Daily Affairs Against Aging

Daily Affairs Against Aging

Fire from the Temple of Hera at Olympia—
an ancient flame crossing oceans,
gathering the scattered hearts of the world
into a single trembling bowl of light.

The sacred mirror bends toward the sky,
and for a moment
you see yourself as if from beyond—
radiant, unguarded,
a center of awareness
opening like a star.

Something cries out within—
not new,
but older than memory—
a first fire moving through all creatures,
calling you back
to what you have always carried.

So at sixty-five
I began to write each day.

Before sixty,
I had only skimmed the surface of life—
words came,
but they had not yet ripened
in sorrow,
in wonder,
in the long patience of becoming.

At forty,
we climbed the first hills,
dreaming of a full marathon.

At fifty,
we made our peace with the body—
ten miles would be enough.

At sixty,
we walked three miles
for a grandson’s Cub Scout troop—
the heart still eager,
the knees quietly speaking their limits.

At seventy,
a treadmill entered the room—
a small, faithful circle,
three measured miles
that go nowhere
and yet remain.

After seventy-five,
the rituals grow simple,
almost like prayer.

Before rising,
I breathe deeply,
turn my hands,
wake my feet—
as one might gently wake a child.

Thought and word
begin to recognize each other again,
and from that quiet meeting
the day unfolds—

a journal
flowing out
like a thin stream of light
from a hidden spring.

O fire from the ancient temple,
you still burn
in this aging frame.

Teach me again—
each decade a doorway,
each breath a veil lifted,
each small act
a step deeper
into the mystery
of being alive.

—TaeHun Yoon
March 25, 2026

Posted in Poetry | Leave a comment

The Hand of God That Refines a Masterpiece

Gloria Perkins, now 74, has lived her entire life as a single woman. A violinist and a longtime friend of our family, she is a soul untouched by worldly trends—pure and beautiful, like the refined melodies she draws from her instrument. She often laments how young people today are immersed in rock music, missing the beauty of Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart. She also grieves the way modern parents neglect their children under the excuse of being busy. Yet through it all, she remains a faithful elder who walks with God.

Because of my child’s violin lessons, I meet her weekly. One winter evening last year, she greeted me with an unusually flushed face and breathless excitement. “Do you know what happened today?” she exclaimed. “I went to a film production office in Manhattan and applied to become an actress! I even called Hollywood in California to inquire!”

“An actress?” I asked, stunned. It was hard to believe that a woman of her age—still youthful in spirit but visibly aged—had made such a bold decision. I couldn’t help but wonder what had stirred her courage.

She explained that a few days earlier, a film crew had been shooting in her neighborhood. Watching the extras rush back and forth at the director’s command, she was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of futility. Her life, she realized, had become like theirs—an extra in someone else’s story. Month after month, she struggled to pay bills, feeling increasingly suffocated. Despair over the future had quietly crept in.

She began playing violin at age four, influenced by her pianist mother. Practicing more than six hours a day, she was hailed as a prodigy and featured multiple times in the New York Times. As a child, she toured Europe and the world, performing with renowned orchestras and receiving standing ovations. One of her fondest memories was performing for President Roosevelt and receiving a beautiful doll from the First Lady. She was once invited to teach at Juilliard but declined, choosing the freedom of performance over institutional prestige.

As time passed, the global stage was overtaken by new prodigies. Her performances narrowed to church services, weddings, and funerals. No one remembered the New York Times calling her “one of the most perfect musical geniuses of the century,” nor her performance before Roosevelt. She spent her later years as a part-time music teacher at a private middle school, nurturing young musicians—until even that ended with retirement due to age.

“I told the film secretary I could do anything!” she said. “Empty trash cans, sit as a restaurant guest, dance on stage—whatever they need. And of course, I can play the violin! I’ve performed all my life. Acting won’t be difficult!” Her face glowed with the dream, as if she were already the star.

Yet something in me sank. Her life—marked by a youthful love for music, a parting from her beloved, and a quiet loneliness—was now shared only with an old house inherited from her parents and a 200-year-old violin that had carried her story.

