失而复得的幸福 Das Glück, das nach Verlust zurückkehrte (cn | en)

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作者：天之德泽 （转载《海外校园》杂志 2015年 OC132期）

我又是好久没有动笔写作了。这段时间沉淀了许多东西，也发生了许多事情，这让我不断地思考人生，体味人生。我们每个人都有值得珍贵的一生。人生是一段有始有终的路程，如同一声雁鸣，划过长空，却消失的渺无踪影。那么，人生的意义是什么呢，是什么让人类千百年来梦萦魂牵，苦苦寻索呢? 人生又当怎样度过，才算是有意义，没有虚度此生呢？ 传道书说：“ 我见日光之下所做的一切事，都是虚空，都是捕风。” 难道人生真的是虚空吗，人生值得认认真真度过吗？生命的背后，是否有造物主的掌管和安排，是否有风闻当中的上帝的慈爱眷顾呢？

（一）

我酷爱打乒乓球，自从到德国以后，常年如一日坚持参加俱乐部训练和比赛，除了收获了许多快乐和友情之外，我的打球水平也有了大幅度的提高。乒乓球运动对脚步的移动要求非常高，我自信我的双脚移动又快又好，从来没有想过自己的脚会出什么问题。今年6月7日，我的公司举办夏季庆祝活动，在一项户外体育比赛中，我的右脚竟然意外地扭伤了。这是我有生以来第一次扭伤脚腕，事故的发生只有短短一秒钟，我听到脚面的骨头发出啪的一声，心里顿时就像打翻了五味瓶，什么滋味都有了。30年以来，我奔走过天涯海角，参加过各种体育活动，为自己帮朋友搬过许多次家，我的脚从来没有出过差错，一切似乎都是顺理成章，生活就是应该这样，人生都是平安顺利。然而，一念之差，一个偶然，一次不小心，我立马就不能行走了。现在，面对一段30米的距离，我感觉简直就像是咫尺天涯，遥不可及。我怎么这样了？

隔着厚厚的运动鞋，我感觉到脚腕正在肿胀，我不得不慢慢行走，以免伤势加重。唉，我怎么就那么倒霉呢，咋就那么不小心呢。我小心翼翼地走到离我不远的自助餐桌前，和大家一起排队取饭。我若无其事地和同事们聊天，然后走到离我最近的桌子旁边，慢慢坐下来吃饭。那是一顿掺杂着懊悔和沮丧的晚饭，时间仿佛凝固了一般。大家都在欢声笑语，此起彼伏的笑声正在营造一个欢庆的节日。然而，我却默然无语，暗自思忖，怎么才能回到遥远的家里。

我的家其实不远，乘坐公交车就到了。然而，我怎么才能走到300米以外的车站呢，怎么转车呢，又怎么在下车后走回家呢？我又如何向家人交待呢？我的心里忐忑不安，不住地盘算回家的办法。晚饭是自助西餐，牛排的味道十分鲜美，德国新鲜生啤在高高的啤酒杯里散发着诱人的气味。一切似乎都那样协调，美好，唯有我是例外。我似乎是一幅美丽风景画上多出的一笔，孤独地站在那里，孤立无援。我与晚宴格格不入，仿佛已被大家忽略和忘记。太阳落山了，盛夏的晚上，大家兴致正浓，谈笑风生，所有人都在期待舞会的开始，新鲜的事物令他们欣喜不已。

我的眼睛开始到处搜找和和。和和是公司软件开发部的元老，待人热情，为人谦和，今天就是他开车和我一起来这里的。我希望他能送我回家。我慢慢地移动脚步，来到靠近出口的地方，脱下运动衫，换上了平常的衣服。我鼓足勇气，手扶着栏杆，小步挪动上了楼梯，我终于看到和和仍旧坐在那里，还没有离开，心里这才松了一口气。和和真够朋友，直接开车送我到了家门口。感谢主，我终于回到家了。

