Father joined hundreds of thousands of war refugees in Busan, on Korea’s south coast – one of the few cities virtually untouched by the Korean War. Busan’s normal population of some 880,000 was swollen by half a million that had fled south to escape the fighting.
Father arrived there on January 27, 1951, in the middle of winter. It was here that, after experiencing the same challenges as every refugee faced, he made a new beginning.
Surviving as a refugee
When I arrived in Busan, it was flooded with people; they were packed in like sardines. There were no rooms available anywhere. Any hole or spot under an eave—any place that could serve as a shelter—was filled with people. In every trash can or empty box, Eve, 2 or 3 people would be squeezed in.
All the refugees who had fled from all over Korea gathered in Busan. It was like a melting pot. There was no space even to put your foot down. Every village around Busan was also overflowing with people. Even when trying to just stand still, you would be jostled this way and that. That was daily life.
I even acted like a beggar, a real beggar. I begged to get money for food, and no one could surpass me as a beggar. Only the quick-witted can do it well. I would look at a person, and if he didn’t give me money, I might say, “Hey, is that all you are? Good things will happen if you support passers-by like us.” You could say I am the ancestor of fundraising!
After arriving in Busan, I had nothing to wear and nothing to eat. I had to make money, even a few pennies, so I worked at various odd jobs. What could we do? We worked during the night and slept during the day.
I can still recall how we used to shiver at night, even as we stamped our feet. Even at such a time as that, I prayed, “Father, please don’t worry about me. I will follow in Your footsteps with joy; the track of Your sorrowful lamentation I will follow with hope.” Even in those circumstances, I was still able to begin a new church movement.
I had no home of my own. In early February, when it was cold, I would lie down on my military coat and wrap myself up in it. I still remember that experience. I asked a member to keep that coat as a memento, but someone threw it away because it was old and tattered.
If that coat had been preserved so that you could see it today, you would shed tears. It was such a memorable coat. Living like that, I walked step by step to lay the foundation we have today.
Because it was freezing, I worked during the night and slept during the day, from around 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. It was good to sleep on the sunny side of the hill, sitting still and sleeping like a pheasant. I am a man who loves nature.
When I felt like it, I would stop to sleep in a field while walking across it, or sit on a rock and doze. I often did things like that. Why? When I stood up after sitting somewhere, I could feel that what I’d been sitting on felt sorry to see me go.
Even if it were just a rock, if I slept on it, it was not merely a rock but something more precious than my own home.
When I returned to work at night, I would cause a minor sensation. Everyone flocked to my side. I would tell an interesting story, and they would bring their food and share it.
That’s why, if you see a laborer sitting on the roadside in snow or sleet, in a wretched state, he or she should remind you of me, and you should think, “Father did that kind of work too.”
When it’s cold, people all flock to sunny places. We would go someplace sunny, and we’d say to people there, “You’ve had breakfast and lunch, haven’t you? We haven’t had breakfast yet, so please give us a bit of space and let us eat in peace.”
Then we’d sit in a circle in the sun and have our meal. It is nice to eat under such circumstances. There is a hidden philosophy there: everyone is my friend, and we have a common empathy.
When I met Kim Won-pil [in Pyongyang], he was a nineteen-year-old boy with a mop of hair. Four years later, he had turned twenty-three. He did all kinds of odd jobs [in Busan], including waiting on tables in a house where meals were served.
I ate food he brought back for me, and I sometimes ate rice he had scraped off the bottom of a pan. I did not ask him to work just so I would have something to eat. What I’m telling you is that we experienced all kinds of things. It was a very dramatic time of deep emotions.
The woman selling red bean porridge
I was working at pier number 4 in Choryang, in the Busanjin district. After getting off work, I would go to the red bean porridge and rice-cake stalls. That still comes back to me.
After work, I would receive my pay, and it would be cold wherever I went, so I would go to a particular red bean porridge stall. When you come out of Choryang Station, you see many women working in stalls there.
They would wrap their pots in a tattered blanket, so the porridge didn’t get cold, and serve it from the pot. I would just hold the pot in my arms. The woman never told me off for doing that.
After I had talked to her for thirty minutes, she would offer me a bowl of porridge. After I had visited and spoken with her for several days, she even entrusted me to take care of the money she had earned from selling the porridge.
There are still times when I crave a bowl of that porridge. It was so delicious at that time, perhaps because we were all hungry, but I believed it was the most delicious food in the world.