“Miss Perkins,” I said gently, “don’t regret anything. Your life is far more precious than that of a hired hand. Your performances were never wasted. They were beautiful. And now, your music begins anew—not for human applause, but for the joy of God alone.”

She lowered her head, eyes glistening.

How fierce the battle must be to walk a meaningful path. I held her hands and prayed: “Lord, You have shaped her life with Your hand. Now, play her story with Your own touch. Help us not lose our true selves in worry over tomorrow. Let us hear Your voice cry ‘Bravo!’ even in the fearful places of life.”

Amen. There was nothing I could offer her but God’s comfort.

And then, like a crane rising from the shadows, she picked up her violin. Slowly, she began to sail into the sea of melody. The instrument, silent for two centuries, began to breathe again—deep, majestic, and alive.

In that refined, elegant sound—bursting with life like fireworks—I saw the hand of God, still shaping His masterpiece.

—Yoon Wan-Hee, February 5, 1996

Posted in Essay by WanHee Yoon, Devotional Essay, faith-column, Letter from the Parsonage | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

명기(名器)를 다듬으시는 하나님의 손길

올해 74세로 평생을 처녀로 살아온 Gloria Perkins는 바이올린 연주자이며, 저희 가정의 오랜 친구 중에 한분입니다. 세상풍조에 전혀 때묻지 않은, 순전한 그녀의 영혼은 바이올린의 잘 다듬어진 선율만큼이나 아름다운 분입니다. 선생님은 평소에 젊은이들이 락뮤직에 빠져 그 아름다운 바하, 베토벤, 모짜르트등의 고전음악을 접해보지 못하고 살아가고 있음을 몹시 안타깝게 여기고 있습니다. 또한 요즈음 부모들이 바쁘다는 이유로 자녀에 대해 불성실함을 크게 분노 하시기도 하며, 언제나 하나님과 동행하는 믿음의 선배가 되기도 합니다.

아이의 렛슨때문에 일주일에 한번씩은 선생님을 만나게 되는데, 작년 어느 겨울저녁에 선생님은 몹시 상기된 얼굴로 기다렸다는 듯이 숨이 차게 말을 쏟아 놓았습니다. “오늘 무슨 일이 있었는지 아세요? 만하탄에 있는 영화제작 사무실에 가서 영화배우가 되고 싶다고 신청해 놓았어요! 그뿐만 아니라 캘리포니아에 있는 헐리우드에도 전화문의를 했었답니다!” “영화배우라고요?” 당황한 나는, 젊은나이도 아닌 할머니가 뒤늦게 영화배우 지망생이 되었다니 도저히 믿어지지가 않았습니다. 아직도 연세에 비해 젊어보이긴 해도, 눈가의 늘어진 살과 굽어진 등의 군살이 붙어있는 할머니가 어떤 용기로 그러한 결단을 내렸는지 궁금하기 짝이 없었습니다.

자초지종을 듣고보니, 며칠전 퍼킨스 선생님의 골목길에서 영화촬영이 있었다는 것이었습니다. 사람들이 웅성웅성하게 모여진 촬영장을 가만히 보니, 젊은 감독의 지시에 따라서 “우루루” 몰려갔다가 몰려오는 엑스트라들을 본 순간, 자신의 삶에 대해 회의가 물밀듯이 온 것이었습니다. 자신은 결국 삶의 주인공 아닌 엑스트라의 역할 속에, 이제는 다달이 숨통을 막히게 하는 온갖 청구서들을 처리하기에 안간함을 쓰며 살고있음이 참으로 처량하기 그지 없었습니다. 선생님은 닥아오는 미래에 절망하고 있었던 것이었습니다.

