Someone asked me the other day why I am in California. Here is part of the answer…I was born in Malaysia. As a young lad, my father lost his job and could not find another position anywhere because of his age. My brother at that time just completed high school and got an offer to join the Singapore Army. My father had served with the British Army years before that and happened to meet an ex-Army friend. Through this friend, he received a job offer to work in an Australian offshore territory called Christmas Island. My Mom initially could not join him because he had only a single room on the Island, but the plan was that as soon as he got himself a “Married Quarters” he will send for Mom. He was on the waiting list, and apparently it would be rather “soon” that he would get one. So, it was decided. I was to be sent to live with my Uncle and Aunt while my Mom moved into a one-bedroom apartment near a factory where she worked. My Uncle and Aunt were my surrogate parents for a number of years. Our family of four were broken apart then and never really came back together again… I was a young adolescent who needed guidance, love and care from his parents but were unable to have it. I missed Mom and Dad so much during those years. One of the shows on TV that I used to watch was the Waltons. I remember thinking, “That is the family I want to be in! I want to go to America and find the family that I don’t have!”

Years later, my dad came to take me with him. Even though the entire family had then made our home in Australia, and I lived there for many years, and started becoming one of the locals in terms of vernacular, a little bit of the culture, and even being an Aussie Rules Football fanatic, something was missing for me there. It was home in one sense, and yet I was still longing for the land of the Waltons. To cut a long story short… almost twenty five years later, my wish almost came true… I arrived in California! It had been a long road, and I have not yet found the Waltons, but perhaps, by God’s grace, I can recreate our own “Waltons” here in this land…

The day after that encounter I was in my room, sitting up in my bed, with my history text in front of me. I wasn’t reading it, though. I was praying, very hard! I heard my mom’s footsteps come into my room. She walked across to the shelves where all the incense and joss sticks are stored (since it had been my duty to perform these rites at home, it was convenient to have these items stored in my room). I was trembling, as I thought another confrontation was about to take place. I wasn’t sure I was able to stand up for my Lord again. Although I felt condemned, I was also longing for forgiveness and redemption. I remember having prayed for forgiveness many many times that day, thinking that if I was persistent, perhaps God would surely answer.

I heard the rustle of the paper as Mom took the joss sticks from the package and heard her strike a match to light up the joss sticks. As the fragrance of the incense filled the room, I heard Mom walked out of the room. No words had exchanged between us. I still had my history text in front of me, pretending to be reading. I breathed out a sigh of relief and gave thanks to God. From that day on, my mother took over the offering of incense and no longer put the pressure on me to do any of that task. Tears ran down my cheeks again as I felt the full wash of the forgiveness and God’s miraculous intervention in my life.

Mom did not discuss the incident but from that day on, I began to sense a little more acceptance of my commitment to Christ. In fact, soon after, during one of the religious festivals when we used to celebrate over a meal of chicken, roast pork and other food that had been offered to the different gods, Mom specially prepared food that hadn’t been so offered for me. She allowed me to go to church openly.

In the past I had to sneak out of home to go to church. For the longest time, I did not attend Sunday services because Mom forbade it, but I was able to go to youth group by telling her a white lie - I would tell her that I was going to a friend’s house to study. I would then ride my bicycle to my friend’s place, study for 15 minutes and excuse myself to go to church, and return immediately after the youth services. But, since that incident with the joss sticks, she allowed me to even go on Sundays!

Six months later, I asked to be baptized, and she not only gave her blessings, but came along to the services! God works in mysterious ways!