“He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 1:6
One Monday morning, I had a dream that stayed with me long after I woke.
In the dream, I knew I was meant to begin ministry, but I kept thinking, “I’m not ready.” Surprisingly, there was no pressure or disappointment.
Instead, Dr. Philip Lyn, the speaker from a recent church camp, simply waited for me with patience and calmness.
Then the scene changed, and my course trainer was also waiting for me to begin.
Neither of them rushed me.
Neither questioned whether I would be ready.
They simply waited.
Later that afternoon, I received the course materials from the school. It felt like a gentle reminder that preparation often comes one step at a time.
Reflecting on the dream, I realised how often we confuse being in preparation with being unqualified.
Throughout the Bible, God prepared people long before He entrusted them with greater responsibility. Moses, David, the disciples, and Paul all experienced seasons of learning before stepping fully into their calling.
Perhaps God isn’t asking me to have everything figured out today.
Perhaps He is simply asking me to remain teachable.
The dream reminded me that God is never anxious about His timing. While I may feel unready, He is patiently shaping my character, deepening my faith, and providing what I need for the next step.
I don’t have to rush the process.
I simply need to trust the One who is preparing me.
Sometimes God’s waiting is not a delay—it is His classroom. And when the time is right, He will faithfully lead us into what He has been preparing us for all along.
Thank You for bringing me through every season of my life. Thank You for Your faithfulness, even when the path ahead has been uncertain.
As I begin this new chapter, help me to walk closely with You. Give me wisdom to recognize the opportunities You place before me and the courage to let go of what You are asking me to leave behind.
If this season is one of learning, prepare my mind to grow. If it is one of waiting, teach me patience. If it is one of serving, give me a humble heart. Above all, help me to seek You before I seek success.
Bless my studies in artificial intelligence and every opportunity to develop the gifts You have entrusted to me. May the knowledge I gain be used with integrity, compassion, and wisdom to benefit others.
Thank You for the friendships You have placed in my life. Help me to invest in relationships that encourage me to grow in faith, joy, and love. Teach me to rest well, laugh often, and remember that my worth is found in You, not in my achievements.
As I enter my forties, may this decade be marked by deeper faith, greater wisdom, meaningful work, loving friendships, and a life that reflects Your grace.
Lead me one step at a time. Even when I cannot see the whole journey, remind me that You are already there.
“My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.” — John 10:27
There are seasons in life when we know where we’ve been, but we don’t yet know where we’re going.
I’ve been in one of those seasons. A season of waiting. A season of praying.
A season of asking God, “What are my next steps in ministry?”
One Saturday morning, I woke from a dream that has stayed with me ever since.
A Sheep in an Unfamiliar World
In the dream, I wasn’t standing on a stage. I wasn’t leading a discussion. I wasn’t speaking to a crowd.
I was simply…a sheep.
Not in a peaceful countryside, but in a futuristic world filled with towering buildings, advanced technology, and unfamiliar surroundings.
Everything looked impressive. Everything looked new. But I didn’t know where I belonged.
I wasn’t frightened. I was simply trying to find the place where I was meant to be.
Then something unexpected happened.
The Shepherd reached out to me.
Not by calling across a hillside. Not with a staff. Not even face to face.
Instead, a message appeared on a high-tech smartwatch, giving me the location of where I needed to go.
When I woke up, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The Shepherd Knows Where We Are
The image of a lost sheep immediately reminded me of Jesus’ words:
“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” (John 10:11)
One detail stood out as I reflected on the dream.
The sheep wasn’t finding the Shepherd.
The Shepherd was already communicating with the sheep.
That changed everything.
Sometimes I assume that finding God’s will depends entirely on my ability to search hard enough, pray long enough, or make the perfect decision.
But perhaps the greater truth is this: The Shepherd already knows where I am.
He isn’t surprised by my uncertainty.
He isn’t frustrated by my questions.
He is already reaching toward me.
A Smartwatch in a Spiritual Journey
At first, the smartwatch seemed like an odd detail.
Why would such an ancient biblical picture include modern technology?
Then I realised something.
