Her adoptive parents locked her out and threatened to chop off her hands. Was her faith worth their punishment?

TRIGGER WARNING: This story mentions suicide ideation.

When I was young and made a mistake, my mother would express her regret at “picking me up” into the family.

I knew these words were expressions of anger, but they left deep scars in my heart.

I was also labelled as “rubbish dump” or “trash” as I often received hand-me-downs such as books and clothes from rich relatives. 

A bitter start

When I was 8, I was at a Christmas party at a relative’s home when a younger cousin shouted at me: “No one wants to play with you. You do not belong here. You are not even your parents’ child!”

This led to a fierce argument between my parents and their relatives. That was how I found out that I was adopted.

Catherine is carried by her adoptive mother (left). It is one of very few photos she has of her childhood.

This terrible shock deepened my feelings of being unwanted and abandoned.

My father worked overseas as a chef and would only return home a few days in a month. He had multiple affairs, which led to many fights between my parents. They threw chairs and things flew everywhere. Dad even packed Mom’s clothes and threw them out of the house. But she never left as she felt it was her responsibility to look after me. 

I often witnessed Mom’s emotional breakdowns. She would express the desire to kill herself and take me with her. Likewise I would sit by my window and wonder: If I were to jump 12 floors, would it end my pain?

“It was a miracle that they never divorced. It was an even greater miracle to see them get along and become loving towards each other in their later years.”

Whenever my parents fought, I retreated to my room and hit myself or banged my head against the wall, hoping that physical pain would suppress my emotional suffering. But it never worked.

I grew up feeling bitter, unforgiving and full of anger.

Cherished and valued

When I was 15, a friend invited me to church on Sunday. I was apprehensive at first, but things changed when the service started.

During worship I found myself tearing. I loved the atmosphere – I didn’t understand at the time that I was enjoying the presence of God.

I remembered nothing about what the pastor said – except that God loves me so much that He sent His son Jesus to die for me, and that He has washed me clean of everything I had done wrong.

I didn’t understand at the time that I was enjoying the presence of God.

When he invited those who wanted Jesus to come to the front, I lifted up my hand and walked down the aisle.

For the first time in my life, I experienced what it meant to be cherished and valued.

When my small group at church celebrated my birthday, it was the first time in my life that anyone had celebrated the occasion with me. The friendships I had with group members were genuine and precious.

When I was young, my mother brought me to a place of worship every weekend. I remember how lonely I felt sitting and walking around, and feeling fearful when I looked at the statues.

Church was very different. Praying and worshipping drew me into a two-way personal relationship with God. For instance, I sensed God speak to me through His Spirit and when I read the Bible. It made me feel God is very real.

Banished from CNY reunion dinners

I could not keep lying to my parents that I went out on Sundays to do projects. So I confessed to them that I had become a Christian and was going to church.

My father, who was anti-Christian, stopped talking to me. He locked me in or out of the house weekly. He changed the locks every Saturday, forcing me to wait outside until dawn when my mother would let me in.

Every Chinese New Year, I was not allowed to have reunion dinner with my dad, who hated me for being a Christian. So I had to eat quickly before the family sat together to eat. It was a painful “punishment” for my faith.

My father’s threats escalated; he placed a chopper next to the phone and warned me that he would chop off my hands if I called my church friends. He cut off all financial support for my polytechnic studies and allowance.

Catherine as a youth, in a rare photo with her adoptive mother.

My mother, who was struggling with depression and panic attacks, became increasingly volatile. She would wake me up at 5am by pouring soapy water on me or using a feather duster to hit me for no reason.

One time, after catching me reading the Bible, she slapped me and tore my Bible apart.

Nothing improved for two decades 

Despite praying fervently, the home situation did not improve in the 23 years after I became a Christian.

When I was 24, my mom grew tired of the drama of my dad locking me out every weekend. She told me she had had enough. So my parents gave me a deadline to leave the house, unless I was willing to stop going to church.

So I was forced to live by myself. I was working as a pre-school teacher at that time, and the administrator helped me to find a room to rent.

Making up for lost time: Catherine and husband Adam holidaying with her parents and their son Oak in Australia in 2022.

My father and I did not speak during that time.

He declared that he would only attend my wedding if my pastors knelt before him and said that I denied my God. (My parents stayed away from my wedding.)

After we were married, my husband Adam and I visited my parents once or twice a month. My mom was more open to us, but my dad totally ignored us, and carried on reading the newspapers or watching TV. Adam’s efforts to engage my dad were met with silence.

When our first two children arrived, my father did not touch or hold them. We remained like strangers.

Once he refused to acknowledge her children, but today, Catherine’s father dotes on his grandchildren.

I sensed God promising me that I would one day bring my parents and family to Christ. But after so many years of trying and explaining, nothing worked.

So I shelved that promise and dared not even pray about it.

The walls come down

Then everything changed in May 2018.

My mother called to tell me that my father had been hospitalised. He had had a heart attack, and required open-heart surgery. His arteries were 90% blocked and he was at risk of dying from a further heart attack.

On the morning of my father’s surgery, we arrived at the hospital at 6am. We nervously waited for the right moment to ask if we could pray for him. When he nodded, I felt tears well up as I prayed for him.

For the first time, my father shed tears, and we hugged.

After not speaking for decades, the wall between Catherine and her father started coming down when he was hospitalised.

I was heavily pregnant with my third child at the time, but I saw this as an opening to reconcile with my father.

My dad experienced many complications and infections after the surgery, which resulted in many hospital visits that went on for a few years.

Adam and I drove him to every hospital appointment and check-up, and stood by his side.

Witnessing my anti-Christian father say a prayer was a miracle I never expected.

Although my father remained mostly silent, Adam made consistent efforts to engage with him, including sharing silly jokes. Gradually, the walls between them came down. Dad also saw how Mom and I looked after him after his surgery, and was grateful.

Later that year, Pastor Maria Tok, who heads the dialect service at our church, visited my father. When she prayed for him, my dad burst into tears. Immediately, she told him about Jesus’ love for him and asked if he would like to invite Jesus into his life. 

Witnessing my hardened anti-Christian father break down in tears and say a prayer to invite Jesus into his life was a miracle I never expected.

I also saw my mum’s condition become more stable after she invited Jesus into her life.

Today, both of my parents know that they will go to be with Jesus once this life on earth is over. They love my three children and frequently call to check on us.

Another unexpected miracle? My parents are now a loving couple who are enjoying each other’s company. It had to be the Lord who softened their hearts and brought reconciliation and restoration.

Making up for lost time

Since reconciling with my parents, Adam and I have made it a priority to create lasting memories with my them. Taking them on trips and cruises have allowed us to bond in ways we never thought possible. It’s transformed our relationship and filled the gaps of lost time.

Enjoying a cruise together as one big family in 2024.

We cherish our annual reunion dinners and our gatherings are filled with warmth and joy – a stark contrast to the painful isolation I once experienced.

For many years, Catherine was not allowed to have reunion dinner with her family. Last year, for the first time, she enjoyed a reunion dinner with her parents, and her in-laws.

The Bible verse “God has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end” (Ecclesiastes 3:11) reminds me that God has a perfect timing for everything in our lives. 

When she was 15, Catherine (centre) stepped into City Harvest Church and felt love for the first time in her life. Today, her parents worship there with her and her family. Catherine now works full time at the church.

As my family has seen, He is at work, even when we may not see it, and we can trust in His plan and in His timing.

This story was adapted from an article that was first published in Salt&Light.

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