My Son is

OCT-DEC 16

vo l . 55 no.4

/ The Scar No One Sees

/ An Alcoholic’s Redemption

/ My Grandfather—Leaving a Legacy of Blessing

/ I’m Just an Ordinary Mama

Standing in the Mexican food aisle holding a jar of Quemada Salsa, I

start crying uncontrollably. My eyes blur, tears pour down my face, and I fight hard to hold back the sobs. I’m crying over a jar of salsa in the grocery store—and I can’t help it!

My Son is

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The name on the jar reminds me of the times my family went deer hunting near the town of Quemada—the times I experienced walks in the forest with my grandma. I think: If only my son had known my grandma as he was growing up; if only he had learned the wisdom I learned from her, he would never have made the choices he has made. Knowing his great-grandma would have helped him be strong, and he would not have listened to the voices that convinced him to reject everything he has ever known and choose the destructive path he is now following.

So, I stand holding the salsa jar and cry, because the pain of regret and heart-shattering sorrow are more than I can bear.

Who Can Understand?

Other people in the store—in fact, people anywhere who have not been down the road my family has traveled—cannot possibly understand. How could they? They have not had their heart ripped out of their chest, shredded and burned, and then been told they are overreacting and should embrace the situation and be happy about it. They have not had their wonderful, amazingly gifted, handsome, brilliant son tell them that he has been taking hormones for five months so he can grow breasts, because he believes he should become a woman. They have not experienced the dramatic personality transformation

that turned their confident, eloquent, and articulate son into a paranoid recluse who can barely put two sentences together coherently. They have never seen their son’s bright, shining eyes and charming face cloud over with a darkness that changes his entire countenance into something eerie and foreboding. It’s understandable—people who have not been down this road cannot possibly understand!

Yet, people have their own ideas about how things like this happen, almost none of which are based on reality. Some believe that if parents do everything right, this will never happen to a child. They cast judgment, sure that the parents must have failed in some way to have “let” their child make these decisions.

The barrage of criticism starts in the form of well-meaning questions or comparisons:

“Didn’t you read the Bible with him daily?” Yes, I did! He was the child who even studied Christian apologetics on his own beyond what we studied together in our home.

“Didn’t you pray with him?” Yes, I did—every night for years and years until he refused to pray with me anymore.

“The problem is with public schools these days; there’s so much darkness and evil being taught there.”

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Actually, my son was homeschooled. I incorporated comparative religion studies to help our children be prepared for opposition to their spiritual ideology.

“Well, you know, homeschooled kids are so sheltered; he probably just hit college and started partying and doing things he wasn’t allowed to do before.” Actually, we had lots of activities outside our home. He lived at home during college, studied hard, and made good grades. He wasn’t a partying kid.

“Your son probably just wasn’t well enough prepared for the dangers of college and the ideological differences he would find there.” Interesting suggestion, but given how much we talked about the challenges he would have to his faith in college, with professors requiring their opinions to be echoed in the classroom for passing grades, and how strongly my son felt that his Christian apologetics studies had prepared him—even giving him a stunning ability to debate his faith with those who opposed it—I reject this comparison. We talked to our son plenty!

In most cases, trying to explain is futile. So I ask people to pray—to reach out to my son and guide him back to the truth of who he really is, but I have stopped trying to explain!

Caught Unprepared!

Yes, it’s true! I never prepared my son for facing a challenge against his gender. It never once occurred to me that I would need to, that he would ever question the gender of his birth. He was a masculine male, aggressive, competitive, tall, and so very handsome! All the girls loved him, and he had two special girlfriends in high school. So never once did we think he would be in danger of losing his identity. Why would we think that? He seemed secure and confident in who he was—so bold and adventurous! It never entered our minds that we would need to talk to him about the lies of transgenderism and the destruction it causes. No parent thinks their child is going to make that choice. And when it happens, it isn’t something any parent is ready for! No parent wants to think of their son cutting off his privates, becoming a eunuch, losing his ability to have children, and pretending to be a female instead. It is unthinkable!!

Day by Day

So, I stood in the grocery store crying over a jar of salsa, and chastening myself for crying. I should be stronger

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than this! I should be better now. It has been months since my son moved out. Why can’t I handle this? I looked at the jar and wished so much that my grandma was still alive. There’s so much pain, so much sorrow, so much I wish I could change, but I am powerless to change anything. There are no answers, no solutions, only waves of sorrow. I regained my composure, put the salsa in my cart, and made my way to the checkout. I couldn’t think any more, couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t remember what I had come to the store to get. I needed to go home—not that home helped much, because the pain follows me everywhere. At least at home I could bury my face in my pillow and cry, and not worry about people thinking I was insane.

