she sang lullabies to her children at night, or doting and rich as she soothed away their scrapes and bruises with sweet words of comfort.
The Old Woman tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear and went on, “My eldest son was named Chul-Moo, a weapon of iron . My husband desired for him achieve a high rank in the People’s Army, and from Chul-Moo’s birth my husband worked in Pyongyang toward that end. When Chul-Moo’s baby brother was born eleven months later, I named him Chung-Ho, as I secretly hoped that in spite of his atheistic upbringing, my son would grow up to be righteous and godly . I never lost my faith in Christ, you see; I just followed my heart when it came to romantic notions. Because of my parents’ religious background, my husband demanded that I break all ties with them. Then, in order to protect his own military career, he bribed a comrade to change my birth certificate. If you search Pyongyang’s records, you will discover that I was born to a politically auspicious family, and I have no Western blood in me.”
“But your eyes!” I exclaimed, wondering how anyone could overlook those striking blue irises.
“Little daughter,” the Old Woman chuckled, “if Pyongyang calls a tiger a kitten, then every single Party member will line up to pat its back and scratch that tiger’s ears. In my case, Pyongyang called a half-breed, blue-eyed granddaughter of Christian missionaries a respectable Party girl. And that’s exactly what I became. In spite of my husband’s atheism and devotion to the Party, you see,” the Old Woman continued, “I loved him, and he loved me. It was a strange three decades. I adored my husband and raised our children to be model citizens, but my secret faith made us political enemies.
“I was happier than I deserved to be. I did not have any contact with my parents, I did not know any other Christians, and I did not have a Bible. Still, my husband cherished me, my sons honored me, and I felt blessed. My only sorrow was that I could not explain the good news of Jesus to my children. And so I prayed for hours at night after my boys were asleep, pleading with the Almighty for my children’s salvation. Then during the day, I played the role of an upstanding officer’s wife, loving my husband and our boys zealously but never breathing a single word to anyone about my faith.”
The Old Woman sighed. I was afraid she might be too tired to continue. I was glad when, after giving way to a large and noisy yawn, the Old Woman went on with her story.
“Our eldest son, Chul-Moo, entered the People’s Army like my husband. He quickly advanced and even grew to outrank his father. Chung-Ho, my second-born, became a successful businessman, his work taking him into China and even the Soviet Union at times.” The Old Woman smiled. “It was on a business trip to China that my youngest son Chung-Ho first heard the gospel. He immediately accepted Christ. He was afraid to tell his father, but he could not keep his secret from me. ‘Mother!’ he exclaimed to me the first day back from his travels. ‘Let me tell you what happened to me on my trip. I learned something wonderful in China. There is a man, a perfectly righteous man named Jesus Christ. He is the Son of God. He was killed, but then he was brought back to life. He’s the true and living God, Mother. And I’ve met him!’
“I cannot explain to you, little daughter, how my heart rejoiced at my son’s confession of faith.” The Old Woman beamed with the memory. “It was then, nearly three decades after his birth, that I was able to tell Chung-Ho about his true family lineage. We knew we must keep Chung-Ho’s conversion from my husband, and so in many respects our lives went on as before. Nevertheless, Chung-Ho was a changed man, full of joy and the power of the Holy Spirit. When we were alone, Chung-Ho would beg me to teach him about the Bible.
“Although I praised God for Chung-Ho’s salvation, I nevertheless fretted
The Old Woman tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear and went on, “My eldest son was named Chul-Moo, a weapon of iron . My husband desired for him achieve a high rank in the People’s Army, and from Chul-Moo’s birth my husband worked in Pyongyang toward that end. When Chul-Moo’s baby brother was born eleven months later, I named him Chung-Ho, as I secretly hoped that in spite of his atheistic upbringing, my son would grow up to be righteous and godly . I never lost my faith in Christ, you see; I just followed my heart when it came to romantic notions. Because of my parents’ religious background, my husband demanded that I break all ties with them. Then, in order to protect his own military career, he bribed a comrade to change my birth certificate. If you search Pyongyang’s records, you will discover that I was born to a politically auspicious family, and I have no Western blood in me.”
“But your eyes!” I exclaimed, wondering how anyone could overlook those striking blue irises.
“Little daughter,” the Old Woman chuckled, “if Pyongyang calls a tiger a kitten, then every single Party member will line up to pat its back and scratch that tiger’s ears. In my case, Pyongyang called a half-breed, blue-eyed granddaughter of Christian missionaries a respectable Party girl. And that’s exactly what I became. In spite of my husband’s atheism and devotion to the Party, you see,” the Old Woman continued, “I loved him, and he loved me. It was a strange three decades. I adored my husband and raised our children to be model citizens, but my secret faith made us political enemies.
“I was happier than I deserved to be. I did not have any contact with my parents, I did not know any other Christians, and I did not have a Bible. Still, my husband cherished me, my sons honored me, and I felt blessed. My only sorrow was that I could not explain the good news of Jesus to my children. And so I prayed for hours at night after my boys were asleep, pleading with the Almighty for my children’s salvation. Then during the day, I played the role of an upstanding officer’s wife, loving my husband and our boys zealously but never breathing a single word to anyone about my faith.”
The Old Woman sighed. I was afraid she might be too tired to continue. I was glad when, after giving way to a large and noisy yawn, the Old Woman went on with her story.
“Our eldest son, Chul-Moo, entered the People’s Army like my husband. He quickly advanced and even grew to outrank his father. Chung-Ho, my second-born, became a successful businessman, his work taking him into China and even the Soviet Union at times.” The Old Woman smiled. “It was on a business trip to China that my youngest son Chung-Ho first heard the gospel. He immediately accepted Christ. He was afraid to tell his father, but he could not keep his secret from me. ‘Mother!’ he exclaimed to me the first day back from his travels. ‘Let me tell you what happened to me on my trip. I learned something wonderful in China. There is a man, a perfectly righteous man named Jesus Christ. He is the Son of God. He was killed, but then he was brought back to life. He’s the true and living God, Mother. And I’ve met him!’
“I cannot explain to you, little daughter, how my heart rejoiced at my son’s confession of faith.” The Old Woman beamed with the memory. “It was then, nearly three decades after his birth, that I was able to tell Chung-Ho about his true family lineage. We knew we must keep Chung-Ho’s conversion from my husband, and so in many respects our lives went on as before. Nevertheless, Chung-Ho was a changed man, full of joy and the power of the Holy Spirit. When we were alone, Chung-Ho would beg me to teach him about the Bible.
“Although I praised God for Chung-Ho’s salvation, I nevertheless fretted
Similar Books
