William Wan: Life is good.

William Wan shared about his descendants in the papers today. It’s a big family. Three tiers in fact. 

He was recently in US to celebrate his granddaughter’s birthday and in Canada to attend his grandson’s graduation from university. 

If you are counting, he and his wife have three children and their children have children of their own. As they have been living apart for the last twenty years, William said that such reunions are rare and dearly treasured. 

In a nutshell, he wrote about what a father has learnt from his children. 

Firstly, he said that he is a fumbling imperfect father. Growing up, his children often came to him to tell him that he spent too much time in his work as a lawyer and a pastor. He said if he would do it all over again, he would spend more time with them. 

Secondly, he regretted that he “had uprooted them more than once in their growing-up years and was not sensitive enough to realise the negative effects on the kids’ sense of security, not having their dad to themselves.” 

This second lesson comes under the reflection “In my passion to serve others, I had spread myself too thin.”

Thirdly, by any standards, William’s children did well in life. 

His eldest (Li-Ann) and her husband left their well-paying jobs to join a non-profit organization to support mission groups. His second child (Li-Lynn) “earned her doctorate, joined the university and then left to be a full-time self-employer potter.” 

And his son, a psychiatrist, left a “well-known hospital to chart his own course in private practice.” 

William wrote that they all have his DNA to start their own businesses, be their own boss. 

Fourthly, his children learned from his life as a father, both the positive and negative aspects. 

On the positive side, they learnt to be others-centred, giving to others, like their dad. On the negative side, they learnt “not to be like him,” busily serving others and spending less time with the children.

And lastly, William said that his kids were “very magnanimous” to him. He wrote this: “it is very gratifying to be assured that they have forgiven me and love me all the same despite my many failures”. 

He recalled that at his 70th birthday celebration, Li-Lynn told her siblings this: -

“Throughout our childhood, our home was always full of people. At Christmas, my father would invite anyone he came across, who didn’t have a place to go...and take in and care for anyone who needed a place to stay - for a meal, for a week, sometimes months, sometimes even longer.”

Lesson? I think by any standards William had lived a relatively fruitful and enriching life for himself, for his marriage, and for his children. He wrote this conclusion: -

“I am truly grateful to be a father of these children. I have learnt much from them and am very proud to be their father. We do become better parents and better people if we are willing to learn from our children.”

In his life, I suppose you see the timeless principle of sowing and reap at work. 

Now, in his early seventies, William is physically active, writing books, giving back to his pastoral flock and community, having reared up three well-grounded, down-to-earth children with families of their own, generally doing well themselves, and doing what he loves, with a supportive and resilient marriage to boot. 

I guess, that’s what a good life looks like? 

This of course does not come without perseverance, hope, faith and love. But when the harvest comes in its own season, the generous reaping is as fulfilling and empowering as the faithful sowing. 

When you look back, sitting with your wife at the summit of your golden sunset, you finally get to see clearly how each and every step in the right direction (despite the relentless pull of gravity to take the convenient and easy pathway) makes sense as the full picture comes to glorious view.

Alas, not all of us will arrive at the same mountain peak as that of William’s. 

Our mountain may take longer to scale. Along the climb, we may have lost loved ones, mourning over their passing with incomprehensible grief as we take the load with us in our perseverance to scale our own mountain. 

Some of us start the climb alone. We come from broken families, never truly experiencing a father’s love and presence. Yet, we make it nevertheless with children of our own.

Others start the climb and give up mid-way. They then start all over, and over and over again because society seldom give them the break they desperately crave after. The grim reality is, they end their lives not at the peak, but at the valley. 

Alas, we all want to hear good stories, ending well, or victoriously, and long to follow the principles such stories aim to impart. 

William’s life and its sowing and reaping principle are good narration of how to live a fruitful life. And the harvest towards the end is the summation of one’s persevering efforts.

While reading them may inspire, yet it is the choices we make here and now that determine our life’s trajectory. And while we all look for that feel-good moment to take the first step or to continue forward, it is often how we overcome the feeling-bad moments that transform us the most, if not the deepest. 

Nothing grows at the summit. It is at the valley that the trees grow strong and tall. It is a story of overcoming, and everyone of us, if not most of us, has to start at the valley of brokenness - and for some, at the valley of second and third chances - to make that climb to the top. 

And while our summits may be different from William’s, yet at the tail-end of a journey of hope, faith and love, the resonating fulfilment from within is always the same, and deeply felt.