“가지 치기”

목사관 앞 마당에는 덕우드(DogWood)라는 나무가 있습니다. 처음 목사관에 입주했을 땐, 그 나무에 대해 전혀 관심을 갖지 않고 있었습니다. 그러나 어느 봄에 메마른 가지에서 분홍빛 꽃망울들이 터져 오를 때의 그 단아한 아름다움에 그만 매료되고 말았습니다. 또한 가을이 되면 가장 먼저 울긋불긋한 단풍으로 함빡 치장을 하고 미련없이 바람결에 떠나가는 낙엽들의 모습 속에, 삶의 영광과 얽매임 없는 자유로움을 발견하곤 했습니다.

저는 이 나무를 은연 중에 사랑하게 되었습니다. 그런데 지난 여름 부터 현관문을 열 때마다 걸리적거리는 것이 있었습니다. 무심코 보니, 덕우드 나뭇가지가 뻗칠 대로 뻗치어 현관 안으로까지 들어올 기세였습니다. 나무를 유심히 돌아보니, 나무의 전체 모양이 형편없어 졌습니다. 마땅히 때에 따라서 잔가지들을 쳐주었어야만이 꼿꼿한 모습으로 높게 자랄 수 있었을 터인데, 그동안 제멋대로 자라난 굵어질 대로 굵어진 나뭇가지들이 보기에 흉할 정도였습니다.

‘진작 잔가지들을 쳐주었어야 했는데 … …. 후회를 하면서, 문득 사람도 나무처럼 잔가지를 제 때에 쳐주지 않으면, 조그만 습관들과 버릇들이 자라나 오히려 삶에 큰 아픔이 되어 다가올 때가 있으리라는 생각을 갖게 되었습니다. 그리고 며칠 전 마음 상하였던 일이 떠올랐습니다. 맞았어! 내게는 비난과 오해도 때로는 필요한 것이었어! 라는 깨달음 속에 어두웠던 심령에 아침 해가 떠오르듯이 치유의 광선이 힘차게 치솟았습니다.

목사관의 삶에 기쁨과 보람도 있지만, 때때로 생각지도 못한 오해나 비난을 당하는 일이 있습니다. 그럴 때 마음의 상처와 아픔으로 기도조차도 드릴 수 없을 때가 있습니다. 그 아픔이 심할 땐, 하나님 앞에 무릎 꿇고 앉아 상처난 짐승처럼 신음소리만 내다가 눈물을 닦고 일어서게 됩니다. 그리곤 곧잘 사람들이 알아주지 않음에 원망을 하게 됩니다. 난, 당신이 피곤한 몸을 눕히고 한참 자고 있을 때, 나 역시 피곤한 육신을 추스리고 깨어 일어나 당신을 위해 하나님 앞에 기도의 불을 밝혔고, 당신이 아파 고통할 때 성령님의 치유의 은총을 위해 눈물을 흘렸다오. 당신이 넘어야만 될, 흑암의 산중에서 헤매이기에, 난 작은 반딧불이 되고자 굶주리는 영혼과 육신으로 당신의 무사함을 위해 주님께 간구했다오. 그런데 당신은 꺼떡하면 불평과 원망이군요… …. 수없이 마음을 털어 놓고 보여주고 싶은 유혹에 빠지기도 하였습니다.

그러나 하나님께서는 때때로 다가오는 비난과 오해 등 그 모든 것을 사용하시어 나를 다듬으시는 것을 알게 됩니다. 하나님의 위로하심과 그늘 아래 쉬임을 원하기보다는, 사람들의 칭찬을 좋아하고 과대평가에 은근히 만족해하는 죄의 근성들을 늘 일깨우십니다.

성 프랜시스는 말하기를 “존경을 받게 되면 모욕을 받게 될 때와 다름없이 그것을 즐겁게 수용하고, 모욕을 받게 되면 존경을 받게 될 때 와 다름없이 그것을 즐겁게 수용하라. 내가 진정 다른 사람을 위했던 일로 존경을 받아 기뻐할 수 있으면, 마찬가지로 설사 모욕을 당하게 되어도 기뻐할 수 있지 않겠는가? 존경은 그것이 하나님께로 돌려져서 좋고, 비난은 나를 세워주기 때문에 역시 좋다는 것을 알도록 하
라.” 라고 했습니다.

