I was born on February 9, 1979, in South Korea, into a Methodist pastor’s family. My story really begins even before I was born. My mother, like Hannah in the Bible, made a vow to God. She prayed that if God gave her a son, she would dedicate him to the Lord’s service. But she never pressured me. My parents never forced me to become a pastor, even though my grandfather, father, and uncle were all in ministry. Instead, they simply showed me what a life devoted to God looked like. That left a lasting impression.
And hymns—I love Fanny Crosby's hymns. "I’m Thine, O Lord" and "Blessed Assurance" are my favorites. They remind me of God’s faithfulness – how He rescued me, healed me, called me, and led me up to this far.
When I do life review interviews, I often ask, "How do you want to be remembered?" If someone asked me, I’d say, "I want to be remembered as a loving person." A loving husband, a loving dad, a loving pastor. That’s my prayer. And for my church, I don’t pray we become the biggest or busiest. I pray we become the most loving place in town.
That would be enough.
Growing up, I experienced God’s presence in personal ways. I was often sick as a child—with tympanitis and arthritis—but I also experienced healing. Those moments drew me closer to God. But it wasn’t until a youth retreat in 1991, when I was 12, that I responded to the gospel in a personal way. My grandfather preached at that retreat, calling us to repentance and to follow Jesus. Something stirred in me. For the first time, I desired to devote my life to Christ.
Fast forward to the year 2000. I was serving in the military and deployed to East Timor as part of the UN Peacekeeping Forces. Spiritually, it was a wilderness. There were no churches in the barracks, no mentors. Temptation was all around. God gave me a mission: to start a Christian fellowship. But like Jonah, I ran away. Then I fell seriously ill with dengue fever. Isolated, burning with fever, rashes covering my body, I thought I was going to die. In desperation, I knelt on my camp bed and prayed, "God, if you save my life, I will serve you with all my heart for the rest of my life."
That night, I finally fell asleep. In the morning, I woke up completely healed. The fever was gone. The rashes had vanished. I went outside and leapt like a calf released from the stall. That moment changed everything. I began reading the Bible cover to cover for the first time. As I read, I encountered Jesus. I received the assurance of forgiveness, and peace flooded my heart. From then on, I knew Jesus not just as Savior, but as Lord.
After the army, I became active in ministry at my home church. I loved it—youth ministry, Sunday school, choir. Still, I wasn’t sure about becoming a pastor. I had other dreams, including working for international organizations like the UNHCR or UNICEF. In 2004, I landed an internship with UNESCO in Seoul. The projects were meaningful, but something felt missing. Despite the excitement, I felt an emptiness I couldn’t ignore. When the internship ended, I knew I wasn’t called to that path. God had closed a door.
One of the most formative seasons came when I studied abroad in Thailand at Thammasat University. Thailand is a Buddhist-majority country, and I remember noticing monks and temples everywhere. Early on, I connected with a Christian student group on campus. Their joy and faith were contagious. They weren’t just believers—they were missionaries on campus. I joined their church, their Bible studies, and even went on a mission trip to a rural region. We shared the gospel, held VBS, and saw children and families come to Christ. Through that experience, I sensed God's grace in a new way. Ministry wasn’t just something I could do—it was something I was called to do.
Back in Korea, I returned to church ministry with renewed vision. I had a special burden for youth from broken homes. God led me to start a "Vision Study Club," combining academic tutoring with discipleship. I watched as students discovered purpose and found faith. Many went on to college. That was one of the most honorable seasons of my life.
Even then, I hesitated. I’m an introvert. I wasn’t confident in preaching. But the church saw something in me. The leaders encouraged me, affirmed my gifts, and supported me with a full scholarship to seminary. That kind of communal affirmation, rooted in the Wesleyan understanding of calling—grace, gifts, and fruit—confirmed that I was indeed called to ordained ministry.
In 2014, I was appointed to serve in Northern Maine. It was a big change. I had grown up near Seoul, one of the world’s largest cities. I came with dreams of revival, transformation, and impact. But after a few years, I hit a wall. Ministry felt stuck. I began to question everything: Am I effective? Am I in the right place?
Then in 2018, I attended the Order of the Flame conference hosted by World Methodist Evangelism. It was there, in worship and prayer, that God spoke to me. The word was "abide." At first, I thought I had been abiding. But God showed me the truth. I had been enduring, not abiding. I was physically present, but my heart wasn’t fully at home here. Then John 1:14 came alive for me: "The Word became human and made his home among us." Jesus chose to abide. And I was called to do the same.
Since then, my pastoral vision has changed. I no longer chase effectiveness. I embrace presence. Ministry is not about shaking things up. It’s about staying put, loving people where they are, and seeing God's kingdom in the everyday. And slowly, I’ve begun to see it—in Houlton, Hodgdon, and Mars Hill. God is at work.
There have been challenges. The recent division in the United Methodist Church over human sexuality has been painful. Some beloved members left. It hurt. Though I hold a traditional theological view, I chose to remain. Why? Because I believe the essentials of our faith—like the Trinity and the resurrection of Christ—bind us together. And because I believe the church is a family. Families don’t split over disagreement. We can work through it as long as we have Christ as the head of our household. As the saying goes, "In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity."
