“Xia dian xiang di jia bui, nong jia bui. Bang nong dian hi gian hang, geh jia doi nang, dua dua doi doi, bang nong doi doi woh. Doi doi dia dia xiang di, doi doi dia dia xiang di. Amen.”

His was one of the longest pre-meal prayer I knew. With my 60% just-pass Hainanese, I loosely translate:

“I’m eating this meal after You, God. Grant me health, grant me good things. I thank You, God, very much. I thank You, God, very much. Amen.”

Over the past few years, recited by him before every meal, I had come to memorise it. Over the past few years, I had grown to doubt it. Over the past few weeks, I am coming to learn from it.

Gong Gong, as enthusiastic as always, listening to one of my attempts to ask him what he placed his hope in. “God in heaven will help me,” was the reply. A nod followed my question: “Do you know He is called Jesus?”

Gong Gong was a typical man of his generation. A working-class victim of poverty, his recount of his life seemed like the standard narrative of working to make ends meet, gambling to make it big, and carrying on to keep carrying on.

In the process, he raised my family – we’re doing okay I’d say, and we’re better because of him (me – not so much: His wish for me to grow big and strong like my brother kinda failed).

Along the way, I finally acknowledged the Great Jesus Plan (that is the Bible) wasn’t just a transcendent story of ang moh origins, reserved for those who “knew better”.

Gong Gong actually was and is part of the “world” that Jesus so loved and died for, that He might save (John 3:16). Half-hearted as it sometimes was, we brought him to church, introduced him to God by the Name of Jesus, and taught him that he can actually talk to Him. Among those conversations, we taught him Grace – and we shall pray before we eat.

Years passed, and Gong Gong kept on carrying on. But he didn’t learn any English, attend Bible study, or sing Christian songs. He even grew too weak to practically make it to church.

He carried on with Grace, though.

Yet, how much of it did he understand? Who was Jesus to him? How was he going to get to heaven? Often, I wanted to ask. Sometimes, I actually did. Eventually, I probably gave up.

Grace became just that something I was going to courteously wait for him to say – and we’ll just pray before we eat.

The turning point came when Gong Gong would repeatedly tell me his greatest wish:

“Gong Gong (referring to himself) beh hu liao. (I am going to die.)”

“Beh hu deh leh? (Where are you going?)”

“Hu dian mo du Po Po. (I’ll go to heaven and see your grandmother.)”

“Du dai do hu dian leh? (How are you gonna get to heaven?)”

“Xia Ya Soh bang gua. Po Po gang Ya Soh toh eh. (I’ll ask Jesus to help me. Your grandmother’s with Jesus.)”

Gong Gong, 92, with his great-grandchild, Nathan, 2.

Today, a couple of days after he really did die, I’m still learning from Gong Gong’s Grace.

His pre-meal prayer is now water to my parched faith. This uneducated, English-illiterate man would come to teach me about Jesus: That it didn’t matter how far I assumed he was from heaven; it mattered how far (and high and deep) Jesus would go for him (Romans 8:38-39).

He wasn’t too simple or incapacitated for the grandeur of the LORD; for to such belongs the Kingdom of God (Luke 18:15-17).

He was the last worker who worked only one hour in God’s vineyard. Yet to a generous God, he was the last who is now first (Matthew 20:1-16).

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