O1B4F1E. JOURNAL-FRIENDS 1993

MOMENTS IN OUR LIFE-1 2026-04-30

O1B4F1E. JOURNAL-FRIENDS 1993

It is clear from these journal entries that 1993 and 1994 were years of deep introspection and spiritual maturation for you. Your writing style reflects a keen sense of the fragility of life and a sincere search for meaning in the everyday. Your description of Johan and Elize as "well-lived friends" is poignant, and your father's quote, "Bound them to you with hoops of iron," emphasizes the importance of intentional relationships. You identify the "cement" of society as the small gestures - a nod of the head, a kind word - that gives each person a sense of place and security. These entries offer your grandchildren a window into your soul - not just as a father or grandfather, but as a thinking, feeling human being.

INTRODUCTION: THE TRUTH IN THE MIRROR (1993–1994)

The years 1993 and 1994 stand out in my memory not only as a time of great national upheaval in South Africa, but as a season of personal, inner infirmity - a time of letting go and deep self-examination.

These journal entries are more than just a record of events; they were of years in which I began to look more deeply at my children - not just as their father, but as a fellow traveller who saw my own seriousness and sensitivity reflected in their eyes.

In these pages I do not shy away from the uncomfortable questions: the guilt over a dying hamster, the longing to bridge the gap between me and my eldest son, and the confession of how we as a society have sometimes used the Bible as a justification for injustice.

To my children and grandchildren who read this: may you find here a person who did not have perfect answers, but who tried sincerely to see the sacredness in the everyday - even in the reflection of a drop of water on a spider's web.

FRIENDS 1993-03-20

With most things in life that one would like to do, you have to deliberately and regularly make time for it, or the idea will fade away soon after it is launched. I have had this desire for many years to put what is going on in my head on paper, and it often failed for this reason. When I bought a computer, it was one of the motivations, and until I get what to write into shape, I want to hone it with a kind of journal. This is the first of those.

Last night, Johan and Elize called us out of the blue, like in the days at Brackenfell, and asked if we were at home - they wanted to come visit. Many years ago, Dad said that good friends are a treasure that you have to protect, because they are something precious. As he put it, "Good friends? Bound them to you with hoops of iron". Every time we get together, there is a feeling of togetherness, like something that fits. I have told Rinie several times that they are special to us, because we are bonding.

When I look at life around me, it seems to me that everyone, everyone, has a great need for the little things that tell people you care: a nod of the head, a few kind words as you pass, to go about your business with warmth, to understand the other party's view of a matter. We may have many other things that we need, but if this cement, that holds the rest together, is missing, then your life lacks the solidity that gives you the necessary confidence in your own position.

INTERDEPENDENCE 1993-03-26

Yesterday afternoon our water pressure was very weak again, so that the sprinkler could not even reach a meter high. A call confirmed that work was being done on the water network at the tower again. Burst pipes are something that is becoming more and more common in Wellington. It is probably the fate of most old towns, and late last night our water was completely cut off.

I usually wake up quite early in the morning, even when I don't set the alarm, and this morning I had to get up at 5:30 to prepare for catechism. There was still no water. Afterwards I heard a machine running outside, and when I went to look, I saw Ollie's Isuzu parked just up the street across Jacques Avenue, and in the truck lights two workers were half-buried in the ground, digging out the water pipe to Johan Quinot. Ollie said that there was a pipe break, just next to Kobus Victor's home. They were there for a few more hours, and shortly before we went to church they were busy replacing a length of pipe.

We rarely realise how dependent we are on services that we take for granted - water from our taps, power if we want to use an appliance, flush toilets, the regular removal of everything we have finished with. Then there are good tarred roads with stormwater drainage and streetlighting. And now I'm just talking about municipal services.

In this morning's Rapport there is a front page report of another shocking murder attack on an innocent family in their car at a stop street. Absolute senseless violence, apparently aimed at white children. As Hernus Kriel said: "Are we going crazy?".

