by Myunghee Singer
Miami
Something always happens in May—this has become my expectation. This time of year is when I’ve faced my greatest challenges and won my greatest victories. Twenty years ago in May, I began practicing Nichiren Buddhism in Korea, where pioneer SGI members showed me the spirit at the heart of SGI’s annual commemorative contribution activity.
In 2005, a college friend introduced me to Buddhism in the middle of my senior year. He did not hesitate to invite me to chant Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, and I did not hesitate to try. I trusted him, and besides, I was deeply depressed. With graduation looming on the horizon, I saw no clear path beyond it and had no confidence that I could pave one. But as I began chanting, I felt a flame of hope come alive in my heart. From that day on, I knew I’d continue practicing Buddhism for life.
I was living on a tiny daily budget at the time—$10 for transportation and food. Deciding to put my Buddhist practice to the test, I put aside a portion daily toward contribution. For one month, I did this and found that my battle was for more than mere moderation—it was to win over a fear even older than me, that I’d not even known that I had.
My parents are of a postwar generation, raised by survivors of the Korean War. They built their life from nothing, working tirelessly just to survive. Though never claiming to grasp what they had lived through, I inherited nonetheless their respect for money, as well as an instinctual fear of living without it. And so, every dollar put toward my contribution was for me a victory over my fear. The key, I discovered, was chanting with others—for our own and others’ victories. One person’s breakthrough brought everyone joy, and in this way, our conviction grew strong. At the end of the month, I made my contribution, resolved to open the way to a bright future. Actually, I cried, overwhelmed with appreciation for having awakened to a real belief in myself.
Soon, I was accepted into a master’s program in hospitality management here in Florida, where I moved in 2007. A year in, I met Ray, my now husband. We grew serious and began building a life together, marrying in 2010.
The year that we married, we bought our first home—beautiful but needing major renovations. I’d chanted in earnest In prayer, I’d given our home a mission: to welcome many friends in faith. And part of that mission was also, of course, to be the home where we’d raise our children. Within a year of the purchase, we were expecting a baby, our first, our daughter, Mihi. But then, with her due date just a few months away, our whole livelihood came suddenly under threat. That spring, my husband walked into his office at work and found it was missing his desk. It had been removed and placed alongside those of the junior employees, conveying clearly that management wanted him out.
With a mortgage, renovations and a baby all due, I feared how this would unfold. But I did not stay afraid for long. It was May, and I was determined to give my all in that year’s May Commemorative Contribution activity. To my surprise, my atheist husband was too.
Ray, you see, is a hardheaded person and one of the smartest I know. But even he couldn’t think his way out of this and often joined me in chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo. Whether hosting members at home or going over to a friend’s, we put our faith in the strategy of the Lotus Sutra.
Little by little, the situation improved, my husband responding with wisdom, conviction and poise. By the end of that spring, he’d secured not only his job but an enormous raise as well. Through his prayer and earnest resolve, he’d completely transformed his environment.
One prayer of mine since becoming a mother has been for my daughters’ happiness and growth. Wherever they go, whatever they do, I’m determined they’ll be capable people, benefiting others in their own unique way. For this reason, their education has been important to me—something I have refused to compromise. And indeed, wherever one door has closed, another has opened, and we always secured the best educations for them. Always, our causes for kosen-rufu manifested tangible effects; always I felt protected and in rhythm. But never did I feel so protected as I would in May 2023.
That May, my husband went in for a routine medical checkup—I say “routine” but it wasn’t for him. The type to visit a hospital only in an emergency, my husband went in almost on a whim. And on that very visit the doctors diagnosed him with colon cancer. He’d need surgical care, and right away, I determined that he’d get the best.
Initially, we were cautioned that an appointment with Miami’s top surgeons took months—often half a year. Chanting abundant daimoku with our Soka family during the May Contribution activity, we were unfazed, determined to create a victory. And what do you know, schedules changed and doctors became available. Ultimately, the surgery was arranged—not within months or weeks, but days.
When my husband underwent his surgery, I chanted the entire time with friends in faith. Not once did I feel alone, defeated or hopeless. In fact, I felt incredibly strong.
The key to this was my earnest resolve—my determination to use my life to advance kosen-rufu. Constantly, I shared Nam-myoho-renge-kyo with whoever crossed my path, which was my lifeline, my key to winning over my fear. It was also, I realized, a golden opportunity to deeply reflect on everything I had to be appreciative for in life.
My husband’s surgery went off without a hitch, and his recovery, which doctors expected to take months, took six weeks, after which we put the whole thing behind us. My husband regained his good health, and our family—our whole SGI family, I’d say—gained an even deeper conviction in faith. This deep appreciation awakened in me a determination I did not expect—a desire to make a contribution of a kind I’d never made before. Toward this end, I began working that year as an elementary school teacher, to repay my debt of gratitude. When, in 2024, I made that contribution—my dream amount—I was overwhelmed by the joy of truly striving all-out.
I was reminded this April of why I contribute and why I share Buddhism. I was filling my tire at a gas station near my home when the young man working there came out to help. When I shared Buddhism with him, his face lit up with hope—he’d been grieving the loss of his father. He was struggling also, as I was at his age, to find a way to make gainful use of his education. Since we first spoke, he’s been chanting every morning, feeling more hope that he can win.
True fortune is found in a fearless heart—in sharing the joy of knowing that great obstacles are the fuel for even greater victories.
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