퍼킨스 선생님은 4살때, 피아니스트인 어머니의 영향으로 바이올린을 공부하게 되었는데, 하루 6시간 이상의 강훈련 속에, 바이올린의 영재로 뉴욕 타임지에도 여러번 소개되기도 했었습니다. 또한, 어린나이에 유럽과 전세계를 다니면서 훌륭한 오케스트라와도, 수도 셀수 없는 공연 속에 많은 갈채를 받은 경력이 있습니다. 그녀의 가장 큰 추억 중에 하나는, 소녀 시절에 루즈벨트 대통령 앞에 가서 연주를 한후, 영부인으로 부터 어여쁜 인형을 선물 받은 것이었습니다. 또한 젊은시절에 쥴리아드 뮤직 스쿨에서 교수 초빙을 받기도 했으나, 자신의 자유로운 연주생활을 위하여 그녀는 거절했던 것입니다. 세월은 흘러, 세계곳곳에서 쏟아져 나오는 영재들에게 서서히 세계무대를 빼앗기기 시작하여 교회의 예배와 결혼식, 장례식 안으로 그녀의 무대는 좁혀지기 시작했습니다.

아무도 그녀가 뉴욕타임지에서 격찬한 ‘세기에 보기 드문 가장 완벽한 천재 연주가’라는 것과, 루즈벨트 대통령 앞에서 연주한 사실을 기억치 않았습니다. 선생님은 사립 중학교에 파트타임 음악교사로 일을 보면서, 후진들을 양성하며 여생을 보내고 있다가, 학교마져도 나이로 인해 은퇴해야 만 되었던 것입니다.

“영화사의 비서에게 난 무엇이든지 할 수 있다고 말했어요! 쓰레기 통을 비우는 일, 레스토랑의 손님으로 앉아 있는 일, 무대 위에서의 춤, 원한다면 바이올린 연주도 할 수 있다고 했지요! 난 평생을 연주했으니, 영화라고 해서 조금도 어려울 것이 없을 거예요!” 그녀는 벌써 영화의 주인공이 되기라도 한듯이 꿈꾸는 표정으로 얼굴을 붉혔습니다. 저는 왠지 슬픔이 나의 깊은 가슴에 한꺼풀 내려앉고 있음을 알 수 있었습니다.

선생님에게는 젊은시절에 음악이 좋아, 사랑하는 연인과의 이별 속에 독신으로 평생을 보낸 익숙한 외로움과 부모로 부터 물려받은 낡은 집과, 그녀의 삶을 담보로 한 200년이 족히 넘은 바이올린 만이 그녀와 함께 하고 있었습니다. “퍼킨스 선생님! 후회하지마세요! 선생님의 삶은 값싼 품꾼의 삶과 결국 견줄 수 없는 귀하고 아름다운 삶이셨어요! 선생님의 연주생활은 이제 시작이어요! 지금까진 사람의 박수를 기다렸지만, 이제 부터는 하나님 만을 위해 그 기쁨의 연주를 할 시간이 왔어요!” 선생님은 눈물을 글썽이며 고개를 떨구었습니다.

사람이 의미있는 한 길을 걷기란 얼마나 처절한 싸움을 해내야 되는지 가슴이 아팠습니다. 저는 선생님의 두손을 잡은채, 하나님께 간절히 기도했습니다. “하나님! 지금까지 선생님의 삶을 다듬으시고 인도하신 당신의 손으로 직접 선생님의 삶을 연주해주세요. 내일을 위해 근심하고 걱정하다가 우리 본연의 삶의 모습을 잃지 않토록 도와주세요! 두렵고 고통스런 삶의 현장에서 “부라보!”를 외치시는 당신의 음성을 들을 수 있도록 인도해주세요!

아멘.” 하나님의 위로 밖에는 드릴 수 가 없었습니다.

어둠의 기슭에 웅크리고 있던 한 마리의 학이 날개를 털며 푸른 창공을 향해 일어서듯이, 선생님은 바이올린을 집어 들었습니다. 그리고 선생님은 음률의 바다로 서서히 항해를 시작하였습니다. 드디어 200년을 잠들어 있던 바이올린은 거대하고 깊은 숨결을 토해내기 시작했습니다. 그 세련되고 단아한, 생명이 폭죽처럼 터질 것 같은 아름다움 숨결 속에 긴 세월을 명기를 다듬고 계시는 하나님의 손길이 함께 함을 볼 수 있었습니다.

– 윤 완 희, <1996년 2월5일>

Posted in Devotional Essay, Essay by WanHee Yoon, faith-column, Letter from the Parsonage | Leave a comment

Cliff

I remember the person who arranged lives—
yes, the matchmaker with her careful phrases,
her practiced kindness, her small, shining lies—
and I remember how I stood there, listening,
knowing the life he offered was not the one breathing in me.

