CHAPTER 94

2025-10-10

Lun loves amusement rides that spin round and round — and my own life’s path has taken quite a few turns as well.

When I first arrived in Vancouver to study at Regent College, I had to meet with an academic advisor. The process included a personality assessment, MMPI, that compared my traits to those common in various professions. The most dissimilar personalities were, in order, those of soldiers, police officers, and farmers. The most similar were, in third place, preachers; next, public speakers; and the closest match of all — social workers.

I was immediately surprised. The very reason I had decided to pursue further studies was my disappointment with the personnel and operations of social service agencies. But on second thought, one’s nature is hard to change — deep down, I was indeed a social worker by temperament. Public speaking and discussing ideas were also my true interests; anyone who knows me would agree. The fact that “preacher” ranked among the top three affirmed that I had not chosen the wrong path in coming to Canada. I went home and excitedly told my wife about it.

People make decisions based on the circumstances, values, and maturity they possess at the time. If time could be turned back, I wouldn’t have been any more mature than I was then — and so I would have made the same choices.

Experience teaches lessons that leave a deep mark on the heart. Life has no return path; if we can walk again, it is along a new road. Human relationships are much the same. Forgiveness, in truth, means the injured party is willing to give the other person another chance. What happens afterward is still unknown. My wife and I see eye to eye on this — once we recognize someone’s true nature and find them unworthy of further attachment, we leave without hesitation.

Before Lun was born, my wife and I had already planned our move to Canada. When we finally arrived, he was twenty-two months old. The date was September 11 (thirteen years later, on the same date, the tragedy in the U.S. would occur). The three of us first settled in Vancouver, eventually renting a seventy-year-old basement suite near the University of British Columbia. The floor even leaked.

I began my studies in January 1989. By April that year, major events were unfolding in China — events that would alter the course of my life. I had come to Canada to study theology, but the local Chinese churches were astonishingly indifferent to what was happening back home. The gap between my expectations and reality was immense. When I returned to Hong Kong in late June, my conclusion remained unchanged: I knew that it would be difficult for me to work alongside clergy in the future, and I decided not to enter full-time ministry.

Six years earlier, I had moved from outreach social work to family and child counselling — giving myself another chance to test whether I was truly suited for social work. The answer was clear: the work itself fit me, but I couldn’t handle the internal politics. So I changed my professional direction — yet before even entering the new field, I encountered the same human issues again. Two more challenges were added: questions of compassion and of sincerity in faith.

The three pillars of faith — Scripture, church life, and personal spiritual experience — had been weakened, as the “church life” pillar had collapsed. I decided to give myself another chance and switched from a large denominational church to a small fellowship church.

In the first year, I studied full-time for a diploma and earned most of the required credits. In the second year, I worked full-time as a social worker while completing the remaining four credits to obtain the diploma. Later that same year, Lun was diagnosed with autism — a pivotal life experience that completely shifted our family’s focus. From then on, every plan and every rhythm of life revolved around Lunlun.

At the new church, I preached once a month and taught Sunday school. My life path turned again — but that would come another ten years later.