I'm normally not a preacher, but I recently recalled the most amazing thing that happened to me a few years back.

            I think this happened seven years back…

            My grandfather (grandfather for dad's father, grandpa for mum's) was on his deathbed, in fact, he was in a coma which was the result of a recent heart attack. He didn't have much chance of living; yet, he didn't seem to be dying either, and we didn't want him to, not yet.

My mum's side of family were ardent Christians, strong in the believe that one should live and die by Christ, and of course the failing of that would result in an after-death in a fiery furnace known as hell.

My dad's side of the family were unshakable Taoists, believing without a doubt that my grandfather was going to hell anyway, just like everyone will. Of course their perception of hell vastly differed to the one Christians know.

My mum's side of the family were persistent in the fact that my grandfather should die a Christian; My dad's side had not a doubt my grandfather would be getting a Taoist funeral.

Between these two sides, the only thread that connected them was our family.

            Having my mum's entire hoard of relatives tromp into my grandfather's ICU ward to preach to my unconscious grandfather would of course spark a quarrel because my dad's side believed that whatever decision this vegetative man made would be entirely out of his drug induced state and he would not be able to fend off a whole crowd of people from what y dad's family feel will be "forcing" him into a whole new religion.

            Every night, a few church members sat by my grandfather in the absence of my dad's family and talked to him, explaining to him about God and about Christ. They even brought in woman to talk to him in Hainanese which was his dialect.

            While all these happened  in Penang, I was here in PJ. My mum and I prayed every single night for my grandfather. I was not ignorant enough to pray for his life as I hugged my snoopy, for learning to let go has been a sort of survival skill for me, but I prayed with all my might for his soul. In every prayer my mind shaped, it was always the same, it was always for his soul, and I always cried. I don't think it was crying though, tears just fell, not out of sadness, but out of prayer.

            One night, I stayed up extra late and prayed extra hard; I did not know though, why I did so. Why on that very night I had felt powerful enough to succeed yet helpless enough to pray with all my strength for that stubborn man who had never believed in anything else.

I did not know that at the exact time, a mass prayer in my aunt's church was being conducted for this frail man, and seven people including the Hainanese lady was in his ward, holding his hand, once more speaking to him the word of God and praying.

            On my bed at home, I forced out as much prayer as I could, changing a few words every now and then, so as not to bore God but always repeating the same message: Save Ah Kong's soul. As I was praying, an image kept appearing in my mind, it was almost intangible but with every word of my prayer, it got clearer and clearer. Thinking I must be falling asleep and succumbing to a dream, I continually attempted to shove the picture out of my mind, determined to focus on God. Try as I might, I could not. I was never more awake and it wasn't a dream. Probably imagination then, I thought. The image consisted of a group of shadowed people I could not identify and they were standing or sitting around my grandfather whom I saw clearly lying on his bed. These people I could tell, were praying for him and they were silent, but maybe only to me. Then without warning, my grandfather sat up on the bed and his eyes flew open, "Yes, I believe" he said. An angel, or rather, a glowing person in a robe appeared before him. My grandfather looked at the angel in awe and immediately laid back on his bed and shut his eyes. This slide show kept repeating itself in my wary mind, giving me immense peace and before long, I drifted to sleep.

            The next morning, as I was going up the stairs, I caught my mother coming down. She had been making phone calls all morning and it sounded rather important. Remembering what I saw the night before, I thought "Is he gone?". Of course saying something like that might sound callous, so instead, I related what I saw to my mum. As I spoke, tears welled up in my mum's eyes, and at the end, her tear-tap was turned on to the maximum. Shocked, I thought, " Shit, die already ah?". But apparently it was much more complicated than just that.

            Still weeping, my mum asked me what time I saw everything, and I told her, around ten-thirty at night. In Penang, at the same time, this is what happened… Seven people went to my grandfather's room that night to pray to him. They then asked him in Hainanese, "If you truly accept Christ into your life, give us a sign. Either grip our hands, or just open your eyes.", both of which were impossible feats considering my grandfather was in a coma and under sedatives which kept him unconscious (dunno why since he was in a coma). Suddenly, my grandfather gripped their hands, opened his eyes and sat up on his bed, and just as suddenly, he laid back down.

          Two days later, my grandfather passed away. Don't worry, it was peaceful.

           Amen.