It was about a year ago when I first met Yongsuni. Barely a year old at the time, he ran to me the moment he saw me—climbing up and down my arms in excitement and showering me with endless, unwanted kisses. I thought he was simply adorable and innocent. But never in my dreams did I imagine that this little creature would become part of our family. Truly, the providence of God works in mysterious ways.

That day, as my niece and her husband left Yongsuni in my care, their eyes brimmed with tears. They hugged him again and again, pouring out their affection. Then they handed me an armful of expensive canned food, shampoo, toys, grooming tools, diapers, blankets—everything they had bought for him. They even remembered to bring a box of cookies for Wolfman, who would be Yongsuni’s playmate. Having lived a rather lonely life, Wolfman seemed to think, “What unexpected fortune is this?” He sniffed Yongsuni cautiously, then followed him everywhere, refusing to leave his side.

My husband prayed earnestly as he blessed our niece and her husband, who were moving far away: “Even though they must leave Yongsuni behind, grant them a day soon when they will be reunited. And comfort the pain of parents who must part from their child.” After the prayer, the couple wiped their tears and smiled with relief. “Uncle, how do you understand our hearts so well?” they said. As they walked away, we called after them, “Yongsuni is your child—take him back as soon as you settle in. We’ll take good care of him until then, so don’t worry!”

But we were already on edge, having heard their dreadful warning that Yongsuni was not yet house‑trained. The moment he arrived at the parsonage, I—perhaps a bit cruelly—tied him to a kitchen chair in the basement. He cried all night without sleeping. But in our home, no one is allowed the freedom to relieve themselves wherever they please.

When I opened the basement door the next morning, the smell was unbearable. In his anger, Yongsuni had peed everywhere, turning the kitchen floor into a miniature Han River—and soaking himself in the process. Wolfman, who had also lost sleep because of him, shook his head at the foul smell, blinking his tired eyes. I announced to the family that we needed a stronger, stricter approach.

“Starting today, until he’s trained, Yongsuni gets only one meal a day. And no more than one‑fifth cup of water.” The three children protested immediately. “Mom, that’s too harsh! He’s just a baby—he needs at least three meals a day. And how could you tie up a little one who doesn’t even have his mom or dad?” They glared at me with disapproval, hugging Yongsuni protectively, their eyes filling with tears.

For several days, Yongsuni panted desperately, clearly thirsty. And poor Wolfman—who had unintentionally joined him in this involuntary fast—followed me around, begging for food without understanding why. Truly, training a little creature who cannot speak is no easy task.

But after a week, Yongsuni finally realized that relieving himself inside the house was absolutely forbidden. “A new family member has moved into the pastor’s home! What beautiful fur!” That was the reaction of neighbors who peeked outside whenever Yongsuni and Wolfman went out to do their business, accompanied by the jealous barking of the neighborhood dogs. As if he understood their admiration, Yongsuni wagged his long, silvery tail with charming pride.

Now, Yongsuni is free to roam anywhere in the parsonage. Whether he knows the words of the Apostle Paul—“It was good for me to be afflicted”—I cannot say. But today again, Yongsuni and Wolfman chase each other around the living room with such enthusiasm that the whole house seems to shake, and together with us, they enjoy a peaceful life.

— Wanhee Yoon, August 26, 1998