And I tell you—
there was a woman there too,
full with child, heavy with something unnamed—

I do not turn away from her now,
I do not say she was another—

She was myself.

I was carrying—O yes—
carrying something I could not yet speak,
a life stirring in darkness,
a word not yet ready for the mouth,
a self not yet willing to be born.

Do you know this weight?
Do you know the trembling of what asks to live through you?

Between her smile and my silence,
between the given life and the hidden one,
something broke—
not loudly, not for others to hear,
but inwardly,
like the first crack in a shell.

And after that I was set apart—
not by chains, no—
but by a strange distance:

as if I were placed behind glass,
a living body turned specimen,
a breathing thing without touch.

The world lost its scent for me,
lost its color,
lost its warm nearness—

and I wandered in it
as one already half-absent.

Yet I say to you—
even in that distance,
even in that thinning of the self,
something remained,
something watched,
something waited.

And the cliff came—
not in some far wilderness,
but in the bright, restless streets,
in the trembling lights and human tide,
where faces pass like waves
and no one is still long enough to be known.

There I saw myself—
and was startled.

I reached out—
yes, I reached out with both hands,
not knowing whether I sought the world
or begged it to hold me—

and I found only air.

And then—
I did not leap—
no, I yielded.

I gave myself to the falling.

O the falling!
slow, wide, inevitable—
not terror, but release,
not ending, but loosening—

as if all that I had held together
had finally agreed to let go.

And hear me—
it was there, in the descent,
that I first felt the edge of freedom.

Not the freedom of certainty,
not the freedom of having arrived—

but the raw, breathing freedom
of being no longer bound to what was never mine.

And the woman—
the one I feared, the one I carried—
she did not vanish.

She opened.

She became the doorway.

For I see now—
what we bear in darkness
waits not for safety,
but for surrender.

And I, who thought the fall was loss,
begin to know it otherwise:

a passage,
a breaking open,
a birth through descent—

Yes, I say it—
I fall, and in falling, I become.

— TaeHun Yoon, 3/24/1996 & now

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Story of the Old House

Not long ago, while sitting at the table with my children, we found ourselves laughing as we reminisced about the old parsonage. When our three children were still very young—ten, four, and one—we moved into a parsonage in Queens Village, New York, a house well over two hundred years old. It had once belonged to a large landowner in the area, and with its wide front and back yards, it became the place where our children made some of their happiest memories.

My oldest, Sena—now a college student—said her favorite memory was the cat. Every day after school she would run through the house with it, up and down the stairs. And whenever that mischievous cat got into trouble, it always chose to “take care of its business” quietly on the mink blanket on her bed, then slip away without a sound. The whole house would be in an uproar from the smell, and Sena laughed so hard recalling it that she pounded the table.

Yet even that foolish cat had a sense of dignity. Whenever it had to pass by my mother—whom it feared the most—it would lower its tail, stretch its back long, and walk with exaggerated humility. My mother was firmly against keeping animals in the house and was constantly upset that we didn’t throw the cat out immediately. One wrong move, and the cat risked a good swat from her.

My middle child, Serim—now in middle school—remembered the two parakeets. Their bright green feathers and elegant tails filled the house with song and playful chatter all day long. But they scattered their food everywhere, making a mess of the cage and even the living room. Serim always volunteered to clean both, taking pride in caring for them. After three years, the birds suddenly died on the same day, and she had to bury them together in an empty cheese box. She dug the ground carefully beside the parsonage and even made a small headstone.

Whenever it rained, she and her younger brother would look anxiously out the window, worried that the cheese box was getting wet. Then she would scold us, saying we were a heartless family for never once placing flowers on the birds’ grave.

My youngest, Sejun—then in elementary school—remembered the night we built three giant snowmen as a family. They were so big that when it came time to place the heads, their father had to bring out a ladder. But after a few days in the sun, the snowmen began to melt, and one day their heads rolled off onto the ground. He still remembers how shocked he was. Then he asked, “But why don’t we make snowmen like that anymore?” I fumbled for an answer: “Well… your dad is busy now. And you’re all grown up—why don’t you make them yourselves? It wouldn’t look right for Mom and Dad to be out there like that, would it?” He pouted and shrugged his shoulders.