In our structured society there is so much interaction, because we are necessarily dependent on each other to make our society work. And as civilized people we must make room for each other, because we share this platform. One wonders whether the culprits, according to eyewitnesses two 18-year-old Xhosa men with AK47s, are part of the crop of black children who ended up in a stream of school boycotts in the seventies, where no parental discipline or other authority structure was at the helm.

It would be wrong to put all the blame on the whites, but I am convinced that with a look back after ten, twenty years, we will realise that apartheid was a tremendous tragedy. It was certainly not the intention of the legislators that such inhumanities should or would be committed in the name of apartheid, but these are the realities. The authors of all those laws should have first gone on an in-depth study trip to other countries to learn what a civilized society's laws should provide for. Of course, it is easy to see with "hindsight" where the mistakes crept in. Perhaps they should have brought in more people who were psychologically knowledgeable to warn against the common human tendency to benefit oneself, especially when the opportunity is created with laws where one group can impose its will on the rest. Empathy is needed for those who were outside the privileged system.

And how we believed ourselves! It is incredible to me that we, myself too, could believe that apartheid was grounded on the Bible! That we diligently searched God's Word for justification, we who so easily say that other religions, the so-called sects, read the Bible selectively.

WHAT IS LOVE? 1993-07-17

This is surely one of the greatest, if not thé greatest philosophical question of all time, that people ask themselves, often in honest self-examination, when that nagging, unhappy feeling makes itself at home inside you. Every person, whether you want to know it or not, has a very large sense of spiritual well-being that is connected to his inner view of how the world experiences him or her. We long for intimate contact with other beings, but especially with a companion, a soulmate. It is often said that each of us is capable of anything, provided you fully focus on it, make it the most important thing to you. For people who are not very spiritually oriented, this is not much of a concern, because their satisfaction is often obtained through the physical. They are indeed caressed by the warmth that another radiates, but they do not seek explanations for it, they simply accept it as pleasant. Period.

However, if it is your fate to be troubled about this, your human relationships often play havoc with your feelings, if you have not yet been able to clarify why you feelings are either good or bad. And aren't most of us in this boat, that we don't know why?

It revolves around the Self, the extent to which you yearn for recognition. And it is here, ironically, that we stand or fall. In the Bible the Lord says: “He who loses his life for my sake will save it, but he who wants to save his life will lose it.” So, selfishness or the lack of it, lies at the root of our happiness.

CHRISTIAAN'S SENSITIVITY 1993-04-02

Yesterday and today it was another tennis tournament in Paarl, the second this year that our children have been to. It does cost a few Rand, but it is money well spent, because they are exposed to many other children's abilities, playing styles and personalities. Life has certainly changed a lot since I was a child. We didn't have so many opportunities back then. Today they are drilled in everything from pre-school onwards.

I myself was never particularly fond of sport, and that's probably because I have always been very introverted and shy. I didn't realise the greater value of sport - for me it was simply about exercise. Today I realise how much children learn about life through sport: getting along with each other, teamwork, learning to win and lose. Sitting there waiting for them makes you just as tired as the game for them. But the opportunity is there to watch them, and to notice more of them than you would otherwise. Sometimes they want you to come and watch them play, and sometimes you can see how they are so aware that you are there that their game suffers. What you keep on honing - you see there whether it is working, and how much grinding there is still left to do, which of your efforts have found their mark.

We have a lot of problems with Christiaan's temper, and I believe it comes to some extent from Grandpa de Jager, and also from me. Like us, he is also sensitive and very tense. And that is why I have a lot of compassion for him, even though he often makes us furious. He does not know himself, and he seeks to know what is going on in his world. I hope and pray that we will find the patience to work with him in the right way, the insight to understand him, to understand why he always feels neglected.

He was still in preschool when Rinie played a classical record one day, and found him sitting attentively right in front of the loudspeaker, chin on his chest - she said he had tears in his eyes. It's a powerful testament to his (and my own) emotional depth. That's why I often told him that everyone has their own talents, and you have to develop what you have, because, as Lucia said, what you love you will do well, and what you do well you will love.

