Lately, I’ve been enjoying the joy of new encounters with members of the congregation at the church where my husband was recently appointed. It feels like the beginning of another honeymoon phase in ministry.

Over the past 30 years of our immigrant ministry journey, my husband has served as senior pastor at eight different churches. Four of them were American congregations, and during his time at one of those churches, he also planted two Korean churches in the same location. Later, he returned to serve two more Korean churches. Looking back, what once felt like a long and rugged road now reminds me of how fleeting time truly is.

Someone recently asked me, “How does it feel to meet new people at a new church?” Meeting strangers is always both thrilling and nerve-wracking. I’ve learned that the joy of meeting others depends on how open my heart is. Relationships, like strong ropes, are woven moment by moment. But I’ve also learned—through disappointment—that when I begin relationships with preconceived notions, expectations, or by projecting my own preferences onto others, the result is often frustration and disillusionment.

There was a time when, as a pastor’s wife, I endured a great deal of emotional stress. I couldn’t live as my full self, constantly trying to meet the expectations of the congregation within a limited environment. Even when I wanted to share my thoughts in a gathering, I worried it might reflect poorly on my husband’s ministry. When I wanted to express my sense of style, I hesitated, fearing it might offend someone.

Often, when I felt exhausted, empty, or angry, I had no choice but to resolve it alone in tears before the altar. Even joyful moments in daily life felt unsafe to share, lest they be seen as prideful. Meeting people week after week—sometimes daily—while suppressing my own emotions felt like striking at the air.

Eventually, I reached a point where I could no longer sustain such one-sided encounters. Under the name of God, I felt I was losing myself entirely. If I couldn’t enjoy the small and ordinary things, if I couldn’t live with authenticity, how could I call myself a person of faith? I groaned inwardly, even fell ill.

Looking back now, I realize that I missed the full joy of fellowship because I was afraid to open my heart. I kept trying to give when I had nothing left inside—and of course, I quickly became weary.

Now, when I have nothing to give, I don’t force myself. When I’m tired, I rest. I sleep in one day a week. When something makes me laugh, I no longer offer a polite Mona Lisa smile—I laugh from deep in my belly, surprising those around me. When I embrace fellow believers, I meet their eyes and press heart to heart. I delight in listening. When I have a creative thought or a testimony to share, I do so without hesitation.

I feel happiness among the congregation. I am grateful to be loved and to love in return. These are the things I now seek in this later season of my husband’s ministry—the art of encounter.

© Wanhee Yoon

(Pastoral Home Faith Column #18, LA Christian Today, August 12, 2009)