I miss the face and the shape of the lady who sold it, whose thoughts were all about selling, even though she was stained with dirt. I still cannot forget how delicious the porridge served by her hands was.
Sometimes, as a refugee, I used to sleep in a bomb shelter. There were no houses to be found then. It seems only yesterday that I climbed to a mountain ridge and slept with a jacket covering me.
The home of the woman who sold the porridge was a minimal room, where she lived with her husband and her children. When you saw her children, you could not help but pity them because they were in the most pitiable of conditions.
Yet, she had something to be proud of, for she had a place to call home. After she had ladled the porridge into a bowl, she would give me what was left at the bottom of the pot, and it was delicious. What a memory that is!
Train yourself to be independent
It was 1951; with a couple of followers, I had come south, walking the line between life and death. I wrote down the original Principle text. I remember writing it at the laborers’ camp in Choryang district, in a room so small you could not lie down straight in it.
You had to lie down diagonally, in a position something like an X, and still, your feet touched the walls. It seems only yesterday that I lodged in that room, but a long time has passed.
During that time, I had to take care of all the problems that arise for a person wishing to live independently, such as financial problems, so I had to do all kinds of work. I had to act as the circumstances demanded, but I was more than equal to the tasks at hand.
I could adapt myself to the circumstances. I was not born like that; I trained myself. Unless one can train oneself to be an independent figure in any kind of environment, one can’t possibly achieve such a great objective as those related to providence.
In following this sacred life, this course of putting into practice the words I have spoken as a man, I have my philosophy, calling for me to leave a record behind me and tread a unique, zigzagging path.
The pain of the refugee
Whenever I come to Busan, I always think of the Jagalchi Fish Market. When I was a refugee in a miserable state, I would wander around that area. What do you think was the wish of all the people who had come to Busan as refugees? Do you think there was even one person among them who did not want to return to his hometown?
Coming south where they had no roots and living among the South Koreans based here, the North Koreans, too, had to lay a foundation for their livelihood. That’s refugee life.
That is how one is meant to make a start and settle down. I, too, came down as a refugee and lived as a refugee. The ups and downs of that process were truly miserable. How miserable? More miserable than the life of any laborer, or even any prisoner, in South Korea.
Refugees are in a position where they cannot return to their hometowns or introduce their hometowns to their children or grandchildren. How wretched is that?
Father had arrived in Busan, on Korea’s south coast, on January 27, 1951, in the middle of winter. It was here that, after experiencing the same challenges as every refugee faced, he made a new beginning. In this installment, Father relates how he built a small hut on a hillside above the city.
Building the cardboard hut
I prepared for a new beginning by living alone in a hole in Beom-il District, Busan.
It was a stony depression in the ground near a public cemetery. I lived there until I built a temporary home the size of a hog pen.
When I later went back and visited the area, the memory of building that house—carrying loaded boxes on my back, carrying stones, shaping the mud—was still fresh.
It was the worst house in Busan. The worst! I didn’t have a decent shovel to build it with. No one would lend me a shovel. Refugees wouldn’t lend shovels because they were selling such items for money.
No one would lend me one even if they had one; instead, they’d hide it in their kitchen. So, I had to do the work with a fireplace shovel. It was small, and it was already broken and mangled. I built the house with tools like that.
I didn’t have a pickax, either. So I leveled the ground with the fireplace shovel. Again, there was no machine available to make brick. So, I got ration boxes from the United States Army. I would tear off the edges, flatten and shape the box, then pile earth onto it; it could hold quite a lot of earth.
Was anyone willing to give us a piece of land? No. So I leveled a place on the slope of a hill. When it rained, water soaked through into the room. So, I next dug out a channel lined with stones for the water to run underneath, above which I put an under-floor heating pipe.
You could hear running water right under the floor. The water would flow under the simple heating system. The house gained notoriety. It was a shabby place made of mud and rocks. That’s how I constructed that hut on that slope with a roof made of old boxes.
It was the most ramshackle of shacks. Inside, you could see a boulder since I had built the house against it. There was a small table and canvas for doing paintings on. Those were our treasures; there was nothing else. It was a pitiful place.
However, even when I was sleeping inside the house, I was following the main path to becoming a more devoted son to God than anyone enjoying glory in any palace on earth.
