I was born the youngest of eight siblings in a devout Christian family. My grandfather, a man of deep faith and commitment, was always actively involved in the life and service of the church. When a new sanctuary was being constructed in our community, he joyfully donated a bell tower, seeing it as a gift to God and the congregation. However, tragedy struck during the installation process. Determined to contribute with his own hands, he tried to install the bell himself. In a heartbreaking accident, he fell and died inside the church building. His death, though painful, was a testimony to a life poured out for Christ. I often reflect on that moment as an act of mayordom—a sacrificial offering of devotion and legacy in faith.
Since childhood, music captured my heart. I particularly loved to sing. It brought me joy, solace, and a sense of closeness to God. My older brothers were also musically gifted, even more so than I. Music seemed to run in our blood. It played a major role in shaping my faith journey. My uncle, a dedicated Methodist pastor who later rose to the position of bishop in the Korean Methodist Church, was another figure who deeply influenced my spiritual life and pastoral calling.
During my time in the military, I served as a chaplain assistant. That role introduced me to diverse expressions of faith and opened my heart further to ministry. One American chaplain, in particular, saw something in me. He not only encouraged my calling but also went above and beyond to help me pursue further theological education abroad. Thanks to his support and God's providence, I came to the United States to continue my academic and spiritual formation.
While attending college in Nebraska for my undergraduate studies, a near-fatal event shaped the trajectory of my life. My friend and I were involved in a devastating car accident. The injuries affected my lower body, limiting my mobility. Yet, as severe as it was, I knew it could have been worse. God's hand of mercy was evident. He spared my life. In that season of pain and recovery, I heard the unmistakable call to ministry. God had preserved me for a purpose.
One of the most trying periods in our ministry happened during our appointment in Eliot, Maine. My family and I were wholeheartedly serving a local church when an unfortunate conflict arose. A church leader, who served as chair of the United Methodist Women, made things especially difficult for my wife, Kum Hwa. Her words and actions created pain and tension that lasted for a prolonged period. Eventually, she and her husband left the church. It was a painful and disheartening experience. However, my wife responded with grace and resilience. She never returned evil for evil but continued to show kindness until the end. That season tested us deeply, but it also equipped Kum Hwa with emotional strength and maturity that served her well in later ministries. Years later, we visited Eliot and stopped by Kum Hwa's grave. To our astonishment, we discovered that the woman who had mistreated her was buried nearby. In that moment, I felt a quiet assurance that in heaven, where there is no more pain or resentment, they had been reconciled and now lived in peace.
There were also moments of great joy. One such occasion was when Kum Hwa was honored as Mother of the Year. The recognition came from the governor and several state representatives, who celebrated her incredible work in raising our three children and contributing to the community. The ceremony was filled with emotion. Our church family, friends, and neighbors gathered to share in the celebration. It was a public affirmation of the quiet, faithful work she had done all her life. Thinking of that day still brings a warm smile to my face.
Kum Hwa passed away young, at the age of 58. As first-generation immigrants, we often felt like strangers in a foreign land. We had no family here, no established network. We only had each other. Every day was filled with the challenge of adapting, learning, building from scratch. We juggled work, parenting, church ministry, and continuing education. But even in the midst of exhaustion and the constant demands of life, our love for each other deepened. She was my partner in every sense. Her favorite hymn was "It Is Well with My Soul," and over time, it became mine as well. The lyrics gave us strength. Even now, my family and I sing it at birthdays, anniversaries, and family gatherings, finding new layers of comfort in its words.
The most transformative spiritual lesson of my life occurred five years ago, when I suffered a major heart attack. I was rushed to the hospital, and the situation quickly became critical. I remember lying on the hospital bed, overhearing two surgeons speak in hushed, urgent tones. They debated the risks but ultimately decided to proceed with quadruple bypass surgery. That night, in the silence of the hospital room, I prayed like never before. As I cried out to God, a mysterious voice whispered to me, "What is a Christian?"
Startled, I answered, "I have been a minister all my life. I’ve preached, taught, baptized, and led people to Christ." The voice gently responded, "You taught people about Christianity. But what is a Christian?" I tried again, this time listing doctrines and disciplines. But the voice repeated the question: "What is a Christian?" Finally, the answer came not from my lips, but from the voice itself: "A Christian is someone who loves like Christ."
That revelation pierced my soul. I was raised in a very conservative environment and held tightly to theological correctness. But that night, I saw clearly how often I had judged others rather than loved them. I realized that being right does not always mean being righteous. Who was I to judge others? Christ alone is the Judge. My part is to love like Him.
After that moment, I experienced an indescribable peace. The fear, the worry, the questions—they melted away. By morning, my demeanor had changed. My family noticed it immediately. I was calm, composed, and ready to face whatever came next.
Since then, I’ve developed a simple but powerful spiritual rhythm. Each morning, I pray, "Lord, help me not to hurt anyone today—not through my words, actions, or silence." And each night before bed, I pray, "Lord, if I’ve wronged anyone, knowingly or unknowingly, please forgive me."
To all who read this reflection, I want to offer these words from the bottom of my heart: If I have ever hurt or offended you, I deeply apologize. It was never my intention. We are all part of Christ's eternal family. Our fellowship is not just for this life but will continue forever. That is why I long for reconciliation, here and now.
