The Calligrapher's Daughter (40 page)

While I am saddened that it is not possible at present for you to journey overseas because
I trust that God will see us reunited, and that soon you will complete your education despite
.

You are always in my thoughts and in my prayers.

Yours in Christ

Daughter,

It is odd to write to you at your school, but since you insist, I continue to do so. I hope you do not keep secrets from your inlaws. We received the New Year’s money for Dongsaeng, and while he is grateful for it, you must give all your earnings to your in-laws. It is not proper otherwise. His school is not expensive, so do not worry about him. You say your father-in-law returns an allowance to you, but instead of sending it to Dongsaeng, give it to his church if you have no need for it. Do not worry, we manage fine. Sadly, there is no news to report from Kira. She is thankful that you ask after her.

Your father’s health has greatly improved. It may well be because our diet is more balanced with a wider variety of food available lately, even after the winter. But his wellness is partially due to this other news: he has found an excellent prospect for Dongsaeng, a lovely young woman from Seoul recommended by Imo. Min Unsook is her name, and yes, a descendant of the royal family—one of the
majored in secondary education at Ewha. Best of all, she is a devout Christian. Her photograph shows her as being quite pale and thin. I worried that she appears frail, but Imo says she is a woman of great inner strength and elegance. Your brother complains, as you did, that he is far too young to be thinking of marriage, but otherwise he seems content. They will be married when he graduates in two years. She is just a little older and has another year at Ewha herself, and then she plans to work with the church, probably teaching. You should take comfort in the fact that your independence eventually had a positive effect on your father, enough that he approves of this plan. Once they are married, she will stay home.

Here is something else that will surprise you. Your father is carving many decorative doors and shutters, a hobby that he discounts as mindless and meaningless, but the pieces are exquisite with vines, flowers and birds. Naturally we never speak of it, but I think this also contributes to your father’s improved health.

As to your living situation, I hope that my daughter would find a way to adjust. Ask yourself, where is Jesus’s example in your life? Of course it is an enormous disappointment that your husband is not at home to guide you in his household’s ways, but it is small of you to call it “exile,” and it is rude, as well as pointless, to complain. Is it so bad that you have completely forgotten your upbringing? The student’s wife is your guest, is she not? You say it is not easy to live with her, but remember how Imo took such good care of you? You should return that hospitality to this woman. Some new mothers need more help than others. Try to be more generous in spirit. As for your father-in-law, he is a famous minister,
certainly a great man of God. What else matters? You should be honored to be in service to him and his church. In James it says, “Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He shall lift you up.” Pray for guidance and patience. Think of your in-laws first.

Mother

My Dearest Wife,

During our long Easter vacation, I am glad to have a letter from home to mull over. First let me say how heartened I am to hear from you on the matter of your struggles, and that contrary to your fears, I welcome your confession and admire your frankness in searching for a way to Jesus. There is no shame in admitting weakness in faith. In fact, it is often a necessary step to open one’s eyes to God. The Holy Spirit cannot easily enter an ignorant soul. Nor do I believe that our separation is punishment for lack of faith. That occurrence is not God’s doing but others’. You know of what I speak. However, the opening of your eyes is, I believe, God’s doing.

I laughed at your description of how your neighbor described my youthful days back in the big house. I can see it left quite an impression, and yes, you are wise to have extrapolated that I was searching for the meaning of God at that time. So I will tell you what changed for me, although I believe that faith does not always grow in such a dramatic way. Some people, like your mother, come naturally to grace. I would remind you of her Christian example as one most sincere and inspiring.

What happened is this. In early 1926 I accepted a job as principal of the ChoongKang Christian Elementary School, high in the north, not far from the Yellow River. Now please excuse this long description, but it is an important detail. From Pyeongyang it took almost three full days to reach the school, it was that remote: a half day by train to Gaecheong, a dirt road by bus to Gangweo, then a very treacherous mountain road several hours by bus to Jasang. From that point, there was scant regular transportation, but now
and then a few nine-passenger cars went up the mountain, each taking about four hours to reach the destination.

I taught twenty pupils in the third and fourth grades, and supervised another teacher who had thirty-five children in the first and second grades. Another part of my job was to assist the minister of the church in that community who served seventeen different parishes. He seldom stayed in one parish but traveled around to take care of many scattered churches. When the minister was not in town, the elders and I alternated on the pulpit, and I preached once a month. Fortunately, there were no funerals during the absence of the minister! After one of my sermons, an elderly woman said, “Principal Cho, your sermon was good, but how come you did not mention Jesus Christ?” I told her I would keep it in mind, and the next time she was apparently satisfied. So you see, at one time I practiced my faith without full sincerity.

For the summer vacation I thought to venture home by the river route, which would save me a day’s travel. At that time of year, loads of timber are floated down the rapids. A group of farmers and timbermen allowed me to ride in one of seven boats carrying soybeans down to Manpo where the rapids end. None of us realized that recent rains had made the water unusually wild. For a time we were lined up with the logs rushing in the same direction as the current, but at a narrow section of the river the logs went every which way and rammed the boats. The men jumped onto the logs, and with their lifetime of experience balancing on spinning timbers, all of them managed to reach the shore. I knew I could not walk on the logs and clung to the boat, which nearly capsized several times. Surprising everyone, for I’d been given up for lost, my boat was pulled to shore in Manpo. The other six boats had been crushed.

At the end of that summer I returned to open the fall session. At Jasang there was a car but no driver available for the last leg of the journey. I waited many hours, and finally when a group of five other passengers arrived, one of them claimed to be the driver, although we learned later that he was not. We gladly climbed aboard and began the ascent. At one of the sharp turns, the
inexperienced driver hit a bank and the car stalled, slipped back and fell over the edge. It rolled and I was tossed from the window. It rolled again and crashed farther down. I received only a bruised elbow and knee, some big bumps and a torn jacket. The driver and two men were killed. The women who sat near the front suffered serious injuries, and I learned later that they both had died.