everything for God, but rather just simply returning to Him what was originally His in the first place! Returning someone something that was originally theirs makes sense to me. It’s logical. I mean, if you borrowed something from someone, wouldn’t it be natural to return it back to its original owner? You wouldn’t take the item and then call it ‘yours’, because it isn’t, you were simply borrowing it, right? The ownership fully (and rightly so), belongs to the lender. Thus, in this life that God so freely gave to us and for us, shouldn’t it be natural, even required for us to give it back to Him and for Him? This whole time I was so affixed with the notion that I am giving all that I am entitled to, but through His patience and grace, I realize now that I am simply returning to Him all that He’s entitled to, back to Him, back to the rightful owner.

After this revelation, the idea of surrender didn’t seem as scary or such a tall order anymore. I had peace and felt like I've discovered something, something that I hadn't even known I was looking for. There was a greater purpose in life now, something that was exciting and full of hope because I had confidence in my decision and in whom I placed my trust. And slowly, once I began thinking that my life should not be mine to selfishly live, it suddenly seemed as if all those things that I read and saw which I didn’t understand started becoming all the more clear. A path was laid out, and it just felt right. 

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Looking back now, I realize that that was the first step. Finally relenting control on my life and letting God in (all in) to take control was the first step of Him being both the Savior and Lord of my life. Jesus said “If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it.” (Matthew 16:25). Those words seem distorted and paradoxical, but I felt like taking that first step was the beginning of the journey of understanding what those words meant. The road is long and far ahead, and I anticipate, nay, expect (if His Word is anything to go by), many troubles and oppositions ahead as we head toward a darker time. But I take heart, because He has already overcome (John 16:33).

Well, this is hardly the end of my story (though I’ve clearly rambled on for quite a while), but I guess this is where I’ll end it for now. It's been a couple of years since that pinnacle surrender decision was made. God has been good and merciful, and has kept His word so far in my life (I trust that He doesn’t disappoint!) and I’ve come to realize just how little I know of Him and how much more I have yet to learn. Reader, dear friend, thanks for bearing with me and reading till the end of this unfinished story. I hope that we can grow together, learn together and do awesome things together for God. To Him Be the Glory, Amen.