They found a piece of canvas to put over the dirt floor. This would be their carpet and bed. A flimsy wooden box used for shipping oranges- called an orange crate-was pulled out during the day to serve as the table. There was an old kerosene lamp to light up the nights.
Just a few steps away was a little spring of water. "Tomorrow we will dig the dirt out of that little spring so the water can come up more freely," said Father to Won Pil Kim. "But tonight we sit down and give thanks and enjoy."
Father's friend from his student days, Duk Moon Aum, came, and they had a celebration.
They cooked their dinner of rice over an open fire outside the hut. As before, the only kind of rice they could get was old and was mixed with little stones that stuck in their teeth when they ate it. That kind of rice would be thrown out or given to animals today, but they were grateful to have even that. Father washed it carefully by the spring and got the little stones out. He cooked it over the fire. He had learned how to cook rice so the top part was cooked without burning the bottom part. Ask any woman today if she can cook a perfect pot of rice over a fire, and she will say, "No! I cannot do that. I need a rice cooker." It is very difficult.
They ate outside overlooking the other hills and the city below. As the sun disappeared for the night, Father turned to Mr. Aum. "Duk Moon-A, please sing a song for us." Mr. Aum sang a Korean folk song.
As would happen many times in the days and nights to come, Mr. Aum sang for hours-Korean songs, Italian folk songs, opera songs, many kinds of songs. His voice was strong and carried out over the hills of Pusan as a kind of blessing.
Father sat quietly watching the lights flickering on in the city below. His mind seemed to be far away, close by, everywhere all at once. He seemed to be thinking of the past, the present, the future. The music and the night blended together with the thoughts of this special man who would become our True Father.
Sometime after midnight, the three men said one more prayer and went into the little house to sleep. Even though it felt like a palace compared to what they had before, it was actually very small. With three adults, it was crowded. Father and Mr. Aum slept on each side by the walls, and Won Pil Kim, the youngest of the three, slept in the middle with his head down by their feet and his feet up by their heads.
The stars twinkled down on them through the cracks in the roof. The September breezes blew in on them. The little spring bubbled happily, and the trees reached out protectively over this holy ground. The hills sang a new song.
Father's favorite spot was a rocky place that stuck out from the hillside like a little cliff. Behind him was the woodsy area of the mountain as it continued higher. Before him were the valleys and hills of Pusan. He looked out from this point each day, until he knew by heart every curve and dip of the other hills against the sky. He paid no attention to the cold hard rock beneath him.
As he poured out his heart to Heavenly Father, he repented again and again for all the pain that had been brought to Heavenly Father over the years. He repented for the churches, who had not united with him. He repented for those who had left him.
Another person might have said, "Heavenly Father, I have already prayed many hours for the world. I have endured pain in prison. I have cried many hours for the world and for You. I cannot cry for you anymore. It's time to get a little rest."
Father didn't think that way. Again and again, as he prayed for each part of history, he sobbed with grief as he felt the agony and loneliness of God. Just as he had done when he was younger, he cried until it seemed that there could be no tears left in his head; yet they continued to pour like a torrent down his face and onto the rock beneath him. Morning after morning, this was his life.
Later, among his disciples, the big flat rock where Father usually prayed became known as the "Rock of Tears." It was washed by Father's tears so many times, it must be the holiest rock in all the world.
He felt so impatient-impatient to get things done; impatient to find more people. So many years had passed, and he had only a few people with him in Pusan. He was already over 30 years old.
Now, there was another urgent job to do. He must write down all his revelations. Up to this point, Father had been teaching the people himself. He read the stories directly from his well-worn Bible and explained to each person what the stories meant.
But he knew he couldn't continue forever teaching each person himself. It was important that he write everything down that had been revealed to him, so that more people could learn about these stories and so that the details would not be forgotten. Soon God would bring him a person who could make it into a book, and many people would come to hear God's words. Father had to be prepared. Every moment was precious and urgent.
When Father returned from his morning prayers, therefore, he immediately sat down to write. Many times, as Won Pil Kim left for work, Father was already sitting by the orange crate writing furiously, trying to keep up with all the information that came to him from God.