I wished to reach a stage of deep inner heart that no one could duplicate. Whether I stayed under a building’s eaves or in the hut, I thought I must attend God there—yet my efforts were still inadequate.
When winter came, life became more difficult and inconvenient; it rained, the wind blew, and I caught a cold and sniffles from being in a cold room. What’s more, I bore a huge responsibility, yet had a hungry stomach, and no proper clothing. It was a most difficult time.
Still, one shouldn’t be despondent because it is the same trail that the great teachers have blazed. I upheld God’s will, so you should also continue from the point of unity in heart.
At one time, I missed that one room so much. I longed for that one room, thinking that though it was crumbling like an old farm shack, I would live in that room, loving it more than anywhere else and treating it as if it were more valuable than a royal palace.
By that, I mean that I hoped to offer my sincere, dedicated effort in the land God had chosen. I would rather not do that in the satanic world’s land. You will never know how much effort I exerted.
A time of living rough
I was wearing the same rags for four months because there was nowhere to wash them. I was the king of beggars, the quintessential beggar at that time. I didn’t have extra clothes, so I turned my pants inside out again. I wore green U.S. military fatigues and Japanese shoes.
Still, I told myself all of it was part of the indemnity providence. That is why I walked around wearing rags from America, Korea, and Japan. I was not ashamed of myself for wearing clothes like that.
From outward appearances, I was a nobody at that time. I looked like a person of no importance at all. I was badly in need of a shave; my face was as darkly tanned as it could be, and my attire was a mixture of Eastern and Western. Yet, that story has great power today.
Prayer looking over Busan harbor
I went up the hill in Busan’s Beom-il District and prayed. I had many serious spiritual battles with Satan, grabbing him by the collar and slashing him in the belly.
I fought, saying, “As long as you don’t defeat me in this fight, the day will come when you’ll kneel.” I began in this way.
In that most wretched situation, I shed blood, tears, sweat—all of these. What was to be done at that critical point, in that miserable era where the nation’s ideology had no direction to move?
I pioneered that lonely road by myself with the heart that I was praying for as a representative of the Korean people.
It seems only yesterday that I looked at all the ships that sailed into port, blowing out smoke as if to say, “Here, look at me!” I would pray, “A time will come when I too can make such a ship with my hands and come into Busan port as a person returning home with honors.”
As I would sit and look on, I would think to myself, “I will cross the great ocean, go to other countries and sow the seeds of the heart-to-heart relationships that I have long yearned for.” I offered such a prayer as I gazed upon the Busan coastline.
God is really fond of fun, so at such times He would console me by telling me, “Look here. The world will become like this in the future,” and He’d show me a vision of Heaven’s great trading vessel carrying me at its stern and a great multitude of people cheering.
Do you know the holy ground at Beomnaetgol in Busan? You need to know how I grieved bitterly in my heart on the rock there. Do you know what kind of prayer I offered to God at the time of the Korean War as I looked at Busan port filled with freight vessels carrying weapons? You need to understand that. Everything I prayed for has come to pass.
The Korean War was still going on. In those days, fleets of ships delivering U.S. military ordnance filled the port. Every morning when I woke up, I made it a rule to count the ships. Usually, there were fifty; sometimes I counted more than a hundred. In this way, I could see how the war was developing…. This seems like yesterday to me.
Closeness in heart
Won-pil suggested he go out to make money, and I asked him to do so. At that time, I was writing the first Principle text, and being with a friend was precious. So, I never failed to walk with him for about a kilometer whenever he went out to work. About the time he was to come back at night, I would go out to meet him.
The emotion of the meeting was beyond description. The quality of a person’s heart is what matters, I am saying. When you have a heart, your yearning never stops; it never ends.
The time when I lived with Won-pil at Beomnaetgol was good, so my impressions of that time are still in my mind. Mr. Kim is also on my mind. I was grateful to him for the days when, out of loneliness and sorrow, as refugees, we would gaze at the moon together. Those impressions are indelible.
At that time, he used to find coming home from work more exciting than visiting a sweetheart. Even though I asked him to rest at home, he wouldn’t, and instead, he followed me around.
If I sat in the restroom for thirty minutes, he would be knocking on the door. I often used to fall asleep in the restroom. We were so close that even when we left North Korea, he left his mother and home to follow me, though I asked him to stay with his family.