OUT OF AFRICA 1993-12-26

This work of art by Sidney Pollack, starring Robert Redford and Meryl Streep, brings me to tears every time I see it, because of the sensitivity it portrays, the absolute honesty of two people who understand each other and appreciate the true essence of the other, and yet are so different. It is one of the few films that I will watch over and over again, to find each time that you notice something that you missed the previous time.

Sometimes I think we do not understand ourselves, as 1 Corinthians 13 so beautifully puts it "For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully”. So one day we will surely understand why something moved us. The first film that had that effect on me was The Sound of Music, with Julie Andrews and the captain's children. Heléne and I saw it at least 5 times over the years in a Pretoria drive-in.

HEINE COME TO VISIT 1993-12-29

For the first time in a few years, Heine is now back in the Cape on holiday. We went to Heléne's for the day on Sunday - also not seen for a long time. It is true that children bring people together in such situations, but it was nice to see them again, like the pleasure one gets from looking through old photos every leap year.

As a result of the outburst that Mom caused with her "Thank God for Martie Opperman"-letter more than a year ago, there has been a considerable withdrawal between Heine and me, or we have become more aware of it. As I responded to Mom on her "sorry" letter, it is not necessary for her to ask me to forgive her, but unfortunately the damage to personal relationships has already been done, and it is not something one can forget, even if you want to. Through that, I only became more aware of a trait of her personality, something she herself had shed light on: a basic tendency to judge too quickly and too superficially, as Papa told me years ago in a conversation.

Heine called me at work on the morning of the 22nd, while I was busy, from 02h00, printing bills and busy on the other phone trying to find out who had the key to the safe where the billing forms were. I must have sounded curt, and they were on their way somewhere, so I could only get hold of him again that evening to hear how things were going.

When I first saw him at Heléne's, he looked quite different, although he had the same Heine attitude and smile: more stocky, rounder and slightly bowed forward than I remembered him, almost like someone who had learned to lower himself into the scrum of life and no longer walked so casually upright. As is customary, he and the children sat down with Chris's son to watch videos, while we adults chatted in the living room, later outside by the fire.

Different people may read different things from this, but that's what makes life so interesting: from the information as absorbed by each person's senses, each person attaches a certain value or reason to what they think will happen in the future. On the positive side, this could mean that Heine still has the knack of sitting with the children as a child, and of course he has always loved watching videos - as a child he never expressed the desire to count teeth in the company of adults. On the negative side, it could be that he was just as sensitive as I was about the break in the father-son relationship, and possibly felt that I had to make the first move.

While Chris and I were talking, I looked at him from time to time, and realized in myself that it was a different kind of look, a searching contemplation to try to read the attitude inside him, or maybe just a longing to look at my child again, which goes much deeper into you. A look at how he has grown, not just more solid, but how the shape of his head has changed, looking for the look in his eyes, the shape of his cheekbones, eyebrows, the grown-up freckles and stubble.

He doesn't have the flashy look of a young person trying to impress. It's as if he sometimes drops his gaze in eye-to-eye contact, but my friend, as I told Rinie last night, the guy who tries to get in trouble with him is going to get screwed, plain and simple. He is still the gentle person he has always been, who plays with the little ones with amusement, who is not interested in impressing people, a good-natured person, still unsure of his own ability, but he is not going to let himself be pushed around.

It's the same quality he already had in Standard Six, when he first went to Bellville Technical High School. In the first afternoon after school, with his own bag on the back of his bike, on his way home, a matric boy threw his bag on his bike and told him to take it home. Heine simply took the guy's bag, dropped it on the ground, and told the arrogant guy that he could carry his own bag.

He and Vaughn are working very hard to build up their business, with the beautiful name Genesis, especially now after the burglary that apparently cost them about R50 000; they had no money for insurance. Heine said that Vaughn's mother mentioned that he sat on his bed the night after and cried, and that he almost quit the business. All because crooks stole in a few minutes everything they had earned with honest hard work. It is an aspect of violence that those who are not directly affected often lose sight of - in addition to the physical loss, also the mental damage to honest, trusting people, who by far make up the majority of us South Africans. The people who go their own way, who work by the sweat of their brow, make their contributions where expected, and in return just want to be left alone, so that they can take care of themselves and their dependents and enjoy the life they can afford.