（二）

我心里七上八下，轻轻挪动脚步，好不容易到了家门口，第一次感觉到回家的紧张和不安。父母前几日刚从国内飞过来探亲，我们正在筹划着外出旅游和打乒乓球的事。去汉堡的旅馆和行程已经订好了，父亲这几天终于倒过了时差，正兴致勃勃地准备和我去俱乐部球馆打球。我的脚却扭伤了，一切的计划都落空了。家人看出我的脚伤，都过来询问。我轻描淡写地说，伤不重，不影响上班。我在心里叹了口气，好在现在是周末，我可以趁机休息一下了。

这样一直撑到周四，我的脚伤丝毫不见好转的迹象，我心里有些着急，就请病假在家休息两天。我在医院做了检查，大夫给了我一付拐杖。我走路的速度很慢，每一步都要仔细观察落脚的地方是否平坦，尤其是上下楼梯的时候，我只能抓住扶手，小步慢慢挪动。我失去了往日的行动自由，行动比别人慢了一半，上下公交车时，必须仰仗司机和大家的忍耐和支持，甚至有人在车上会为我让座。唉，这该死的脚伤，什么时候才能好呢。这么多天都过去了，伤势似乎没有一点起色，我对痊愈的把握越来越不确定了，大夫的预言该不会只是心里安慰吧。算了，不再想它了，我必须得好好休息，好好保护我的脚，好让它能好得快一点，彻底一点。

第一天病假是周五。下午3点多的时候，我正在电脑前看资料，父亲说他要出去跑步，我也没在意。不知不觉时间过去了，妻子，母亲和孩子们外出都回来了，可是父亲还没回来。我说，没事，过一会他就回来了。妻子把晚饭准备好了，父亲还是没有回来。他不会出什么事吧，我们心里实在不放心，就分头到外面寻找。

我们的房子坐落在一片森林的旁边。这片美丽的森林是我们的骄傲，它带给我们无比新鲜的空气和内心的宁静，我们经常在其中徜徉，流连忘返。然而今天，它似乎在突然之间改变了模样，变得阴森可怕起来。我带着6岁的儿子，拄着拐杖，一头扎进森林里，开始搜寻父亲的身影。他会不会在森林里迷了路，走不出来呢?他会不会在小湖的边上睡着了?他会不会是摔伤了，不能回来呢? 儿子扯着嗓子大喊爷爷，他那稚嫩的童声飘不多远，就消散在树林里面。我的心被揪起来，任凭担忧无情地侵蚀。

盛夏的天气正在逐渐的降温，天色也暗了下来。我不停地给妻子打手机，期待着奇迹的出现。傍晚6点钟过了，出去跑步锻炼的父亲还是没有回来。这3个小时的时间，他会在哪里?有水喝吗?他又会干什么呢? 妻子终于打来电话，我急切地问：”找到了吗?” 她的回答让我又一次失望。然而，她建议我马上打电话报警。我的心里乱糟糟的，不停地呼求上帝来帮助我们。报警会管用吗? 我急匆匆拨通了报警电话，得知我必须亲自赶到指定的搜救中心登记。我和10岁的女儿踏上了公交车，一路眼巴巴地盯着马路的两边，指望在路上会发现父亲的行踪。

晚上8点钟的时候，我们终于赶到搜救中心。一位女警官接待了我们，我们登记了寻人启事。柏林的警察开始了搜寻。我的右脚突然痛得不能行走了，就和女儿打的士返回家中。天色已经很暗了，气温正在急速下降，我的祷告也越来越急切。很快我们得到消息，附近的几家大医院都没有接收到父亲，他的下落还是不明。上帝啊，这是好消息，还是坏消息?父亲他到底在哪里啊?

（三）

天已经完全黑了，妻子又哭着出去继续寻找。我一瘸一拐地来到附近的花园里，草丛中仔细查看。已经是夜里11点了，父亲出去已经8个小时了。我的心里一阵比一阵着急，祷告似乎毫无用处，上帝好像转脸不顾我们了。我慢慢往家里走，路灯闪烁着诡异的眼睛，周围的夜色让人捉摸不定。忽然，迎面来了一条小狗，一位年老的女邻居慢吞吞地走了过来。我挤出一点笑容，和她打了个招呼，就想掉头回家。然而，女邻居却执意和我攀谈起来。

