Wind and earth draw their veil over the age of Kali, and vision falters.
The wind rises—not with gentleness, but with a fierce intent, scouring the plains clean with truths long neglected. The earth shudders, not in labor, but in burial, covering the age in dust and unbroken quiet.
Eyes can no longer see beyond the curtain. Hearts lose the trail they once trusted. Time itself stumbles, and the stars grow dim, as if in mourning.
This is the hour when sight is arrested, when prophets speak only in fragments, and the wise fall silent before what cannot be named.
Yet beneath that hush a seed endures— hidden in consecrated ground, waiting for the breath of mercy.
And when the veil is lifted, it will not be torn away by force, but opened by the gentle return of justice, of joy, of the One who sees clearly, even in the deepest dark.
Note: …The Buma Democratic Uprising was a short-term citizen movement that occurred between 16th and 20th of October, 1979. It was related to the incident that Kim Young-Sam, the president of New Democratic Party, was dismissed from membership of the Assembly relating to the YH incident under the economic instability of inflation due to oil shock during the Yushin Regime. As the dictatorship’s tyranny of the Yushin Regime continued, Busan University students began anti-government demonstration, which was expanded to universities in Gyeongnam and Masan. The government enforced martial law and invoked the Garrison Act to firmly control the demonstrations in Gyeongnam including Busan. As President Park Jeong-Hee was assassinated on October 26, 1979 while the Buma Uprising was coming to a lull, the uprising ended early and became a historic citizen movement that had a decisive influence on the termination of the Yushin Regime. It was understood that the Gwangju Democratic Uprising on May.18 occurred in relation to the Buma Uprising and is categorized into a representative democratic movement against the cruel military power. The Gwangju Democratic Uprising is similar to the Buma Uprising in that both of them resisted dictatorship. However, the Gwangju Uprising is different in that it was a citizen’s movement against military power and citizen soldiers were organized, and is also different in the period of the movement, the number of victims, and the process of truth ascertainment. Korea’s democracy contains a variety of components including independence movement and nationalism during the Japanese Imperialism, the Korean War, anti-communist education, democratic movement and citizen education. The Buma Democratic Uprising and the Gwangju Democratic Uprising have a significant meaning in that they developed Korea’s democracy further as they were inherited to the June Democracy Movement of 1987. – by Kim Joo-Sam, Daejin University
I own many hats. Whether they suit me or not, I must change them according to the circumstances.
Once, I lived the life of a fashion designer; I learned—both in theory and in practice—which hats fit well and which did not suit at all.
But after becoming a pastor’s wife, the many hats I was compelled to wear without choice often felt unbearably burdensome.
At times, it was like seeing a lady in a silk dress wearing a helmet, only to exchange it moments later for a janitor’s cap, then a telephone operator’s headset, and suddenly finding herself in a chef’s hat. At first, it was pain—humiliation—and a deep wound to my pride. All my life I had thought of myself as stylish, believing only a certain type of hat was right for me. Then, one day, the hat I loved most, the one I most enjoyed wearing, was suddenly taken away.
One day, Jesus—the Designer of my life—decided to transform me from the inside out. With great scissors He trimmed and cut, reshaping my life and stitching it anew. He placed many hats upon my head—hats given only to pastors’ wives in this world. Yet I resisted with all my might, shouting in my heart, “I don’t need them!” The Lord, who has an eye for beauty, wanted me to live beautifully, but He patiently waited until my human pride surrendered. When I finally yielded, I began to see the beauty of life in a new way.
In immigrant churches, the role of a pastor’s wife is endlessly varied: driver, babysitter, cleaner, counselor, hostess, editor, telephone operator, cook, Bible teacher, comforter. God has granted the pastor’s wife countless opportunities to serve and to train. There is no room for laziness—no crack for idleness to slip through. Whenever there is time, she must pick up the phone to comfort someone in need, write letters, and wrestle for the sake of her own spiritual life. There are moments of exhaustion, loneliness, and discouragement, when invisible results tempt her to throw everything aside and collapse in bed with a groan.
Yet how can I not be moved to gratitude when I experience that the God who chose someone as weak as me has also given me the strength to fulfill all these tasks through complete trust in Him?
