When the sunset checks its final clock and people worn out by the heat flow out of the city like the receding tide,

there—at the bend in the road— You blocked the wind and I heard a voice.

“Lord… did You call me? Ah… it was You calling!”

Like a child who falls asleep exhausted after play, then suddenly wakes and rises— so I, trembling, answered, “Yes, Lord.”

Though You placed new garments in my hands, I could not take off my old ways. Instead of following You in humility, I resisted, despised what was holy, and cast nets of hatred and laziness into Your sea instead of nets of love and sacrifice. Forgive me.

But Lord—now I understand. Now I know the meaning of Your call.

You want me to hold the hands of brothers and sisters suffering in their sickbeds. You want me to speak heaven’s mysteries to those who have lost hope. You want me to feed our northern brethren abandoned on the roadside without even a bowl of rice. You want me to show wandering wealthy souls the true home of their hearts. You want to give freedom to spirits crushed beneath thorns. You want to open the secret of the Word to those who think life is lived on bread alone.

Lord, I lay this flawed and fragile life at Your feet—receive it. Let the sweat of my soul and body push forward the wheels of Your ministry. Let Your great love not remain mine alone, but be shared freely, gladly, with all.

My Lord, my King— I wait for You like the green plains waiting for the rising sun, like a single blade of grass in the desert longing for rain, like a traveler guided only by starlight. Lead me.

My Lord, my King.

— Yoon Wan‑Hee, July 13, 1996