The blue sky

I love the sky best when it is clear and blue.

I love it even better when it is filled with swirling, hot air.

Now, the sky is clear and cold. I like it, but it isn’t quite the same.

It bites.

The trees have dropped their leaves. They wouldn’t want to let their soft green leaves endure such cold.

Does the cold blue sky know that the branches are green inside? Does it know they are like factories, in full preparation for what is to come?

Because when the sultry, curly, misty warmth drives the biting cold out of the air, thousands, millions of leaves will come out of hiding.

Then, little children will appear out of all the houses, with bare feet. The grass will think it is exhausting to be stepped on all day, but it is strong. It will always bounce back up.

“Go on then, children,” it will say. “You are terribly exhausting, but I do so love to have you here with me. Go on, run around on me. And when it gets so very warm, and I am thirsty all day, will you play games with water? Yes. That will […]

Love

Yesterday, love looked like you loving me when I was grumpy, reading Dickens all day in an effort to forget the pain and letting the children run wild.

It wasn’t pretty.

And when you came down after 5, you sent me up to take a hot bath, making supper and feeding the boys.

Yesterday, love looked like you going down after 10 to make me hops tea like so many times before.

Today, love looked like me bringing your pancakes and coffee for breakfast up to your office even though I was annoyed you didn’t come down to eat, and maybe I shortly considered being spiteful and let you starve until lunch.

Love means staying, even when I want to run hard and fast. And I love you. Also when I merely know it and don’t even feel it the smallest bit.

I love you, because I promised. I promised I would stay in the hard times and although there have been hard times, in which I wished I hadn’t promised you anything, I always end up being glad I did.

By which I mean: I’m glad I’m stuck with you.

Love is staying. And staying means having […]

Caleb

Caleb asked for the hard part.

He went and asked for the hardest part.

Not the ready-made fields Gad and Reuben wanted.

Not what Manasseh asked for: more land, land that didn’t need to be cleared of trees, in which Canaanites no longer lived.

He went and asked for the mountain with the fortified cities and their giants.

Because 45 years ago God told Him that the land upon which his feet trod would be his inheritance.

And He knew God would keep His promises. Always. Caleb had waited for 45 years and had never stopped trusting God.

Those 45 years were not Caleb’s fault. But he still had to go through them.

He didn’t forget the assignment: Be strong and courageous. Also in these long, dreary years.

God kept His promise.

Because Caleb wholly followed the Lord. Because he had a ‘different spirit in him.’ He, who went and asked for the hill with the giants, and if he could please go and fight them.

I can’t stop thinking of Caleb, and how he saw the blessing in the hard part.

At 85, 45 years after he was supposed to have gotten his inheritance. He was still ready […]

Slow, really nice and slow

I sometimes complain that life is rushed.And then I rush you.I complain everything is fast, and busy,And then I busy the life out of you.You do it so very well. Living slow.The toothpick falls.

Slowly, you get of your chair. You crawl under the table and find not only the toothpick, but also a ball and a spoon. This delights you.

Your mouth curls into a mischievous, satisfied smile. Your cheeks deliciously go along, not wanting to miss out.

The cheese is lost.You check your t-shirt. Your pants. Your chair. And find it under the table a few minutes later.

Slowly, you push the chair away and I restrain myself from bending down to just do it for you. Your little fingers rub the cheese, relishing the texture. To me, it looks unappetizing. To you, it is a piece of gold.

I tell you to hurry up and finish eating.

You twist around on your chair in an everlasting dance, bumping your plate and your milk. All I can see is the possibility of spilled milk and all you see is the crumbs in the shape of an airplane.

Staring at the ceiling, you contemplate…something? You can’t and won’t […]