(Excerpts from the Book)
Translated from the Chinese by Mrs. Cissie Kwok Luk and edited by Dr. Joel Fetzer, Rev. George Steed, and Christina Wu
n July 25, 1986, Northrop’s biweekly newsletter announced that employee Lydia Lin of Los Angeles had gained her second certified professional accounting license. Her colleagues were eagerly awaiting her return to work after her vacation. Who could have known that the next day she would be involved in a car accident that would almost take her life, and that she would spend the next two and a half months in a hospital more than a thousand miles away, without knowing if she would ever come back?
Months later, after her discharge from the hospital, life was still not easy for her. She was forced to face the cruel realities of her life: her nose was gone, her spine broken, and her left eye blinded. All that she had possessed and was proud of had been lost in an instant. There followed regular visits to the hospital -- an average of once every three days -- and many operations on her back and face, with all the misery associated with her physical and spiritual adjustment. Her medical expenses alone totaled $180,000. However, step by step and bit by bit, her physical, psychological and spiritual rehabilitation was achieved. And after a long struggle she finally emerged from her transformation to become a blessing to many. Four years later, the record of her inner journey went to print as a book entitled SINGING IN THE NIGHT, meaning that “if night is a symbol for suffering and pain, she could still sing in the night because God was with her.”
It was a long and arduous recovery; yet how delightful is life after the transformation! In Lydia Lin you may be able to find yourself. So sit back and enjoy this book.
It was a quiet afternoon in a small town in Washington State. Daniel W. Voltz was enjoying a warm and relaxing weekend when suddenly he was startled by the loud noise of screaming brakes and crashing metal. Looking up, he saw a crumpled cream-colored sedan that had been hit by a jeep coming from the opposite direction.
Daniel rushed to the spot to find the hood and windshield of the sedan completely smashed and smoke pouring from the engine. The couple inside appeared to be in deep shock and in a state of panic. Daniel tried to help them out, doing his best to clear away the twisted metal and shattered glass that covered their faces. Then he suddenly discovered the hand of another person reaching up toward the rear window. Only then did he realize a third person was in the car.
He hastily tried opening the rear door and removing the debris that covered this third person. He was shocked to see the face of a young woman who was lying inside what was now the trunk of the sedan. But it was not like the face of a human being! It was bruised and swollen, more like a watermelon, with the normal facial features quite indistinguishable; the nose was gone, leaving only a dark hole streaming with blood.
As a former emergency-room worker who was now studying at an Army nursing school, Daniel instinctively felt for a heartbeat. The young woman was beginning to gain consciousness and starting to writhe and scream in pain. From his medical training, Daniel knew that her back might be broken. So he tried to stabilize her body to prevent further injury to the spinal cord. Daniel was awestruck by the timing of being here to help after having just come home from San Antonio, Texas, the day before.
Badly shaken but not seriously injured, the two people in the front seat were able to get out of the car. Just then two ambulances arrived with their sirens wailing. The paramedics carefully removed the young woman from the wreckage and rushed her to the local hospital to have emergency surgery. In the evening she was transferred by medical helicopter to Harborview Medical Center in Seattle (one of the best trauma centers on the West Coast) for more complicated medical treatment.
On this stretch of Highway 101 in the Olympic National Park, such accidents are frequent, especially on summer weekends. But this year (1986) the traffic was particularly heavy because of the many tourists attending the World Expo across the border in Vancouver. Accidents on these country roads are usually very serious, even fatal. Those people who do survive often are paralyzed for life because of their severely fractured spines.
Medical records showed that the young woman had come from Los Angeles, probably on vacation. The doctors stitched her nose back onto her face and sewed shut her lacerated upper lip, but the more serious injuries were internal. 2500 c.c.s of blood were lodged in her abdomen, her spleen was ruptured, her liver was lacerated, and her kidneys were contused. Her head had also suffered a zygoma complex fracture. The lens in her left eye was hopelessly ruptured, leaving little chance of saving the eye.
One after another, her friends came from far and near to visit her in intensive care. The pastor of her church in Los Angeles visited as well, but his first thought was that “it may not be long before we have a memorial service in the church.”
Lying in ICU, I thought, “Where am I? Wasn’t I vacationing in Vancouver? We’ve been visiting all those exhibits, and have to go see the gardens on Victoria Island. Then . . . what has happened? Why am I here?”
My mind was blank, and what followed was like a series of nightmares. I felt I was flying endlessly through the air, and down below everything appeared as barren as a lunar landscape. Only desolate mountains whisked by underneath me. Once I felt as though I was aboard a deserted spaceship, groping about and touching nothing but cold machinery. “Where am I? . . . Why is there nothing but intense cold here? And it is so lonely!”
When I was able to put all these scattered and incoherent pictures together, I began to realize there had been an accident. I remembered being visited by my roommate and my pastor and, lying on my back, giving them information for the prayer network. I recalled having eye surgery and thanking God for leaving me one eye so I could still see, and two legs so I could still walk.