Then the children asked about my memories. As I thought about it, the one that stood out most was their baby teeth. My oldest was grinding her molars, and the younger ones began losing their front teeth—all during our years in that parsonage. Whenever Serim lost a tooth, she would wrap it carefully and place it under her pillow with a note to the fairy: “Dear Fairy, please take good care of my tooth.” More than once, I forgot to remove the tooth during the night and was caught rummaging under her pillow at dawn.

When my oldest lost her first tooth, I was so fascinated that I kept it in a jewelry box. But by the time the second child began losing teeth, I didn’t know what to do with them anymore. So I simply threw each one onto the roof. Without thinking, I said, “That parsonage roof must be covered with Serim’s teeth!” She jumped up in horror. “What? You threw all my baby teeth on the roof?” She stared at me in disbelief. “Mom! Really?” My oldest squinted at me with pity. I hurried to explain: “When I was little, we threw our teeth on the roof so the magpie would take the old tooth and bring a new one. I’m Korean—shouldn’t we follow Korean tradition? Why give your tooth to some Western fairy you don’t even know?” Serim sighed deeply, shaking her head as if my explanation was more shocking than the act itself.

Someday we will sit around the table again, laughing and crying over stories of the old house. Our children’s souls have already flown like arrows toward the world called tomorrow, and we cannot keep up with their pace. But I still run breathlessly behind them, calling out:

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.” (Proverbs 3:5–6)

The old house— always a place where affection rises.

—Yoon Wan Hee, May 6, 1996

The current image has no alternative text. The file name is: image-152.png
Posted in Devotional Essay, Essay by WanHee Yoon, faith-column, Letter from the Parsonage | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

옛집 이야기

얼마 전에 아이들과 함께 식탁에 앉아 식사를 하다가 옛 목사관에 대한 이야기를 나누며 즐거운 시간을 잠시 보내게 되었습니다. 저희 아이들 셋이 10살, 4살, 1살로서 한창 어리던 시절에 뉴욕의 퀸즈 빌리지에 있던 200여년이 족히 넘었던 목사관으로 이사를 하게 되었었습니다. 그 목사관은 과거 퀸지지역의 대 농장주의 집으로 아이들이 앞뒤로 마음껏 뛰고 놀기에 충분하여 아이들에게 가장 많은 추억거리를 안겨주었던 곳이였습니다.

대학생인 세나는 옛 목사관에서의 고양이와의 추억을 제일로 꼽았습니다. 학교만 갔다오면 고양이와 함께 온 집안을 위 아래로 뛰어다니던 일들과, 그 철부지 고양이가 일을 치를라치면, 꼭 큰 아이의 침대 위의 밍크 이불 위에 올라와서 살며시 실례를 하고 말없이 나가던 친절함(?)에 날이면 날마다 그 독한 냄새로 온집안이 소동을 겪던 일을 잊을 수 없다며 탁자를 두드리며 배가 아프도록 웃었습니다. 그 철부지 고양이가 그래도 체면이 있어 식구 중에 제일 무서워했던 외 할머니 곁을 지나가려면 늘 꼬리를 밑으로 내리고 허리를 길게 뺀 채, 겸손하고 점잖게 걸었습니다. 외 할머니는 짐승을 집안에 키우는 것을 극구 반대하시며, 고양이를 당장 밖으로 내쫓지 않는 것에 대해 늘 불만이셔서, 까딱 잘못했다가는 사정없이 얻어 맞기가 일수였기 때문입니다.

중학생인 세림이는 두 마리의 잉꼬새의 추억이였습니다. 온몸이 초록색으로 멋진 꼬리를 갖은 잉꼬새는 종일토록 노래하거나 둘이 장난질을 무척이나 하였습니다. 모이를 먹으려면 온통 흩트러뜨리며 쪼아대어 새장을 어지럽히고 리빙 룸까지 더럽히니 세림이는 새장과 리빙 룸을 청결하게 청소 하는 것을 늘 자원했던 것입니다. 그런데 3년을 애지중지하던 잉꼬새들이 하루 아침에 갑자기 죽는 바람에, 빈 치즈 상자에 두마리를 한꺼번에 장사지내야 만 되었습니다. 아이는 정성스럽게 땅을 파고 비석을 만들어 새를 목사관 옆의 잔디 밭에 장사를 지내주었습니다.

