“Neak’ru1 Lydia, have you seen Chann’s2 bicycle? It’s falling apart.”
Making my way back to my work desk after lunch, I made a pit stop at the small staff parking area and stared at the dilapidated bicycle in dismay. What Saodi, my administrative assistant, told me was true.
Having been working here for so long, how could I have missed such a crucial detail about a staff member on my team? Being busy with work was simply no excuse.
A lady in her fifties, Chann has been working for our local mission organization for many years and was a regular attendee of the local church too. HIV-positive and abandoned by her husband who gave her the very same disease in her younger years, she was left adrift with two young sons to raise. Being illiterate, the type of jobs that she could take on to earn a living was very limited.
Nevertheless, she had been working here for many years, a consistent and faithful worker, always turning up on time and dutifully completing all her assigned tasks, with the occasional afternoon off to the doctor’s to replenish her HIV medication.
I stared at her scruffy bicycle. One of the pedals had fallen off a long time ago, leaving only the exposed chassis on which she would balance her foot while cycling. The seat was also bare, the cushion having worn off a long time ago. With her humble salary as a cleaner and a family to raise, a new bicycle was an impossible extravagance for her. I could understand why she made no effort to get a replacement, but continued to use her worn bicycle for the daily 7km ride from home to work.
“Saodi ,” I approached my local administrative assistant when I entered the office, “let’s go to the market tomorrow during the lunch hour. I’d like to get a new bicycle for Chann.”
The next day, we navigated the dusty, bustling market towards the corner shop selling bicycles. “I always feel so embarrassed when I bring you here, Neak’ru Lydia.” Saodi muttered. Most of the bicycles sold by the local village shop were procured second-hand from wealthier countries, resold as scrap metal under the guise of recycling.
Nonetheless, the rows of refurbished and polished two-wheelers made for a welcome sight to potential buyers. “Look at this,”she deadpanned, gesturing at the neverending rows of gleaming second hand bicycles, “We are the dumpster for other countries, you know.”
Despite her sentiments, we carried on with our task. We tested several bicycles before settling on a sleek, lightweight Japanese model in silver. Freshly cleaned, polished, and outfitted with a new bell and basket, it gleamed like new for just 80 American dollars. We carefully loaded it into a tuk-tuk and transported it back to our workplace.
Heading off to my home for a quick lunch after the completed errand, I tasked Saodi with giving away the new bicycle to Chann. Ever ingenious, my young and warm hearted administrative assistant devised a surprise for Chann. She brought the bike up to Chann, and exclaimed, “Chann! Look at this new bicycle that I bought! Would you like to give it a try?” Chann took it for a short test ride around the premises and declared it a decent acquisition, before Saodi burst out laughing. “Chann, this is now yours! It is a surprise present for you from Neak’ru Lydia!”
When I met Chann that afternoon during our weekly staff devotion, her eyes brimmed with tears of joy, and she shyly avoided my gaze. Gently, I embraced her and whispered, “Today, let me be a daughter to you. You deserve this new bicycle.” Wordlessly, Chann wrapped her arms around me, holding on tightly.
Looking back on that day, it felt like the most meaningful money I had ever spent during my mission assignment.
It would prove to be a worthy investment with a ripple effect. Several years later, when I was back in my home country, Saodi sent me a photo of a circle of smiling faces gathered around a table - she had started organizing monthly lunches for the less privileged in her community, funding them from her own pocket. “I’ve always remembered what you did for Chann, and I want to do the same for others.”
Hearing Saodi say that moved me deeply. We never truly know how even the smallest act of kindness can echo through the years. And who can say? Perhaps her simple demonstration of Jesus’ love will touch someone in a way that will inspire them to pay it forward, continuing the ripple of grace.
I recall the closing words of John’s Gospel, where the apostle remarked on the countless deeds of Jesus, saying that if they were all written down, even the whole world could not contain the books that would be filled. (John 21:25) I love to imagine that every simple act we do for Christ, along with its unseen ripple effects, is being recorded in the books of Heaven. Even today, all the libraries and archives in our world can never contain all the miraculous works of God—both those we witness and those beyond our knowledge. As His redemptive love spreads through the hearts of His people, the Holy Spirit continues His unseen work, and new stories of grace and transformation are being written every day.
1 Teacher
2 Names have been changed.
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