Strangely, I do not have the slightest recollection of the intense pain I suffered day and night during those first three weeks from the fractured spine and all my other injuries. On the other hand, I do remember the peace that came from knowing that not a “sparrow . . . will fall to the ground” without God’s consent (Matthew 10:29). Also comforting was the verse assuring us that God does not ask us to pass through challenges “beyond what you can bear” (I Corinthians 10:13).
During my three-week stay in the intensive care unit, I had five major operations. After the spinal operation, I was sent to the regular ward. There, the orthopedist came every day to test how well my nerves were recovering. Eye specialists also came to see if there was any progress in my left eye. One of the attending doctors had been out of town for two weeks, but on his return he came to visit me. He was amazed when he saw how the bruises and swelling were improving and how my facial features were becoming more distinguishable. As I lay on the bed, I told him, “The God that I believe in is an omnipotent physician. He was the one who, through your hands, gave me the breath of life a second time.”
Located in temperate Seattle, the hospital was not equipped with central air-conditioning. But my brain had lost its ability to control my body temperature. One minute I would perspire profusely, keeping my sister or caring friends busy wiping away the perspiration, but the next minute I would be shivering so much that they would hurry to turn off the fan and pull the blankets over me. This constant shifting back and forth kept them, as well as me, quite exhausted.
On the fourth day after spinal surgery, the ward doctor had me sit up for half an hour. By that time I had been lying flat on my back for almost a month and was extremely weak. Besides, I now wore a heavy body jacket, so it took two or three nurses to get me sitting up and strapped into a wheelchair. How happy I was to be able to sit up for the first time, even though it was a tremendous struggle and I felt so very lightheaded!
Next I began to eat solid food. At first I was fed, but then the nurse wanted me to try to feed myself. I was so weak, however, that even after trying for a long while I could not put anything into my mouth. Eventually the nurse sent everyone out of the room, leaving me alone, weak, and trembling. After struggling and making a big mess, I was finally able to finish the meal. I was again making progress.
THE TAIWANESE PRINCESS IN A WHEELCHAIR
On August 21, I was transferred to the rehabilitation ward. In this different section of the hospital, it seemed as if the only time I wasn’t being wheeled off on a stretcher for some test or another was when I was sleeping or taking medicine. The ward doctors did not want me to wear the body jacket, so when they moved me on and off the stretcher, they had to make sure that my spine was kept straight.
Although I now weighed only about 90 pounds, it still took four or five nurses to move me. First they would slowly roll me onto a large sheet. Then, holding the four corners, they would use it to lift me over to the stretcher. Next they would attach the I.V. and move me to the nurse’s station. Others would come and take me to the X-ray department on the second floor. There I would have to wait in the long hallway until the nurses in that department came to take over. Then the procedure was reversed to get me from the stretcher to the X-ray table.
Even during those days of suffering, there were still some uplifting moments. I particularly remember dusk, when my brother and sister, who had come from Taiwan, would often push my wheelchair through the long hallway to a glass window. As we gazed out the window, we would talk of our childhood, sometimes teasing each other as a way to find joy in our sadness. This was the sweetest time of the day and my favorite spot in the hospital.
At the end of August, my brother and sister had to return to Taiwan. Sad as parting was, they had to go back to teaching their classes. Besides, my other sister had completed all the paperwork to take one year off from Tung-Hai University in Taiwan. She would be coming over in a week. How thankful I was to have wholehearted support and care from my family!
“Sis, warm up the bao (a type of Chinese pastry) and peel me an apple.” I was again ordering my little sister Cassy around. I couldn’t forget that earlier that morning my nurse Laura had mentioned to me that everybody knew a “Taiwanese Princess” had come to the ward. Everyone on the staff had heard that different people would visit her every day, giving her flowers and delicious Chinese food, and that at any given time several friends or relatives would be waiting on her. The doctors and nurses had also heard about my church in Los Angeles sending twenty people, two by two, to take care of me. To the hospital staff, I must have seemed to be a very important person. But little did they know that I was only a very ordinary Christian, who had a big, warm, and loving family.
Within three days of the accident, people from Chinese churches in Seattle also came to visit me. The intensive-care ward allowed only two visitors at a time, but I always had a crowd of people waiting to pray with, comfort and encourage me. Although I was in great pain in those days, they taught me to pray without ceasing and to praise God continually. Whenever I uttered praises to Jesus, the pain that even drugs could not alleviate would diminish, and even the cardiograph would become more regular. In that time of suffering, it was the prayers of hundreds and thousands of people that supported me. The Lord upheld me in His arms, as I went with Him through that dark valley.
