I was born in the peaceful village of Kyungsan, South Korea. My only toys were found in nature—rice fields, rolling hills, and the wild landscapes that surrounded me. I was raised amidst this abundant beauty and loved it deeply. I enjoyed singing and talking, and the villagers knew me as a good boy and a caring son.
However, shadows touched my life early. I recall a distinct sense of emptiness when I was about ten years old; after school, I would often hide my head in the folded blankets of my room. Then, at age 13, I lost my mother. She was a devout Christian, a single mother, and a model of faith and love. Her death was so sudden that I could not fully grasp its implications at the time. Yet, I remained positive. I believed that her passing would not defeat me because I trusted in God, and I even convinced myself that this tragedy would mold me into a better person. This early loss has impacted me significantly, knowingly or unknowingly, for my entire life.
At age 15, I came down with a severe fever. I assumed it was the flu, but two weeks later, I was diagnosed with meningitis. I lost three days of memory while hospitalized, but thanks to effective antibiotics, I stabilized. The doctor told me, "You are lucky. The survival rate for this disease is close to zero. Usually, 50% of patients are paralyzed, and the other 50% die." I realized then that God had saved me. This brush with death carved a deep desire in my mind to seek the ultimate meaning of life.
As time passed, I forgot about my past illness and turmoil, becoming full of secular visions and ambitions. After graduating from Kyungpook National University, I passed the interview for a promising company and felt genuinely happy about my first job. However, the following day, I received a call informing me that my medical exam revealed liver disease. The offer was rescinded. It was a bombshell that crushed my dreams, sending me to rock bottom.
I entered a dark period, focusing entirely on my health. The key to my recovery was complete rest, during which I wrote reflections on God, myself, and the world. Eventually, I showed resilience and returned to normal life.
I eventually secured a job at a larger company, Gold Star (now LG Electronics). I married a beautiful woman, and we were blessed with three adorable daughters. In 1991, the company sent me to its foreign operation in Panama, and later, we relocated to Miami to establish a branch office. I enjoyed my work, traveling frequently to Latin America and the Caribbean, watching the business grow, and learning about diverse cultures.
Despite my success, I looked back on my life and realized I was not truly happy; I found little lasting joy in my corporate work. My mind returned to my childhood religious experiences. Through ups and downs, turns and twists, I made a radical decision after consulting with my wife: I would attend theological school. Our family moved from Miami to Chicago—a three-day drive—where I earned my Master of Divinity from McCormick Theological Seminary. Later, we moved to Nashville, Tennessee, where I pursued a Ph.D. in New Testament studies at Vanderbilt University.
After completing my doctorate, I began my second career as a professor at Virginia Union University in Richmond, Virginia. Since 2005, I have enjoyed nearly 20 years of teaching and researching, publishing nearly 20 books. My family invested significantly in my education and choices, and I am truly grateful for their support. Life treated me well; I succeeded in my academic pursuits, and my daughters have all graduated, married happily, and are doing well.
For years, I maintained my work successfully. Then, out of the blue in March 2023, I fell ill with severe anxiety. I know nothing happens without a reason; there had been stress from personal life and work, and perhaps other factors I cannot name. One morning, I woke up soaked in sweat, unable to breathe easily, and feeling drained physically and mentally. I found myself in a long tunnel of despair.
Unlike previous difficulties, this was a mental infirmity. I felt like a broken reed, dust, and vapor. Breathing was a struggle, eating lost its appeal, and the world felt frightening. I poured my heart out to the Lord like Hannah—journaling, crying, exercising, and singing.
Gradually, my breath returned. One day, I dreamt of emerging from that deep ditch. I realized that God is everywhere and that living is simply breathing; every inhale and exhale is a miracle. Today is a gift, and while tomorrow is beyond my control, I trust the Lord is with me.
A few months later, I finished the final manuscript for my book, How to Read the Gospels. Writing it was a physical and mental struggle, yet I continued despite the adversity. This book is a testament to my journey through a wilderness test that lasted much longer than 40 days.
My journey continues. I don't know how my life will unfold, but I know I am not in vain.
Like a vapor, I am evanescent.
Like a reed, I am wavering.
Like dust, I am small.
But I am not vanity.
I am a gift of God.
(I created a page on my blog called Mental Health to share more of this experience.)