And so it goes, another day of sadness, heartbreak, and loss. Some people tell me stories of how their prodigal child came back after many years. But how will I make it eleven years, fifteen years, or as long as it takes for my son to return to his senses, if I can’t get through one hour at the grocery store? Some days I’m not sure I even want to survive that long—the pain is too great and it never goes away. I have learned to hide it, suppress it, cover it up with a smile that makes everyone think I’m doing okay. I smile through the pain, laugh through the tears, dance through the sorrow—but it does not go away! My son is gone!

A Mad World

The whole world seems to have gone mad! The media would have us believe that transgenderism is to be embraced and celebrated rather than treated and cured. When our son’s entire personality changed and he walked away from everyone and everything he knew before, we were told to be happy about it. When our son suddenly started acting like he was demon possessed and making drastic choices that would destroy his life, we were supposed to be happy about that? It makes no sense, but everyone who disagrees with it is targeted as a bigot and a hatemonger. So we are not allowed to talk about it, discuss it, or even mourn the loss of our son. We should consider the empty chair at the table normal—that everything is fine and the silence golden!

The Power of Lies

That jar of salsa sat on the shelf in the pantry for several months before we finally opened it. When I looked at it, I kept wishing my grandma was here and wondering what went wrong. From what we can tell, our son made friends with some “Progressive Christians” who reject the truth of the Bible in favor of the teachings of the world, who told him that to find his true self he needed to become someone different than what God had made him. Somehow, he got the message from those friends that,

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to become closer to God, he had to reject the person God had made and become someone else. It is so far from everything he was taught growing up that it is hard to see how he arrived at that conclusion or even believed a word of it. But the devil is a crafty snake and slithered into his mind, getting him to believe a whole pack of lies about who he was, and what would make him happy. At that point, nothing else we said or did mattered, because he stopped listening to his parents and would only listen to the lies, embracing each larger and more destructive lie with more and more enthusiasm until he could no longer speak properly or communicate coherently. His speech patterns changed so dramatically that he couldn’t even communicate on basic topics. And his deep, resonant voice changed to a nasal squeaky voice because of the hormones, so that the words he did speak came from the voice of someone we did not recognize. It was painful to see the destruction he was bringing on himself!

Our son has been gone for two years now. He doesn’t write, he doesn’t call, and he left no forwarding address. We have no idea where he is, what he is doing, or how much more damage he has done to himself. Do we dare hope that he is recovering or healing? All we can do is pray. I pray every day that God will send Christians into his life who will speak truth to him, who will influence him

for the better, who will lead him into the light and help him to banish the demons that are tormenting him and embrace the power of God who loves him and wants to heal him. I pray that God will put roadblocks in his path to prevent him from mutilating or destroying his body—or his life—any further. I pray that God will turn him around and use him to lead the thousands like him out of darkness and into the light, and that this global demonic attack will come to an end as the Lord sets all the captives free!

Keep Praying

So the next time you see someone in the store crying over a jar of salsa or a pair of baby booties, pray for them! You probably have not walked the path they are on or have any idea of the pain they are experiencing. Just pray for them and ask the Holy Spirit to heal their broken heart. We all are dealing with something that only God can fix. So while we cry, we keep praying that God will fix it soon—before it’s too late!

The author is a homeschooling mom who attends church regularly and is active in her community. She has a variety of diverse interests and makes friends readily. She loves animals, children, her husband, and Jesus. Her prayer is that everyone who reads this article will be healed by the Holy Spirit and comforted by His presence, and that all the lost ones will be found (Ezekiel 34:11-16).

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A life-threatening blood infection forced my mind to race to the

throne of God. I prayed, “Lord, if it is time for me to go home to heaven to be with you, I’m ready. However, would you somehow spare my elderly parents the grief of losing their youngest child? At ages 91 and 87, it would be unbearable for them!” As it turned out, I didn’t die. But two months afterwards, I was still struggling to have sufficient energy to do my job, which required that I be physically capable of climbing and crawling, as well as being mentally alert.

In the midst of my battle to stay alive, a voice in my mind kept urging me

to write about my experiences with God throughout my life. I couldn’t imagine why God would want me to do this. There are many people who have far more powerful testimonies than mine.