My room overflowed with all the flowers that came, and cards arrived like snowflakes -- not only from Texas, where I had lived for four years, but also from Taiwan and from friends who had been out-of-touch for a long time. In the weeks before I was discharged, I would lie in bed and go through the big pile of cards one by one. All those sincere expressions of concern gave me incomparable strength.
Although I was so well taken care of, this Taiwanese Princess still felt deserted, desperate and miserable. Because I did not want to part with my long hair, the nurse would tie my hair in two ponytails over my ears each morning to help me stay cool. With my left eye covered with gauze, my left arm encased in a heavy cast, and my back hunched over in a turtle-shell body jacket, I was an awful sight sitting there in my wheelchair. One day several janitors working in the hallway were leaning against the wall smoking as I passed by in my wheelchair.
One of them contemptuously exhaled some smoke and remarked to the others, “Heck, what unsightly earthly garbage!” I knew to whom he was referring, but misery steels one’s will, and any self-pity or any self-commiseration would be a luxury; I knew my condition was temporary and that the dark night would soon end.
ENDLESS OPERATIONS
Seattle’s weather is very unpredictable and changeable. And so for me: just as I was gradually increasing the amount of time I spent in the wheelchair and learning to walk, the doctors brought bad news. One of the hooks on the Harrington rods installed in my spine during the previous surgery had come loose. Another operation would be required to tighten it. Otherwise I risked having the rod pierce my skin and cause an infection.
When the doctor told me that surgery would take place in three days, I took it peacefully seated in my wheelchair. I told him, “My heart is at peace, and during every operation hundreds of people are supporting me in prayer.” Yet underneath the calm surface was a frail heart. In the middle of the night, I was sleepless. How weak and lonely I felt! In my weakness I even questioned God: “Why more spinal surgery? Haven’t I suffered enough? Would I become paralyzed this time?”
God is a loving God. He will not forsake us nor hide His face from us. The weeping in the night will invariably be followed by cries of joy in the morning. The next day the doctor told me that X-ray films showed that the two cups of fluid remaining in my chest for over a month had completely disappeared, so I need not continue the breathing exercises, yawning, and balloon blowing. I was elated and sensed clearly that God was telling me that He was with me.
Later, as I was lying on a pad in the workout room and exerting all my energy to raise my right leg, miraculously I was able to kick it higher than the left one. Before that I had not been able to raise the right one at all no matter how hard I tried. Once again, I felt God telling me that since I had survived the most dangerous operation under His protection, I shouldn’t be afraid of this one either.
And that was how it turned out. Looking back now over the five operations, I have no recollection of the intense pain suffered then. It was because God was holding me in His bosom. But I do remember what happened before and after this operation, just as though God was holding me by the hand and walking with me step by step. How important this experience was for me as I faced the next four operations!
Seated in my wheelchair at dusk, I had been staring at the tasteless hospital food for an hour or two, not having any appetite. The window looked out over the Port of Seattle, and the brilliant evening sun shone across Puget Sound, but what appeared in my mind was the face that I had seen for the first time in the mirror that morning. There were those two deep red wounds. The nasal ridge was gone.
The nose had been hurriedly sewn back on, leaving the nostrils unsymmetrical in position and size. The right eye had the inner corner stretched into a half circle, losing its original shape; the left eye was covered with gauze. Was this ugly face mine? Where was that bright, confident face with a pair of smiling eyes?
Since childhood my world was composed of outstanding report cards from school and the pampering love of my parents and teachers. Beginning in grade school, I was always either class monitor or the “model student.” I came in first in the high school entrance examination, was admitted to the college of my choice, and was second in the advanced examination for government positions.
There was nothing but applause in my life until I went to Baylor University in Texas for graduate work. There, on that vast campus, I was the only student from Taiwan. And the small-class discussion format used in graduate seminars was not easy for me; in Taiwan I was accustomed to demonstrating my talent on written examinations instead.
Yet I felt closest to God on those wintry days in Texas, as I walked on the ice, carried thick books, and breathed cold air, or during the whole summer of sweltering days, when I locked myself in a small room at the library and studied, or at nights, as I sat by the swimming pool and watched the glittering stars. It was in those moments that I felt most deeply that God, the Creator of all, is our constant help and loyal friend.
My time of bewilderment at life in the United States only lasted sixteen months. After graduating from Baylor, I settled in Dallas. There, in the company of Chinese friends, I regained my self-confidence. I found a good job, earned a certified public accountant license, and taught English to Vietnamese refugees in a Bible study class on weekends. When time allowed, I made cakes and snacks to take along when visiting friends and often chauffeured the students. Mine was also a smiling face in the church choir.
After moving to Los Angeles in 1983, I got a better job in a bigger company. I bought my own house and a piano in 1985. I would play the piano, and then, after work, walk the dog for exercise. Life was full and colorful, and this smiling face was clear and pleasant, complete and happy. But now all had changed. The face in the mirror showed fright, shock, and grief. My beautiful dreams and my heart were all broken.
