Welcome to my blog!

Here you will find lots of truth, opinion and emotion which I express through writing. I hope you enjoy reading my pieces!

(Please note that nothing is edited, so there might be mistakes when it comes to grammar.)

Monday, 11 July 2011

Something Borrowed

I can feel the nervousness and discrepancy in the cold and quiet room. There is emptiness and a lack of joy and calmness. There is no life other than the one on the narrow bed in front of me. No plants, no flowers – just the helpless, weak man of my dreams, depending on the life gracefully provided by machines and medication.

I can hear his heart beat repetitively like time ticking away on a clock. Seeing the impulses of his chest simulated by a machine lets me realize he doesn’t have any control over his heart, thoughts and feelings. I put my things down and lie down next to him, holding him firmly and resting my head on his chest. As he feels me holding him closely, he groans as if he knows I’m here with him. Content. Happy.

I start to weep when I realize I only have a few more hours left with him – then our life that we built together will be taken from us. Ideals we’ve built together will fade away slowly as he will be taken away from me. This is the last chance I have to love him, to be with him and to hold him. Is he even aware of it being the last few hours?

I cannot stop staring at his strong and perfect face. He is the most beautiful, most precious man I have ever allowed in my life and into my heart. That makes him even more attractive and more valuable. I stroke his hair, touch his face and examine every detail, noticing the wrinkles of laughter, a soft skin being cared for like a prince and unique marks of character here and there. His body feels strong as I caress him. He is strong, but not strong enough to win this fight.

I cannot stop weeping. Suddenly he turns around and holds me tightly. Comforting and reassuring me. I calm down as I finally wake up and realize that he is here with me, he is awake and his heart beats normally. We are not in hospital and he is not dying.
Even though we are lying on my bed in my room where I fell asleep, I know that what I felt was real. So genuine. I know that I only have a few hours left of being with him. And then he will fade away, together with our dreams and hopes we’ve built up, side by side. Time is running out, and I know that in my heart he will have to die. I will have to let go.

I'm losing time. I'm losing him. He is strong, but not strong enough to win this fight.

by Letitia Claassen on Sunday, July 10, 2011 at 9:24pm

A Fairy Tale Gone Wrong

As a child I grew up in a safe environment (or let’s rather say an environment in which a child accepts the circumstances as ‘safe’). Safe from unashamed crime, safe from the explicit media and also safe from a broken heart.

As a girl I had a dream. A dream of a perfect future. The perfect life as an adult. I had the typical dream in my mind that I would one day marry the one and only handsome prince of the town, who chose me above the rest, and that I will have a fairytale wedding where nothing goes wrong. This prince will protect me and love me when I just think about the desire. I also imagined a family with perfect, well-behaved children who never spills anything and always tidies up without me asking them to do so. Children of my own whom I can raise as I please and love without ever stopping. I imagined a beautiful house where all I had to do was to be a loving and caring mother and wife. Now I realized, as an adult, that this perfect life I imagined as a little girl was not pretty much the dream I really want now…

Because in the times we live in, the prince is usually the heartbreaker who messes with women’s feelings. Every man has a weak point - the one where he sometimes has to love a woman beyond his comfort and strength. No wedding is perfect, especially the ones where everyone fights about which one of the three mothers and which one of the three fathers will sit next to the bride and groom at their table. Every child spills and needs disciplining – even sooner than you would think possible. Sometimes it’s simply tough to love a man or a child in a moment of weakness, anger and frustration.

I have learned to fight for what I want and need to survive in life, but even fighting doesn’t help… Because somewhere out there people with money will get what they want, because most things in life goes to the one that offers the extra cent. Somewhere out there people with positions of authority will use it to get what they want, even if you are the humble, submissive and honest one.  Somewhere out there people will tell lies in the face of your loved ones, and they will probably succeed in turning your loved ones against you.

What these people don’t realize is that money can pay bribes, pay lawyers, buy cars and mansions, but it will never buy love, joy and contentment. In fact, it will never buy God’s blessing or a ticket to get into heaven. Authority won’t bring these people far, even if they think so, because before the Lord we are all equal in authority and no one is in a better position than the other. Lies will not even bring them as far as they thought it would, because the truth is always revealed when it is least expected and when they are on their weakest. For the Lord, a liar is a fool.

There is no perfect picture of the perfect life as an adult in this world. That happens only in movies – and let’s be honest, older ones. Because the newer movies all agree to and portray broken homes, failing love, affairs and lust. More open and more acceptable than ever. And then the dream I had in my mind as a little girl disappears when I have to fight for a future of fairness, true love and a God of hope. If I don’t fight for fairness, I will never gain what is fair towards me and the ones I love. If I don’t work hard to make true love last, then it slips through my fingers into the hands of a thief. If I don’t renew my mind daily and trust God for provision, the devil simply fills that gap in plant thoughts of everything I don’t stand for in my mind. And before I realize, I fight for what is wrong and not what is right.