평소에 황송할 정도로 많은 사랑을 받고 살아가는 저에게 충고나 비난, 모욕 등은 어쩌면 잘 받아들이기 힘든 부분인지도 모릅니다. 그러나, 내 영혼을 바로잡아 주고 서게 하며 더 높은 곳을 향하여 성장할 수 있도록 하는 가지치기가 없다면, 흉물스런 교만의 가지가 얼마나 휘청하게 늘어져 있을까 생각해 봅니다.

밤새 비바람과 폭풍우에 몹시 시달렸던 나무는, 아무 일도 없었다는 듯이 휑한 마른 머리채를 들고 오늘도 반갑게 맞이해 줍니다. 저는 나무에게 가만히 속삭였습니다. 나무야! 우린 같이 성장하고 같이 높은 곳을 바라보는 것이지. 그렇지? 우린 같이 아픔을 참으며 가지를 쳐내자꾸나. 새봄엔 우리 둘이 더 아름답고 다듬어진 모습으로 피어 나게 될 거야! 나무는 알았다는 듯이 바람결에 가지들을 흔들고 있었습니다.

– 목사관 서신 (분꽃 이야기, 일곱번째) 2001, 윤 완희

Posted in Devotional Essay, Essay by WanHee Yoon, faith-column, Four O'Clock Flower Story, Letter from the Parsonage | Leave a comment

「땅」

우리는 만났지— 창백한 빛 한 줄기 하늘에서 깨끗이 쏟아질 때.

너는, 밤의 별들을 잠재운 뒤 그저 오늘이었고— 그 고요한 침묵 속에서 나는 다시 나를 찾았어.

그러니 내일도, 너는 길이 되어 흔들리는 걸음에도 내가 다시 걷는 그 땅이 되어줄 거야.

진홍빛 태양은 낮게 기어와 흙에 닿을 만큼 숨결에 닿을 만큼 가까이 왔지.

훈련 다음 날 아침, 거친 땅 위에 몸은 아프고 마음은 더 무거웠지만— 나는 너에게 언제나 받쳐져 있었어.

[Before Series – 6]

© 윤 태헌, 1973년 5월 20일 아침, 각개전투 훈련 후

Painting of a soldier crawling under barbed wire in a boot camp. Depict the intensity of training, the rugged terrain, and the determination in the soldier's expression.

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The Ground

We met—
when a burst of pale light
fell clean from the sky.

You,
after stilling the night’s stars,
were simply today—
and in your steady silence,
I found myself again.

So tomorrow too,
you will remain the path,
the ground I tread
again and again,
though my steps falter.

The crimson sun
crawled low,
close enough
to touch the soil,
close enough
to catch my breath
as I lay down
on the raw earth—
the morning after training,
my body sore,
my heart heavier still,
yet carried,
always,
by you.

[Before Series – 6]

© TaeHun Yoon

— May 20, 1973, Morning after individual combat training

Painting of a soldier crawling under barbed wire in a boot camp. Depict the intensity of training, the rugged terrain, and the determination in the soldier's expression.

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“Pruning”

(Letter from the Parsonage – Four O’Clock flower Story – Part Seven)

© WanHee Yoon, 2001

In front of the parsonage stands a dogwood tree.
When I first moved into the parsonage, I paid little attention to it. But one spring, when tender buds burst into pink blossoms from the dry branches, I was utterly captivated by its quiet elegance. And in autumn, when it was the first to clothe itself in crimson and gold, then release its leaves without regret into the wind, I discovered in that scene both the glory of life and the freedom of letting go.

Without realizing it, I had grown to love this tree. Yet since last summer, something began to trouble me each time I opened the front door. The branches of the dogwood had stretched so far that they seemed ready to intrude into the entryway. As I looked more closely, I saw the shape of the whole tree had become awkward. If I had trimmed the small branches in due season, it would have grown upright and strong. But left untended, its branches had thickened and sprawled, becoming unsightly.

I regretted not pruning earlier. And suddenly, it struck me: people are much like trees. If small habits and unchecked tendencies are not trimmed away in time, they can grow wild and become a greater pain in life. I recalled something that had hurt me deeply just a few days before, and then I realized—yes, even criticism and misunderstanding can sometimes be necessary for me. In that moment, it felt as if a healing light rose within my soul, like the morning sun breaking through the dark.