ONLY GRATITUDE TO GOD
“When I get back to Los Angeles, I think I will hide away in my house for several months at least and not dare to show myself outside.” I said these words in my heart and to friends who came to see me off as I boarded the plane for California. I reminded myself that I had left home with a whole body but now was returning wearing a gauze pad over one eye and a turtle-like body jacket. My back was hunched, and my face was colorless and disfigured. How could I possibly meet people in such a condition?
As soon as the door opened into the home from which I had been absent for so long, and the familiar sounds of singing came from the darkened room, I panicked. No, I definitely did not want to see anybody. But there was no way out. So with my head held low, I hurried into the den, noticing only shadows of people in the darkened room. I had always been outgoing and bright in the presence of others, but now my unsightly condition made me ashamed. I hurried upstairs, put on a loose-fitting dress over the body jacket, and applied a little make-up before coming down again.
My feelings were so strange. I had had the courage to undergo six major operations and endure endless pain and suffering, yet now I dared not face my closest friends. But with a dress and some make-up on, I felt secure enough to meet them. Such was my self-confidence . . . built only on shifting sand!
Once downstairs, I found the house filled with thirty to forty people young and old: the pastor, elders, choir members, and members of the fellowships. They had brought a large cake and out of understanding had left on only a dim light. They saw that my legs were intact, that I could move about freely and had rushed upstairs, that everything was in order except for the bandaged eye. They could also see that my nose was still there -- flattened but better than they had imagined. Seeing all of this, everybody gave thanks to God. In the dim shadows amidst the chatting and laughter, it seemed I had come back to the happy times of the past, just as though nothing had happened, as if the hospital stay had been nothing but a nightmare.
Their wonderfully warm welcome made my faith soar like an eagle. In their love I forgot my own handicaps even though I was still wearing a plastic brace on my back and a patch over my left eye. I was still able to mingle among the crowd just as the song describes: “Where there is love, the mountain will melt away. Where there is love, all the darkness will become light.”
After my back brace was removed in January of 1987, I was able to go on a four-mile hike. During the hike, I happened to meet my physical therapist, who was shocked to see that I was recovering so well. In February I had another operation to remove the Harrington rods in my spine. But because my spine was not strong enough, two months later it bent forward again. The doctor thus wanted me to have another operation to reinsert the Harrington rods. But after much discussion and prayer, the physician instead allowed me to wear the back brace for another six months. I therefore avoided the nightmare of another spinal operation.
THE BIG RUSSIAN NOSE
“Oh, no! That can’t be me. That face in the hospital mirror is too terrifying!” On the morning of June 9, when I saw my face wrapped in bandages -- with the nose swollen out of proportion, the left eye stuck shut with dried fluid, and the blood-stained bruises -- such a horrifying sight sent me away crying.
After I returned from Seattle, everyone kept telling me, “Don’t worry, you’ll look beautiful after the surgery.”Soon I began to believe them and had high hopes for a dramatic improvement. But now was the surgery a failure, or were they just lying to me to make me feel better?
As soon as the doctor arrived, I started to complain about my “big Russian nose.” He was dumbfounded; it had not occurred to him that I was not aware that the transformation period would take time. He told me time was the best medicine. But my protruded lips stuck out more than my nose did!
The doctor decided to discharge me two days later. I immediately panicked. How could I be released so soon? My face and head were covered with blood clots, my left eye was dripping lymph, and even the nurse did not dare to wash my face. In the hospital, the nurses took care of me, but at home there was no one to do so (by then, my little sister had gone back to Taiwan). But once the doctor had given his order, I could only obey.
I phoned the church at once, asking for help to get home. My Christian friends gently comforted me: “Don’t be afraid. We’ll come right away.” I had no idea then that God had arranged for a special angel to look after me.
If the pain in intensive care was like total blindness and the suffering after spinal surgery was heart-rending and bone-breaking, then the affliction caused by reconstructive surgery was head-splitting. I experienced a heavy loss of blood when a bone graft was removed from my skull to repair the nasal ridge and to fill in my left eye socket. Because my whole face underwent major plastic surgery, I suffered from an excruciating headache day and night that was unresponsive to any painkiller. Following discharge from the hospital, I was bedridden for three days. I felt almost incapable of moving at all.
Keeping me company throughout those difficult days was Miss Netty Lintang, a minister from Bread of Life Church in Jakarta, Indonesia, whom I had met only once before. Netty had come to the U.S. for graduate theological training and was doing her internship in my church in Los Angeles. When she saw my condition, she volunteered to take care of me for three weeks.
Those were days of soiled pillows and blood-stained linen. Every morning Netty would prepare a steaming bowl of eggs and oatmeal and bring it upstairs to me. In the evening she would make the best Indonesian dinner and follow it with bedtime snacks. What impressed me most was that at bedtime she would come and read to me from the Bible and pray for me, telling me to be thankful for something during the day. That time of evening devotions was the most relaxed and enjoyable time of the day. In my dark night of pain, I seemed to see an angel of light tending me, and her radiance was so bright and warm and holy. She helped me to commune with Jesus.
