We sing a song called "What a Difference You've Made in My Life" by Amy Grant. The song expresses the wonder we have, as Christians, when we think about how much Jesus Christ means to us. Since we know that only so much can be said through song, a few of us have decided to write a little on a more personal level about how we ever came to know about Jesus Christ. We hope that you take the time to read what we have written--especially if you are questioning whether or not Jesus Christ should mean anything to you. We don't intend to shove anything down your throat for these are statements about us. However, we do intend to open up a doorway through which you may see how Jesus can affect somebody else. Please feel free to contact any of us if you have any questions. Our e-mail addresses are written along with our testimonies. Thanks.

Below are testimonies from the following people:

Eddie Ahn

Class of '96
e-mail: ahne02@popmail.med.nyu.edu

My name is Eddie Ahn. I'm 21 years old and a senior at Harvard University. My hometown is Westminster, Maryland. I'm going to write a little about how I came to know Jesus Christ who has been the most important part of my life.

It's going to take a little explaining to start off, so just bear with me:

I was brought up in a Korean home and no one in my immediate family was Christian. However, we had a lot of family friends who attended the area Korean church. There was this large group of Korean families, all of whom attended that church, except for two families--ours and this other family, with whom we were really close. The sons of that family were like second brothers to me.

It was the Summer after seventh grade when my mother got a call from the mother of one of the "church-attending" families about this one week summer camp. It turned out that this woman also called that other "non-church-attending" family about sending their sons to this camp also. Well, I guess things sort of fell in place; this woman wanted us to go and my mother didn't want me to be sitting around the house too much, so she decided to send me. One thing that I didn't know was that this camp trip was through the church and it was a "Bible Camp." One of the sons of the other family, whose name was Eddie as well, ended up going too. He called me up about a day before we had to leave because he had a list of what we needed to bring to camp. He listed such things as a sleeping bag, a toothbrush, a flashlight, and so on, but for the last item, he said, "Guess what the last thing is." I said, "I don't know. What is it?" He said, "It's a Bible!" and we both bursted out laughing. So, I pulled the Bible off of the shelf, blew off the dust, and packed it in my bag.

We went to the camp in a bus full of kids our age from that Korean church. Eddie and I knew barely anyone in there so we spent time making fun of some of the kids to each other--the way they looked and the way they talked. When we got there, we ended up in a cabin with a guy named Chris, who was from that church and who would be a guy I'll never forget. Chris was a little different from the rest. He had been in a car accident when he was little, which slightly disabled his whole left side. So he walked in a funny way. But the thing that made him stand out the most was his constant singing. Chris sang wherever he went. When we sat at those meetings where everyone gathered and sang songs, Chris got so excited when a certain song came up that he liked. "Oh, I love this song!" Eddie and I always laughed at him about this (and many other things) but he didn't care. He'd just continue singing wherever he went.

At one of those meetings, the idea that Jesus Christ died for our sins was first introduced to me. The speaker talked about eternal life, which was something that I had never thought about. As I sat there with my cabin group, the counselor went around asking everybody "Are you saved?" As he went around, all the kids were nodding their heads, but when he got to me, I said, "Am I what?" I guess he knew that I wasn't. The term was salvation--being freed from sin by accepting Jesus's love into your heart. I had no idea. I remember thinking, "Oh, so that's who that Jesus guy was! I just thought he was some hippie (after seeing those pictures of him)." But starting that night, I started having serious thoughts about eternal life, Heaven and Hell, and this new term, salvation.

As the week went on, I learned more and more about what made me a sinner and more about this God that everyone was talking about. Eddie and I hung out a lot with Chris (even though we made fun of him a lot). I asked him a lot of questions about salvation. I remember asking him about what Heaven was like and why I should want to go there. So he asked me "What's your favorite thing you like to do?" I said "Playing football." He said, "In Heaven, you can play football all you want--all day long." Now, I look at Heaven a little differently, but then, that was the best way for me to conceive what ultimate joy was like.

Another girl from the church continued to ask me and Eddie to join her to study the Bible. Eddie and I always found good excuses to get out of it. Anyway, we were getting a good enough dosage of the Bible from Chris alone. On one of the final nights, all of the people in the camp gathered around a huge campfire. I don't remember much but I remember a time at the end when anyone could go up to the mike and say a little about what Jesus meant to him/her. I don't think I got much out of the previous meetings, but this meeting really touched me. I remember Chris was sitting next to us and got up to speak. As he walked in his own funny way up to the mike, Eddie and I looked at each other and said, "Hey, what is he doing?" He talked about his accident and how he became disabled on his left side. But despite all of that, he thanked his God for life. I finally realized what was behind all of his singing. Chris was left out of a lot of the activities of the camp, but he never stopped sitting with people, reading his Bible, and singing. It was starting to make sense.