그런데, 비만 오면 창밖을 내려다 보면서 치즈상자가 젖는다며 동생과 함께 발을 동동굴렀던 것입니다. 그리곤, 우리가 참으로 인정사정도 없는 매정한 가족이라면서 그래도 한번쯤은 새들의 묘지에 꽃이라도 갖다 놓는 것이 정상이 아니냐고 따지었습니다.

국민학생인 세준이는 어느 눈오던 밤에 온 가족이 대형의 눈사람 셋을 만들었던 기억을 꼽았습니다. 눈 사람을 얼마나 크게 만들었던지, 눈 사람의 머리를 얹을 때는 아빠가 사다리를 가져다가 머리를 올려주어야 만 했습니다.

그런데, 날이면 날마다 햇볕아래 녹아져 내려 며칠 후에는, 눈사람의 머리가 땅으로 굴러 떨어지는 바람에 아이가 아연실색하며 놀랐던 일을 기억했습니다. 아이는 덧붙였습니다. “그런데, 왜 우리는 더 이상 그런 눈사람을 만들지 않지요?” 아이의 물음에 궁색한 대답으로 얼버무렸습니다. “그것은 아빠가 바쁘시기 때문이야! 이젠 너희들이 다 컸으니 너희들끼리 만들어봐! 엄마 아빠는 이젠 좀 어울리지 않지않니? 그렇지?” 아이는 입술을 삐죽 내밀며 어깨를 들썩였습니다.

아이들은 엄마의 추억은 무엇이냐고 물었습니다. 가만히 생각해보니, 여러가지가 있었으나 그 중에 가장 기억나는 것들 중에 아이들의 이갈이였습니다. 큰 아이는 한창 어금니를 갈고 있었고, 작은 애는 앞니를 시작으로 하여 온 이를 온통 그곳 목사관에서 갈게 되었었습니다. 세림이는 이가 하나 빠지기라도 하면, 큰 수지를 맞은 것 처럼 벼갯머리 밑에 정성스럽게 싸넣어두고 요정에게 보내는 멧세지 속에 “요정 아가씨, 내 이빨을 잘 보관해주세요”는 부탁의 말을 꼭 써놓았습니다. 밤새 애가 잠들면 꺼내리라는 이빨을 그만 깜박 잊어버려 아침까지 그냥 두었다가, 새벽에 깜짝 놀라 아이의 벼갯 밑을 뒤지다가 손목을 잡혀 들키기도 했습니다.

그런데 사실, 큰 아이의 이가 빠졌을 때는 너무나 신기하고 귀하여 보석함에 잘 보관해 두는 정성을 보였으나, 둘째 아이 때 부터는 처리 곤란이였습니다. 그래서 할 수 없이 아이의 이가 빠질 때마다 이를 지붕 위에다 던져 버리고 말았습니다. 저는 무심결에 “그 목사관 주변에는 세림이의 이가 온통 떨어져 있을거야!”라고 말하자 세림이는 피가 거꾸로 서기라도 한듯이 벌떡 일어나 외쳤습니다. “뭐라고요? 내 젖니들을 모두 지붕 위에 던졌다고요?” 아이는 이럴 수가 있느냐라는 표정으로 어이없어 했습니다. “… 엄마! 쯧쯧쯧!” 큰 애가 딱하다는 듯이 눈을 찡그렸습니다. 저는 비로소 정신을 차리고 변명을 늘어 놓았습니다. “얘! 엄마가 어렸을 때는 까치가 헌 이빨을 물고가서 새 이빨을 갖고 오기 때문에 지붕 위에 던졌던거야! 네 엄마가 한국 사람인데 한국식으로 해야지, 알지도 모르는 그 서양 요정에게 네 이빨을 줘서야 되겠니? 않그래? 맞지? 너 같으면 어떻게 할래?” 아이는 한숨을 푹 쉬며 엄마의 행위가 자못 충격이었다는 듯이 고개를 설레설래 흔들며 얼굴을 붉혔습니다.

