welcome there whenever I pop in . It's great to see "old faces," even greater to see their once young kids all grown up, adding to the congregation. I had a wonderful time worshipping, my heart filled with thanksgiving. But it was only at the very end that I knew why I had to come for this service. I noticed the lady sitting in front of me wiping her eyes as Pastor wrapped up with prayer. So after the benediction, I moved up to ask if I could pray for her. We didn't know each other. But as I prayed giving her the word I had received, she cried even more, collapsing in my arms. I am so glad on Christmas morning, I can be the one to tell her Jesus calls her to let go and let Him carry her burden and heal her broken heart.
I remember my first Christmas some 22 years ago ; a mixture of grief and joy. For then it was barely 9 months since my husband passed on, just some 2 weeks after receiving Christ during Passover in April. Grief because I still missed him dearly. Joy because I knew without a doubt where he was. I have recounted this testimony many times to many people through these many years . To Christians, non-Christians, people from all races, all ages. Many things I forget, more things I may forget as Christmas-es come and go, but I will never forget my first one.
Life is such a yo-yo. One minute we can be way up there, delighting in moments of bliss, the next we can be pulled down into such depths of despair we think we can never ever get out of. When my husband first told me the lump in his throat was cancer stage 4, I felt like my whole world had collapsed. That was how it all began. When God pulled the rug out from under my feet. Before that I had never paid much attention to spiritual things. My parents were Taoists, as was my husband's family. So I just did the "expected things" of an inherited religion. God? Who knows, who cares. I was too busy living life on earth to worry about heaven or hell.
But when life no longer works as it used to, when you are pushed into a corner and run out of options, any god, all gods, will do. So there I was, at age 40, facing an uncertain future, with a husband whose chances of survival were rated 50% and 3 young kids. Added to that, I had resigned from a comfortable job, refusing to be transferred out-of-state. For the first time in my life, I really prayed. Standing in front of the family altar, desperate and depressed, I heard a voice "Go find Jesus." So weird, facing a Chinese deity, hearing such words. I didn't see any stars exploding, flashes of lighting or feel the earth move under my feet. Just a very quiet stirring in my heart. It was only much later I could relate it to God's still small voice that prophet Elijah heard whilst hiding in a cave, wrapped up in his own pity-party. That was me.
Well, there was nothing for me to lose. But the only place I knew to find Jesus was in church. And the only church I knew then was the one where my brother was pastoring. I didn't say much, I don't remember what he said, except that he asked me if I would like to receive Jesus into my heart. Honestly I would have willingly received whoever, done whatever in my condition . But as I prayed what I would later know as the sinner's prayer (though it meant nothing to me then), I was sobbing, because I was being utterly overwhelmed by what I can only describe as wave upon wave of peace smashing into my heart, like a tsunami. I didn't understand anything. We can all theorize, question, even fight a lot over doctrine, religion, dogma, theology but no one can prove or disprove the validity of an experiential encounter with God, which is totally personal to holder. All I knew was I went home, a different person.
Did my problems disappear over-night? Nah. Actually they got worse. First my husband called me a mad woman, for turning to a "western" God, forbidding me to talk to him about Jesus. But at least he allowed me to go to church. Not that I understood much of what was going on every Sunday with all the songs and sermons. I only knew I was crying a lot, as my husband's condition was getting worse, despite medical treatment. I was tired out, ferrying him to and fro hospital. Stressed, still unemployed after 6 months, looking at my rapidly depleting bank account. When the church offered me a job as a kindergarten teacher with a starting monthly salary of $750 , my husband rolled his eyes. I had been earning close to $5k/month before. Still, it was better than nothing.
4 years after my conversion, my worst nightmare came true. As I threw my late husband's ashes into the sea, I wondered is this how it's all supposed to end? Didn't "those" Christians tell me Jesus heals, that He is a miracle-working God, that nothing is impossible with Him; that even the dead are raised alive ? Didn't my cell members, church pastors and I myself pray hard enough? So like a little baby (which I was actually), I pouted, sulked, got angry, blamed God. And dared Jesus if He is really the true Almighty God to answer me, where was my husband? I demanded a dream (yeah, disappointment makes a person do stupid things).
I never got one, but the very next day, my no 2 daughter, all of 8 years old, announces she had a dream...about Daddy. I think God has a keen sense of humor. He answers me through a child who didn't know anything, who can only tell me Daddy's very happy, in a beautiful place. And I hear that voice again, this time, very very tender... "Daughter, what more do you want?" From the depths of a broken heart, I cried, "I want my husband." and the voice replied, "I have given your husband the best." That undid me; finally I got it. My husband was saved, safe forever more, living in the presence of a wonderful, loving God. I could only whisper, "Forgive me, Lord." I have never looked back since that moment in time.
But I still had much to learn through the long grieving process. During one of my "bad-hair" days, when I blurted out in frustration, "I dunno how to be a father, I am only a mother, tell me now, who is going to take care of my kids?" That still small voice answered very simply "I AM Father to the fatherless, a defender of widows." Only much later, I discovered, I AM is His name, and that's what Psalm 68:5 of my bible says...how many times I have hung on and been comforted by that Word of life. Another time, when I just couldn't stop crying, I "happened" to hear an old mushy pop song over the radio.."Got nine million nine hundred
ninety nine thousand nine hundred ninety nine tears to go, And then I don't know if I'll be over you." I was thinking, where do all my 9,999,999 tears go? Again the answer came from His Word in Psalm 56:8 You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in Your bottle. Are they not in Your book?" But I still wasn't quite satisfied, "So how many bottles of my tears have You collected?" I asked and He replied, "Child, one is enough, because your bottle doesn't have any bottom, you can keep on crying." Like I said, God definitely has a sense of humor.
It's been 22 years since my first Christmas. Now I understand so much more of a very personal God who loves us so much that He has sent Jesus to be born, to live, to die bearing the penalty of our sin, so that we can live a resurrected life forever with Him It had all begun with that still small voice in my heart, urging me to go find Jesus. In my darkest season, His light of love shone through to give me a new living hope and a peace that transcends all human understanding. I know I will see my husband again, fully alive, when my time comes.
Today, that voice still speaks into my life, the Light still shines, bright as the star that shone over a little town called Bethlehem 2000years ago. That was how it all began then; when Christ Jesus was born into a world of darkness. Today our world is still very dark but... Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men, for Christ has already come to save. 