Gain Through Giving

A Quiet Question That Refuses to Go Away

It is easy to say we love people. It is harder to show up when it costs time, comfort, energy, and attention, and there is no applause waiting at the end of it.

Last Sunday, 14 December 2025, that familiar paradox visited me again. The more you give, the more you receive, even when nobody knows your name, even when nobody notices what you did, even when your body is tired and your schedule is full. The strange part is that the receiving is not the goal, but it still comes, almost like a side effect of doing the right thing with a clean heart.

I did not learn this in a conference room. I learned it in three ordinary places, a funeral hall, a cycling route, and my own home, over durian, with a team that travelled all the way from Kuala Lumpur.

At first, those moments felt separate. Then I realised they were one story wearing three different outfits. Different meat, same satay stick.

When Death Forces Clarity on the Living

It was a friend’s grandmother’s funeral. We went because we wanted to support the living. My friend was raised by her grandmother, so their bond was not casual, it was formative. When someone raises you, they are not a chapter in your story, they are part of the spine. So it was emotional, and it was real.

What stayed with me was what she shared, not in a dramatic way, but in a painfully honest way. She said she realised how selfish we can be. Not because we are evil, but because we become consumed by our priorities. We always have reasons. We always have excuses. We tell ourselves we will visit another time, we will call another time, we will make it up later. And then one day, life ends, and all those reasons suddenly look small.

She also shared that she bathed her grandmother for the last time after she passed. That was her closure. Her love made visible. It was tender, and cruel, and sacred, all at once.

Standing there, I could not help thinking about my own parents. They know I am busy. They do not complain. In fact, they have been travelling, one trip after another, and I am genuinely thankful. It is a joy for me to see them enjoying life. My dad is also intentional. He makes sure my mum is involved in community, so that if anything happens, there are people around them who can take care of one another.

Funerals do something to your mind. They compress time. They expose what you have been postponing. They make you look at your calendar differently, and if you are honest, they also make you look at your excuses differently. Even people who do not read psychology journals can feel this. When death comes close, priorities become clearer.

During the funeral, I also had a conversation with a regional leader from marketplace ministry. He invited me to be a speaker and go around to speak.

I told him yes, because I believe this is part of what I am called to do. But I also told him something I deeply believe. The real impact happens off stage.

On stage, we can motivate people with stories. They feel good. They feel inspired. Then they go home, life resumes, and the feelings fade. That does not mean the stage is useless, it just means the stage is not the destination.

So I told him my honest intention. Speaking on stage is simply a ticket that allows me to connect with people after the event. That is the real work. Conversation. Connection. The moment someone feels seen enough to be honest, and brave enough to change.

That is also why Purposebility workshops matter to me. We run workshops on purpose, life goal setting, breakthroughs, the past, and the future, but our target group is usually around age 30. By then, people have lived enough life for the questions to become real. They are no longer chasing achievements blindly. They are ready to ask, “Why am I doing all this?”

I also know I need to improve my craft. Next year, I plan to attend preaching training so I can engage a crowd better, not for performance, but for stewardship. If I am going to carry words, I want the words to carry weight.

A Bicycle Route That Turned Into a Mirror

Earlier that morning, our day started early. At 5 a.m., we departed from home and went cycling.

We joined the OCBC cycling event. There were about 1,500 cyclists. I have to praise the OCBC team, it was well organised, even though the number of participants was only half of what they expected. The weather was perfect, parking was smooth, everything flowed. The last time we participated in a similar event, we experienced an accident at the seventh kilometre. This time, we completed 42 kilometres without much hassle, and it was genuinely enjoyable.

The route had its own rhythm. The first 21 kilometres were packed and energetic, full of riders, full of movement. The second 21 kilometres repeated the same route, but it was quieter because many riders opted for 21 kilometres and stopped. The crowd thinned. The novelty faded. I got a little bored.

And boredom is an honest teacher. When excitement dies, you start noticing details you would otherwise ignore.

So I asked myself what exactly made this event feel “well run.” Then I started noticing the frontliners. They placed people at checkpoints. At corners. Along the route. Signage was clear. Marshals were present. Police support. Volunteers. Small details, everywhere. Someone had thought through the experience.

I decided to do something simple. I wanted to thank every person I saw.

