Marks

“Come back with many beautiful testimonies.”

Those were the words spoken to me before I enlisted in the military.

I prepared myself. I thought deeply about how I would live. But God worked in a completely different way. Instead of giving me impressive stories to tell, He left traces on my body and throughout my life.

The Final Leave Before Discharge

August 20, 2015.

I was on the bus returning to my unit after my second-to-last leave, thinking again about my plans after military service. I had only twenty days left until discharge. Fourteen days of leave still remained, and with weekends included, there was barely any time left that could even be called “military life.”

At the terminal, while casually waiting for the bus back to base, I saw breaking news appear across the screen in bold letters.

My heart began pounding. My body went cold.

North Korea had launched an artillery provocation.

I kept refreshing the news. Soon I saw reports that South Korea had responded, but when I tried calling the administrative office at my unit, the line would not connect.

I could already tell. The base had entered emergency status.

Around me, students in school uniforms laughed and talked as if it were an ordinary day. The contrast felt surreal. The news almost felt fake.

In that moment, I thought about Noah looking at people eating, drinking, marrying, and continuing life as if nothing was coming.

The moment I arrived at the base, all return procedures were skipped. We grabbed body armor and rifles immediately.

Supplies that were supposedly distributed only in preparation for war were laid out before us. Through the radio came repeated orders to remain ready for immediate response.

For the first time in my life, war no longer felt like a distant possibility.

It felt close.

If I Really Died

Since childhood, I had dreamed of missions.

I had listened to missionaries speak about their lives and often imagined situations where I too might face martyrdom someday. Death was always somewhere in the back of my mind.

But this was different.

Even traveling in countries people called dangerous had never felt like this.

What if artillery shells landed around us? What if everything burst into flames?

Even worse was the thought of chemical warfare.

It was terrifying.

Yet strangely, in the middle of all that fear, one image became clear in my mind:

I imagined myself running through the chaos, grabbing people one by one, sharing the gospel before the end.

If everything truly collapsed, I knew that would probably be my final act.

And somehow, realizing that made my heart calm.

That was when I understood what courage really was.

North Korea threatened that unless loudspeakers along the border were removed within forty-eight hours, indiscriminate attacks would begin.

We knew the loudspeakers would not be removed.

So we waited. Anxiously.

When the countdown reached the forty-seventh hour, one of my junior soldiers asked me:

“If we really die an hour from now, and you could do anything you wanted before that happens, what would you do?”

I answered immediately.

I told him I would want to tell him and everyone else about Jesus.

I was afraid. I was trembling.

But it was also a moment when I realized who I really was.

As I walked around the base, I found myself smiling at people while sincerely telling them:

“Believe in Jesus. Let’s go to heaven together.”

“You’re Useless”

Before the military, I had felt useless before. But I had never heard those exact words spoken directly to me.

One superior officer looked at my injured shoulder, pointed his finger at me in frustration, and said:

“You’re seriously useless.”

Compared to one of my fellow soldiers who enlisted at thirty years old, I was not late at all. But after watching younger friends and acquaintances finish their service before me, I had prayed carefully before enlisting.

I had made a promise to myself:

Even if I was not the best, I would work hard. And through that, maybe I could naturally glorify God.

But from the very beginning, my shoulder injury turned me into someone who could do almost nothing.

Wherever many people gather, rumors naturally spread. I thought I was already used to that.

Before enlistment, I had spent years living in different communities and countries, so misunderstandings and gossip were not unfamiliar to me.

But the military was different.

Because it took a long time for proper examinations to happen, people began believing I was pretending to be injured. Rumors spread about things I had supposedly said and done. Very few people believed me.

I survived because of several close friends and fellow soldiers. But instead of being useful, I felt more like a burden.

One fellow soldier in particular was struggling badly from mistreatment and repeatedly talked about suicide, leaving the military, or changing assignments.

We all worried about him. I tried encouraging him too.

I told him:

“Don’t carry everything alone. Talk to us if something is wrong. I’ll pray for you.”