Through the worst day, I will praise God and know that He is the Prince of peace who will always love me, no matter what. He will always provide that extra bit of comfort that no man on earth can give a woman. I will praise God, because I am part of His bride on earth and He is preparing the perfect wedding feast for us where nothing can go wrong. I will praise God, because in His eyes I am made perfect and I don’t need to be a perfect wife or mother to be a worthy one. I am worthy! I will praise God, because He is the One that holds every cent in this world in His hands and He will provide my every need. I will praise God, for I know I have a guaranteed ticket of everlasting life. I will praise God, for I know the plans He has for me is to prosper me and not to harm me. Plans to give me hope and a future.

I don’t have to fight any more – God already won the fight for me.

by Letitia Claassen on Sunday, June 5, 2011 at 10:45pm

Taking the Next Step

Standing on a steady surface I look around. Even though it's day, the sun isn't shining and the sky seems far away and dark. I am in an open field with bright green grass that is short and moist. There are flat rocks here and there. I look down and see that I am standing on one- I cannot move my feet. I can spot puddles of mud and grass drenched in brown water from being walked over by all the people walking around in the field.

Everyone seems busy with their own thoughts. No one is aware of the others walking on the field too. Everyone in their own little world. I need to turn my upper body to be able to see who is walking behind me, as my feet seem glued to the rock I am standing on. I recognize most of the faces of the people walking around, up and down as if going nowhere. People I know and people I love. People I have met. People I look up to. People I respect.

I become aware of the mud in front of me and for a moment it feels as if it sucked me in like sinking sand, leaving me with no control. I loose my balance and almost fall forward, but manage to become stable without being able to lift my feet. I stare at the mud, wondering if I will be able to walk over it without being sucked in or simply just losing control.
I look around again and spot one of my friends.

"Can you please come help me? I need to take this step and I must admit, I am a bit scared to do it alone," I say to one with a bit of a laugh.

The friend looks me in the eyes, snapping out of her own world and suddenly being a part of mine, she says "Sure I'll help you. Here, let me take your hand."

With relief I wait for her to walk towards me. As soon as she takes my hand, I feel insecure and I just want to let go. It seems as if she pulls me off balance again.

"Ok, maybe you should rather go on. I will ask someone else. Thanks for your help." I call another friend, then someone else I don't even know that well, then a family member. But each time someone comes out of their little world to give me a hand in taking the step, I loose control and know I should rather not take the step with that person holding my hand to help me walk.

Between the people I see God the Father walking up and down, just like the other people. He tries to catch my eye between all the people and smiles when our eyes meet.

"Oh! I forgot that You are also here! Lord, can You please come help me take this step? I cannot manage on my own." He is so excited as He walks towards me.

"Let me give my daughter a hand here. Seems like you need a bit of help." I felt shy and guilty. Why didn't I ask Him in the first place?

As soon as He takes my hand, my feet release from the rock I am standing on. His strong hand holds mine so firmly and I feel safe. I have so much control and complete balance, yet I am sharing it with someone.

"Go on! I got you, girl!" He says and pushes me a bit forward. The mud that seems like sinking sand at first turns out to be a normal puddle of mud. I put my foot down in the mud and watches the water run over my toes. Two more steps and we are on green grass.

"There we go, that wasn't so hard, was it? I will always come when you call and I will always give you a hand when you need it. I will never leave you. Most days I am just waiting for your eyes to catch Mine, then I want to see that finger pointing at me and you calling me, all right? You always have the choice of who you want to call to help you take the next step, but I love it when you call on My name!" He winks at me, gives me a hug and goes back to His spot in the field, walking up and down.

I realize what grace is. It is that thing He does when He comes back for me- time after time, after time, after time. Walking towards me- out of the spot I have placed Him in. It is that moment when my eyes meet with His eyes and He runs towards me with such excitement. It is that reminder that He would actually love it if I can just maybe call Him again if I've got the need. It's that feeling I get when He says "Oh, even if you try and run away from Me, I will not let you go".

by Letitia Claassen on Saturday, June 12, 2010 at 3:07pm

Smiles and Wrinkles

As I walked through the front door I could smell a cooked meal- just like my grandma’s cooked food when she used to be alive. The furniture is worn and its color has faded in the sun. I could see a few plants growing in old-fashioned pots. You can hear the sound of birds in the unkempt garden and people scattering around in the kitchen. It felt as if I went back in time for a while, only to realize I’m still living in the modern age when my cell phone rang. Young people came rushing in, preparing their gifts with laughter and energy. The silence was broken.

