silent flow

One day, in July of this year, I woke up early and got on the train to Maastricht. That day was a glorious summer day and I took some time to write. Just my paper and my pen. I listened and wrote.

~~

I'm sitting here along the Maas river that flows through Maastricht. I haven't a clue where it has been or where it goes. Just now I saw a sign 'A2' (a highway in Nederland) and it surprised me - does it really so easily connect to Leerdam, the place where for now my house resides?

Wings of pigeons sweep across. I hear their gargling gurgle of content whilst behind me trees clap their hands in the wind. The wind waves from right to left, the soothing sounds calm my heart in some way. There are leaves and sticks and garbage that rustle the surface of the stairs on which I've found my seat. Across the water carillions in both or all the churches and cathedrals mark the hour, whilst busses, taxis and other motorized vehicles buzz across the bridges on either side. 

Around me are many others - basking in the sunshine and conversing with one another. A car honks - probably, in its path crosses a pedestrian. The women who were so near me walk away - along their journey - their steps fade. The dog on the dock barks again - it seems to alert its owner of other passing by. A rustle, gurgle, bubble on my left comes closer. ‘Scheldevallei’ with many flags at the bow and a tour guide at the stern honks, loud and boisterous. Waves increase as the ship speeds up. It turns, just round the boulders that support the bridge and then there comes another. And another. Sirens cross to the other side of the river, and veer left. I see a captain - his tie fluttering in the wind and faintly can detect human voices numbed by the sounds of engines…

[ Wilhelmina. Bridge to my right. I just saw her. Named after a lady who reigned for some time, was head of state and perhaps most powerful and rich in her days. She's gone now. Just her name in many a place and marking history's page.

How different the ordinary - the lay and peasant - are, none like royalty or bourgeoisie. And yet. Their names all fade… their memories pass as people do… the pain perhaps a generation and maybe two… and then it's gone. Forgotten. But in the present the pain so real. The ache so vivid. The tears so hole. The water rolling down my cheeks more days than not. I'm okay with it. Embrace the emotions yet hate them at the same time. Not an ounce understands - yet I know it is good. Somewhere head knowledge transcends what lies within me, can rationalize what my heart doesn't want to accept. I know it is well - even though no part of me comprehends. Which for now is okay. ]

With all the sounds I hear, I have likely not said more than 100 words today. Living in silence amidst all the noise. I entered a chapel some hours ago. The silence. The awe. The solitude. A longing for still. For peace. For calm in my heart, my soul, my life, my whole. A longing for stillness and something other than the busy. Something other than constant connection and FOMO. Going here alone was a sporadic but good decision. To be good with exploring and not sharing. To be cool with going places and bit getting input from all. It's cool to experience a certain peace in that. Mind you, I'd love to share…

I entered the chapel. A place where peace lives. Where silence is expected, known, common sense. What other places besides places of worship or cemetery do people hush upon entry? How, in all the bustle of this life, can we cease our voices and calm in the face it the place? How come there we can, while in other moments we automatically increase the volume, fill the void with voice and tune, look for connection with whoever is around…?

What is it in the sanctuary that satisfies in us? What is it that calms us? Perhaps we all long for calm, still, disconnect. Long for peace. Long for rest. 

Whether we can create it, I don't know. But we can choose the stillness. Can find places where our souls can come to grips with what's happening - can take time to be still. 

A song suddenly comes to mind:

Take time to he holy, be one with the Lord.

And: 

Vrede, Heer, geef vrede…

(Peace, Lord, give peace)

Stil, mijn ziel wees stil en wees niet bang

(Silent, my soul be silent and be not afraid)

Voor de onzekerheid van morgen

(For the uncertainty of tomorrow)

And:

Comfort, comfort (Isaiah 40:1)

~~

betrayal

It's almost May....
I wonder how I got here?

Where have the months gone? Have I been sleeping? Crawling? Hibernating? How did the months pass without me noticing? So many moments it felt like time stood still. I, overwhelmed by grief, by the new reality, was just trying to get through moments, was just trying to do this minute or that. Later, without consciously choosing to, the moments became hours, and then days... I am not gonna lie, I still have days in which I just need moments to pass. Moments of grief, of incredible emptiness, of complete brokeness, of a thousand unanswered questions. Moments in which all I could or can do was just hold on.. Hold on to the promise and knowledge of life in Christ.

