Gentle Force

Gentle force.

Love shows directions,
but my feet weakly stumble.
The bird shows the way,
if only I would follow him.
Light shows the path,
but my eyes are searching for another.
At the crossroad of life,
I wonder when I lost my way,
and ignoring the signals,
my soul loses its destination.

Love shows directions,
in the lost signals.
The bird waits for its time.
The light waits for its cue.

When I least expect it,
wings of light touch me,
pushing me in the right direction.
When I least expect it,
Your light opens my eyes,
to see the signs in front of me.
When I least expect it,
You plant a seed deep in my heart,
growing me in Your light.  

Directions are found,
in the signs of love,
where it guides you,
with gentle force. 

 

Painting a dreamscape

Painting a dreamscape

Inside a teardrop,
arms reach up to Heaven,
and nature trembles in pain,
until grieve breaks into silence –
turbid are the waters that cannot see.

Life is a universe,
where stars and galaxies pass us by,
and leave a trademark on our existence.
In an endless infinity I float on ice,
until the deepest water swallows me up.
Searching for the stars I strike my thunder.
Searching for the galaxy I make the rain.

How can life exist without creation?
How can creation exist without life?

I paint a night sky on a blank canvas,
so it won’t disappear from my sight.
Uncatchable is a dreamscape,
unpaintable are the stars in the night.
When the camera wants to frame the picture,
the vision decides to stay inside my mind.

Only when the quill softly touches the ink,
Divine secrets are told on parchment paper.

Memories (in 2 languages)

Memories (English)

Underneath the blue sky,
pink blossoms blow in the wind.
Entrained with the music,
they bring you to unfamiliar places,
until the wind blows them away,
and they remain a mere memory.

Colors grow in the spring,
to dress the summer in a feast.
Scents emerge,
and make the cold air disappear,
like snow in the sun.
For a moment, Heaven feels all around you.
For a moment, you forget the winter.

When autumn arrives,
and life makes the leaves fall from the trees,
there is only a memory left.
Staggering at the abyss,
you hold tight to what you know –
stored in the chambers of your heart.
But they have evaporated in the sunshine.

Then when winter begins,
and the harsh cold covers the earth,
the white flowers force themselves a way out.
The beauty of the snowdrop flowers,
allows the light to penetrate into the darkness.
The cold is silent and the darkness disappears.

The light of the Father,
that paves a way through nature,
like a springing fountain,
nestles himself deep within the heart,
and form a new memory.
Relying on the memories,
the small child learns to walk,
at the hand of the Father.

 

Herinneringen (Dutch, the original version)

Onder de blauwe hemel,
verwaaien de roze bloesems in de wind.
Meevoerend op de muziek,
voeren ze je naar onbekende oorden,
totdat de wind ze wegvaagt,
en ze slechts een herinnering zijn.

In de lente groeien kleuren,
om de zomer te kleden in feest.
Geuren rijzen op,
en laten de koude lucht verdwijnen,
als sneeuw voor de zon.
Heel even waan je, je in de hemel.
Heel even vergeet je de winter.

Maar als de herfst aanbreekt,
en het leven de bladeren van de bomen laat vallen,
is er slechts een herinnering over.
Wankelend aan de afgrond,
klamp je, je vast aan wat je weet,
opgeslagen in de kamers van je hart.
Maar ze zijn verdampt in de zon.

Dan als de winter aanbreekt,
en de gure kou de aarde bedekt,
dwingen zich de witte bloemen een weg naar buiten.
De schoonheid van de sneeuwklokken,
laten het Licht doordringen in het duister.
De kou zwijgt en het duister verdwijnt.

Het licht van de Vader,
dat als een springende fontein,
zich een weg door de natuur baant,
nestelt zich diep in het hart,
en vormen een nieuwe herinnering.
Bouwend op de herinneringen,
leert het kleine kind te lopen,
aan de hand van de Vader.

 

Every word!

Every word

Effortless are the words, I write.
Like oxygen that bubbles to the surface,
ready to be released to the world,
Your words are nestled in my heart,
like young birds ready to fly out.

Closing my eyes, I listen.
I hear Your voice in the wind,
in the birds in the air,
in the many faces I connect with.
I listen to Your voice,
wherever I go.

My pen is my only companion.
Without paper I cannot leave the house.
I write with my heart.
I write from the soul.
The words from You, Father,
have become my own.

Poem after poem,
letter after letter,
word after word.
I connect with You.
I learn from You.
I remember You.

Effortless are the words, I write.
The oxygen that fills my heart,
bursts out into the world.
The power is not my own,
I cannot take credit for the words.
All I can do is write them down.

I breathe Your words,
and with love I release it like a dove,
into a world who needs You.

Let Your words touch the hearts,
open the hearts for Your love,
pour out Your generous mercy,
so Your light will attract the faces,
of all of Your children.

Father, I am Your daughter,
seeking Your children.
And for every heart I find,
I write,
every word.