Father had arrived in Busan, on Korea’s south coast, on January 27, 1951, in the middle of winter. It was here that, after experiencing the same challenges as every refugee faced, he made a new beginning. In this installment, Father relates how he built a small hut on a hillside above the city.
Painting portraits for soldiers
When I lived as a refugee in Busan, there were times when I shed many tears. There was no house in the world like mine. a builder built the house. There was a small table inside, and canvases for painting.
The canvases were to paint portraits for American soldiers who were returning to their homes after fighting in the Korean War. These were the only two things inside. It was an impoverished existence.
I wore an American military jacket. It was brown, with four pockets. I also wore traditional Korean pants dyed blue, but I didn’t tie the hems around my ankles. I wore mismatched rubber shoes; one was large and the other was small. In that wretched state, I would go and sit alone on a rock, where I would weep as I prayed. That place is the Rock of Tears.
The most pitiable time was when we stayed in the house in Beomnaetgol—the small table, one person drawing portraits, and I was doing all the chores. It was a miserable situation.
We painted portraits for U.S. soldiers. Kim Won-pil knew how to paint. We made all the canvases from one sheet of cloth before we set out to paint. We made our paste. We boiled it and plastered the sheet completely, so the cloth would fit tightly.
The American soldiers we were dealing with were rotating out of Korea after having stayed for a year and a half, or in some cases, two and a half years. Busan was their last stop in Korea, and they needed something special to bring back home. They wanted portraits of their wives, and at $4, it was cheap.
How did we paint them quickly? Initially, we did just one or two. Because we were in desperate need of money, we needed twenty or even thirty a day. Usually, the men only stay there for a week.
Occasionally, we used to paint nearly thirty portraits. First, I smoothed out all the wrinkles in the canvas. Then, in the right size to fit the frame, Won-pil sketched in faint lines with a pencil.
Once there were lines, all you had to do to form a shape of a person was to draw along the lines, catching the line where the eyes should be, for example. That sped up our work. Won-pil drew the lip lines; then it was my job to apply the paint.
He drew the face nicely, and I painted the hair color. I got the hang of it. Initially, I was just giving him some advice from behind. Later, having learned bit by bit, I did many parts, including the clothes.
Using this method, we made quite a bit of money, close to a hundred dollars a day. It was excellent pay. We used the money we earned for witnessing and pioneering. We made money through this work, but I didn’t use it for myself.
I think fondly of the time I lived in Beomnaetgol with Kim Won-pil. To me, those were the best of times. We usually think of our preschool and elementary school days as the best times. It is because our mom and dad came to wait for us and bring us home, spending a lot of time with us.
That is why we think those days are the best. Likewise, back then, we had such caring hearts for each other. Because we felt each other’s hearts so deeply, it was a good time. I also say it was a good time because we placed God’s Will at the center.
Carpentry work for the U.S. Army
I can make things like picture frames. While I was a refugee, for eight months I made a living as a carpenter for the U.S. Army. I didn’t study carpentry, but a lot of experience is better than any theory.
Laymen can catch up with professionals if they make three times as much effort. Professionals do it faster; I did it slowly but paid careful attention.
Because I had watched people doing carpentry in the past, I learned the tasks visually. I worked on anything from the first day on. Once I went to the construction site, I understood quickly how things were done. One can learn things through common sense and by understanding the principles behind them.
Writing the Original Principle text (Wolli Wonbon)
Seven years after the liberation of Korea, I prepared the Original Text of the Principle (Wolli Wonbon), which was a textbook and teaching material for the sake of fulfilling my mission responsibility.
I wrote a book on the Principle, Wolli Wonbon, in Beomil-dong in Busan, overlooking the harbor. I first noted the main points in outline form, and then started writing.
I wrote the ideas in condensed form, like poetry. Since I just wrote the essential points, people could not easily understand them unless I explained the main points to them. This is how I wrote the text, which I completed in May 1952.
No one could understand it well, no matter how much they tried. So I explained it to Eu Hyo-won, and then his mind opened up. From then on, he shed tears on reading each page of the manuscript, so much so that it became a “manuscript of tears.”
He would say, “How on earth could there be such incredible content! With this understanding, the fundamental teachings of Christianity and communism will be completely overshadowed.”
When I wrote Wolli Wonbon, I sometimes made drastic jumps in logic and wrote the content in a condensed form. Eu Hyo-won was given a copy of the manuscript before he joined the church.
