I had attended church since young, but God was someone demanding and distant to me. The idea of having a personal relationship with Him seemed foreign.
Going to church felt like an obligation.
Eventually, I pursued things I could control: grades, sports, and friendships. These pursuits became sources of my self-worth and identity.
In school, I chased academic success, thinking good grades would bring recognition and make me feel significant. They did, but only temporarily. The moment my results dipped, my self-worth dropped too.
Outside the classroom, I threw myself into sports, especially rugby. Every win filled me with a sense of worth, while every loss plunged me into despair.
My self-esteem teetered on the edge, wavering with each match. I trained relentlessly, hoping that the next victory would finally satisfy the void inside.
Among friends, I don a mask, bending and shaping myself to be accepted. I laughed at inappropriate jokes, swore when it felt wrong, and shifted my personality to fit in.
In the process, I became a stranger to myself. Who am I beneath this mask?
My identity became shackled to my performance. Life had become a relentless cycle of temporary thrills and gnawing emptiness.
Each time I hoped to feel fulfilled, only to find that nothing truly satisfied, leaving me exhausted, anxious, and empty.
Entering Polytechnic, church felt irrelevant. I drifted and eventually became lost in a self-made world that seemed more fulfilling. Then, things took a turn for the worse.
In my first year of Polytechnic, I suffered my first major knee injury. My world came falling apart. It dawned upon me that everything I had been pursuing was fleeting and fragile.
Amidst the crisis, an unexpected invitation came. Brother Jireh, my youth minister, asked me to join youth camp. I didn’t really want to go, why would I? But I had no excuse, so I reluctantly said yes.
I was a last-minute addition and ended up rooming with another latecomer. To my surprise, he too felt far from God.
With our common struggle, we opened up, shared, and prayed together. It felt like a divine intervention; God was showing me that I wasn’t alone.
During one of the altar calls at youth camp, I experienced a quiet but piercing whisper in my spirit:
“Draw near. I am waiting for you, my child.”
In that moment, I broke down. For the first time in years, I felt God’s presence so close. With tears streaming down my face, I realised He had never left me. His love was so overwhelming. It had always been there.
After camp, I returned to church but staying committed was hard. Then came my scheduled knee surgery, which sidelined me for two months. With rugby stripped away, I hit rock bottom.
But even in that dark valley, God’s light broke through. My life group rallied around me. They practised “Jesus time”, spending time alone with God in parks or quiet places.
Since I couldn’t walk, my leader drove to pick me up and brought me along. My life group texted me, checked in, and prayed for me.
They brought the church to me even while my faith was wavering. Through them, I experienced a love that wasn’t based on performance, but a love that was real and present.
Not long after, a close friend passed away. He was only 20 years old. It shattered my heart to know that my friend had passed away without the chance to know God. In my grief, I realised I had taken our time together for granted.
To say there was certainly a tomorrow was not my privilege.
Tomorrow was never a guarantee, and I had been lost in the pursuit of fleeting pleasures while neglecting the eternal.
That loss ignited a fire in me — an urgency to love deeply, and to reflect Jesus to those around me before it was too late. I resolved not to stay passive any longer. I wanted my life to count for something eternal.
Each part of the journey, the injury, the camp, the surgery, and the loss, was God’s gentle call for my return to Him. Even when my faith faltered, He pursued me relentlessly.
The greatest transformation in my life wasn’t external, but internal: my worth is not based on my successes nor people’s approval; it is based on His love and truth — I am already loved, already known, already His.
I am already loved, already known, already His.
It is this truth that gives a deep satisfying joy and fulfilment that endures! My identity and self-worth rest firmly and securely in Christ. I yearn to share this love and joy with others, so they may experience it for themselves too.
I used to strive for success and recognition. Now, I live with purpose, anchored upon the love of God who never gave up on me.
My greatest reward isn’t applause but knowing Christ and making Him known.