But somehow, even that became twisted.

One senior misunderstood my words and spread rumors that I was encouraging complaints against leadership. Soon an image formed around me.

The very person I tried helping eventually told me:

“I’m sorry. I’m barely surviving myself. I can’t step in for you.”

That became the first major rumor that followed me through military life.

What Am I Supposed to Do?

The pain was difficult not only because it hurt, but because nobody could clearly explain what was wrong.

The military hospital continued giving me only temporary treatment while months passed. I could barely sleep.

Eventually I found myself praying honestly before God:

“What am I supposed to do now?”

After a long delay, I finally received an MRI.

The results showed torn tendons and damaged cartilage. Surgery was necessary.

For a brief moment, I felt relieved. At least I finally knew the pain was real.

But seeing my parents worried broke my heart. And once the injury became undeniable, I became even more limited in what I could do.

I felt smaller than ever.

Seven months after the injury, I was told surgery might happen in July. When I informed my company commander, he questioned whether the situation was even real.

Before transferring to a military hospital, the loneliest place was the medical office inside the base.

I lived under constant scrutiny while wondering how I was supposed to survive more than a year of military life like this.

I clung desperately to God.

More than asking “Why?” I wanted to know:

“What are You trying to do through this?”

The injury had been caused by my own mistake. Complaining felt ridiculous. And honestly, I understood why people looked at me negatively.

An injured junior soldier in the military is often seen as a burden.

I was simply frustrated with myself. And I could not imagine my future anymore.

“What am I supposed to do now?”

Promises That Became Real When I Could Do Nothing

I could not deny God’s faithfulness throughout my life.

So I kept reading Scripture. I kept praying. I kept asking questions.

When I could do absolutely nothing, two promises became deeply planted in my heart:

God would change the people around me.

And God would lift up my head.

I had no idea how either promise could happen.

How could people change inside such a rigid military system? How could God lift the head of someone who could barely contribute anything?

But somehow, those promises became real to me. I simply believed them.

I wanted to recover as quickly as possible, so I hoped to be transferred somewhere with proper rehabilitation treatment. But that seemed impossible.

Then unexpectedly, leadership changed. A commander who supposedly would never be replaced suddenly left, and the new commander helped arrange my transfer.

At the time, I did not realize God had already begun answering His promises.

After only one month, I was sent back to my original unit. But my recovery remained minimal.

There was still very little I could physically do.

Some people envied my situation because I was not forced into difficult labor, but I hated not being able to suffer alongside everyone else.

I desperately wanted to help. But I felt completely useless.

Sometimes I walked around the base picking up trash simply because I wanted to contribute somehow.

The only things I really could do were encourage younger soldiers and serve faithfully at chapel. Even those things felt small and insignificant.

During training exercises, I would participate for a while and then eventually be left behind because of my shoulder.

The helplessness crushed me.

I could not defend myself to the people who disliked me. And when others pitied me, I felt both grateful and ashamed.

The People Around Me Changed

At some point, something unbelievable began happening.

The people around me started changing.

After a major incident within the unit, many of the very individuals who had made life difficult for me were suddenly replaced.

Anyone familiar with military culture knows how unusual that kind of personnel shift really is.

And the people who newly arrived saw me differently.

They gave me responsibilities. Work. Positions.

For someone who had spent so long feeling useless, simply having work to do again felt miraculous.

Day after day, my journal became filled with gratitude.

Eventually I was even given the role of squad leader. For most soldiers that might not mean much, but for me it felt deeply significant.

For the first time, I felt like I had permission to speak with authority. So I decided to use that position to encourage younger soldiers.

That was when I realized:

God really was lifting up my head.

Around that same time, one soldier I had shared the gospel with began accepting what I was saying.

Every night we read the Bible together and talked about God.

At some point I realized:

Even if the entire hardship of military life existed just so I could meet this one soul, it would have been worth it.

Honestly, I was overwhelmed by a different thought:

“Who am I that God would allow me to meet this person?”