As he read it, he cried and cried. I believe that he is the first person in our church’s history who was so moved after reading the Principle that he immediately wanted to become my disciple. This happened when he read Wolli Wonbon, which was before he ever met me in person.
On that day, I gave my Original Text of the Divine Principle manuscript to others to transcribe, and some did so. Kim Won-pil directly transcribed my handwritten Original Text, adding my verbal explanations. As he studied it, he came to understand, “Ah, this is what God is like!”
The value of the Principle
Centered on the Principle, and with the Principle, I have come this far. I laid its foundation with considerable hardships. I invested my blood, sweat, and tears as I was writing the Principle book.
Please understand that my bloody tears are embedded in each one of its pages, and that those tears are crying out to you.
I invested my life and sacrificed my youth for the Principle. That is why I am saying that my blood and tears are pleading to you from its very pages. You must never go against the Principle. Do not ever think the Principle I am teaching you is of no value.
Even God solemnly bows down and honors it. Such is the value of the Principle. Whenever you carry the Divine Principle book around with you, you must treat it with great reverence. Imagine if you had the only existing copy.
Think about how serious I was about taking care of Wolli Wonbon when I was writing the first manuscript. What would have happened if that manuscript had been lost, or I had died? I am telling you that such a serious issue can determine the life or death of the world.
Have you ever considered whether your tribe, your nation, the world, and even heaven and earth will prosper or perish, depending upon this book and your attitude toward it?
Have you ever considered that each individual’s eternal life depends upon this?
The father was a war refugee in Busan in the early 1950s, yet his focus was quite different from the usual focus on personal survival that characterized refugee life. His extraordinary vision for the world despite his circumstances at that time attracted some scorn, but it also attracted new members among the pure hearted and the prepared.
When I started on the road of the will in Busan, I looked the same as other people. Even so, there was a big difference internally. Though my clothes were shabby, and I was missing meals, my thinking was such that I stated loudly that I would win over the world and establish the kingdom of heaven.
We were still in the midst of the Korean War. In that situation, the world was like an iceberg, so cold and harsh. Families were separated; love for parents, spouses, or even children could hardly be found.
I prayed, looking out over the sea beyond Busan. God answered me, “Look — in the future the world will be like this,” and He showed me a vision.
During those days in Busan as a refugee, I built a house in Beomil-dong, and 3 of us gathered there to pray and witness. When I spoke to the other 2, I imagined that I was not doing so for just those 2 people. I thought of us as not just 3 people, but 30 million people.
At the time, I was speaking to only a few people, but I imagined that I was giving a speech to millions of Christians and all of humanity. I spoke wholeheartedly, shedding sweat, as if the whole town were listening to me.
On Sundays, the neighbors would say, “Ah, that young man is doing it again.” Even sitting with them knee to knee and whispering, they would be able to hear me. However, I spoke so loudly that the women at the well 150 meters away could hear me.
One lady who attended the village church happened to hear me when she was passing by. She began coming to my house every Sunday, where she stood outside and listened to me. She felt uncomfortable coming into a room filled with young men. Finally, one day she came inside and noticed how pitiful the room looked.
The words I was speaking were big enough to shake up the world, but our reality was miserable. Nevertheless, I talked about uniting the world and said, “God is our Father, and we are God’s sons and daughters. The kingdom of heaven will be realized, and hell will be destroyed.”
Attracting attention
At the time I lived in the mud-walled hut in Beomnaetgol, there was a rumor circulating about me: “Satan’s ringleader lives at the top of Beomil-dong. Christians, do not go there!”
Even when we held our worship services, everyone in the village church already knew about it and spread rumors, warning people not to go. But I was never discouraged.
When I went to pray on the mountain, I would often catch Satan spiritually by the collar and fight him. I fought him, saying, “You can’t defeat me in this battle. Someday you will surrender to me.” That was how I began.
When I was in Beomnaetgol in Busan, there was only one other church in Beomil-dong. That church had heard that we were good people, that we knew the Bible well, and that we had attended church in the past. So they tried to witness to us. I listened to what they had to say.
When they spoke, I listened to them cautiously. They thought that I would surely become a new member of their church, and on the first day, they were happy and simply left.
Predictably, the next day they returned. I said, “Let me ask you a question.” But they could not answer it. So I commented, “Is Jesus that ignorant? It seems the Bible does not teach you well enough; it makes you seem uneducated.”
