The Passing Of The Baton

Uncle Lucian, whom I was <a href="">named after</a>, passed away two days ago. He died peacecfully after saying his goodbyes to the doctors and nurses at the hospital in which he had spent the last three years.
Funerals always bring about a whole gamut of emotions. It is even more so when the you happen to be the namesake of the deceased. It feels like the story of the life that had just ended now continues with you; the weight of added responsibility presses upon your shoulders. They're looking at you, because you're the only "Lucian" left. There is a variety of gazes, some laden with expectation and others a resigned disappointment.
Uncle Lucian was a fine example of a life lived to the max. After accepting Christ as His Saviour in his late teens, he came down from Sri Lanka to Singapore when he was only 22. He left behind a place in his father's business for a land that was unknown to him. All this in the hope that the gospel he carried in his heart might be shared with these strangers in a foreign land.
I am proud to be associated with so selfless a man and I pray that I too might be as giving of myself. I do not know the road ahead of me but I know that I want my years to be a brush-stroke on the canvas of creation, expressing exactly – without adding or substracting anything from – the glorious vision in the mind of God.
It feels odd being probably the only Lucian in Singapore. It feels like part of me died.

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