A Promise of Hope.

The Earthquake of Loss

In May 2021, just after Mother's Day, my life changed in a way I could never have imagined. It came like an earthquake — sudden, shocking, and devastating. Covid19, a word that once meant nothing to us, suddenly became the force that shattered our family. My mother and brother both fell gravely ill and were admitted to ICU, fighting for their lives. For more than twenty days, we waited, prayed, and hoped for a miracle.

Losing them so close together felt unreal — as if time had cracked open and dropped me into a nightmare I couldn't wake from. At the same moment, we were marking the one-year anniversary of my father's passing. My mother had still been grieving for her husband, her strong tower. Now, she and my brother were taken too. As I lived in New Zealand, I watched my brother pass away from a screen. As it was during Covid19 we could not have a funeral and be there with him.

My sisters and I clung to each other over phone calls, crying until there were no tears left. There are no words for that kind of heartbreak — only the sound of grief shared between people who have lost more than they can hold. Tragedy draws people closer.

Grief That Echoes Through the Years

This wasn't the first time our family endured deep loss. In 2017, my second sister died unexpectedly from lung cancer at just 60. My parents had held her hand as she slipped away — an unspeakable pain for any parent.

Holding on to God's Promise

Through everything, I held on to God's promise in Jeremiah 29:11 — that He still had a plan for my life, even when I couldn't see it.

Healing Through Art

In September 2021, I felt a sudden desire to draw a portrait of my late parents. I joined an art class, hoping that creativity might bring healing where words could not. As I drew, peace slowly returned to places in my heart that had been torn open.

When Fire Took Everything

One afternoon, while looking through old photo albums, memories of my childhood village came rushing back. I began to sketch the place where I grew up, reconnecting with the roots of my story. Then, only a month later, tragedy struck again.

In October 2021, our family home — the house my father had built with his own hands — burned to the ground. In ten minutes, everything became ashes. Not only our home, but fifty others in the village were destroyed. None were insured. It felt like life was rubbing salt into wounds that were already raw.

I remembered Mum spending whole days preparing our favourite meals, waiting with joy for her children to come home. Losing the house so soon after losing her and my brother was almost unbearable.

Beauty Rising From Ashes

Yet in the midst of this devastation, something beautiful began to grow.

One day, I found an old set of charcoal sticks — a gift from my husband when we were first married. I had never learned charcoal drawing, but I prayed, "God, please teach me to draw," and began sketching my father's face.

Growing up, I had felt rejection — not because of anything my father intended, but because of cultural beliefs he had been taught. While I drew him, I felt God's presence wrap around me, replacing pain with love. I felt restored with my father, and with that came restoration — a quiet, unexpected miracle.

Later, I reflected on how our wooden family home had burned and become ash — the very substance used to make charcoal. What the fire destroyed became the material God used to help heal my heart. Fire, in Scripture, is often a symbol of purification — burning away what is weak and leaving what is strong and true.

Father Receives Merit Award

Father Receives Merit Award

Brothers

Refined Through the Fire

Our trials refine us too. They shape our character, strengthen our faith, and reveal what cannot be destroyed.

Blessings Hidden in Loss

Now, I can see the blessings hidden in the painful places:

The Author of My Story

God knew the story from beginning to end. He has been writing every chapter — even the ones that shattered me. My role is simply to be willing, to allow Him to write through my life.

This life is not the final chapter.

As my siblings and I sat together on a screen, watching our mother take her last breath with a sense of helplessness, a quiet voice in my heart whispered, "Pray." I prayed aloud, asking Mum if she could hear me—and in that moment, she blinked. My husband witnessed it too.

Scripture speaks about the significance of a person's final breath, like the thief on the cross whom Jesus welcomed into paradise. Years earlier, I had watched my father pray the sinner's prayer with a missionary. Only nine days after Mum's passing, God gave my cousin a dream: she saw both of my parents, beautifully dressed, whole, and restored—Mum's back straight again. In Chinese culture, the number nine symbolizes eternity, and that reminder wrapped my heart in peace.

Art Through Coffee

Palm Oil Lorry

In the months that followed, I continued to explore different forms of art as a way to rediscover joy. I also drew on memories of the times our family went to coffee shops called coffee dem.

One day, I was in the library and saw a book about creating art using coffee! It created a look of old photographs.

I got home and mixed some coffee and dipped my brush into the liquid. As the coffee touched the paper, soft sepia tones bloomed across the surface. The colour shifted with every layer — from delicate golden washes to rich, earthy browns.

What started as an experiment quickly became a new way of expressing memories, moments and people I wanted to honour.

Each piece carried the warmth of the drink itself, and you can even smell the coffee on the paper!

The images I created with coffee became symbols of resilience: art born from something simple yet meaningful, transformed by intention and hope.

What once was just a daily ritual became a tool through which I found peace, and a renewed sense of creativity.

Scenes From My Home Town - Karak

I take such joy from painting people and scense from my home town.