In the past, I did not know how to confess my flawed humanity before God. I tried to change hats only through my own effort and labor. It was draining, exhausting, and the hats never seemed to fit quite right. Often, after finishing the work, all that came back to me were voices of complaint and dissatisfaction. But somewhere along the way, even when results were lacking or less than satisfying, I began to respond with gratitude—and life’s colors grew much brighter.
That day was the day the Lord Himself came to me and clothed me with His own garment. Upon His head was the crown of thorns, stained with blood. He embraced my tears, my weariness, my complaints, my loneliness, and my inadequacies. With the hands marked by nails, He kept gently patting my back with a tender smile. Softly, with a choked voice, I called His name:
“Jesus, the only Son of God! Save me! Have mercy on me!”
Since then, whatever hat is placed upon my head, I look to the crown of thorns He wore. Blushing in shame, I thank Him that in the One who gives me strength, nothing is impossible. And so today, as I press down yet another of the many “pastor’s wife hats” displayed in my life’s closet, I no longer grumble. Instead, I send a loving wink to the God who has led me to live with such richness of experience and grace.
저는 많은 모자를 가지고 있습니다. 그것은 나에게 어울리든 어울리지 않든 환경에 따라 바꿔 써야만 될 모자들입니다. 한때 의상 디자이너의 삶을 살았었기에, 어느 것이 잘 어울리고 어느 것이 전혀 맞지 않는다는 것을 이론으로, 실제로 배워왔었습니다. 그러나 사모가 된 후, 선택의 여지없이 눌러써야만 되는 그 많은 모자들은 곤욕스럽기 한이 없었습니다.
생각해 보면 실크 드레스를 입은 여인이 투구를 쓰고 다니는가 싶더니, 금방 청소부의 모자를 쓰고, 어느새 전화 교환원의 모자를 쓰기도 하다가, 어느 순간에 요리사의 모자를 눌러쓰고 있음을 … …. 그것은 처음에는 고통이며 수모이며 자존심의 깊은 상처였습니다. 나는 적어도 이런 스타일의 모자만이 적격이라고 하여 평생을 쓰고 다니며 스스로 멋쟁이라고 생각해 왔는데, 어느날 갑자기 가장 좋아하며 즐겨하던 모자를 빼앗긴 것이었습니다.
어느 날, 내 삶의 디자이너이신 예수님께서 나의 안과 밖을 바꿔주시기로 작정하셨습니다. 그분은 큰 가위로 나의 삶을 다듬으시며 재단하시고 새롭게 박음질을 하셨습니다. 그리고 많은 모자를 내 삶에 씌워 주셨습니다. 그것은 이 땅에서 사모들에게만 주신 특권이었음에도 불구하고 “내겐 필요치 않아요!” 라고 외마디 비명을 지르듯 철저하게 거부하였습니다. 멋쟁이이신 주님은 내가 멋지게 살기를 원하실에 나의 인간적인 항복이 끝날 때까지 오래 참으시며 기다리셨습니다. 그리고 끝내 항복을 하고 나니 비로소 세상 사는 멋이 새롭게 보였습니다.
이민 교회에서 사모의 역할은 참으로 다양합니다. 운전수, 베이비 시터, 청소부, 상담자, 접대자, 편집자, 전화 교환수, 요리사, 성경교사, 위로자 등 하나님께서는 너무나 많은 기회를 사모에게 허락하셨고 훈련할 수 있는 기회를 주셨습니다. 그곳에는 나태가 있을 수 없고 게으름이 둥지를 틀고 비집고 들어올 틈이 없습니다. 시간만 나면 전화기를 돌려서 위로가 필요한 이를 찾아주어야 하고, 편지를 써야 하고, 자신의 영성을 위해 씨름을 해야 합니다. 때로는 힘에 겨웁고 외롭고 피곤하고 당장 눈에 드러나지 않는 결과들로 인해 낙망 속에 모든 것을 다 팽개쳐 버리고픈 심정에 끙끙 앓아눕기도 합니다.
그러나 팔삭둥이 같은 나를 택하사 이 모든 일들을 부여해 주신 하나님께서 그분을 향한 전폭적인 신뢰 속에 감당할 수 있는 힘을 주심을 체험함에 어찌 감사 감격지 않을 수 있겠습니까?