Life in the parsonage has its joys and fulfillment, but it also brings unexpected criticism and misunderstanding. At times, the wounds run so deep that I cannot even pray. Then, like a wounded creature, I kneel before God, groaning in silence, until at last I wipe away my tears and rise again. Yet often I find myself resenting the lack of recognition from others. I want to say: While you rested your weary body, I too was weary, yet I kept watch in prayer for you before God. While you suffered in pain, I shed tears, begging the Holy Spirit to grant you healing. When you wandered in the dark mountains of trial, I became a small firefly, praying with my hungry soul for your safety. Yet how easily you grumble and complain… Many times, I have felt the temptation to pour out my heart and reveal everything.

But I have come to realize that God uses even criticism and misunderstanding as His way of pruning me. He exposes my hidden sin—the desire for human praise, my secret delight in overestimation, my longing for comfort more than for God’s refining hand.

St. Francis once said: “If you are honored, accept it as gladly as if you were dishonored. If you are dishonored, accept it as gladly as if you were honored. If you rejoice in being honored for the sake of others, then likewise, even in dishonor, you should rejoice. Honor is good because it is returned to God, and dishonor is also good because it builds you up.”

I live surrounded by abundant love, more than I deserve, and perhaps this is why criticism, reproach, or insult has been harder for me to accept. Yet without the pruning that keeps my soul upright, how twisted and heavy would the branches of pride grow within me?

This morning, the tree that had been beaten all night by wind and storm greeted me once more, lifting its bare head as if nothing had happened. Quietly, I whispered to it:
“Tree, we are growing together, looking upward to higher places, aren’t we? We will endure the pain of pruning together. And when spring comes, both of us will bloom again, more beautiful and refined.”

The tree seemed to understand, for its branches swayed gently in the breeze.


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Before and After

The spinning top—
still,
yet burning like the sun.

An open field
with roots layered
for a thousand years,
silent,
as if the earth itself
were waiting.

The sea did not cool—
it flared,
a mass of fire,
an ocean swallowing its own horizon.

Faces collapsed,
masks shattered,
falling into ocher clay.
Dust returning
to dust.

And he endured—
shouldering the dark-blue passion
of Mount Gamaksan,
a mountain that held its breath
until its veins
ran red.

Minutes,
seconds,
the fragile span between them—
time trembling
like a thread in the wind,
before,
after.

© Tae-Hun Yoon, After Ranger Training in 1973

Painting of Soldier with backpack and rifle in front arms on running for training
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전 후 (앞과 뒤)

서 있는 팽이—
고요하나,
태양처럼 불타고 있었다.

천 년이 겹겹이 쌓인
공터의 뿌리,
침묵 속에
땅 자체가 기다리는 듯.

바다는 식지 않았다—
타올랐다,
불덩이의 바다,
스스로의 지평선을 삼켜버렸다.

무너지는 얼굴,
산산이 부서진 가면들,
황토빛 흙으로 흘러내린다.
흙은 다시
흙으로 돌아간다.

그는 견뎌냈다—
감악산의 검푸른 열정을 어깨에 지고,
산은 숨을 죽인 채
핏줄이 붉게 물들 때까지 버텼다.

몇 분,
몇 초,
그 사이의 연약한 틈—
바람에 흔들리는 실처럼
떨고 있는 시간,
전,
후.

[Before Series – 5]

© 윤 태헌, 1973년 유격훈련 후

Painting of Soldier with backpack and rifle in front arms on running for training
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무음 (신병 훈련소, M1 소총 사격 후)

차돌 귀퉁이에서 밤이 튀었다.

총성이 지나간 자리— 까만 새벽 냄새가 번진다.

끊어진 줄, 퉁겨진 시간, 내 자리에 남은 건—

기차 한 대, 안으로 안으로 윤기를 흘리며 조용히 지나간다.

[Before Series-4]

© 윤 태헌, 4.24.1973

Painting for the steam train at night
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“Silence” (After M1 Rifle Fire, Military Training Camp)

From the corner of a flint stone,
night sparks flew.

Where the gunshot passed—
the scent of black dawn spreads.

A severed string,
a plucked fragment of time,
and what remains in my place—

a train,
quietly passing through,
shedding its sheen inward, ever inward.