Where have the moments gone? Have I been sleeping? Crawling? Hibernating? How have the moments passed? Was I numb? Deafened by the loss and gripped by fear? How have the moments passed and how did the moments pass...? Weeks seemed to drag and yet they flew. Days were never ending, and yet some were done in the blink of an eye. There were dark days. Pitch black. Some charcoal. Others pale grey. And every tint of dullness in between. I read in a book on grief that a fog can flood your life, that through that fog you can't see clearly, can't think clearly, can't engage clearly. It's in that fog that you get wet and damp and cold; frozen to the bone. Frozen in your grief. The fog hardly lifts. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't. You can't blow the fog away. People around you can't lift the fog, as much as they may try.
I love invites to people's houses - and sometimes I have the courage and energy to accept the invite. Sometimes I don't and then they stop asking... I wonder sometimes if they've forgotten that I have lost my sister, my friend - and they just kept moving on.
I love being around people and at the same time I hate it. It's awesome to watch friendships blossom and siblings interact even though it hurts to think that my friendship with my Lianne so abruptly came to a stop and we only had 25 years to spend together.
I love spring and new life and flowers and blossom. Love the way the seasons change... Yet I remember clearly that autumn day, knowing Lianne was nearing the crossing into eternity real soon. I remember saying to my aunt and cousin that I loved fall - the golden leaves, the scents and moisture, but man was I dreading the dreary, dark, winter... (That evening she entered glory...) And now the winter past, Spring is here. I don't remember winter. Don't know how I did January 15 or February 2 or March 11, OR ANY OTHER DAY. Don't know how I moved from one moment to the next...


Sure I smiled. Sure I laughed. Sure I had moments that I thoroughly enjoyed the company of the people around me. I had moments in which new friendships grew, in which I met new people and came to love things I never knew I could love. There were moments where I cherished new memories and savoured moments of sipping tea or nibbling on a treat. Savoured laughter and joy...

I cried a great deal of tears. I know they don't go unseen. In your living room, in the store, in my car, in a classroom, in my house, on my pillow. During a sermon, a song, a walk, a glimpse, a picture or a tag online. I don't know what triggers tears. Don't know when they will come. They roll ever so freely and sometimes I can bite my tongue and they don't come. Sometimes I miss the tears... When I want to cry because it hurts so bad but I can't. Sometimes I miss the tears, wonder where they are. Did I get numb to the pain and no longer feel it? I feel bad that I haven't cried for a while or haven't felt the pain as raw as I did in moments before. My heart is filled with guilt sometimes, that I haven't considered the heavens, or thought about the suffering she went through - when once again I worry about the food I eat today or the clothes I have got. When she just died, and even in the months before I didn't give a shit what to wear or what to eat, and now sometimes I wonder how I can care so much about the earthly stuff. It's odd - Lianne's always been a real and vital part of my life and that will never change. Right now it just becomes less vivid... I miss her.

Now there are moments I long to hear her bitchy comments, long to hear her words of advice which I sometimes took with a grain of salt because she was so much younger. Now I wish she'd call me at 11:30 at night like she did a couple of times accidentally. Now I sometimes hope for a hug or a massage from her even though those touchy feely things were never my thing... Now there are moments when I long to just hear her voice one more time.

It is completely normal to have all those thoughts. Chatting with my psychologist about it all and reading up on the topic has been so encouraging. What I am experiencing is totally normal and expected. (I just had no clue what I was in for when I told Lianne it was okay for her to die... That we'd understand and wanted to keep her her but knew she needed to be with her Saviour...)

I'd no idea that those moments of laughter would feel like betrayal. That those moments in which I found joy for the first time would make guilt wash over me. I hadn't the slightest clue that the lack of tears could almost hurt more than the gushing waterworks. No part of me ever realized that the absence of people asking me how I was doing could feel so empty - where before I wished they would stop asking. I had never thought that changing my laptop background could feel like such betrayal... So I changed it right back to our family photo - and I think it will stay like that for a while.


