– Do you have a lon­ging for so­met­hing?

She looks di­rect­ly at me, but then her gaze shifts to the win­dow and the lar­ge as­pen trees and dark green spru­ces that grow out­si­de.

I need a mo­ment to think about what I am lon­ging for, but my friend con­ti­nu­es to speak.

She says she mis­ses the hou­se that her hus­band built for their fa­mi­ly. And the yard with a swing in the shade of a ro­wan tree and blos­so­ming pe­ren­ni­als by the wall. She al­so mis­ses the well that gave them wa­ter at first and then the wa­ter pipe that brought the wa­ter in­to the hou­se. They wor­ked hard – it was a good life. There was a bird fee­der out­si­de the win­dow and many birds. So­me­ti­mes they even saw a squir­rel there.

– Oh, why did I have to move out of that hou­se? I wish I were still there.

As we con­ti­nue our con­ver­sa­ti­on, I ask her how she would ma­na­ge to live there now. The hard-wor­king hus­band that built the hou­se has al­re­a­dy pas­sed away. She sighs. She ad­mits that ac­tu­al­ly she could not live there any lon­ger. She is al­so lo­ne­so­me for her hus­band.

– But do you ever long for anyt­hing? Where would you like to be? she asks.

I tell her that my lon­ging is most poig­nant in the spring, when white wood ane­mo­nes are in bloom. I re­mem­ber the springs of my child­hood, when fields were white with wood ane­mo­nes. This is why I have plan­ted wood ane­mo­nes on my yard whe­ne­ver I have found a few of them in the cold and in­fer­ti­le Kai­nuu re­gi­on. They have grown well on my yard, ho­we­ver.

But I point out that if I went to my child­hood home now, it would not be the same any more. When I long for my old home, I ac­tu­al­ly al­so long for the time I spent there as a child. That time is now part of my me­mo­ries.

I know I am so­me­ti­mes al­so lo­ne­so­me for dear pe­op­le who have pas­sed away. And ot­her pe­op­le whose paths have cros­sed mine in life. I may sud­den­ly feel a bur­ning de­si­re to see them again. But those mo­ments are on­ly short flash­backs. They are not bur­den for me.

– I long to be in the he­a­ven­ly home, my friend sighs.

Re­mi­nis­cing about her life again, she says:

– It is good I did not die yo­ung, as I did not know anyt­hing about this faith. I have re­cei­ved a great gift.

Even la­ter, while vi­si­ting to­get­her, our con­ver­sa­ti­ons touc­hed on the to­pic of lon­ging and lo­ne­so­me­ness. Gra­du­al­ly her strength di­mi­nis­hed. As her me­mo­ry fa­ded, she for­got about her dear home and the life of hard work. The on­ly thing left was her lon­ging for he­a­ven.

Then came the day when I sat by her bed for the last time. Now she need not long any more.

We may long for a place, a time in his­to­ry, dear pe­op­le. Or we may on­ly have an un­de­fi­ned sen­se of lon­ging. I think that is im­por­tant, too. Would life be so­me­how emp­tier, de­void of fee­ling, if we did not long for anyt­hing?

How deep must be the lon­ging of those who have had to le­a­ve their home count­ry or re­gi­on and move in­to unk­nown con­di­ti­ons?

I have of­ten thought that it would be ea­sy in this busy, bust­ling eve­ry­day life to for­get about my true des­ti­na­ti­on. I know, of cour­se, that I can use the days I have been gi­ven to do my tem­po­ral du­ties. Still, I of­ten al­so pau­se to think if I feel a lon­ging for he­a­ven. That ma­kes me want to meet those who are dear to me and to ex­pe­rien­ce si­tu­a­ti­ons that re­mind me of he­a­ven.

I re­mem­ber how, as yo­ung pe­op­le, we used to sing a lot af­ter ser­vi­ces. ”My he­art is ever lon­ging to re­ach that pe­a­ce­ful home" was es­pe­ci­al­ly dear to me. I do not know why. As far as I re­mem­ber, that song was not con­nec­ted to any spe­ci­al ex­pe­rien­ce ex­cept the great joy of sin­ging. My life at the time was hap­py and full of ho­pes and dre­ams for the fu­tu­re, but that did not di­mi­nish my de­si­re to sing about the lon­ging for he­a­ven. La­ter, at ti­mes of tri­als, the words of that song have re­al­ly come to life.

At ser­vi­ces I have no­ti­ced that even those who are yo­ung to­day of­ten sing songs about he­a­ven and the lon­ging for he­a­ven. In our hec­tic life we still have an in­ter­nal de­si­re for so­met­hing so­lid and stab­le. Sin­ging brings pe­a­ce to a rest­less mind. The lon­ging for he­a­ven ma­kes us look for­ward.

Text: Ai­li Pa­sa­nen

Trans­la­ti­on: Sirk­ka-Lii­sa Lei­no­nen

You will find the ori­gi­nal blog post here.