{Before Series – 4]

© TaeHun Yoon, 4.24.1973

Painting for the steam train at night
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“어느 초등학교에서 생긴 일”

미시간 주의 어느 초등학교 4학년을 담임하고 있는 도나(Donna) 선생님은 2년 후면 은퇴하실 분이었습니다. 어느 날 아침, 선생님은 아이들에게 한 장의 하얀 종이를 나누어주셨습니다. 자, 여러분 이 종이 위에 그동안 나는 할 수 없다! 라고 생각했던 것들을 모두 적어 보세요. 예를 들면, 나는 몸이 약해서 풋볼 팀에 절대 들 수 없다, 나는 노래는 할 수 없다, 나는 절대 축구 팀의 골키퍼가 될 수 없다 등등을 적어보세요.”

아이들은 열심히 종이에 적기 시작하였습니다. “나는 볼을 학교 운동장 울타리 너머에까지 차진 못한다.” “나는 쿠키를 한 개 이상은 못 먹는다.” “나는 팔굽혀펴기를 10번 이상은 할 수 없다.” “나는 바이올 린은 할 수 없다.”

도나 선생님도 아이들과 함께 열심히 종이에 적기 시작했습니다. “나는 존의 엄마를 학부모 회의에 한 번도 참석시킬 수 없다.” “딸 아이는 차에 가스를 채울 수 없다.” 도나 선생님과 아이들의 빈 종이가 가득 채워져 갔습니다.

“다 쓴 사람들은 이 상자에 넣기 바랍니다. 선생님은 빈 구두 상자 를 보이셨습니다. “자! 우리는 지금부터 ‘나는 할 수 없다! 라는 자신의 생각을 오늘 장례하겠습니다. 모두 나를 따라오세요!” 도나 선생님은 어리둥절해하는 아이들을 데리고, 운동장 한켠의 잔디밭으로 인도 했습니다. 그리고 준비된 삽으로 작은 구덩이를 판 후에 나는 할 수 없다! 라는 종이가 든 상자를 구덩이에 넣었습니다. 그리고 선생님은 삽자루를 쥐고 흙을 한 삽 뿌렸습니다. 아이들에게 삽자루가 돌아왔습니다. 아이들도 흙을 한 삽씩 떠서 상자 위에 뿌렸습니다. 선생님은 상자가 묻혀 있는 구덩이를 중심으로 아이들에게 서로 손을 잡고 동그랗게 둘러서게 하였습니다

“다같이 머리 숙입시다. 오늘 우리는 그동안 우리 생활 속에서 가장 가까이 지냈던 ‘나는 할 수 없다’ 의 업적을 기억하며 여기에 모였습 니다. 그의 생애는 모든 공공기관과 학교, 시청, 백악관에까지 영향을 끼쳤으며 세계 곳곳마다 그의 이름이 닿지 않는 곳이 없었으며, 모든 사람들의 절친한 친구였으며, 누구나 그를 사랑했습니다. 그러나 오늘 우리는 그가 이곳에서 평안히 잠들 수 있도록 자리를 마련했습니다. 그동안 그로 인하여 ‘나는 할 수 있다! 나는 바로 시작한다! 의 형제들은 우리 생활에 아무런 영향을 끼칠 수 없었습니다. 그러나 오늘 ‘난 할 수 없다!’ 가 이 자리에 영원히 잠들므로, ‘난 할 수 있다!’가 우리 삶에 강력한 영향을 끼칠 것이며 새로운 세계가 열리게 되었습 니다. 이제 우리는 ‘나는 할 수 있다!’와 함께 내일을 향해 힘찬 발걸음을 내딛게 되었음을 감사드립니다. 아멘:

도나 선생님은 아이돌과 함께 교실에 돌아와, “나는 할 수 없다’의 죽음을 애도하는 뜻에서 쿠키와 과일 화채로 파티를 열었습니다. 그리고 선생님은 두꺼운 종이에 묘비명을 그린 후 “나는 할 수 없다, 여기 평안히 잠들다”라는 글귀를 쓴 후에 교실 한쪽에 붙이셨습니다.

그 후, 아이들이 어려운 시험이나 수학 문제로 “난 할 수 없어요.”라고 말할 때마다 교실에 붙어 있는 묘비명을 말없이 가리키며 아이들 에게 용기를 주었습니다. 도나 선생님의 교육을 받은 학생들은 어려운 일에 부딪칠 때마다 교실벽에 붙어 있던 묘비명을 늘 기억하곤 했습니다.

성경의 달란트의 비유(마 25 : 14~30)는 우리에게 큰 교훈을 줍니다. 어느 주인이 타국에 잠시 가기 위해, 자기 소유를 종들에게 맡깁니다. 주인은 종들의 능력대로 달란트를 주고 떠나갔다가 돌아와 계수를 시작합니다. 다섯 달란트를 맡은 이는 다섯 달란트를, 두 달란트를 맡은 사람은 두 달란트의 이문을 남겨, 주인 앞에 자랑스럽게 내어 놓습니다.

