The Beach Boys

Yesterday I visited them again - the few men in their twilight years whom I dubbed "The Beach Boys" when I first met them more than two years ago. The name was out of convenience, since they lived in the same block of one-room flats at Beach Road.

Walter, almost seventy, used to work as a singer. He was baptised last month - a pleasant surprise to me, for I remember him having some doubts about a year ago when I came back for term break. Now he seems determined to stick to his new-found faith.

I heard about Xxng's demise when I was still in Taiwan - another surprise, for the quiet, honest looking, fifty-something bachelor who spoke Cantonese, had died of AIDS. I was told yesterday, that he was dragged by his frends to patronise a whorehouse for the first time when he received his CPF money about 3 years ago. Good for him that before the HIV dealt a fatal blow, he had stumbled into the fold of the One who forgave prostitutes. I'd like to teach him to sing: "Grace, grace, God's grace, grace that is greater than all my sin". Who knows, perhaps he's already prefected the pitch under the tutorage of some angel.

Then there's Axxxxx, who rejoices that he doesn't have to continue to live in regret. Though some mistake in his personal history resulted in his estrangement from his family, now he is never really alone, whether in his one-room flat or out cycling on his bike. Constantly keeping him company is his long list of prayers and scriptures memorised and meditated upon over the recent years. He can stand on the this side of sanity and talk about others - in this neighbourhood of old folks - who have yet to find solace in the Saviour.

My heart rests with the comfortable assurance that GOD IS LOVE.