How Sweet the Sound

A mini memoir on my family's journey with religion, rebirth and reconciliation.

Nov 14, 2024

Welcome to Letters From Heidi, a refuge for truth seekers, deep-feelers, and the homesick searching for Eternity.

I am Heidi, an Asian-Australian woman who writes at the intersection of life, faith, pop culture, and the immigrant family experience. Subscribe to never miss a post.

Dear Reader,

This letter contains a mini memoir and core memory from my 21st birthday—the year I became a Christian. In this story, you will get a snapshot of my journey with religion, rebirth and reconciliation, and how the gospel of grace transformed my relationship with my father. To anyone navigating complicated family dynamics or seeking answers to spiritual questions, I hope this story blesses you.

Note: As this letter contains book ideas, it will be free to access for 4 weeks. From the 15th December 2024 it will go behind a paywall so if you’re not a paid subscriber, make sure to read or share this post before the month ends.

How Sweet the Sound

Dad shuffled towards the microphone, hands in pockets, nerves beating through his chest. It was my 21st birthday and I had booked out a bar to celebrate. As the drinks slowed down and the dance floor came to stand-still, I felt my own chest tighten with second-hand anxiety.

Is Dad okay?

What stories will he share?

Will my friends understand his English?

To celebrate this milestone, I had filled the room with friends and family from all walks of life, but my Dad was an honoured guest. Over the past year, we had experienced the miracle of rebirth and reconciliation, and we were excited to share the story with anyone who would listen.

My entrance into adulthood was messy. Intoxicated by quick love and cheap thrills, my birthdays soon became nagging reminders of my refusal to grow up. Flirting with forbidden fruit and emboldened by naivety, I very soon learned the consequences of dancing too close to flame.

With my heart scorched and broken, I walked through church doors for healing and answers, and was surprised to find myself in the shoes of the Adulterous Woman1. Yesterday, her lusts were an invisible battle fought behind closed doors. Today, they have become a public spectacle for the masses.

Bringing her to trial, the Pharisees sneered at the crimes of the sinner, their religious hearts beating viciously to the rhythm of the Law. They interrupt Jesus who was teaching at the temple, demanding that he give an answer for the consequences of her actions:

“Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?” John 8:3–4

The question was a trap. The Pharisees could see that Jesus was gaining influence. His teachings were truthful but always tender, and it left their hearts tormented with envy. Together they crafted the perfect plan, hoping to corner Jesus into making a choice between mercy or justice. If the woman is stoned, then Jesus is not merciful. If she is released, then justice is compromised. But the Judge was not rattled. With wisdom and wit, Jesus turns the tables: Let the one without sin be the first to throw a stone.

When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” - John 8:7

Under his divine eye, hidden sins and private skeletons are exposed. All spiritual superiority is suddenly silenced as Jesus shows us that neither the sinner nor the smug are welcome in the kingdom. One by one, the accusers walk away until only the woman and Jesus remain. The sinner before the Sinless. Standing trial before a divine Judge, the woman braces herself for the impact of hard stones, but instead is shielded by the tenderness of mercy.

“Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sin.” (John 8:11)

The Saviour’s mercy left me in awe, for I knew this was not the end of the story. Any victim of unfaithfulness has tasted unfathomable pain. Justice still needs to be served. With great sorrow, I watched as Jesus was dragged into the public square to be insulted and humiliated. I watched as the innocent One who once silenced the wits of men, remain silent before false testimony. Pierced by thorns and nails, I watched as He who knew no sin, shoulder the full penalty of humanity’s sin on a Roman cross.

At the cross, neither mercy nor justice is compromised, and it is against this backdrop of divine mercy that Jesus exhorts his followers: “Go now and leave your life of sin.”

With my heart overflowing with awe and praise, I sobered up to a life of love and self-control. At first, it felt natural and joyful, until I heard God’s calling to forgive and reconcile with my dad.

How could I, when I had spent so many years running away from the pain?

My initial efforts to reconcile was dependent on brute strength—my religion of Do Better—but I failed over and over with bitterness and resentment. Like the Pharisees, I wanted to compare and condemn, to pick and choose who was ‘worthy’ of the Kingdom.

Dad doesn’t deserve it.

Why do I have to be the bigger person?

He should say “sorry” first!

Before experiencing God’s mercy, I had only ever known the religion of Do Better, which left me feeling crushed by its futility and pressure. That’s the problem with religion. Our striving and morality becomes rooted in pride and self-sufficiency. We boast in success, despair in failure, and judge and stone people ‘beneath’ us. How do I leave my life of sin? In time, God showed me a better way—a power possible and perfected in human weakness, and there I found it in the Lord’s prayer: Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.

Instead of demanding myself to Do Better, I began to admit my inability and to ask God for forgiveness. I laid bare my anger and resentment, stubbornness and pride. I learned to pray daily for forgiveness, so that the gospel of grace could take root in my heart. I wasn’t expected to earn God’s favour, so why am I demanding my dad to earn mine? Humbled again by the truth of amazing grace, my heart began to soften with mercy and compassion. I began to see my dad in the same way that God saw me: a sinner in need of grace.

So, over breakfast on Saturdays I began to show my Dad my new faith and foundations. I listened to his stories, and he opened his heart to mine. The Spirit gifted us with wisdom, empathy and humility that we never had before. And soon, Dad and I reconciled at the foot of the cross, agreeing to move forward hand-in-hand, even if we couldn’t always see eye-to-eye.

Forgive as we have been forgiven.

Standing in the spotlight, Dad continued to shuffle nervously as the room held its breath. Sharing formalities in a second language is already a challenge, but how was he meant to describe a daughter that he had just begun to know? He paused my thoughts with a reassuring smile, charming my guests with his boyish dimples.

“There is a song called Amazing Grace,” my dad voiced with his best Australian accent, “and it will always remind me of Heidi. It is my favourite song. Happy birthday, Heidi.”

Without saying another word, he stepped away from the stage.

My soul sighed with gratitude.

Did it matter that Dad’s speech was void of nostalgic in-jokes?

Was I disappointed that he summed up two decades with only two brief sentences?

Far from it. His words were few but sweet in sound. A reminder of our precious weekends together over the past year—the taste of bacon and eggs, the scent of rustic paper Bibles, and the anticipation of reconciliation as we leaned into the Saviour’s mercy.

Amazing grace
How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost
But now I’m found
Was blind but now I see.

Warm & Fuzzies

My deepest gratitude to

Catyna Tai

and

Pat Lai

for becoming Founding Members since my last letter “Dear Younger Me”. Special shout out to

Lindsey Sims

for becoming my 1,000th subscriber in October! My heart is so grateful for your generosity in empowering and enabling my words.

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