시골로 이사를 가서 올해는 네 번째 봄을 맞이합니다. 새로운 봄을 맞이하면서 해마다 정원이 조금씩 달라지고 있다는 것을 느낍니다. 첫해는 정원이 아예 존재하지 않았습니다. 다만 집 앞에는 100평짜리 텃밭이 있었고 거기에는 마늘이 자라고 있었을 뿐입니다. 그래서 첫해 봄에는 마음속에 정원을 구상하고 있었습니다. 마늘 농사를 짓고 나면 어떻게 텃밭을 정원으로 꾸밀 것인지를 두고 백지에 구상을 하기도 했습니다. 그리고 심고 싶은 나무와 꽃들의 이름을 써보기도 했습니다.
또 여러분들이 ‘이래야 한다.’ ‘저래야 한다.’는 다 감당할 수 없는 여러 가지 충고를 하기도 했습니다. 그런데 아무래도 잔디를 심은 마당에 마음이 갔습니다. 그래야 제가 가지고 있는 바비큐 기능장의 솜씨를 발휘해 많은 분들을 초대해서 양고기 바비큐를 할 수 있을 것 같아서였습니다. 마늘을 수확하고 첫해 여름이 지나자마자 잔디를 심었습니다. 잔디 하나를 심는데도 많은 분들이 도움말을 주시기도 하고 도움의 손길을 내밀어 주셨습니다. 몇 해가 지나갔지만 지금이라도 수고한 분들에게 감사하다고 말하고 싶습니다. 그때 여러분의 도움으로 지금은 누구나 보면 예쁜 잔디밭이 자리를 잡았습니다.
그뿐 아니라 꽃들을 위해서 만든 꽃밭도 이제는 제법 자리를 잡아 꽃필 때 찾아오는 분들이 예쁘다고 칭찬을 들려주십니다. 며칠 전에는 아무래도 꽃밭이 비좁아져서 조금 더 늘리는 작업을 봄비를 맞아 가면서 했습니다. 그리고 주차장 앞쪽 공간에는 잔디 남은 것을 대충 심고 잘 가꾸지 않았더니 해마다 여차하면 쑥대밭을 이루곤 해서 올해는 다시 손질을 했습니다. 빈공간은 잘 가꾸지 않으면 빈 그대로 있질 않고 여러 가지 잡초에다가 문자 그대로 생명력이 왕성한 잡초들, 그 가운데 하나가 쑥이고 그래서 쑥대밭이란 말이 나왔는가 봅니다.
하여간 네 번째 봄을 맞이하면서 그동안 정원사인 아내가 겨울 말고는 거의 매일 두 시간씩 정성을 드린 덕분에 “올 때마다 예쁘게 달라진다!” 는 찬사를 듣게 되었습니다. 그러나 어찌 새로 가꾸는 마당의 정원뿐이겠습니까? 우리의 인생에 골고루 주어진 시간의 정원도 마찬가지라는 생각이 듭니다. 가꾸는 만큼 달라진다는 진리는 거기도 변함이 없을 것이라는 생각을 하고 있는데 카톡에 문자 하나가 날라 왔습니다. “정 목사님, 부활절 메시지 잘 읽었습니다. 은혜 많이 받고 컴퓨터에 저장해 두었습니다.” 그래서 “참 반갑습니다. 비가 내리니 시골동네에 사는 기쁨이 배가 됩니다.” 답을 보냈더니 이어서 한 번 더 문자를 보내왔습니다. “특히 감격적인 것은 (남아공화국에서) 공부할 때에 같이 기도하던 영성, 귀국 후 우리 (고신대학교) 교수들에게 눈물 흘리게 한 그 분위기를 느꼈기 때문입니다. 주 안에서 평안을 빌면서…”
Having moved to the countryside, we are welcoming our fourth spring this year. As each new spring arrives, I sense how our garden changes little by little year after year. In our very first year, there was no garden to speak of. In front of the house lay only a vegetable plot of about a hundred pyeong, where garlic was growing. So during the spring of that first year, I was designing a garden in my mind. I would sketch on a blank sheet of paper how to turn that vegetable patch into a garden once the garlic farming was over, jotting down the names of trees and flowers I wished to plant.
Many people also offered all kinds of overwhelming advice, telling me, “You should do it this way,” or “You must do it that way.” Yet my heart was drawn above all to a lawn-covered yard. It felt like that would best allow me to put my certified barbecue skills to use, inviting many guests over for a lamb barbecue feast. As soon as the first summer passed following the garlic harvest, we planted the lawn. Even planting grass brought words of advice and helping hands from so many people. Though several years have since slipped by, I still want to express my heartfelt thanks to those who labored with us. Thanks to everyone's help back then, a beautiful lawn that charms every onlooker has now settled in nicely.
Not only that, but the flowerbeds we made for blossoms have also taken shape beautifully, earning compliments of praise from guests whenever flowers bloom. A few days ago, sensing that the flowerbeds were becoming a bit cramped, I worked in the gentle spring rain to expand them a little more. And in the space in front of the parking area, where leftover sod had been planted carelessly and left unattended, it had tended to turn into an overgrown tangle of mugwort every year. So this year, I tended to it once again. Empty spaces never simply stay empty if left uncared for; instead, they fill up with various weeds brimming with sheer vitality—mugwort being one of them, which is probably why people speak of a place becoming a “mugwort wasteland.”
