A father, his son, and the Holy Spirit.
Preface
“Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.” — Ephesians 4:2–3
Hey! My name is William and this writing piece is a testimony of how God worked in my relationship with my father and I. I acknowledge that everyone’s relationships with their parents are different and I am not disregarding the people who may not have such relationships. No human family is perfect. My hope is for readers to have the mindset of praise and wonder for the amazingness of God’s influence in everyone’s relational journey! I also hope that you feel encouraged to look at the blessings God has gifted you and cherish them with utmost gratitude. With that said, I hope readers would feel encouraged and enjoy the read — maybe some parts of my life would be relatable :)
“Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord.” — Colossians 3:20
I grew up in the traditional Christian way where I am born and raised in a Christian family, went to church every Sunday, prayed before every meal, and attended the church community fellowship group. Then I became stale with my faith, but thankfully found refuge in Jesus’s love at a later point in my teen life, and now I am closer than ever in my relationship with God. Of course, there is a bit more to unpack. Before solidifying my relationship with my heavenly Father, I was first developing my relationship with my human father. Looking back, without the Holy Spirit and a Christ-like love dwelling within our family, my relationship with him would have been very broken.
A father
“You must be perfect.”
So, Dad got with Mom, immigrated to Canada, and then had me! From very early on, Dad established his authority over me by raising me with the inclusion of corporal punishment and fear. Whenever I misbehaved, I would get slapped hard on the hand or even worse, get the “Blossoming Flower” 😱 (when you get spanked so hard, the redness on your bottom would look like a blossoming flower). Throughout my childhood, I feared him and was scared to disobey him. I learned at Sunday school about how I should be “obeying our parents’’ because that is what the Lord has commanded. So every time I was punished or my father would reprimand me, I convinced myself, “It is for my own good, Dad is doing this because he loves me.” I did notice myself being more obedient than other kids at school, or in other households. I would not make a fuss, I would not be rude, and I would always be respectful to adults. I thought I was being the perfect son. I think I even felt some sense of pride in having a stricter father compared to other kids. I remember always listening to his anecdotes to his colleagues about his successes at the workplace by living out his faith. I could not help but admire his charisma and boldness as a Christian. I feared him.
As I grew up, his disciplining methods evolved to be less physical and more psychological. Often, he would reprimand me and constantly tell me what and how I should do better next time. Sometimes he would threaten to lock me out of the house if I did not follow the rules he established. Sometimes he would just remain silent, and just stare at me. His very presence created some sort of pressure in my mind. With the fear instilled in me, I would accept his punishments — without questioning him or searching for the reason for my punishments. Were his actions justified? Did I deserve this? In my mind, the answer was always yes. He is doing what was best for me.
His son
“Will he be satisfied with me?”
When we moved to Singapore (I was ~8, going to Grade 4), I had to take a diagnostic examination to determine what grade I would transfer to. Comparing Singapore and Canada’s education, Singapore was a much higher academic standard. I clearly recall Mom opening the envelope and telling me “You are going to Grade 2”. This was the first time I felt an immense sense of shame, disappointment, and sadness, on top of the fear of Dad’s reaction. Being surrounded by kids younger and smarter than me really lowered my self-esteem but I pushed through because I did not want to disappoint Dad. I quickly picked up the Asian academic mentality where “grades are your identity”. I believed that my worth was represented by a number in comparison with other kids. Thankfully, Singapore was not all just school. I learned a lot at church and eventually took my step of faith in believing in Jesus Christ.
“Does he understand me?”
Now moving back to Canada, my high school years start. I still had the mentality that grades defined my future success. At first, school was pretty easy. I was just reviewing content that I already learned since coming from Singapore. Then, I became complacent. I would be sleeping in class, not doing homework, and just playing video games. Of course, I hid all of this from Dad as it was a sort of escapism for me. As I approached Grade 11, the emphasis on getting high grades due to university applications became intensely apparent. I did not really care until I received my first report card of the term. 54 in math. Again, I felt the same sense of shame and fear from when I was put into Grade 2. I did all I could to hide it from him. As days passed, the guilt, the shame, the stress, and the fear grew inside of me. It was not just the grade, but also the idea of incompetence continuously haunted my mentality. To add fuel to the fire, Dad found the report card after a few weeks. His attitude did not change. He would be sighing silently sometimes. The lack of reactions scared me. The bottling of emotions became more and more intense. Whenever Dad commented on how I should act, I would take it personally and internalize my anger — the inability to resolve the internal clash of “it’s for my own good” and “I can’t take it anymore.” It was so bad that I felt the physical strain in my chest whenever I felt that anger. The feeling of helplessness and frustration towards my father. So one day, as he was driving me to school during the snowy winter and lecturing me about something, I could not handle it anymore. I left the car mid-lecture and slammed the door really hard. That was the first time I showed him how I genuinely felt emotionally.
“Can I depend on myself?”
University, woohoo! Freedom from parents, right? For a bit, yeah. I got to sleep whenever I wanted, play video games with friends all night, and not worry about someone deciding what to do for me. I got the independence I wanted for so long, yet, I did not feel completely happy. Rather, it was the opposite. I was still stressed over grades, still stressed about my future, and still stressed about my father’s expectations. After failing my midterm for Econ, I had a mental breakdown. “My future is doomed,” I thought to myself. At that time, I never connected to a campus fellowship and was church-hopping a lot. My only support was from my parents. By the grace of God, they came to Waterloo and we were able to talk things out.
