The cry of my heart has long been, "Here am I, send me!" That call to serve the brokenhearted first stirred in 1982 when I was only 12. It gained clarity during my years at the National University of Singapore in 1992. Finally the call became a physical reality on Valentine's Day's 2001. That day, Jacqueline and I, together with our two-and-a-half-year-old daughter Grace, relocated to Hanoi. Today, 14/12/26, we reached our quarter of a century mark.

We arrived in Hanoi with a promise. In 1989, a junior college friend named Jennifer had spoken Isaiah 58:11-12 over us. She said that we would be like a "well-watered garden" and be called "Repairers of Broken Walls." At the time, we couldn't have known how scorched the land would feel, or how vital those "Repairers of Broken Walls" would become.

The Weight of the Log: Deeply Broken

The first 3 years of our adventure in Hanoi was a masterclass in the cost of the cross-cultural work. It confronted my soul at a level I hadn't expected; I realised I was a deeply broken vessel. During a short break in Singapore in 2002, a vision shared by my Sunday school teacher's wife perfectly captured my state: I was on a bicycle, straining to drag an enormous tree trunk. I was exhausted and alone. But as they prayed, the vision shifted—the log transformed into a handful of pencils. The burden was being sharpened into a tool, though the "sharpening" would take years of stripping away my strength.

The Sabbatical: Dearly Loved

By 2017, dedication had given way to burnout. Our family took a sabbatical, and in that silence, I had to rethink my thinking. I began to unwrap a gift I first received as a child in 1980: the realisation that though I am Deeply Broken, I am Dearly Loved. I wasn't serving to earn love; I was serving from it. This changed everything.

Why ReTurn Now

Friends are curious as to why we are returning to Singapore.   “You are so  well adjusted and is having a meaningful work in Hanoi, I thought you would make your grave in Vietnam”, some commented.  Others were curious as to what prompted the decision to return.  Some ask if it is our health, or our family back in Singapore or finances? To these questions, we simple have one very simple reply. It has been 25 years, that’s a quarter of a century. It’s about time to return home.

When we first arrived in Hanoi, the "walls" of social support were often weathered. But the promise of Isaiah 58 was that others would eventually do the rebuilding. Today, we see the "pencils" of that 2001 vision held firmly in the hands of the Vietnamese. Nothing illustrates this more beautifully than the words of those we’ve walked alongside for twenty years.

Huong Lion shares:

Another student, Huong Luong Thu, reflects on the weight of the work:

To hear my students talk about "taking the copyright" of this mission is the ultimate joy. The "age-old foundations" are not just standing; they are being expanded by a new generation of Repairers of Broken Walls. This is reason why its time to return to Singapore.

The TRANSITION

As we transition back to Singapore, we want to move with intentionality. Ironically, I find my resolve quickly gave way into anxiety, fear and restlessness. "ANTs" starts crawling into my chaotic mind. (ANTs stands for Automatic Negative Thoughts). It dawn on me that going back to Singapore may require more courage then when we first moved to Hanoi.

Just like the painting above, the canvas becomes a visceral arena where my spirit meets the overwhelming scale of the unknown ahead of us. The sky, a striking tension—a vast, blood-red canvas that feels both atmospheric and heavy, saturating the senses with its intensity. Central to this crimson expanse is a seagull. It does not merely fly; it scores through the atmosphere, a singular stroke of light against a world of fire. There is no land in sight, no sanctuary offered by the frame, and no visible destination. The seagull heads directly toward the sea, moving away from the safety of the known and into a landscape of pure uncertainty. That's how this transition feels: scary, chaotic, frustrating. But the story isn't over.