At New York’s Penn Station, waves of people are always flowing through like the tide. In the midst of that rush, I noticed a man walking with a dog the size of a small calf. When I looked more closely, I realized he was visually impaired. He appeared to be a white man in his thirties, and judging by the way he kept speaking to the dog and adjusting its harness, he seemed to be heading toward a train. Without much thought, I passed by him and hurried onto my own train, aware that only a few minutes remained before departure.

Just as the train was about to leave, the large black dog stepped aboard, followed by the same man. A passenger sitting in the front quickly stood and offered his seat, saying, “There’s a seat here.” The man said something to the dog, and the dog immediately slipped under the seat, curled itself tightly, and lay down. That big dog folded itself up like a crumpled piece of newspaper, making its body as small as possible, resting its head on the floor and closing its eyes. The moment was brief, but the sight was both touching and deeply loyal.

Even dogs seem to have different roles. Our family dog is a Chihuahua—about the size of two adult palms put together—but its personality is fiery. When its owner comes home, it throws a grand welcome ceremony: springing up and down like a coiled spring and running circles around the living room until it’s exhausted. No matter how discouraging the day has been, that enthusiastic greeting lifts your spirits instantly. But if you disturb its sleep or annoy it, it wrinkles its nose, bares its teeth, and sometimes even snaps. And if it doesn’t feel like coming when called, it simply turns its head away. In short, it has a very strong sense of personal dignity.

If even animals have clearly defined roles depending on their environment and breed, how much more true must this be for people? Yet we often place unrealistic expectations on one another. Walt Disney succeeded by holding onto the idea that “imagination is more important than knowledge,” but sometimes those very expectations born of imagination can cause hurt on both sides.

Each person may seem similar, yet the variety of talents we possess—and the ways we love and express that love—are never the same. When people use their God‑given talents well, everything flourishes. But when they deny or refuse their gifts, the church loses its strength and falls into confusion.

— Yoon Wan‑hee, June 9, 1998