On the third Thursday of November, life in South Korea comes to a standstill. This year, around 350,000 high school seniors and 200,000 repeat exam takers in the country will sit for the Suneung exam, one of the most difficult standardized tests in the world and a critical gateway for students seeking college admission in South Korea.
On exam day, government offices and companies delay their office start times to prevent traffic congestion so students can get to the exam venues by 8 a.m., while the national army halts military training to reduce noise pollution. Police officers have even given rides to students who are running late.
Korea’s churches also take the Suneung exam very seriously. My former church in Seoul held special prayer meetings during the week the exam was held. At these early morning services, parents and grandparents would kneel and pray fervently that God would help their progeny do well academically.
Many Korean Christians view the Suneung exam as one of the fiery trials from which they pray their children will emerge victorious. In their eyes, the world needs more successful Christians who can impact an unbelieving society from positions of influence. To attain such positions, they need to get good grades and enter good colleges. My pastor would ask God to give students “the wisdom of Daniel” (Dan. 1:20) and proclaim that their “small beginnings” would lead to “greatness” in the end (Job 8:7).
Although I was not yet a parent when I attended that church, I felt compelled to join these families in their earnest intercessions to God that their children would grow to be wise and triumphant in this fallen world. Praying for one’s children in this manner seemed reasonable and inspiring. Good grades could glorify God, and the child’s parents and grandparents could also enjoy basking in the glory of raising a gifted young man or woman.
But now, as a mother to five children aged 3 to 12 years old, I’m increasingly convinced that I must change the way I pray for my children’s success. Through studying in seminary, I have come to realize that stories about biblical heroes like Daniel are not about their personal victories but about their dependence on God in seasons of suffering. I’m learning to resist cultural pressures to seek glory through my children’s educational achievements, both in South Korea and America, where my family moved in 2015.
Many Christian mothers I know—me included—feel a compulsion to engineer our children’s educational success. A recent Korean YouTube video parody illustrates this sentiment well. In the 10-minute clip, standup comedian Soo-ji Lee plays the wealthy “Jamie-Mom,” who wears an expensive Moncler puffer jacket and drives her four-year-old son to Daechi, an affluent neighborhood in Seoul that is known for its dense concentration of cram schools.
Jamie-Mom does all the things that a real-life Daechi mom does, like discussing her son’s progress with his English teacher and proudly highlighting his newly discovered talent in learning Chinese. She’s fixated on discovering “prodigy moments” that reveal her son’s hidden talents. She’s determined not to miss even the slightest glimpse of these traits because that’s what “moms are supposed to do,” she says. She talks about the benefit of doing these extracurricular activities in light of her son’s upcoming college admission.
Lee’s video went viral in South Korea, garnering more than eight million views and sparking mixed reactions. Some praised it for its sharp and satirical critique of the brokenness of the Korean education system, while others chastized it for fueling resentment toward well-meaning mothers. “You and I are no different—we all are Jamie-Moms,” one viewer remarked.
I see myself in Jamie-Mom and in the parents and grandparents who prayed so hard for the students taking the Suneung exam. I want my children to succeed in this competitive world and to live free from the anxieties of an uncertain tomorrow.
One friend enrolled her five-year-old child in a K–12 “English alternative school” in Seoul, which offers AP English courses to middle-schoolers and promises admission to Ivy League universities. She could not afford to send her son overseas and felt this school was the next best option. “The decision put our family finances in jeopardy,” she admitted. “Still, you know, we parents have to sacrifice so that our son will glorify God.”
In seeking the best for our kids, we begin to believe it is our sacred duty to sacrifice time, energy, and money so that our children can be set up for success and honor God through their achievements. We feel compelled to do whatever it takes to shield them from suffering, hoping they will glorify God like Daniel and his friends. We cling to promises like “Ask and it will be given to you” (Matt. 7:7).
This shows how the prosperity gospel has inevitably influenced the way we intercede for our children. Our prayers portray God as a genie from whom we expect only favorable things. They also reveal an underlying fear that our children’s academic failures will lead them to suffer, particularly in the South Korean context.
Students’ rankings on the Suneung exam are closely tied to their future earning potential. Intense academic pressure to excel in this nationwide test has driven up the cost of private education in areas like Daechi, making it increasingly unaffordable for average Korean families. As a result, only people who can bear the high cost of education are more likely to secure high-paying jobs, which in turn enables them to invest in their own children’s education.
Meanwhile, those who fall short academically and fail to attain high-income careers often feel they cannot afford to marry or raise children. Ironically, this drive to secure success for future generations has contributed to the country having the world’s lowest birth rate at 0.75.
In our prosperity gospel–infused mindsets, we may engage in shallow negotiations with God: “If you make my kids successful, I will give you glory.” But God does not need our children to be successful to be glorified. And it is not a mother’s role to shield her children from struggle and suffering.
Praying for our kids to receive the “wisdom of Daniel” for the Suneung exam, as my pastor in South Korea did, could appear to use the biblical prophet as a model for personal achievement. However, Daniel’s life is better understood as a testament to God’s sovereign purposes. God raises up and deposes the kings of the world, restoring hope to his exiled people through individuals like Daniel, who remained faithful amid persecution.
Tellingly, Daniel’s earthly success was not without profound suffering. He was an exile, torn from his country, and possibly made a eunuch. Any glory associated with Daniel—the one in whom the spirit of the holy God dwelt (Dan. 5:14)—belonged to God alone.
The verse in Job 8 that my South Korean pastor also referenced in his prayer—about moving from small beginnings to future greatness—is not about achieving success in life either.
In this chapter, Bildad reprimands Job, urging him to repent so that God might restore his fortunes, even though God has already declared Job righteous. Bildad’s words reflect a flawed theology that equates suffering with divine punishment and obedience with God-given success.
But the Book of Job highlights the inevitability of suffering in the life of the righteous—not as punishment for sin but as part of a deeper spiritual battle instigated by the ultimate enemy, Satan.
These Old Testament passages teach us that while we may feel tempted to shield our children from suffering and pray for them to enjoy smooth, successful lives, we must not stand in the way of God leading them into places where he will teach them true obedience and perseverance through trials.
Reflecting on the lives of Daniel and Job in a more holistic way has helped me reframe how I think about my children’s success. God has placed our family in downtown Dallas, and it is here that my children experience both flourishing and hardship. While they do not have to take the Suneung exam like their Korean peers, they will experience their own fiery trials—including standardized tests at every grade level and the looming pressure of college admissions.
I no longer feel guilty for not providing what the world considers the “best” educational opportunities for my children. I don’t need a Moncler jacket like Jamie-Mom’s or my child’s good grades to symbolize God’s blessings in my life. I don’t have to meet the world’s demands for proof of success, either for myself or for my children.
What I do need is to respond in faith to God’s calling in my life. In this increasingly troubled world, my role as a mother is to lead my children to grow spiritually so that when they face difficulties in life, they will not be afraid but will encounter their ever-present helper amid them.
These days, I’ve stopped merely praying for them to do well in school. Instead, I ask God to deepen their faith as they meet believers and nonbelievers alike. I pray this simple prayer: “Lord, I entrust my children’s lives to you. I pray that they will get to know you, because only that will help them stand firm in their faith when suffering comes.”
Ahrum Yoo is a PhD student in Old Testament at Dallas Theological Seminary.
