When I was a little girl — around six years old — living in Helsinki, Finland, one of my mum’s dearest friends came over for supper. Eila lived in the same neighbourhood and had known our family even before I was born. She was one of those rare, lifelong friends who remain close, no matter the distance or passing years. She was like an aunty to me.

That evening, my mum and Eila sat at our kitchen table, enjoying freshly baked cinnamon rolls and a warm cup of coffee. The kitchen was cosy and filled with the soft hum of conversation. I was meant to be getting ready for bed, but I lingered, drawn to the warmth and comfort of their company.

Sensing my reluctance, Eila gently suggested I find a book and she would read me a bedtime story. Delighted, I ran to my room, picked out a favourite book, and climbed onto her lap. What she read to me that night made such a deep impression, I still remember it vividly. In fact, that story has shaped the way I’ve approached life ever since. Wise fairytales, it turns out, often carry powerful life lessons.

The story went something like this:

Once upon a time, there was a little princess standing at the edge of a vast golden field. As she looked across it, her fairy godmother appeared and asked, “What do you see?”
The princess replied, “I see a great field of wheat, ripe for the picking.”

The godmother smiled and told her she could pick as many stalks of wheat as she liked — and each one would be turned into a diamond. But there was one rule: she could walk through the field only once. She must keep moving forward, never turning back.

Excited, the little princess began running through the field. She saw a beautiful stalk of wheat and reached to pick it — but then she spotted an even bigger one just ahead. Again and again, she passed up stalks in search of something better. Before she knew it, the field had ended. Her godmother stood waiting to turn the wheat she had gathered into diamonds.

But the princess looked down at her empty hands. She had picked none.

Eila gently explained to me that the field was life itself, and the stalks of wheat were opportunities. At just six years old, I made a quiet decision: I would gather as much wheat as I could. I didn’t want to reach the end of my life with empty hands, full of regret.

Of course, it’s easy for a child to see life with hope and promise. As we grow older, and the field narrows behind us, it can be harder to feel that same optimism. We all recognise moments we’ve missed, chances we didn’t take. Sometimes we forget just how much we’ve already gathered. Our hands may feel empty — until someone kind reminds us that we’re carrying sheaves. That our life has, in fact, made a difference.

So, if today you find yourself feeling disheartened, remember this: every morning brings a new beginning, a fresh opportunity, and another chance to pick something of value. Don’t let missed opportunities weigh you down — keep reaching for what lies ahead.

Keep walking forward, eyes open to the possibilities ahead. And when your walk through the field is finished, may your arms overflow with all you’ve gathered — and may God be there at the edge, ready to receive you.