The Dallae Bridge legend
“Mother, why is where we live called Pyong-an Province?” I was full of curiosity, and whenever I had a question about something, I ran to my mother and asked her for the answer. Every time my mother responded kindly. “Well, dear,” she replied, “it is called that because the Pyong part is the first character of Pyongyang and the An part is the first character of Anju.”
“Why do they take one character from each name?” I asked.
“It’s because both of them are big districts,” she said. Over time, Anju had grown into a large town. It was surrounded by expansive plains that were ideal for farming, and there was normally plenty to eat.
My father, Han Seung-un, was born on January 20, 1909. He was the eldest of five children of Han Byeong-gon and Choi Gi-byeong of the Cheongju Han clan at Yongheung village, by the city of Anju. My father entered Mansong Public Primary School in 1919, when he was 10. He had to leave after finishing the fourth grade, but his desire to learn led him to enter a private school, Yukyong School, in 1923, from which he graduated in 1925 at age 16. He then became a teacher at his alma mater, Yukyong School, for ten years. During the chaotic period from Korea’s liberation until 1946, he served as the vice principal of his other alma mater, Mansong Primary School.
I lived with my father for only a brief time, but his gentle nature and features are engraved in my mind. He was meticulous and thrifty, and he was very strong. One day he was out for a stroll on a local road when he saw some people struggling to clear a big rock from a rice field. He went over, lifted up the rock and moved it out of the way. He was a devout Christian and follower of Rev. Lee Yong-do, pastor of the New Jesus Church. Because of my father’s work as a teacher and his active life of faith, he was rarely at home. He lived a life of service to God, even though the government tracked and persecuted Christians from independent churches such as his.
My mother, Hong Soon-ae, was born on March 18, 1914, in Chongju, North Pyong-an Province. That is the town where my husband, Father Moon, also was born. She and her younger brother (my uncle) were born to a devout Christian couple, Hong Yu-il and Jo Won-mo.
My maternal grandmother, Jo Won-mo, was a direct descendant of Jo Han-jun, a wealthy scholar of the Joseon Dynasty. Jo Han-jun lived in a village of tiled roofed houses in Chongju, a community of people who held government positions. Not far from his home was a bridge across the Dallae River. It once was a sturdy bridge made of neatly piled, large stones, but over time it had deteriorated to the point that no one could cross it. No one had the time or resources to fix the bridge, and one day a flood swept it away and buried its stones in the riverbed.
As did everyone else, Jo Han-jun knew the prophecy that had been passed down for generations:
If a rock carved like a totem pole standing beside the Dallae River bridge is buried, then the nation of Korea will fall, but if that rock is clearly exposed to the people, then a new heaven and earth will unfold in Korea.
The Dallae River bridge was important for another reason as well. In order for Chinese envoys to make their annual trek to the seat of Korea’s government in Seoul (then named Hanyang), they had to cross that bridge. Now it was gone, and the government did not have money to rebuild it. In desperation, officials posted a bulletin calling upon the citizens to rebuild the bridge. Grandfather Jo Han-jun accepted the call and rebuilt the bridge using his personal wealth. The sturdy new stone bridge was now high enough for boats to pass under.
Grandfather Jo Han-jun spent his entire fortune on this task, and when it was done, all he had left were three brass coins. These were just enough to pay for the new straw sandals that he needed in order to properly attend the bridge dedication ceremony the next day. That night, he had a dream of a grandfather in white clothes who came to him and said, “Han-jun, Han-jun! Your sincere devotion has moved Heaven. I was expecting to send a Son of Heaven to your family. However, because you bought the sandals, I will send to your family the Princess of Heaven.”
Grandfather Jo Han-jun awoke from that dream and found that a stone statue of the Maitreya Buddha suddenly had appeared near the bridge. Over the years, this miracle created such an atmosphere that all those who passed that Buddha would get off their horses to offer a bow before proceeding on their way. The people of the village marveled at this sign from God and built a shelter over the statue so that it would not be exposed to rain or wind.
On this foundation of devotion and loyalty, generations later, in the family line of Jo Han-jun, God sent my maternal grandmother, Jo Won-mo. We three women—Grandmother Jo Won-mo, her daughter (my mother), and I—all had a very deep Christian faith. We were also the only daughters born into our families over three generations.
The providence to bring about the birth of God’s only begotten Daughter on the Korean Peninsula was based upon countless conditions of devotion that started long ago with my ancestors Han Lan and Jo Han-jun and continued through the generations to this time.