In Memory of My Father

A few months ago, my wife and I traveled to China to spend time with my father, who was battling cancer in the ICU, and to comfort my mother. During our visit, my father’s condition fluctuated. At times, he recognized us; at others, medication or his progressing cancer clouded his awareness. We were deeply grateful to the Lord for granting us moments when he was fully conscious, recognizing us and engaging in clear conversation.

I told my father we loved him, prayed with and for him, and played a video from my daughters and sons-in-law. His face and eyes lit up with peace and joy as he heard their voices. He also cherished our bedside prayers. Before returning to the United States, I visited him in the ICU one final time—not just for the trip, but the last time I saw him alive. Remarkably, during those 30 minutes, he was lucid and in good spirits. I prayed for God’s grace, mercy, and comfort, asking for relief from his pain. As always, he rested in peace during our prayers. Holding his hand, I was surprised by its warmth and strength, despite his frail condition. He spoke softly but clearly. When the nurse signaled visitors to leave, I slowly released his hand, stepping back while keeping my eyes on him. Overwhelmed by emotion, I rushed forward, grasped his hand again, and looked into his peaceful, content face. As I left the ICU, tears welled up, knowing this might be our final earthly moment together.

Two weeks later, I returned to China—not to spend more time with my father, but to attend his funeral. Though I had prepared for this day, the grief was heavier than expected. Yet, my sadness was not without hope, thanks to a pivotal conversation with my father months earlier. Before sharing that conversation, I offer a heartfelt tribute to his 93-year life.

Born in the 1930s, my father grew up amid China’s turbulent wars. Despite hardships, his rural hometown offered relative peace. In 1949, the Communist Party’s victory over the Nationalists, who fled to Taiwan, reshaped China. During this transition, my father’s family was labeled “landlords” due to their modest property, marking them as enemies of the new regime. Contrary to stereotypes of idle wealth, my father toiled on the family farm and studied diligently in middle school. Meanwhile, many who squandered their assets through gambling or addiction were deemed “poor” and benefited from redistributed wealth, while hardworking families like my father’s faced government control, imprisonment, or execution.

Despite these challenges, my father seized an opportunity to serve the new government. Leaving his farm and school, he attended a government university training young cadres to govern New China. Filled with ambition and idealism, he saw this as a chance to escape a farmer’s life and contribute to a brighter future. Early on, his career soared with promotions, including managing thousands in railway construction. Personally, he thrived, winning my mother’s heart—a beautiful, intelligent, and capable woman admired by many. Their marriage marked a peak in his life, with both career and family flourishing.

In his thirties, my father’s life was like a high-speed train, carrying him and my mother toward success. But political movements derailed his career, halting his rise and forcing him into hard labor in his childhood village—a form of unofficial labor camp. My mother’s unwavering love and loyalty sustained him through years of suffering and separation. While he was away, my mother, brothers, and I lived in a small town, seeing him only a few times a year. His brief visits brought joy through home-cooked meals but also strict discipline, sometimes fair, sometimes excessive. As I grew, I lived in school dormitories, later attending college and working far from home.

After two decades, the government reversed its disciplinary measures, restoring my father’s position and back-paying his salary. My parents were grateful, but I resented the loss of his prime years. Deep down, I knew he loved us, but two obstacles strained our bond. First, political turmoil had kept us apart during my childhood, leaving few father-son moments. Second, Chinese tradition discouraged emotional expression; my father rarely said “I love you” or hugged us, unlike my close, expressive relationship with my own children, shaped by a different culture and faith. My kids and I prayed together, vacationed, and shared a bond in Christ, far different from my father’s reserved demeanor.

When my parents retired, they spent a year with us in the U.S., helping with our newborn. That time was precious. We built a deck, planted a garden, and enjoyed fresh vegetables together. I arranged an East Coast tour for my father, which he loved, regaling us with stories afterward. His intelligence and hard work earned him accolades in his final 15 years of work, overshadowing earlier hardships. Blessed with a 93-year life, a devoted wife of nearly 70 years, and a loving family—sons, daughters-in-law, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren—my father’s legacy was rich. At life’s end, family, both earthly and heavenly, matters most. I thank God for His grace in granting my father both.

Now, to the most important conversation. Months ago, during a 4–5 p.m. ICU visiting window (2 a.m. U.S. Central Time), my wife and I called my nephew, who put my father on speakerphone. Despite my mother’s report of his weakened voice, he spoke clearly, logically, and with anticipation. When I asked to pray, he loudly agreed. I shared the Gospel, leading him to ask Jesus to be his Savior and Lord. At the prayer’s end, he said “Amen” three times. My wife and I were overwhelmed with joy, unable to sleep. Matthew 19:26 came to mind: “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” After years of unsuccessful efforts to share my faith, God made it possible that night. My father was ready to accept Christ.

Can one conversation ensure eternal salvation? Romans 10:9–10 answers: “If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved.” In Chinese tradition, a funeral for someone over 90 is a “happy funeral,” celebrating a long life. But my father’s funeral was more—a celebration of his eternal life in Christ. Though I regret not spending more time with him, I rejoice knowing we’ll reunite in Heaven for eternity.

I am certain my father stepped into eternity when he drew his last breath. I will see him in Heaven one day! I pray for God’s grace and salvation in Christ for our entire family, that we may all join him there.

I am certain my father stepped into eternity when he drew his last breath. I will see him in Heaven one day! I pray for God’s grace and salvation in Christ for our entire family, that we may all join him there.

Appendix: The Purpose of Humanity

God created humanity in His image for fellowship with Him. Sin disrupted this in Eden, but Jesus’ death restored the way to God. Those who trust Him experience God’s purpose now and will one day dwell in Heaven, a city of indescribable beauty where sin no longer taints creation. Human pursuits—pleasure, relationships—cannot fulfill our divine purpose. Only in God do we find true value and meaning. He knows and loves us unconditionally. If you haven’t accepted Christ, will you turn from fleeting promises to find joy and security in Him? In Heaven, knowing God surpasses all else.