The measure of my days is in Your hands,
as are my morning awakenings.
You know the length of my nights,
and the softness of my dusks.

My moments of joy shine in Your eyes
like a sparkling drop of dew upon a leaf.
Yet even my faded hopes,
my dimmed glow —
none of that is hidden from You.

I have pleaded for days,
and prayed through months,
that You would be with me.
That You would not leave me,
not for a moment,
not for someone else.

You are my Creator and my Master.
I am like a lump of clay in the potter’s hands.
Sometimes it feels like
You shape me against the current —
against what others believe or understand.

In silence, I’m ready
to be formed by Your will,
for I know that only You
know what is truly good for me.
Because I know — You know.

The measure of my days is in Your hands,
as are my morning awakenings.
You know the length of my nights,
and the softness of my dusks.

Everyone has their own path to walk—
some shorter, some longer it may be.
One walks joyfully along a flower trail,
another often needs a friend’s shoulder to ease the pain.

It doesn’t matter your education or fashion style,
nor race or qualification—none of that is decisive.
Whether you are fast-paced or slow,
what matters most is the care of your soul.

Others cannot reach into your soul,
only you know what lies there.
Everyone needs peace of mind,
whether a refugee or an Estonian man.

What matters is that we guard our soul,
we must take care of it well.
Learn to ask for forgiveness and to forgive,
try to rejoice over the smallest things.

Be thankful for what you have been given,
be grateful for the life you’ve received!
And if sometimes your soul feels pain,
learn to quietly carry it, to calm your mind.

Every storm ends at some point,
and silence remains after.
Your Father, your Creator, sees it all.
He longs so much to protect your soul.
So let Him do so.

And if you’re ever fixing your hair,
take a look at the mirror of your soul too.

Under the pale and swift moon,
through a dense veil of stars,
Day fades into Night.

The forest breathes heavily with a sigh,
wind wings stirring the silence,
a lone owl calls out through the air.

Day walks slowly, in thought,
moonlight lights the path ahead.
See! From afar, Night is coming!

For just a moment, their gazes meet,
for just a second, hands entwine.
Both clearly know
that never, oh never
can they walk life’s path hand in hand.

Under the pale and swift moon,
through a dense veil of stars,
Night fades into Day.

A lonely bird yawns waking,
the sun paints the sky with a ring of red,
air shimmers in the dewy web.

Night, longing, waits—
wondering if Day is coming from there?
See, there it already appears!

With pounding heart, Night approaches Day...

For just a moment, their gazes meet,
for just a second, hands entwine.
Both clearly know
that never, oh never
can they walk life’s path hand in hand.

A little angel walks quietly,
looking expectantly into the windows.
Her gentle childlike eyes ask on the road:
"Why are you rushing, why do you have no time?

How long have you promised yourself:
'Soon, very soon my rest will come,
then the rush will disappear.
Then I’ll have time to think things over
and do what I still want to do.'

And then the rest was over...
Now you’re even more tired,
rushing home again in the daily hurry,
with a thousand unfinished tasks in your mind.

Close your eyes for a moment,
feel a little hand in yours.
That small, soft, shy, but sure hand
full of busy little deeds.

She asks you to pause a moment
to say:
'Walk slower, speak less.
Look into your soul before you glance over the neighbor’s garden.

Find your soul’s beauty.
That treasure is great, I dare say.
If you hold that little angel’s hand,
you’ll share in life’s more beautiful power.

Then life won’t be so rushed.
You’ll await spring and summer, winter,
and there will still be time in autumn too.

So simple is the little angel’s hope —
that people will have time to live life.

Time to see the beauty around them,
hope, joy, peace of reconciliation.

In a world full of so much pain,
may your soul’s beauty
ease some sorrowful life..

What do I know of life or things?
Do I have a clue where lies the line
Between the world’s pain and bliss,
A silver thread shimmering in between.

I’ve seen some of it, and more,
Yet still don’t know
If a human — a child created by God —
Can be called truly alive.

Between these worlds there’s a slender thread,
Quivering from the breath of the soul.
A bridge between two realms —
Think how fragile life really is!

I know we must hold onto one,
Hold each other and hold on tight.
For if the fragile silver thread breaks,
How can we then hold onto one?

So hold tightly onto my hand!
Hold my neck, keep me close!
If together, hand in hand,
We brave the storm,
The smaller one will feel less of the world’s pain.

The wind gently tousles my hair
and softly strokes my cheek.
There is someone who always hears your sobs
and wishes only good for you.

There are quiet gusts of wind
that ease the pain.
And there are wild storms—
they make us grow fierce.

My life is a path of winds:
quiet breezes,
storms,
and breathtaking stillness on the way.

But just when I feel the storm
is breaking me down,
draining the last bit of strength,
when the sobs are so loud
they crash like thunder upon me—

Then
someone comes quietly
and gently lays their hand in mine.
They whisper softly in my ear:
“You will make it through.”

The wind gently tousles your hair
and softly strokes your cheek.
There is someone who always hears your sobs
and wishes only good for you.