Our group of 32 Korean adoptees arrived at the Il San Center at night on June 11. I woke up early the next morning to take a walk around the Center. It surprised me at first to see how everything seemed smaller in size. The roads and buildings, however, were the same ones that I used to know so well except for a few new additions.

   Without delay I made my way toward the one place that I wanted to visit more than any other place at Il San. I headed toward the hill at Il San where Harry Holt is buried. I came to the foot of the hill and saw red brick steps that led up to the grave of Harry Holt. They were not the steps that I remembered or expected to see. The old steps had been replaced. As I walked up, I counted each step just as I used to do as a young boy. Unlike the other times, this time I counted in English. There were 59 steps; the same as before. I stood before the familiar grave and felt as if I had finally met a dear friend of mine after many years of separation. I did not greet him with words, but only with my heart, which had longed for this day for so long. I left Korea as a boy, but now returned as a man. And the man who had been a big part of my childhood, and much in my thoughts in the latter years of my life, lay here, on the peaceful hill at Il San.

   I remember the day when Harry Holt died. He was 59 years old. I stood and watched him being buried a few days later. It rained heavily on that day. It rained also in the hearts of many who knew and loved Harry. It rained hardest, though, in the hearts of many children.

   I also remember a day, not too long after the burial when I was alone by the grave. A blond American boy came up to the grave, knelt beside it, and firmly planted a small American flag right above Harry's heart. To this day I do not know why he planted the flag, but I have an inexpressible understanding that at that time for him it was the proper thing to do. That flag was no longer there. I went to the place where it used to stand, reached into my pocket and took out a small American flag. I unrolled it, and planted it firmly where the old flag once stood. I gazed at the flag and thought about how Harry Holt planted flags of love in the hearts of thousands of needy children. I, for one, was one of those children. Thinking about the kind of man that Harry was, loving and kind, and what he did to give love and happiness to the needy children, made my eyes well up with tears.

   I remembered Harry's bushy eyebrows and his big smiles. Everything about him seemed big, especially his love for the Lord, his family and the children. I remembered the times when I would run into his wide open arms, and he would let me sit beside him in his earthmover as he worked the fields. He used to poke me in my ribs and give a big laugh when I started to fall asleep. I remembered how children surrounded him and called out after him wherever he went.

   I looked at the scripture on the tombstone which read, "Fear not, for I am with thee. I will bring thy seed from the East, and gather them from the West . . . Bring my sons from far, and my daughters from the ends of the earth (Isaiah 43:5,6)." He believed in these words, and in the One from whom they came. When he looked into the eyes of many homeless children, Harry Holt saw the very eyes of Christ and he responded to their needs. In turn, many of those children saw that light and responded to the source of that light; of which I am eternally grateful.

   Harry Holt was a good farmer on his Oregon farm. But much more than that, he was a good farmer in a very special way. Under the direction of God, he brought many "seeds from the East" to families of their own. This year, I as one of those "seeds," was given the opportunity to visit my motherland. In addition to our group of adoptees from the United States, a group of Norwegian adoptees with their parents joined us. Together we visited historical places, industrial sites, and official functions in Korea. Our hosts, David and Nancy Kim, were like our parents, loving and caring for us throughout the whole trip. We observed Korea as it is, a country with a unique cultural heritage blended with rapid modernization and development. It is a country that has embarked on a new heritage with a new beginning. Amidst the rapid growth and new hope for the future, however, Korea lives under the fearful threat of the Communists from the north. A Korean lady stated that although she does think about the situation in Korea from time to time, she is used to living with the Communist threat.

   On our way back to the United States, our group had quite a moving experience in escorting more "seeds from the East" to be placed in American homes. A girl sitting behind me broke into tears as we sat in the airplane with the babies. I understood her feelings, for she once was one of those babies.

   At the Los Angeles International Airport, we saw two of the children united with their new families. A mother greeted her new five-year-old son with tears in her eyes. I saw her husband holding him, and their own children surrounding them. This Korean boy now belonged to them. They were a gift of God for each other.

   As I turned to go home, one of the parents, who adopted a baby, stopped to thank me and said, "One thing is for sure, no matter what happens, my son is going to grow in the Lord." That assurance was like the cream that tops a pie!

   I came home from the airport with those words ringing in my ears. Now I am back to my normal schedule in the L.A. area, but from time to time my mind flies back to the hills of Il San and I reflect on my childhood days. For me, the days of sling shots and playing soldiers, the days of hunting frogs and snakes for fun, and the days of Wanda's crowded classroom are gone. Gone too are the days of Grandpa Holt and his noisy earthmover, the days of Grandma Holt with her French braids and camera, and the days of the Bible story hours with Molly. For me, the days of the children shouting in the streets and the days of children's choir, and the ringing of the bell on top of the lofty chapel are gone. For me, these things are just memories, but they will never be forgotten. They are written on the buildings that Harry Holt built, and on the walls that we touched. They are written on the trees and hills in which we played. They are written on Grandpa Holt's grave. They are written on the faces of the children at Il San today, who, whether mentally or physically handicapped, always greet you with a smile and a handshake. Last of all, they are written forever in my heart.

Steve Morrison
Marina del Rey, CA
From Hi Families September/October, 1993
©1993 Holt International Children's Services