In the quiet hallways of time we hear what people have built— frail things, yet standing, raised by breath and need, offering a moment’s shelter against the wide emptiness.
Life moves with a steady courage, plain and exposed. Honesty turns its edge inward and leaves its mark. Grace shows itself briefly, like a coal that still remembers fire.
Bach is playing somewhere. Kyrie eleison. Four voices enter one by one, not competing, only answering each other. The sopranos rise, altos hold the middle ground, tenors carry their ache, basses keep the promise of weight.
It is the start of a new year. Shadows have not left us. But love does not shout. It speaks softly, as it always has.
Not skill, not clever making, but the simple heart of living keeps time— beating moment by moment, breakable, and somehow enough.
A puppy was born without its two front legs. Startled by the sight so different from her other newborns, the mother dog rejected him, refusing even to nurse him. While the other puppies—born from the same womb—followed their mother everywhere as she guarded the flea market, this fragile life could not even lift his head. He lay starving on the cold winter ground, among piles of trash, slowly dying.
Seventeen‑year‑old Reuben found the pitiful creature and, overwhelmed by the sight of such desperate life, called his mother, Judy.
“Mom… do you think we can fix this puppy?” “…We can’t fix him,” she replied, “but we can help him.”
Nearly seven years later, the puppy—now named Faith—became the most famous dog in the world, proudly walking upright on his hind legs. Wherever Faith goes, people are not only amazed and curious; those who have fallen into despair and see no way forward find renewed strength, rediscover joy, and recover a sense of purpose.
Once in New York, a woman who had lost both legs to diabetes lived in a wheelchair and had sunk into deep depression. Unable to bear it any longer, she went out to buy a gun to end her life. On the way, she happened to encounter Faith—the dog who walks on two hind legs. She burst into tears on the spot, ashamed that she had shown less courage than a dog. In that moment, she found the will to live again.
Recently, Faith has become a well‑known motivational speaker, traveling across the country to bring hope and courage. He has appeared on numerous TV programs and events, and even received the title of Honorary Sergeant from the U.S. Army. He visits military hospitals nationwide, offering hope and confidence to wounded soldiers and their families—those who lost limbs or suffered severe injuries in war. Faith receives more than 200 emails of gratitude every day from across the nation.
Though Faith cannot speak human language, he never loses his smile. With his cheerful “woof, woof, woof,” and his proud, excited walk among people, he gives a wordless gift of inspiration.
The journey to becoming “the dog who walks on his hind legs” was anything but easy. To find balance, Faith had to crash his chin and body against the ground countless times each day. He had to summon every ounce of strength to empower his fragile hind legs. Faith and Judy trained daily—with peanut butter and cookies in hand—drawing out the hidden potential within him and reshaping the environment around him.
In the end, they discovered it: the disability that nearly killed him became Faith’s unique gift, offering us endless sacred challenge and joy.
It is a new year. We greet it carrying all the prayers left unfinished from the last, though nothing in our external circumstances has changed. Yet I am convinced that when we live with a holy awareness of the astonishing possibilities within and around us, each day can become a special and blessed moment.
Faith came to me at the dawn of the new year to remind me: the energies of happiness already given to me—faith and endurance, peace and joy, the discovery of beauty, the driving force of life— these immense treasures are not meant to be neglected, but to be used boldly and courageously.
— Yoon Wan‑Hee, Faith Column, LA Christian Today, January 6, 2010
두 앞발이 없는 강아지가 태어났다. 다른 새끼들과는 전혀 다른 모습에 놀란 어미는 어린 새끼에게 젖도 거절한 채 방치해버렸다. 한 뱃속에서 함께 태어났던 다른 새끼들은 플리마켓을 지키는 어미와 함께 어디든 동행하지만, 이 어린 생명만은 고개도 제대로 들지 못하고 찬 겨울 쓰레기더미 땅바닥에서 굶주린 채 빈사상태 로 죽어가고 있었다. 그 가련한 모습을 발견한 17세의 소년 르우벤은 너무나 처절한 어린 생명을 바라보며 어머니, 쥬디에게 전화하였다. “엄마, 우리가 이 강아지를 고쳐 볼 수 없을까요?” “…. 우리가 고칠 수는 없지만 도와 줄 수는 있겠지.”
