You’re offline. This is a read only version of the page.
"Get away from us!"
The woman's voice echoed through the mountain forest.
Cho* froze. He'd been hiking the same paths for years, searching for North Korean refugees hiding in these woods. But this was the first time anyone had shouted at him.
"Leave us alone!" she yelled again.
Cho had spotted her in the underbrush—dirty clothes, terrified eyes. Behind a nearby tree, a young man watched warily. Their synthetic clothing gave them away instantly. North Koreans.
"Please," Cho whispered urgently. "Don't shout. If the guards hear us, we're all in danger."
The couple stared at him with a mixture of fear and defiance.
Cho slowly reached into his bag. "I have food and water. Are you hungry?"
He set the bag down and backed away several steps.
That changed everything.
The couple rushed forward and began eating. They were starving.
Every week, Cho made this dangerous trek.
He wasn't supposed to be there. In that region, helping North Korean refugees can mean fines or arrest. But Cho kept going anyway.
Why? "My purpose in life is to save souls," he told our team simply.
He knew the North Koreans hiding in these forests had risked everything to escape—trudging through freezing rivers, dodging border guards, fleeing hunger and oppression. And he knew they had no idea there was a God who loved them.
That first day, Cho left the young couple with food, water, tarps, and blankets. "Stay hidden," he told them. "I'll come back after dark with more supplies."
He turned and walked back down the mountain, praying as he went.
When Cho returned the next night, the couple had set up a makeshift shelter. They introduced themselves as Eun-Yeong* and Cheol-Ho.* They thanked him for the food and began to talk.
"This is the first time in my life I've tasted white rice," Cheol-Ho said quietly.
Then Eun-Yeong asked the question Cho had been waiting for.
"Why do you do this? There must be some reason you carry food through the mountains every week."
Cho smiled. "If you want to know why I do it, it's because of a man named Jesus. He's the Son of God, and He loves you very much."
He pulled a Bible from his bag and offered it to her.
She pushed it back. "I don't believe in God," she said flatly. "We're grateful for the food, but we don't want anything to do with superstition."
"This book is yours to keep," Cho said gently. "Read it or don't read it—it's up to you."
He left it with them and hiked back down the mountain, trusting God with the rest.
Days passed. Cho kept returning with food and supplies.
Then one night, Eun-Yeong rushed toward him as soon as she saw his headlamp approaching.
"I need to tell you something," she said, breathless. "I've been reading the book you gave us. Yesterday, I had a dream. There was a person in my dream... He called me by my name. I think it was this 'Jesus' the book talks about."
Cho stared at her, amazed.
"I don't know what this means," she continued, "but I want to find out more about Him. What can you tell me?"
For hours that night, Cho explained the gospel. The couple asked question after question. They couldn't get enough.
Before he left, Cho took a chance. "If you really want to learn more, I can take you to a safe house where other North Koreans are discovering Jesus. You'll delay your escape, and there's still risk. But you'll be safe there, and you can learn."
The next night, when Cho returned, the couple was packed and ready.
"Please," Eun-Yeong said. "Take us there tonight."
The safe house—supported by Open Doors and believers like you—became home for the young couple. They received food, shelter, and something far more valuable: biblical training. They gave their lives to Jesus.
Then they made a stunning decision: they would return to North Korea to share their faith.
They knew the cost. If caught as Christians, they'd be sent to a labor camp or executed on the spot.
But they went anyway.
A year later, Cho received a coded message from inside North Korea. Just four words:
"Our family has grown to five."
Three more North Koreans now knew Jesus.
Not long after, Cho was back in the forest. He spotted someone—a young man he'd helped three years earlier.
This time, the man had brought five new Christians with him. They'd never been inside a church. Never seen a Bible. They wanted to know more about their faith.
Cho took them to the safe house.
Years later, when illness forced Cho to stop his mountain treks, he gathered what little money he had and gave it to Open Doors workers. "Please use it for the ministry," he said.
Cho the evangelist passed away recently, which is why we can tell you his story safely. But his ministry lives on.
Through the work of faithful believers like Cho, an underground church is growing in North Korea.