I walked from one old and confused face to the next, giving them hugs and cards with unique and special notes inside. Some of them staring at the card and asking “what is this for?” or “should I give you money now?” not realizing that charity means kindliness, consideration, humanity, and sympathy. As soon as I told them it’s just a gift, some of them would smile and feel special, while others disappear with the card swiftly.

I walked into a room where I found an old lady sitting in her chair with her feet on top of a stack of pillows. She was busy eating, concentrating on chewing well and swallowing carefully. She struggled to keep the serving of food on her lap. She didn’t notice me at first, but as soon as I sat down on her bed next to her, she looked up and smiled. “O, hallo!” She didn’t seem frightened or puzzled, just surprised.
The room was packed with a lot of different things- furniture, plants, a chair with different kinds of pillows, framed pictures, an old television, books and a box with fresh fruit, socks, wool, and a pair of scissors. The lamp next to the bed was switched on, even though it was right next to the window where you could experience the fine day outside. She moved the plate to one side on the tray and waited for me to say something. I gave her the card without saying anything at first. She read the message in the card and said “You are so good at writing! This is beautiful. Thank you.” Then she started to tell me stories about her life and her childhood, surprisingly content and proud.

She is hard of hearing, so she misinterpreted most of the questions I asked. Some of them she understood and went to the ends of the earth to start telling me every specific story from the very beginning. Time wasn’t an aspect of her thinking. She would tell me about how she enjoyed sport and showed me the scars on her legs. I also noticed the arthritis in her knees and ankles. She told me stories starting with “Just the other day when I still went to school” or “When my mother used to live”. She told me about the family she has lost and that her brother in Cape Town is the only family she’s got left.

She spoke about love and joy and peace and security and caring for her own mother. Listening to her stories I realized that she didn’t even once mention anything about money or dept or being rich or the few things she has got left with her in her room. These things didn’t matter. It’s not these things that made her life worth wile- it’s the fact that she loved her job, cared for others, read many books and mastered new skills such as learning to write with her right hand instead of the left.

Looking at this lady, I realized that she is happy with her life. With what she has done and achieved and with how she looks. She felt beautiful and laughed at her own jokes about being ninety-one years old. Her skin looked delicate and wrinkled. Her lips were almost gone and her eyes were filled with water which she has gotten used to. Her movements were slow and her hair was thin. Suddenly I felt so aware of my own imperfections which were, in fact, even more beautiful in comparison with this old lady’s beauty.

Life is so short. I want to do what I love to do! I want to live out my passion without being worried about money or status or risking everything I’ve got. I want to have kids and raise them to the best of my ability. I want to be a good wife, mother, sister, daughter, employer and friend. Because just like most other people I might be the one in that same room one day, being able to tell the same kind of stories and also be content and proud of what I’ve achieved- even if that room is empty. I also want to be able to say “When I retired and moved here, it felt as if I've lost something…”

by Letitia Claassen on Saturday, February 13, 2010 at 3:32pm


Magteloos lê hy voor my op die gras. Vuil en vol bloed. Vrees in sy oë maak dat hy heeltyd na my staar. Hy is benoud en hy sukkel om asem te kry. Hy probeer praat, maar kreun eerder en gee dan op. Hy probeer sy bene optrek, maar laat val dit net weer sodra hy dit effens regkry. Die ritmiese rooi en blou ligte verblind hom.

Om ons kan jy die mense sien wemel soos by 'n klompie padstalletjies oppad na 'n vakansiedorp. Groepies hier en groepies daar. By elke groepie mense lê nog iemand- magteloos. Vuil en vol bloed. Sommiges geroof van hul laaste kans tot 'n pragtige sonsopkoms na 'n helder sterrenag.

Die koue wind en gekriek van krieke is nie genoeg rede vir almal om huis toe te gaan en verder te slaap nie. Nee. Mense wil eerder kom kyk en veroordeel. "Kry vir jou, jou slegte mens!" En verder aan sê 'n pappa aan sy kind, "Hy verdien die dood!" Besef hierdie mense dan nie wat hulle sê nie? Die pappa verdien die dood net soos almal wat wemel en die res van die mense wat rustig slaap regoor die wêreld.

Hy kreun weer van pyn. Steeds haal hy nie sy oë van my af nie. Dit ìs toe my bruin leer baadjie wat hy aanhet. Dit was 'n geskenk. Nou is dit geskeur en geskiet. Dit dra steeds die reuk van leer, maar nou ook die reuk van bloed.

Ek onthou hoe ek geleer het van skatte in die hemel. Niks op aarde tel nie. Jy ken seker daai storie. Hierdie skat het 'n baadjie aangetrek omdat hy koud gekry het. Vir hom is die hitte meer werd as die geld wat daarop spandeer is. Geen geld kan hitte koop nie. Geen geld kan skatte in die hemel koop nie. Die baadjie is so vroulik en elegant. Dis fyn afgewerk. Dit beklee 'n jong seun se klein borsie, gekneus deur paar skote.

