A Singaporean In Australia

What was supposed to be a simple errand for the wife turned out quite differently. Drive to that address after work, pick up a bicycle, put it in the car, drive home. That was it. Jen wanted to give the bicycle to my MIL, who could use it for her grocery trips. As a dutiful husband, I agreed to take up the errand without hesitation. I had gotten a vague idea about him, apparently a man who collects bikes, fix up and donate them. "That is quite remarkable," I thought, and reminded myself to have a short chat with him before I leave later.

I marveled at my ability to find his place at the first try without a GPS. I must be getting more accustomed to my surroundings. By now, I can remember the sequence and names of every exit of the highways I use. It seems like yesterday when I hardly could even pronounce some of those names properly.

Jeremy the bike man called out from his yard the moment I got out from the car, "Hey buddy!"

"Haaay," I replied, in the usual half-dead manner. "Kolecting bike, hope I'm at the right place."

"Come on in!" he exclaimed. Bikeman was a chirpy middle age man who couldn't stop talking from the first minute. That was perfectly fine with me, so long as I did not have to do the talking. 

There was bicycles strewed all over Jeremy's yard. He proudly introduced each of them like a proud father. To mere mortals, they were old bicycles but to the bike man, there was a unique story behind each and every bicycle under his charge, who gave it to him and who was it going to. The corridor that flanked his house was full of bicycle spare parts, hung neatly by type like carcasses in an abattoir's butchery.

"You are getting the 995th bike!" Bikeman beamed. "I shall hit the 1000th by this weekend," he proudly declared. I couldn't help but express my salutation. Bikeman apologised for the dire condition of the bicycle he was about to donate to me. I told him it looked fine to me, thanked him for his kindness and offered a contribution. He politely declined and told me he was not doing that for money but for God. As if he could sense my curiosity, he elaborated and told me it was his calling. You know, how one would receive that sudden beep from Jesus Christ. He did and claimed it changed him from a death metal playing dread lock, filled with full blooded immense hate metal head into a simple Servant of God today. He told me he also received the gift of healing.

"Hmm, really?" I asked. The Servant of God was affirmative and asked if I wanted to try out his laying on hands. Why not? "This place gives me an annoying pain," I pointed to my neck. Jeremy placed both his hands on my shoulders immediately and started to conversing with God in such hurried pace that might put an average rapper to shame. My eyeballs roamed around as I stood, wondering how I was suppose to react. After a few good minutes, the Healing Hand of God asked me how I felt. I moved my head around in hope my HP was fully restored but had to shook my head regretfully to admit, "Nah mate, it didn't work."

"Hmm, that's so strange. I got it working more than 90% of the time. I even healed broken bones before," he wondered. "However, I didn't feel God's power running through me with the same intensity just now, though there were bouts of it. It may require a bit of time before you'll feel a difference." With that, the healer tried a second round of laying of hands on me. Though the result was the same, I appreciated his effort and consoled him, "I guess I have pretty strong demons in me."

"No, I am pretty sure it will work, give it some time."

"Sure thing!" I replied with an honest open mind.

We talked more about his healing gifts and he invited me to his house to see his Book of Healing. There, I was introduced to his beautiful wife and daughter. I saw his a picture of Jeremy in dread locks before he became the Hand of God. His wife looked ravishing then, with their two children posed in front of them. The walls of his house were lined with tall shelves, all fully filled with toys collectibles. "Go on," Jeremy urged, when I asked him for permission to snap a few quick pictures of probably half of his immense collection.

After the toys tour, it was time to get down to business. The Hand of God began to flip his thick Book of Healing and asked me what I was interested in.

"How about eczema?" I asked.

"Hmmm, that's a new one but let's see....," the healer mumbled as he scanned through his content page. "Aha! There we go."

I moved forward slightly to read the headline of a paragraph. It read, "The fear of man and what he thinks of you." The healer then proceed to put things together.  He explained that since I developed a serious case of eczema during my SISPEC days in the army, it all makes sense to him because the day I was enlisted into conscription, I lost my identity, freedom and became a cog of the machine. My eyebrow rose at the notion, as it sound exactly like a line from my blog. He continued and told me that I had to do whatever my commander asked of me and naturally there would be fear of men further up the hierarchy and what they thought of me became of utmost importance. "To heal completely, you need to get rid of a negative memory or change it into a positive one," he concluded.

I thanked him for his insight and left, after the Hand of God told me to return if I have any questions for him.

Before I drove off, I noticed the time and made a quick reply to my wife who must be puzzled by my delay. What was supposed to be a simple errand turned out to be a bicycle repair lesson, a toy exhibition, a hand laying and a fortune telling session.

Once again, you'll never know what life will bring along once you start getting outside.