I did not speak this way because I thought I was better than them, but because they did not know the Bible accurately. I told them, “No one should say there is a problem with the Bible itself; the problem is that you don’t know it well.
If you don’t know the Bible, how are you going to witness?” I continued, “I do not go to any church. But would you listen to what I know about the Bible?” And I began talking.
At first, I did not say anything that they could not digest. Usually, I would look at the situation, and if they were argumentative people, I would take a different approach rather than confront them. After speaking like this for several hours, they began to listen to what I had to say.
On one occasion, a student from a theological seminary came to visit me and said, “In history, people even greater than you have also dreamed of uniting the world, but they couldn’t accomplish it. How can you, in this place, think that you will bring unity?”
While I was speaking with him, I thought about how I looked and realized that I must surely look pitiful. Who would believe the big things I was speaking about in a house built so poorly that people could hear water running beneath the floor through its little drain? Those great people had all been more influential than I, living in better conditions, and surely had a better appearance.
When that seminarian heard the contents of what I was saying, my words sparked a hot debate in the area. People who spoke with the seminarian said, “That man up on the hill seems so naive.
He doesn’t look like the kind of person who would say such things, yet his words are incredible. He speaks of turning the whole world inside out, and heaven and earth upside down.” They said, “His place is so shabby and miserable that it is a place fit only for spirits to live.
Yet, he speaks of formidable things such as moving the whole world in his hand, unifying Korea, and uniting the world.” These were the rumors going around. Even people in neighboring villages heard about me and said, “At the village well, we heard people say that a remarkable person is living on the mountain, although he is a young man of few words.” As the rumors spread, more and more people came.
A vision and heart with which God could work
At that time, I was yearning to find the people who would connect to God in Busan. I waited for them while investing my utmost sincere effort. Looking spiritually, I could see they were coming. In real life, however, they were not coming closer. I had to wait for the time to come.
Once a crack appears in whatever is blocking the way, the road will open up. For this to happen, there was a certain indemnity period. For example, there is a period of one’s indemnity and a period of indemnity for a community.
There was just the white paper door separating us. I could hear voices shouting, “Teacher! Teacher! Father! Father!” I could hear a great mass of people calling out to me. It felt as if they would flood in if I so much as made a small hole, but this thin paper was blocking them.
The flood continued to draw nearer with each passing year. At such times, how much must God have yearned to see His beloved sons and daughters? I would wake up in the morning and look at the distant mountains, and then see visions of people, a great throng of people coming in procession.
I would go up to the mountain and sit and wait until evening, forgetting even to have lunch. How long did I wait? I needed to experience the heart of God as he waited six thousand years for all the lost, fallen people.
When the sun set, I would say, “Aren’t they coming?” and in the morning I would wake up with the break of dawn, even before the cock crowed, and wonder, “Aren’t they coming?” Thus, I would wait with a heart that never forgot.
How much sympathy must God have felt toward the man who endured and worked like that with this dream in his heart?
So He summoned people to visit me: “Go and look for Rev. Moon!” Recognizing this, I can say that God likes me.
God sends people by instructing them in that way. People who endure difficulties in the here and now and maintain a dream for the future, living in the present time as if it’s the future, become Heaven’s people. We have to understand that they become the ones God remembers.
The first members to join
Some of the people who were my followers in North Korea had moved to the South. They couldn’t forget me, so when they heard that I was in Busan, they came looking for me. We held Sunday services in that small hut. The hut may have been small, but it became well-known.
It is human nature to visit one’s wife and children first, but I visited my friends first. It took me two years to find people connected to me, from close friends to acquaintances and members who had followed me in North Korea.
Grandma Seung-do, who is sitting here, knows about that. Only after I had found and met them all did I go home. This is how Heaven works.
Those that remained are Won-pil, Grandma Ji Seung-do and Ok Se-hyun. People like Ms. Lee Gi-hwan I had known already from the past when I was in the South. I started the church in the Beom-il District with these people.
At that time, I had just a few followers. While I lived by myself in Beomil-dong, the people who became members were those who were urged by the spirit world to come looking for me. I recall this as though it happened just yesterday.
Initially, everyone had opposed me. Even so, I laid the foundation upon which I, coming from North Korea to South Korea and establishing indemnity conditions, was able to pay indemnity even on the global level.
Sun Myung Moon