A smartwatch doesn’t carry us to our destination.
It simply provides guidance.
One notification at a time.
One instruction at a time.
One reminder at a time.
Isn’t that often how God leads us?
We want a complete roadmap.
God frequently gives us the next faithful step.
Psalm 119:105 says,
“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”
Notice that the lamp illuminates the next few steps—not the entire journey.
Faith isn’t walking because we see everything.
Faith is walking because we trust the One giving directions.
Following in a Changing World
The futuristic setting also stayed with me.
Everything looked unfamiliar.
Beautiful.
Advanced.
Different.
Perhaps that’s what the future often feels like.
Whether we’re changing careers, beginning a new ministry, stepping into unfamiliar opportunities, or simply entering a new season of life, we often feel like sheep navigating terrain we’ve never walked before.
The world changes.
Technology changes.
Culture changes.
But one thing does not.
The Good Shepherd still leads His sheep.
His methods may surprise us.
His timing may stretch us.
But His character never changes.
Lost Doesn’t Mean Abandoned
One of the greatest encouragements from this dream was this simple truth:
Being lost is not the same as being abandoned. The sheep in my dream didn’t have all the answers.
Neither do I. But the Shepherd was still communicating. Perhaps someone reading this feels exactly the same.
You are searching for direction. Wondering which opportunity to pursue.
Praying about ministry. Waiting for work. Considering a major life decision.
You may feel uncertain. But uncertainty is not evidence that God has stopped leading.
Sometimes the silence is not His absence. Sometimes it is the space in which we learn to recognise His voice more clearly.
The Journey Is Still About Trust
As I reflected on this dream, I realised it connects with several other lessons God has been impressing upon my heart.
Faith before sight. Hope before fulfilment.
Standing on God’s promises before seeing the destination.
Looking toward God’s Kingdom even while walking through today’s uncertainties.
Now this dream adds another reminder:
The journey has never depended on my ability to find the Shepherd. It depends on my willingness to follow Him.
Jesus doesn’t ask His sheep to know every twist and turn of the path.
He simply says, “My sheep hear my voice…and they follow me.”
A Prayer for Every Wanderer
Lord Jesus,
Thank You for being the Good Shepherd who knows every sheep by name.
When life feels unfamiliar and I cannot see the way ahead, remind me that You already know the path.
Help me to recognise Your voice above every competing distraction.
Teach me to trust Your guidance, even when it comes one step at a time.
When I feel lost, remind me that I am never beyond Your care.
And wherever You lead—whether into ministry, service, waiting, or something I cannot yet imagine—give me the courage to follow.
Because my confidence is not in my ability to navigate the future.
My confidence is in the Shepherd who walks before me.
Amen.
Final Reflection
Perhaps the most beautiful part of the dream wasn’t the futuristic world or the remarkable technology.
It was the quiet assurance that the Shepherd had not forgotten His sheep.
In a world that changes faster than ever, we often search for certainty.
But Jesus offers something even better.
His presence. His guidance. His voice.
The future may be unfamiliar. The path may still be unfolding.
Excited to begin my journey into Artificial Intelligence! Looking forward to learning about machine learning, neural networks, and AI applications while building practical skills through hands-on projects. Here’s to continuous learning and embracing new challenges! 🤖📚✨
There are seasons in life that are defined by responsibility, and there are seasons that are defined by renewal. Looking back, I realise I have been quietly living through both.
For the past few years, my days were filled with commitments, routines, and the steady rhythm of work. Like handing out small scraps of paper, I was focused on meeting immediate needs—solving today’s problem, completing today’s task, preparing for tomorrow. There was purpose in that season, but it often felt like I was working with fragments rather than seeing the whole picture.
Then something began to change.
In a dream, I found myself no longer distributing black-and-white scraps of paper. Instead, I was carefully creating beautifully bound books with colourful pages made from quality paper. As I held them in my hands, I felt an unexpected sense of peace.
The dream stayed with me because it reflected something I had already begun to experience in waking life.
