My Early Life

I was born on July 12 in the Gregorian calendar, a date I’ve always cherished because “7” and “12” are symbols of perfection in the Bible. I often see it as a mark of God’s special love for me.

As I mentioned before, my father wasn’t particularly skilled in parenting, and he hardly paid much attention to us, let alone provided guidance. So, as a child, I mostly followed my mother. Apart from working in the fields, my mother’s primary activity was attending church gatherings. There was no Sunday school for kids, at least not in the villages around ours. So, when my mother went to services, I would sit beside her, listening to the sermons.

In rural church life, gatherings were often informal. One day people would meet in our village, the next we’d go to another, and on Sundays, sometimes, to a bigger church in town. My memories are full of following my mother to services in different villages. To be honest, I didn’t understand much then. My mother once laughed, recalling that I left a church service early, only to tell her later, “I didn’t feel free there.” Like any child, I was restless, preferring play to sitting still for an hour or two.

Yet, none of this hindered God’s love and guidance in my life.

I remember when I was about three or four, a wedding took place in the village. My mother was asked to help make the bridal quilt, so I tagged along. While playing nearby, I dislocated my left arm, and I couldn’t lift it. A neighbor suggested taking me to a local bone-setter, but he wasn’t home. My mother calmly said, “Let’s wait and see.” So, everyone left me alone, and I sulked in discomfort. Later, perhaps needing to use the restroom, I stood up and accidentally fell. Miraculously, that fall reset my arm, and I could move it freely again. It was my first memory of witnessing God’s power firsthand.

There was another time when my mother was chatting with a neighbor outside while holding me. Suddenly, my mother became anxious and insisted on heading home, leaving the neighbor behind. Just as we reached our door, we heard the neighbor scream. Rushing back, we found that a dog had lunged at her leg, leaving her bleeding heavily. God’s protection seemed to be with me time and again.

I have countless memories like this, but one that remains vivid was in junior high. It was one night after evening self-study, and I was cycling home. Part of the road lacked streetlights, and in the distance, I saw a small light approaching—it seemed to be a motorcycle. I decided to overtake two friends riding ahead of me, moving quickly to the left. Just then, the motorcycle sped up, and before I knew it, we collided with a loud “bang.” For a moment, my mind went blank, thinking it was all over. However, instead of flying forward as physics might suggest, I was somehow lifted backward and landed gently. I stood up, unharmed, while my bike lay twisted into a “V” shape. The motorcyclist, too, was thrown off, groaning in pain. This incident left me with a profound sense of God’s love and power.

From then on, I never doubted God’s presence, love, or strength because these experiences had made His reality undeniable to me. But, of course, God had other ways of teaching me as well.

As a child, swearing was almost inevitable, especially among boys. I used to follow suit until I realized that every time I cursed, a sore would appear on my heel, causing days of pain. I knew this was God’s discipline. In middle school, I slipped up again, immediately regretting it, not because of the words themselves but because I knew my heel would suffer. Sure enough, a sore appeared the next day.

Growing up in poverty, I was also quite tempted by petty gains—even to the point of stealing. I remember when remote-control cars were all the rage. While urban kids could afford to customize their cars, rural kids like us had to settle for cheaper, pre-made ones. I often went to a toy store in town that had a dedicated play area for remote-control cars. One day, I noticed a new car chassis in a corner, unattended. Pretending to play, I pocketed it and quickly left. For a few days, I was overjoyed, until my beloved car went missing at home. Eventually, I discovered who had taken it, but I was helpless. That experience taught me the pain of losing something precious, and I never stole again.

Through God’s love and discipline, I grew and gradually gained a better understanding of Him. These life experiences were like signposts, reminding me of God’s presence. But without the Bible’s teachings, these would have been mere coincidences or luck.

I grew up with my mother, who read the Bible to me every evening. Once I learned to read, I began reading on my own and, by age nine, could read her full traditional Chinese Bible independently. I was captivated by the Bible stories—Genesis, Exodus, the Kings and Prophets of the Old Testament, and the New Testament’s accounts of Jesus’ life and the apostles’ deeds. These stories accompanied me as I grew, instilling reverence and awe.

However, life doesn’t always stay that way. As I grew older, I felt a change—fewer miracles, subtler discipline, and life’s hardships took center stage. Work became a struggle. While my classmates found jobs, I seemed to stumble from one failed opportunity to the next. My first job saw my colleagues resign one by one; my second job ended in layoffs; the third closed entirely after just two months. It was as if misfortune followed me wherever I went. “God, aren’t you a loving God? Don’t You bless those who believe in You?” I wondered.

Romantic relationships weren’t smooth either. While others dated and married, my relationships always ended in heartbreak. I struggled to understand why the God who once protected and nurtured me felt so distant. The health of my family members also declined, and my parents, aging and ill, seemed to face one setback after another. My older sister’s health worsened, too. Watching other families thrive only made ours seem more fragile.

For years, I searched for answers. I never doubted God’s existence or love, but I couldn’t understand why things had changed so drastically. Reflecting on myself, I saw many flaws—I was prideful, sharp-tongued, and defiant when criticized. I sinned regularly and even found pleasure in my failings.