1st Place Essay by Eugene Harnett

Before reading the morning newspaper or any emails, before any thought of chores enters my mind, before breakfast and the busy-ness of the day, I sit and quiet myself to experience the miracle of True Father speaking directly to me of whatever’s on his mind today, by opening Chambumo Gyeong to the first page my thumb touches.

“Omma, the days are flying by” (CBG 6.1.4.2). And then it flows and flows from paragraph to pages, from ten minutes to thirty. Father adds an extra quip, and we laugh a secret outburst because no one else has heard it. “I get it,” I chuckle. Now I understand.

As the moment elongates, I twice read, “This is the chance for us to experience the preciousness of our relationship with heaven” (CBG 6.1.4.2). I think that Father is right across from me, sitting on the chocolate leather couch, choosing, parsing, conveying these perfect words for me, for I am embraced.

Later in the day, I share with someone, “Oh, Father spoke this morning about his letters to Mother when he first came to America.” I don’t distinguish it being something I was merely reading from being something he actually spoke to me in my living room.

There is no distance between what I experienced this morning and what I experienced during those dawn Hoon Dok Hwe meetings in Kodiak, [Alaska,] sitting on the soft, moss-green carpet of the living room of North Garden, Father bringing up a fresh topic, always unique and specific to the day, before our breakfast.

Just like when my thumb – I mean, the magic thumb of God – opened to the exact passage, those never before published love notes from Father, on his first trip traveling across America (today’s letter was from Las Vegas, February 25, 1965) to Mother, pregnant and still quite young, waiting for him back in Korea. He conveyed intimate tenderness and concern for her, as well as his excitement for America. He said that American members “are the same as church members in Korea” (CBG 6.1.4.2). I remember that distinctly.

I hold the Chambumo Gyeong in my lap. I feel bathed. Maybe even glowing. I let the embers of Father’s words linger for a while. Breakfast will bring me back to earth, and I can start the day now, filled to the brim with spirited energy, like a topped-off cup of coffee, that drives me to tell others, “Did you hear what Father talked about this morning?”