After Netty returned to seminary, one year after the accident, I went with friends for a summer vacation at Lake Arrowhead. There we enjoyed boating on the lake, singing hymns, meditating quietly in the woods, and fellowshipping together in the cabin. Although occasionally I felt isolated from the group, I was able to shed my dark glasses, take off the body jacket, and indulge myself in the heart of nature. This was big progress!
CHRISTMAS BELLS RINGING
“We have it all set up. You’re second. Report to the hospital at eight on Monday morning. Do remember not to take any food or drink after midnight.”
I hung up the phone after talking to the nurse. My heart sank. It used to be that the first Monday of January was the day we returned happily to work after a two-week Christmas and New Year’s vacation. But this year it was time to go for another operation. I had already been through eight major operations in the one and a half years since the accident, and this would be only plastic surgery. So why should I lose the peace of mind that I had tried so hard to build?
Recalling the heart-rending, bone-breaking pain suffered after the previous operation, I was lonely, frightened, and filled with self-pity. I was quite out of tune with the Christmas spirit of peace and joy echoed by the ringing of Christmas bells.
My neighbor, David Wu, tried to cheer me up: “Don’t be afraid of surgery. What is minor facial surgery compared with the major back operations you have been through? And as serious as they were, you came through them all. So what is there to fear from facial surgery? God has kept you alive because He has a plan for your life. He will also be in control of what lies ahead. A hospital stay? It’s just like staying in a hotel. As for surgery, after one little shot, you’ll wake up with the operation over. In short, don’t be afraid!”
Sometimes the words of a friend can work like a tranquilizer, setting a troubled heart at rest for a few days. I tried to get myself more involved in daily life, busying myself with sending out Christmas cards, shopping for presents, and attending parties. I was determined to enjoy a really good holiday season. Who cared about breaking nasal bones and reconstructing them? That would be for next year (1988)!
I enjoyed a happy Christmas Eve at my friend’s home. Sitting by the Christmas tree, I quietly counted my blessings. My company had given me two years’ sick leave, and my medical insurance had so far paid out over $160,000. Disability insurance had been paying me sixty percent of my lost salary, so I did not have to worry about my livelihood. More importantly, many people around me cared for me, provided love and comfort, and helped me pull through those eight dangerous operations.
I waited calmly for surgery, and things proceeded smoothly. I lost less blood this time. Nor did I suffer any severe headaches. None of the things I had worried about so much ever materialized. And besides, I had many visitors and someone to prepare three meals a day. I only had to rest quietly.
THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME
In July of 1988, my two-year sick leave ended, and I returned to work. Northrop not only put me back in the original department, but also spent $465 on a very comfortable chair for me. They likewise gave me a raise in salary and made it retroactive to 1986. My fellow workers accepted me back as an old colleague. But now there began within me a completely new and different struggle, in fact a real battle.
I suddenly had to do a full day’s work with no time to rest. Initially I was completely exhausted. By the time I reached home in the evening, my back was bent over like that of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I could only lie on my bed and read. Nothing else. As the days came and went, I had to plan carefully my time for cooking and exercise, and I became completely bored and lonely. Sometimes I would thumb through the many books at the head of my bed but without any interest whatsoever. My heart sank deeply into the valley of depression.
Many times my eyes welled with tears. I would cry and complain to God: “Am I to pass my fair youth alone in an attic? Why can’t I be like others, doing what I would like to do? What I ask for is just a normal life. My life now is a constant struggle just to find enough time and strength to function. What sense is there in living days like this?”
However, whenever I was extremely depressed, an indescribable peace would suddenly spring up in my heart and gradually fill my being, until my heart overflowed with tears of joy. I seemed to be held in Jesus’ bosom, and He spoke peacefully to me, saying: “Don’t be afraid. I will walk with you. You have suffered in the world, but in me there is peace.” My lonesome and tormented heart was thus comforted and encouraged by an unexpected peace.
I discovered that I was relying too much on the external environment and activities to give me joy. I was not maintaining a close, daily relationship with God who transcends time and space. Only when I was stripped of all the things that made life comfortable did I realize how fragile my own spiritual strength was.
Loneliness is the best school to teach us lessons of dependence and trust.
The environment had not changed much, and I still had to control my time and energy. I had to choose between swimming or taking a walk, between cooking or doing laundry. But I began to “enjoy” my time alone. Tired, I would lie in bed planning. Once up, I would hurry to do the work I had to do. Even though it might be just paying bills or cleaning the kitchen, I did it happily.
One day after work I managed to drive to the seashore. How blue was the sky where the seagulls flew, and how constant the murmur of the tide! How broad and beautiful is life!