언젠가 우리는 또 다시 식탁에 둘러 앉아 옛집의 이야기를 나누며 울고 웃을 것입니다. 품을 떠난 아이들의 영혼은 내일이라는 세계를 향해 화살같이 날아가고 있음에 그 걸음을 감히 쫓을 수 없습니다. 그러나, 저는 아이들의 뒤를 헐레벌떡 쫓아가며 외칩니다. “너는 마음을 다하여 여호와를 의뢰하고 네 명철을 의지하지 말라 너는 범사에 그를 인정하라 그리하면 네 길을 지도하시리라” (잠3:5-6) 옛집- 늘 정감이 솟는 곳입니다.

— 윤 완 희, <1996년 5월6일>

The current image has no alternative text. The file name is: image-112.png
Posted in Devotional Essay, Essay by WanHee Yoon, faith-column, Letter from the Parsonage | Leave a comment

Waiting

The rails curve out of sight,
and I can’t say where they lead
or where I stand along them.

It seems everything has come
to a kind of waiting.

The old quarrels, the hurry
that once carried me forward,
have grown still—
like a field at dusk
after the last sound fades.

Only the wind moves now
across the open ground.

It brings a little dust,
touches my face,
and passes on.

So much of life
has gone that way—
near, then gone,
as if it never meant to stay.

But I have learned
not to trust only what I see.

For even the ground
that looks bare
is holding something.

The seed lies hidden,
and the stone once sealed
did not keep its place.

What was laid down in silence
was not left there.

So this waiting
is not empty.

It is the third day
not yet spoken aloud.

The rails bend on ahead,
out of sight as ever—
but not without promise.

For the One who went before
did not remain in the grave,
and the path He took
has changed the way of all roads.

So I stand here still,
not knowing the turn ahead,
yet trusting this much:

what seems buried
will be raised,
what seems ended
will be opened,

and somewhere beyond the curve,
life will meet me again.

— TaeHun Yoon, 3/23/2026

The current image has no alternative text. The file name is: image-150.png
Posted in Poetry | Leave a comment

베드로의 통곡

지금은 차라리 아무 말도 하지 않겠습니다

가슴 속에 웅크리고 있는 천 만마디의 언어들

훌훌히 털어 버리고 모두가 ‘나 때문이요’라고 흐느끼겠습니다.

새벽 녁 닭이 울기 전,

‘나는 그를 모르오!’ ‘나는 그를 모르오!’ ‘나는 그를 모르오!’

계집종의 질타에 당신을 욕하고 저주하며 돌아서다 마주친 당신의 슬픈 눈빛

주님! 난 당신을 그렇게 배반 할 수 밖에 없었던 죄인임을 통곡하옵나이다.

광야에서 오천명을 먹이시고

물위를 걸으시며 나사로를 살리셨던 나의 주님이시여!

‘호산나! 호산나!’ 외치는 소리 귀에 쟁쟁한대

어찌하여 당신은 침묵하시며 그 수치와 오욕의 결박을 안으셨나이까?

당신의 능력 앞에 죽기까지 따를 것을 감히 맹서했던 이 죄인

밤의 깊은 얼굴 앞에 모래알 되어 무너져 내리옵니다.

당신은 아십니다. 아직도 당신과의 익숙치 못한 이 죄인과의 만남을

‘자기 목숨을 얻는 자는 잃을 것이요 나를 위하여 자기 목숨을 잃는 자는 얻을 것이라’

‘아무든지 나를 따라오려거든 자기를 부인하고 자기 십자가를 지고 나를 좇을 것이이라’

‘인자가 온 것은 섬김을 받으려 함이 아니라 도리어 섬기려 하고

자기 목숨을 많은 사람들의 대속물로 주려 함이니라’

이제와 후회하며 당신의 무릎 아래 꿇어 엎디옵니다.

