Anon ’78 —

In my garage somewhere, boxed up to protect it from dust and our numerous moves, is an old photo from around 1980. The photo captures one of my first times meeting Reverend Sun Myung Moon.

He had come to pay Jacob House a visit, where I spent most of my waking hours as a toddler. I am told that I broke ranks from the group of other kids and ran up to the messiah, shouting, “Aboji! Aboji!” So he scooped me up in his arms. Freeze frame.

The last time I would see him alive, I was waiting to give him flowers with my wife. We were in the modified carport of his home in Las Vegas. Unfortunately, the time was not right, and his faithful son, Hyung Jin Nim, apologized and said it was not possible for us to meet him at that time. I remember how the sun flashed around the room, reflected off the plastic wrap of the bulky bouquet. I told him it was okay.

I was raised to believe that I know him in my heart and I tried my best to do so for many years. I can hardly say that I ever knew him on a personal level, as you would know a friend or family member. I do not know what his favorite brand of cereal is, but, strangely, I know that he liked fishcake sausages for breakfast.

We have a few things in common, such as our birthday by the lunar calendar. He also gave me my name, which I spent much of my younger years trying to escape, but have finally come to accept. Your name is your fate, and I have come to enjoy having a strange name.

This religious organization he created has been my point of reference, come what may, for nearly my entire conscious life. It has directed me to accomplish what I believe to be the dream of God and humankind alike.

Upon reflection and meditation, I am deeply grateful. He planted in me a seed of compassion. And he led my heart to faith and knowing the divinity all around us.

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