Then, while I was recuperating, my mentor friend, Cecilia, called to check on me. She had been out of the country, and upon her return she had learned of my illness. She asked if I had been scared or worried. I assured her that I had had true peace. Then I casually mentioned that my background had prepared me to face death. For the next hour, I filled her in on how my life began and how

by Susanna Fan

The Scar No One Sees

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God had turned a deep scar into a blessing of trust and dependence on Him as my Maker. Cecelia exclaimed, “I’ve known you for many years, and I never knew that part of your life!” It’s true; for almost four decades I had not told anyone about my early life. Cecilia—a pastor, missionary, and author of many books—said she believed my experience would bring healing to many people, particularly women with scars that no one sees but who are hurting deeply. If my testimony would bring glory to God and healing to others, I would write it! I hope others will see how God worked in my life—rather than what I have done.

The Miracle Birth

In the early 1960s in Hong Kong, our family shared the rent of a small flat with another family. Dad, the sole breadwinner for our family, worked as a truck driver delivering various goods to vendors throughout the city. His salary was not a lavish sum, and Mom had to be creative to make ends meet. She had five children to feed! Many times she had to ask for help from friends. My parents were having marital issues—besides the stress in life—and it was under these circumstances that I was conceived.

During this time, abortion was a common practice among women who, after conception, did not want

to have their babies—for whatever reason. Many women who chose abortion were desperate and running out of options. That was the category my mother fit in. She tried twice to abort me. But by God’s grace I survived both times when my mother took herbal medicine to abort the fetus. Even after I was born, in desperation, my mother wanted to throw me out the hospital window. She was stopped by a nurse who talked her out of doing such a thing to an innocent baby.

I, of course, have no memory of what happened to me while I was in my mother’s womb, or the incident at the hospital. There was no physical scar on me that marked my journey to birth. I was loved, nurtured, and provided for by my parents just as my five older siblings were.

The Scar

I don’t remember exactly when I was told about my pre-birth ordeal, but it was at an early age. Mom, getting upset with me, spilled out the supposed “secret” in frustration. She made the point that if I had been successfully aborted, she wouldn’t have to deal with my mischief. Before I was seven, I had heard the story a number of times. Honestly, I don’t remember that I was that naughty growing up. But a scar was carved deep in my heart! I constantly told

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myself that I was an unwanted child, that my existence was a mistake. It hurt so deeply that I often felt I didn’t belong in my family. It was just too much to bear for a kid not even seven years old!

frequent nosebleeds—almost a daily occurrence. I often woke up with a glob of blood in my mouth and stains of blood on my pillow. This is something I have never grown out of, although nosebleeds are much less frequent now than in my younger years. I have always wondered if the nosebleeds are somehow a result of the abortion attempts.

The Fever

With a nearly photographic memory, I started school well. I was able to retain almost everything the teachers taught. Then in the second grade, two weeks before the year’s final exam, I contracted chicken pox. For twelve consecutive days I had a fever of 104 degrees. The doctor at the neighborhood clinic where my mother took me predicted that I would have brain damage as a result of the prolonged high fever. Mom, however, did her best to nurture me back to health, and I was able to return to school to make up the final exam I had missed. Unfortunately, I was not able to recall the things I had studied before having chicken pox. I ended up falling from being third from the top of about 150 students in the second grade to being third from the bottom. And even though I tried very hard, I remained far from the top ranks for the rest of my schooling through the sixth grade.

I constantly told myself that I was an unwanted child, that my existence was a mistake.

I didn’t feel anger at my parents; instead, I felt that I was the cause of their problems. Unable to communicate my feelings to anyone, and thinking that no one cared to know, I was a lonely and sad kid. Every time I was scolded for something, I felt a fresh stab at the scar. A huge gulf existed between me and my siblings because they were the “wanted” ones and I had forced myself into our family. In reality, the distance I felt between us was probably due to the age gap—we ranged from two and a half years to sixteen years apart. My older siblings were occupied in their studies, sports, and careers. I didn’t understand their worlds, and they didn’t understand mine.

During my younger years, I had

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My inability to rank top in my class increased my feelings of unworthiness. I was only eleven years old and carried that feeling like a suffocating weight on my shoulders. My parents did not understand that I really tried my best to do well. I studied hard, but I could not retain the material I studied. I failed the secondary school entrance exam big time in sixth grade. The worst part for my parents was when friends and neighbors called up and compared scores between their kids and me. My parents—once proud of me for my good grades—were now very disappointed. I felt again like the black sheep of the family!

A New Chapter

In 1976, a new chapter began for our family when all except my elder sister Betty and her family immigrated to the United States. My parents, sister Acker, brother John, and I landed at San Francisco International Airport in November and were reunited with my brother Dan and my sister Florence and her family. One week after our arrival, Florence prepared a Thanksgiving dinner for us. I had no idea what Thanksgiving was all about, but we had a lot of food and people got together.