This year marks a new season. After working continuously for several years, I am stepping into a period of learning once again. Soon I will begin studying AI Operations, Business Analysis, Power BI, and responsible AI. It isn’t simply about gaining technical skills. It is about learning how to transform scattered pieces of information into meaningful insights that help people make better decisions.
Perhaps that is why the dream resonated so deeply.
The scraps of paper represented moments—individual tasks, isolated challenges, and daily responsibilities. The books represented something more enduring: knowledge brought together with care, experience organised into understanding, and ideas given a place where they could continue to grow.
As someone with a background in philosophy and education, I have always believed that information alone is never enough. What matters is how we interpret it, how we connect it, and how we use it responsibly to improve the lives of others.
Every season teaches us something different.
There is a season for building discipline.
There is a season for serving quietly.
There is a season for asking difficult questions.
And sometimes, there is a season for beginning again.
For me, this new chapter feels less like leaving the past behind and more like carrying it forward in a different form. The experiences I gained in education, the lessons learned from supporting students, and the values shaped through philosophy are becoming the foundation for something new. They are no longer isolated pages; they are chapters in a larger story.
I do not know exactly where this next season will lead. Perhaps into data analytics, AI operations, or public service innovation. But for the first time in a long while, I feel less concerned about having all the answers and more grateful for the opportunity to keep learning.
Just as every book begins with a single page, every new season begins with the quiet decision to turn one.
And sometimes, that is enough.
“Life is not made meaningful by the number of pages we collect, but by the story we choose to bind together.”
“No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no human mind has conceived the things God has prepared for those who love Him.” — 1 Corinthians 2:9
Some dreams disappear within moments of waking.
Others remain with us—not because we fully understand them, but because they leave our hearts filled with wonder.
One morning, I had such a dream.
A Kingdom Above the Clouds
In the dream, a former client excitedly invited me to look toward an extraordinary building.
It stood high above the clouds, reminding me of the cool mountain scenery of Genting Highlands. Rising tier upon tier, the structure was unlike anything I had ever imagined.
At its highest point rested an enormous futuristic glass cube.
The cube shimmered with light, its transparent walls reflecting brilliant colours into the surrounding clouds. It seemed alive with creativity, beauty, and joy.
The entire scene felt peaceful. There was no fear. No uncertainty. Only awe.
As I stood gazing at it, one thought quietly formed within me:
This feels like a glimpse of God’s Kingdom.
More Than a Beautiful Building
When I woke, I realised that what stayed with me wasn’t merely the architecture.
It was the atmosphere.
The dream wasn’t asking me to admire a building.
It was inviting me to lift my eyes.
Scripture describes the New Jerusalem as a city filled with God’s glory, where the brilliance of His presence surpasses anything this world can offer. The precious stones, radiant light, and beauty described in Revelation are not simply symbols of wealth—they point to the splendour of God’s presence.
Perhaps that magnificent building in my dream was reminding me that God’s Kingdom is far more glorious than anything my imagination could create.
Looking Up During an Uncertain Season
This dream came during a season of waiting.
A season of rest. A season of praying about my next steps in ministry.
Questions still remain.
What doors will God open? Where will He lead?
Will it involve youth ministry, cultural outreach, Alpha, missions, or something entirely unexpected?
I don’t yet know.
Yet strangely, the dream didn’t leave me searching for answers.
It left me with peace. Perhaps faith isn’t always about receiving detailed directions.
Sometimes faith is simply being reminded of the destination while trusting God with the journey.
Then Came a Song
As I reflected on the dream, something unexpected happened.
The old hymn “Standing on the Promises” came to mind.
It felt as though the dream and the hymn were having a conversation with one another.
The dream lifted my eyes toward the beauty of God’s Kingdom.
The hymn gently reminded me how to live until I arrive there.
Not by trying to predict every step.
Not by worrying about every unanswered question.
But by standing firmly on the promises of God.
The words of the chorus echoed in my heart:
Standing, standing, standing on the promises of God my Savior…
Those words became more than a familiar melody.
They became a prayer.
Because while dreams may inspire us, it is God’s promises that sustain us.