과거엔 하나님께 내 자신의 못난 인간됨을 고백할 줄 몰랐었습니다. 다만 스스로의 노력과 수고로 그 많은 모자들을 바꿔 쓰려 하니, 영 힘이 들고 피곤하고 뭔가 잘 맞아 주지 않았습니다. 일을 해놓고 보면 돌아오는 것은 짜증과 원망의 소리뿐일 때가 많았습니다. 그러나 언제부터인지 나타난 결과가 좀 부족하고 맘에 흡족하지 않아도 감사 함으로 임하자, 삶의 색채가 훨씬 더 밝아졌습니다.
그 날은 주님이 손수 내게 찾아오시어 자신의 옷을 입히신 날 이었습니다. 머리엔 핏방울진 가시관을 쓰신 채, 눈물과 피곤함과 투정과 외로움과 부족함을 모두 안으시고, 인자한 미소로 그 못자국이 난 두 손으로 나의 등을 자꾸 쓸어 주셨습니다. 저는 조용히 목멘음성 으로 그분의 이름을 불렀습니다.
“하나님의 외아들 예수여! 나를 구하소서! 나를 불쌍히 여기소서!” 그 후 내게 어떤 모자가 씌워지든 주님이 쓰신 가시관을 바라보며 부끄러워 얼굴 붉히며, 내게 능력 주시는 자 안에서 능치 못함이 없음을 감사드리게 되었습니다. 오늘도 삶의 옷장에 진열되어 있는 수많은 ‘사모의 모자’ 를 눌러 쓰며, 이토록 많은 경험과 체험을 안고 살도록 인도하신 하나님께 투정이 아닌, 사랑의 윙크를 보내게 됩니다.
My name— always on someone’s lips, always in the air between us.
It seems I only call it when I am far away.
Now, sitting here, looking at you, I feel it— the name I once carried long ago, the name waiting for me tomorrow.
When I was you, I did not know my own name.
And in that name, the one who spoke it has faded from memory.
You and I— we have both let it go.
Yet still, that name circles near, calling me, and I, once more, calling back.
Note: While serving on the front lines in the Korean Army (1973-1975), I carried the weight of duty and discipline. That same year, 1975, after receiving my honorable discharge, I embraced a new chapter of life—I married WanHee before the year’s end.
The day began with the deep, rolling sound of three powerful thunderstorms. I felt a touch of laziness, yet I worked steadily— uploading WanHee’s essay to Facebook and archiving it on WordPress from her 2001 publication. Later, I typed my old poems into WordPress, determined to preserve them before paper fades and ink disappears. Two poems from my youth were especially dark and heavy, and the work left me physically and emotionally drained.
Reading – Hearing the Word
That evening at Wednesday choir practice, a song captured my heart— For Everyone Born by Shirley Erena Murray (1998). Its refrain renewed my strength:
And God will delight when we are creators of justice and joy, compassion and peace; Yes, God will delight when we are creators of justice, justice and joy!
One verse echoed deeply within me:
For just and unjust, a place at the table… A mindset of mercy… a new way to live.
When I returned home, I sat quietly in my chair, my heart at peace.
Meditation – Letting the Word Speak
I prayed the Prayer for Direction from The Book of Common Prayer:
Direct me, O Lord, in all my doings with Your most gracious favor; further me with Your continual help, that in all my works, begun, continued, and ended in You, I may glorify Your holy name, and finally, by Your mercy, obtain everlasting life; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
My spirit then lifted with the hymn God of the Ages:
From war’s alarms, from deadly pestilence, be Thy strong arm our ever sure defense; Thy true religion in our hearts increase; Thy bounteous goodness nourish us in peace.
I turned to Psalm 101, reading it in several translations. The words came alive:
I will sing of Your love and justice. I will study the way of integrity. I will walk with a heart of integrity. I will silence anyone who secretly spreads lies. I cannot endure the proud or arrogant. The one who walks with integrity will serve me.
This “Royal Psalm” was written after David’s victory over the Philistines, when he attempted to bring the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem. Uzzah’s sudden death halted the procession, and David placed the Ark in the house of Obed-Edom. He realized that the Ark could only rest among the holy. From then on, David knew his kingdom must be built on loyalty to God and moral purity.
