Dust

Have those who grew up sheltered ever been covered in dust? Dirt seems to symbolize poverty more than anything else. Like the phrase “dirt spoon” in Korea—meaning someone born with nothing, not even a proper spoon. If one eats with a spoon made of dirt, then naturally, some of that dirt gets mixed into the food. Could a life like that ever be the same as one that’s never had to swallow dirt?

That thought made me deeply angry. If God knows everything, then isn’t He deliberately watching as most humans writhe in pain? Or maybe... maybe we only exist in God's imagination, and suffering is the very premise of that imagination.

Rick Warren's book The Purpose Driven Life talks about the reasons and purpose behind life. As a child, I read it deeply. But no matter how much we talk about purpose, it cannot justify absolute misery. How many countries are there where babies are born on bare dirt floors—and raised there too? How many children die in harsh conditions before ever calling out “Mom” or “Dad”?

Before we talk about the purpose of life, we must ask whether life itself is justifiable. And if it is, that justification must come from outside life itself—from a perfectly equal and just standard. Otherwise, a good and all-knowing God cannot coexist. That was the contradiction I saw in Christianity.

Most Christians are still trapped in the ancient framework of “original sin.” When Martin Luther led the Reformation, were all his arguments truly right? Could it be that the path out of a corrupt religion was simply another framework—just a different kind of prison? People only learned to think within that box. The effort to look beyond it has slowly faded. Now all that's left is the depressing reality of more churches than convenience stores, and pathetic pastors scrambling just to earn a salary.

When I started my business, I told myself: if I don’t succeed within ten years, I’ll give it all up. I’d join an NGO, get a job, or commit to something else entirely. Coincidentally, this year marks the tenth anniversary of that journey. Have I succeeded? Or have I completely failed?

Sometimes, I wish I could let go of everything and simply follow where my soul leads me. What was it that I truly wanted? Was it love that my soul desired? Or just safety and comfort? As I watched people sleep on dirt floors, dust blinding their eyes, I prayed to God. I asked Him to save them. And I wondered: why does no one rescue them? There are supposedly billions of believers and religious people in this world. And yet—why are there still so many dying in the dust?

It reminds me of my university days. Back then, I was part of a missionary group and witnessed small acts of charity—sharing what little we had to feed the hungry. I thought that was good, but I believed it shouldn’t be the ultimate goal. If someone is destined to save just one person in their life, and if everyone lived with that sole goal, the numbers wouldn't add up. There are hundreds of millions on the brink of life and death. When, and by whom, will they be saved? For true mission work, the goal cannot be to save just one person. It must be to save 100, 1,000, 10,000, 100,000, 1 million, 10 million, 100 million, even a billion.

Someone has to accomplish a greater act of salvation. And that cannot be done simply by sharing what we’ve earned. So I asked God. I didn’t know how, but I asked to be used. I said I would try to save those people, even if I had to carry them by truck. I asked for strength and wisdom. But I confessed—I don’t understand. I don’t understand why the world was created in this way. There were no answers in the doctrines and teachings I knew. No one had the answers.

If I ever gain power, I’ve always had the same dream. To go to some barren land, build a school and a field. To create workplaces for the people there, and at least give them a chance to learn. "Freely you have received, freely give." I received the gift of life freely, and I want to give it freely to others. I don’t want them to suffer like I did. If someone completely unrelated could offer them pure love—maybe that memory alone could be enough reason for them to live.

A person can live with just one person’s belief in them. No matter how hard life gets, if there's one person who loves them, they can keep going. But for many, it ends because there isn’t even that one person. A great life or a pitiful one can all hinge on just that one person. If we don’t waste this freely given life, then how should we spend it? Should we live to save one person? Ten? Or a million? Ten million?

