I was brought up in the Dutch Christian Reformed Church. My father was a lay minister. From Sunday School to Sunday Sermons, sin, hell and damnation were the overriding themes.
The Third Dutch Christian Reformed Church did not feel like a place of peace where one could go and feel God's love. Rather it was a place where the fear of God was preached.
The doctrine of the church included another principle to further take away from life's joy: that of predestination. This simple concept stated that God had already decided how your life would be and all you could do was to accept Gods will.
At the emotionally tender age of thirteen I watched as my dearest and most beloved friend died of leukemia. I was devastated. My world shrunk down to an empty, silent, dark shell that wrapped around my reality.
Sylvia and I had grown up together. We shared one soul between us. We were very mature at 12 years old. Full of question and full of dreams of our future together. And then she was gone and I was alone for the first time in my life. Alone in way that took away everything; every desire, every dream, every last bit of hope. On my thirteenth birthday all I wanted was to die, go to heaven and be with Sylvia again.
My parents, pastors, psychologists, doctors, friends, and all my relatives tried to reach me. They told me about God's love and the salvation in his Son Jesus. Not having spoken a word in over two months, I finally very quietly told my pastor that I hated God and God hated me. That I would never set foot in his church again and that I renounced my Christian faith.
Even now 53 years after Sylvia passed away, my heart is still broken, tears streak my face when I think of her, and a small, bright fire of rage burns in my torn soul.
At fifteen years of age I sat on the end of a long jetty where storm driven waves crashed against the rocks sending spewing foam 20 feet into the air. I was soaked to the skin and shivering in the gale force wind. My plan was to throw myself into the sea. The water was deep with a very strong undertow. I knew it would drag me far out and no matter how hard I tried, the sea would take me.
But I hesitated. I thought about God. I needed a way to talk to him. I needed to know why He took Sylvia from me. Why Sylvia? She was pure, she was kindness and compassion. She was my rock, my anchor. And most of all – she was my love.
I stood on the largest rock on the very end of the jetty. Each wave that smashed against the rocks, drenched me again and again. I screamed at God. I cursed him in the most foulest language. Hatred, anger and pain poured out of me until I was exhausted. I sat down and placed my head between my knees and cried. Time passed and finally I lifted my exhausted head.
The sea was calm. The wind had died. Broken clouds drifted across a darkened sky. Stars shown brightly through the breaks. The water suddenly lit up brightly with silver-white light as the rising moon was revealed by the parting clouds.
I thought of how the moon gave the earth life. I thought of how far away the stars were and i wondered if around one them perhaps heaven circled. I felt incredibly small and that perhaps God was simply so high above me, so busy taking care of the universe, that he didn't have time to concern Himself with my pain.
Somehow, looking at the clouds that drifted in the wind, the brightly shining moon that lit the glittering sea, the stars – diamonds against the blackness of space, I felt a kind of belonging, that no matter how vast all this was, I still was part of it.
I asked God to forgive me for the things I said. I told him that I knew Sylvia was now an angel and probably one of His favorite. I asked him for the strength to go on with my life. I needed to be sure I could count on Him because I couldn't do it alone.
As I sat on the rock on the end of the jetty looking out on the calm, moonlit sea. The wind had changed. It was warm and dry. It gently caressed me. I wasn't cold anymore. I felt so drained. I got up and took one last look at all the stars twinkling in the velvet-black sky. Something in me had changed. I knew I would go on. But I also knew I could never forget. I would always see her smile, hear the sound of her voice, her long brown hair blowing in the wind, feel her hand in mine as we walked to school, and the first time we kissed. Sylvia would live on – a part of me always.
My broken soul is whole. God's love shines on me and fills me everyday. The one great truth I have learned, more important than any words in any of the great books of all religions, the thing that God really is: God is love and to love is to do God's work. Kindness, compassion, forgiveness, generosity, which ever words you choose; God is love.
Thank you for listening to my story. May God bless all of you for each act of love you commit for Him.
Douglas