I was wearing glasses and dressed like everyone else, so it was hard to recognise me. Nobody knew who I was. I was just another cyclist raising a hand and saying, “Thank you.”

I started counting, then stopped counting. All together it was probably around 30.

Then something unexpected happened. I was tired entering the second loop. But after the fourth or fifth thank you, I felt my energy coming back. Not caffeine energy. Not adrenaline. A different kind of lift. Hard to explain with words, but obvious in my body.

This is one of those moments where science quietly agrees with what the soul already knows. People who practise gratitude and kindness often report feeling more energised and more connected, even though on paper they are “spending” energy. It does not always make logical sense until you experience it. Sometimes giving does not drain you. Sometimes giving wakes you up.

And because I was anonymous, there was no credit to collect. No ego reward. Just pure giving.

When You Want to Love, But Your Body Says No

Then the uphill parts came.

During continuous uphill, my “thank you” got weaker. My voice got tired. At some point, I could not even open my mouth because I was grasping for air. I felt bad, because I had accidentally turned gratitude into a KPI. I wanted to appreciate every frontliner, police, volunteer, every person standing there to keep us safe, and when I could not, I felt like I failed.

That was when the second lesson became clear. Take care of your wellbeing.

When you are exhausted, your capacity to express love shrinks. Not because your heart is cold, but because your body is empty. People often underestimate this. We like to think love is purely spiritual and willpower-driven, but anyone who has been sleep-deprived knows how quickly patience, warmth, and empathy can disappear. If you keep draining yourself, you do not just lose productivity, you lose tenderness, and leadership becomes sharp without you realising it.

So I had to adapt.

Incremental Innovation That Kept Gratitude Alive

The third lesson came to me as I cycled, almost like a small strategy meeting in my head. Innovation does not always need to be disruptive. Sometimes it just needs to be incremental.

Disruptive innovation is the big headline stuff that changes industries. But incremental innovation is the quiet improvement that makes life easier in small repeated ways. It compounds.

I used the highlighter example in my reflection because it is so simple. Cap on, cap off. Lose the cap, the highlighter dries. Small pain, repeated daily. Then someone designs the click-type highlighter. No cap. One press to use, one press to close. Same product, better experience.

So I asked myself, how do I express gratitude when I am too tired to speak?

Answer, smile and hand gesture. Thank you without the word thank you.

The moment I did that, the game changed. I knew they felt appreciated because they responded. Some waved back. Some nodded. Some smiled. The message landed, even without words.

Sometimes the most mature form of love is not adding more effort. It is changing the method so the love can continue without destroying you.

The Flywheel Effect of Gratitude

Then lesson four showed up quietly.

At first, I thought maybe I would stop at 15 thank yous. Just set a number, complete the number, and feel good about it. But the more I did it, the more I wanted to do it. I stopped counting. Gratitude became a flywheel.

This is the paradox. The more you practise gratitude, the more you want to practise it, because you start seeing how much it matters. Many habits feel heavier the more you repeat them. Gratitude is strange. It can become lighter the more you repeat it, because it becomes who you are rather than a task you do.

That same Sunday, during our second final church service at Every Nation Johor Bahru, Pastor Sean shared a quote that tied everything together. A.W. Tozer wrote, “To have found God and still to pursue Him is the soul’s paradox of love.”

Two things hit me. First, once you have truly experienced something real, you do not stop at “I already found it.” You keep pursuing it, because you know there is more. Second, love does not end at discovery. Love grows through continued pursuit.

That is why the gratitude flywheel feels powerful. It is love in motion, not love as a label.

A Home, a Durian Feast, and Servant Leadership Without Preaching

Then the day kept going, and the next two days were full.

We welcomed our Stellar Preschool Kuala Lumpur team who travelled all the way from Selangor to Johor Bahru. We had a lighthearted team building. At the same time, we had to pick up the pastor from the airport. We met up for lunch. I had a meeting with the church to discuss our 2026 direction. I collected the cycling pack. We ran the church. After church, we hosted dinner at my house. And we also hosted the KL team.

When the church guests left one by one, what remained was the Stellar Preschool KL team.

The last session was a durian feast, because everyone loves durian.

Before we sent them off, I made a simple request.

“Can I hear from you? What have you gotten from this team building in Johor Bahru?”

I asked because I genuinely wanted to know if we did a good job, whether they felt welcome. I had set objectives for myself.

