torrent of grief and hopelessness from which I would never recover.
The Old Woman rocked me in her firm embrace as we sat on the floor. A cautious guard approached our cell but was sent scurrying away with a flick of the Old Woman’s wrist.
“He was always so strong,” I lamented, unable to forget Agent Lee’s horrid descriptions of my father’s torture, the punishment that was so cruel and so inhumane that even my faithful father crumbled under its weight. For the next seven years, I lived in a hopeless, godless stupor. Father’s suicide stripped me of any remaining faith in God’s mercy or power. I was alone in a world where God was not omnipotent, where his justice and goodness did not prevail.
Yet here in the Old Woman’s cell, light was able to penetrate the veil of obscurity that hung over me for so long. Miraculous healing saved me from certain death the day I was brought to the Old Woman. I still didn’t know how I ended up as her cellmate, but I was convinced that if it weren’t for the Old Woman’s prayers on my behalf, I would have died from my illness.
Even after my health was restored, I felt God’s presence again and again: in the peace and tranquility that washed over me like a soothing balm when I listened to the Old Woman’s prayers, in the longing and desire that stirred in my soul when she sang her dulcet hymns, even in the incredible way we were protected from any harsh treatment from the guards. It was as if an entire legion of angels was posted at the entrance of our cell, overcoming every threat of evil in this underground chamber of torture and suffering. Heavenly mercy beckoned to me, inviting me to cleanse myself from the guilt and defilement of my hopeless, godless years as a prisoner at Camp 22.
I longed to respond to this divine love and peace that called out to my soul, to hold on to it and never let it go. But whenever I closed my eyes to pray, Agent Lee’s taunting voice echoed in my mind: “Your father signed the confession this morning. He renounced his faith in God and pledged his allegiance to the Party.” When I asked if I could see my father, Agent Lee’s lips turned upward. “Song Hyun-Ki hanged himself less than an hour ago, a coward in death just like he was in life.”
The Old Woman held me close, whispering prayers over my shaking body, as I mourned my father’s defeat. Eventually, my sobbing subsided and my breathing became less spasmodic. I lay with my head against the Old Woman’s shoulder, exhausted and heavy hearted. The Old Woman stroked my face, wet from tears.
“Little daughter,” she declared after a long period of silence, “there is a God who works all things together for good. He takes horror and turns it into beauty. I do not know how he will redeem your pain and suffering, but I do know this: The tragedy of your father’s life has some greater heavenly purpose, and the story you have just told me is far from finished.”
Family
“Brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child; children will rebel against their parents and have them put to death.” Matthew 10:21
“Little Chung-Cha,” said the Old Woman one day. The weather was getting warmer and we no longer needed the extra blankets the guards gave us at the Old Woman’s request. I was regaining my strength after years of starvation and suffering. Now more than anything, I longed to breathe the fresh spring air.
The Old Woman sat with her back leaning against the cement wall of our cell. When she called my name, I stopped my anxious pacing and sat down by her side. “Have I ever told you about my family?” the Old Woman asked. It was difficult for me to hide my surprise. In the several months I had spent in the Old Woman’s cell, she remained silent about her family. I didn’t know what made her finally decide to talk about her past that spring day, but I was eager to listen.
“Only two of my grandparents were Korean,” the Old Woman
The Old Woman rocked me in her firm embrace as we sat on the floor. A cautious guard approached our cell but was sent scurrying away with a flick of the Old Woman’s wrist.
“He was always so strong,” I lamented, unable to forget Agent Lee’s horrid descriptions of my father’s torture, the punishment that was so cruel and so inhumane that even my faithful father crumbled under its weight. For the next seven years, I lived in a hopeless, godless stupor. Father’s suicide stripped me of any remaining faith in God’s mercy or power. I was alone in a world where God was not omnipotent, where his justice and goodness did not prevail.
Yet here in the Old Woman’s cell, light was able to penetrate the veil of obscurity that hung over me for so long. Miraculous healing saved me from certain death the day I was brought to the Old Woman. I still didn’t know how I ended up as her cellmate, but I was convinced that if it weren’t for the Old Woman’s prayers on my behalf, I would have died from my illness.
Even after my health was restored, I felt God’s presence again and again: in the peace and tranquility that washed over me like a soothing balm when I listened to the Old Woman’s prayers, in the longing and desire that stirred in my soul when she sang her dulcet hymns, even in the incredible way we were protected from any harsh treatment from the guards. It was as if an entire legion of angels was posted at the entrance of our cell, overcoming every threat of evil in this underground chamber of torture and suffering. Heavenly mercy beckoned to me, inviting me to cleanse myself from the guilt and defilement of my hopeless, godless years as a prisoner at Camp 22.
I longed to respond to this divine love and peace that called out to my soul, to hold on to it and never let it go. But whenever I closed my eyes to pray, Agent Lee’s taunting voice echoed in my mind: “Your father signed the confession this morning. He renounced his faith in God and pledged his allegiance to the Party.” When I asked if I could see my father, Agent Lee’s lips turned upward. “Song Hyun-Ki hanged himself less than an hour ago, a coward in death just like he was in life.”
The Old Woman held me close, whispering prayers over my shaking body, as I mourned my father’s defeat. Eventually, my sobbing subsided and my breathing became less spasmodic. I lay with my head against the Old Woman’s shoulder, exhausted and heavy hearted. The Old Woman stroked my face, wet from tears.
“Little daughter,” she declared after a long period of silence, “there is a God who works all things together for good. He takes horror and turns it into beauty. I do not know how he will redeem your pain and suffering, but I do know this: The tragedy of your father’s life has some greater heavenly purpose, and the story you have just told me is far from finished.”
Family
“Brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child; children will rebel against their parents and have them put to death.” Matthew 10:21
“Little Chung-Cha,” said the Old Woman one day. The weather was getting warmer and we no longer needed the extra blankets the guards gave us at the Old Woman’s request. I was regaining my strength after years of starvation and suffering. Now more than anything, I longed to breathe the fresh spring air.
The Old Woman sat with her back leaning against the cement wall of our cell. When she called my name, I stopped my anxious pacing and sat down by her side. “Have I ever told you about my family?” the Old Woman asked. It was difficult for me to hide my surprise. In the several months I had spent in the Old Woman’s cell, she remained silent about her family. I didn’t know what made her finally decide to talk about her past that spring day, but I was eager to listen.
“Only two of my grandparents were Korean,” the Old Woman
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