My grandmother, my father’s mother, was born in 1940 in North Korea. For about eight years, she and my grandfather lived with us to take care of my siblings and I while my parents worked. 

​

Growing up, my grandmother brightened our home with her joyful, beaming personality. When she called her friends on the phone, I heard her speaking rapidly in Korean behind the door to her bedroom, the words a steady stream of syllables that petered off slowly when they finally moved toward saying their goodbyes. On the mornings that my mom didn’t make breakfast, the smell of my grandmother’s pancakes or ramen greeted me when I woke up and sometimes when I came home I would find plates of mint-flavored Oreos and warm Indian corn on my desk. Together we had kimbap picnics at the local park and she taught us Korean children’s songs about frogs and butterflies. The memories made with her in my childhood will stay with me for a lifetime. 

​

I would never have guessed the trauma in her own childhood, if she hadn’t shared parts of her story from time to time around the family dining table. “When I was a little girl,” she would begin, after we were comfortably full of Thanksgiving galbi or Christmas gochujang chicken, and we would all lean in a little closer. 

​

***

​

When Soonja was 3 or 4 years old, she was born in North Korea, five years before the Korean War broke out. Her mother, who had eight children total but lost two to illness, didn’t care for her very affectionately. She didn’t care about where her daughter went – just let her come and go as she wanted.  

​

“Ah, I’m pregnant again,” Soonja’s mother would lament. “Aigoo, what do I do?” 

​

She wasn’t a cruel woman, only a burdened one. Each baby she brought into the world meant more children to take care of, more mouths to feed, more energy to expend. If a child became ill, there was no hospital nearby to take them to. People back then just had to trust that the strong children would grow up naturally. And back then, people couldn’t control how many babies they had. Without birth control, they had to follow the natural course of things whenever a life was conceived. 

 

Desperate, Soonja tried to get her mother’s attention. One day, while her mother was cooking in the kitchen, she aired her grievances. “Eomma! You don’t give me anything!” 

 

Her mother stopped and looked up. “You–” 

 

Soonja shrieked as she ran away, her mother hot on her heels.

 

But more often, she wanted to do something that would cause her parents to see her good intentions and earn her their affection. She wanted them to say, “You did well!” and to praise her. But all she got was more scolding and sometimes her mother’s blows. 

 

“Ay! Don’t do that!” 

 

One thing she loved were the delicious treats her parents brought home for their flock of little ones. Candy, cookies, chestnuts – she especially loved the chestnuts. She put some in her pocket for safekeeping and went off to play on her own. 

Settling down on the ground, she drew a circle and took a small stone. Pretending that this line marked her own plot of land, her possession, she tossed the stone to see where it landed. Wherever it touched the ground marked the extension of her small lot, her space staked out in a big world. 

 

She was resourceful, finding toys among the abandoned and empty containers in her house and her neighbors’ discarded heaps. Carefully, she collected broken glass and porcelain and her mother’s empty cream jar and lid. She also saved a big brown kimchidok jar, its dark insides inviting stores of red kimchi for the winter. 

 

For gochugaru, she took a brick and ground away at its particles until they shaved off in a heap of red dust. In the spring, she snipped dandelions from their stems and went to the hill nearby for naengi, the green used for Korean soybean paste soup or doenjangguk. 

 

Her mother didn’t like naengi, like most other North Koreans. “Ay, we don’t eat that!” her mother said. So even though Soonja wanted to eat it, she had to keep it in her pretend kitchen and imagine she was enjoying its tender green shoots. 

In elementary school, she called her friend and they played market in Soonja’s front yard. They set it up just like a real one – there was a table for the transaction to take place on, the dishes in place, the pretend kimchi and fake money waiting to be exchanged. 

 

“Ya, this here is the market and we’re selling kimchi, so come and buy some!” 

 

“Please give me some kimchi!” 

 

“Try this – these are the cookies, this is the glass, these are the vegetables!” 

 

Together they pretended that they were real market women, buying and selling the choicest goods. The glass might have been broken, the red powder blowing away, but it didn’t matter to Soonja as she happily gave the food to her customer. Life felt like a journey to survive on her own, neglected by her parents and older siblings, but somehow she found her way.  

 

***

​

Trouble began to brew when she was five years old. Her father, a member of the North Korean military police, realized that a draft for service was imminent as the country moved toward war. The time was now or never to make their escape. 