I have been reading a lot about grief, about loss, about trusting God even when it hurts, about death and hell and heaven and eternity. Never has the Easter season tugged my heart strings as it did this year. The reality of death, of suffering, of pain, of the grave breaks my heart each time. The suffering Lianne endured is just a glimpse, the slightest fraction of what Christ went through on Calvary. Oh then that blessed Easter morn! When He rose! Christ is risen and He conquered death. Stands victorious. With that promise, that knowledge I entered the new week... Christ is risen and in Him I live. More amazingly, Lianne no longer needs to endure suffering, no longer lives in a cancer infested body, no longer needs to fight earthly powers or satan and sin. She's alive, fully alive, and made whole. What a promise, what a comfort!

As I tried to proofread this post tears rolled down my cheeks once more. I always read what I wrote out loud and hope to catch the mistakes. But with the tears that ran almost all was blurry. It hurts and yet it is so good to put these feelings to words. It helps me process, helps me figure out what ahs been going on in my head, in my mind, in my heart. It gives light to the situation but I will never forget how Christ holds me through this all, He holds me by the hand and lifts me up above the waves.

It is in His strength that I live and it is in His rising I have life.
And so can you!

diagnosis

diagnosis.

That word is loaded.

Sometimes a diagnosis clarifies a whole lot of things, it explains why one has been feeling like this or that, explains the symptoms observed and the trouble it has caused. Sometimes a diagnosis helps care move along, provides opportunity for therapy, counselling, extra support in home or school or place of work. Sometimes a diagnosis is a good thing, but I think it's always life altering.

This word has been playing in my mind for a number of weeks. Diagnosis. Painful. Loaded. Heavy. Associated with grief and hurt in my life. Diagnosis - that word 'cancer', with all its connotations. Cancer - and then rare - and then aggresive - and then genetic mutation. Cancer. Fear. For me cancer goes hand in hand with fear. Fear of that dreaded disease that not only affected and still effects my family. Fear of that awful disease that impacts not only people near me. Fear of that pain, that loss, that brokenness, that frailty of the human body. Fear of being confronted - faced with - death. Eye to eye with the end.

Her diagnosis - and the prognosis of just mere days, maybe weeks - changed my life. Upside down. Rollercoaster ride. Tumulting and plummeting deep down into the dark. Changed my life in a rapid pace, unimaginable speed, a blur. Numb.

Diagnosis, not just my family that heard a diagnosis that week in August. One of my students found out his 5 year old sister had leukemia. She's battling hard. A co-worker found out his mom has pancreatic cancer, just like that, another one. Then my friends' aunt was diagnosed a couple of weeks ago. A friend from church back home was diagnosed. I was in church on Sunday and a young father was diagnosed with stage 4 - terminal. Seriously, all around. Diagnosis after diagnosis. Not just cancer but many other things. Then you hear the questions fly - is it curable? What's the prognosis? What's the plan?  Have they started treatment? Basically the questions all seem to say the same thing, will they live?

To be diagnosed - when the illness or problem is identified based on examined symptoms. 

Diagnose -  a whackload of tests and a whirlwind of questions all at once. I love the medical field, am so thankful for all the knowledge it entails and has to offer us, all the care it provides and the lives it saves, enriches and helps. I was overwhelmed by the medical field in those months of Lianne's illness, overwhelmed by all the questions she was asked - it was so very repetitive and exhausting. I am thankful for the medical staff, doctors, nurses, residents, oncologists, radiologists, health care aids, paramedics, and so many more who worked with and helped Lianne (and us).

That whirlwind was physical - you could see the symptoms that needed to be treated. We saw her muscles deteriorate before our eyes and her skin sag and her abdomen swell. We heard her cough and helped collect the vomit. We helped clean up after her and adjusted pillows to make her more comfortable where possible. All that - after the diagnosis. NUT Midline Carcinoma is what my sister had. She passed far too early but am I ever thankful that horrific disease no longer eats away at her body.

Breast cancer.
Lung cancer.
Pancreatic cancer.
Leukemia.
Brain tumours.
Grief.

Those are just a few of the diagnosis I've heard in the last few months, some multiple times. Each time my body shudders. I tremble. Goose bumps. Shivers down my spine.

All I can utter is "not another one!!"


