There is a place where my heart often lingers.
It is not a place where an empty chair waits for me, nor where familiar faces greet me.
It is simply my own place—my sanctuary.

One day I discovered that a bud, which had waited for years, had broken through its shell and was sending up a tender shoot beneath the warm sunlight. It was a moment of wondrous surprise. From that moment on, the praises offered to God became like a fragrant bouquet of flowers, set afloat upon the rushing currents of time. God called me out into nature and spoke through the wind and the birds, through the grass and trees, through rocks and flowing streams. Even in the lonely voyage across the storm-lashed ocean, God showed that He was guiding the trembling ship and holding its course. Wherever I went, whatever I did, He was always with me. Through all creation He allowed me to encounter the tears of Christ that heal within Him, and the love of His redeeming blood flowing like a river.

Years ago, I once attended an opera performance and found myself feeling ashamed before the leading soprano. She sang with such total devotion—holding nothing back, giving no thought to personal feelings or even to the audience—pouring out her whole being in order to give life to the composer’s song. It was as if the spirit of the composer had taken form within her. Each note seemed to carry the precise and sensitive breath of a final offering in a lifetime. The parsonage is the ground and stage of my life. Yet I often reproach myself, asking: How passionately, how precisely and keenly, am I breathing out the breath of the Lord?

Through more than twenty years of multicultural ministry, life in the parsonage has brought me into contact with many precious people. I have also experienced the unique love and responsibilities that only a pastor’s wife can receive. There were times of laughter and times of tears—beautiful and precious years in which joys and sorrows were quietly borne together. I am grateful to God that I can now share the experiences and reflections of an imperfect person through these Parsonage Letters. My heart trembles with anticipation for the new encounters and relationships that await.

And once again, I set out. Beside the lake near the park, where wild ducks drift peacefully, the submerged trees reveal different colors with each season. The stretching wings of the ducks gliding calmly across the water seem to shake the dust from my heart. And so today, for a little while, I pause there again, seeking a moment of quiet rest.

— WanHee Yoon
LA Christian Today, May 30, 1998