In the late 1930’s, the Dutch government built Camp Westerbork to house thousands of German Jews fleeing National Socialism in Germany. When the Nazis occupied Holland in May 1940, they took over the camp, enlisting Dutch police servicemen as guards. Rients Dijkstra was one of such police officers, and when he reported for duty, he couldn’t do what the Nazis demanded. He lasted one day and never returned to Westerbork. Like thousands of other Dutch citizens, he went underground, hiding in the chicken coop of his girlfriend’s parents’ home, where for a time he was safe. However, as supplies dwindled, it became difficult for citizens to feed the thousands of onderduikers, those who had gone underground. Meanwhile, the Germans paid informants fifty guilders to track down runaways. Rients’ luck ran out when someone took the money. Though the house was searched, they skipped the chicken coop. Frustrated, the Germans grabbed Rients’ girlfriend’s father instead.
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Pure Heroines & Resistance Stories /
Many years ago, at a sleepover, I picked up an adult’s diary and began to read. I got as far as the first sentence before slamming it shut and carefully replacing it on the shelf. The person who penned those opening lines couldn’t possibly be the same person who’d earlier bought me an ice-cream cone! I knew the adage “you can’t judge a book by its cover” but surely if someone smiled all the time, they couldn’t simultaneously endure such inner turmoil, could they? Fast forward to the present moment. If you were to reach onto my (secret, hidden) bookshelf and pull down any one of my leather journals, the first words you would read would be: BURN ME. Mine is a life of adversary, jealousy and mountains of insecurity… at least according to the crazy diatribe that is my diary. Like millions of others, I’m not alone trying to make sense of the world and my place in it by pushing words onto a page. But, loathe to offer up my unedited ramblings for general consumption, allow me instead to direct you to some brave souls who aren’t afraid to open their hearts and minds and offer some worthy reflections in the midst of this dark mid-winter.
Read MorePaying the Love Tax /
When my daughter was little, she loved to play make believe, and I loved eavesdropping on her pretend world. But there was one thing that always startled me about her world-building endeavours: she always took me and her dad out of it.
Her games would begin with: “Okay, so we need to get some food because Mom and Dad are dead.” Or “It sucks living in the attic because we’re orphans.” Or (slightly better) “All the grown-ups have been kidnapped! What should we do?”
Later I realized all Kid-Lit and children’s movies share this one commonality. In fiction, kids are alone and must navigate the universe by themselves. (Think Harry Potter, Anne of Green Gables, etc.) Kids internalize the potential for disaster and try to fantasize a way around it. It's fascinating until the world of make-believe collides with reality. As occurred this week in our corner of the world.
Read MoreChastised By the Lady With the Mary Magdalene Tattoo /
I’m not that into sermons, but I love to be put in my place. These days it happens less and less from the pulpit and more via Memoir. You might think that if I wanted guidance, the place to start might be the Christian Living or Spiritual Growth shelf, but you’d be wrong, because those books read like self-help or Hallmark Cards. They lack the essential ingredient I need to engage: story. Just like the Bible is story, and Judeo-Christian celebration is always about re-visiting what God has done, Memoir reminds me how to live. Lately, I’ve read a number of thoughtful, personal memoirs, but I connected particularly with this one.
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