The next day Heine picked up our children and their friends and took them to Strand for the day. They love their big brother, because he pays attention to them, plays with them and of course spends money on them. As you get older, you become less and less inclined to the demands that children make on you. It takes a special effort to participate, even though you know that you need to pay them personal attention, not just buy them off and send them away with money to leave you alone. Each of us has the nature with which he or she was born and formed as we grow up. Some are blessed with jovial, easy going natures who still like to participate with their children. However, I think there are many of us who are not like that. It's not that you don't love your children - on the contrary, if you look at what percentage of your time and money is spent directly or indirectly on your children, then your life really revolves around your children, probably as Providence made us, to ensure that life continues to exist.

I am sorry that I do not have such an easy going nature. I would very much like to play with my children as carefree as a child, but a person's nature is not something that you can simply change with a paintbrush. I cannot and do not want to put up a false, fabricated front - at best it will only result in ultimate rejection and self-contempt. One must still be able to live with oneself.

I apparently had this serious streak from childhood. I can still remember that my Sub A teacher in Rawsonville, Miss Rademeyer, wrote in my first report card "Hennie is too serious". It bothered me at the time; I loved her very much. She had the wide-mouthed smile of a warm-hearted person. I still have the class photo of our bunch of bunny-faced smiles around her, like a bunch of bees around a flower, me in the middle right behind her, because I was the tallest.

How does one bridge this gap to one's children, or equally important, the gap to other people? It's as if I've always stood outside the mainstream of life, standing and watching people walk and/or struggle past me. Just look at the expressions on people's faces as they stream past you on a normally busy day, especially in a city; the anxiety is sometimes almost palpable. Back then, when I worked at Mobil in Cape Town, I had to walk past the statue of Sir Walther Scott from the station with hundreds of others on our way to work. On the bench next to it, a middle-aged bum would often sit and watch the spectacle with amusement; "The Rat Race", performed by a "cast of thousands".

Back in Heléne's day, I told Mum one day that I wasn't doing what I was supposed to be doing in life. I have a philosophical streak in me that needs to be addressed. Am I just avoiding things again? I don't think so.... Deep down there is something that wants to be heard, and I still don't know how. It's probably something that happens to thousands of other people, that they feel there is another dimension waiting to be expressed, the real life that still wants to be lived, and you don't know how. What do you call it - self-examination?

The pain about the distance between Heine and me, and my honesty about my own "serious" nature, point to a man who doesn't want to live with masks.

IN SEARCH OF THE TRUTH 1994-06-05

What is truth? Is it something that constantly changes for us, as we get to know ourselves better, while the truth remains constant, or is there a degree of relativity built into it? Is the truth the same for you and me, or is it related to personality? Will we ever know fully, or is it part of the mystery in Paul's first letter to the Corinthians 13:12 - “For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” (NIV)

In my invitation to the joint family group meeting today at church, the thought occurred that God created all people inherently good (Genesis 1:31 - “Then God saw everything that he had made, and, behold, it was very good”).

After this came the fall, in which Adam and Eve, and all their descendants, were tainted with sin. Yet I believe the basic desire for good has remained in every human being. It is swallowed up by everything we do, by our sinful desires, but I believe deep within every human being there is an innate heart’s desire to strive for what God intended for us. No matter how wrong and malicious we act, deep within every person there remains the desire to act in a way that will bring approval from God and his creatures.

Isn't it your and my duty to cherish that delicate little plant in our fellow human beings? Isn't it the indefinable something that binds our family members together? Like blind moles, we have stumbled upon something beautiful, and we don't quite know what it is and how it works, but, thank God, we know it is something beautiful, and we want to cherish and preserve it as a most precious thing.