 

The family separated into teams so that if one group was caught, the others would still have a chance of making it across the border into South Korea. While traveling with her mother, Soonja and her oldest sister were accidentally separated – and disaster struck.

 

They were caught. 

 

“You. You have to look for your mother. Let’s go.” Two army officers towered over her, little more than a toddler made even more fearful by years of neglect and no one to comfort her.

 

 But they pretended nothing was wrong. Giving her candy, they spoke to her gently. “Do you want to go find your mother? Okay, let’s go find your mother.” It was the epitome of cruelty, taking advantage of a little girl like that. 

 

“Eomma,” she cried, not knowing what else to do. “Eomma, eomma, emomma, eomma!” 

 

She was alone, next to the tall soldiers who followed her as she wandered uncertainly forward. Her big sister had already tried to tell a lie, more sensible because of her age, and had ended up in jail because of it. “I don’t have my mother! I don’t

have my mother!” her sister had protested. 

 

But her mother, her back aching with the weight of her little brother on her back, was looking for Soonja too. Suddenly her mother heard the cry, and too late – the crunch of army boots on the ground. 

 

Now almost the whole family was behind bars at the army station. The only ones left were her second sister and her father, who had made up the other team. 

 

Her mother tried her best to protect the rest of the family. “No, that’s everyone,” she said quietly. “I don’t have my husband.” 

 

But they refused to believe her. “No! Where is your husband? Where is he? Find him!”

 

“No,” she kept saying. “I don’t know where he is.”

 

They finally gave up and resorted to taking advantage of her children once more. Soonja’s brother was 8 years old, but he wasn’t wise enough to hide the truth. They took him away to question him, and they got the information they needed. 

In the end, only Soonja’s second sister, who was 12 or 13 years old at the time, was never caught. When the North Korean army found Soonja’s father, they didn’t know he had been traveling with a daughter and she slipped away. 

​

But they caught Soonja’s father, after all they had gone through to escape. Because her father was behind bars, the army decided it was safe to let the rest of the family go. Without Soonja’s father, the rest didn’t stand a chance trying to get anywhere, the soldiers reasoned.  

​

Soonja’s mother didn’t give up. She rented a small room for her and her children after they were released and they stayed there for one year until a miracle happened. 

 

A friend of Soonja’s father promised the army that he would make sure Soonja’s father did not escape to the South once released. 

 

But as soon as they came out, he turned to Soonja’s father. He had lied to the army. “We have to go to South Korea.” 

 

So the family made another plan to try again. They were going to need to cross over the border by water. That meant taking a huge risk – interacting with the ferrymen who rowed people across the border in their boats for one of two reasons: money, or to pass on that secret information to the North Korean government as spies. 

 

The danger of gunmen was ever imminent, and the family had to be ready to hide in a nearby cornfield at a moment’s notice. Soonja, as before, was on her own. The mosquitoes came and bit her as she hid among the stalks, her heart pounding, away from her parents hidden somewhere else in that cornfield. 

 

When the gunmen were all gone, they came out, cautiously, fearfully. It was like D-Day. “Today, we are going to South Korea,” her parents said.  

​

​

​

 

There was no moon. No stars. Only darkness surrounded them on the day that her father chose to make the escape.

​

“Let’s go.”

​

The boat was small, so it could only take around five to seven people. The family split into teams once more: the first, her big sister and brother; the second, her mother, 1-month old brother, and Soonja; the the third, her father and second sister.

 

They had to go at three different times.

 

When it was Soonja’s team’s turn, her mother brought the clothes, wore black underneath. They went out to the shore when the tide was low, their hearts pounding as they carefully passed the building on the beach where someone might be watching the tide or the weather – or spying for the North Korean government. 

 

In the darkness, Soonja fell in the mud. Shh .. you can’t make a loud sound. Somehow they made it to the boat and got in, her mother holding her baby brother close to her chest. No matter what, he couldn’t cry. If a baby cried at a moment like this, the danger was so great he could be thrown overboard. So Soonja’s mother breastfed him as much as possible to keep him quiet. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. 

​

Even once they were on the open water, the danger wasn’t over. There were big patrol ships with headlights looking for people trying to escape. So they hid in the shadows. The oars dipped silently in and out of the water as they rowed, slowly without a motor. They waited, prayed, hoped. 

 

Soonja fell asleep as the boat moved through the water, bobbing up and down. Slowly, as the sky bloomed in the morning, the sun rose…

 

Somebody shouted at them, a dot that grew bigger as they got closer and closer. 