My heart is overwhelmed with grief each time I hear of another diagnosis. It's one thing my sister died and I have to bear that cross of loss now. But to hear that friends had to lose a family member, a friend loses her hair and energy and the normalcy of her life, that people are attached to lines and tubes with fluid and oxygen because their body no longer does it well... because cancer rages. My heart cries, and often tears actually well up. You know why??! It hurts like hell. To watch a loved one suffer. To see those around them crumble. To see people's heart break and watch their world shatter. To witness people as they cope with the diagnosis and courageously start treatment with high hope but you know how hard all those decisions are. It tears your heart in pieces when you hear of another patient whose body is inhabited by carcinoma or another disease.

It's one thing my sister died and I have to bear that cross of loss now but I don't want that for anyone else. No one should have to suffer through this pit of darkness and despair. I don't think anyone deserves to feel the pain of loss and grief.
Symptoms of grief aren't very visible, but they sure are there. You can examine me or anyone else who's grieving and wrestling with a diagnosis - but you may not see the diagnosis. Grief and loss is not like a broken leg with a cast or a deep wound with stitches. Grief and psychological complications surrounding grief are difficult to diagnose, difficult to define, difficult to name.

Grief is vulnerable, it's painful and it hurts like hell.
But honestly people. It's there alright, diagnosed or not.

In a way I find it the most beautiful thing of all - you crumble and feel fragile and shattered. Tears trickle or rush down your cheeks and sometimes you can feel them in your eyes just waiting for the dam to burst. Memories flood back and laughter fills my heart and mind and it's the best when you can share that with other people. Sometimes I can share her story with others and other times we just weep. I love it when I have the most vivid dreams bring them back to life - so real. But then, just today as I was leaving work it hit me - I no longer have a little sister to hug. She's gone!

I got in my car and drove off. There.

I called my health insurance to get some stuff organized and the lady on the other end asked me why... It felt cold when I said "my sister died a couple of months ago". A shiver down my spine - how did I say that so matter of factly? Did those words really roll off my tongue? How can this be?



You know... After Lianne died so many things happened and we all kind of tried to pick up the pieces, to keep going. But we are learning that each day is different and each moment we may respond differently. We are learning that we aren't the only ones grieving and at a loss for words. We know there are many around us who are now facing similar trials as we faced while Lianne was sick. We also know there are many around us who are grieving loved ones - loved ones who passed yesterday or a what seems like yesterday. Your grief is there. Let it be there. Don't be ashamed to voice it and share. Let tears roll and laughter fill the air (sometimes with only seconds separating the two).

Recently I could say to people that my days have more ups than downs. I was shocked when I heard those words come out of my mouth. How?! Four months and 13 days and I am already doing okay or experience more ups? More than four months and finally I can say I am doing okay...? (It's this tugging between finally and already... or still not and yay I got this!)
Oh these emotions are so mixed. Guilt for feeling okay right now and longing to be doing okay when you don't feel okay.
As a family we are all learning in this. We get to know ourselves and are faced with the loneliness of grief. We journey through emotions, sleepless nights and lack of energy or drive. We struggle to fill our days with good stuff and binge watch shows or take endless naps. We fill our agendas to the brim and keep on keeping on... We all are trying to find our way through this, trying to learn and to carry this with us. But we're not alone. We're carried in the arms of our loving Father.

The diagnosis. No matter what it is - let your feelings be. Just be. It's okay to not be okay. And okay will come again.

Sunshine and rain at the same time.

Blossom. Okay will come again.

the grey, the dreary, the rain

Winter days here in the Netherlands are often grey and dreary. The rain that comes down is sometimes gentle and soft. It's raining cats and dogs is what most Dutchies say to me when it's raining. Pouring. That happens too. Those rain storms are good for something; I know nature needs the water, needs to be refreshed and get the necessary minerals. Some catch the rain water, catch the heavenly blessings pouring down for free. It rains on all, it shines on all, and none have say in it...

