7. "I, said the fool." (Arie and Katrien in Canada)

 7. I, Said the Fool

Certain memories from our childhood etch themselves into our minds, refusing to fade. One such memory that I recall with striking clarity is the frequent utterance of the proverb: “I, said the fool,” in the bustling household of my family.

This peculiar saying was a common refrain among my parents and siblings alike, often invoked when a family member became overly engrossed in their own narrative.

I was no stranger to its sting.

Whenever a child boasted of their achievements or adventures, it was almost certain that someone would interject with, "I, said the fool.”

Similarly, when we wallowed in self-pity, voicing our complaints and grievances, the retort was swift and predictable: “I, said the fool.”

This unusual proverb carried a potent dose of wisdom. It taught us, often to our shame and embarrassment, the importance of humility and the dangers of self-obsession. Even today, we find ourselves grateful for this lesson, especially when we encounter certain individuals.

Consider Mien Robbers, for instance. She is a frequent visitor to our home, despite her lack of popularity among the children. Mien has a tendency to monopolize conversations with tales of her own life. Whether her children have been exceptionally mischievous or remarkably well-behaved, she will not fail to share it. If she suffers from a stomach ache or constipation, she will describe it in painstaking and far too much detail.

When my wife Katrien mentions that she has a headache, Mien’s headache is invariably more severe. If she learns that Mrs. Breed is battling gallstones, she claims to feel them too.

Upon meeting her, if you were to ask, “Ah, Mien, how are you?” you can be certain that her expression will darken as she sighs, “Oh, not too bad.” All the while, she hopes you will press further, asking, “Don’t you feel well, Mien?” I once made the mistake of asking her this at a bus stop, resulting in a missed bus and a tardy arrival at the consistory meeting.

I’ve learned my lesson. Now, when I encounter her, I simply say, “Hello, Mien, lovely weather, isn’t it?” Her response to my innocuous comment is always frosty, and I suspect she considers me a callous and unfeeling individual. But then again: “I, said the fool.”

We have a similar fellow at work. He always claims to be on a diet, yet he devours everything in sight. He’s perpetually under the weather, yet he never misses a day of work. His handshake is as limp as a dead fish, but he is as strong as a horse. Last summer, when I was not well, he paid me a visit. Upon seeing me, obviously feeling ill, he proudly announced that he had been diagnosed with a stomach ulcer. My response was less than enthusiastic: “Congratulations, old chap!” His visit was brief, and he did not come again.

Katrien often chides me for being too critical of such people, insisting that I should empathize more with them. I believe she has a point. I’ve resolved to exercise more compassion and patience when dealing with such self-focused persons. Indeed, they deserve our sympathy. They are trapped within the narrow confines of their self-centeredness, suffocating within their tiny cubicles of ego. The booth is so small; they are sadly pathetic and little.

I feel compelled to visit Mien and my fellow carpenter in their metaphorical cells, and share with them the liberating message of Jesus Christ.

For in encountering Jesus, one meets their neighbour; in seeing their neighbour, one sees a vast world. And those who dare to live with Jesus at the centre of that world breathe with a newfound freedom and relief. As Jesus said, “Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”

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Dof, Arie. (1958). “Ik, zei de Gek” (George van Popta, Trans., 2024). In Arie en Katrien in Canada (pp. 30-32). Hamilton, Ontario: Guardian. (Original work published in Calvinist Contact [Christian Courier]).