Janice Shen

2/22/2025

Back when HKMBC was still in North Point, I remember rushing to church with my parents and brother, each of us heading to our respective ministries—children’s, youth, and adult services. In the children’s ministry, I admired my peers who shared stories of their encounters with God. I vividly recall a friend saying that her bruise was healed through prayer, and I was in awe of how God seemed to answer her prayers.

I also remember preparing flowers for my mother’s and brother’s baptisms and listening to people’s testimonies of God working in their lives. I thought to myself: I want to be like them. I want to have God in my life. I want to be baptized. I want this blessing.

But as the week went on, my desire quickly faded, replaced by school, activities, and friends. This cycle repeated itself week after week—on Sundays, I would learn about God’s word, sometimes feeling inspired by Bible stories and activities, other times whispering with my peers about anything but the lesson.

Years passed like this. I grew with my peers, moving from the children’s ministry in North Point to the Kwun Tong branch and eventually joining HKMBC’s youth group in Sai Ying Pun. I was baptized as soon as I turned twelve, yet God still felt unfamiliar to me.

It wasn’t until high school, when the pressures of an uncertain future and the weight of academic, social, and personal expectations bore down on me, that I began to question: Why do things happen the way they do? What is our purpose in life?

I started spending more time with my mom, asking her how she found her purpose and how God played a role in her life. She patiently answered every question, as if she had been waiting for me to ask. It felt like opening a treasure chest—each of her responses carefully prepared, perfectly suited to my struggles. Walking with her brought me immense wisdom, comfort, and peace. But more than anything, I felt her unwavering patience and unconditional love every single day. I longed for more of that warmth.

I was also fortunate to be mentored by Emily, the former head of HKMBC’s children’s ministry. She would take me on walks along the Kennedy Town Harbor and have casual coffee chats with me. She had known me since childhood, and because my mother worked closely with her, she was also familiar with my family. With her, I felt safe and free. I especially remember a particular walk through the Christian cemetery near Pok Fu Lam. We stopped at the grave of one of HKMBC’s founding pastors and his family, where the words of Joshua 24:15 were engraved: “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”

These moments didn’t instantly bring me closer to God, but they built the foundation of how I would come to see Him, the world, and myself. Growing up in church instilled in me values that sustained me through emotional hardships—challenges I might not have overcome while also remaining true to myself.

For the longest time, the thought of applying to colleges made me miserable. I felt inadequate, as though I wouldn’t get into any schools, as if I simply wasn’t enough. I had placed so much of my worth in this process that every setback shook my self-esteem. I needed a shift in focus—something constant to ground me.

During junior year winter break, I resolved to study the Bible daily but couldn’t sustain the habit. I didn’t know what to do. Then, one morning, I felt an urge to pray. When I did, I experienced an overwhelming sense of joy and energy—a tingling feeling I had rarely felt before. Throughout the day, my energy would drain—classes, conversations, and extracurriculars leaving me exhausted. But at the end of it all, I would return home to my mom’s warm embrace, a home-cooked meal, and a peaceful stroll after dinner. I would go to sleep looking forward to the next morning—to being reenergized by God’s abundant joy and peace.

That became my daily rhythm for my last year of high school: start the morning with prayer and be filled with God’s presence, pour myself out during the day, then come home to be refilled by my mother’s love and rest in God’s peace.

Now in college, I no longer have HKMBC beside me or my mom’s comforting hugs, but I still look forward to my morning prayers. I carry with me the memories of HKMBC—my spiritual home—and the desire to find a similarly warm and blessed community.

The younger version of myself could never have imagined how much those Sunday mornings at church would shape me. Back then, Sunday school felt like just another class or activity. I even remember feeling frustrated that my mom spent so much time preparing lessons and caring so deeply for the children. But now, I see the value in her actions. It was through her devotion that I learned to reflect on my own selfish desires—to hoard God and her love for myself. It was God who opened my eyes to see how the Bible stories I learned as a toddler would come together to sustain me through the trials of college life.

Thank you, HKMBC.
Thank You, God.