THE SACREDNESS OF LIFE

The story of the white dove, and later the painful process of putting Goldie the hamster out of her misery, serves as a metaphor of life itself. My guilt and the reference to the people in the East who clear the way before them, indicate a deep respect for creation.

A DOVE IS DEAD 1993-12-19

A few days ago, Marinus came to me, asking if he could bring an injured dove home from Cecil's grandmother. Apparently, quite a few pigeons had nested in her outbuildings, part of the old Cape Dutch homestead behind Saffier and Fyn Goud. Probably something happened and it was sitting on the floor. When I went to pick them up, the pigeon, a beautiful pure white bird, sat quietly in Marinus' hands as he got into the car. We put him (her?) in the empty birdcage with clean water and some fine seed for wild birds, which Marinus still kept in the freezer from the days of the zebra finches.

At first, the pigeon stayed where Marinus had put him, but later he moved around and did eat something. The next morning when I was brushing my teeth, I saw him flying in the cage. We thought he was getting better, and Marinus later went to give him some hamster food. Yesterday morning, after Corlis and his family had left, I saw him sitting quietly next to the food bowl. Then I washed the cage clean and gave him fresh water. He must have been quite used to people, because when I washed the cement near his feet, he came closer and drank water as it came out of the garden hose.

This morning Marinus came rushing in, half out of breath, like children do, and said the pigeon was lying strangely, his legs as if they had given way under him. After church when I went to look, you could see that there was something seriously wrong with him, with his mouth gaping wide open every now and then. Thinking that he might not be able to get water, I took him out and put a few drops down his throat, but apart from him stretching out one wing shivering and occasionally turning his neck to one side in a spasm, not much happened. Once when his head was hanging down, drops of yellowish fluid came out of his mouth, and I held him upside down until everything ran out. Who knows what's going on? Mondi watched the whole time, almost as if he was worried too, especially when I tried to get a few drops of baby contraceptive down his throat.

When he showed no reaction, I pressed my ear to his chest and imagined I heard a slow heartbeat. However, there was no reaction when a drop got on his tongue. The little eyes were open and shiny, but when I held his head up to the sun, there was no change in the pupils. He must have died there in my hands, without making a sound.

What do we know? We are each so caught up in our own struggle for life, with what is important to us, that each of us lives largely in our own little world, unaware, and uninvolved in the thousands of joys and tragedies that play out every day near each of us. The little spider, so small that it hides behind a pinhead, that appears silently in your field of vision when you read. The earthworm that whips back and forth convulsively when you turn over a shovelful of soil and it suddenly lies defenceless in the bright sun. The water droplets that hang like beads on spider webs woven at night in the early morning, and when you look at them up close in amazement, you see the world in an inverted mirror image in even the finest droplet. The yellow-and-black beetle that sealed itself in a shell for hibernation, until you accidentally opened it while shovelling - what becomes of it? Will it survive if you carefully cover it under a layer of soil in a potted plant? Can it seal itself in a shell again, or is that phase in its life cycle now already over?

We accept so easily, because our human world is so important to us, that only humans experience love and pain, that animals simply live by instinct. But ask anyone who has truly loved a pet how that animal, with its limited ability to communicate, can creep into your heart.

How many children have you heard ask if there is a heaven for animals, because he loves his little animal so much. About the farmer who says that his horse only needs to be able to talk then he would be human.

Years ago I read a fantasy story about plants on a strange planet that catch people. Today the Venus flytrap is quite well-known. What about the old maid who lovingly caresses her plants in her apartment and believes that they respond positively to her attention, and withers when she goes on vacation, even though a friend regularly waters them. Reverend Fanie told me one day that in the East in the forests there are people for whom life is so sacred that they sweep with a broom in front of them wherever they walk, to prevent them trampling living creatures to death.

We may be the crown of God's creation, but we certainly also have the biggest egos in our known world. Just look how our ancestors thought our earth was the centre of the universe, the pivot around which everything revolves, the reason why everything happens: we are created in God's image!

