© WanHee Yoon, (Faith Column #17, LA Christian Today, August 25, 2010)

Last week, we enjoyed our once-a-year family vacation. Our quiet home—usually shared only by my husband and our two cats—suddenly overflowed with life. The guest room, always firmly closed, bustled with people and belongings as our eldest daughter’s family arrived from New York. The laughter, tears, and playful sounds of our four-year-old granddaughter and her six-month-old baby sister felt like the return of precious moments we had long forgotten.

Though it happens only once a year, coordinating schedules between our second daughter, youngest son, my husband, and our son-in-law—each busy with work and ministry—is never easy. Yet, even a few days together as a whole family is a treasured annual event. For my husband and me, who rarely see our young granddaughters, every second of this vacation was filled with joyful play and cherished time.

One afternoon, I played with my older granddaughter, who loves to draw. We turned the black driveway of the parsonage into a canvas, using colorful chalk. When I told her she could draw freely on the wide, long pavement, her eyes and mouth opened wide in delight. She grabbed a pink chalk with her tiny hands and began drawing a long road—perhaps inspired by the twelve-hour highway from New York to Tennessee. At the end of the road, I drew our house with green chalk. Watching closely, she added Grandpa, Grandma, Mom, Dad, her baby sister, her aunt, and her uncle. She even drew our two cats—with unusually large heads. We looked at each other and giggled. Then I drew a red heart. Her eyes sparkled as she began drawing hearts too. Suddenly, she looked into my eyes and said, “Grandma, I love you!” “I love you too,” I replied. We paused, feeling the depth of love in each other’s gaze.

I taught her my name and asked her to write it. With great effort, she wrote each letter in clumsy alphabet strokes. As I looked at my name written in her shaky hand, my heart swelled. It was the overwhelming joy of having earned another name in this world—“Grandma.” I asked again, “What’s Grandma’s name?” She answered clearly.

We grew even more excited, forgetting the time, and filled the wide canvas with flowers, trees, stars, clouds, the sun, trains, airplanes, churches, and schools in vibrant colors. The next day, a night of rain washed away our drawings—but the joy remains etched in my heart.

British poet George Moore once said, “A man travels the world in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.” Indeed, though brief, our time together within the fence of family felt like heaven on earth.

Even today, I meet countless people who endure hardship and suffering for the sake of their beloved families. Whether as “goose families,” undocumented immigrants, diasporas, or separated North and South Korean families, they continue painting the canvas of life. No matter how long or difficult the journey, they cannot give up—because family is the path toward the heaven we seek here and now.