Who is willing to lay everything down? Who is God paying attention to? It’s always the same—the lowest and the humblest. I wonder what He is doing beside them. What is He waiting for? Even after reading the Bible cover to cover, even after hearing from enlightened people outside of it, I couldn’t find a reason for creation other than "for enjoyment." But if it was made for enjoyment, then the suffering of His children is too tragic. What kind of parent would knowingly bring a child into suffering? What parent would give birth, knowing they have the power to prevent suffering, yet does nothing? Maybe a human parent could, but not one considered divine. That’s why I kept asking for His will. For a long, long time.

Yet, whenever I hit a turning point in life, ironic things happened. Looking back, they always did. Those moments felt like responses to the bold prayers of my youth. "Use me to save them. Maybe someone like me, who doesn’t even want to live, could help someone who desperately does." It’s been nearly 20 years since I first prayed that. I’ve always been willing to go down into the dirt. I hated the slick men in suits. I didn’t want to be involved with castrated men who, despite holding billions, couldn’t love. What are we living for? If humans simply chase reproduction, food, comfort, and pleasure like animals, what makes us different? I wanted nothing to do with people whose spirituality was dead. But if even a speck of soul remains alive in someone, I could be a friend to them forever.

One day, we will all leave this world and see the truth. When that time comes, I hope I’ll have many friends. As many as the love I gave. As many as the people I cared for. Even if they misunderstood me in this life, maybe there, they’ll see the truth. That’s enough for me. This moment passes quickly. Just a few years of pain, a few years of sorrow. After that, maybe there really is an eternal world.

In this world, I’ve seen so-called "kings" drape themselves in gold. It was laughable. They forced people to bow, made laws to maintain power, lived above others, ate well, wore fine clothes. But no matter how much they adorned themselves with luxurious gold, they were nothing more than walking corpses. Even if I were God, I wouldn’t want to hear anything from them. From an omnipotent being’s view, how insignificant must they be? A flower-like human, living just a moment, deifies himself and rushes to decorate himself in gold. So pitiful, so small. Those who live as servants to such frail royalty—what legacy can they leave? Not one that will last. Not one they can carry to eternity.

True glory lies in dirty hands, in places no one cares about. People don’t know this truth. Who are the radiant ones? Celebrities who spend millions on skincare every month? Or those who reached out in love to the lonely? Who warmly held cold, wrinkled, callused hands and said, “You’re not alone”? Aren’t those the ones who truly supported life?

True light comes to such people. That’s why these words were said: "To whom much is given, much will be required. To whom little is given, little is required." Great talent and beauty. Wealth inherited from parents—those are the ones who have received much. And to them, God demands much. That talent, that beauty, wealth, knowledge, influence, and power—who did you use them for? Why? Those who used it only for themselves, for their appearance, have left no legacy behind. They leave nothing.

Maybe that’s why it was said that the poor are blessed—because most of the wealthy leave nothing and decay. If we are to live in an eternal world, even living as a rich man for 100 years here will mean nothing there. They will live in eternal poverty. But those who had nothing and still loved daily—their love will remain infinitely greater and more brilliant. An eternal reward. Without it, none of this world or faith makes sense.

Perhaps I’m nothing more than a gambler, betting everything on the concept of love for the sake of something bigger. Maybe I chose goodness only to gain more in the end. But the world isn’t so easy that one can just think that far ahead. This world is one where we must eat what grows from barren soil. Someone has to till that land, water it, and bring life forth. If someone bets everything on the unknown after death, shouldn’t that devotion be honored?

That’s why I believe. If I ever make it there, I think the greatest people will be ones we never knew in this life. They never shined under the spotlight, but they gave greater love than themselves to others. A just and fair God doesn’t judge absolutely—He judges based on what each person received. A poor person’s $1 may be greater than a rich person’s $10. For one person, $1 is all they have. For another, it’s as worthless as toilet paper. A just God evaluates us all by different standards. Did you give 1 out of 100? Or 1 out of 10,000?

I want to go where He is. Not necessarily to get an answer—but to see the beauty He saw in the world. Was there truly a reason that made it worth creating, even after seeing all this death? What was He hoping to see when He made it? All creation that began from dust will return to dust. You, me, all of us. After that, something new begins—the real life.