The weather happens and it can really influence life - your choices in what to do for the day or what to wear or where to go. To find shelter from the rain, the wind, the heat. From when I was a little girl the weather has impacted my mood. Some days I find that the rain, the grey, the dreary is right in line with how I feel. Some days I find that the rain, the dreary reflects exactly how my heart is, but don't assume it always is. Just because it's rainy or grey doesn't guarantee the Monday blues on a Wednesday or Friday. Just because it's rainy or grey doesn't mean the day will be difficult. I need to remember that. Remember that rain is a good thing, that the dreary doesn't need to bring me down, that the grey doesn't need to take me through the negative spiral. In the rain there's hope, there's good, there's blessings pouring down. When in that negative spiral it's hard to break out of it. Thoughts become irrational, far from realistic and yet you can't get out just like that. My house has windows with many panes. When it's dark inside and the street lights shine through I see a grids on the wall. The other day I noticed the grid and it felt a bit constricting, jail like or something. I tried taking a picture but that didn't show. Turning on the light helped. In the light you don't see the darkness, in the light there is no room for darkness, in the light there is no room for grids or enprisonment.


The Light - the Truth - will set you free! No longer enslaved, enprisoned, but living in the Light. Seek the Light when darkness tries to get you down, when it tries to get you take you out. Reminding myself again and again to not let the darkness overrule. Some days are hard. Some days just feel plain impossible. Some days it's actually going okay. And then there are days that end and as I hit the pillow I realize 'that was a good day'. That day was filled with sunshine even though it rained.

In a way I feel guilty for having a good day... guilty for enjoying myself and moments filled with laughter. How does joy go together with grief? Can it go together with grief - and if it can how do you balance it? Perhaps I shouldn't over think it. Allow the emotions to happen when they come, allow the laughter and the joy and the smiles and the tears and the confusion and the down thoughts to be. Allow myself to not be okay during this time because this is really hard, this isn't okay. The not-okay-ness is okay and I need to allow this part too, to read this chapter as well.

The other day I said to someone how I felt it was taking forever. In a way you want to finish this chapter of grief, read it through and be done with it. Done with the salty tears. Done with the flood of emotions. Done with the unexpected waterworks. Done with heart ache that is constantly felt. Done with it all. Because I don't want this - don't want to have to grieve the fact that my sister is no longer here. Don't want to have to live on without her, have to deal with an empty place. I want to be done with it all because this chapter sucks, it's stupid and difficult and the toughest read. I don't know the words I need to give, can't give words that will do justice to what this is like. If you ask me now I may tell you I'm doing fine because in that moment I feel fine. Or may say I am doing good because in that moment it feels good. Or you may say something to me and tears well up and roll down, because that night I didn't sleep well or that morning I woke up discouraged.
Yesterday someone came up to me and commended my courage. I fell silent.

Courage?

I'm feel weak and broken and super fragile. But courage? Seriously, I am still in survival mode. I fight my way out the door because I can't do it otherwise. I pray each day for patience with my students because my mind feels almost too full. Strength is something I cannot live without, and that strength doesn't come from within. It's not courage I've got, or at least it doesn't feel that way. It's trying to find what I need for that moment from the tips of my toes, from the depth of my soul, from the bottom of my heart. Strength to face the day, hear the comments, answer questions, absorb all the advice and ideas people try to share. Dear people, thank you for the cards you send - even though they guarantee tears. Dear people, thank you for the WhatsApp message about the least important and most nonsense things. Dear people, thank you for your prayers - for our friends and family and myself. You prayed when Lianne was sick and your continued prayers are so appreciated and needed. Dear people, thank you for asking questions even though sometimes I can hardly answer you. Dear people, thank you for offering me your help or ideas or advice - to be honest, I don't know what I need right now, don't know how you can help, don't have answers.
But thank you.
All of that adds to the joy and courage to keep going.

All that you offer and say and give doesn't go unnoticed, I honestly take it to heart and I see it as rays of sunshine on those grey days in my mind. Those are winks that take the chill off the grief. Thank you. For embracing me in the normal and in the pain and in the joy, too. Sunshine warms you, brings brightness and is light itself. Light doesn't allow for darkness. So thanks for bringing Light by being you and reaching out.

all of my ambitions, hopes and plans

waiting for the ambulance and just taking a silly selfie. classic

I love talking and writing, as many of you know. In the last few months talking has been a way of reflecting and processing what is happening in my heart and mind. It is a way of figuring out what is going on, or at least putting it into words. I always thought I was pretty in tune with what was going on in my mind, can figure out what I am feeling and am able to express that in one way or another.
In the whirlwind of Autumn 2018, the season my sister's leaf faded and fell off, suddenly I no longer felt. Couldn't feel because I was hit with numbness, overcome with shock and later grief. I could no longer feel because there were so many feelings going through me at once, many emotions at the same time. Some days there is frustration, other days it feels like pure anger, some times I am disappointed and in some moments relieved.
In my tribute during Lianne's memorial service I talked about the dreams we shared, the hopes we had, and our deepest desire. Many of our dreams and hopes were similar, but the greatest longing for us both: to glorify God in all things - now and forever more.