路灯的光倾泻在女邻居的脸上，她亲切的笑脸透出无限的快乐。我的心却如同灌了铅，沉重无比。别人都这么开心，我却为倒霉的事烦心不已，甚至今天出了人命关天的大事!上帝啊，你在哪里，你怎能忘记我们呢。寒暄了两句，女邻居说她的狗昨天下午突然失踪了，她都快急疯了，因为那条狗是她的命根子。我急切地问，那又是怎么找回了呢?她笑了笑，说，它其实跑得不远，它的脖圈上有她的联系电话，熟人看到狗后就和她取得了联系。

我的心里忽然轻松了许多。上帝啊，你是否借着女邻居的口来安慰我呢?你是否正在保护看顾我失踪8个小时的父亲? 他不懂德语，身上又没带我家的地址和联系电话。他临走时只穿了件衬衫和马甲，他会被寒冷的夜晚冻坏的。主，求你保护他，让他在一个温暖的地方过夜，求你保全他的生命。

我回到家中，母亲正坐在客厅的沙发上。我不敢看她忧郁的眼睛。母亲用轻轻的声音一遍遍地埋怨父亲，他怎能这样呢，他怎能这样呢。时而把手插在花白的头发里，不出一丝声音。我坐在母亲的身旁，默然无语。我多想抱抱我的母亲，多想叫她：”亲爱的妈妈，你不用担心，爸爸会没事的。” 我的口却张不开，我的身体却像是僵硬了一般，不能挪动半分。我自从14岁离开家上中学，就离开了母亲慈爱的怀抱。从此我很少得到母亲的爱抚，与她的交流也是少之又少。华人的自尊和拘谨，在我的身上尽显无遗。我心里深爱着父亲母亲，深爱着两位同胞的妹妹，然而，我对他们的表达却往往是责备，教训，冷漠和疏远。我的亲生父母，我的骨肉至亲，我本不是这样的，不是你们眼里看到的糟糕的样子。我挚爱着你们，这爱永不改变，直到我生命的最后一息。当我们将来在天上相聚的时候，我们仍然是相亲相爱的一家人。

过了许久，我说，妈妈，没事的，爸爸他现在正在一个温暖的地方，没有任何危险。我不知为什么突然说出这句话，我的心里觉得平静安稳。母亲抬起脸，皱纹勾勒出半信半疑的表情。时间已到午夜12点了。该睡觉了。妻子抱过来我的枕头被子，让我陪母亲一起睡。我睡在父亲的位置，两人无语。我面对着墙壁，心里陡然掠过一阵痛感。我不知现在父亲在哪里，夜色如此寒冷，他能抗得住吗，他会不会着急上火，他会不会不再回来。。。。。。我不敢往下想，心里好后悔让父亲他们来德国，他们年纪大了，为何要冒这个险呢。假如父亲出了事，我将如何面对母亲和两个妹妹呢。亲爱的天父，我们身处危难，求你眷顾我们，求你带领我的父亲，平平安安地回到家中。

（四）

不知什么时候，我睡着了。在睡梦里，我仍旧不住地向神祷告呼求，我的梦里充满了担心和恐惧。突然，我被电话铃声惊醒了。我从床上跳起来，跑过去抓起了电话。电话那头是一位年轻的警官，他先问了我的姓名。我的心突突直跳。他接着说，找到了我的父亲，10分钟之后送到我家。天哪，我在做梦吗?我的呼吸几乎停止了。母亲起身过来询问，我又慌忙跑过去叫醒了妻子。我们穿好衣服，坐在客厅的沙发上，焦急地等待那一刻的到来。

凌晨2点5分，我家的门铃终于响了。我们冲出房门，打开了楼房大门。门外站着一位年轻英俊的德国男警官，接着又有一位女警官搀扶着我的父亲，来到我们面前。我的嗓子哽咽了，轻轻地叫了声：爸爸。灯光昏暗，看不清父亲的表情，我不自觉地拥抱了父亲。他没说话，眼里闪着泪花，我的眼睛也湿润了。我们向两位警官千恩万谢，然后扶着父亲走回家中。父亲失踪11个小时，此刻终于回来了。慈悲的上帝，你垂听了我们的祷告，帮助我们度过了难关。我的父亲失而复得，让我们悲喜交加，感慨万千。

