“Can you go to the supermarket now and buy a few bags of rice? Supply is depleting from the shelves!” my husband said, in a concerned manner.
It was the day major news outlets had just reported that Singapore’s Disease Outbreak Response System Condition (DORSCON) level had turned from yellow to orange.
That Sunday, when I realized that I had messed up the timing yet again, I started to feel angry at myself, and regretted not being able to join the full worship session from beginning.
In my early twenties, I hated being single. I thought it meant that I was unattractive and unwanted.
There was a period when I had offered to write almost one article a week to help my ministry team meet deadlines. Even though my command of English is ordinary, I love relating to God’s Word and began writing a lot of my experiences and thoughts.
I grew up with Ashley (not her real name) and we attended the same schools. We talked a lot about relationships when we were younger and the kind of married life we hoped for.
I used to wonder what my spiritual gift was. I thought it was ushering because someone suggested I help out as an usher.
Then one day, our pastor showed us a movie titled War Room. The main character was a faithful and God-loving woman who wrote down her prayers in a prayer closet and prayed about them daily.
The church I became a Christian in is probably one of the smallest churches in Singapore. I started attending it because the pastor’s wife—who happens to be my husband’s aunt—reached out to me during a period of trials. Through her, I found comfort in God’s Word and a Christian community who really encouraged me.
“What? You are attending a Bible study in a Methodist church?” My husband expressed his surprise when I first told him that I was joining this particular Bible study. It was just 10 minutes’ walk from my office, and the timing was just after work hours, which worked out perfectly for me.
Four years ago, I was staying with my husband’s family. I was a new mom to a baby boy, and there were many things I had to learn.
My in-laws, naturally, kept a close watch on their grandson. They would often correct me on how to carry the baby or hold his milk bottle. As a perfectionist, I hated being corrected. But at the same time, I felt pressured to perform well, even when I was tired.