One, I wanted them to understand Stellar culture, because they are far away from us. Two, I wanted them to feel close enough to come to me, not just respect me from a distance. And then I remembered there was a third objective. Through serving them, our JB team would grow too. It is more blessed to give than to receive. Serving is not charity, it is formation.

Then the sharing began, and I tell you, almost everyone looked like they wanted to cry.

They said they felt extremely grateful. They thought it would be a simple team building, but they did not expect it to be so casual, so lighthearted, and so centred on them. They did not experience it as “training to be a better worker.” They experienced it as being served, being welcomed, being cared for, and they could feel it.

Then someone said something that hit me.

“Now I finally understand what servant leadership means.”

Not because I preached servant leadership, but because they saw it. They saw me open up the house and host them, and they never expected to have the opportunity to come to the CEO’s house and eat together. For them, it was intimate. Remarkable.

And yes, one of them said the exact thing I hoped to hear.

“Daniel, you’re actually not so scary anymore.”

He said he was scared to talk to me at first because I am the founder and CEO. But after knowing me, he realised I am friendly.

In that moment, I realised I hit my objectives, but the best part was not my KPI.

The best part was watching my JB team. They were tired. They hosted, fetched, served, fulfilled needs. But they were also encouraged. They grew. Love grew them. Service strengthened them.

What comes around goes around.

I cannot fully describe it, but I know it is real.

Lens

When I replay this whole day, I see one thread running through everything.

The funeral reminded me to prioritise the living, while I still can.

Cycling reminded me that gratitude strengthens the giver, not just the receiver.

Hosting reminded me that love becomes believable when it becomes tangible, when people can feel it with their bodies, not just hear it with their ears.

Underneath it all is the same paradox.

Love multiplies when it is expressed. Gratitude grows when it is practised. Servant leadership becomes real when it is demonstrated.

That is why repetition matters, not as routine, but as formation. Love does not become culture because you say it once. It becomes culture because you do it again, and again, and again, until people trust it.

And if we want a culture of love, we cannot only teach people to love. We must build rhythms that protect their capacity to love. Sleep, rest, health, boundaries, those are not luxuries. They are leadership infrastructure. When leaders are constantly depleted, they will eventually become sharp, reactive, and transactional, even if they started with a sincere heart.

So the satay stick that holds this whole reflection together is simple.

The real impact is always off stage.

At a funeral, love is not the speech, it is showing up.

On a bicycle route, gratitude is not the feeling, it is the raised hand.

In leadership, servant leadership is not the slogan, it is the open home, the shared table, the quiet kindness, the consistent presence.

This is the paradox of love. You find it, and you keep pursuing it. You give it, and it gives you back more than you expected, not because you were trying to receive, but because love was designed to multiply, not to be stored.

Step

If you want to apply this, do not start big. Start repeatable.

Choose one “route” you already walk daily. It could be school, office, church, home, your WhatsApp conversations, or even the guardhouse.

Identify five frontliners. They can be literal frontliners, security, cleaners, police, volunteers, or emotional frontliners, the admin who absorbs complaints, the teacher who manages parent anxiety, the spouse who holds the home together quietly.

For seven days, practise appreciation daily. Say thank you, or smile and gesture, or send a short voice note. Do it daily, not as performance, but as practice.

At the same time, protect your capacity. Make sleep and breathing non negotiable. If you are constantly drained, you will become less empathetic, and you will start calling it “stress” when actually it is depletion.

And finally, if you are speaking at an event next year, remember this. The stage is the ticket. The real impact is after. Plan three off-stage conversations in advance. Decide who you want to connect with, and decide one question you will ask that helps them open up. That is how motivation becomes movement.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

Most people think love is proven by intensity.

But love is often proven by repetition, especially when nobody is keeping score.

The paradox is that love does not grow by being stored safely inside you. It grows by being spent, again and again, wisely, sustainably, quietly, in small acts that look ordinary to outsiders but feel unforgettable to the person receiving them.

And if leadership is meant to create life in others, then here is the uncomfortable truth that reframes everything.

When leadership becomes self-preservation, protecting comfort, protecting image, protecting status, protecting energy only for oneself, you may still look like a leader, but you have stopped producing life.

Love looks ordinary when you do it daily.

Legacy shows up when you still do it anyway.