As the world is slowly breaking into pieces, like with those new attacks, Istanbul and Bagdad,
we badly need to think about how important it is to stay together as a human race, as Gods beloved creations. It concerns me, the bitter tears and the pain. It worries me, these walls and fences, these brexits and exits.
Be that as it may, you can't exit the human race and the responsibility it carries. Or can you?
It seems that the argumentation when caught in the action of doing bad often is: "Well, I'm only human!" The truth is however, that there is nothing "only" about that. On the contrary.
So, I will dedicate this post to people being very much human and I'll start in 1973, because I am of course the center of it all!
The year I turned ten many things happend. I wasn't very happy in school, but I coped. In march my leg started to swell and soon it became obvious that something was inflamed, it was a lymph node in the tigh. So hospital was my next stop, at the time parents had no access to their children and I stayed there alone for some days, mother visiting me once a day. My tenth birthday arrived and it was a sad story. But one of the nurses was a holehearted christian and landed several parcels on my bedsheet that morning. Song and cake along with it.
Inside the parcels were three books. All about Jesus. And the children. I was an active reader but no christian. Jesus was no concern of mine, but her love and generosity was. So I smiled and felt very good about that birthday.
In the summer, my mother started to have healthproblems and had a hard time finding work.
Someone came to us and told me I could move to the country during summerholidays. I didn't want to but they insisted it would be good for me. So off I went. The first family wasn't really right for me.
Next try was better, a solid and kind farmer from the county of Halland , and his hardworking, kind wife. Three daughters in the house, one was ten just like me, the others 14 and 16.
There I spent two summers and one semester as things turned out worse in school.
It was a very different life, I was homesick and sometimes argued with the girls and the mother, but on the whole, life was good. Getting the cows in for milking, feeding the pigs, picking the eggs and strawberries, cleaning the barn, smelling all the time.
But there was also constant cooking and baking, jamming and lemonading and a freezer filled with cookies to steal..there was the backriding on the young heifers.
There was the fat milk and the million cats, the haybarn and the tractors. There was the
barndances and the parties with friends and family, I would tag along everywhere. There was the ocean and the rivers and waterfalls, grandmothers old cottage, monthly shopping in the big city. The youngest girl gave me bikinglessons and out we went. And the school was a relief, no one outside, no one left alone, the elders taking care of the younger, good homecooked food on laid tables, teachers to be loved.
It has struck me now, when I look back, that this family took me in as an act of love. Yes, I suppose they got some money for my staying, but it can't be meassured in money. My family had a rough time and there was someone who noticed and took action. This family volonteered and things could turn for the better. Mother came once to visit, otherwise she sent me presents and letters by mail, always precious to me. The year I turned eleven, I finished my schooldays in the countryschool and after summer returned to the city and a new school where none of my old classmates were present. I was stronger and happier. Mother got better.
To reach out and help someone, be that a child in your neighbourhood or a family on the run, is to share love and sacrifice something of your own. You can never know what the outcome will be, but God can turn any act of love into hope and life.
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