그 후로부터 거의 칠년 후, ‘믿음’이라는 이름을 가진 이 강아지는 뒷발로 당당히 서서 걷는 세계에서 가장 유명한 개가 되고 말았다. ‘믿음’ 이가 가는 곳마다 사람들은 호기심과 놀라움을 가질 뿐만이 아니라, 실의에 빠져 죽을 길만을 찾는 이들에게 삶의 기운을 복돋아 주고, 삶의 기쁨과 목적을 찾게 한다. 뉴욕에서 언젠가, 당뇨병으로 두 다리를 절단한 여인이 휠체어에 의해 살아가면서 깊은 우울증에 빠지게 되었다. 그녀는 견디다 못해, 자살하려고 총을 사러 가던 길에 우연히 뒷발로 걷는 ‘믿음’이와 부딪치게 되었다. 그녀는 두말 할 것도 없이 그 자리에서 눈물을 흘리며, 자신의 개만도 못한 용기에 크게 눈물로 뉘우치며 삶의 용기를 되찾아 갔다.
요 근래 ‘믿음’이는 전국을 돌아다니며 희망과 용기를 심어주는 특별강사로 유명세를 타고 있다. ‘믿음’이는 각종 TV출연과 이벤트에 초청되었을 뿐만이 아니라, 미군으로부터 명예 하사관 칭호를 받아 주로 전국의 군인병원을 다니며, 전쟁 중에 의족을 잃거나 몸의 일부분을 상한 상의군인들과 가족들에게 삶의 희망과 믿음을 심어주고 있다. ‘믿음’ 이는 하루에 200여 통의 감사 이메일을 전국적으로 받고 있다. 비록 ‘믿음’이는 인간의 언어는 구사 할 수 없지만, 언제 나 미소를 잃지 않고 “멍멍멍”하고 짖어대며, 사람들 틈에서 흥분한 채 당당히 걷는 것만으로 말할 수 없는 감동을 선물 하고 있다.
뒷발로 걷는 강아지, ‘믿음’이가 걷기까지는 결국 쉬운 여정이 아니었다. 몸의 언발라스를 맞추기 위해, 수도 없이 날 마다 턱과 몸을 땅에 부딪쳐야 했으며, 온갖 죽을힘을 다해 연약한 뒷발에 힘을 실어야 만 하였다. ‘믿음’이와 쥬디는 ‘믿음’이 안에 숨어있는 내적인 능력을 향해 매일매일 피넛 버터와 쿠키를 들고, 주어진 환경을 변화시키는 훈련을 하였다. 그리고 그들은 끝내 찾아 내었고, 거의 죽음으로 몰아넣 었던 불구는, ‘믿음’이의 특별한 개성이 되었으며, 우리에게 신성한 도전과 기쁨을 무한정 선물하고 있다.
새해다. 지난해 못다 이룬 온갖 기도의 제목들을 안고 새해를 맞이하지만, 외부적인 환경과 조건은 특별히 달라진 것도 없다. 그러나, 내안과 밖에 둘러 쌓여있는 경이로운 가능성을 성스럽게 인식하며 살아 갈 때, 하루하루가 특별하고 축복된 순간으로 맞을 수 있다는 확신이다.
이미 내게 주어진 온갖 행복의 에너지들- 믿음과 인내, 마음의 평화와 기쁨, 아름다움 발견, 삶의 원동력. 그 엄청난 보고들을 더 이상 방치함 없이, 용감하게 마음껏 사용하라고, ‘믿음’이는 새해벽두에 나를 찾아와 주었다.
Well—yesterday and today flow at the same unhurried pace. Time does not change its speed for our sake. Yet in this house, after my wife has gone, everything stands where it always stood, and nothing is the same.
I have left untouched the work she once tended, yet I am busier than before. The small tasks of the yard, even the afternoon habits that once continued daily, seem to hang suspended in midair. Even two modest meals are pushed back again and again.
The two small dogs who once followed her out to work and into the backyard now cling closely to me, waking, sleeping, breathing in time with my steps.