JOB’S FRIENDS
“God has saved your life. Why don’t you count your blessings instead of engaging in all this self-commiseration? . . . You still have wounds in your heart. Is it because you haven’t prayed enough and haven’t surrendered yourself completely to God?”
The psychologist, Dr. S. Y. Tan, found that because of my personality, I was inclined to suppress my emotions. I thus could not handle the adjustment that was now necessary in my weakened condition. He encouraged me to share my feelings with others. So I tried. I told them about the pressure I felt returning to work with limited physical energy and about having to adjust to the working environment. What I received back was just a series of rebukes.
When I was so helpless right after the accident, all the love and compassion with which I was surrounded supported me through the nine operations. But now that I was returning to work two years later, these friends who loved me so much could not understand why I was so weak, so unable to deal bravely with the problems of everyday life.
I was indeed fortunate. Others might receive support for only six months after an accident. But I had received so much warm love and care for two years that I had become accustomed to relying on human beings instead of looking up to the Lord.
One can never understand the grief and pain suffered by others unless one has experienced such suffering oneself. Jesus suffered in the garden of Gethsemane and was “overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death” (Matthew 26:38).
In the courtyard of the High Priest, Christ’s beloved disciple Peter denied Him. And on the cross, bearing the sins of the world, He was forsaken, even by God His Father. Only the Lord, who Himself has drunk the bitter cup of suffering, can understand and accept those who suffer. Only He can bear them up in His arms, which is a place of shelter and rest.
When I could no longer get comfort or guidance from my friends, I turned back to the Lord and listened to His voice. I found Him always ready to listen when I poured out my heart and my frustrations. He would not respond by pointing out my weaknesses. Instead, He would forgive and accept me even where I was the most vulnerable. It was His comfort and gentleness that restored my strength despite my frailties.
SWEET DREAMS
Again I found myself downcast and crying out to God. Ever since returning to the workplace, life was no longer colorful because of my lack of energy. I was drowning in loneliness, boredom, and self-pity, thinking that all my problems would be solved if only, like others, I were happily married. If God loved me, why was He letting me spend my days in loneliness and despair?
When I sought seriously for the answer, I began to realize the real cause of my pain. I had always put my own wishes and desires first. Expectations for myself were foremost in life. Then when I was disappointed, I blamed God. This attitude was not right. If I had been content with God’s plan for me instead of envious of others and full of pity for myself, I would not have lost confidence in myself, in God, or in the future. This lack of confidence was the real cause of my depression.
It is true that when God created humans, He gave them emotions. But at the same time, He gave us reason and self-control. And even when there are times of loneliness and despondency, it is all the more necessary to go back to the Truth. We must hold fast to the reality that “God loves us forever” and refuse to succumb to our emotions. Only when we realize that our old self must not be allowed to control us will we find victory in Christ and the inner strength to accept His perfect will.
God is love. His ways are above our ways, and no single thing in our life is without meaning. Even despair and loneliness can bring the realization that to follow the desires of the flesh leads to destruction and that the old self must be crucified with Christ. It is not God who inflicts pain and suffering.
Christians are blessed indeed. God does not withhold any good thing from those who fear Him and walk uprightly. The life of blessing is “Christ living in me,” with my every desire and every choice in accordance with His will. By faith I accept outward circumstances and submit to the direction of the Holy Spirit. Only those who resist the Holy Spirit and live a life devoted to self will fall into constant pain and depression.
It was only after I submitted to God’s will that the storm within me subsided. In its place came a quiet rest and peaceful joy, such as I had never experienced before in the tumultuous struggle I had been going through. I now learned that through crucifixion of the self comes new life. When, because of Christ, I dismissed my old pursuits as harmful and quietly accepted His will, the Spirit of peace and liberty entered my humble and prostrate heart and gave me a sense of joy in worship and oneness with God. The foundation for all this was pure and simple faith, faith in the unchanging love of God for me and hence total submission to His will.
THE DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL
My heart again began to be at war with itself. “My five great enemies are physical fatigue, fearful timidity, inert passivity, emotional attachment, and my concept of marriage,” I thought. I also critiqued the younger me: “The mistakes I made while growing up were being self-centered, achievement-oriented, and impractical.”
The night was dark and silent, and my heart was not at rest, but involved in scathing self-criticism. It was especially cold this winter. My back could stand it for only about two hours, and then I had to lie down and rest, even at work. During the ten-day Christmas vacation I had my tenth operation, but I returned to the daily grind of work without having rested enough. Only one word can describe the months that followed: EXHAUSTION!
Those days were hard on my body, and my soul was not peaceful either. I was fighting with myself, digging deep down into my past. And I was emotionally down because my physical exhaustion didn’t allow me to spend much time with others.
When I was growing up, I had difficulty learning how to give and also how to receive love. Accordingly, I had acquired a special skill: reaffirming my value through outstanding report cards and other forms of external achievement.