原来父亲下午出去跑步，不久就迷路了。由于语言不通，他没有办法向人请求帮助，就在马路上走来走去，一直走到大约夜里11点钟，仍旧没能找到回家的路。父亲又累又饿，气温下降使他觉得越来越冷，他就走到一个警察站岗的小亭子旁，用手比划着请求帮助。善良的警察让他进入窄小的亭内烤火喝水，自己却站到外面。后来，警察将他带到附近的一家旅馆。父亲打算先在旅馆过夜，等天亮之后再想办法回家。不知什么时候，又来了几位警官，对他盘问了许久。父亲又是用手比划，又是用笔写拼音名字，他们似乎弄明白了。最后警官带他上了警车，他以为是去警察局，没想到他们竟然把他送回家了。

我们心里充满了莫大的感恩。天父的慈爱和信实，使我们心灵受到很大的震撼。他的确一直在保护我们，时时在垂听我们的祷告。他的确带领我的父亲在寒冷的深夜，来到温暖的地方，安全的地方，和充满爱的地方。这爱是那样的无缘无故，清新自然，如同春雨徐徐降下，浇透大地的犁脊，融化了冬天的冰冷。我的脚伤经过三个礼拜的休息，终于也明显好转了。有一天，父亲邀我陪他跑步，我欣然答应了。刚开始，我跟在父亲的后边，跳着脚慢慢地跑，大约200多米之后，我竟然可以正常奔跑了。我终于像风一样自由奔跑，风儿吹起我的头发，又轻柔地掠过我的脸庞。头上的乌云早已散尽，而我的心也飞到天上，在灿烂的阳光里，在无比的荣耀中，与天父相遇。

亲爱的朋友，你认识这位天上的父吗? 他认识你，他深爱你，他保护你。在他的怀中，有满足的喜乐和平安。此时此刻，这位天上的父亲正在等着流浪的你，回到他那温暖的家中，和神的儿女们共同享受美好丰盛的生命。

（2013年9月12日凌晨定稿  德国柏林  4260字）

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Happiness Lost and Found
By Tian Zhideze
(Adapted from Overseas Campus Magazine, Issue OC132, 2015)

It has been a long time since I last picked up my pen to write. Over this period, much has settled in my heart, and much has unfolded in my life. These experiences have drawn me into deep reflection, urging me to ponder the essence of existence and savor the nuances of life.

Each of us is blessed with a life worth cherishing—a journey with a beginning and an end. It resembles the fleeting cry of a wild goose as it soars across the sky, leaving no trace behind. So, what is the meaning of life? What is it that humanity has pursued with relentless yearning across the ages, tethered by dreams and longings? And how should one live to make this journey meaningful, ensuring it is not lived in vain?

The Book of Ecclesiastes declares: “I have seen all the works that are done under the sun, and indeed, all is vanity and grasping for the wind.” Could it be that life is truly void of meaning? Is life worthy of being lived with sincerity and care?

Behind the mystery of life, is there a Creator who sovereignly governs and orchestrates all? Could there truly be a loving and compassionate God, as whispered of in ages past, who watches over us?

(1)

I have a deep passion for table tennis. Since moving to Germany, I have been unwavering in my commitment to club training and competitions, year in and year out. Beyond the joy and friendships I have gained, my playing skills have improved significantly. Table tennis demands highly agile footwork, and I took pride in my quick and nimble movements, never imagining that anything could go wrong with my feet.

On June 7th of this year, during my company’s summer celebration, I participated in an outdoor sports event and unexpectedly sprained my right ankle. It was the first time in my life that I had ever suffered such an injury. The accident lasted barely a second, but I distinctly heard a cracking sound from the bones in my foot. Instantly, a surge of mixed emotions overwhelmed me, as though my heart had turned into a cauldron of conflicting feelings.

