There are moments in life when God answers prayers in ways that feel quiet, tender, and deeply personal. Not dramatic. Not loud. But so precise that we recognize His hand immediately. This is one of those moments.
When my mother called me and announced, with a voice full of excitement, that she had been to church the day before, I knew something significant had happened. She was waiting for my phone call just to tell me that news. I could hear joy in her voice, the kind of joy that does not need explanation. She knew how long I had been waiting for this moment, how many prayers I had whispered, how many tears I had offered silently to God, hoping that one day she would walk into a church not because she was pressured, but because she wanted to.
And yesterday, she did.
A Long Wait Filled With Mixed Emotions
For a long time, I had been hoping, even longing, for my mother to join a church. Each time we spoke, I gently encouraged her. Each time, she gave me a reason why she did not want to go. From her words, it sounded like excuses—reasons that never fully convinced me. I could not understand why she resisted so strongly.
During our last phone call before this change, she once again explained why she did not want to attend church. I listened, but something in my heart felt unsettled. Her explanations felt incomplete, as if there was something deeper she was not saying. I was confused, and if I am honest, I was also hurt. I interpreted her resistance as stubbornness.
After that conversation, I decided to stop asking her. Not because I stopped caring, but because I realized that this was not something I could force or reason into existence. I chose instead to leave it in God’s hands. I prayed quietly, asking God to convince her in His way and in His time.
I did not know that God was already working in her heart.
The Joyful Phone Call That Changed Everything
When she finally told me she had gone to church, her joy felt contagious. She explained that she had gone to the church her best friend attends. She told me how welcome she felt, how kind people were, and how comfortable the atmosphere was.
Then she said something that opened my eyes completely.
She told me that the people there did not force her to open the Bible. They did not ask her to read anything out loud. No one put her in a position that made her uncomfortable.
That was when she finally shared the real reason she had been hesitating for so long.
The Hidden Fear Behind Her Resistance
The reason my mother resisted going to church was not because she did not want to attend. It was because she cannot read.
She was afraid.
Afraid that someone would ask her to read the Bible in public. Afraid of being exposed. Afraid of humiliation.
When she said this, my heart broke.
I had never imagined that this could be the reason. I knew about her education level. I knew that she had never been sent to school where she could learn to read and write. I knew how deeply this had affected her self-esteem throughout her life. And yet, I had never connected this fear to her resistance to church.
I realized how focused I had been on my own feelings—my disappointment, my hurt, my confusion—rather than truly trying to understand her heart.
When Love Is Mixed With Blindness
That realization made me feel deeply ashamed.
I had interpreted her hesitation through my own expectations instead of through compassion. I assumed she was being stubborn. I assumed she was making excuses. I never considered that she might be protecting herself from shame.
This moment revealed something important to me: even when we love deeply, we can still be blind. Especially with those closest to us.
I love my mother. I have always loved her. But love without understanding can still wound.
A Mother’s Story and a Daughter’s Healing
My mother’s inability to read is not just a practical limitation; it is a wound that shaped her entire life. Growing up without education left her feeling inferior, insecure, and vulnerable. It affected how she saw herself and how she believed others saw her.
This moment made me reflect on my relationship with her in a much deeper way.
There were seasons in my life when I struggled deeply with resentment toward her. There were things that hurt me profoundly—things I am not ready to share openly—but those feelings were real. For a long time, I carried them silently.
I had to ask God to help me forgive her. Not with words, but in my heart. And God did His work patiently, gently healing wounds I did not know could heal.
A Painful but Necessary Conversation
During my last stay in Korea, I felt God inviting me to open my heart to my mother. The conversation started gently. But eventually, I told her about the hatred I once carried toward her and the specific reasons behind it.
She was shocked.
She cried.
I told her that I had forgiven her, that I loved her, and that God had healed me and shaped me into the person I had become. I told her that I was no longer bound by that pain.
After that conversation, she did not speak much for two days. She was quiet, lost in thought. I could see that she was processing everything. I continued to talk to her as usual, respecting her silence.
That silence spoke loudly. It reminded me that words, even truthful ones, can be heavy.
Recognizing My Lack of Patience
Despite healing, forgiveness, and love, I still see my weaknesses clearly.
I lose my patience with my mother more quickly than I do with others.
I am not harsh. I do not use bad language. But my tone changes. My words carry annoyance. My impatience becomes visible.
And this troubles me deeply.
Why is it that I can be patient with strangers, kind with acquaintances, gracious with others—but struggle with those closest to me?
Is it because I feel safe with her?
Is it because I know she will accept me no matter what?
If so, that is not an excuse. It is a responsibility.
The Fruit of the Holy Spirit Starts at Home
As a believer, I know that the fruit of the Holy Spirit includes patience, gentleness, kindness, and self-control. These fruits are not meant to be displayed selectively.
If they are real, they must appear first at home.
If my faith is alive, it must shape the way I speak to my mother. Not just in big conversations, but in ordinary ones. Not just when I am intentional, but when I am tired, busy, or annoyed.
I am reminded that Christian maturity is often tested not in public ministry, but in private relationships.
Loving Means Being Careful With Words
I now see something very clearly.
Because my mother loves me, I must be more careful—not less. Because she accepts me, I must be more respectful—not more careless.
Love is not proven by how much people tolerate us. It is proven by how gently we treat them.
If I truly honor my mother, I must honor her dignity, her wounds, and her limitations.
Choosing Intentional Gentleness
This experience has become a turning point for me.
I realize now that I must be intentional every time I speak to my mother. Not because she is fragile, but because she is precious. Not because she demands perfection, but because love deserves care.
The same applies to my family.
They are the people God entrusted to me. They are not the place where I should release impatience, but the place where grace should overflow.
Seeing God at Work in Both of Us
My mother’s step into church was not just her journey. It was also mine.
God was working in her heart quietly, gently removing fear. And at the same time, He was revealing areas in my heart that still needed transformation.
This is how God works—simultaneously, lovingly, wisely.
A Prayer for Ongoing Transformation
I am learning that faith is not only about believing in God, but about becoming more like Him.
More patient.
More gentle.
More understanding.
Especially with those we love the most.
And so, I choose to walk forward with gratitude—for my mother’s courage, for God’s faithfulness, and for the grace that continues to shape me.
May my words bring life.
May my tone reflect love.
May my patience be a testimony.
Because love that comes from God must look like God—even at home.