CHAPTER 98

Oroginal (Published in Evergreen Newsletter): 2007-08-

Rewritten: 2025-10-25

I have come to believe more and more that every person in this world must take on certain roles; those who live long enough often carry a sense of mission — and for that, they must be willing to take risks.

I believe in God, I believe in Jesus, and I believe that the Holy Spirit moves people. Thinking of this, a memory returns to me — the singing voice of a dear friend.

Two years earlier (September 2005), after I underwent surgery for liver cancer, a close friend came to visit me in the hospital. He was ten years my senior, and I always called him Brother Sam. I had known him since my pre-university days in Hong Kong, when I joined a Christian youth fellowship. He was devout, warm-hearted, attentive, gentle — and blessed with a beautiful voice.

After learning I had liver cancer, I could not help but think about death and my own funeral. My greatest wish was that Brother Sam would sing at the service. When he visited me that day, I told him this directly. It seemed unnecessary at the moment — but still, the thought remained.

So we half-jokingly agreed to a race: who would outlive whom? If I were to go first, and he still had the strength to sing, I would ask him for that one last favor. Though I had not attended church in six years, I already had in mind who should officiate my funeral — and I would have him relay the message. As for the eulogy, I would write it myself; there was no need to trouble anyone else.

In the few days following his visit, I kept humming a hymn — “Great Is Thy Faithfulness.” Since I lacked the gift of singing and had a poor memory for lyrics, I could only whistle fragments of the melody or sing a few quiet bars at night to comfort my soul.

On Saturday morning, Brother Sam returned, hymnbook in hand, saying he wanted to sing a hymn for me. I was overjoyed and deeply touched. As soon as he began, I was astonished — it was “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” the very same hymn I had been humming for days. The gentle resonance of his voice soothed my spirit.

I shared with him how that hymn had been moving me during those days. Truly, the Spirit of God can stir two hearts at the same time — allowing both to feel the beauty and goodness of life, and to revere the One far greater than ourselves.

Another close friend, still in Hong Kong, later told me that a week before I entered the hospital, he had prayed especially for my son Lun, who might have difficulty understanding or coping with my surgery. I then recalled my son’s unusual reactions during that period — and how things eventually unfolded so smoothly. Those were very real experiences of grace.

At my most recent follow-up appointment, I was told that my cancer had not returned, and that my liver — the portion removed — had already grown back. I felt immense relief and gratitude. How many chances does one get in life to escape death twice — once from gallbladder cancer, once from liver cancer? Both are silent killers; many only discover them at the final stage, when nothing can be done.

I have come to believe ever more firmly that every person must carry some kind of role or mission in life. Those who live long enough must brave a few storms to fulfill it. To live well is to stay awake — to be honest with oneself, sincere with others, sensitive to what happens around you, and to respond to challenges with kindness. Each day can bring new discoveries; beyond oneself, there is always a higher heaven. I want to live meaningfully — with clarity and authenticity.

That beautiful voice from that day has continued to nourish my soul — even now, in October 2025.