For 30 years, I had traveled far and wide, participated in countless sports, and helped friends move house numerous times without so much as a misstep. Everything seemed so natural—life was supposed to unfold like this, peaceful and smooth. Yet, with one careless moment, one fleeting mishap, I was suddenly unable to walk. A mere 30-meter distance now felt like an insurmountable chasm. How did this happen to me?

Through the thick cushioning of my sports shoes, I could feel my ankle swelling. I had no choice but to walk slowly, hoping to avoid further injury. Sighing inwardly, I couldn’t help but lament my bad luck and lack of caution. Carefully, I made my way to the buffet table nearby, queued with my colleagues to get food, and then gingerly sat down at the closest table to eat.

It was a dinner mixed with regret and frustration. Time seemed to freeze. Around me, cheerful laughter echoed through the air, creating a festive atmosphere of celebration. Yet, I sat silently, preoccupied with the daunting question of how I would make it home.

Home wasn’t far; just a short bus ride away. But how could I walk the 300 meters to the bus stop? How would I switch buses? How would I cover the distance from the stop to my home? And what would I tell my family? My mind churned with anxiety as I mulled over a plan to get back.

The dinner was a Western-style buffet. The steak was delicious, and the fresh German beer in tall glasses exuded a tempting aroma. Everything around me seemed harmonious and beautiful—except for me. I felt like an odd blemish on a flawless painting, standing alone, helpless and out of place. I didn’t belong at the dinner, as if I had been forgotten and ignored by everyone.

As the sun set on a midsummer evening, the party was in full swing. Laughter and chatter filled the air as the others eagerly anticipated the upcoming dance. The excitement of new experiences filled them with delight. But I was lost in my solitude, quietly enduring my struggle amidst the jubilant crowd.

(2)

My eyes darted around, searching for Hehe. Hehe, a senior colleague in the company’s software development department, was well-known for his warm and humble demeanor. He had driven me to the event earlier that day, and I hoped he could take me home. Slowly, I shuffled toward the exit, changed out of my sportswear into casual clothes, and mustered the courage to grip the railing as I inched up the stairs. Finally, I spotted Hehe still seated, yet to leave. A wave of relief washed over me. Hehe, ever the dependable friend, drove me straight to my doorstep. Thank God—I was finally home.

I felt a tangle of emotions as I gingerly approached my front door, experiencing for the first time a mix of anxiety and unease about coming home. Just a few days ago, my parents had flown in from China for a visit. We had been busy planning a trip and looking forward to playing table tennis together. The itinerary for Hamburg had been finalized, and my father, having finally adjusted to the time difference, was excited about joining me at the club to play. But now, with my sprained foot, all our plans had fallen apart.

My family noticed my injured foot and immediately asked about it. I downplayed the situation, assuring them it wasn’t serious and wouldn’t affect work. Inwardly, I sighed with relief—at least it was the weekend, giving me a chance to rest.

By Thursday, however, my injury showed no signs of improvement. Growing worried, I took two sick days to recover at home. A hospital visit confirmed the severity of the sprain, and the doctor handed me a pair of crutches. Walking became a slow, deliberate process; I had to ensure every step landed on level ground. Stairs were particularly daunting—I could only ascend or descend while gripping the handrails and moving inch by inch. My mobility was halved, and boarding buses required the patience and assistance of drivers and passengers alike. Some even gave up their seats for me. I found myself wondering, When will this cursed injury heal? Days had passed with no progress, and my confidence in recovery dwindled. Was the doctor’s reassurance merely to comfort me? Resigned, I decided to rest and take extra care of my foot, hoping it would heal completely and swiftly.

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The first day of my sick leave was a Friday. Around 3 p.m., I was browsing some documents on my computer when my father mentioned he was going for a run. I didn’t think much of it. Time passed, and before I knew it, my wife, mother, and children had all returned from their outings. Yet, my father was still nowhere to be seen. “He’ll be back soon,” I reassured myself.

Dinner was ready, but my father hadn’t returned. Unease began to creep in, and we couldn’t shake the worry that something might have happened. We decided to split up and search for him.

Our house sits next to a beautiful forest, a source of pride for our family. It provides us with fresh air and peace of mind, and we often wander its paths, reluctant to leave. But today, the forest felt menacing, its beauty eclipsed by fear.