Once school started, I was meeting new friends and adjusting to my new

environment. Most of my friends were also immigrants from Asia, so I was able to communicate and identify with them. Learning English was not easy for me, but I worked hard at it. Being able to play sports and have hobbies was new to me, as was having more independence.

About the time I entered high school, my brothers, Dan and John—both good badminton players—began taking me with them to the Chinese Center in San Francisco to play in the gym. I quickly picked up badminton, and it became a great confidence booster for me. When badminton was offered as one of the P.E. classes at my school, I took it, and ended up on the school badminton team. It was a lot of fun playing the high school league, but it was also a lot of work with practices and league games. Quite a few weekends my brothers and I would go to open tournaments in Northern California. In the course of playing badminton, I learned a great deal about discipline and teamwork. The success I achieved in badminton created a new confidence that I never thought I would have. But a humbling experience was about to unfold in my life.

The Search

A very warm and friendly lady named Sue at the Chinese Center

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I constantly told my-self that I was an unwanted child, that my existence was a mistake. often invited me to go to church with

her, and I would brush her off with a comment like “when I can find the time.” My rather curt response began to bother me. I asked myself why I didn’t want to go to church. I had attended Catholic schools in Hong Kong and going to a Christian church was not something foreign to me. I decided I just didn’t believe the Christian faith, and my conscience wouldn’t let me go. But there was something in me that made me want to prove that God was not real. I determined to diligently study the Bible to find flaws in it. Over the following two and a half years, I read through the Old Testament once and through the New Testament three times. At first I used my new knowledge as ammunition to debate people in the church. But over time, instead of finding flaws in the Bible, I was finding the Bible’s claim that Jesus was God’s Son to be true.

My brother and sister, John and Acker, were attending another church at this time, and their behaviors and character showed a distinct difference. I have known them all my life, and I could see the difference—and the change wasn’t something humans could do. It was from a deeper experience—from the inside out. One big difference was that they started to care more about me.

Eventually, after my years of searching to disprove God’s existence, I came to the conclusion that He does exist! I couldn’t deny the fulfillment of God’s words and Christ’s claim to be the Messiah who died for my sins in my place. And there was God’s work in the lives of my siblings! Kneeling by my bedside, I said to God, “You win!”

While I collected more trophies from wins at badminton tournaments, God put a cap on my confidence in myself. After putting my faith in Christ, my confidence was not diminished but grew even stronger, because now my confidence was in God and not in myself anymore. In September, 1979, at an evangelistic event in Acker’s church, I went down front at the altar call and publicly professed Christ as my personal Savior and Lord. From then on, this church became my spiritual home.

Badminton was my confidence booster, but it did not heal me. The Bible teaches loving and honoring your parents. And since God had forgiven me, I forgave my parents—to a point. But my forgiveness was not complete, and that bothered me. Every time there was conflict between my parents and me, they would say things that upset me, and that would bring me back to my childhood sadness. I could not shake

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Sue lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband Ed. They attend a Calvary Chapel church in their neighborhood.

Sue is a building inspector for a major jurisdiction in Silicon Valley.

off the hurt feelings. Then in 2001, after a night of struggling, I cried my heart out to the Lord.

“Lord, You have taught me to forgive my parents, and I have done everything in my power to do so. Yet I struggle with hurt feelings every time we have conflict! I can’t go on like this, saying I have forgiven them, but feeling differently. Please take over my feelings! I’m too exhausted to keep struggling.”

After an hour of pleading with the Lord, I fell asleep—the best sleep I have ever had. God had given me a deep peace. Since that night, I no longer struggle with forgiveness. When my parents and I have conflicts, the hurt feelings don’t surface anymore. I pray for them the prayer that Jesus prayed, “Father, forgive them for they don’t know what they are doing.”

In 2014, my parents became Christians and were baptized the following year. I give thanks to God for His forgiveness, loving-kindness, patience, mercy, and grace!

My Story in Hindsight

It was either my instinct to live or my rebellious nature that made me refuse to submit to my circumstances. I chose to give life my best try and fought for and earned what other

kids normally take for granted. I knew since I was given a chance to live, God has a purpose for me.

God knew how to mold me into a usable vessel. My self-worth had been in the negative column from birth, but God slowly built me up through the years. He healed the wound within. He brought me to a peak of success in the game of badminton. Then He took me down by showing me in Whom I should place my confidence. After two and a half years of searching and researching, He planted my feet on a solid foundation of faith.