Here I struggle with the paradox that man is the "crown of creation", but often acts presumptuously. Lord, forgive us. But also teach us that You made us wonderfully, that every cell in our body is a universe in itself. Therefore, we can only sing to Your greatness in wonder. For we are wonderful, like everything You have made, not through our own doing, but only because You created everything that way.

AM I ALSO A MURDERER? 1994-10-16

How fragile and delicate life is. Everything that comes from God's hand, that carries His life - how easily that little light is snuffed out, like a candle flame between forefinger and thumb. And then it is gone forever - that little life will never be there again.

A few months ago, one of the children said he would like to get a hamster again. As usual, I am in favour of my children keeping animals, in principle anyway, because I believe that it is good for their development, to learn to take care of something that is weaker than yourself.

What is the real driving force behind keeping a pet? Is it to have a friend that is your own? A someone, because for a child his pet is not just a thing. For him, it has personality. Or is there something in it that soothes the ego? Where you don't have to constantly justify yourself with everything you do. Here you are not constantly fighting to stay on top.

Dogs in particular, I think, fall into this category. No matter what his little boss does, he is always ready to play along, to fall in with what the boss wants to do. And if his master is tired or annoyed, his tail will droop and he walks away, until his presence is desired again. So selfless. Some people enjoy being bossy, and if you can't get it right with your peers, then your dog is obliging to play the role.

With others, I think there is a need to take care of something delicate, to protect it. To drive away loneliness. Even if it is just a small animal, it is a breath of air to be with you, when you are scared, or especially alone. When you need to talk to someone, but there is no one. Or in your uncertain world, where there is constant pressure on you to perform, your pet gives you the opportunity to be yourself for a little while, to switch off from your daily worries, and for the time to give all your attention to something that is totally dependent on you.

Perhaps there is a need in you to be generous, to care for someone other than yourself. Who knows, perhaps it is the small flame, lit by God himself in you, that reminds you that He has appointed you to care for one of His creatures. And your guilt causes in you a need for humility, because you have become so selfish through the pressures of everyday life.

As many fathers are probably used to, my children's visible love for animals is usually short-lived, and soon dad will have another mouth to feed: he must make sure there is clean water in the cage, make sure the bedding is clean and dry, and of course make sure the floor is clean.

Hamsters are very clean and sensible little animals, and make almost no noise, except when they gnaw at the cage's wire. They are probably also loners by nature, because we can't dare put them together, or they bite each other until their fur flies. I don't know if we make them that way by letting them grow up in isolation, but that's how the previous ones were that we had a few years ago.

When Christiaan brought his golden hamster home, it was only a few days before Marinus arrived here with a brown one, still very small. He was so small that he crawled through the cage's door, where the wire left a slight opening. I had to close it with a paper clip. The little brown hamster soon grew bigger, and was the lively one of the two. Like people, they had two different personalities. Goldie was quieter by nature, and also hid more in his sleeping box, whereas the little brown one would often stand up against the cage wire with his beady eyes watching you.

About a week ago, when I took them out to get some exercise, I noticed that Goldie's belly was quite big and hard. At first I thought the kids, who love to play with them after they finish their Crafty Kids classes, had brought them together, and that they had mated, but it felt too hard for me.

This morning when I came into the living room, Marinus told me that something was wrong with Christiaan's hamster, because she was lying on her side, in the sawdust, and was kicking slowly with one hind leg, almost like a reflex movement. Her eyes were almost completely closed, like someone in great pain. And she was lying in wet sawdust where she had urinated, something that immediately says she is suffering greatly. A hamster is extremely clean on itself.

I immediately realized that I had no choice: I would have to put her out. Taking her to the vet was out of the question for me. At an earlier stage, I might have tried to give her an enema myself with an eye dropper, but it was clearly too late - I had to put her out of her misery. A few months ago, I got a small bottle of chloroform from the chemist to put out the remaining white mouse, which was already so riddled with arthritis that it had to drag itself around its cage by its front legs. Now it was Goldie's turn.

