We are walking through the desert now. In the life journey where we have been slowly driven out, we cannot tell when or how we arrived here, but it is surely a weary and difficult path. As husband and wife, we cross this harsh desert swept by whirlwinds—lifting each other up, embracing one another, carefully wiping away each other’s tears lest we fall behind, and diligently pressing forward. Even our children, though they do not understand, follow without complaint.

In the desert, there are foxes everywhere—barking, snarling faces rushing as if to bite. At times they intrude even into the soul’s midnight rest, barking without ceasing. Yet one Sunday morning, during family worship, God spoke through Henri Nouwen: “Do not listen to the voices of the foxes. Send them back to their dens. Instead, hear the voice of God that comes through the mountains and fields. That voice says: ‘Behold, the dwelling of God is with humankind. He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them; He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death shall be no more, nor mourning, nor crying, nor pain, for the former things have passed away.’ … We must surely hear that voice, and in each moment seek the secret of life that strives to be born anew.”

Ah—how fortunate that true life is conceived not in yesterday or tomorrow, but in the very moment of wrestling with pain and anguish! I now realize that each of us must someday walk through a desert. And I have been granted the wisdom to choose more wisely: whether to be ensnared by the foxes’ voices, or to live in the presence of God.

Neighbors who know we are crossing the desert respond in many ways. Some remain indifferent, even avoiding us. Others spread rumors, adding gossip until our troubles swell like snow, persuading people that we must be the center of the problem. Still others seize the moment to secure their own advantage, claiming that all is simply God’s will—words that sink me deeper into despair. Yet there are also those who, through letters, phone calls, and prayers, encourage us: “Do not lose heart!” They understand our plight better than anyone, and suffer with us beyond their own pain. Like an oasis in the desert, they help us seek God’s grace and urge us to drink deeply of it.

Even in this painful desert journey, reasons for gratitude emerge. It has shown me how fragile the foundation of my faith is, and given me a glimpse of the Lord’s own suffering. I have also come to trust and thank my husband’s faith more deeply. While others—including myself—burn with anger and resentment, he transcends it, quietly pressing toward new work. Refusing to be bound by the past, striving to repay evil with good, his attitude calms my rage, humbles the impatient, and opens a way to practice faith’s possibilities and a positive posture toward life. His greatest sermon and witness are being proclaimed here, in the very heart of the desert!

Through this desert journey, I have faintly glimpsed the depth and breadth of Jesus’ eternal friendship and unchanging love. I have learned that only when faith stands at the center can a person truly live as a whole human being. And I can wholeheartedly agree with the apostle Paul’s confession: “It was good for me to be afflicted.” Thus, this desert journey has become one of the blessings our family must celebrate this year.

— Wan‑Hee Yoon (Letter from the Parsonage, November 25, 1999)