“For You formed my inward parts; You wove me in my mother’s womb.I will give thanks to You,For I am fearfully and wonderfully made;Wonderful are Your works,And my soul knows it very well.”Psalm 139:13-14, NASB

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An Alcoholic’s Redemptionby Fred Meek

cases of beer, drive to the desert outside El Paso, and consume our stash before climbing into our bedrolls and passing out.

Into Heavy Stuff

After high school and for the next 15 years, my drinking took me into what I now call the “dark years” of my life. When I look at family pictures taken during those years, I see myself in the photos but have little memory of the special occasions we were celebrating. I was usually drunk.

My wife, Pauletta, like me, grew up in a drinking family. When we married, she knew the effects that alcohol had on people and accepted it. It was the way of life she was familiar with. Two beautiful daughters were born into our home, but due to my heavy drinking, most of the responsibility for care of our daughters fell to Pauletta.

Beer was always my beverage of choice—that is, until one Christmas when a neighbor invited us to a party where hard liquor was served. To fit in on this festive evening, I felt I should accept the drinks offered,

Starting Early

By the time I was ten years old, I had already acquired a taste for alcohol. Born in El Paso, Texas, to parents who consumed drinks nightly—Mom, usually a beer, and Dad, a tonic—I grew up familiar with the sight and smell of alcoholic beverages. As a child, I was allowed to sip my mother’s beers, and the aroma was tantalizing! To this day, the smell of beer has an intoxicating effect on my senses.

As I grew older, my parents allowed me to drink with them, believing to do so would keep me from going out to drink elsewhere. But by my early teens, I was hanging out with older guys making trips into Juarez, Mexico, where we could buy alcohol below age. We’d also make regular trips to the local liquor stores. With access to automobiles, my friends and I would sit in front of a liquor store waiting for someone to drive up who was willing to go in and buy liquor for us—provided we’d also pay for theirs. By this time, I was often drinking to the point of intoxication. Frequently, on weekends, a gang of my friends and I would ice down

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I just knew I was getting close to death.

died from an overdose of cocaine, an act which filled me with anger and drove me to drink even more. Clearly my life was a mess, but I was incapable of doing anything about it. The devil, however, had tricked me into thinking that the comfort of another woman was what I needed. Pauletta—who had endured life as the wife of an alcoholic for years—learned of my escapades, confronted me, and became violent. She was fighting mad at her alcoholic husband and the woman who threatened her marriage and home. In the brawl that took place between us, I ended up with a black eye! At work the next day, my excuse was that I’d had an accident while working in the garage the night before.

My company bosses and co-workers, though they knew I drank, were unaware that I had a drinking problem. But I knew! My drinking had reached a stage that was detrimental not only to my own well-being but also to my job performance. At my request—and through a benefit program called the EAP (Employee Assistance Program)—my company offered me the opportunity to get treatment at a premier inpatient drug and alcohol center in Wickenburg, Arizona. I entered for a four-week

even though I was not fond of hard liquor. The trick of the devil was to get me to take those first sips, and before long I had switched from drinking beer to hard liquor.

Once on an elk hunting trip in Colorado, a friend and I started doing marijuana runs from El Paso to Colorado. We worked together for two years delivering a few kilos, which paid enough to cover our hunting costs and our drugs. Amazingly, during my years of heavy drinking, I was able to keep my job. I never drank on the job but would start drinking the moment I arrived home. I would sit at the bar in our kitchen and enjoy one glass of liquor after another—sometimes passing out in the evening. On business trips associated with my job, I sometimes played around with recreational drugs such as acid and meth, but alcohol was legal, and I would always come back to it.

A Real Shiner!

As the years rolled on and my drinking grew worse, Pauletta became less willing to accept a husband who—although home on the sofa—would be in a drunken stupor and not really there! She knew I needed help and began to understand that her acceptance of my drinking as normal was actually enabling me—not helping me. She wanted me to change and was ready to demand it!

I, however, would not admit that I had a problem—not even after my brother

At AA meetings, I could be honest about myself. With en-couragement from the group, I grasped a new concept: I could change!

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treatment, but ended up staying seven.

Sober and Saved

When entering treatment, my attitude had been to get enough help to control my drinking. I never dreamed that the help I needed would require giving up alcohol altogether. The various therapies I received at the rehab center did help. I gained an understanding of myself and learned that I have a need to control, and alcohol provided the power to do so. But the most beneficial part of the program for me was participating in an AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) 12-Step Program. At AA meetings, I could be honest about myself. With encouragement from the group, I grasped a new concept: I could change!

I began to envision a different way forward for my life! I began to really want to quit drinking! Before I left the center, alone by the swimming pool one afternoon, I got on my knees and acknowledged my powerlessness over alcohol. I prayed, “God, please help me! I don’t want to be me anymore!”