Then, the pandemic hit midway through my second semester of first-year and I also failed to get into the co-op program. During lockdown, I was able to stay at my apartment in Waterloo. I was isolated from my parents and new people, did school, video gamed even more, attended church online, and hung out with roommates. For an introvert, the situation was not so bad — not having to force myself to socialize. Little did I know, it was a recipe for a vicious cycle toward the worse time of my life. My grades were steadily falling, I had trouble focusing in school, and unable to meet many deadlines. I reached the point of entering probation in the first term of third-year where I would get kicked out of my program if I did not turn my grades around. The stress was unbearable. I forced myself to complete assignments, but I could not. I felt physically nauseous looking at data tables in textbooks. The weight of succeeding in life was too heavy. I lost motivation to progress; lost motivation to eat; lost motivation to sleep regularly; lost motivation to even take a shower. Everything I needed to do felt meaningless. I turned to sin and addiction to video games in order to cope but shame and guilt would follow and eat away at my conscience. Revealing my problems to my father was the last thing I wanted to do because Grandpa passed away during that time. “I can’t put this burden on someone else, I need to keep this to myself. What’s the point of living if I can’t even handle a few chores myself? What’s the point of living if I am just a burden to everyone else?” At least, due to my upbringing and learning to empathize with others (mostly in order to satisfy my father), the thought of ending my life would be an even greater burden to my family and friends. I felt suffocated. I felt lost.
All I could do was the strange desire to attend a small weekly gathering on Friday evenings, which a friend invited me to. Surprisingly, it was the one highlight of my week that kept me going through each day. Perhaps it was because everyone there was genuinely loving to one another. Perhaps it was because people prayed for me. Perhaps it was a glimpse of a new life that does not only revolve around me or my father but the love of Christ.
The Holy Spirit
By the grace of God, I was able to talk to Dad about my problems towards the end of the term. I believe that if I was not able to explode from my emotions back in Grade 11, I would have continued holding in my burdens alone. From the talks we’ve had, Dad concluded that we needed to seek professional help. Again, by the grace of God, a family friend from church was a psychotherapist and was able to diagnose me on New Year's Eve. As we talked through all my traumas and the situations I was currently facing. At the end of the session, she brought in my father. She then helped reveal all my burdens of sin, shame, and guilt that I held in the deepest parts of my heart for my whole life. I broke down and my father hugged me. It felt surreal. This was the feeling of surrendering my burdens.
New Year’s Day, 2022, marked the start of a miraculous recovery. I would be showering every day, sleeping and waking up consistently from 11 pm to 7 am, getting tutored in order to get back my grades, eating 3 meals a day, having coffee chats with Dad every morning (we video-called when I was living in Waterloo), getting exercise by going to drop-ins for sports, being in community with CCF, going to church every Sunday, praying more intentionally, reading the Word more frequently, and growing my faith exponentially. Looking back, there is no way I went through all that in less than a year with my own efforts. The Holy Spirit renewed my life — a life that wants to share the Love of The Father given to me with others.
Dear Heavenly Father,
Thank you. Thank you for Jesus Christ’s redeeming work on the cross. Because He is perfect, He is worthy to justify the punishment of my sins. Thank you for working through my heart and inviting me to be in a relationship with you. I want to give praise to the power your Love brings to this world. Your Love is full of grace, forgiveness, humility, joy, and peace.
Thank you for blessing me with a loving father. Although he is not perfect, your perfect love is reflected through his faith in you. Thank you for being with me throughout my struggles of learning how to obey my parents during my early years of life. I am so grateful for each time you helped me overcome a trial and took a step closer to you. Lord Father, I ask you to continuously grow my fear in you. Build my faith in you, knowing that a holy and sovereign being like you are doing what is best for me.
Please help me fight the sins in my life that pull me away from your Love. Teach me to properly steward your gifts and find satisfaction in you by counting all the blessings in my life.
Lord, you know my heart. I pray that I may find rest in you and that I surrender my burdens to you. The burdens I create upon myself are too heavy to handle on my own, therefore, please help me “put on your yoke, for it is easy and the burden is light” (Matthew 11:30). Whenever I doubt or worry, may the knowledge of you understanding me perfectly point my heart back to you.
I want to thank you, Lord, for your miraculous work. Father, you allowed me to let out my anger at my dad so that we could learn to reconcile and trust each other. You allowed me to open up to him which resulted in us seeking professional help. You provided me with a church friend who had the qualifications as a psychotherapist to treat me during scarce times. You provided the academic support to get me out of probation and continue my education. You blessed me with a Christ-loving community when I was in isolation, who would later encourage me to depend on you and live a life of sanctification. Thank you for placing the right people at the right moments in life to help me overcome my depression. I am so grateful for the person you have made me to be to this point.
Lastly, I want to pray for the people reading this article. I pray that you use my story to magnify your goodness and the everlasting Love you have for us. Teach us to count the blessings within our lives and lift you the highest of praises. Whether through similar experiences or completely different ones, you remain perfect and loving. May everyone be reminded of your gospel and the miracle of your Son.
I pray this in the name of Jesus Christ,
Amen.
