BE
Last week, my wife Jacqueline and I brought my mother out for a meal—a simple routine we try to keep at least once a week. Walking through the neighbourhood where she has lived for more than two-thirds of her life isn't just good physical exercise for her; it is a journey of connection. She brightens as she greets old friends, rooted deeply in a community that knows her name.
As we were walking, a domestic helper smiled at my mother from a distance and called out, "Hi, Ah Mah!" She walked right over and wrapped my mother in a long, tender hug—the kind of warm embrace shared only between long, dear friends. As she held my mother, I noticed tears welling up in her eyes. Not knowing I was the son, she turned to me, her eyes filled with emotion, and said softly, "She is my Ah Mah. I love her very much."
After a few heartfelt moments, she continued on her journey. Curious, I asked my mother how they knew each other. Mum smiled and simply replied that they had become good friends while queuing together for free meals at the void deck. That tender incident stayed with me, opening my eyes to several deep reflections:
The Quiet, Invisible Networks of Belonging
We often think we know the full picture of our parents' daily lives, but my mother has quietly cultivated her own vibrant ministry of presence in her community. In the simple act of queuing for a meal, she wasn't just receiving food; she was offering her warmth, dignity, and companionship to someone who might otherwise feel invisible. That domestic helper, far from her own home and family, found a maternal embrace and a sense of family in my mother.
The Equalising Power of Shared Space
The void deck and the community meal queue served as a place of absolute equality. Unencumbered by titles, status, or roles, two human beings met simply as souls in need of community. My mother didn't see a foreign domestic worker, and the lady didn't see an elderly stranger—they just saw each other as "good, good friends."
Love as a Radiant, Unseen Legacy
When the lady squeezed my mother and tearfully said to me—a stranger to her—"She is my Ah Mah. I love her very much," she was offering me a rare, unfiltered glimpse into the quiet impact my mother continues to make. Without seeking recognition, my mother's presence is radiating light, comfort, and emotional safety into the lives of others.
The Gift of Being Fully Present
Because Jacqueline and I took the time to step into her environment, walk at her pace, and share in her routine, I was given the privilege of bearing witness to the beauty of her life and the quiet harvest of grace she is sowing in her neighbourhood.
This moment brought to mind my artwork, BE. In the painting, the heavily textured wild lilies in the foreground ask us to stop striving, to anchor ourselves in the present, and to simply consider the lilies of the field—rooted in God's grace exactly where we are. Behind them, the canvas opens into a vast green valley and quiet waters, a visual sanctuary of peace. Under that void deck, I witnessed the living reality of BE. My mother and this woman weren't caught up in the heavy, relentless rush of "doing" or status. They simply paused in the stillness of a queue, created a non-judgmental space of pure presence, and allowed room for a sacred, human-to-human connection to bloom.
It’s a story that stays with me—a gentle reminder that wherever there is a willingness to smile, connect, and share a moment, a sanctuary of love can form right under a void deck.
I want to challenge and encourage all of us to spend unhurried time with our elderly parents, to slow our stride, and to open our eyes to the people around us who are longing for real connection. When we choose to step into their world, we don't just offer them companionship—we are given a front-row seat to the beautiful, sacred ways God works through human connection right in our everyday lives.
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