I grew up in a Christian family in a small town in Korea. From an early age, my parents taught me to look to Christ for salvation and to praise Him through every aspect of life. Honestly, in those early years, my faith was largely habitual; I attended church faithfully because it was expected of me, and the church was simply the world I knew. But it was during my college years at Chong Shin University in Seoul that everything shifted. Away from home for the first time, surrounded by rigorous theological study and worship, I began to ask deeper questions, not just "What do I believe?" but "Why do I believe it, and does it change the way I live?" It was in that season that faith stopped being something I inherited and became something I personally owned. I came to understand that Jesus didn't just die for "people" in general. He died for me, in my sin, in my pride, in my self-sufficiency. That realization broke something open in me, and I have never been the same. The most profound change has been in how I understand my identity as a musician. Before my faith became personal, I sang because I was talented, because it brought recognition, because it was what I was good at. But as I grew in my relationship with Christ, I began to see my voice differently, not as something that belonged to me, but as a gift entrusted to me for a much greater purpose. Isaiah 43:21 became the cornerstone of my calling: "The people I formed for myself, that they may proclaim my praise." I sing, and I teach with a clear sense of purpose now. Every rehearsal, every performance, every lesson carries the weight of something eternal. Jesus has also shaped the way I see family. My wife is a professional cellist, and together we are raising our two sons. What strikes me most is how faith has given us a shared vision that our home, our music, and our daily lives can themselves be an offering of worship to God. I find deep kinship with King David. Not because he was perfect, he was far from it, but because even in his darkest moments, facing fear, loss, and betrayal, he never stopped worshiping God. That steadfast, unwavering praise not rooted in emotion or circumstance, but anchored in who God is, is what I pray for in my own life. There are seasons in this vocation that are genuinely hard. The pressures of performance, the vulnerability of teaching, the challenge of raising a family while pursuing excellence in music, these are real. And in those moments, I am reminded that praise is not a feeling; it is a choice, a discipline, a declaration rooted in God's Word. Jesus continues to shape me by keeping me dependent on Him. I remain profoundly grateful, knowing that my faith, my calling, and my vision are entirely the result of His grace, not my own effort or ability. Above all, I want my students to see not just a skilled musician, but a person whose life points to something, Someone, greater than music itself.