There were a lot of other powerful stories of people's lives that night. All talked about how much Jesus meant to them. Then, a girl got up to speak. It was nighttime so it was really hard to see but when she started to speak, I knew it was the girl who had asked me and Eddie to study the Bible with her. She talked about her life, but before I knew it, she started saying, ". . . and I know that there are two of you out there who don't know Jesus Christ--" and she stopped. She stopped and she started crying. Eddie and I looked at each other. I said, "Hey, is she talking about us?" Of course, the answer was yes. My biggest question was "How could she care about us so much?" I didn't understand it--just like I didn't understand how God could love me so much. That night, I talked more with Chris and I still battled with that question. But no matter how much I tried to find an answer, there was always something inside of me saying, "The fact is He does. He does love you." And I knew it.

That night, I said a prayer. Something like: "God, please forgive me for sinning against You. I know that Jesus is the son of God and that He died for my sins. I want to accept Him into my heart. Amen." The next morning, I told Chris about my prayer and he said, "You're saved." Then I asked, "But how do I know if I am or not?" Meanwhile, Eddie didn't believe that I was and he kept on telling me that I wasn't. But Chris asked me, "Do you believe what you said in your heart?" I said "Yes." So he said, "Then you're saved. You're saved, Eddie." It was August 20, 1987.

Since then, a lot has happened. Although I've been saved, I've had my times of loving sin and loving God; and I can honestly say, from the bottom of my heart, that the I've had the most joy in the times that I loved God. I'll go as far as to say that the only times that I really lived were the times that I loved God. It's been like playing football all the time--all day long (In an eighth grader's terms). I've learned a lot of things and I've found a lot of things that make me happy, but nothing compares to the love of God. There's a lot more to say, but I'm going to end it here. I gotta leave room for the rest of the members. I hope you guys will feel free to e-mail me if you want to talk more about salvation.

Katy Hsiao

Class of '98
e-mail: kfhsiao@fas.harvard.edu

My sister Amy says that I have this habit of going off into "space" (or so she calls it) every once in a while. She has evidence, too. Pasted in the front pages of our baby-toddler pages, amidst others, are photos of a two-foot-tall Katy sitting on a street curb, hands clasped in lap, looking off into space....or, Katy perched on Dad's arm, looking off into space,...or, Katy testing the acidity of her thumb, looking off into space. It is true; I used to spend lots of time thinking, in my own muted world. I still do, actually. But, the interesting part of all this is that when I was a little kid, I never felt lonely in that world. I was alone, and everything else, but my own thoughts, was quiet, but there was not a loneliness in the calmness. The reason is that what I remember most about my childhood, and being a little kid, and seeing everything from two feet below, is being alone and thinking and talking with God. My dad and my mom both believed in Christ before I was born, so I went to bed with stories from the Bible--except the characters were always two girls with names like Fonyi and Chuanyi (those are my sister and my Mandarin names.) From these, I found out two things: that God existed, and that God loved me. So, that's the reason why I talked to God. One, because talking to somebody else was infinitely more interesting than talking to myself, even if I did not see the other person's face or hear his voice in reply. That did not seem to matter to me as a kid. Two, because my parents were busy with adult matters, and my sister, well, she seemed to have been a teenager for all of time I had been alive, I talked to Him instead. Besides, I kind of thought God existed for me. Three, God loved me, which meant He must be interested in what I had to say. Anyway,...things changed as I got older. I made friends, spent less time alone--spent less with God. The big change in who I thought God was, however, came after one of my friends--the thirty-five year-old Sunday School teacher who persuaded me that to love God meant to obey Him--killed himself after a bout of depression and medical treatment that seemed to make him feel worse. I heard people say cruel, judgmental things about this person who had been funny, easy-going, genuine, and normal--well, to me, at least. I thought, then, that God was the same way. I thought He did not love me so much as He judged me; I decided He wanted me to live right, do right, think right--be perfect, and not "screw up" this life. I figured He did not care much about me, just my performance. I saw that in other people, even if it wasn't always there, and so I saw it in my God. He had become rather a hazy person by then. He existed as my judging panel, my jury; I performed, I defended my life. I paced myself through high school--got into Harvard. Paced myself through the first semester of freshman year...tripped and dented my face too many times. Hold on, let me explain these 'dents.' Learning here was frustrating; I could not seem to get the information into my head fast enough or deep enough. The Christian fellowship I had joined seemed to be falling apart. My roommates were not very happy people, either, and I could not seem to get our friendships to feel ..comfortable. At the end of first semester, I found myself without good grades, without real friends (except one), without a Christian fellowship, with a foghorn-type talking relationship with God. Started second semester, auditioned for Under Construction--I thought maybe I'd find something to fill ..there. The night of callbacks, afterwards, I knew I sang badly, was convinced I did not make the group. I was mad at myself, frustrated at everything; I decided I would go to scream at God, have it out with him. I decided I would not go to sleep until I had it out with him, until He told who He was and who I was. I was not cool..because I had not made Under Construction (pardon the obvious mistake in logic here :)...I was not intelligent because my grades were not great...I was not talented in any way, or I'd be involved in a grand production I could run around postering for....okaY, so I thought I was fairly un-endowed in every possible way. I told Him that I had nothing to offer Him--or myself, or anyone else. What do I have?--Piddly little. I wanted everything, and I had almost nothing there in my sweaty, anxious hands. I got tired of crying and pounding against things, after a while, and the concrete started to get cold. It was dark by then. It was quiet too. He told me, "Give me that." And, later, he answered me, "but I want you." I wanted everything this tiny busting rushing world could give me. He wanted more of me. I do not understand that very much; it makes me uncomfortable. This is love, I think. And, it's funny I used to know this, but I had to relearn it--this time, while I felt I did not deserve it. Does it seem like a bogus claim? God lOVES YOU?!? God, if He exists--why should He love YOU? You, who mean little to anyone else on this planet, why should your miserable small life matter to HIM? WHY should He care whether you live or die? WHY? WHY? I don't know why, but He does. and...hOW do I KNOW? Well,...Jesus Christ on the cross, beaten beyond life but still alive, palms-ankles nailed to two wooden beams, suffocating to death, exhausted, tired, abandoned, alone. God--the maker, the source of life, became human and made Himself able to die, and died for me. But, His love for me did not end on the cross because Jesus Christ was raised from the dead, so also He resurrected my life by His love, in His grace. It is something I knew before, but I had to learn it again...this time undeserving...this time, grateful. It was a start, hey?