After I become a Christian, I knew that God loved me unconditionally. Even after the car accident, I had experienced stronger love and had come to understand God’s care in a greater way. But the “old self,” which fed on achievements, had not completely died. This “old self” was now in a life-or-death struggle with the new life in me.
My physical frailty was like an invisible prison that restricted my activity and confined me to a limited space. I could do nothing to prove my value, and no one really understood the meaning of my existence. I was cornered and had to find the foundations of life.
I browsed through many books and found Dr. Maurice Wagner’s THE SENSATION OF BEING SOMEBODY to be of greatest help. He says: “A person with the right self-image recognizes the shortcomings in his or her personality and will not feel that he or she is not good enough because of failure to reach the perfect standards. On the other hand, people with an unhealthy self-image must reach the unreachable standards in their mind before they recognize their value.”
I also discovered that because my value had been built on conditional love, I constantly had in my heart an overwhelming urge to strive, compete and out-perform myself. I always felt insecure. I had thought that if I were only more outstanding, then I would be worth loving. On the other hand, once I did not do so well, or failed, then I believed I would not be loved. But now what I could do with the little energy I had did not even match what an ordinary person could do. I met with frustration right and left in my repeated efforts to improve, until in the end I found I had nothing whatever to hold on to, nothing to justify my existence.
Wagner points out that only unconditional love can be the foundation of a healthy self-image. God’s unconditional love is manifested in the historic events of Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection. Accepting His grace becomes the beginning of accepting oneself. “For it is by God’s grace that you have been saved through faith. It is not the result of your own effort, but God’s gift, so that no one can boast about it. God has made us what we are, and in union with Christ Jesus He has created us for a life of good deeds, which He has already prepared for us to do” (Ephesians 2:8-10).
I had only to accept by faith that my value stems from God’s love alone. Jesus loves me and even gave His life on the cross so that I could be reconciled to God. By resting on this indestructible love alone, I know that my life has value. I no longer need to prove myself through accomplishments. All is grace freely received, not earned through my efforts. And by faith I know God is with me and is my helper. My drifting soul has at last found its solid anchor and henceforth will not drift about.
THE HEALING OF THE SOUL
When I “brushed aside all sorts of calculation and all the arrogance that interfered with knowing God and took back the will of man so that he submitted himself to God,” my disturbed heart was quiet like the earth after the tempest has passed, like the bright moonlight after an eclipse.
Someone asked me: “Why is it that only after more than ten years as a Christian, you really experienced the end of your self and a heavenly spiritual life?” I can only reply that the power in my subconsciousness that dictates my behavior was very strong. Only when my old self comes to an end will this power be completely overcome.
If it had not been for the difficult environment, this force might still be lurking in my mind and continuing to control my thoughts and actions. It is like Lazarus’ rising from death and being freed from the shroud. After we are converted, we may have many scars from the past that have to be peeled off layer by layer before we are totally liberated.
In these times of spiritual drought in my soul, God never deserted me. When I was so physically exhausted that I had to lie down and rest several times while preparing a dinner, God led a couple, Bie-Lim and Siu-Fong, to prepare my supper regularly for three weeks so that I could have time to rest after coming home from work. They even made my lunch for the following day. And in those difficult days a sunflower plant also grew up in our barren yard. Its flower reminded me each day of the unfailing love of God and His presence with me.
All that remained for me to do was to present myself to the Lord as someone full of unrighteousness and to seek His mercy and blessing. On June 8, two years after I had plastic surgery, I came to the altar of God and asked Him for His acceptance and healing.
As the hymn “I am coming, Lord” describes,
“I am coming, Lord, coming now to Thee!
Wash me, cleanse me in the blood that flowed on Calvary.”
THE MORNING STAR IS RISING
Beginning in May 1989, I would rise each morning soon after five, go to work, and leave early to attend a rehabilitation session five days a week. And each evening before dark I could still water the flower garden at home.
In July I went to see the Bolshoi Ballet’s rendition of “Sleeping Beauty.” In August I completed four months of intensive rehabilitation. Once, while sorting through my papers, I discovered that in three years I had: been to the doctor’s office about 150 times, had 200 rehabilitation sessions, undergone 10 operations, spent time in 5 different hospitals and incurred $180,000 in medical fees! “The Lord is my helper.” Without the presence of God, who could have walked this rocky path?
In early September, I went with my roommate to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art one morning and then on to the Henry E. Huntington Library in the afternoon. After work I also attended a music appreciation class each week. On my way I would stop at a friend’s home and lie down for a half hour. Then I would quickly finish some fried rice or noodles before hurrying on to the three hours of evening class. All these activities were real victories over my physical weakness.
In October I went with friends to a cabin by a lake in New Hampshire, where we went boating and spent time feasting our eyes on the beauty of the maple leaves. It was the first time I had found myself in the midst of the exquisite beauty of the red maple leaves of autumn. How absolutely beautiful is God’s creation!
