Skip to main content

Life is precious.

I just got two emails letting me know that two of my friends have died.

One was an older woman I got to know when she came out to Fortaleza on two teams in 2001 and 2002. She was a wonderful woman full of life and with tons of wisdom. Now she’s gone home and has found rest.

The other is a friend who went to university with me. We hadn’t been in touch much, but were in touch enough for his wife to include me when she sent out an email about his death. I don’t know what happened. He was born the same year as me.

Sat here in my room, having gotten back from a weekend at home, where I spent lots of time with my wee niece who is only 7 weeks old, it’s really hitting home how precious life is. There is such a huge contrast when I think about this tiny baby who has many years of experiencing life ahead of her; and then about my friend who experienced the fullness of life and who has now gone home to Jesus; and then my friend who died too young leaving behind a young family to learn how to cope without him. Three totally different situations which all represent life; a life being lived, and lives that are no more.

My heart is sad and my heart mourns. I mourn my loss, and I mourn with the families of these two.

And I seek to find some way of living more; of making every day count. I don’t know how to do it. Some days I am grateful when I can close my eyes to end the day, but that’s not how it should be. I want to get to the end of each day and see that I made the most out of every opportunity; that I found joy in the little things; and that I could make a difference in someone’s life.

How can I live more? Maybe I’ll never have the answer, but maybe I’ll live more as I seek to find it.

Popular posts from this blog

Getting to know the local culture.

Life is a strange thing. Last week went…not much happened, and then it was over. The weekend was quite calm without too many wild and exciting things happening. Except, of course, a wee outing to watch the National Championship for Veteran Ploughing. Now, like me, you might be sadly lacking an understanding of what this actually means. So I am delighted to be able to enlighten you in this respect. It’s basically (for the “farm-language-illiterate” like myself) a competition where you use old (hence the name “veteran”) tractors and ploughs, and plough up a stretch of field which is then evaluated and the one scoring the highest sum (accuracy, depth, how well the soil is turned is all given points) wins. I must admit that this information I got by eavesdropping on a conversation next to me where a man was explaining to some of my friends how it all works. So that was a fun adventure….although we only stayed for a bit. What is sort of occupying my mind at present is my upcoming travel abr...

Taking in the familiar and a heart connected.

Amsterdam. It still has that muggy feeling in Summer, and a constant flow of people which if you stop to think about it, it's quite amazing that there would even be space to accommodate them all. But then I guess they are not all staying. Just passing through on their way to or from somewhere. It's always good for the heart to visit somewhere that was once home. The familiarity of streets and customs makes it easier to embrace what might be new as well as the joy of being reacquainted with old friends. Friends. So many of them to be found in this city, ready with hugs and good words that are uttered when seeing someone who was away again. Friendship. A treasure that cannot be bought. Cobblestones trodden by many, including myself. Sitting on a bench. Praying. Remembering the first time I stumbled upon this area lined with windows with red lights and curtains. An area which has come to represent no longer windows, but people to me. Some still behind a window. Others who have ...

Tuesday children's prayer | Handing out shoes and feeding toddlers.

No day is the same here. After getting up early (which seems to be what I do here), and eating breakfast which was bread with butter (accompanied by an amazing cup of coffee given me by an American friend), I headed to the prayer room for children's prayer. This is a prayer time where the children come voluntarily to pray before school on Tuesdays and Fridays. Entering the room I was so impressed by how it was full of children eager to pray. There were probably 60 or 70 children there, and it was amazing to see one after the other choose to pray for their families and people who are sick, and other subjects on their little hearts. It was so great and an experience that I will carry with me for a long time. After prayer it was "Shoprite" time, which meant piling into a bus with other visitors and missionaries for the weekly shopping trip. I didn't quite know what to expect, but I had a few items to buy and hoped it would be a stress-free experience. As we drove along ...