그러나 한 달란트를 받은 사람은 주인에게 와서 이르기를 “주인이시여! 저는 이 한 달란트를 잃어버릴까봐 두려워하여 땅에 묻었었나이다. 여기 당신 것을 다시 가져왔으니 받으소서!”라고 했습니다. 주인은 화를 내며 말하기를 “이 악하고 게으른 종아! 내가 심지 않은데서 거두고 헤치지 않은 데서 모으는 줄 네가 아느냐? 차라리 내 돈을 빌려주어 이자라도 받았어야 되지 않았느냐? 이 무익한 종을 바깥 어두운 데로 내어 쫓으라!”라고 명하십니다.

여기서 종들은 ‘나는 할 수 있다!’ 와 ‘나는 할 수 없다!’ 의 생의 자세를 배우게 됩니다. 실패를 두려워하지 않고 믿음 안에서의 결단과 시작에서만이 기적은 일어날 수 있으며, 두려움과 소극적인 삶의 태도는 우리에게 결국 실패라는 결재를 내리게 됩니다.

저 자신도 지나간 생애의 굽이굽이 길마다 ‘나는 할 수 없다!’ 의 영향을 누구보다도 많이 받으며 살았었습니다. 변명과 구실의 전문 대변인이라도 된 듯이, 무슨 일을 시작하기도 전에 ‘난 할 수 없어!’ 하고 자신에게 속삭이곤 하였습니다. 그런데 어느 날, 내 인생의 최고의 스승이신 주님께서 저를 가르치시기 시작하였습니다. 더 이상 ‘나는 할 수 없다!’ 에게 빼앗길 시간이 없음을 깨닫게 되었습니다. ‘내게 능력 주시는 자 안에서 능치 못할 일이 없음’을 알게 되었습니다. 주님이 함께하시는 나의 삶엔 두려움이 없어졌습니다.

도나 선생님의 훌륭한 믿음의 향기는 어린 학생들의 삶에 잊을 수 없는 감동을 불러일으켰습니다. 오늘도 우리의 삶이, 교회가, 사회가 ‘나는 할 수 없다!’ ‘우린 할 수 없다!’ 에 발목이 붙들려 발걸음을 옮기 지 못하고 있진 않습니까? 도나 선생님의 교실에 걸려 있는 묘비명을 기억하시며, 삶의 교실에도 묘비명을 걸어보십시오. 그리고 “내게 능 력 주시는 자 안에서 난 할 수 있다! 우린 할 수 있다!” 하고 믿음으로 나아가 보세요. 기적이 일어납니다. 당신은 어느덧 삶의 구경꾼이 아니라 삶의 주인공이 되실 것이며, 역사를 이끌어 가는 작은 그리스도가 되어 이 어두워지고 무력해져 가는 세대에, 소망의 빛을 전달하게 될 것입니다.

– 목사관 서신 (분꽃 이야기, 여섯번째) 2001, 윤 완희

Make a painting for "Incident at an Elementary School - Donna, a fourth-grade teacher in Michigan, was just two years away from retirement. One morning, she handed each child in her class a blank sheet of white paper.

“Now, I want you to write down all the things you believe you cannot do,” she said. “For example: I can never make the football team because I’m too weak. Or, I can’t sing. Or, I could never be the goalkeeper on the soccer team. Go ahead—write down anything you’ve ever thought you couldn’t do.”

The children quickly filled their papers:

“I can’t kick the ball over the school fence.”

“I can’t eat more than one cookie.”

“I can’t do more than ten push-ups.”

“I can’t play the violin.”

Donna also joined in, writing her own “I can’ts”:

“I can’t get John’s mother to come to a parent meeting.”

“My daughter can’t put gas in the car.”

Before long, every sheet of paper was filled.

“Now,” Donna said, holding up an empty shoebox, “everyone put your papers in this box. Today we are going to bury our ‘I can’ts.’”

She led the puzzled children out to the schoolyard, where she had already prepared a small hole in the ground. The box full of “I can’ts” was placed in the hole. Donna dropped in the first shovelful of dirt, and then each child, one by one, did the same.

