Written in remembrance and celebration of my Pake, my Friesan grandpa.  

 

I always remember the crooked grin,

And the goofy glint ever in His eye,

When his child inside would begin to spin.

 

I recall the coins, the pocket knives,

The odd stuffs and duds that drop kid’s jaws;

Mornings at McDonalds, sharing lives.

 

We shared our names, too, you know.

We bore it in Orange, heads high.

We lettered it out, aglow.

 

I even have a weakness for gouda cheese.

I admit that painted kitchen finery,

White and Delft Blue, puts me at a certain ease.

 

But, as things us’lly do, they shift shape.

Did you know tulips are planted in fall?

How they grow among a wintry landscape?

 

Even after Spring’s fullness comes and goes,

Colour and bloom wilting away with time,

Something grows – flows – that no dike can oppose.

 

Goods have been entrusted from that mere root,

Grounded deep in the soil, ever sprouting,

That only God had planned, beyond dispute.

 

Even if this fam’ly blessing

Gathers a little mem’ry dust,

It’s nothing that invites guessing.

 

This de Jong fam’ly, like many,

Was first blueprinted, then minted,

Blessed and beckoned on by plenty.

 

We’re grinning with burgeoning blessing,

Poured into by Pake and Beppe,

Their faith and lives, ever expressing.

 

Each action and word, love peeking through,

Was a treasure invested, waiting,

For a time like this, to bless anew.

 

This fam’ly is yet complete,

Since we’re packed with faith and hope,

For we’ll all meet on gold streets.

 

This we know and disclose headstrong,

That each gloried Sunday morning,

We’ll join with Pake in great song,

Singing saints, Jesus adorning.

 

June 7th, 2018