Joey Li

Class of '99
e-mail: jfli@fas.harvard.edu

What does a teenage kid know about life? not much if you think about it. I was in middle school at the time, just beginning to ponder things. I somehow got in a rut wondering... why am I doing this? I guess seeing my parents having a tough time at work somehow prompted the those thoughts. How does all this end? My parents... being Christians... promptly referred me to this weird book in the Bible called Ecclesiastes. I've never been good at pronouncing words and had now idea how to even approach this one. But I looked through it.... kinda glumly. And what I read at first didn't help. Truly. I mean... one of the first lines in there is..... Meaningless... meaningless... everything is meaningless....

Oh wow! great encouragement here. Throughout most of this book it talks like that. Even if it isn't depressing, it's mainly observational. You may have heard a song waaaay back or even heard some of these phrases.... "A time to live, a time to die, a time to love, etc." Still... doesn't help me much.

Until I got to the part about this guy named Solomon's final conclusion. About why I was here: to give praise to God. to Honor Him. Hmm.... yeah.. that's a purpose.. but why?

Because of His love. During middle school I , like nearly every other Asian American I know was playing piano. And I kinda got hooked on thsi Brahms thing. Like morbid stuff... stuff with incredibly high opus numbers... because he didn't have much time to live. And one of them... an e-flat intermezzo begins with this really cold low rumble in teh left hand that is dismally quiet. It kinda sweeps over the middle of teh piano range and then just as it dies down... this plaintive crying begins in teh right hand. I always thought it synonymous with a cold barren Arctic with some old man against the white bleak background. with teh left hand rubmel being the cold wind sweeping across and teh right hand being the poor guys cries of pain. OK... so I got too wrapped up... sorry. But goodness for crying out loud, I was barely 13! What am I doing thinking of these things? My parents were worried, but how do you approach a son who is borderline manic depressive!?!?!?! not easy.

But deep down I knew that my picture wasn't quite right. God was there with me. His love still stretched out. I knew I wasn't perfect... you kind of learn that early on when you do something bad and your parents swat you with a chopstick. But God still loved me despite what my imperfections. Upon reflection... I realize God doesn't love us because of what we've done. Truthfully, we don't earn or achieve or deserve His love. It's there. We have to "receive" it. Probably a better word is "accept" it.

Like other Asian Americans, I was forced to learn Chinese. It was taught through our church at 1:00 on Sundays... after lunch... righ after the service. Now.. usually services were cool, but the preacher would often speak of weird things.... stuff that just went - whoosh! - right over my head. And I didn't want to fall asleep so I did my Chinese homeowkr. After all, I was a growing boy, and wasn't going to skip lunch for it. So doing my Chinese homeowkr during sermon became a weekly ritual. Except one Sunday.... the preacher spoke of something. I don't even remember the over all topic... but one section hit home. About not being afraid to express teh beliefs. God had given me comfort and joy. He had been there for me... I just had to accept it. Now - if someone has just discovered something miraculous... they want to share it.... - God was something joyful in my life.... didn't I want to share it? But.. but... it's so different. What will otehr people think? And teh sermon answered... have courage. If you have something that has given you much happiness and joy... don't you want to let other people know? Share... express.

