2014, Guam

 

The theme of today's early morning prayer was forgiveness. After the service, as usual, I changed clothes, slipped on my sandals, and walked to Alupang Beach to immerse myself in the Pacific Ocean. While exercising far from my belongings, I

noticed someone passing by the spot where I had left my clothes and sandals.

 

It was a homeless man who usually slept near Jimmy Dee’s Beach Bar. Most days, by the time I arrived, he would have woken up and started tidying the area. But today, he was sprawled out in the sand, clearly having had too much to drink. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming as I walked past him. By the time I finished swimming, he was awake, wandering around.

 

And then, the problem arose.

 

 

When I returned to my belongings, my hat, shirt, and car keys were still there—but my sandals were gone. The culprit was obvious. We saw each other regularly, yet he had taken my sandals. No matter how much I searched the area, they were nowhere to be found.

 

The walk back to church was painful. The asphalt road was rough, making barefoot walking agonizing. Broken beer bottles littered the streets, abandoned by drunken passersby, posing a real danger to my feet. With each painful step, I reflected on the morning sermon—about forgiving unconditionally. But thinking about that man stealing my sandals made frustration bubble up inside me.

 

"If he had simply asked, I would have given him money to buy sandals. He knew I'd have to walk barefoot, and yet he did this. What a terrible person."

 

That thought ran through my mind automatically.

 

"Still, what’s the point of being upset? My feet hurt regardless. Getting angry only makes me suffer. I should just forgive and forget. At least he left my hat, shirt, and car keys behind—that’s something."

 

With that shift in mindset, I felt more at peace.

 

But really—what timing! Less than an hour after hearing a sermon on forgiveness, God tested me firsthand.

The sandals I lost today were ones I had bought in March, right after arriving in Guam. A Korean grandfather named Joe Kim, whom I met at McDonald's, had kindly given me a ride and taken me to a bargain shop, where I picked them up for just $1.50. They were cheap, plain-looking, and thin, so they wouldn’t have lasted long anyway. But still, I had grown attached to them, and losing them was unexpectedly bittersweet.

 

I told myself, "Well, let’s just consider this an act of charity—giving shoes to someone in need."

 

Honestly, this wasn’t my first experience with Guam’s quirky misfortunes.

 

Since the island is full of beaches, I had brought an expensive swimsuit from Korea. I wore it once, then left it out to dry on my third-floor balcony—only to find it stolen the next day, along with a pair of underwear. Who steals laundry, especially from three stories up? That was my first greeting from Guam: “Welcome to Guam!”

 

Then there was my shoe fiasco.

 

My feet are small but wide, making it hard to find well-fitting shoes in the U.S. So last October, I found a perfect pair at Costco in Korea—expensive but incredibly comfortable for exercise. I cherished them. I even brought them to Guam and Mongolia. But two weeks after arriving in Guam, I left them in my car during morning prayer, only to step outside and find someone had taken them.

 

From the very start, Guam kept leaving me with… strong first impressions.

 

Just last Saturday, a drunkard left a pile of human waste at the entrance of the church. And today, I lost my sandals. Cleaning up that mess, I was seething.

 

"Guam sure knows how to welcome its visitors."

 

 

By this point, I’ve had multiple versions of Guam’s special “welcome.” Now, with just 40 days left before I leave the island, I really hope my farewell will be a little more pleasant.