로마 병정의 귀를 잘랐던 검으로 내 육신의 가지를 자르지 않고는

당신의 여명에 들어 갈 수 없으며 당신이 뉘신지 난 정녕 알 수 없습니다.

아- 아- 이 헛된 욕망과 성급한 언어와 행위, 속물스런 명예와 겉치례,

편협한 자아를 그 뜨거운 사랑과 용서의 검으로 다듬어 주시옵소서!

오! 나의 주님! 옛 구습의 그물던져 버리고 영생의 그물 눈물로 지어올립니다.

이 습기찬 밤 언저리에서 외치는 육신의 절규, 허공을 치지 않게 하옵소서!

영원한 당신과의 약속, 생명이 되게 하시고 호흡이 되게 하시고 자랑이 되게 하옵소서!

주여! 죽어야 산다는 당신의 말씀, 얼마나 더 깊은 어둠 속에서 방황해야 깨우칠 수 있습니까?

윤 완 희, <1996년 4월 1일>

Posted in Devotional Essay, Essay by WanHee Yoon, faith-column, Letter from the Parsonage, Poetry, prayer | Leave a comment

Peter’s Lament

Before the rooster crowed at dawn,

“I do not know Him!” “I do not know Him!” “I do not know Him!”

And when I turned away—cursing and denying You before the servant girl’s accusation— I met Your sorrowful eyes.

Lord, I weep, for I am the sinner who could not help but betray You.

You who fed five thousand in the wilderness, who walked upon the waters, who raised Lazarus from the dead— my Lord!

Even as the cries of “Hosanna! Hosanna!” still rang in my ears, why did You remain silent, embracing shame, humiliation, and the bonds of scorn?

I, who dared to vow that I would follow You even unto death, collapse like a grain of sand before the deep face of night.

You know this: that even now, this sinner is unaccustomed to meeting You as I ought.

“For whoever seeks to save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.”

“If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow Me.”

“The Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.”

Now, in regret, I fall at Your knees.

Unless I cut away the branches of my flesh with the very sword that once struck the ear of the Roman soldier, I cannot enter the dawn of Your glory; nor do I truly know who You are.

Ah— this empty desire, these hasty words and reckless deeds, this worldly honor and hollow pretense, this narrow self— Lord, shape them all with the burning sword of Your love and forgiveness!

O my Lord! I cast away the nets of my old life and lift up, with tears, the net of eternal life.

Let the cries of my flesh— shouting in the damp edges of this night— not strike the air in vain.

Let Your eternal promise become my life, my breath, my only boast.

Lord— how long must I wander in deeper darkness before I finally understand Your word: that one must die in order to live?

Yoon Wan Hee, April 1, 1996

Posted in Devotional Essay, Essay by WanHee Yoon, faith-column, Letter from the Parsonage, Poetry, prayer | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Spirit

Within the ice—
clear as judgment,
unforgiving as truth—
I stand uncovered before You,

clothed in garments
not woven by my own hands,
borrowed glories
that fall away
in the light of Your seeing.

The tongues I once forgot
return now as witness—
fragments of a lost covenant,
echoes of a Word
I could not keep.

And their returning
is not gentle.

They descend like fire
into the inward parts,
dividing memory from desire,
until the naked soul
knows itself laid bare
before its Maker.

This is the ache—
not of loss alone,
but of being known.

For whenever I turn outward,
I find no refuge:
the world closes like a scroll,
and I am reduced to ash
before the breath of Your presence.

Yet even in the ice,
where time seems sealed,
the season turns by Your hidden will.

Wandering returns
as confession.
Exile bends
toward home.

And when the voice begins—
that solitary, burning truth—
it is not I who speak,
but something in me
summoned to answer.

Then the naked self trembles,
not from cold,
but from revelation:

to see as I am seen,
to know as I am known.

And in that knowing,
the wound opens—
not unto death,
but unto grace.

For what is laid bare
is not cast away,
but gathered—
offered
as a living sacrifice
into the mercy
that endures beyond fire.

—TaeHun Yoon, Autumn, 1971

The current image has no alternative text. The file name is: create-a-visually-striking-featured-image-that-captures-the-essence-2.png
Posted in Poetry | Leave a comment