And so... God loves you. Whatever has happened, he still loves you.

Jonathan Liu

Class of '99
e-mail: liu15@fas.harvard.edu

Why do I believe what I believe? What, indeed, is it that I believe? Those are good questions. I'm not sure if I have good answers. I'm not even sure if I have any answers at all. But they're questions I've thought a lot about and I'd like to share what I've got.

Christians have a pretty crazy story. First, we say there's an all-powerful God who created everything. Well, I guess that's not so crazy and maybe you believe that, but we go on to say that this God who created everything knows each of us by name and actually cares about what we do. More than that, we say He loves us.

Well, that's a tricky concept. Love. We hear a lot about it. A lot of people spend their lives searching for it. And fortunately, enough people find it that the world will keep on spinning for a while. Then again, there are a lot of people who don't.

Christians say that there's no reason that anyone shouldn't find love. And not just any love, but the love of God. That God wants nothing more than to show each person how much He loves them. Yes, it's crazy. So why believe it?

First, how do I know God exists? Honestly, I don't. I don't have any proof. You might argue that this is a purely deterministic universe and that God or any higher power is just something invented by people who couldn't cope. I won't try to argue against that. I'm not smart enough to prove either the existence of God or of a determistic universe. As far as I know, no one's come up with solid proof for one or the other. However, I do believe in a higher power because the more I learn, the less probable it seems that this world evolved by chance.

So why do I believe in the Christian God? On the one hand, I believe in Him because He makes sense. First off, the Bible is a unique book, written over the course of thousands of years by 40 different authors, and fulfilled in one man, Jesus of Nazareth. The odds that such a man could have existed are prohibitive. But He did indeed exist. His words claimed that He was the Messiah, and His life, predicted before His birth, confirmed it.

But Jesus lived 2,000 years ago. No one alive today ever saw Him, met Him, talked with Him, and no one can confirm the Biblical accounts. Who's to say that these aren't just stories? However, I would wonder what the writers gained by making up stories--11 of the 12 apostles died brutal deaths and the 12th was exiled to an island with no source of natural water.

I became a Christian because I could not fault the evidence supporting Jesus's claims. On becoming a Christian, I sort of expected drastic changes in my life. Did that happen? I'm still selfish and materialistic. I think very highly of myself.

Looking deeper, though, I find that I have changed. Small ways, to be sure, but the more I change, the more I want to change, and the faster I do. I am learning to be less possessive of my property. I am learning to think of other people before myself. But most importantly, I am learning that I need to be motivated by love.

It's that word again. Love. I'm looking for it, too. I received it in the love of my God for me. But now He wants me to give it to others. And I want to, too.

Christians aren't perfect. I do not love as my God loves. Not yet. But every day I am learning. And someday I will get there.

Jennifer Shin

HMS Class of '99
e-mail: jjshin@student.med.harvard.edu

Here, it is:

I started to get to know the Lord at a fairly young age. Just lucky I guess. I learned about His works and His son, mostly through school (I went to Catholic school), and learned of his importance and magnitude. But that was really it for then. I don't think I understood anything much better than that. Maybe because of that, my relationship with God fluctuated somwhat over the next years. I don't think I realized too much what it really meant in my life until my parents stopped going to church. I found that I missed the sermons, and the time to learn about God, and I started going on my own. Then, college came, and again my relationship faltered. So many new things -- somehow I let him get lost.

But then, as a sophomore, a friend took me with her to church, and what an incredible church it was. I was really touched by the presence of God among the young congregation, and the spirit that these people had. This started to bring me back again, and again showed me the strength of God's spirit within us. I started to come back again.

Now, in medical school, I think I'm still on that road back. I know I've gotten farther than I ever have before, and I can feel the love of Christ stronger than ever. Can I tell you what happened?

Well, after the first semester, which was made crazy by an emergency surgery and recovery, I decided that I wanted to sing again (something I did as an undergrad). So I asked my wonderful boyfriend Tom to keep a lookout for signs in the yard for me. He told me about a sign he saw for a group that an old friend of mine had sung in. So I went to the meeting, found an audition, sung something, went and botched callbacks. Buut somehow God found it in his plan to allow me the opportunity to join this group anyway. And in taking the time out to sing his praises and our gratitude, and in talking and praying with the other groovin' members, I have found that Christ has come into my life more than ever.

We're friends again. And I hope we get to stay that way, and become even better friends. I still don't, to be honest, think I'm the best Christian, but I think I'm really on my way. Cuz hey -- at the risk of being too cheezy -- I'm Under Construction, right?