Vroëer het hy en paar ander my wakkergemaak met 'n klein liggie, waar ek rustig geslaap het. Onverwags het ek wakker geword met die besef dat ek magteloos voel! Ek het wel magteloos gevoel, maar was oorweldig met die gedagte dat ek skoon is, omvou met die bloed van die Een vir wie ons skatte in die hemel bymekaarmaak.

by Letitia Claassen on Tuesday, September 22, 2009 at 12:10am

Never Ending Story

For once I thought it is not that bad. Better than it ever was. Yet, it is just as clear to me now as always. Nothing changed.

He looks helpless, abandoned and isolated. Isolated from everyone, although he is surrounded by people. Every day he looks exactly the same. Every day he does exactly the same. In pieces. Unfair pieces. So heavy, it is impossible to pick up. And he does not even try- it does not suprise me.

She seems perfectly fine to everyone at first. For sure there is nothing wrong! Beautiful face, although it is defined by sad lines of age. Her petite body properly clothed, yet uncomfortable in whatever she wears. And then she opens her mouth and speaks of impossible wishes, regrets, hate and sorrow. See, there is something wrong! Fear and anger so overwhelming that I cannot see the colour of her eyes. Her voice so tensed that I cannot hear a song when she speaks. Especially not a song of surrender.

How can he clear his mind and gain life which was stolen from him? If only he knew what was going to happen, but he did not know and could not imagine pieces so heavy. Only years later he sees the true colour of her eyes and hears the useless song in her voice. Never ending.

I should go. Leave behind everything said and done to me and my loved ones. How could she say and do all these things? I cannot imagine what must have happened to cause this perfect person outside, but wrotten person inside. I know hurt causes hurt, but still it is a choice. It is a shame.

It could have been perfect. It could have been true. But her decisions and ideas ruin all of that. And come what may, he treats her like a princess while she treats him like a thief.

It is sad to see and difficult to love.

by Letitia Claassen on Saturday, July 18, 2009 at 7:38am

Mensvreters en Engele

Rustig sit ons en boekies lees, ek en sy. Haar pof handjies blaai die blaaie een vir een saam met my. Uit die rympieboek van Antjie Krog lees ek hardop vir 'n dogtertjie wat glo in feetjies en goggomandertjies. Wat sy hoor en wat ek hoor is vanuit twee verkillende wêrelde.

Kom ons by die rympie van 'n mensvreter, vra ek vir haar, "Dink jy mens kry mensvreters?""Ja, velsekel!" antwoord sy oortuigend."Hoekom dink jy so?" vra ek."Kyk, hiel is hy dan in die boekie. Gloooot en stelk! En hy eet kindels heel op!"Die realiteit van hierdie mensvreter maak haar bang. Ongelooflik hoe ek self geleer het dat mensvreters en goggomandertjies nie bestaan nie - vir haar is hy net in die kamer langsaan.

"Mensvreters bestaan nie regtig nie," sê ek vir haar, baie oortuigend en belowend. "Maar weet jy wat bestaan wel regtig? Groooot en sterk engele! Jesus het vir almal wat bestaan 'n engel gegee om hom op te pas. Op te pas teen mensvreters." Sy kyk my aan met groot ogies en sê, "Waal is hulle dan?""Hier by jou! Jou ogies kan hulle net nie raaksien nie.""O!" sê sy.

Sy kyk rond, ten spyte van wat ek gesê het."Ons kan bid en vir Jesus vra om vir jou baie groot engele te stuur om jou op te pas. Sy grootstes en mooistes. Het jy geweet Jesus kan ALLES doen?""Ja!" antwoord sy, maar haar gesigsuitdrukking wys dat sy nog nie weet of sy dit glo nie.

Sy maak haar ogies styf toe, maar loer terselfde tyd vir my. Ek bid 'n eenvoudige gebed. "Jesus, stuur asseblief U grootste en mooiste en sterkste engele om haar op te pas, sodat mensvreters haar nie kan vang en heel kan opvreet nie. Dankie dat ons weet U kan ALLES doen! Amen."Sy maak haar ogies oop en sê opgewonde: "Kan ons nou vir Cara ook bid vir groot en sterk engele? En vir Emma! En vir Ané en Teddie en Uil en Hasie en Albert en Hestertjie?"

Sy weet dat Jesus ALLES kan doen!Ons het gebid vir al die poppe en diertjies en teddiebere in die kamer, sodat die mensvreters hulle ook nie kan vang nie- of hulle 'mense' is of nie.

by Letitia Claassen on Sunday, July 5, 2009 at 7:50am