Posted by Janneke in Homesick-Heimwee, Thirty Days of Light
on Nov 25th, 2011 | 0 comments
Yesterday I shared how as a child-immigrant I felt and thought, a mixture of sorrow, anger and nobody understands me. I was also an invisible immigrant. Until I opened my mouth, and spoke American with a Dutch accident, I seemed just like other children. I was also an immigrant seeking gratitude for reasons much different than refugee-immigrants. My father, mother, younger sister and I, had left a country, The Netherlands (Nederland, Holland), which actually had a tradition of offering liberty and freedom to others. For instance the Dutch gave the Pilgrims religious freedom and shelter while awaiting...
Posted by Janneke in War's Family
on Jun 27th, 2011 | 2 comments
I have learned from family survivors of World War II, are actually magnificent miracles. (be sure to keep reading to the end forJewel’s rendition of Tis a Gift to Be Simple)
To have enough food, loving fellowship (gezelligheid), safety, time in nature, all of these are the gift of simplicity. Each is a miracle in its own right.
My mother, Bouk de Vries Jobsis, tells this family story about the magnificent miracles and simplicity….
As an only child in the war years, she would sometimes visit some of the large families of her aunts and uncles, sitting with her many...
Posted by Janneke in Thirty Days of Light
on Mar 6th, 2011 | 0 comments
In nature light rarely arrives in a flash, or all at once like a floodlight. Some light is breakthrough light, like a messenger through clouds
and tree tops.
“Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.”
Psalm 119:105 (NIV)
Most light gently arrives at dusk, and departs at dusk. I am NOT, NOT, NOT a morning person, yet when I great the morning sun, THAT day is always full of light, and wonder, and a whisper in my ear, “stay present, it is always the present moment. Tomorrow never comes, it’s always today. And the past, honor the past, but hold it ...
Posted by Janneke in Homesick-Heimwee
on Feb 21st, 2011 | 0 comments
(read Dutch Heritage page first)
Epilogue circa 1970’s, me. For some reason, I have not been able to put my feet on my Dutch-Frisian home soil again.
Beloved family members drove Pake (Frisian grandfather), Mammie and I over antiek weggetjes (antique roads) to find my grandparents’ last farm house – the home I yearned for. Finally we were there.
We had the clearest of views, 25 meters away, but… We. were. not. there. not there. The home with the attic window I had once looked out of was across the canal. I was on the reverse of my six year old child experience (Dutch Heritage page). No...