I strode to the end table to pick up the phone. A glance at the caller ID sent my heart jumping with anxiety.
“Hello.” My fingers tensed around the handset.
“Me.” My Baba’s calm voice wafted into my ears.
My pulse accelerated as I anticipated some good news about the progress of his cancer treatment.
“Baba, are you feeling better?”
“My doctor confirmed today I’m cancer-free.”
I widened my eyes. “That’s great. You’re well.”
My wife stood beside me, her smile brighter than a flashing star.
“Yes. I called because I wanted to say thank-you to your God, you, and your church. Thank you for praying for me.”
Tears coursed down my cheeks. I swallowed hard to stifle my crying, recalling the times when Baba taunted me and my wife (then my girlfriend) after I forsook my Buddhist belief and accepted Christ. He hated her as he thought she took me away from him and from his family religion. But God used me and my wife to plant seeds in his heart over the years.
“You’re welcome, Baba.”
“One more thing. I know who has a heart for me.”
I kept silent. In an indirect manner, he asked me to forgive him. I already had.
Then we said our good-byes.
About three years later, I received an urgent call from my sister. She said Baba fell and was hospitalized. I immediately flew back to Hong Kong the next day. When I arrived, my family told me Baba had passed away when the plane was still in the air. I knew I had missed the last opportunity to share with him the Love of Jesus.
Only God knows if Baba had accepted Christ before he died. I hope he had.