 

“WAAA! You came to South Korea! MANSEH!”

 

The sun rose and they had reached freedom. 

 

The US Army camp welcomed them as refugees, giving them chocolate, canned porridge, corn, and other foods like spam. But to Soonja, the American soldiers were the same as the Russian soldiers she had seen in North Korea. She hated the smell of the food they tried to offer her. 

 

“Waa, you’re so cute,” the soldiers said as they offered her some chocolate. But all Soonja could taste was her fear. 

 

One month later, Soonja was drawing pictures in the ground and playing by herself as she liked to do. In the distance, she saw another dot drawing closer. It was her father’s boat. 

 

Finally, they were all together. They went to Soonja’s uncle’s house, and her life in South Korea began. 

 

***

​

Soonja always went to church with her mother. God gave her a gift for singing and dancing, and she often sang solos because of her beautiful voice. 

 

At church, her mother would hear others praise Soonja for her talent. “Oh, your last daughter, she won first place! First place in her class!” It made her mother happy to hear these things. 

 

At the same time, Soonja began to understand her mother’s situation and why her mother hadn’t shown her much love when she was a little girl. Her mother had a strong Christian faith and had lived a hard life, without access to a good education.

Soonja wanted so much to be an encouragement to her mother and make her happy, so she studied hard, did whatever good she could, and listened to everything her mother said.

 

That included her mother’s wishes for her daughter’s marriage. Soonja studied hard and graduated from Yonsei University, a private institution akin to Harvard in South Korea. The college was mostly made up of men at that time, which made Soonja’s mother worry for her daughter’s safety. Out of 30 people in her class, only 3-4 were women. 

 

Soonja’s mother reminded her again and again not to date anyone who wasn’t Christian.

 

“Boys are like animals,” she would say. “It is very brutal. Is it not good. Men are not good. Boys are not good. Like animals.

 

You have to be careful!” 

 

“Okay,” Soonja said. She never went on a date.

 

Soonja’s mother wanted to introduce her daughter to a man of strong faith. During the Korean War, Soonja’s first sister had married a man who wasn’t Christian, and now had an unhappy marriage, which caused her mother great pain. Soonja’s second sister married an elder’s son, which made Soonja’s mother happy, and their marriage was happy. But the son-in-law her mother would like best of all was yet to come.

 

Soonja met Park Chunil by way of her mother’s introduction.

 

“He is a good and faithful man,” her mother promised her.

 

“How do you know?” Soonja asked her mother.

 

“I know,” Soonja’s mother said. “My friend knows his family environment and background, so I can trust her!”

 

One day, his father called Soonja on behalf of his son. “My son, he’s so shy,” he apologized. 

 

The other reason why Soonja’s mother liked Park Chunil was that he was also North Korean. Her mother liked North Korean people because she felt that their shared environment and background would allow them to understand each other very easily. Park Chunil was 12 years old when he and his family escaped to South Korea. 

​

At the time, her mother liked Park Chunil better than her daughter. After they moved to the United States, her daughter wrote her letters about struggles in her marriage and her complaints about her husband. 

 

Her mother wrote back to her. No, you have a problem! she wrote. My son-in-law has no problems! You have a problem!

But through it all, Soonja resolved to show her mother love in return. She was a good daughter, and didn’t complain but tried to understand her mother’s situation from when she was a little girl. Out of her mother’s three daughters, Soonja became the daughter she was closest with. 

 

***

 

In South Korea, Soonja married Chunil in 1966. They lived a comfortable life in Seoul, but even then Soonja continued to help out her mother with various things. 

​

When Soonja and Chunil decided to move to the U.S. in 1975, Soonja had to consider what to bring and leave behind. Her sister had offered to give Soonja couches, plates, and kitchenware for her new home in America, but requested that Soonja pay for them, even though they were of the same family. 

 

That grieved Soonja’s heart, but she paid for them anyway. When her mother said she liked things Soonja owned, she gave them to her for free without holding back. This is how she formed the list of things to take and to leave.

 

When she came to the United States, life was very difficult. Her sister and brother, already settled in the U.S., blamed her for her lowly circumstances. 

​

“Aigoo, what are you going to do?” her sister asked her.

​

“You didn’t have to come to the United States if you wanted to live like that,” her brother said.