When I returned home, I got my job back, and my family was going to stay with me—a miracle! Within a year, my wife, two daughters, and I had all been baptized and become active members of a neighborhood church. I had been baptized twice before in my life—once as a child when I wanted to do what my friends were doing, and again when I was 17 to impress

a girl whose church required baptism for membership. But a pastor helped me understand that what I needed was not another religious rite—I needed to be saved! He helped me understand Who Jesus is and that He loved me enough to die for my sins! I understood that I have access to this personal Savior every moment of my day. So a new journey began for me. I began walking daily with God and keeping check on my need to control others—accepting that there are things I can’t control and then relinquishing those things to God.

A Clean Start

Free of alcohol, I now had a clean body and a clear mind. I had time, energy, and a desire to do something with my life. I looked for direction from God. My church offered me the opportunity to work with children, and I began teaching a Sunday school class of eight-year-olds. Our church also had a prison ministry which worked with the Bill Glass Prison Ministry, the oldest and largest prison ministry in the U.S. On my first visit to a prison, I connected with men whose drug and alcohol use had led them into a life of crime, and I

Fred and Pauletta leaving on a mission trip to Chile

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Fred Meek explains his 19-year devotion to prison ministry as “God’s call on my life.” His past alcohol and drug use

uniquely qualifies him to speak to men in prison. Fred and his wife, Pauletta, are members of First Baptist Church, Hurst, Texas, where Fred facilitates the church’s prison ministry in conjunction with the Bill Glass Behind the Walls prison ministry. The Meeks have two grown children and three grandchildren.

realized—but for God’s mercies—it could be me behind those bars! I knew those men needed the message I had: the way to beat addiction is through Christ and His power!

Thus began a 19-year ministry—one that has taken me into 161 prisons, including prisons in the U.S., Russia, Ukraine, and Chile. What a blessing this had been! I have met men in prison with horrible pasts who have turned to Christ and experienced the joy of having their sins forgiven. Some have chosen to study theology in prison, preach the gospel in their cell block, and start churches among their inmates. The rate of recidivism is lowest among prisoners who experience the saving power of the Lord while in prison. The gospel truly is the power for salvation!

And there are special blessings related to prison ministry. Jesus taught that to visit those in prison—the “least of these”—is the same as doing it for Him (Matthew 25:34-45). Our visits to prisons show men and women who are incarcerated that we care, that they are not forgotten, and that there is hope in Christ! When a life is changed by the gospel, a family’s legacy is changed, and society becomes a better place for all.

Life Abundant!

Many people ask me if—after all those years of drinking—I have ever relapsed. I never have! I know it would be suicide for me. After rehab, I

continued going to post-rehabilitation meetings for several years. But the fellowship in my church, the love and prayers of fellow believers, and keeping the Word of God foremost in my mind eventually took the place of regular AA meetings. I still check in from time to time with the person who acted as my “sponsor,” and we rejoice together in what God continues to do in both our lives. Sponsorship has been an important part of AA from the beginning, and it remains strong in the 12-Step program. The one-on-one relationship between sponsor and addict benefits both parties.

Alcohol and drugs stole my life for many years. There’s no denying the power they have! But Christ is the Greatest Power! His love freed me from a totally profligate life and blessed me with a life of abundant joy and meaning. “A thief comes only to steal and to kill and to destroy. I have come that they may have life and have it in abundance” (John 10:10, HCSB).

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by May Co

Most modern-day parents—even Chinese—would not consider

having 17 children a blessing. But my grandfather, Chen Tien Un, born on March 14, 1872, did. He became the patriarch of a huge family which today numbers more than 400. We are scattered across seven countries, but that doesn’t keep about 100 of the Un family relatives from gathering every three years for a family reunion at a specific time and a different location. We cherish these times to recall and remind ourselves of God’s

blessings to our family.

Our grandfather Un lived during the Yuen period, when he, as a revolutionist, quietly resisted the unfair practices of local government leaders, while at the same time worked to save lives as a western-trained doctor. Grandfather had studied medicine under the tutelage of Dr. John Otte, a missionary doctor who served in Foochow, the city where grandfather lived. In his biography, Grandfather wrote: “I was

My Grandfather— Leaving a Legacy of Blessing

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May and FamilyMiss Agnes Birrel

very much influenced by the great compassion of my teacher, Dr. Otte. He loved my countrymen as “life.” He considered it his duty to instruct his students to manage the hospital and to preach the gospel and help the church. He gave willingly to the relief of human suffering. Before performing any operation or tending to an emergency case, he always assembled his students to kneel down and pray.”