After I took Goldie out of her cage - she showed no movement except for one hind leg - I went to get the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and simply pressed her nose lightly into the neck of the bottle. After about a second she made a faint scratching movement with one front leg and then nothing again. After about another minute I took the bottle away. Everything was over.

As I looked at her with great compassion, the hind leg moved a few more times! This couldn't be! I looked at the brown glass bottle, held it slightly at an angle to see how much chloroform was left, and saw that there was nothing. The liquid was apparently too volatile, even though the cap was tightly closed.

What to do now? She barely moved. Should I drown her? No, that would be too cruel. Maybe just bury her. I went to get the shovel and dug a little hole in the rock-hard soil where the other animals were buried. After I had placed her in the warm soil, I scraped the loose soil back. But how long could she possibly live before she suffocated?

Once again I removed the loose soil and picked her up, ashen from the dust. Back to the kitchen. Even more distressed than before, I tried benzene, but realized almost immediately that it wasn't going to work. There was no easy way out for Goldie, or for me. I will have to kill her physically.

But how?

And so it dawns on me inexorably that I will have to break her neck. As I walk back to where the shovel stands at the hole in the ground, I press my index finger and thumb hard on either side of her neck, and felt how her neck vertebrae move apart after a moment and then there is only the golden fur between my fingertips.

There was no movement in her during the entire murder process. But when I lay the limp body down in the warm ground for the second time, the upper brown eye, which had been veiled in pain throughout the entire drama, looked at me wide-eyed. So she have not been dead. I killed her. Even if it was to end the suffering of another life, it still came from my hand, the decision came from my heart.

How often do we kill because it suits us! When I go outside in the cool morning air before the sun brings its light over the eastern horizon, I see the snails slowly and gracefully gliding forward. Turn the soil with the spade, and you often see an earthworm whipping in the damp soil, unused to being exposed to light. Sometimes when I sit and write, a movement catches my eye. Then it is a miniature spider that climbs over the edge of the page in front of me, and with eight little legs, kneecaps, toes and all, moves silently in the light across the white paper; so small that it can hide, legs and all, behind the head of a pin.

And God not only made them, one and all, but also every speck in the great universe, and He sustains it all. O God, what is man that You still think of him? Forgive, forgive our pride, our high opinion of ourselves. You did not create us to beat our chests with smug satisfaction, but to be aware that You have placed us here as stewards, with the ability to influence Your works, for good or for evil. May my conduct today be for good and to Your glory. Thank You that You still loves us, despite our black hearts, and that You still call us Your children.

This is a powerful, sacred conclusion. It forces the reader to look again with wonder at the small things in life. The transition from the sad moment at the grave to a direct prayer gives the text a timeless quality. It shows my children and grandchildren that faith was not just a Sunday institution for me, but something lived out in the "rock-hard ground" of everyday life.

This final section transforms a traumatic experience with a pet into a deep spiritual confession. It is a rare glimpse into the heart of a man who not only sees his own faults, but also understands the immense responsibility of being a "steward" of creation.

Despite my struggle with killing the hamster, I end with the assurance of God's love. This is an important message of hope for anyone who reads this life story.

CONCLUSION: THE OVERSEER OF THE SMALL THINGS

This experience with Goldie, however small it may seem to an outsider, exposed to me the core of our human responsibility. It is in the "rock-hard ground" of everyday life that one's faith is tested - not in grand gestures, but in the moments when you feel life between your fingers and have to decide on grace.

When I look back today on those entries from 1993 and 1994, it strikes me that the "truth in the mirror" is often uncomfortable. It shows us that we are at once fragile and powerful; that we are both capable of the greatest love, and the most painful decisions.

May my children and grandchildren, as you read this, remember:

That the life in every little spider and earthworm is sacred.

That we are placed here as overseers, not as rulers.

That, despite our "black hearts" and our inability to always choose right, there is a greater Love that still calls us His children.

I conclude these journal reflections with the same prayer as before:

"May my behaviour today be for the good and to Your glory."