With my six-year-old son in tow, I leaned on my crutches and ventured into the woods to search for my father. Could he have lost his way? Could he have fallen asleep by the lake? Or worse, had he injured himself and was unable to return? My son called out for his grandfather, his young voice barely traveling through the dense trees before dissipating into silence. My heart clenched as anxiety gnawed at me.

The warm summer weather had begun to cool, and dusk descended rapidly. I repeatedly called my wife, clinging to the hope of a miracle. By 6 p.m., my father was still missing after three long hours. Where could he be? Does he have water? What is he doing now?

When my wife finally called, I anxiously asked, “Did you find him?” Her reply brought fresh disappointment. She suggested calling the police. My mind raced as I silently prayed for God’s help. Would contacting the police even make a difference?

Hastily, I dialed the emergency line, learning I would need to go to a designated search-and-rescue center to file a report. With my 10-year-old daughter by my side, I boarded a bus, scanning the streets for any sign of my father along the way.

---

By 8 p.m., we arrived at the search-and-rescue center. A policewoman assisted us as we filed a missing person report. The Berlin police launched a search immediately. Exhausted, my injured foot began to throb painfully, forcing me and my daughter to take a taxi back home.

Night had fallen, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. My prayers grew more fervent as we received updates: nearby hospitals had not admitted anyone matching my father’s description. His whereabouts remained a mystery.

God, is this good news or bad news? Where is my father?

(3)

The sky had turned completely dark, and my wife went out again in tears to continue the search. Limping slightly, I made my way to a nearby garden, carefully inspecting the grass and bushes. It was already 11 p.m., and my father had been gone for eight hours. A wave of anxiety surged through me, one stronger than the last. Prayers seemed to fall on deaf ears; God appeared to have turned His face away from us. Slowly, I headed back home, the streetlights flickering like eerie, watchful eyes. The night enveloped everything in an unsettling shroud of uncertainty.

Suddenly, a small dog appeared in front of me, followed by an elderly neighbor who was walking at a leisurely pace. Forcing a faint smile, I greeted her and was about to turn and leave. However, she insisted on striking up a conversation.

The streetlight cast a warm glow on her face, which radiated kindness and joy. Yet my heart felt like it was weighed down with lead. How could others find such happiness while I was mired in misfortune, wrestling with a matter of life and death? God, where are You? How could You forget us like this?

After a brief exchange, the neighbor mentioned that her dog had gone missing yesterday afternoon. She had been beside herself with worry, as the dog meant the world to her. I eagerly asked how she had managed to find it. Smiling, she explained that the dog hadn’t wandered far and that its collar bore her contact information. A kind acquaintance had noticed it and reached out to her, allowing her to reunite with her beloved pet.

A sudden lightness filled my heart. God, are You using this neighbor to comfort me? Are You watching over my father, who has been missing for eight hours?

My father didn’t understand German and hadn’t taken our address or contact details with him. When he left, he wore only a shirt and vest. How could he endure the bitter cold of the night? Lord, I plead with You—protect him, shelter him in a warm place tonight, and preserve his life.

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When I arrived home, my mother was sitting on the living room sofa, her eyes filled with a quiet sorrow. I couldn’t bring myself to meet her gaze. In a soft, trembling voice, she kept murmuring her frustration: “How could he do this? How could he?” Her hands occasionally ran through her gray hair, but she remained silent otherwise.

I sat beside her, lost for words. How I longed to hold her and say, “Dear Mother, don’t worry. Father will be alright.” But the words wouldn’t come. My mouth felt glued shut, and my body stiffened, refusing to move.

Ever since I left home for boarding school at the age of fourteen, I had been separated from my mother’s loving embrace. Over time, I seldom experienced her tenderness, and our conversations grew sparse. The pride and restraint so ingrained in our Chinese upbringing found their full expression in me.

I deeply love my parents and my two sisters, yet I often express that love through reproach, discipline, coldness, and distance. My dearest family, my flesh and blood, I am not the person you see—this flawed and distant version of me. I love you with all my heart, a love that will never waver, not even to my dying breath. When we are reunited in heaven one day, we will still be a family, bound together by love.