When the box was buried, the children stood hand in hand around the little grave. Donna spoke with a gentle, serious voice:

“Bow your heads. Today we gather to remember the life of ‘I can’t.’ He lived with us for many years. He influenced every public office, every school, even the White House. He was a close friend to everyone and was loved by all. But today, his life has ended. From now on, his stronger brothers, ‘I can’ and ‘I will,’ will influence our lives. A new world has opened for us, because today ‘I can’t’ has been laid to rest. Let us be grateful, for now we can move forward with confidence. Amen.”

Afterwards, the children returned to the classroom. Donna held a small “funeral party” with cookies and fruit punch. She then wrote an epitaph on heavy paper and posted it on the classroom wall:

“Here lies ‘I can’t.’ May he rest in peace.”

From that day on, whenever a student faced a difficult exam or problem and said, “I can’t do this,” Donna would quietly point to the epitaph. The children never forgot that day, and many carried its lesson into adulthood.

The Bible’s Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25:14–30) teaches us something similar. The master entrusted his servants with talents according to their ability. Two servants invested what they were given and doubled their talents. But one servant, out of fear, buried his one talent in the ground. The master called him a “wicked and lazy servant” and cast him out.

Here we see the contrast between “I can” and “I can’t.” Only those who act in faith, unafraid of failure, experience the miracle of growth. Fear and passivity, on the other hand, bring only loss.

I myself have often lived under the influence of “I can’t,” making excuses before I even began. But one day, my greatest Teacher—our Lord—showed me the truth: I no longer had time to waste with “I can’t.” In Christ who strengthens me, nothing is impossible. Fear disappeared when I realized He was with me.

The fragrance of Donna’s faith has left an unforgettable mark on her students’ lives. And what about us—our families, our churches, our society? Are we still trapped by “I can’t” or “We can’t”?

Remember the epitaph in Donna’s classroom. Write one for your own life. Then say with faith:

“I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.”

When you believe it, miracles will happen. You will no longer be a spectator of life—you will be a true participant, even a small Christ, bringing light and hope to this weary and broken generation.
Posted in Devotional Essay, Essay by WanHee Yoon, faith-column, Four O'Clock Flower Story, Letter from the Parsonage | Leave a comment

“An Incident at an Elementary School”

Parsonage Letter (Four O’Clock Flower Story, Part Six)

© WanHee Yoon, 2001

Donna, a fourth-grade teacher in Michigan, was just two years away from retirement. One morning, she handed each child in her class a blank sheet of white paper.

“Now, I want you to write down all the things you believe you cannot do,” she said. “For example: I can never make the football team because I’m too weak. Or, I can’t sing. Or, I could never be the goalkeeper on the soccer team. Go ahead—write down anything you’ve ever thought you couldn’t do.”

The children quickly filled their papers:

  • “I can’t kick the ball over the school fence.”
  • “I can’t eat more than one cookie.”
  • “I can’t do more than ten push-ups.”
  • “I can’t play the violin.”

Donna also joined in, writing her own “I can’ts”:

  • “I can’t get John’s mother to come to a parent meeting.”
  • “My daughter can’t put gas in the car.”

Before long, every sheet of paper was filled.

“Now,” Donna said, holding up an empty shoebox, “everyone put your papers in this box. Today we are going to bury our ‘I can’ts.’”

She led the puzzled children out to the schoolyard, where she had already prepared a small hole in the ground. The box full of “I can’ts” was placed in the hole. Donna dropped in the first shovelful of dirt, and then each child, one by one, did the same.

When the box was buried, the children stood hand in hand around the little grave. Donna spoke with a gentle, serious voice:

“Bow your heads. Today we gather to remember the life of ‘I can’t.’ He lived with us for many years. He influenced every public office, every school, even the White House. He was a close friend to everyone and was loved by all. But today, his life has ended. From now on, his stronger brothers, ‘I can’ and ‘I will,’ will influence our lives. A new world has opened for us, because today ‘I can’t’ has been laid to rest. Let us be grateful, for now we can move forward with confidence. Amen.”

Afterwards, the children returned to the classroom. Donna held a small “funeral party” with cookies and fruit punch. She then wrote an epitaph on heavy paper and posted it on the classroom wall:

“Here lies ‘I can’t.’ May he rest in peace.”

From that day on, whenever a student faced a difficult exam or problem and said, “I can’t do this,” Donna would quietly point to the epitaph. The children never forgot that day, and many carried its lesson into adulthood.


