“If I could soothe one aching heart,
my life would not be in vain.
If I could ease one life’s suffering,
or calm one soul’s distress,
or help one weary robin find its way back to its nest,
my life would truly not be in vain.”
— Emily Dickinson, “If I Can Stop One Heart from Breaking”

In our lives, we often begin sentences with the words, “If I could…”
If I could win the lottery.
If I could earn a doctorate.
If I were a politician.
If I were a child again.
If I were someone else.

Such phrases seem to belong to the realm of fantasy—things impossible or unrealistic when measured by common sense. Yet Albert Einstein once said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” He believed that imagination—the world of “what if”—possesses a creative power greater than accumulated facts or academic achievement.

At times, “If I could…” sounds like empty words thrown into the air. But when that longing becomes prayer—when it rises from a wounded heart and reaches the ears of God—it can release a force capable of transforming reality. This is what we call vision. This is what we call dream.

History itself has been shaped by such dreams.
The Wright brothers’ longing to fly gave birth to the airplane.
Humanity’s dream of reaching the moon carried astronauts beyond Earth.
Alexander Graham Bell, yearning to communicate with his deaf wife, invented the telephone.

A Prayer Born in Darkness

In Korea, Pastor Kim Sun-Tae, founder of Siloam Eye Hospital, is known as the “father of the blind.” His life bears witness to the power of a single “If I could…” offered to God.

When the Korean War broke out, Kim was ten years old. One morning, after his father warned the family to be cautious, the boy went out to play. When he returned, his home had been bombed. His parents were gone. He was suddenly an orphan.

He survived by begging among refugees. One day, while stealing melons with other hungry children, a grenade exploded nearby. The blast blinded him. Bleeding and disoriented, he wandered until he reached his aunt’s home. But instead of compassion, he encountered abuse and humiliation.

One bitter December night, he overheard his aunt’s family planning to kill him—the “burdensome blind boy”—before fleeing south. Terrified, he escaped into the darkness and cried out to God:

“God, if You let me live,
I will dedicate my life to serving the blind.”

That desperate prayer, uttered in fear and cold, was fulfilled forty years later. Through Siloam Eye Hospital, more than 15,000 people have regained their sight, and the ministry now serves people around the world.

When God Gives a Vision

A dream born from prayer cannot remain locked away in the warehouse of our thoughts. If God plants a vision within us, we are called—regardless of circumstance—to move forward with sincerity, patience, and courage. Only then does “If I could…” become reality.

This year, one of my own small dreams came true: introducing the Girl Scout movement to the Korean-American community. The path was not easy. I faced personal struggles, exhaustion, and moments when giving up seemed reasonable. No one demanded this work. No one would have blamed me if I stopped.

Yet I believed deeply that this movement could nurture young girls into women of faith, dignity, and responsibility—citizens who engage the world with courage and compassion. I longed to open a path for Korean daughters and their mothers to grow together.

Starting from nothing—recruiting families, training leaders, learning while teaching—felt overwhelming, especially in a bilingual environment. But God provided wisdom, companions, spaces, and shared vision. Before the year ended, four Girl Scout troops were established, led by Korean mothers. What began as a fragile hope became visible fruit.

Through this experience, I was reminded again: a life lived in faith will bear fruit in time. Often I think, “If I had stopped then, none of this would exist now.”

Advent and the Meaning of Life

Immigrant life is not easy. We face confusion, limitation, and uncertainty. Yet if we hold fast to God’s vision and walk forward with simplicity and trust, our lives—our culture, families, churches, and communities—become instruments of God’s miracle.

As Advent returns, it calls us to remember that life’s value is not measured by wealth or success, but by whether we live according to God’s creative intention.

Jesus said:

“I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.
I am the good shepherd.
The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”
(John 10:10–11)

Some lives end with death alone. Others continue to live—long after death—through love, service, and memory.

Christmas is not merely a season of celebration. It is a season of sharing, remembering, and lifting daily life into God’s joy. Advent invites us to dream again—to open ourselves to the holy possibilities of faith.

So let us dare to say once more:

“If I could…”

If I could soothe one aching heart,
my life would not be in vain.

— WanHee Yoon
“As I Am,”
Live Broadcast Manuscript
New York Korean Christian Broadcasting
December 15, 1999