Now I am 94. I live each day with gratitude and wonder. When I look back, I no longer see a list of accomplishments. I see the Holy Spirit at work. It was never my doing. He brought the right people at the right time. He gave me the words to preach. He opened doors and carried me through storms. Sometimes I wonder why God still keeps me here. But I trust in His wisdom. There must be something more He wants me to witness or someone else to encourage. So I will continue to trust, to love, and to praise Him until my final breath.
Since childhood, music captured my heart. I particularly loved to sing. It brought me joy, solace, and a sense of closeness to God. My older brothers were also musically gifted, even more so than I. Music seemed to run in our blood. It played a major role in shaping my faith journey. My uncle, a dedicated Methodist pastor who later rose to the position of bishop in the Korean Methodist Church, was another figure who deeply influenced my spiritual life and pastoral calling.
During my time in the military, I served as a chaplain assistant. That role introduced me to diverse expressions of faith and opened my heart further to ministry. One American chaplain, in particular, saw something in me. He not only encouraged my calling but also went above and beyond to help me pursue further theological education abroad. Thanks to his support and God's providence, I came to the United States to continue my academic and spiritual formation.
While attending college in Nebraska for my undergraduate studies, a near-fatal event shaped the trajectory of my life. My friend and I were involved in a devastating car accident. The injuries affected my lower body, limiting my mobility. Yet, as severe as it was, I knew it could have been worse. God's hand of mercy was evident. He spared my life. In that season of pain and recovery, I heard the unmistakable call to ministry. God had preserved me for a purpose.
One of the most trying periods in our ministry happened during our appointment in Eliot, Maine. My family and I were wholeheartedly serving a local church when an unfortunate conflict arose. A church leader, who served as chair of the United Methodist Women, made things especially difficult for my wife, Kum Hwa. Her words and actions created pain and tension that lasted for a prolonged period. Eventually, she and her husband left the church. It was a painful and disheartening experience. However, my wife responded with grace and resilience. She never returned evil for evil but continued to show kindness until the end. That season tested us deeply, but it also equipped Kum Hwa with emotional strength and maturity that served her well in later ministries. Years later, we visited Eliot and stopped by Kum Hwa's grave. To our astonishment, we discovered that the woman who had mistreated her was buried nearby. In that moment, I felt a quiet assurance that in heaven, where there is no more pain or resentment, they had been reconciled and now lived in peace.
There were also moments of great joy. One such occasion was when Kum Hwa was honored as Mother of the Year. The recognition came from the governor and several state representatives, who celebrated her incredible work in raising our three children and contributing to the community. The ceremony was filled with emotion. Our church family, friends, and neighbors gathered to share in the celebration. It was a public affirmation of the quiet, faithful work she had done all her life. Thinking of that day still brings a warm smile to my face.
Kum Hwa passed away young, at the age of 58. As first-generation immigrants, we often felt like strangers in a foreign land. We had no family here, no established network. We only had each other. Every day was filled with the challenge of adapting, learning, building from scratch. We juggled work, parenting, church ministry, and continuing education. But even in the midst of exhaustion and the constant demands of life, our love for each other deepened. She was my partner in every sense. Her favorite hymn was "It Is Well with My Soul," and over time, it became mine as well. The lyrics gave us strength. Even now, my family and I sing it at birthdays, anniversaries, and family gatherings, finding new layers of comfort in its words.
The most transformative spiritual lesson of my life occurred five years ago, when I suffered a major heart attack. I was rushed to the hospital, and the situation quickly became critical. I remember lying on the hospital bed, overhearing two surgeons speak in hushed, urgent tones. They debated the risks but ultimately decided to proceed with quadruple bypass surgery. That night, in the silence of the hospital room, I prayed like never before. As I cried out to God, a mysterious voice whispered to me, "What is a Christian?"
Startled, I answered, "I have been a minister all my life. I’ve preached, taught, baptized, and led people to Christ." The voice gently responded, "You taught people about Christianity. But what is a Christian?" I tried again, this time listing doctrines and disciplines. But the voice repeated the question: "What is a Christian?" Finally, the answer came not from my lips, but from the voice itself: "A Christian is someone who loves like Christ."
That revelation pierced my soul. I was raised in a very conservative environment and held tightly to theological correctness. But that night, I saw clearly how often I had judged others rather than loved them. I realized that being right does not always mean being righteous. Who was I to judge others? Christ alone is the Judge. My part is to love like Him.
After that moment, I experienced an indescribable peace. The fear, the worry, the questions—they melted away. By morning, my demeanor had changed. My family noticed it immediately. I was calm, composed, and ready to face whatever came next.
Since then, I’ve developed a simple but powerful spiritual rhythm. Each morning, I pray, "Lord, help me not to hurt anyone today—not through my words, actions, or silence." And each night before bed, I pray, "Lord, if I’ve wronged anyone, knowingly or unknowingly, please forgive me."
To all who read this reflection, I want to offer these words from the bottom of my heart: If I have ever hurt or offended you, I deeply apologize. It was never my intention. We are all part of Christ's eternal family. Our fellowship is not just for this life but will continue forever. That is why I long for reconciliation, here and now.
Now I am 94. I live each day with gratitude and wonder. When I look back, I no longer see a list of accomplishments. I see the Holy Spirit at work. It was never my doing. He brought the right people at the right time. He gave me the words to preach. He opened doors and carried me through storms. Sometimes I wonder why God still keeps me here. But I trust in His wisdom. There must be something more He wants me to witness or someone else to encourage. So I will continue to trust, to love, and to praise Him until my final breath.
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