The first half of military life felt full of suffering. But the second half slowly became filled with gratitude.

The promises that once seemed impossible were still God’s promises. And through every moment, God remained God.

A Clear Vision

As I approached discharge, I spent my days praying and preparing for the next season of life.

Like most soldiers, I felt that life after the military would become a completely new chapter. But because I had already seen God’s guidance through so many moments, I also felt great anticipation.

There were things I believed God had spoken to my heart. As I continued praying and seeking confirmation, discharge suddenly drew near.

Then the crisis happened.

I once believed vision was like a pair of glasses through which someone sees life forever.

Knowing what kind of life truly matters. Knowing what happiness actually is. Knowing where to go.

And I believed I was already living with that kind of vision.

When I first encountered God personally, I felt He placed a world map in my heart.

Ever since childhood, I had dreamed of traveling across nations to share God’s love.

That dream stayed alive inside me.

So even if death truly came, I still knew where I belonged. I still knew what I wanted to do.

And strangely, that made the possibility of death easier to accept.

Then another thought suddenly crossed my mind:

“If I really die now… God gave me dreams of going to the nations. Ah… maybe this is what vision really means.”

That vision had carried me this far. And now it was helping me face death itself.

That evening, returning from leave or delaying discharge did not feel like a difficult choice.

Over the previous days, I had repeatedly told people:

“Even if I had the chance to leave, I don’t think I could.”

Throughout military life, I openly called myself a Christian. Some people had even started attending church because of me.

People should be careful with their words.

I had already said too much.

And because of that, I no longer had the courage to deny who I was and walk away.

If something truly happened, I believed I was supposed to stay and share the gospel.

Signing papers to delay my discharge did not feel heroic. It did not even feel brave.

Honestly, it simply felt natural.

And yet at the same time, my heart strangely trembled. It felt almost like confessing your feelings to someone you love, knowing rejection might follow.

Still, I believed my decision had little actual military value.

In an artillery unit, someone with a shoulder too weak to even properly carry shells could hardly contribute much.

That was why I felt embarrassed whenever my name appeared in news reports or whenever I received recognition.

The One Who Lifts My Head

Two days later, the unbearable tension that had filled the base suddenly ended. Negotiations progressed far more quickly than anyone expected.

And life returned to normal.

My discharge, which many assumed would be delayed, happened on its original date. I was even allowed to use all of my remaining leave.

As I read worried messages from people on KakaoTalk and Facebook while heading out on leave, the situation felt surreal.

After countless twists and difficulties, I found myself once again preparing for life after the military. And just like my first leave, ordinary life itself suddenly felt precious.

The day before discharge, I returned to base one final time.

Unlike most soldiers, my discharge ceremony took place at division headquarters. There were flower garlands. A vehicle prepared to drive us home. Even photographs of me and another soldier displayed publicly.

It was embarrassing.

But the officers around me kept saying:

“Stand tall. This is an honor.”

And then, during the final salute while officially reporting my discharge, I suddenly understood.

This was what God meant when He promised to lift up my head.

At that moment, the painful years no longer came to mind.

Compared to the glory of seeing God fulfill His promises, the suffering felt small.

God had fulfilled everything in His own way. Not through my strength. Not through my effort. But entirely through grace.

I could only believe again that God’s promises are absolute.

Perhaps even my desire to glorify God through my own efforts had been misguided from the beginning.

God is God. Yesterday. Today. Forever.

The highest One. And still, somehow, my Father.

The Marks That Remains

Before I enlisted, someone once told me:

“Come back with many beautiful testimonies.”

I truly tried my best.

But in the end, the testimony was never really about me.

It was about what God had done.

God, who becomes strong when we are weak, revealed His faithfulness most clearly when I could do nothing at all.

The scar on my shoulder is not merely a wound.

It is one of the marks God left on my life.

A lifelong reminder that God was with me.

More than ten years have passed since the surgery, but my shoulder still causes pain.

And every time it hurts, it quietly reminds me:

“Do not rely on your own strength. God is the One who works. He is your faithful God.”