Standing Before Seeing
As I reflected on the hymn, I realised something beautiful.
Throughout Scripture, God often calls His people to stand before they fully understand.
Noah built before the rain.
Abraham journeyed before seeing the land.
Joshua stepped into the Jordan before the waters parted.
The disciples followed Jesus before they understood His mission.
Faith has never depended on seeing everything.
Faith rests upon the character of the One who makes the promise.
Perhaps that is why Hebrews reminds us that “faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”
The Kingdom may still be ahead. The calling may still be unfolding.
The path may still be hidden. But God’s promises remain unchanging.
Living With Kingdom Eyes
Whether this dream carried spiritual symbolism or simply reminded me of eternal hope, it has changed the way I want to live.
I want to become someone who looks beyond today’s uncertainties.
Someone who remembers that ministry is not ultimately about building my own platform but participating in God’s Kingdom.
Someone who keeps serving faithfully, even when the next chapter has not yet been revealed.
The magnificent building above the clouds may remain only a dream.
But the Kingdom it reminded me of is not.
It is the reality toward which every follower of Christ is moving.
Until that day, I choose to stand. Not on my plans. Not on my circumstances.
Not even on my dreams.
But on the unchanging promises of God.
For one day, faith will become sight. Hope will become fulfilment.
And every earthly glimpse of beauty will fade before the glory of the Kingdom prepared by our Heavenly Father.
Until then, I will keep looking upward. I will keep walking by faith.
“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” – Psalm 119:105
There are moments in life when God seems to speak most clearly—not necessarily through dramatic signs, but in the quiet spaces we often overlook.
For me, one of those moments came during three days of medical leave.
Physically, I needed rest.
Spiritually, I didn’t realize my heart was still listening.
During those few days, I had a series of dreams that have continued to linger in my thoughts long after I returned to my normal routine. Looking back, I don’t see them as blueprints for the future or definitive predictions. Instead, I see them as invitations to reflect on what God may be cultivating within me.
A Vision of the Next Generation
One dream brought me to a Chinese cultural outreach involving students from Nanyang Junior College.
It wasn’t merely a cultural celebration.
It was a picture of people connecting across traditions, conversations flowing naturally, and relationships being built through shared experiences.
Culture wasn’t the destination.
It was the bridge.
Another dream shifted to something equally meaningful—a neighbourhood outreach where upper primary and secondary school students gathered for encouragement, prayer, and blessing.
No elaborate stage. No impressive production.
Just people taking time to pray, listen, encourage, and remind young lives that they are seen, valued, and loved. As I reflected on both dreams, I realised they shared the same heartbeat.
They were about people. Especially young people.
The Thread That Connected Everything
As I continued reflecting, another thought surfaced almost unexpectedly:
Alpha. Why Alpha?
Perhaps because Alpha represents something I deeply value.
It creates space. Space for questions. Space for doubts. Space for conversations.
Space for people who are curious about faith without feeling pressured to have every answer. When I thought about the conference dream I had earlier—the one where I was facilitating a discussion about faith and hope—it suddenly made sense.
The role wasn’t about preaching from a distance. It was about walking alongside people. Listening. Guiding.
Creating environments where honest conversations about God could happen naturally.
Maybe ministry is not always about standing behind a pulpit. Sometimes it is about sitting around a table.
Rest Reveals What Busyness Hides
One thing surprised me most. These dreams didn’t happen during my busiest ministry season.
They happened while I was on medical leave. When life slowed down. When there were fewer meetings.
Fewer deadlines. Less noise. Sometimes we assume productivity is where God speaks.
But Scripture often tells a different story.
Elijah encountered God not in the wind, earthquake, or fire, but in a gentle whisper.
Perhaps rest isn’t simply the absence of work.
Perhaps rest creates room for us to notice what has been quietly growing in our hearts all along.
Faith Before Clarity
One image continues to stay with me
A notebook with the words: Next Steps in Ministry
The page wasn’t filled with a detailed roadmap.
Instead, it contained simple words:
Faith. Hope. Love. Serve. Disciple.
I found that deeply encouraging.
