For 10 days, purple flowers blanketed the forest floor in the Hallerbos, enchanting thousands of people.
The bluebells do it every year again: prepare all year, to give everyone a peek into perfection for just a few days. They are fragile, vulnerable, and all over the place.
If someone steps on the flowers, they never recover. But they’ll leave their seeds. If uncaring shoes walk on the bare forest floor more then 25 times, the seeds have no chance to take root. The surrounding flowers take years and then some, to encroach on the empty spot and fill it up again.
It can be hard to get back up when all life seems to do is knock you down. Again. And again. And again.
It can seem like it isn’t worth it, when people keep walking over you like you aren’t even there.
When life drags you down with yet another wave, leaving you in the forgotten depths of the ocean.
It’s the most cliche thing to say… But you’re never alone.
Even in the depths of despair or in the black numbness that envelops you, making you oblivious to despair and joy and any feelings at […]
The past is in the past. And it always stays with you.
I’ve wanted to go back to the past, to who I was. To a place that was home and to people who used to belong in my story.
I’ve held on to my past and I’ve wanted to turn back time. I’ve thought that, if I could do that, I’d like to take some things from now back to then. And I’ve thought I’d leave even more things behind in the now.
But then is then, and now is now. “Then” lies behind me, “now” all around me, and “what will be” stretches out before me like the ocean, covered by a fine mist.
And yet there’s a bit of what is behind me inside of me. Like a shadow that stays in the mirror. The red stain that stays in the white container years after the spaghetti sauce has been washed out.
I’ve often seen my childhood as a burden, something to forget.
And I’ve seen it as the only thing that matters, something to anxiously cling to when all the other things in my life and in the world seemed unsure.
I’ve realized […]
From the time that we are very small, we long to be very big.
Dads and moms and teachers say, or at least it is generally thought to be desirable that they say, we are important and unique and special.
And then we get bigger and we see we are just small dots. Dots among dots, like sand at the beach.
We are not inclined to feel grateful for that feeling.
So we stand on a platform. We swing our arms around. And they walk right on by.
We sigh a deep sigh and wave our arms around halfheartedly before sitting down despondently.
Grains of sand accept they are part of the whole, they won’t be put on a pedestal to be admired above all the other grains of sand on the beach, but we don’t accept our fate so easily.
We want to be seen. Preferably alone. The numbers of admirers are never quite enough. We feel out, despite the high numbers some of us manage to accumulate.
As if there is an elite in-group, and if you can only be part of and call out their admiration, that it will fill all the empty places, the vague […]
To me, sometimes. To you, right now or then.I wish I could wrap you tight in a circle of safety. I wish I could give you my certainty, that everything will be all right even when everything is too hard.
Would that steal your own soul adventures?
I wish I could show you the hope that burns bright, even when you can’t feel it. It’s always there, like the sun, but it might not be visible in your today. It might be just around the bend, waiting for morning.
I wish I could make you understand that you don’t need to feel it.
That you don’t need to feel okay.
That someday, this darkness will recede and you will step out hesitantly, finding out you are so very victorious. Then you will smile and square your shoulders and take the next step confidently.
I wish I could show you the height and depth and width of His love for you… I wish I could always have the right attitude and speak the right words so that you’d be convinced.
I wish I could fast forward. I might be tempted to do it, but would it rush you through something […]
It’s spring. And although spring came with sunshine and clear blue skies, some of the sunshine is making way for rainy days.But if I tell Abel that there are always good things to be found even in really bad days, I must find some good things about rain. Otherwise I would be lying, and I couldn’t possibly face him when he is 20 if I lie to him at 5. He’s quite the grudge holder, and could grow up to be a lawyer or a salesman. Someone who can take whichever point of view he pleases and then proceed to tell you why he is right in a very convincing way.So who ever said rain is terrible?I did. I admit it. I did it again and again but here, my dear people, are 10 reasons why it is loveable.1. ‘Pudmuddles’ and boots.
2. On very special days, there are rainbows.
3. You can hold an umbrella. Everybody loves umbrellas. And everybody loves hearing toddlers try to pronounce ‘Umbrellala’.
4. You can, if you so wish, stand outside and turn your face up to the clouds and let them drop the raindrops right into your mouth. It’s super fun, […]
Starting the night early with a cup of tea and a book is always a good idea. Especially when you are sick. Yesterday I did just that, with the cutest book! It was short enough to read in 45 minutes so that I could still go to sleep early enough, which is a smart thing when you are sick.
I do love finishing the book before I go to sleep. It makes it so much easier to go to sleep 😉
I loved the style of this book. It was reminiscent of some of my favorite childrens classics, such as ‘Little House on the Prairie’ and ‘Grandma’s Attic Series‘. It has a vintage, classic feel, without being too old-fashioned, or out-dated.
The drawings are cute, I especially love the black and white ones inside: simple but oh-so-sweet. They leave room for imagination, which is ideal, I think. It gives you something to start with, for example a whimsically drawn pickle jar, and your imagination finishes furnishing the rest of the room. At least mine does.
The story is true, and that, I always love. It’s not a magnificent from rags to riches ?(which is good in it’s own time). […]
When I was about 14, a friend sent me this poem. I loved it then, and I was and am a big Amy Carmichael ‘fan’, but with all the moving it got lost.
So I was super happy when I found it again in a book, after all those years 🙂
Since finding it I have read it often. I can’t really add anything of value, so I’m going to shut up 😉
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