He learned to sharpen many pencils before starting so he could keep up with the words that came into his head. Some days, when Won Pil Kim, Mr. Aum, or someone else was there, their job was to sharpen the pencils with a little knife. Father wrote so fast, the pencils wore down almost immediately, and they could not always keep enough sharpened for him.
Father's hand always got very tired. From time to time, he gave it a shake and then continued writing, even though it hurt so much.
When Won Pil Kim returned from work in the evening, he would often find Father still writing at his little "desk." His eyes were red with weariness, his hand cramped into the writing position, his legs stiff from sitting on the floor all day. Often, he had forgotten to eat anything.
As the days went by, the stack of finished pages grew. Sometimes, ideas would come to Father before he could get a sheet of paper, and he would quickly write them on the cardboard walls. Soon the walls and ceiling were covered with writing. Information was coming from heaven day and night, and it had to be written down before it was lost.
One night, Father suddenly sat up and shook Won Pil Kim awake, "Won Pil-A! Won Pil-A! Wake up! Light the lamp-bal-li, bal-li (quickly, quickly)."
Won Pil Kim sat up with a jerk and quickly lit the old kerosene lamp. He looked with sleepy eyes at the pencil and paper Father had set before him.
"Please write what I tell you," said Father, without further explanation.
Won Pil Kim picked up the pencil and poised his hand over the paper. He gave his head a shake and rubbed his eyes with his other hand to get rid of the scratchiness.
Father began to talk. Won Pil Kim's pencil moved up and down as fast as he could make it go, as he tried to keep up with everything Father said. Father told all about the Lord of the Second Advent. He explained why such a man must come to earth, what he must do, where he will come, when he will come, everything. Father didn't have to stop and think what to say next or rewrite any of it so it would sound better. The words came out of his mouth as if they were already written somewhere. They were coming directly from Heavenly Father.
Soon, Won Pil Kim's hand was throbbing with pain. Father kept sharpening more pencils for him, so he could continue writing without stopping. The words kept coming. Then, it stopped just as suddenly as it had begun.
"Thank you," said Father. "It is finished." He added these pages to the rest of the stack.
Won Pil Kim lay gratefully down on the canvas mat and closed his eyes. His hand still felt cramped, as he fell asleep for the few minutes remaining before wake-up time. The first Divine Principle had been written, and the last chapter was in his handwriting.
When morning dawned, Father was already on the mountain praying. Won Pil Kim got up to prepare for work, and as he ate his morning rice and thought over what had happend the night before, the day felt very special.
"I see it now!" he exclaimed to himself as he started down the hill. "Now I understand! Moon Sun Myung is the Lord of the Second Advent! He is the second Messiah. That's why he told me years ago that there would never be another group like this one. I've lived with him and worked with him all this time, and I didn't really understand." The events of the night kept going through his head.
"So that's how he gets his revelations!" he thought in awe. "It comes through him directly from God. He hears it in his head, or sees it in his mind-or something! When he writes so furiously all day, that's what is happening to him. now I see!"
He reached the bottom of the mountain and picked his way through the bustling streets. But Won Pil Kim hardly noticed the people on their way to work.
"If I hadn't done that writing for him last night, no one-no one-would ever have known how he receives his revelations. He had to let me learn it, so I could explain to others!" He shook his head incredulously.
As he reached his place of work, he noticed for the first time the crowds of people around him.
"They have no idea," he thought, as he watched them scurrying about. "They think there's nothing more to life than work and food. A bowl of rice and a warm floor is all they ask. They don't know the Lord of the Second Advent is here-now-in Pusan!"
He felt like shouting the news to them, but just then he reached the door of his place of work. He paused.
"How can I do such meaningless work at a time like this? The Messiah is here. I would rather be doing his work, God's work." Should he go back up the hill? He thought it over a moment.
"No!" he answered himself. "I, out of all the people in the world, can earn money today for the Lord of the Second Advent!"
Won Pil Kim slid the door open and stepped in. He would earn the money with love today.