True families create true people

My Wife, Hak Ja Han Moon

The first time I saw my wife, she was a young girl of fourteen
and had just graduated from elementary school. She was
a quiet girl who never raised her voice and never sought
to bring attention to herself. She always took the same route to
and from the church. When she was first introduced to me, I was
told she was the daughter of one of our church members, Mrs.
Soon Ae Hong.
“What is your name?” I asked her.
“My name is Hak Ja Han,” she answered with a clear voice.
In that moment, before I knew what was happening, I said, “So Hak
Ja Han has been born in Korea!” I said this three times in repetition,
and then prayed, saying, “God! Thank you for sending to Korea such a
wonderful woman as Hak Ja Han.”
I then looked at her, and said: “Hak Ja Han, I’m afraid you are going
to have to do a lot of sacrificing.”
All of these words came out of my mouth spontaneously. Later, Mrs.
Hong told me that she thought it strange that I would say the same
thing three times after meeting her daughter for the first time. My wife
has told me that she also remembers that first, short meeting. She told
me she remembers everything that I said then as if I had delivered a
sermon just for her, and she kept it in her heart. She said she felt like
she had received an important revelation about her future that she
could not forget.
Her mother was from a faithful Presbyterian family, so she was raised
in a Christian home. Her hometown was Jungju, which is my hometown
as well, but she had lived in Anju until coming to South Korea during
the Korean War. When Mrs. Hong first began attending our church, she
lived a very faithful life in Chuncheon and raised her daughter strictly.
My wife attended a nursing school that was operated by the Catholic
Church. I am told that the rules of this school were so strict that it was
as if she were living in a convent. She had a gentle character, and during
the time she was raised by her mother, she never went anywhere except
to school and to our church.
I was forty at the time, and I sensed that the time had come for
me to marry. All I needed to do was wait for God to tell me, “The
time has come, so get married,” and I would do as I was told. Seung
Do Ji, an elderly woman in our church, began an effort in October
1959 to prepare for my engagement, even though there was still no
bride-to-be. Another church member who had been praying for
seven years about a wife for me told me one day that she had had a
dream in which she saw that Hak Ja Han was my wife.
Another church member, Mrs. Ji, told me about a strange dream she
had. “What kind of dream is this?” she exclaimed. “I saw hundreds of cranes
come flying. I tried to wave them away with my arms, but they kept coming
and they finally covered you with their white feathers. Is this some kind of
omen for the future?” The “Hak” in Hak Ja Han is the Chinese character
for crane.
Then, Hak Ja Han had a dream in which I appeared and told her,
“The day is near, so make preparations.” My wife later told me that in
her dream she said to me in a humble tone, “I have been living until
now in accordance with the will of God. In the future, as well, I will
follow God’s will as His servant, no matter what that will may be.”
A few days after my bride-to-be had this dream, I asked Mrs. Hong
to bring her daughter to me. This was our first meeting since I had
been introduced to her at age fourteen. That day, I asked this young
lady many questions. In every case, she responded with composure
and spoke clearly. In this meeting, I asked my wife to draw a picture.
Without hesitation, she picked up a pencil and started drawing on a
sheet of paper. When she had finished and placed her picture before
me, I was very impressed by what I saw. I then looked at her face, and
her shy expression was very beautiful. Her heart was as wonderful as
the picture she had drawn.
We were engaged on March 27, 1960, and had our marriage ceremony
barely two weeks later, on April 11. I did not set a date at the time but when
I called Miss Han several days later, I told her, “Tomorrow morning, we
will have a marriage ceremony.” She responded simply, “Is that so?” and did
not ask any questions or try to speak in opposition. She seemed incapable
of opposition. That was how pure and gentle she was. Then as now, when it
comes to the will of God, she has a strong determination.
I wore a samo-kwandae, the formal dress of court officials now
commonly used in traditional wedding ceremonies, and she wore
traditional Korean attire that included a jok-dori bridal tiara. My
bride, who was seventeen and more than twenty years younger than
I, looked confident and radiant with her tightly closed lips and
pretty face.
During the ceremony, I told my bride that she was about to embark
on a difficult course.
“I think you are already aware that marrying me will not be like any
other marriage. We are becoming husband and wife to complete the
mission given to us by God to become True Parents, and not to pursue
the happiness of two individuals, as is the case with other people in this
world. God wants to bring about the Kingdom of Heaven on the earth
through a true family. You and I will travel a difficult path to become
True Parents who will open the gates to the Kingdom of Heaven for
others. It is a path that no one else in history has traveled, so even I
don’t know all that it will involve. During the next seven years, you will
experience many things that will be difficult to endure. Don’t forget,
even for a moment, that the life we live is different from others. Don’t
do anything, no matter how trivial, without first discussing it with me,
and obey everything I tell you.”
She responded, “My heart is already set. Please do not worry.”
I could see in her expression that she had made a strong determination.
Her difficult challenges began the day after our marriage. The first
difficulty she faced was that she could not see her mother. My wife, her
mother, and her maternal grandmother were all only daughters. As a
result, the relationship between mother and daughter was particularly
strong. In order to take on her public mission and develop the proper
focus, I asked her to live what amounted to an ascetic life for three years.
That meant she could not see her mother or any of her relatives for three
years. She lived in a room rented from a church member. She came to
the church no more than once a day, usually in the evening. So as not to
create disruption, she left through the back door. I was often involved in
worship services or praying through the night and was rarely at home,
but the separation was not for practical reasons. The separation was to
establish a spiritual condition of unconditional devotion to her mission.
As the outrageous rumors about me continued to circulate, this
separation from her relatives and me made it even more difficult for my
young wife to endure.
At the time of our marriage, the Unification Church already had
been established in 120 communities around Korea. Even in our
church, however, there were those who were critical of our marriage.
Some envied her, some hated her, and many stories circulated.
As if that were not enough, she lived in someone else’s home. Older
women of our church followed me everywhere I went. Eventually, my
seemingly cold treatment of my wife brought an end to all the criticism
and envy against her. In fact, people began to sympathize with her. For
example, many members criticized me when I couldn’t go to see my
wife even though she was suffering postpartum illness and was shivering
in an unheated room after the birth of our first daughter. Some of
them said, “How can he even call himself her husband?”
“You’re going too far, sir,” I was told. “If you married her, you should
live with her. What are you doing, making it difficult for her even to see
your face?”
The people who had been criticizing my wife one by one began to
take her side instead.
In spite of her young age, it was necessary that my wife receive
harsh training. During the time we lived together, her environment
was relentless. She never had even a single free moment for herself.
She constantly was on edge, as if she were walking on a thin layer of
ice, wondering, “Will today be peaceful? Will tomorrow be peaceful?”
Because she had to attain God’s standard of motherly love, I corrected
her for even a single wrong word. Sometimes even her affection for
me had to be curtailed for the sake of her eternal mission. It was all
necessary for her to become True Mother, but I am sure it caused much
grief in her heart.
I might say a word in passing and not think much of it. She, however,
had to harmonize herself with my every word, so I am sure her suffering
was great. It took us seven years to conform ourselves to each
other. I relate these things because the most important thing in a marriage
relationship is trust. It is what makes it possible for two people to
become as one.