Remembering the Past Through the Eyes of Grace
Isaiah 43:18–19 – “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!”
These days, I often find myself imagining what my future life might look like—particularly the possibility of returning to Korea. I do not have a concrete plan, nor am I actively preparing for a major change. Yet somehow, a quiet desire keeps rising within me. It is not a longing rooted in certainty, but rather a gentle curiosity about what God might have in store.
When I think back to my early years in Korea, the memories are heavy and difficult. As a child, all I wanted was to escape. My life felt unbearable, suffocating, and hopeless. Only later in life did I realize that even in painful seasons there may have been small moments of goodness—glimmers of light that I was simply too overwhelmed to see.
Back then, I was far too young and far too wounded to look for blessings. I had no emotional space or spiritual strength to imagine the possibility that goodness could coexist with suffering. My only desire was to leave as quickly as possible. If I could run away from that house—if I could escape that fear—I believed I might finally breathe.
Even now, after many years, when I try to search my memories for something warm or joyful, I find almost nothing. Perhaps it is because every potentially good memory was buried under louder, harsher ones.
I remember constant crying—mine and others’. The crash of overturned tables. The sound of clay jars shattering. Voices raised in anger, fear, and despair. The sting of beatings, the involuntary screams of pain, and the words “I’m sorry” repeated endlessly even when I did not understand what I had done wrong.
These sounds became the soundtrack of my childhood.
Any small happiness that might have existed was swallowed by the overwhelming fear that filled our home. That is why, for so long, I refused to look back. I thought that if I opened the door to my past, even for a moment, everything would come flooding out—all the fear, all the shame, all the sorrow I had tried so hard to forget.
Instead, I forced myself to focus only on the present. I wanted to build a life that looked nothing like the one I had escaped. I wanted my home to be filled with peace, warmth, and laughter—everything my childhood home was not.
And in God’s mercy, He allowed me to do exactly that.
Choosing to Create a Different Legacy
Psalm 147:3 – “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”
For my children, I dreamed of creating a family that felt safe—a home they would want to come back to, not one they wished to escape. I prayed that they would grow up surrounded by love, peace, and encouragement. I longed for them to have the kind of family that a child can run toward, not run away from.
As a child, I often stayed outside until as late as possible. I delayed going home because home did not feel like home—it felt like danger. I promised myself that my children would never know that feeling. I wanted them to experience the joy of opening the door to a place where they belonged, a place that felt like refuge.
By God’s grace, that dream came true.
Even when they were young, my children loved being at home. They laughed easily, spoke freely, and felt comfortable in their own space. Now that they are grown, they still enjoy being home. Watching them rest, laugh, and simply be themselves fills my heart with gratitude I cannot fully express.
In those moments, I feel God whispering, “See? I have redeemed what was broken. I have restored what was lost.”
There was a time when I wondered if a peaceful family was even possible for someone like me. But God took the fragments of my story—the pain, the fear, the emptiness—and used them as building stones for something beautiful. He transformed my longing into reality.
Healing Through Love, Laughter, and a New Way of Living
Joel 2:25 – “I will restore to you the years that the locusts have eaten.”
One of the greatest joys of my life is seeing my children laugh—freely, confidently, without fear. When I hear their laughter echoing through our home, I am reminded that God is in the business of restoration.
Around our dining table, we share stories about our day, laugh at silly moments, and sometimes discuss serious matters. When needed, we discipline—not harshly, not in anger, but with love and guidance. I refuse to speak words that crush their spirit. I know too well how deeply such words can wound.
I want my children to grow into adults with healthy self-worth, knowing they are deeply loved—by us, and by God.
My husband and I have worked hard to build a family culture of affirmation, encouragement, and unity. When one of us is hurting, we hurt together. When one of us celebrates, we celebrate together. When challenges arise, we do not say “Don’t try, you might fail.” Instead, we say, “Go ahead. Do your best. Trying is always valuable.”
I never want my fears to become limitations for my children. I do not want them to inherit my anxieties, or to feel restrained by the shadows of my past.
I remember how much courage it took for me to leave Korea at a young age and start anew in England and France. It was terrifying, but it was also life-changing. If I had let fear decide, I would never have experienced the life God prepared for me.
So now, I want my children to live boldly, bravely, and freely—in faith, not fear.
When God Redeems What We Couldn’t Face Alone
Romans 8:28 – “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him.”
For so many years, I avoided my past entirely. I pushed it away, convinced that nothing good could come from remembering it. But now, with more time, spiritual maturity, and God’s gentle healing, I find that I can look back—not with terror, but with understanding.
I still do not enjoy recalling those memories, and I do not force myself to dwell on them. But I can now acknowledge them without drowning in them. I can see how God saved me, protected me, and led me—even in the darkest places.
Sometimes I wonder whether my longing to imagine my future—especially a future back in Korea—is God’s way of healing the final pieces of my story. Perhaps He is inviting me to look at my past through His eyes, not mine.
Through the years, He has shown me that nothing is wasted in His hands. Even memories filled with pain can become testimonies of His faithfulness.
He has replaced chaos with peace.
He has replaced fear with strength.
He has replaced brokenness with blessing.
He has replaced tears with joy.
A Future Filled With God’s Hope
Jeremiah 29:11 – “For I know the plans I have for you… plans to give you hope and a future.”
When I imagine my future life—possibly in Korea, possibly elsewhere—I do not imagine it with fear. I imagine it with hope. I imagine it with the confidence that God will go before me, just as He always has.
Maybe my return to Korea will be part of God’s redemptive plan.
Maybe it will be a new chapter He wants to write.
Or maybe the desire itself is simply a sign that He has healed more of my heart than I realized.
What once felt like a place of pain now feels like a place where God might want to bring restoration.
I do not know what my future holds, but I know the One who holds it. And because of that, I can look ahead with peace.
God Turned My Story Into a Testimony
Psalm 40:2–3 – “He lifted me out of the slimy pit… He set my feet on a rock… He put a new song in my mouth.”
When I reflect on my life—the suffering, escape, rebuilding, parenting, and healing—I am overwhelmed by how faithfully God has walked with me.
I came from a childhood that taught me fear.
God taught me love.
I came from a house filled with shouting.
God gave me a home filled with laughter.
I came from a story marked by brokenness.
God turned it into a testimony of restoration.
And even now, as I imagine the future, I do so with the awareness that God is still writing my story. I am no longer that frightened child wishing to escape. I am a daughter of God—loved, protected, healed, and guided.
The past shaped me, but it does not define me.
God defines me.
And He continues to lead me into a future filled with hope.
Walking Forward in Faith
Philippians 1:6 – “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion.”
As I continue to live, to grow, and to trust, I choose to believe that God has a beautiful purpose for every chapter—past, present, and future. I hold onto the truth that He is the God who restores, redeems, and renews.
Whatever lies ahead, I will face it not through the lens of fear, but through faith. Not through the memory of what was broken, but through the promise of what God can rebuild.
And as I imagine the future—whether in Korea or somewhere else—I do so knowing that God’s goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.