“A voice cries out: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord in the wilderness; make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be lifted up, every mountain and hill made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain. And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.’ A voice says, ‘Cry out!’ And I said, ‘What shall I cry?’ ‘All flesh is grass, and all its beauty is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades when the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.’” —Isaiah 40:1–3

Lord!

The wind is blowing. A wind that cuts through the broken walls of Young‑joo and Young‑beom’s hearts, a wind that pierces their flesh and tears open their grief. In a barren field like a desert, in a darkness so deep that even the cries of animals are swallowed, these two siblings now stand alone.

Their father’s dreams, their mother’s dreams— shattered into pieces, scattered like dust in the wind, a sad song drifting away into the alleyways of Woodside, Queens, the dreamland of New York, leaving no trace behind.

The unfinished prayers of Your daughter— who lived so earnestly, so gently, so faithfully, who knelt before You and prayed with tears— now fall upon our hearts like heavy rain.

Lord!

How can we tell Young‑joo and Young‑beom, left alone in this darkness, to reach for the hand of dawn? How can we say to them, “Child, rise up”? What can we urge them to reclaim when there is nothing left that can be taken from them?

Lord!

When it rains, they wander the streets longing for the mother who would run out with an umbrella to shield them from the cold drops. When it snows, they ache for the scent of the mother who greeted them with warm cocoa and cookies and a bright smile. At their window, a lone winter bird sings a sorrowful song for children who open and close the door with no one waiting behind it.

Lord!

Speak to them. Meet them. Come into the frozen hours of Young‑joo and Young‑beom. Come with Your fragrance, with the breath of Your spring, with the promise that the ravaged valley shall one day become level ground.

We believe Your word: “All flesh is grass, and all its beauty is like the flower of the field; the grass withers, the flower fades, but the breath of the Lord blows upon it.” Let our eyes not remain fixed on the withered flower, but lift them to see the hand that moves upon the waters.

Lord!

Until the day a bright lamp is hung in the depths of their young souls, let our prayers shine through their dark night. Let our love and care give them strength to rise again. Teach us the wisdom to raise all children— not only our own but each other’s— so that we may become their parents together, gathering the broken pieces and building again with our own hands.

Lord!

We ask that Young‑joo and Young‑beom recover the love they have lost within the embrace of Your great love. Let Your glory blossom in the place of their sorrow and despair.

O Jesus Christ— Prince of Healing, Prince of Peace, King of Joy, Savior of all— we believe in You. Come dwell within all our souls. Amen.

— Yoon Wan‑Hee, December 11, 1995

Postscript: Young‑joo (17) and Young‑beom (15) lost their father, Mr. Yang‑hyun Cho (48), to liver cancer four years ago. On December 5, 1995, their mother, Ms. Jung‑im Cho (42), also passed away after three weeks in a coma from a brain hemorrhage. Their father contracted liver cancer while working asbestos‑removal jobs during the early years of immigration. Their mother supported the family as a nail technician until her sudden collapse. This is the sorrowful story of an ordinary immigrant family.