In September I told her that I was jealous she'd likely meet our Maker soon, jealous that she'd be in glory soon. Is that a holy jealousy? Selfish jealousy, I am not sure?! Those ambitions, those hopes, the plans we'd made soon became a memory.
Lianne had been planning to come to the Netherlands to visit Corné and I here in October 2018. Our plan was to go to Cambodia together in the Summer of 2019. She hoped to open her own bakery and had already started baking cakes for weddings and such. The first dream that vanished was her dream to become a mom. Her deepest and 'loneliest' dream perhaps was to become a mom, but eh, that doesn't work too well when you're alone. We always would joke about her family of 10 children, mini-me's she'd say... and she hoped they'd be less chaotic than herself 'because otherwise I'd have to hire you'. I laugh now, thinking about that. At the same time tears roll down my cheeks... In August she said to me: "Marieta, I'll never be a mom..."

In October those words had changed... still so very similar and yet I could tell her own dreams had become unimportant to her. She'd moved on from holding her own dreams to sharing ours... "Marieta, I'll never see you be a mom, will never be able to celebrate the milestones of our niece and nephews... Mariet, it hurts me that I won't be able to be there for you..." Her hopes and dreams had vanished, all she could think was not being able to share in the celebrations, not being able to bake pretty cakes for birthdays and weddings, and squeezing us tight for our birthdays. She'd let go off her own dreams and was filled with heavenly longing, longing all for Jesus.

Jesus, all for Jesus,

All I am and have and ever hope to be.

Jesus, all for Jesus,

All I am and have and ever hope to be.

I surrender these into Your hands.

All of my ambitions, hopes and plans

All of my ambitions, hopes and plans

For it's only in Your will that I am free,

I surrender these into Your hands.

For it's only in Your will that I am free,

Jesus, all for Jesus,

All I am and have and ever hope to be.

Jesus All For Jesus

Sometimes it feels like she had to prematurely surrender all things into His hands. So abruptly, from planning a trip to Europe to a like -death-sentence-diagnosis. So abruptly, no more dreams of her own but dreams God had for her. He wanted His child home and she's home now. Home with God. There's no place I'd rather be, than in Your arms of Love....

I've been doing a lot of reflecting lately, that happens automatically really. I don't have to try, it just happens. You start thinking differently in life when you come face to face with death, or are confronted with the end of life here on earth. It's a stark realization. You wonder what you're living for. What's the goal you're aiming at, the dreams you have. I struggle between longing for the heavenly and still having a calling here on earth. I am called to live and live fully and live for God and flourish where I am. How can I flourish in this broken, dark, cold valley? How can I flourish in grief and the winter season of my life? How can I live fully when I feel shattered, beaten, broken? How can I give all I have and all I hope to be - when I feel like I've got nothing to offer...?

How can I live when I can hardly breathe? How can I have ambitions for today when I barely have the strength to face this moment?

All I am and have and ever hope to be...

Really, it feels like I have hardly any ambitions - professionally or personally - they're all kind of put on the backburner. Don't ask me about a five year plan in my career. I pray daily not for cakes and pies for tomorrow but for today's bread. I ask not for long term care but God's providence in this moment. I ask not for 10 years from now because I can hardly face today. Someone reminded me of the manna God provided daily in the desert. Israel was warned not to gather extra, but to trust God's hand in what He gives today. Looking to Him for this moment is enough... Surrendering all I have to Him - letting it go out of my control-freak-hands and into His care, into His loving arms, resting in His providence. To depend on Him in that, in today. On the foreground of my mind is not what do I want but how do I live for You, abide in You, when I feel so lost? How can I live now? What am I living for today?

Jesus - You are all I am.
Jesus - You are all I have.
Jesus - You are all I ever hope to be.

It is He that lives in me, not I that lives.

To God be the glory, now and forever.