A few years ago, it was my privilege to represent my denomination on a trip to South Korea. It’s a nation where the mission efforts of my church were wildly successful — the largest Presbyterian church in the world is in Seoul, with more than 50,000. I was inspired by the faith and the devotion of the people I met, and they challenged the way in which we Americans take our religious life for granted.
I wasn’t prepared for the amount of pain I heard from my new Korean friends whose families were fractured for years by the divide between North and South. The demilitarized zone separated brothers and sisters, children and parents, husbands and wives and longtime friends, many of whom had not seen or heard from each other for more than a half-century.
One man, a talented artist in Seoul, told us that his wife was in North Korea. They had not seen or heard from each other. His eyes glistened with tears when he spoke tenderly of his love for his wife, and his hope that one day the dividing line would fall and they would finally be reunited. But the story that unfolded is one I will never forget.
Insik Kim, our church’s staff person who relates to the Korean church, had received a rare visa to travel in North Korea. The man told Insik, “Please find my wife if you can. And if you find her, tell her I love her as much as I did on the day we were married. Tell her that I have never given up hope that we will one day be reunited. Please tell her just how much I love her.” Carrying that precious message, Insik went to North Korea, where eventually he was successful in locating the man’s wife. In hushed and holy tones, he recounted her husband’s message. She drank in every word and treasured them.
After hearing the message, she went to a cupboard and got down a jar of honey. “Please take this honey back to my husband,” she said, “and tell him that my love is just as sweet.” Insik dutifully carried the honey back to Seoul, where he delivered the jar and the message to the husband.
To this day, every evening the husband opens the jar of honey and dips a spoon into the sweetness, placing the tiniest drop on his tongue so that the honey will last as long as possible. Every night he is reminded of his distant wife’s message of love, and the taste rekindles his hope that one day they will see one another again.
I have never forgotten that tender story of an uncommon love. And every time I think of that simple gift, I realize all that I take for granted — the simple sweetness of love, the powerful elixir of hope, and the blessing of waking up every morning with the love of my life.
As a preacher, I am reminded that I, too, bear a precious message: that God loves you, that God yearns for reunion with you, that God holds you in his heart. What a joy and what a responsibility. That’s my gift to you this month. I hope you’ll savor it, a little bit each day. Enjoy the sweetness, and don’t let yourself forget.
