21:15

Jan 7th 2006, Melbourne - Last day of Planetshakers 10th aniversary conference, 2nd sermon of the day, preacher: Chris Hill.

On the right to the preacher, somewhere in the throngs of 5,000, there I was. Throat hoarse, body in rapture, caught up in the preacher's sermon about You, about how You use unusual heroes who faces unusual enemies and uses unusual weapons.

"DON'T let anyone every look down on your unusual weapon."

In my spirit, You did things, Holy Spirit. So much so that as Pastor Hill gave the invitation for "all who has full-time calling upon their lives" to go out and up there to the front, which is "like a sacred altar"... before he finished the word "altar", I had leapt onto my seat to jump onto the platform behind and making my way out fast as I could without being rude, so strong was that urge to shove all and sundry out of my way and run with all that I could to get there.

I was on the halfway through the steps before my brain realised I climbed onto my seat and leapt out.

My heart felt almost strained, so real was passion, so real was You, Dad. My eyes were brimming with tears I didn't care to dab at. And as I got to the middle of the altar space, about five or six persons in deep and found a space, I planted my feet, lifted up my hands and cried out to You.

I can't remember the words of the desperation, Lord, You do, but I believe they were about "here I am", about "use me, please", about "yes, Lord, pleaseeeeeeeeeee!"

But I do remember - and remembering the scene still brings tears to my eyes - when as the people kept streaming down, the band played, You worked in my spirit and Ps Hill continued speaking, imploring, preaching the Word and the things on Your Heart... I remember how You convicted me.

Now, see, folks, you must understand this: Conviction is a personal thing, an intimate relevation the Holy Ghost gives and it's a holy moment that one can't comprehend to totality with the mind (except to articulate the core of the conviction). So just as I can't explain it perfectly, it may be met with varying degrees of the sharing of the conviction or understanding.

See, God has been speaking to me about my job last year. In fact, I believe one reason I was brought back was so I could see some things clearer about journ and about me, what I am willing to give up, what I am not and to get me to a place where I would be able to walk away and not pull a Lot's wife.

Ps Hill started sharing his wife's testimony. Joy Hill, a worship leader at their church in the States, was offered a recording contract when she was 21. Big chances, big opportunities but after she thought it through, she turned it down. Turned it down 'cause she didn't want to work under the authority of non Christians who would market and use her and her gift wrongly. She didn't want to pervert her gift, Ps Hill shared. A recording deal! It was a dream but she reasoned that since her voice is a gift from God, it should be used for God.

If I was already crying hard, I cried even harder. I sobbed so hard my body was wracked with emotions. As the power of God and His realness continued to be real, the parallelism struck me - I was 21 when I became a journalist, I have always been aware that my ability to write is a gift from God (by the eyes of the world, I am not meant to turn out the way I am) and I have been struggling, struggling 'cause I have felt that - that! That I have misused my gift. It was slowly killing me, many thorns in my flesh, adding to the information overload, writing one truly good piece for every other five pieces that are simply blah and since objectivity is a lie, always carrying agendas which can be okay but not when it's somebody else's agendas. How do these articles glorify God?

I totally believe that Christian journalists can make a huge difference but I also believe we all have different callings and for me, with my calling, God has different expectations of me.

I felt God gently telling me that the stuff Ps Hill said are things He has been telling me all along.

"You know all these," He said.

"And if you are serious about your full-time calling, if you are serious about laying it down, if you are serious that this is it, then I am telling you that it's time for you to move on. Your time at the paper is up."

Yes, Lord.

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The first time I got published in a daily was Nov 17 2000. The writing still makes me cringe - The lead's not mine, my editor then chopped up what I wrote to a more newsy, less feature-ish for easier digestion.

I was 19 then and getting a byline was a huge milestone. It was different from those previously published stuff, you know? Poems and letters - however passionate and well argued - in magazines like Teens, Teenage, music mags like Max and others whose names I've forgotten just don't quite hit the same high.

I was only an intern but I was the 2nd or third intern from a polytechnic (still considered the poor cousins of junior colleges, I guess) to ever break into the newsroom in dear singapore's only media conglomerate for print journ. At least, that was what my lecturer told me and that's what he told everyone else too during one lecture.

This neighbourhood school kid from a Mandarin speaking family, this girl whose form teacher informed with all seriousness of her likelihood of ending up a juvenile deliquent when she was just 10 years old... this me somehow could write, somehow grasped hold of English way better than Chinese from the start. I could screw up every subject except English, the only subject I consistently scored well for.

Writing was my dopamine and freedom song. It opened up worlds and possibilities for me, everything inside a quiet girl, a loner, a thinker could be expressed only through the written word best. I write, therefore I was.

I first wanted to be a writer but as I got older and my mind understood there is a world beyond what I know and see, I decided on journalism.

'cause I could change the world with it.

I was 14 when I decided to be a journalist.

When I was 16 and my O levels didn't cut it to get me into the mass comm programme, I spent a year to retake my O levels. Yes, I was serious. It was journ or nothing else. That's how I work. All or nothing. If you fascinate me, convince me of a cause bigger than I am worth fighting, I give you every single thing I have, I will be sold out for you.

But on Monday, I tendered my resignation.

Can you excuse the long ruminations up there now? Take them as the goodbye reflections to a love.

Come Feb 8th, I would no longer be a journalist. When it comes to work and career, journalism was really all I ever knew. But no, it was not all I ever wanted.

I always said it's either journalism or full-time and well, it's no longer journalism.

I am 25 this year. It has been 10 years since I really knew You. And it has been a decade of doubting, wanting, chasing, running away from, doubting and more doubting about Your calling for me. No more, Lord, no more. I want this so much, so bad. If serving You means giving up stuff, I give them up willingly.

To some folks, it will seem mighty silly to be doing this. I'm slated for a 3-week shorthand course come Feb 6. After that, it would be confirmation as long as I work hard. After that, there's chances of promotion which will come latest end-year. And of course, there's the bonuses, increments and the fact that this is the conglomerate. And oh, I had only got converted to perm four months ago.

But it really doesn't matter, they really don't matter.

God has been good, considerate and sweet. From pretty good reactions to the bosses when I told them I am leaving and why, to how a hand-resignation-letter-to-HR-staff time became a sharing session where she shared her problems and felt encouraged by my testimony which made me feel encouraged, to how the leave-deficit (since I took so much leave and is now leaving, I owe the co money) kept going lower than I thought it would be.

My parents took it well too, though Dad is not a Christian. I had tears in my eyes sharing with them what happened and what I am going to do, how it's hard for me too because I know they are proud of me being a journalist and I love them so much and I want to be able to give them money, buy stuff for the household and take over expenses.

But God is good, they gave me their blessings, Dad even suggested I go to bible college and become a pastor.

I have no idea at all what's next. God was speaking even before the - for lack of a better word - encounter about Christian orgs like World Vision and Salvation Army.

R a y's coming on around the 10th and we will go back to PJ on around the 16th. After we see each other's country, we will decide - with much prayer - who will relocate. Every single step, we need God to do it, to open doors, to shine and show us the way 'cause this is our taking our steps onto the waves, out of the boat and all we can do is walk towards Jesus. I like the way R a y phrased it when describing jobs we would look for - jobs which "are in line with the calling".

I have no idea what's coming next but I am excited. I really am. These few days are not the easiest of days but I can't wait. I can't wait to see what God has in store. I can't wait to start doing what really matters. I can't wait. I love it, love knowing that God is so big He has it all sorted out.

*HUGGGS*

That's for you if you made it this far. When earth shattering, life changing things happen, I do fancy chronicling everything.

:)

I. Can't. Wait!