For those who believe, heaven is guaranteed on the basis of God’s promise. The journey that remains is the process of working out that salvation to its fullness. Then the question arises: within the time given to us, how can we experience that promised heaven today? This is a question I have wrestled with for about fifteen years in the field of pastoral ministry.

I began my independent ministry in 2009, a time filled with zeal and passion. In 2011, my wife began her battle with breast cancer. In 2013, ovarian cancer struck our family like a devastating explosion. Until 2025, we have had to fight through many physical weaknesses, both big and small. Through more than fifteen years of suffering and pain, I came to realize what is truly precious. Among the many rewards in this world, the greatest reward is the “ordinary life” placed upon the present moment.

To wake up in the morning, open our eyes, and say “good morning” to our family; to sit together at the table and share stories—even about last night’s dreams—these are never things to be taken for granted. This confession comes from moments when I woke up in the emergency room due to an unstable heart condition, and from witnessing my wife wake again after four major surgeries.

To take a refreshing shower, to go to a workplace with a clear mind, and to receive a steady weekly or monthly income that meets our needs—none of these are guaranteed. The moment we begin to take these things for granted, the grace of gratitude within us begins to fade. This is something I have repeatedly observed throughout my ministry.

Especially in these days, when the world feels increasingly unstable, the ordinary life given to us becomes even more precious. Even in an age of advanced artificial intelligence, it cannot replace the warmth of human presence—neighbors and friends who share life with us. In that sense, the daily opportunity to meet and converse with others remains one of life’s greatest gifts.

These days, I find myself especially thankful. Since receiving the ICD procedure, I have been able to live without severe pain, to move freely, and to serve. Through my journey of faith and theology, one conviction has taken deep root within me: if we fail to taste the heaven given in our daily lives today, the heaven we hope to enter by faith in the future may also become dim and distant.

Believers are already living in a heaven that is not yet fully completed. As we live in this world, we walk with the Lord. To us, He gives a new morning each day, a table with food, and a spirit for meditation after the meal. Beyond that, He even provides a “desk” where we can record our gratitude and spiritual reflections.

The world given to us as a gift becomes the very field where we cultivate the “images” of our hearts. In that field, we expand the boundaries of our lives as we connect with others—even through video calls. I confess that this ordinary life is the most precious gift of all.

With the hope that one day, in God’s kingdom, we will live out the “ordinary life” of heaven not as a vision but as a reality—clothed in resurrected bodies—I already taste that joy and gratitude today.

“Lord, would You receive even this small reflection of my heart?”