Heavenly and earthly phoenixes
In the late 1950s, it wasn’t easy for a single mother. My mother managed to make ends meet by doing any odd job that came her way. She did not rest even a moment in her devoted life of prayer, and in that way she triumphed over those hardships and tribulations. One day, however, she announced to her small family, “I’ve been living meaninglessly; I must live a life of greater value.”
1959: Hak Ja Han (left), a student at St. Joseph’s Nursing School
She left my maternal grandmother and me in the care of my aunt and moved into the Cheongpa-dong Church, and dedicated herself completely to church activities. She chose to take on the most menial of tasks. People would try to dissuade her, but she pursued such work with a joyful and grateful heart. She had lived a life of devoted faith in North Korea, greater than anyone, but started at the bottom in the Unification Church.
She overworked herself, however, and her body grew weaker and weaker until she became seriously ill. Luckily, a church member she knew from the Inside-the-Womb Church took her in. This person, Mrs. Oh Yeong-choon, was like a sister to her. They lived together in the Noryangjin neighborhood, and as they cared for each other, my mother gradually recovered her health.
While at nursing school, I attended Cheongpa-dong Church every Sunday. One day, when my mother saw me there, she took me to a corner and softly whispered, “A few nights ago, I had a dream that was hard to understand.”
“What did you dream?” I asked.
“There were women from church wearing white holy robes and standing there holding pink flowers,” she said. “Then I saw you walking toward Teacher Moon.” At that time, we called Father Moon “Teacher.” “All of a sudden, thunder roared and lightning crashed from the sky and struck one spot. There you were, and other women all looked at you enviously.” She paused, collecting her thoughts. “That’s when I woke up. I think it means that something will happen that will shake the world.”
“I think so, too,” I replied. “I’m sure it is a prophetic dream, but I don’t want to guess more than that.”
My mother did not imagine that this dream was a revelation from God, a prophecy that her only daughter would be called to become the True Mother who would give her life for the world. But I had been thinking constantly about the word “sacrifice” and had determined to live a life of sacrifice for God. This dream fit with that, and I had a sense of its meaning.
In the late autumn of 1959, Father Moon conducted a national missionary workshop at the Cheongpa-dong Church, and I participated with my mother. I was on one side of the overcrowded church, busy with the workshop, but could see that on the other side, elder sisters were quietly working on another important matter. A few months earlier, senior grandmothers of deep faith had begun preparations for Father Moon’s marriage. They were considering which among the women of the church could be God’s choice to be his bride. As I was only a schoolgirl and so much younger than Father Moon, my name would not have come up.
Then one day, one of the sages among the grandmothers sought out Father Moon to tell him about her dream. “I saw many flocks of cranes flying down from the heavens,” she told him, “and even though I kept trying to shoo them away, they came and covered Teacher Moon.” Father Moon provided no interpretation, so the elder sister continued with confidence: “I believe my dream is revealing God’s will, that your bride’s name will include the Chinese character for hak (crane).”
Shortly after I heard that, my mother told me another revelation she had received in prayer. A phoenix flew down from heaven, and another flew up from the earth to meet it. The phoenix from heaven was Father Moon. It brought to her mind her dream from years before, when she went to Daegu to meet Father Moon; the dream in which a pair of golden dragons bowed down in the direction of Seoul.
My mother thought about what all this might mean, and then one morning at dawn she received a heavenly message. She had just taken a cold shower, and it came as she was reciting the Pledge prayer. “The phoenix descending from heaven represents the True Father,” she announced, “and the phoenix rising from the earth represents the True Mother.” My mother was happy with this understanding, but she continued quietly with the workshop and didn’t speak about it.
In the months following my 16th birthday, I matured quickly, and it caught people’s attention at church. Members would mention that I looked elegant and neat. I would hear someone say, “Hak Ja is peaceful and virtuous. She is like a crane, befitting her name.” And another, “She’s also very polite, and if you watch, you will see she is very observant and has clear judgment.” I stood out when I was with members of the congregation. People commented that I had an untainted purity, that I was one with God’s will, and that I had embraced the virtue of obedience through the difficulties I had endured in North Korea. Hearing such comments, I disciplined myself not to feel proud or act carelessly.
More than anything else for his bride-to-be, Father Moon was looking for a person with a sacrificial and devoted heart of living for others. He did not care about family background, economic status, or appearance. She had to be a woman with absolute faith who could love the world. She had to be a woman who could conceive of saving the world. Because he had been unable to find such a woman, there had been no marriage of the Lamb. He still did not fully know that the heavenly bride, who would become the Mother of heaven, earth, and humankind, was close by. I had come to understand God’s will, but I couldn’t say anything. To recognize the bride was Father Moon’s mission and responsibility.