Contemplation – Resting in the Presence
I envision the upright ruler descending from heaven— the Messiah establishing His reign. David’s vision speaks to me:
I look to the faithful of the land to be my companions— those with a perfect heart and way.
I recall that within each person dwell two natures— good and evil—like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Only the blending of mercy and justice can truly restore the heart.
I whisper: “I will set nothing worthless before my eyes.” This is my prayer— to walk a blameless path, relying both on my own effort and on God’s grace to live with integrity.
Response – Living the Word
My Personal Creed
I believe in the Loving God— the God of morning, noon, and evening— 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 and soul. I confess that I have sinned against Him in my attitudes and my actions. I have been hesitant when I should have been bold.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Creative Power of all life, ever present to guide and strengthen me. Yet I confess I have not always become the person the Spirit has called me to be.
I believe in the one holy Church, in the communion of saints, and in God’s work of transforming a land of death into an eternal land of freedom, justice, and peace.(July 14, 1982)
Softly, I sing:
Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in His wonderful face, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace.
And I sense His invitation— to enter joyfully into the presence of God, to live in His justice, to walk in His mercy, and to rejoice in His joy.
Last Saturday morning was my youngest son’s haircut day. Usually, he goes to the barbershop, but sometimes, when he refuses to go, we set up a temporary barbershop in the bathroom. Armed with scissors, a comb, and various haircutting tools, I wrestle with him in the cramped space.
He didn’t care much about how his hair would look. He seemed happier playing with his toys while sitting in front of me, letting me work. He wrapped a large nylon cape around his neck like Superman, and every time the scissors moved, he would pretend they were cutting his ears off, making a big fuss. Still, he sweetly said he liked my haircuts better than the barber’s.
He wanted a mushroom-shaped haircut. But I firmly refused.
“Hey! That won’t do! It looks like you’ve got a bowl stuck on your head—it’s not stylish! I’ll make it look cool for you instead!”
I carefully moved the clippers, but the hairstyle became a mess, like a road full of potholes after a rainy season. Sweat ran down my face. He scratched at his itchy neck and fidgeted in the chair. Our voices grew louder in the tiny bathroom. Hair flew everywhere—on our clothes, on the floor, in the sink. The result was far worse than I had imagined, completely uneven. Despite all my “years of practice,” I still couldn’t graduate from being an amateur.
“For heaven’s sake, please let’s go to the barbershop next time!”
Unhappy with the result, I made a clumsy excuse, watching his reaction. But he only glanced at the mirror, smiled in satisfaction, and brushed off the hair sticking to his body without hesitation.
As I swept the hair from the floor—dry like fallen pine needles—suddenly a memory of an autumn day in the countryside came to me. I remembered how, sometimes, a passing barber would call out, “Haircuts! Haircuts!” My father, busy threshing beans in the yard, would wave him over with a warm smile.
In no time, our eaves would turn into a barbershop. My father would sit with a white cloth draped over his shoulders, balanced on a washboard laid over a bucket. The barber, with thin, sharp scissors, would snip away, and my father’s hair would scatter into the autumn wind, mingling with tumbling leaves. Then came the long razor blade, freshly sharpened on leather, flashing across my father’s foam-covered face. I would hold my breath, worried he might get cut. But my father and the barber would talk and laugh nonstop.
Soon, the haircut would be done, and my father would check the front and back with a hand mirror. In it, the high, clear autumn sky would be perfectly reflected. He would turn to me with a big smile, then shyly call for my mother. She would come from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, and on seeing my father so neatly groomed, give a bright smile before slipping quickly back inside.
In my father’s hand was a freshly picked red apple from the front yard. It would soon end up in the barber’s hand. The barber, packing up his tools in an instant, would walk away through the swaying, yellow cornfields, forgetting to call out “Haircuts!” again. He would take a big bite of the sweet apple, savoring the taste of autumn, while a small flock of dragonflies followed, their wings glinting above his pomaded hair.
Autumn—the season when memories ripen like the colorful leaves and fruits in an orchard. On my youngest son’s haircut day, a moment buried in the forgetfulness of forty years suddenly came alive again. Perhaps that’s the quiet magic of autumn.
Daily Sauntering 
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