Mother, as I walk this Lenten journey of spiritual pilgrimage, I thank God that I can finally write to you with a heart that feels light and joyful. If not for God’s grace, I would still be keeping my distance from you— not realizing how great a sin that was. But God opened my eyes.

Mother, after I married, I often heard my husband say, “My mother is a very cold person.” I didn’t understand what he meant, yet somehow those words kept me from drawing close to you. I confess this honestly. You must be wondering what all of this means.

Mother, early this year, your son—my husband— began fasting and praying each month with several heavy burdens on his heart. In prayer, God led him to repent for the hurt he had carried toward you. He even shared this testimony before the congregation.

As the second son, he grew up feeling he did not receive the same attention and affection you gave his older brother. Without realizing it, he carried many wounds. He especially remembered the pain of being sent to a school he did not want— not the middle school his teacher recommended, but the one you insisted on. And now we understand your devotion to supporting the eldest son through medical school— saving every penny, even cutting the bus fare needed for the younger children’s commute. But as a child, he could not see your greater purpose. He only remembered walking that long road to school in rain and snow, feeling lonely and forgotten.

Mother, what amazed us was this: when a person repents before God with tears, God brings to light even the sins buried deep in the unconscious and washes them clean. Through repentance, your son realized you were never cold or indifferent. You were a mother who poured out everything to love him.

During the Korean War, when Father fled to avoid conscription and disappeared without a trace, you carried three children from Seoul to Pyeongtaek to Suwon to Daejeon— on foot. The winter winds were brutal. You carried your youngest son on your back, balanced heavy bundles on your head, and held the hands of your older two as you fled south.

Your hungry little boy cried all day on your back. You had nothing to feed him. Then you saw a rice‑cake seller selling gaepi‑tteok(wheat cake) to refugees. Without hesitation, you removed your cherished golden ring and exchanged it for a single piece of wheat cake. His tiny frostbitten hands held that frozen cake and ate every bit of it— a story I have heard from you many times.

You wrapped him in thick padded clothes so he would not freeze. Whenever you crossed a stream, you set down all your burdens, broke the ice, washed his soaked diapers in the freezing water, and dried them in the bitter wind. When that failed, you warmed the wet cloth against your own body to keep him alive. Many babies froze to death on their mothers’ backs and were left by the roadside— but you refused to let that happen. You gave everything you had to save him.

Later, when he grew sickly from wartime hunger, your brothers mocked him, saying, “That boy will never amount to anything.” But look— God called the child whom people dismissed, and you raised him well. Mother, thank you.

Your son said, “In the chaos of war, some parents abandoned their infants and it was not even considered a crime. But my mother never let me go. She carried me until her back was ruined. Only now do I understand her love.” His tears that day soaked the dry spiritual ground of the entire congregation.

Mother, after you abandoned the old superstitions and received Jesus, you vowed to dedicate one of your three sons to the Lord’s service. When your son made that vow himself, your joy and your tearful prayers have never ceased—not for a moment.

Mother, do you know how free we have become before God? If it takes us this long to understand a parent’s love, how much more must we be broken and renewed to understand the love of God?

Mother, we do not know whose hand now wears the golden ring you traded for a piece of rice cake. But the golden ring of your love and faith will shine forever in our hearts.

Beloved Mother, in this Lenten season, we thank the Lord once again for washing away our sins. Mother, we truly love you.

Your second daughter‑in‑law.

— Yoon WanHee, 1999