 

The pressure to achieve success overwhelmed Soonja and her husband. They struggled with their ambitions for a thriving business and a big house when reality didn’t reflect what they had tried so hard to achieve.  

 

When they first arrived in the U.S., Chunil first worked as a school custodian, and Soonja worked at a sewing company and later at a library. Finally, they ran their own dry cleaning business in the rural town of Lodi, California, famous for its grapes perfect for squeezing into expensive wine.

 

Their daughter Sylvia was 7 and a half and their son John was 6 years old when the family came to Sacramento and later moved to Lodi, California. Because Soonja was suffering so much, she struggled to show them as much love as she wanted to. She scolded them often in the midst of their difficult circumstances.

 

But she never had to worry about her children. They were always obedient. Sylvia helped a lot with the family’s dry cleaning business and sacrificed a lot for her brother. John always studied well in school.

 

In the United States, it was harder for Soonja to keep caring for her mother. Every month, her siblings pooled $1000 to send to her mother so that she didn’t have to try to make money by selling goods door-to-door.

 

“Please don’t do that,” her children pleaded, giving her the money. “Please live comfortably.” 

 

But while Soonja’s brother, a famous doctor, and sisters were rich, Soonja had a harder time coming up with the money to contribute. She was suffering so much, the last of her siblings to come to the United States, and it was hard watching her siblings live such prosperous lives. 

 

***

 

“Life is very short. It is relationships that are important, not things. We often focus on saving money. But as Christians, we must think of Acts 20:35. Food and possessions are all nothing. Only your relationship with God and your loving relationships are number one. This is so important.

 

I didn’t know this when I was younger. I only realized it after I was older, learning these things at church. When I was younger, I valued the things of the world – possessions, success, a big house, a good car, owning many things. But for Christians, these are all nothing. Instead, God wants us to prioritize our loving relationships with others. 

 

So even though my sister sold her couches and plates to me, I understand that it all comes to nothing. As young people, you can feel more freedom than those who have greed. That is so important. I have freedom in Jesus Christ.

 

When you think that you have to attain a successful life, possess this and this and this, you begin to feel burdened in life. That means it is not peaceful. God wants us to have a comfortable mind, to be peaceful, to have real rest. Real life, real rest, real freedom in Jesus Christ. 

 

So if somebody wants me to do this, do that - I don’t worry about them. Only God is going to tell me what to do. I can focus, and it makes me feel so much better. I don’t have to compare myself to somebody. God puts me on His path and makes me this way. So, my heart is always happy, thankful to God. 

 

Because of that, I tried to relate to my mother very well because at the time I had that kind of small faith. I don’t want to be like my second sister. My second sister had a very successful life in the United States, my brother too, but it's all gone! It’s nothing. I had the worst life in the United States at the time but God was the One who helped me avoid that kind of life.

That’s why I am so thankful to God. 

​

I want to write my autobiography, but doing it on the computer is hard and I have a lot of things to think about as the president of the Christian Writing Association. Even though I am a very old woman, they asked me to please be the president of the association. 

 

So far, many people want to be a good president for their own fame. They wish they could be the president, thinking that when they get there, they will feel good. But for me, I have been praying about this. This is the Christian Writing Association, and we only seek to lift up God’s name, to glorify God. 

 

If I am the president, I may feel famous. But because of thinking like that, people say do this, do that, and put pressure on others. But I am praying. I want there to be pressure that is followed by others’ compliments and praise. Because of faith, you have humility. 

 

In Seattle there are 3 writing associations: one in Federal Way, another over there, and this Christian one. How is the Christian one different? Think of the Psalms, David’s poetry, poetry that one offers to God. Regular associations compare one to another, but we have to be different from them. For them, the person is important, and they want to show the people’s performance and fame. But our association is different from them. Not the person’s fame. Just like psalms. Poems, glorifying God - we have become that kind of association. That is what I am thinking about. We have to make sacrifices and serve. Other presidents say that those around them have to serve them. But the Christian way is serving, a different kind of

mind. So we think like that. 

 

We are God’s children, and are able to understand and make wise decisions, and be thoughtful and kind people. If something happens, what do you do? Do you pray to God? Pray, think, what to do, what to do. Calm down and have wisdom. Should I do this, this way, that way? We often don't pray first. Later we pray to God. But I seek the attitude of a godly person. I’m thinking, faith is very important. So in the morning, we need to do our quiet time, learn and apply what we learn to our lives.” 

Dr