It all started about ten years ago when my nephew came to Singapore from overseas to start working. At that time, I was still a free thinker, living life on my own terms as a self-employed businessman.
My journey with faith had been non-existent, and in fact, my heart had been closed off to religion for over two decades. This stemmed from a painful experience in my younger days—one that left a deep scar.
I was around 25 when a monk visited my workplace. I happened to be at the pantry when we struck up a conversation. He told me that I was at the peak of my career and that it was time for me to get involved in religion. His words intrigued me, though I had little understanding of faith at the time. Having started work at the age of 13, I had spent my entire life carving out my own path, focused on financial success. Yet, despite achieving monetary satisfaction, I often felt an unexplainable void in my heart—no matter how much money I made, something always seemed to be missing.
Perhaps that’s why I listened to the monk’s advice. I followed him to his home, a typical Singapore HDB flat, but as soon as I stepped inside, I felt an unsettling atmosphere. The entire space was dimly lit, filled with idols and various deities, and the air was thick with the overwhelming scent of incense. He instructed me to kneel down—and for some reason, I complied without question. The next thing I knew, I was at an ATM, withdrawing $10,000 and handing it to him in exchange for a deity pendant.
It wasn’t until I got home that I snapped out of what felt like a trance. Reality hit me hard—I had just spent a large sum of money on something I neither needed nor truly believed in. I had been scammed, and worse, I had no way of tracking him down. That experience left me deeply disillusioned. From that moment on, I closed my heart to all forms of religion.
Fast forward to nearly twenty years later. When my nephew arrived in Singapore, his parents asked me to guide him toward a religion. Given my past, I wasn’t inclined to push him in any direction, so I gave him a choice: temple or church? To my surprise, he chose church.
Although my wife is a devoted Buddhist, I had never once stepped into a temple. I had kept my distance from faith altogether. However, since my wife also felt that bringing our nephew to church was a good idea, I went along with it.
Our first visit was to a church that telecasted its services remotely, but it didn’t resonate with us. Then, a business friend recommended another church, mentioning that their congregation was moving to a larger location. Curious, I decided to check it out.
As I sat through the sermons, something within me began to stir. On my third visit, there was an altar call. The pastor asked everyone to close their eyes, and as I did, an extraordinary thing happened—I saw an immense, radiant light emanating from the center of the church altar.
Now, I have always been sensitive to the spiritual realm. Since the age of five or six, I had been able to perceive things that others couldn’t. So at that moment, I initially thought the light was coming from a ceiling spotlight. But when I opened my eyes, I realized there were no such lights in the small church we were attending.
I felt something shift in my spirit. A lightness. A lifting.
After the service, I approached one of the church seniors and asked if I could accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior. That day, in March 2015, at Elim Church, the pastor led me in the sinner’s prayer, and I gave my life to Christ.
That was the beginning of my walk with God.
