Frail, faint images of what once was and might have been,
are painted in front of me.
My eyes lingering,
fingering for a rock to steady my loose hold.
Torn apart when tide turned into flow
and I now know
that what was will never be again.
And as quickly as I ran,
those ghosts are haunting me and I’m still serving as their host.

I escaped almost
but the story of brokenness as my tenderness shattered
won’t stop like everything did
when my feelings froze;
shocked dead
by the cold hold of an almost living hand,
of washed away sand
in my memory still vivid
and then the slow return of the detested liquid.

My hand is holding yours
as death and destruction
like a turmoiled ocean come crashing down,
turning my hearty laughter into a frown.
WE had nothing yet my head was still holding a crown.
A crown of joy, hope and happiness,
washed away leaving a whole lot of emptiness.

Those ghosts of fainted memories draw a picture in my head of what could have been,
if only that dreaded ocean night
would have warned me with a thundering light,
that nothing will ever be the same.

My today still circles around that moment
of my hand holding your almost living one.
Feeling the cold seep in and the warmth
making place for it.
That moment when crowns became tear-filled frowns
and my happiness a mere memory of what once was.

My heart is still filled with those images, I can’t get out.
Ghosts running after me, even though I run.
Trying so desperately to find the sun.
Searching my future in the past,
mixing some sweetness into that salty water that changed my life forever.
Deciding to never look back again,
as I began to shut out those images,
trying to see the beauty in black and white.
Trying to see the future in my hand.
Trying to forget your hand in my hand,
but sometimes like lost melodies, those ghosts appear again.
Even though I ran, sprinted even,
waited for someone
to make that cold hand warm again.
Waited to see my frozen heart turn into water, a part of the ocean I dreaded.

But those frail images of what could have been
are trailing behind me and are still not seen.
I am so keen on forgetting,
on letting it all go,
that I even try to shut out those memories
of long forgotten, beautiful melodies;
of shelves filled with pictures,
images of us before your hand was colder than mine.
Memories of hearts bursting of love
and peace sinking into the deepest part of my soul,
longing to fulfil our call.
Because every time I look at these, the ghosts of other memories are just a thought away.

Images are powerful and yet I seek to find a way to distinguish them.
Out of fear or mere anxiety.
I’m fighting against ghosts that are stronger than me,
against darkness that the light has never seen.
But I am too weak and I begin to sink
as frail, fainted images of a hand almost living
and an ocean almost turned sweet by your last words,
begin to sink in and it hurts.
But it prevents me from drowning,
because of the memories I try to forget I am standing here,
the ghosts have found me and instead of imprisoning me,
these memories have set me free.

Faint, brighter images are visible at the edge of the earth
at the horizon of my own little world.
And I know that hope was never lost,
even though it is not a crown anymore.
A little diamond out of the beautiful diadem I wore,
wasn’t swept away by salty tears and dark fears
but it was there, where I last expected it.

It was in the wet sand,
in the memory of your almost living hand.
And I pick it up, your last gift.
The gift of hope that will carry me
when I turn around and walk,
away from sandy shores and towards the future hoards,
still hidden behind high boards
but I’m walking hoping on the Lord.


Dear Body of Christ

Have you been sleeping lately? I feel like you’ve tried many times to hide your failings and your torments, but how could the head not know what is going on?
Dear Bride to be to the most glorious husband,
why are you standing in shame and not preparing yourself for his return? Get your beautiful clothes and your jewels out, he is coming! He once told us to be ready but most of the time we are not, I am not. I’m revolving around tiny problems, little errors and my sin instead of remembering what Christ did. And who he is!

I wrote a spoken word to the body of Christ, asking it to speak up again, to start living as the body of Christ and not of another head. Asking it to use the weapon God has given us, his word! We are called to speak and to read it, to inebt it into our souls and yet we’re forgetting. We’re trying to be cool, be everything this world is, but we’re not what Christ called us to be. He called us to be a unity, a light for the world to see, he called us to be different, he said we’re not from the world, so why are we trying so hard to fit in? He called us to call on to him in our darkness and to rest in his arms. He gave us, each one of his deciples, the call to go out and minister to the nations, yet we’re rather hiding and saying religion is something very personal. Personnally I agree, we don’t have to shout the gospel out, but we have to learn how to live after it ourselves. Let us learn once again, who our head is and who we are as a part of his body! Let us remember his name and let us lay down all the wrong images and gods we’ve made for ourselves. Jesus, please come back, be our head once again and show us what it means to be your child, what it means to be a part of your church, show us Jesus, please.