Back from vacation, I single-handedly took up a major planning project for the company. For more than two months I sat in front of the computer, working three hours, resting on my back for half an hour, and then going back to work again. Having already accustomed myself to days like these, I felt thankful to have enough energy to face this challenge.
In November I had the opportunity to attend the musical “The Phantom of the Opera” by Michael Crawford, who was a big hit in Los Angeles at the time. As part of my music appreciation class, I attended a total of six concerts, two plays, and two ballets that year -- a record not inferior to any set before I was injured!
In July 1990, just before the fourth anniversary of the accident, my father, my maternal grandmother, my brother and my sister came to Los Angeles with a tour group. My grandmother, who was seventy-nine years old, undertook the trip with all its wear and tear just to see how I was. I stayed in the hotel with them, sitting up all night to share with granny Jesus’ love and His grace in healing me. Although because of her religious tradition she did not accept the Lord Jesus as her personal savior at that time, she did accept Christ before passing away in 1992.
It gave me great joy to see Elder Ho lead my father, brother, and sister-in-law in making a profession of faith in the Lord. “Do you really believe in the Lord Jesus?” I asked my father. “Of course I believe in Him. God is so kind,” he replied. Seeing my father all smiles, my heart was filled with happiness.
Looking back over the past four years, I realized that what I sought was someone’s love, or even the warmth of a family, but God has His own purpose. He allowed me, through what could have been a fatal accident, to experience the love of many brothers and sisters in the Lord, and even the love of the whole church. Then He allowed me to pass through dark and lonely days so that His love would fill my heart permanently, making me ready to be a friend to others and to share my life with them as long as I live. I could never have foreseen such a wonderful plan.
Jesus says: “A grain of wheat remains no more than a single grain unless it is dropped into the ground and dies. If it does die, then it produces many grains” (John 12:24). Dying is painful, but with sincere faith, relying on the power that the Lord gives me, I willingly pass through the long deep night to see the beauty of the dawn.
1.Life has been passing by so quickly. It has been more than ten years since I finished writing the book SINGING IN THE NIGHT. Looking back at those days, I can once again feel the hand of God lifting up my own tired hands. I can start off again on my sore feet and keep on singing and going forward.
My close relationship with my family is my emotional anchor. Over these years, I saw my little sister graduate and get married and watched my nieces and nephews grow up. My father retired after 40 years of government service. The blessings God has bestowed on my family are my greatest source of thanksgiving.
During cherry-blossom season, I accompanied my father to Kyoto and Osaka, Japan. The wind blew through the treetops, scattering the falling flowers. The cherry blossoms looked like a spring snow that covered the ground. In the summer I saw the splendors of Alaska and the Rocky Mountain glaciers. Later I visited Paris and took a boat ride on the Seine river. In Munich I watched Bavarian dancing, and in Vienna I enjoyed Mozart’s music. On a trip to China’s Guangxi province, I listened to Zhuangzu folk songs and in Beijing I even observed how the Great Wall of China spreads out over the surrounding mountains. Over the past ten years, my father and I have traveled to more than 20 states in the U.S. and over ten countries in Europe and Asia. I also visited Israel, Greece, and Turkey on my own. For a person who was once confined to a wheelchair, being able to travel so extensively was only possible through the grace of God.
My own ten operations prepared me well for my later prayer ministry to other severely injured hospital patients. Even after they were released from the hospital, I continued to stay in touch with them. I was able to share with these victims of serious accidents or diseases that God’s faith, hope, and love would help them overcome suffering. I went to college fellowships and churches and shared praise songs and my testimony. In newspaper and magazine articles, on the radio, and on the television program “Transformed Life,” I continued to declare the message that we must trust in God even in hardship.
I had been seeking a relationship for a long time, but those who moved my heart were not meant for me. I am still expecting a true love but have learned to cherish the blessings I have now. When I look around at all my friends, two of them have become widows, and others have gotten divorced. Some who have been married for forty or fifty years have had to face the sadness of a spouse passing away. What is most important is not whether or not you have a partner for your life’s journey; it is whether you develop an unshakeable love in your heart and share that love with others in need. When I face daily life with love and a thankful heart, I am able joyfully to study, write, exercise, and visit friends. My church is like a big family that supports me emotionally. Some elders treat me like a daughter, and I also concern myself with the spiritual growth of some of the children in my church.
In my middle age, I think about the true meaning and value of life. Every secular achievement will someday pass away, leaving us empty. What is truly valuable is what you can keep forever. How can we lead a meaningful life? “One life should affect another,” and “Be joyful and do good your whole life long” have become my mottos.
Considering all these blessings makes me trust God even more. Relying on God makes one’s path bright!
2. After "Singing in the Night" was published in May 2006, Lydia Lin was married in August 2008.
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