The words I once wrote within a flowing consciousness have now dried up, becoming thin, distracted murmurs.
At the neighborhood park, beside the baseball field, three families I did not see yesterday appear, playing catch in the pale winter sunlight. One family has brought a dog. As I am leaving, another family arrives— one large dog, two strollers, the slow procession of a New Year’s afternoon.
Somewhere on this earth war continues. Someone stands on the ruins, with not even tears left, lifting empty eyes to the darkening sky— as the first day closes.
Others wake late after a night-long celebration and step into the narrow crevice of life— the gap of injustice, the weight of laws that press down the weak, the economic pressure that will not let them rise.
Within that unspeakable pressure, han gathers— wordless sorrow, a heated silence boiling in the deepest chamber of the soul, unbearable tears— the moment just before it turns into light.
Tomorrow may be heavier. And the sun may not rise.
Even so— within mystery, there is a current.
Even in darkness that offers no explanation, a rhythm remains— unheard, yet faithful to the end. Not every dawn arrives as light; some dawns come as depth, as silence learning its own pitch.
What does not rise still resounds.
In the conductor’s lifted hand, the sweat on the brow, the breath restrained by strings and voices, moments gather, shaking the concert hall and stilling even the audience’s breath.
That current— within every eye and ear, the trembling gesture, the oboist’s fingertips, the soprano shaping the air— each carries heart and soul across the narrow rope of miracle, one note, one rest at a time.
Before such labor, such fierce devotion, no one can remain still. Mind, nerve, and muscle rise together, and sound and silence begin to dance.
Every heart leans toward beauty, becoming one body, one harmony— ripples widen, circles spread, and passion, already on the first day of the year, at the beginning of its three hundred sixty-five days, may begin somewhere in a back alley, breathing hard.
Yesterday and today are the same. And yet— people shape the day in entirely different ways.
Some call this eternity. Some call it perfect beauty.
And within that beauty, the Eternal Other— the silent God— is enthroned.
I believe in the Loving God— God of the morning, the noon, and the evening of life— who calls me to share His love and bids me serve Him by serving others.
I believe in Jesus Christ, the Great Healer of body, soul. community I confess I have sinned against Him in my attitudes and in my actions. I have been hesitant when I should have been bold.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, the creative power of all being, ever with me to guide and to strengthen. Yet I have not always become the person the Spirit has called me to be throughout my days.
I believe in the one holy Church, in the communion of saints, and in God’s work of making an eternal land of freedom, justice, and peace out of the depths of a land once dead.
At this moment, opening the first door of the year, I call your name in the deepest and quietest voice.
I love you!
Your tears, pain, anguish, joy, nakedness, conflict, mistakes… all of you, just as you are, I love.
What I ask of you this year is only this: please do not reject this imperfect love of mine.
When you are inside iron bars, my own heart is bound tight with chains.
When you wander the streets of Manhattan searching for a manhole cover, I tremble in the coldest place of my soul.
When you are despised by the world, my pride rises like countless raging waves and looks down upon itself.
My beloved!
Let your blood-bound “han,*” your deep sorrow, ache within me as the fever of love!
In the far future, when you find the compass of the years we lost, please remember this:
that we are all debtors of a burning love.
– Wan-Hee Yoon, 1996
Note: (Copilot) “Han” is one of the most distinctive and untranslatable emotional concepts in Korean culture. It cannot be reduced to a single English word. Instead, it is a constellation of emotions, layered and enduring.
The Paradox of Han — Sorrow Becoming Awakening
At its deepest level, Han is transformative. It is sorrow that can turn into: compassion, wisdom, artistic expression, spiritual awakening, moral clarity.
Han is the moment when pain becomes insight, when suffering becomes a doorway to deeper humanity.
[후기] (코파일럿) “한(恨)”은 한국 문화에서 가장 독특하고 번역하기 어려운 정서적 개념 중 하나입니다. 영어의 sorrow, resentment, grief, longing 같은 단어로는 결코 다 담을 수 없습니다. 한은 여러 감정이 층층이 쌓여 이루어진 복합적이고 깊은 정서입니다.
Daily Sauntering 
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