JavaScript is disabled in your web browser or browser is too old to support JavaScript. Today almost all web pages contain JavaScript, a scripting programming language that runs on visitor's web browser. It makes web pages functional for specific purposes and if disabled for some reason, the content or the functionality of the web page can be limited or unavailable.
Vieraskieliset / In-english

Blog: If life had gone dif­fe­rent­ly

Vieraskieliset / In-english
29.8.2021 7.00

Juttua muokattu:

20.8. 10:35
2021082010351420210829070000

Text: An­ne Lind­fors

Trans­la­ti­on: Sirk­ka-Lii­sa Lei­no­nen

Have yo­ur so­me­ti­mes won­de­red what life would be like if things had gone dif­fe­rent­ly? If you had not fal­len ill. If you had been ab­le to go to the sum­mer ser­vi­ces. If there had not been an an­gel to pro­tect you in an ac­ci­dent.

On­ce, at a qui­et mo­ment, I found my­self won­de­ring what my life would have been like if my mot­her had not had a me­mo­ry di­sor­der. If I could still go and vi­sit with her. If she would come and open the door for me and we would both have our ey­es light up with joy. If she could pat me on the shoul­der and speak the fa­mi­li­ar words, ”How lo­ve­ly that you came! God’s Pe­a­ce!”

We would cook to­get­her and share news about our li­ves. I would tell her about the joys and wor­ries of my dai­ly life, let her lis­ten to our kids’ sin­ging re­cor­ded on my phone. I would mas­sa­ge her shoul­ders, we would add some words to the cros­s­word puz­z­le lying on the tab­le, and chat about things. When le­a­ving, I would hug her hard and we would bless each ot­her with the gos­pel. When I would look back on the dri­ve­way, I would still see her wa­ving at the door. And I would turn to wave a few ti­mes, un­til the road di­sap­pe­ars in­to the trees.

Alt­hough we can­not en­joy that kind of to­get­her­ness any more, I feel em­po­we­red by these me­mo­ries. I feel gra­te­ful for what used to be. Gra­te­ful for the love that left a mark.

And that love is still there. I found that one day when I was pus­hing my mot­her in a wheelc­hair on the yard and sin­ging to her. Alt­hough she had not re­cog­ni­zed me when I came, she see­med to re­act to the fa­mi­li­ar song. When I saw that her lips be­gan to form the words, I stop­ped wor­rying about out­si­ders he­a­ring us. My he­art burs­ting with hap­pi­ness, I con­ti­nu­ed to sing the song that I had sung with my mot­her so of­ten. “The pe­a­ce of God be with you! Dear friends we must de­part.” For a mo­ment I felt we were sit­ting on a hard bench in sum­mer ser­vi­ces, nos­tal­gic but hap­py.

It does not help us to feel sor­ry for things that did not hap­pen. But I think it is on­ly re­al­ly harm­ful if it ma­kes us dis­sa­tis­fied. At its best, awa­re­ness of the num­ber of ways things could have gone ma­kes us see God’s gui­dan­ce in our li­ves and ap­p­re­ci­a­te the va­lue of the pe­op­le who are dear to us. We can be gra­te­ful for good me­mo­ries, but should al­so re­cog­ni­ze the good and won­der­ful things that we still have.

One day, when I had been re­mi­nis­cing about the mo­ments I had spent with my mot­her, I sug­ges­ted that my hus­band should take our son to the Opis­to. That would give them some ext­ra time to­get­her. I al­so thought that he could stop to vi­sit his own pa­rents on the way. Now that it is still pos­sib­le.

It is not good to think too much about what could have been. Child­ren of­ten te­ach us about that. Where an adult on­ly sees a clo­sed door or a bro­ken dish, a child with an open mind can see an op­por­tu­ni­ty. I was on­ce again re­min­ded about this by our cheer­ful five-ye­ar-old son: “The hole in my sock is not re­al­ly bad. I can now use that toe bet­ter to brake!”

I can be hap­py and think that the He­a­ven­ly Fat­her has gi­ven me the kind of life that I need. A life that, even with its pains, is best for me. I can al­so se­cu­re­ly trust that God will gui­de us to­ward he­a­ven. And if that hap­pens, not­hing needs to go dif­fe­rent­ly.

6.12.2021

Her­ra sa­noi is­ra­e­li­lai­sil­le: ”Älä sor­ra muu­ka­lais­ta; olet­te­han it­se­kin ol­leet muu­ka­lai­si­na Egyp­tis­sä ja tie­dät­te, mitä on elää vie­raas­sa maas­sa muu­ka­lai­se­na.” 2. Moos. 23:9

Viikon kysymys