Daily Sauntering

“Ring, ring…” Early in the morning, just as I was about to take the children to school, the phone rang urgently. As in any household, a call to the parsonage before eight o’clock could only mean something pressing. Slightly tense, I picked up the phone. The voice was familiar. But the moment she recognized my voice, she burst out in anger, as if a dam had broken: “How could you do this to me!”

Startled, I asked what had happened. It turned out she was furious because her name had not appeared where she had expected in the program for an upcoming event. Using that as a starting point, she began dragging out other grievances and pouring out criticism.

The children were tugging at me, saying they would be late for school, so I eventually had to end the call. But once I had hung up, the scolding replayed in my mind, and something inside me began to smolder—like a dry branch catching fire—before I even realized it.

When I returned home, it seemed she had called others as well, for advice began coming from all directions: “Samonim, you must handle this carefully. If not, things could go wrong before they even begin.” I couldn’t focus on anything. The clear spring of joy that had been bubbling up in my heart just moments earlier had suddenly turned muddy from that one phone call, and my spirit grew unsettled.

Then, unexpectedly, a memory from more than twenty years ago surfaced—my first ministry assignment in Busan, south Korea. An elderly grandmother had stroked my back and said, “tsk, tsk… Such a lovely young woman—what terrible sins you must have committed in your past life to become a pastor’s wife!” “…Sins? Me?” Wearing the mini-skirt that was fashionable at the time, meeting the congregation for the first time, I was too stunned to respond. She had spent her life in another religion, and to her eyes, the life of a pastor’s wife must have looked pitiful, even tragic—surely the repayment for sins from a previous life. Yet in a way, she wasn’t entirely wrong. Whatever sins my ancestors may have committed, I have come to recognize, again and again, how great a sinner I am. Even today, I can only confess that truth.

A pastor’s wife may not begin her journey with a vow to dedicate her entire life to God, as pastors do. But as the years pass, she inevitably becomes a fellow pilgrim, walking the same spiritual path. That path is, in a word, a wilderness. Yet God has hidden springs of joy and peace throughout that wilderness, and at the needed moment, He causes them to burst forth with surprise and delight. He even grants enough abundance to share with those wandering in thirst.

In the Lord who leads my life, the seeking and the answering have always filled me with a quiet happiness unknown to others. Truly, have I not been richly blessed—receiving jewels of love unique to a pastor’s wife, and the fragrance of affection sweeter than jasmine? The small criticisms that come from time to time have become salt to me, and I now know they are God’s gentle whip, urging me toward humility.

So when my heart darkens or discouragement creeps in, I turn to one hidden weapon: fasting prayer. Not for several days, but a day or two—quietly, without my family noticing. What amazes me is that every time I use this weapon, peace returns to my heart, along with God’s comfort and humility. And like a mirror, it reveals my own frail and unbecoming self.

One senior pastor’s wife once told me that whenever someone disturbs her heart or shares something painful over the phone, she immediately sets aside a week to pray earnestly for that person. And somehow, by the end of that week, the person treats her with an entirely different attitude. This was the weapon she discovered over nearly forty years of ministry. With it, she crossed rugged mountains again and again, and now carries the serene dignity of a seasoned elder.

In our lives, I want to believe that criticism is simply another expression of love. When we fail to meet the needs of those who long for our attention and affection, their criticism becomes a gesture saying, “I’m here—don’t forget me.” How painful and weary their hearts must be.

As this new year begins, I want these criticisms to become salt for my soul, helping me grow into a more mature believer. And so, I sharpen once again my hidden weapons.

— Yoon Wan-Hee, January 20, 1999