Have you ever received news that leaves you wandering through the day in a daze, your mind so full and heavy with thoughts that, no matter how much you want to be productive, you simply cannot gather yourself to do anything? Today is one of those days for me.

This morning, I woke to unexpected news that a beloved relative and dear friend of mine has very little time left to live. Only last month, during my visit to Finland, I spent precious time with him. We talked, laughed, remembered old times, and simply enjoyed each other’s company. At the time, I did not know how quickly those moments would become so precious.

Now, as I think back on that visit, it all feels tender and sacred. What seemed like an ordinary, beautiful time together has suddenly become a gift. A memory to hold close. And with that comes the ache of knowing that time is slipping away.

In the quietness of this moment, I find myself turning once again to the Good Book. I read the words of the Psalmist: “As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone.”

Those words feel especially near to me today. Life is beautiful, but it is also painfully brief.

The other day, my little granddaughter Freyja saw some mannequins missing arms in a shop and asked with wide, puzzled eyes, “What happened? What happened?” Today, I feel a little like Freyja, standing before the mysteries and heartaches of life and asking the same question within myself.

There is also a particular ache in living far away from the people who are deeply woven into your story. In moments like these, the sadness of being a migrant feels especially heavy.

And so today, my heart aches with the news I have received and with the memories that have suddenly become even more precious. And yet, after sitting quietly and lifting my thoughts toward God, my spirit feels a little steadier. The sadness has not gone, but I have been reminded again of what matters most.

Dedicated to the memory of Reijo Vainikka