At any rate, as we greet our fourth spring, thanks to my wife—our devoted gardener who has poured her heart into it for nearly two hours almost every single day except in winter—we have come to receive wonderful praises like, “Every time we visit, it has transformed into something even lovelier!” Yet could this apply only to the garden we tend in our front yard? I find myself thinking that the garden of time, granted equally to each of our lives, is much the same. Just as I was reflecting on the unchanging truth that things flourish and change in proportion to how much care we pour into them, a text message arrived on KakaoTalk: “Rev. Jung, I truly enjoyed reading your Easter message. It was so full of grace that I saved it on my computer.” So I replied, “How wonderful to hear from you. The falling rain only doubles the joy of living in a countryside village.” A follow-up text soon arrived:
“What moved me especially was that I could feel the very spirituality of how we used to pray together during our studies in South Africa—that very atmosphere that moved our professors at Kosin University to tears after your return to Korea. Wishing you peace in the Lord…”
Nadat ons na die platteland verhuis het, verwelkom ons vanjaar ons vierde lente. Met die koms van elke nuwe lente merk ek hoe die tuin jaar na jaar bietjie vir bietjie verander. In die eerste jaar was daar glad nie 'n tuin nie. Voor die huis was daar slegs 'n groentetuin van sowat honderd pyeong waar knoffel gegroei het. Daarom was ek in die lente van daardie eerste jaar besig om 'n tuin in my gedagtes te ontwerp. Ek het op 'n skoon vel papier sketse gemaak van hoe ons die groenteakker in 'n tuin sou omskep sodra die knoffel geoes is, en ek het die name neergeskryf van bome en blomme wat ek graag wou plant.
Daar was ook baie mense wat 'n oorweldigende verskeidenheid raad gegee het: “Jy behoort dit so te doen,” of “Jy moet dit sus doen.” Tog het my hart hoofsaaklik na 'n grasperk getrek. Dit het gevoel asof dít my die beste in staat sou stel om my vaardighede as 'n gesertifiseerde braaispesialis in te span en baie mense te nooi vir 'n heerlike lamsbraai. Net nadat die knoffel geoes is en die eerste somer verby was, het ons die gras geplant. Selfs om 'n enkele grasperk aan te plant, het baie mense raad gegee en 'n helpende hand uitgesteek. Al het 'n paar jaar reeds verloop, wil ek vandag nog my opregte dank uitspreek teenoor almal wat so hard saamgewerk het. Danksy almal se hulp destyds het daar nou 'n pragtige grasperk gevestig wat almal se harte verbly.
Nie net dit nie, maar die blombeddings wat ons vir die blomme gemaak het, het nou ook mooi posgevat, sodat gaste wat tydens die blomtyd kom kuier, dit as besonders mooi prys. 'n Paar dae gelede, aangesien die blombeddings effens beknop begin raak het, het ek in die lentereën gewerk om hulle nog 'n bietjie uit te brei. En in die oop ruimte voor die parkeerplek, waar die oorskietgras sommer losweg geplant en afgeskeep is, het dit jaarliks maklik in 'n wildernis van wilde als ontaard; daarom het ek dit vanjaar weer reggetrek. As 'n oop ruimte nie versorg word nie, bly dit immers nie net leeg nie, maar word dit oorgeneem deur allerhande geharde en lewenskragtige onkruid—waarvan wilde als een is, wat seker verklaar waarom 'n mens praat van 'n 'wildernis van wilde als'.
Hoe dit ook al sy, noudat ons ons vierde lente binnegaan, danksy my vrou—ons getroue tuinier wat behalwe in die winter byna elke dag twee uur lank haar hart en siel daarin gestort het—ontvang ons telkens die lof: “Elke keer as ons kom, het dit nog mooier verander!” Maar kan dít net van toepassing wees op die tuin voor die huis wat ons opnuut versorg? Ek besef dat die tuin van tyd, wat gelykop aan elkeen van ons in die lewe geskenk is, presies dieselfde is. Terwyl ek nagedink het oor die onveranderlike waarheid dat dinge verander na gelang van die sorg wat 'n mens daaraan bestee, het 'n KakaoTalk-boodskap op my foon deurgekom: “Ds. Jung, ek het u Paasboodskap met groot vreugde gelees. Ek het baie genade daaruit geput en dit op my rekenaar gestoor.” Ek het geantwoord: “Baie bly om van u te hoor. Die reën wat nou val, verdubbel waarlik die vreugde om in 'n plattelandse dorpie te woon.” Waarop nog 'n boodskap dadelik gevolg het:
“Wat my veral diep geraak het, is dat ek weer daardie selfde spiritualiteit kon aanvoel waarmee ons saam tydens ons studies in Suid-Afrika gebid het—daardie selfde gees wat ons professore aan die Kosin Universiteit tot trane toe beweeg het ná u terugkeer na Korea. Met wense van vrede in die Here…”