I attended a mission school run by the Kwangsung Church Foundation for high school. Over those three years, I spent more days attending revival meetings than studying. Dozing off during those sessions meant getting whacked on the back of the head countless times with a long stick. My grades in Bible class were always zero, and I was forced to join the choir, croaking out hymns with a voice that wouldn’t cooperate. I was ignorant of religion, not knowing who God or Christ was.

My family and I spent four years with a woman who claimed to be one of the two witnesses in the Bible. Through her, I came to believe in God. She taught a mishmash of Christianity, Buddhism, and Eastern philosophy—a veritable hodgepodge of doctrines. She sometimes spoke in tongues and taught various things, but all that remained for me was a lack of warmth, no inspiration, just memories of being brainwashed. It was in those days that I met the teacher.

For over ten years, my children and I lived painful days due to my wife’s mental illness, unable to lead a normal life. At night, sleep eluded us—tormented by sleep paralysis and nightmares. Closing my eyes brought terror, so we kept the lights on, but rest was impossible.