Unfortunately, during the bubonic plague epidemic (at the end of the Ching Dynasty), Dr. Otte contracted the disease and died while still a young man in his thirties. My grandfather told the villagers that “Christ gave His life to save the world. Dr. Otte sacrificed his life to save our fellow-countrymen.” Dr. Otte had mentored my grandfather in the medical field and been an example of “a true disciple of Jesus Christ.”

Grandfather was influenced by another person too—his granduncle. Recounting the story of his uncle, Grandfather wrote: “My granduncle got saved at the age of 45 and went out to do evangelistic work. He would walk for 20-30 kilometers in order to bring a man to Christ. He had a good reputation around the village. But some villagers—seeing that we followed the “foreign” religion—initiated attacks, abuses, and persecutions upon us, so much so that we were forced to move from

our hometown to An-hai, where Christianity was established in 1856.”

Through his medical practice, Grandfather helped save people’s lives, and as a Christian, he used his resources to help save people’s souls. He opened a school for children where the gospel was presented and Bible study was a regular part of their daily lessons. He encouraged promising young people to go into the ministry—and then supported them financially through seminary. The example of Grandfather’s faithful Christian life has influenced and been an ongoing blessing to many in the Chen Tien Un family line.

A Granddaughter’s Journey

I am the recipient of these blessings and proud to be one of the descendants of Grandfather Un. My father was his third son, and I was born in Shanghai, China, on December 4, 1939, the fifth child of my parents, with four older brothers.

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gave the right to become children of God, even to those who believe in His name.” I prayed the sinner’s prayer and noticed an immediate change in my life—I wanted to do what God wanted me to do.

But in the years ahead, even though I was a child of God, there was always a struggle to be good. I had to learn that God wanted to be not only the Savior of my soul but also the Lord of my life—of all areas of my life. So I surrendered myself to God completely, committing to follow Him wherever He led. During my college years, I was fortunate to be a part of Intervarsity Christian Fellowship, which helped me deepen my walk with the Lord.

Afterwards, I went on to get Bible school training which prepared me for my future ministry. Shortly after finishing Bible school, at age 24, I met a missionary lady named Miss Agnes Birrel. She was 63 years old and in her last term of missionary service in the Philippines. Having previously served in China, she had learned Mandarin but had since forgotten much of the language. Working with Chinese now in the Philippines, she needed someone to translate for her. So I joined Miss Agnes in her ministry among the Chinese in Butuan City, and through our ministry, eventually six churches were planted. After we left, eight pastors continued our work among these churches.

Later, when I was ten years old, my mother gave birth to another son.

My family left Shanghai when I was seven years old because we heard that the Communists were going to take over the city. We traveled as a family—with my second auntie, fifth auntie, uncle, and grandmother (my grandfather had died two years earlier)—to Foochow, Taiwan, Hong Kong, and finally to the Philippines where my father set up a paper mill business. My grandmother lived with our family, and despite having given birth to 19 children, two of whom died during infancy, she lived to age 85. Grandmother was a giving person, always content with the circumstances of her life. Even in 100-degree temperatures in Manila, she would work in the kitchen, cooking delicious meals for our family. Her Fukienese egg rolls were a special delight to everyone.

As a child, I was anxious to know that I would go to heaven someday. I needed to know how to become a child of God. Even though my parents were Christians and my mom was much involved with church activities, they never explained to me how I could be saved. One day, my Sunday school teacher told me the gospel—that Jesus died on the cross for my sin, and if I was willing to ask Him to forgive my sin, I could be His child. She explained to my child’s mind what John 1:12 (NASB) says, “But as many as received Him, to them He

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All along, God had given me a burden to minister to children. Children are so teachable, so willing to listen, and easy to mold. I believe sowing the seeds of God’s Word to children will reap a great harvest in heaven. For seven years I ministered through Child Evangelism Fellowship, teaching Bible in Christian schools in Manila. Teaching 4th-6th graders, with classes consisting of 50-60 students, was really difficult, but God gave me strength because I knew we were reaching children and their parents for Christ.

A Lasting Influence

Grandfather Un always wished one of his sons would go into the ministry. The only son who chose the ministry, unfortunately, died while he was attending seminary. But our grandfather would be smiling now, for recently his great-grandson, Dr. Stephen Tan, graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary. Dr. Tan pastors Grace Christian Church, Manila, Philippines, and is the son of Paul Lee Tan, whose Christian ministry focuses on Revelation and end-time prophecy. In Manila, there is also a Christian school started by my auntie many years ago that is teaching the gospel to over 3,000 students.

