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My only window into religion as a youth was hearing my grandmother chant Buddhist mantras in her room. Religion and spirituality sounded odd and otherworldly. Then she’d come out of her room and yell at me. What a strange religion, I thought, because I wasn’t misbehaving in the least.

I went to the Buddhist temple with her anyway… for the food -- Sunday finest meal of savory meats, spicy sides, and sticky, gooey desserts.

My family moved from Seoul, South Korean when I was 7 years old. Other than my grandmother (who lived with us), the sound of the religious void from my parents was loud.

When I met my Catholic now-husband, I imagined his religion as yet another not-for-me spirituality. Surely his religion wouldn’t affect me after we got married (donut only and no other food part)

I now  tote my rosary and rib my husband about his questionable choice of marrying a non-Christian. While the Catholic donuts feeding time is lame, I have to admit, the Eucharist IS the best.

St. Paul’s letter  in Scripture says of faith, hope, and love:  the greatest of these is love (1 Cord 13:13) and love never fails (1 Cor 13:8)

Of the many faith groups, ministries, and bible studies I've ever been a part after my conversion, one consistent theme persists. All parents and grandparents pray for their children and grandchildren with persistent love's fervor. ​

I pray for them and write with them in mind.


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