Because perhaps God isn’t asking me to know the entire journey. Perhaps He is asking me to become the kind of person who is ready for whatever journey He prepares.
We often pray, “Lord, show me where to go.”
But perhaps God first asks, “Will you trust Me before you know where I’m leading?”
Faith has always come before clarity.
Abraham left before he knew his destination.
The disciples followed before they understood their calling.
God rarely hands us the whole map.
He simply invites us to take the next faithful step.
Ministry Is More Than a Platform
The dreams also challenged something in my own thinking.
When many people hear the word “ministry,” they immediately imagine large crowds, microphones, and stages.
Yet every scene in these dreams reminded me that ministry begins much earlier.
It begins in conversations. In hospitality. In cultural understanding. In listening. In praying for one student at a time.
In blessing someone who may never remember your name but will remember how you made them feel.
The Kingdom of God often grows quietly before it grows visibly.
A Prayer for the Journey Ahead
I don’t know exactly where God is leading me.
I don’t know whether these dreams point to student ministry, Alpha, cultural outreach, teaching, or something I haven’t yet imagined.
But I know this:
They have stirred within me a renewed love for people.
A deeper burden for the next generation.
And a reminder that ministry is less about having all the answers and more about faithfully creating spaces where others can encounter Christ.
So my prayer today is simple:
Lord,
Help me to follow You even when I cannot see the whole path.
Give me the courage to serve before I feel fully prepared.
Teach me to love people before trying to lead them.
Open doors that only You can open, and close the ones that are not meant for me.
Whether through conversations, Alpha, student outreach, cultural engagement, or opportunities I cannot yet imagine, let my life point others toward You.
May my faith remain steadfast, my hope unwavering, and my heart always willing to say,
“Here I am, Lord. Send me.”
Amen.
Perhaps that is what these dreams have been teaching me all along.
Not that I have already arrived.
But that God is quietly preparing me for the journey ahead.
And sometimes, preparation begins in the stillness long before it becomes visible in the world.
I had just returned from a four-day church camp filled with worship, conversations, prayer, and moments that linger long after the final session ends. Like many retreats, it left me with more questions than answers—not because anything was lacking, but because I sensed God stirring something deeper.
That morning, I had a dream.
I found myself standing before a large audience, facilitating a discussion on faith and hope. The room was filled with adults, attentive and engaged. Surprisingly, I wasn’t nervous. There was no fear of speaking, no anxiety about saying the right thing. Instead, there was a quiet confidence and a profound sense of peace.
As the discussion unfolded, someone from the audience offered a definition of faith:
“Faith is the substance of things hoped for and not yet seen.”
The words hung in the air.
I knew instantly that they came from Hebrews 11:1, yet in the dream they felt fresh—as if I were hearing them for the first time.
And then I woke up. The dream was simple, but it has stayed with me.
When the Future Is Hidden
Lately, I have been searching for my next steps in ministry.
Not because I lack desire. Not because opportunities are absent. But because I want to know where God is leading, and sometimes the silence between calling and clarity can feel long.
We often want faith to function like a GPS: tell me exactly where to go, what to do, and how everything will turn out. But Scripture paints a different picture. Faith is not certainty about outcomes.
Faith is confidence in God when the outcomes are still hidden. Faith does not eliminate mystery. Faith walks with God through mystery.
The Beautiful Partnership of Faith and Hope
Faith and hope are often spoken of together, but they are not the same.
Hope looks ahead. Faith reaches out.
Hope says, “I believe something good is possible.”
Faith says, “I will move toward it because I trust God.”
Hope gives us vision. Faith gives us feet. And perhaps this is why the dream felt so peaceful. The audience was large. The topic was significant. Yet there was no pressure to have every answer.
The room wasn’t demanding certainty. It was seeking truth. And truth, at its deepest level, is not a formula. It is a Person.
Standing Before You Feel Ready
Maybe that is the lesson I needed. I am waiting for my next step in ministry.
But perhaps God is less concerned about me seeing the entire staircase and more interested in whether I will take the next step He has already shown me.
