Some days, after a busy schedule, we end the evening with a sense of satisfaction, thinking, “Ah, today was full and meaningful!” But there are just as many days when we wonder, “What did I even do today?”

When I look back on the days that felt meaningful, I ask myself what exactly brought me such joy and fulfillment. Yet even among those days, how many would God look upon with pleasure and say, “Well done”? That, too, is uncertain.

Each person pursues different values in daily life. But goals without peace, success isolated from others, income earned as a slave to money, achievements built at the cost of body and soul—how much meaning do these truly hold? A single moment of misjudging what is valuable can ruin not only one’s own life but also leave lifelong wounds on children and neighbors. We see such stories all around us.

A pastor I respect once told me about his maternal grandfather, who lived in Hwanghae Province during the Korean War. As the family fled south, the grandfather suddenly said he needed to return home to retrieve something important and took his eldest son with him. The boat was about to depart, but they never returned. His grandmother and mother were swept away in the tide of refugees, and for over forty years they lived separated—his grandmother dying with longing for her husband and son.

Another man confessed from his sickbed that he had worked tirelessly to live better than others. While others slept, he worked. But before he knew it, illness overtook him, and just when life seemed comfortable, he found himself facing death. He had worked so hard that he never had time to take his children to the park. He never once took a carefree vacation by the beautiful seaside. “Who will feed my family if I rest?” he would say. “If I leave the house, I have to buy food, pay for gas, pay for everything. But if I stay home, I save money.” He refused every invitation to church. “I work all week. I need at least one day to lie on the sofa with a cold drink and rest so I can survive another week.” He would not allow his wife or children to look at anything beyond work. Even visits from poor relatives felt burdensome. Friends drifted away.

Eventually he saved enough to buy the mansion he had dreamed of. But by then, the children had already left for college. In the scorching summer, he couldn’t bring himself to turn on the air conditioner. In the freezing winter, he wore a parka indoors and shivered, dreaming of summer. He never drove his shiny car freely for fear of dulling its polish. The expensive Italian furniture and the French china sparkled in the house, but he hardly dared touch them.

When business finally eased, he and his wife decided to enjoy the leisure they had missed. For the first time, they went out to a sunny field to play golf. But suddenly, under the bright sun, he suffered a stroke. His mouth and limbs were paralyzed. He could no longer go where he wanted, eat what he wanted, or enjoy anything at all.

Lying in his hospital bed, he looked back on his life. He realized that everything he had desperately tried to grasp had been nothing but wind. In that wind, his true dreams, his youth, his children, his friends, his relatives—everything had vanished. What remained? A large, empty mansion. Expensive Italian furniture. French china. A luxury car in the garage. And the worn, weary face of the wife who had stayed with him all his life.

Seeing the shadow of darkness reaching toward him from behind the wind, he grew afraid. He confessed that he had finally begun to understand—however faintly—that there are things in this world “more precious than earning a living.” But the realization came too late. He had no time left to seek what was not wind. A year later, he passed away—into the wind.

How can we know whether what we are pursuing today is truly meaningful or merely wind? One thing is certain: If we do not live centered on God and in love with our neighbors, our lives will end in the futility of chasing the wind.

If we spend our whole lives grasping at wind, and at the final moment—when we must settle accounts with God—we find nothing in our hands, how shocked and regretful we will be. No matter how beautiful the Italian furniture or the luxurious French dinnerware, none of it can enter God’s storehouse. They are only wood and clay.

Working hard is important. But without discernment in God, a lifetime becomes nothing more than chasing the wind.

Are you, perhaps, chasing the wind today?

— Yoon Wan‑Hee, July 31, 1995