One by one. - No Dream Too Small

When he appeared before me, I nearly jumped out of my seat. I had sat down at a table in a food centre and had no idea he was seated there too. This old man has the name Michael as well, and it was the third time in three months where I had met him in three different places. I looked at him, squinted in disbelief, and if I were in a comic strip, would have parted the sky to wag my finger at God.

Like, come on. Seriously.

The first time we met, I was in the train when a very, very elderly man walked into the carriage and started talking very loudly to another passenger. The old sinewy man, full of energy nonetheless, was thin, balding and had thick-rimmed glasses and a pocket watch. Clad in simple paper-thin formal clothes in exceptional neatness, he clutched a large bible, a grammar book and thick english dictionary in one hand and a large umbrella in the next.

“Can I help you with that?” I asked.

“OH NO! I’M FINE, THANK YOU VERY MUCH YOUNG LADY! IT’S VERY KIND OF YOU BUT I’M QUITE FINE!”

At this point, people surrounding us were beginning to stare. He continued, “I’LL TELL YOU SOMETHING. I AM ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN YEARS OLD. I AM THE OLDEST STRAITS TIMES JOURNALIST IN SINGAPORE AND I’M STILL GOING STRONG!” He pronounced every word with spectacular precision and gesticulated animatedly, even with his arms full.

Not meaning to be impolite, I carried on the conversation with him, even though I felt every eye around descend upon us now. “Where are you off to and what do you do?”

“OH, I USED TO BE A PASTOR. NOW I GIVE ENGLISH LESSONS TO DRUG ADDICTS AT A HALFWAY HOUSE AT GEYLANG.”

“Oh, you mean at High Point? Hey, I volunteer there too!”

At this time the entire train carriage filled with people had actually quietened down and were listening intently to our conversation. One young man even laughed and shook his head at me in amusement. There was something intensely quirky and charming about this old man- one couldn’t quite decide if he was real or not, out-of-his-mind or not, and yet, a certain earnest charm held him together. He carried on to say, “I WAS BORN IN 1894. I WAS CAUGHT BY THE JAPANESE SOLDIERS AT ONE POINT, AND I AM THE OLDEST REPORTER HERE IN THIS COUNTRY! HERE, LET ME SHOW YOU MY POCKET WATCH. IT IS VERY VERY OLD TOO.”

He reached his stop ten minutes later, got off and as the train doors closed between him and another two lines of passengers in front of me, he shouted, “I AM ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN AND STILL GOING STRONG!”

Two stops later, I alighted and as I crossed the road from the train station to my home, a young man, perhaps only a few years older than myself, stopped me and said, “I just want you to know it was very kind of you to ask if you could hold his books. People were watching and I just want you to know you made a difference.”

I nearly teared as I walked home. I remember looking at the night sky and asking God what I had done to deserve such kindness from a stranger.

He didn’t have to bless me with his kind words of encouragement, but he did.

The second time I met the old man I was with my father, outside a supermarket in the city. We chatted with him, and I gave him my phone number in case he needed anything in the future. He had 6 different coloured pens in his shirt pocket, and very meticulously, he copied down my name, number, address and age in journalistic, squiggly short-hand, with each detail in a different colour. My father was amused.

So a month later since the second encounter, when I sat down at the table at the food centre after my flute lesson in the east and saw him sitting right there, I think you can understand my sheer fright at the freak coincidence. I don’t quite believe in coincidences, only divine appointments and godly conspiracies. So, even though I was in a rush, I asked him, “Michael? Remember me? Oh my, I’ve met you three times in three months in three different places!”

“OH YES, IT’S YOU!”

I then learnt that he had sprained his ankle days ago when a passer-by had brushed past him and knocked his thin, willowy frame over. “How are you feeling now? And how are you going back?”

“OH, IT STILL HURTS. I’M GOING BACK TO GEYLANG NOW, TO THE HALFWAY HOUSE. I STAY WITH THE DRUG ADDICTS THERE.”

And then I realised it had all been planned. Had I not met him for the third time, I wouldn’t have had been frustrated enough with the ‘coincidence’ to ask if there was anything at all I could do for him. I couldn’t let him go home by himself, so my father drove down to send him back.

It was all very dreamlike. This happened more than a month ago, and I didn’t write it down because it was too… surreal. The history of this old man was surreal. The way we met and kept meeting was surreal. Only the various characters which wove in and out of our interactions convinced me I wasn’t dreaming.

Today, at a different train station, I met Esther, for the third time in the third different place as well. I met her previously on a train and in another station at town. She gave me a pink balloon craft and a green balloon craft the last two times we met. The last time we spoke, she kept telling me how not to worry about my calling to missions because God had a plan for my life. Today, as her eyes lit up when she saw me, she gave me a purple balloon shaped as an apple. “Ah, this morning I was just thinking of you as I listened to a CD. It was a sermon about callings. Ah, I shall make a copy for you and call you so I can pass it to you.”

In the afternoon, when I got home, I received an email from a patient I had met at hospital. It was such a surprise, such an unexpected gift. *(link disclosed with permission) I had been thinking about her ever since I met her, about her radiance, her patience, her faith and trust in God, in the positivity she emanated.

Most times, I don’t understand these random encounters in my life. All I know is that each time, I am blessed. And in the times where no tangible answers may be found, I learn that at times, it may be our turn to be used by God to bless others too. I am learning, that every single person is placed in our paths for a reason. They don’t even have to be strangers- they could be our friends, and family, even. But every interaction is an opportunity to love, encourage and give- and through that, how surprised are we to find that we receive, too- so abundantly.

One by one. God uses us one by one to bless each of us, one by one.

Sometimes we receive, sometimes we give- but at all times, we are all part of a chain of events which can leave us and others happier, leave us and others closer to God and that fragrant sense of haven.

I am learning, that as we bless, we too, are blessed.

“Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier.

Be the living expression of God’s kindness:

kindness in your face,

kindness in your eyes,

kindness in your smile.”

-Mother Teresa

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