The love we share, is artistically spoken a masterpiece.
Full of basic colours and highlights, shadows and rainbows.
Its depth is obtained by layering colour on colour on colour.
By spending time.
By waiting for each layer to dry.
By stroking with different brushes.
By using various techniques.
The depth and richness of this masterpiece is created
by the hand,
that is doing all of this.


In my mother’s womb I felt safe.
The world consisted of nothing more than her sweet little murmurs
and the soft punch I felt when your tiny fingers touched me.
In my mother’s womb I did not know more about the world outside,
except that it was loud at times and quiet at others.
The world was made out of sounds.
Of banging doors and laughing chores.
It was a symphony of everything I’ve ever heard and I dreamed about it.
But it never occurred to me that one day I would have to leave this tiny home of mine.
That one day the world would be more than just a cacophony of sounds.
I dreamed of many things and I knew I’d never be alone.
You were there with me.
Right next to me.
You were the first human I knew and the first I communicated with.
Your touch was the first one I felt and everything you did had an influence on me.
You were so excited about the world.
About everything you wanted it to be and you couldn’t wait.

One day you were simply gone.
Your place next to me was empty.
An empty space in a still full stomach.
There was no you inside our mother’s womb anymore.
At first I wasn’t sure if you had hidden yourself somewhere.
But you just weren’t there.
So I thought you left me in our mother’s womb and went ahead.
I thought you’d discover the world for me and tell me about it when you came back.
But you didn’t.
And as the months passed,
I could still feel the soft punch of tiny fingers but I was aware they were a fiction.
I could still hear excitement and laughter from outside,
I just wasn’t sure anymore if they were fiction or not.

And when my time came, I left my mother’s womb.
The only place I’ve felt safe till then.
And the first thing I did was searching for you.
You weren’t there.
And I learned that I was alone.
No twin.
No one else to celebrate birthdays.

My dear I cannot remember you clearly
and I don’t know why you left me and didn’t come with me.
You were the adventurous one, the one that couldn’t wait to leave,
now it is me standing here alone
and trying to find peace within my soul.

I know you live in a perfect place and you can’t wait for me to discover the world and tell you about it when I come back.

You were the first one I lost and the first I never forgot.
You were the first human I ever met and you simply left me,
staring at death.
I understand that it wasn’t your decision.
I know you’re in heaven, this is no superstition.
So wait for me there.
There will be so many things to share.
Memories, happy days, so many people that you will have to meet.

I have to learn to live alone to let myself be happy and calm.
To leave you in paradise and to live life without you
because you are not some kind of lice.
You’re not a parasite
but you consume my thoughts and my heart
you are deadly to me and that is why I leave you
in the arms of Jesus,
the only one I know who calms.
I leave you in heaven till the time comes that I will come back there too.
I leave you with the freedom of enjoying this place
and I give myself the permission to live.
To live a beautiful life.
To live a life worthy of my calling
and to live a life where you are not my priority.
Not my first or second or third thought not my home base.
Not my defence.
No I want to live a life where God is the ground on which I stand,
the fortress around me and the happiness and the fortune I have.

So I depart from you,
I let go of the heartache but instead pin down the things I will be looking forward to.
But I do not define my now, past or future over you.
That will not do.
I give this position to Jesus because he is all that I need to live and breathe.

So this is a spoken word that I wrote about my womb twin. I actually felt very sad often and thought that I don’t deserve to live so that is why I had to give that twin to Jesus. You know this twin was never meant to be a parasite or anything of the like, but for me it became exactly that. I made it the reason for many of my problems and I sometimes I was or am still so full of grief but it is not good for me. I feel guilty, I feel depressed and lonely and this is why I decided to give my twin back to Jesus. Because even though it is a part of my story I do not want it to be the all defining one. And this twin is living in heaven so why not let her/him enjoy it there?

You may not have had a womb twin but I am sure we all have this goat in our life that we load all our sins upon and sacrifice for the sake of ourselves from time to time. What is it in your life? Why is it so hard to lay down our struggles at Jesus feet and to know that we have made a mistake? What is it that makes you searching for excuses?

I invite you do give it back to Jesus as well, because it changes your outlook and it changes your heart.




Follow the shallow
Follow the hollow
Follow the lone
Follow the prone
Follow the sorrow
Follow the narrow
The only thing you have to do is follow
Follow up
Follow through
Follow around
Follow, Follow!


We all follow something, the question is only what? What are you chosing to follow? What are you following?