I’m not alone in this journey. I’ve been deeply shaped by mentors and writers: John Wesley, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, John Stott, Eugene Peterson, Tim Keller, Henri Nouwen. Their lives and words continue to nourish me. Books like Pilgrim's Progress (John Bunyan), Power through Prayer (E. M. Bounds), Strength to Love (Martin Luther King Jr.), For the Glory (Eric Liddell), and Life (Pope Francis) have been companions on the way. I often have to remind myself: read not to consume, but to love. Let reading shape you.
Fast forward to the year 2000. I was serving in the military and deployed to East Timor as part of the UN Peacekeeping Forces. Spiritually, it was a wilderness. There were no churches in the barracks, no mentors. Temptation was all around. God gave me a mission: to start a Christian fellowship. But like Jonah, I ran away. Then I fell seriously ill with dengue fever. Isolated, burning with fever, rashes covering my body, I thought I was going to die. In desperation, I knelt on my camp bed and prayed, "God, if you save my life, I will serve you with all my heart for the rest of my life."
That night, I finally fell asleep. In the morning, I woke up completely healed. The fever was gone. The rashes had vanished. I went outside and leapt like a calf released from the stall. That moment changed everything. I began reading the Bible cover to cover for the first time. As I read, I encountered Jesus. I received the assurance of forgiveness, and peace flooded my heart. From then on, I knew Jesus not just as Savior, but as Lord.
After the army, I became active in ministry at my home church. I loved it—youth ministry, Sunday school, choir. Still, I wasn’t sure about becoming a pastor. I had other dreams, including working for international organizations like the UNHCR or UNICEF. In 2004, I landed an internship with UNESCO in Seoul. The projects were meaningful, but something felt missing. Despite the excitement, I felt an emptiness I couldn’t ignore. When the internship ended, I knew I wasn’t called to that path. God had closed a door.
One of the most formative seasons came when I studied abroad in Thailand at Thammasat University. Thailand is a Buddhist-majority country, and I remember noticing monks and temples everywhere. Early on, I connected with a Christian student group on campus. Their joy and faith were contagious. They weren’t just believers—they were missionaries on campus. I joined their church, their Bible studies, and even went on a mission trip to a rural region. We shared the gospel, held VBS, and saw children and families come to Christ. Through that experience, I sensed God's grace in a new way. Ministry wasn’t just something I could do—it was something I was called to do.
Back in Korea, I returned to church ministry with renewed vision. I had a special burden for youth from broken homes. God led me to start a "Vision Study Club," combining academic tutoring with discipleship. I watched as students discovered purpose and found faith. Many went on to college. That was one of the most honorable seasons of my life.
Even then, I hesitated. I’m an introvert. I wasn’t confident in preaching. But the church saw something in me. The leaders encouraged me, affirmed my gifts, and supported me with a full scholarship to seminary. That kind of communal affirmation, rooted in the Wesleyan understanding of calling—grace, gifts, and fruit—confirmed that I was indeed called to ordained ministry.
In 2014, I was appointed to serve in Northern Maine. It was a big change. I had grown up near Seoul, one of the world’s largest cities. I came with dreams of revival, transformation, and impact. But after a few years, I hit a wall. Ministry felt stuck. I began to question everything: Am I effective? Am I in the right place?
Then in 2018, I attended the Order of the Flame conference hosted by World Methodist Evangelism. It was there, in worship and prayer, that God spoke to me. The word was "abide." At first, I thought I had been abiding. But God showed me the truth. I had been enduring, not abiding. I was physically present, but my heart wasn’t fully at home here. Then John 1:14 came alive for me: "The Word became human and made his home among us." Jesus chose to abide. And I was called to do the same.
Since then, my pastoral vision has changed. I no longer chase effectiveness. I embrace presence. Ministry is not about shaking things up. It’s about staying put, loving people where they are, and seeing God's kingdom in the everyday. And slowly, I’ve begun to see it—in Houlton, Hodgdon, and Mars Hill. God is at work.
There have been challenges. The recent division in the United Methodist Church over human sexuality has been painful. Some beloved members left. It hurt. Though I hold a traditional theological view, I chose to remain. Why? Because I believe the essentials of our faith—like the Trinity and the resurrection of Christ—bind us together. And because I believe the church is a family. Families don’t split over disagreement. We can work through it as long as we have Christ as the head of our household. As the saying goes, "In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity."
I’m not alone in this journey. I’ve been deeply shaped by mentors and writers: John Wesley, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, John Stott, Eugene Peterson, Tim Keller, Henri Nouwen. Their lives and words continue to nourish me. Books like Pilgrim's Progress (John Bunyan), Power through Prayer (E. M. Bounds), Strength to Love (Martin Luther King Jr.), For the Glory (Eric Liddell), and Life (Pope Francis) have been companions on the way. I often have to remind myself: read not to consume, but to love. Let reading shape you.
And hymns—I love Fanny Crosby's hymns. "I’m Thine, O Lord" and "Blessed Assurance" are my favorites. They remind me of God’s faithfulness – how He rescued me, healed me, called me, and led me up to this far.
When I do life review interviews, I often ask, "How do you want to be remembered?" If someone asked me, I’d say, "I want to be remembered as a loving person." A loving husband, a loving dad, a loving pastor. That’s my prayer. And for my church, I don’t pray we become the biggest or busiest. I pray we become the most loving place in town.
That would be enough.
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