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: Seeing

Vieraskieliset / In-english
11.5.2020 6.05

Juttua muokattu:

11.5. 11:08

Af­ter many clou­dy and fog­gy mor­nings the sky is clear. The tops of snow-co­ve­red trees have tur­ned a de­li­ca­te shade of pink and the icy patc­hes on the road ref­lect the co­lor. I en­joy the sce­ne­ry while dri­ving to meet some friends. The days are gro­wing lon­ger day by day. And I can see this be­au­ty with my own ey­es. What a great gift ey­e­sight is!

Some time ago a friend of mine sud­den­ly lost her sight. She could not even read, which was a big loss. She could on­ly see the rough out­li­nes of things but no de­tails. In that si­tu­a­ti­on we dis­cus­sed what we lose if we can­not see pro­per­ly. It is good, ho­we­ver, that mo­dern tech­no­lo­gy can help. My friend was ab­le to ins­tall in­to her de­vi­ces a di­gi­tal re­a­der that con­verts writ­ten text in­to speech. She was al­so luc­ky to have her sight gra­du­al­ly imp­ro­ve over time.

This ex­pe­rien­ce made me won­der what my life would be like if I lost even part of my vi­su­al ca­pa­ci­ty. I would not see the co­lors of da­yb­re­ak, the glim­mer of sun­light on a lake, the me­a­dows of wild flo­wers, the fa­ces of dear pe­op­le, the fa­mi­li­ar ob­jects in my home and many ot­her things. I would have to for­get all about re­a­ding, wri­ting and the kind of fid­d­ling with small thing that I like. I would just fumb­le around in the mor­ning to find my clot­hes and ca­re­ful­ly feel for the knobs of the stove and the dis­hes in my kitc­hen. I would try to ma­na­ge my dai­ly cho­res ba­sed on what I re­mem­ber. Ha­ving had ey­e­sight, I would still have many vi­su­al me­mo­ries. Ma­y­be they would be­co­me even more im­por­tant than be­fo­re.

Many el­der­ly pe­op­le, when re­fer­ring to so­met­hing in the fu­tu­re, say: ”I won­der if my ey­es will still see that?”

I have a friend who be­ca­me blind as an adult, and I ac­com­pa­nied her to sum­mer ser­vi­ces a few ti­mes. She wan­ted me to desc­ri­be exact­ly what I saw. The row of flags, the fes­ti­ve gate and the de­co­ra­ti­on of the spe­a­kers’ stand in the tent were im­por­tant to her. She wan­ted to go and touch the fes­ti­ve gate, to feel its sur­fa­ce, and to walk around the gate fol­lo­wing its shape with her hand. That hel­ped her get an idea of the size and shape of the gate.

Mat­ti Ki­vi­nen, the wi­de­ly known spe­a­ker brot­her who was blin­ded in the war, on­ce came to speak at my home ser­vi­ces. He wan­ted me to con­firm that the tab­le cloth was white and al­so wan­ted to know what the tab­le nap­kins loo­ked like. These were not tri­vi­al things to him.

But the si­tu­a­ti­on of those who were born blind is cer­tain­ly dif­fe­rent. How do they view their fa­mi­li­ar sur­roun­dings? Pro­bab­ly dif­fe­rent­ly from see­ing pe­op­le.

We see many be­au­ti­ful and im­por­tant things all the time. But we al­so see things that make us ang­ry or sad. We see things that look ug­ly, arou­se an­xie­ty, or cau­se pain and suf­fe­ring. We may feel it would have been bet­ter not to see those things. There may al­so be so­met­hing in­vi­sib­le to our na­tu­ral ey­es that cau­ses even gre­a­ter pain. We do not see all things with our ey­es; our he­arts can sen­se and pick out mes­sa­ges that are not ver­ba­li­zed or made vi­sib­le.

I of­ten get ti­red of the flood of vi­su­al and au­dib­le sti­mu­li that sur­rounds us. I won­der what kind of men­tal ima­ges child­ren and yo­ung pe­op­le re­tain, so­me­ti­mes in­vo­lun­ta­ri­ly? Those ima­ges may dis­tort re­a­li­ty, cau­se be­wil­der­ment and fear, or give rise to un­re­a­lis­tic ex­pec­ta­ti­ons. We should dis­cuss ac­ti­ve­ly with our yo­ung pe­op­le and al­so en­cou­ra­ge them.

As hu­man beings we plan, an­ti­ci­pa­te and pon­der. We can­not see in­to the fu­tu­re. The things that will hap­pen are hid­den from us. But there are ey­es that see eve­ryt­hing. Not­hing is hid­den from God’s ey­es. We can trust in His gui­dan­ce at all ti­mes. He has pro­mi­sed us a new life af­ter our tem­po­ral life, and that life will be so­met­hing that no ey­es have seen, no ears have he­ard, and no-one has even been ab­le even to ima­gi­ne. How be­au­ti­ful that will be!

Text: Ai­li Pa­sa­nen

Trans­la­ti­on: Sirk­ka-Lii­sa Lei­no­nen

You will find the ori­gi­nal blog post here.


Sinä, Herra, olet hyvä, sinä annat anteeksi, runsain mitoin sinä jaat armoasi kaikille, jotka sinua avuksi huutavat. Ps. 86:5

Viikon kysymys