After a long silence, I finally spoke: “Mom, don’t worry. Dad is somewhere warm and safe right now.” I didn’t know why I said it, but the words brought a strange peace to my heart. My mother lifted her face, the lines on it etched with a mixture of doubt and hope.

It was now midnight. It was time to sleep. My wife handed me a pillow and blanket, suggesting I sleep beside my mother. Lying in my father’s spot, neither of us spoke. Facing the wall, a sudden pang of pain swept through me. Where was my father at this very moment? The night was so cold—could he endure it? Was he panicking? Would he find his way back to us?

I dared not let my thoughts spiral further. Regret clawed at me. Why had I encouraged my parents to come to Germany? They were elderly; why had I let them take such a risk? If anything happened to my father, how would I face my mother and sisters?

Dear Heavenly Father, we are in the midst of peril. Please watch over us. Guide my father and bring him safely back to us.

(4)

I didn’t know when I had fallen asleep. Even in my dreams, I couldn’t stop praying and crying out to God. My dreams were filled with worry and fear, like shadows that refused to fade.

Suddenly, I was jolted awake by the sharp ring of the telephone. I leapt out of bed, dashed to the phone, and grabbed the receiver.

On the other end of the line was a young police officer. He started by confirming my name. My heart pounded furiously. He then continued, saying they had found my father and would bring him home in ten minutes.

My God, am I dreaming? My breath caught in my throat, nearly stopping.

Hearing the commotion, my mother got up to ask what was happening. In a flurry, I rushed to wake my wife.

We quickly dressed and sat together on the living room sofa, anxiously awaiting the moment he would return.

At 2:05 a.m., the doorbell finally rang.

We rushed out, flinging open the door to our building. Standing there was a young, handsome German police officer. Behind him, a female officer gently supported my father as they approached us. My throat tightened, and I choked out, “Dad.”

In the dim light, I couldn’t make out his expression. Without thinking, I embraced him. He said nothing, but tears glistened in his eyes. My own vision blurred with emotion. We profusely thanked the officers, then helped my father back inside. After 11 long hours of being missing, my father was finally home.

Merciful God, you have heard our prayers and helped us through this trial. My father, once lost, is now found, and our hearts are overwhelmed with gratitude and relief.

It turned out my father had gone for a jog that afternoon but soon lost his way. Unable to speak the language, he couldn’t ask anyone for help. He wandered along the streets, hoping to find his way back, but by 11 p.m., he was still lost. Exhausted, hungry, and chilled by the dropping temperatures, he eventually stopped near a police booth. Gesturing with his hands, he pleaded for assistance.

The kind-hearted officer on duty invited him inside the small booth to warm up and offered him water, while the officer himself stood outside in the cold. Later, the officer took him to a nearby hotel. My father planned to stay there for the night and figure out his way home in the morning.

At some point, other officers arrived and began questioning him. My father used hand signals and wrote his name in pinyin. Slowly, they seemed to understand. Finally, the officers escorted him into a police car. My father thought they were taking him to the station—but to his surprise, they brought him straight back home.

Our hearts were filled with immense gratitude. The love and faithfulness of our Heavenly Father deeply moved us. He had indeed protected us and heard our cries. He guided my father through the cold, dark night to a warm, safe, and loving place.

That love was so undeserved, so fresh and natural, like the gentle spring rain soaking the furrows of the earth and melting away winter’s chill.

Three weeks later, my injured foot had finally healed. One day, my father asked me to join him for a run. I gladly agreed. At first, I limped along behind him, hopping lightly as we went. But after about 200 meters, I found myself running normally again.

I ran freely, like the wind. It tousled my hair, brushed gently against my face, and lifted my spirit. The dark clouds above me had long since cleared, and my heart soared toward heaven, where I met the Father’s radiant glory and infinite love.

Dear friend, do you know this Heavenly Father? He knows you, loves you, and watches over you. In His embrace, there is abundant joy and peace. At this very moment, the Father in heaven is waiting for you—the wanderer—to return to His warm, loving home and join His children in the fullness of life.

(Berlin, Germany, on the early morning of September 12, 2013)