Praise the Lord for my grandfather’s influence. He loved the Lord and gave his family a great example of service to others. I pray my life will

When asked about herself, May Co, author of this article, says, “I want to live for God in whatever situation I am in.”

influence the lives of others, just as my grandfather’s has.

“Therefore know that The Lord your God, He is God, the faithful God who keeps covenant and mercy for a thousand generations with those who love Him and keep His commandments” (Deuteronomy 7:9, NKJV).

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supposed to do before school. These are ordinary days at home with my young children. I have a quiver full of four arrows—aged 2, 4, 6, and 8.

A Matter of Perspective

When days are too “ordinary,” I might as well forget about homeschooling and get outside where God’s beautiful world can restore my peace and reorient my perspective. I can choose to worship rather than allowing myself to become overwhelmed. I can change my ordinary life into extraordinary by choosing worship over worry. I can demonstrate heavenly grace and fight the battles of my day with perseverance and faith. Yes, I could do all this, but in reality, too often I am tired and stressed, and sometimes even angry.

What happened to the self-assured, confident young woman I used to be? She is hard to find on days like this. By age 23, I was leading Bible studies, mentoring young girls, and speaking in conferences. Now, a decade later, I second-guess myself frequently and fail almost daily. I fail to rejoice in all circumstances; I fail to be calm and gracious; and I fail to pray.

But despite my failures, over the years, my absolute dependence on God has deepened. I have learned to hold on to Him with both hands. I know my very survival depends on Him. Apart from Him I can do nothing! Frustration, grief, stress, fear, anxiety,

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and unhappiness are often the trials I go through in life. But over and over again, in His great mercy and love, the Father reminds me that joy can be mine, no matter the circumstance. To know joy is the lot God ordains for all His children—whether our circumstances be beautiful, painful, or spiritually messy.

To know joy is the lot God ordains for all His childrenwhether our circumstances be beautiful, painful, or spiritually messy.

So, for me, joy comes by looking directly into the face of God, getting into His Word and allowing Him to speak to me. The joy from heaven is bigger and higher than my circumstances, because salvation trumps any negative emotions and any temporal circumstance. On ordinary days, I can have joy by taking one step at a time in an attitude of prayer, by listening for His Voice whether I’m diapering or reading to the little ones, by soaking in His Word in whatever manner possible throughout the day, and by worshiping the One True God in the middle of the mundane.

An Extraordinary God

Indeed, ordinary life is rarely glamorous, but it is on those very ordinary days that we find we need an extraordinary God. He gives us

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CHALLENGER VOL. 55 NO. 4 OCT-DEC 2016

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Kaili Zhang is a homeschool mom, Ministry Representative of International Students, Inc. of New Zealand,

a senior lecturer in education, and a freelance educational consultant.

strength and wisdom for the moment, grace for the trials, and mercy for our sins and rebellion. We cannot make it through the ordinary days without Him.

Oh, yes! I am just an ordinary mama living an ordinary life, but the heavenly joy of these earthly, ordinary days is that God is gloriously ruling over them. He wants me to come to Him, yoke up with Him, and let Him do the work in my heart and life that is necessary for peace in my heart and joy in parenting as I train up my children as the Bible tells me to. So—in these ordinary days—I want to sit close to my extraordinary Saviour and pull His children in to sit close too.

“Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee. Trust ye in the LORD for ever: for in the LORD JEHOVAH is everlasting strength” (Isaiah 26:3-4, KJV).

So keep walking, all saints of the Lord! And may you find much joy today as well. Look up. He will never leave you or forsake you (Hebrews 13:5).

To know joy is the lot God ordains for all His childrenwhether our circumstances be beautiful, painful, or spiritually messy.

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This is one of those days! I woke up feeling terrible—tired, with no reason for being

tired. I slept seven hours last night, but this morning I am not feeling good. I am not motivated to do anything. I have no joy, just a feeling of drowning under an insurmountable pile of stress and demands.

As a mama, how joyful can I be when as of yesterday I added three children and my husband to the list of family members with the flu? Also, there were to be two dental checkups later today—but I failed my recent driving test for the fifth time!

On ordinary days like this one I find it hard to be joyful in anything—most especially homeschooling. Often the baby doesn’t sleep well through the night, my students (i.e., my kids) don’t remember anything I’ve taught them, a pre-schooler isn’t motivated to sit down and read with me, and another child has a hundred questions about spiders and snakes which I’m not particularly interested in and am very much afraid of. Then, my kids drag their feet doing the chores they are

I’m Just anOrdinary Mama

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by Kaili Zhang

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