The Bible’s Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25:14–30) teaches us something similar. The master entrusted his servants with talents according to their ability. Two servants invested what they were given and doubled their talents. But one servant, out of fear, buried his one talent in the ground. The master called him a “wicked and lazy servant” and cast him out.

Here we see the contrast between “I can” and “I can’t.” Only those who act in faith, unafraid of failure, experience the miracle of growth. Fear and passivity, on the other hand, bring only loss.

I myself have often lived under the influence of “I can’t,” making excuses before I even began. But one day, my greatest Teacher—our Lord—showed me the truth: I no longer had time to waste with “I can’t.” In Christ who strengthens me, nothing is impossible. Fear disappeared when I realized He was with me.

The fragrance of Donna’s faith has left an unforgettable mark on her students’ lives. And what about us—our families, our churches, our society? Are we still trapped by “I can’t” or “We can’t”?

Remember the epitaph in Donna’s classroom. Write one for your own life. Then say with faith:

“I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.”

When you believe it, miracles will happen. You will no longer be a spectator of life—you will be a true participant, even a small Christ, bringing light and hope to this weary and broken generation.

Make a painting for "Incident at an Elementary School - Donna, a fourth-grade teacher in Michigan, was just two years away from retirement. One morning, she handed each child in her class a blank sheet of white paper.

“Now, I want you to write down all the things you believe you cannot do,” she said. “For example: I can never make the football team because I’m too weak. Or, I can’t sing. Or, I could never be the goalkeeper on the soccer team. Go ahead—write down anything you’ve ever thought you couldn’t do.”

The children quickly filled their papers:

“I can’t kick the ball over the school fence.”

“I can’t eat more than one cookie.”

“I can’t do more than ten push-ups.”

“I can’t play the violin.”

Donna also joined in, writing her own “I can’ts”:

“I can’t get John’s mother to come to a parent meeting.”

“My daughter can’t put gas in the car.”

Before long, every sheet of paper was filled.

“Now,” Donna said, holding up an empty shoebox, “everyone put your papers in this box. Today we are going to bury our ‘I can’ts.’”

She led the puzzled children out to the schoolyard, where she had already prepared a small hole in the ground. The box full of “I can’ts” was placed in the hole. Donna dropped in the first shovelful of dirt, and then each child, one by one, did the same.

When the box was buried, the children stood hand in hand around the little grave. Donna spoke with a gentle, serious voice:

“Bow your heads. Today we gather to remember the life of ‘I can’t.’ He lived with us for many years. He influenced every public office, every school, even the White House. He was a close friend to everyone and was loved by all. But today, his life has ended. From now on, his stronger brothers, ‘I can’ and ‘I will,’ will influence our lives. A new world has opened for us, because today ‘I can’t’ has been laid to rest. Let us be grateful, for now we can move forward with confidence. Amen.”

Afterwards, the children returned to the classroom. Donna held a small “funeral party” with cookies and fruit punch. She then wrote an epitaph on heavy paper and posted it on the classroom wall:

“Here lies ‘I can’t.’ May he rest in peace.”

From that day on, whenever a student faced a difficult exam or problem and said, “I can’t do this,” Donna would quietly point to the epitaph. The children never forgot that day, and many carried its lesson into adulthood.

The Bible’s Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25:14–30) teaches us something similar. The master entrusted his servants with talents according to their ability. Two servants invested what they were given and doubled their talents. But one servant, out of fear, buried his one talent in the ground. The master called him a “wicked and lazy servant” and cast him out.

Here we see the contrast between “I can” and “I can’t.” Only those who act in faith, unafraid of failure, experience the miracle of growth. Fear and passivity, on the other hand, bring only loss.

I myself have often lived under the influence of “I can’t,” making excuses before I even began. But one day, my greatest Teacher—our Lord—showed me the truth: I no longer had time to waste with “I can’t.” In Christ who strengthens me, nothing is impossible. Fear disappeared when I realized He was with me.

The fragrance of Donna’s faith has left an unforgettable mark on her students’ lives. And what about us—our families, our churches, our society? Are we still trapped by “I can’t” or “We can’t”?

Remember the epitaph in Donna’s classroom. Write one for your own life. Then say with faith:

“I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.”

When you believe it, miracles will happen. You will no longer be a spectator of life—you will be a true participant, even a small Christ, bringing light and hope to this weary and broken generation.

Posted in Essay by WanHee Yoon, Four O'Clock Flower Story | Leave a comment