The heroes of faith rarely had the full picture.
Abraham left home without knowing his destination.
Moses led people while wrestling with his own inadequacies.
Peter stepped out of the boat while the storm still raged.
None of them saw everything.
Yet all of them trusted Someone.
Perhaps faith is not the absence of questions.
Perhaps faith is carrying our questions into God’s presence and choosing to walk with Him anyway.
The Dream I Continue to Carry
I don’t know if the dream was prophetic.
I don’t know if one day I will stand before large audiences speaking about faith and hope.
Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. But I know this: The peace I felt in that dream was real.
And maybe that’s enough for now. Because ministry isn’t ultimately about platforms.
It’s about presence. It’s about faithfully showing up where God places us.
It’s about trusting that what is unseen today may become clear tomorrow.
Until then, I hold on to these words:
Faith is the substance of things hoped for and not yet seen. And perhaps the greatest act of faith is not having all the answers— but continuing to hope, continuing to serve, and continuing to say,
“Lord, I don’t see everything yet. But I trust You.” And sometimes, that is more than enough.
I remember a coach journey back where my body felt unusually unsteady. It wasn’t dramatic at first—just a quiet sense that something wasn’t quite right. My energy felt low, my head slightly light, and everything around me felt a bit too loud, too close, too fast.
I realised later it was likely low blood pressure, but in the moment, I didn’t have a clear explanation. What I had instead was a feeling: I needed space. I needed air. I needed one simple thing to feel possible again.
We were seated among other passengers, all in their own worlds, and I remember looking toward the front and noticing the door. Not in a literal escape sense, but in a psychological one—it represented relief. A pathway. A sense that I wasn’t trapped in the heaviness I was feeling.
When the opportunity came, I moved closer to where there was more air and openness. It wasn’t about leaving the journey; it was about surviving it in a calmer way. That small change made everything more manageable. The body often doesn’t respond to logic in moments like that—it responds to environment, space, and permission to breathe.
In hindsight, I don’t think I was just reacting to physical discomfort. I think I was also reacting to stress that had built up quietly over time. When the body is overwhelmed, it starts searching for symbols of relief—an exit, a window, a shift in position, anything that signals: you are not stuck here.
That experience stayed with me because it revealed something simple but important: when people are under pressure, they don’t always need solutions or explanations first. Sometimes they just need one accessible “open door”—a small change in environment or perspective that makes everything feel possible again.
Since then, I’ve become more aware of how quickly stress can narrow a person’s sense of options. And how powerful it can be to create even small openings—whether for yourself or for others—that restore a sense of control and calm.
Sometimes resilience is not about pushing through. It’s about finding the nearest door, and allowing yourself to use it.
“Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.”
As I look at this little lamb holding a heart filled with these words, I’m reminded that love isn’t measured by perfection. It’s measured by presence. By choosing to stay. By remembering. By carrying one another through life’s seasons.
The lamb is small and gentle, yet its message is powerful: we were never meant to walk alone.
There are days when life feels uncertain. Dreams change, doors close, and the future seems unclear. In those moments, God gently reminds us:
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” — Jeremiah 29:11
What a beautiful promise. Even when we cannot see the road ahead, God already knows it. His plans are woven with hope, and His love never loses sight of us.
Family—whether by blood, friendship, or faith—is one of God’s greatest gifts. It reflects His heart: a place where we are known, accepted, and encouraged to keep going. True family doesn’t abandon; it lifts up. It reminds us who we are when we’ve forgotten.
And when the world feels overwhelming, we can rest in another timeless promise:
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside quiet waters, He refreshes my soul. — Psalm 23:1–3
Like a shepherd caring for a lamb, God watches over us with tenderness and grace. He leads us gently, restores our weary hearts, and stays with us through every valley and every victory.
The little lamb holding this heart is more than a charming image. It’s a reminder that we are deeply loved. We belong. We are guided by a Shepherd who never leaves us and surrounded by people who remind us that we matter.
Ohana means family.
And through God’s love, family means hope.
It means grace.
It means that no one is ever truly left behind or forgotten.
