Arie and Katrien: ch. 15, "Let us sing!"

15. Let us sing!       

Yesterday was a day of trials for me. The morning began with a tense breakfast. Katrien, my wife, questioned our second daughter about her late return at 11:30 the previous night, despite the young people’s meeting ending at ten o’clock.

Alie, who prefers to be called Alice now that we’re in Canada, responded with a hint of defiance, stating she had taken a scenic route home with Fred Van Buren, a young man from the church.

Katrien has an inexplicable aversion to this young man. I find it perplexing because, apart from his somewhat laid-back demeanor, there’s nothing objectionable about him. I believe he’s a good-hearted individual who is willing to work, even if his earnings are modest.

The dynamics at the breakfast table were clear: the matriarch of the house voiced her disapproval and then maintained a meaningful silence, while the young lady of the house reminded us that her tongue could be as sharp as a sword.

The climax of this domestic drama saw Alice rise from the table in tears and storm out of the kitchen, stomping up the stairs.

Katrien then presided over a strained and uncomfortable silence with her lips pursed.

Following this chilly meal, my wife also aired her grievances against me, upset that I hadn’t reprimanded Alice. Feeling unjustly accused and entirely innocent, I departed for the bus stop in protest, forgoing the customary peck on the cheek.

My mood matched the dismal weather: it was pouring rain, and a fierce wind snatched my hat, which I had to chase down the street and retrieve from a puddle. When I finally arrived at the jobsite where we were building a house, I discovered that the boss’s mood was even worse than mine, casting a shadow over the entire construction crew. What a day!

During lunch, I was joined by Jan Kruit, the church's foremost critic. He had plenty to say, from the pastor’s sermon not being exegetically sound to his disdain for the congregation and especially the office-bearers. It was obvious Jan was angling for a spot on the church council. Talking to him didn’t help my mood at all.

Around half-past one, the boss announced we could go home early. We were almost out of materials, and no truck could deliver lumber because the roads in the new district where we were building houses had become impassable due to the rain and mud. This meant losing half a day’s wages. Just my luck!

I returned home in a bad mood, only to be greeted by Katrien, whose mood hadn’t improved since the morning. Her strong character means she rarely changes her mind. With nothing uplifting at home either, I decided to go to Van Wolde’s to get eggs. The Van Woldes are members of our congregation who rent a small farm five miles outside the city, accessible by bus, though the nearest bus stop is a half mile away from their house.

We always get our family’s egg supply from the Van Woldes. Katrien finds store-bought eggs too expensive and usually stale. So, I boarded the bus with an empty egg crate, noting that both the world and I were still far from smiling.

After fifteen minutes, I had to disembark. The remaining half-mile to the farm had to be covered on foot. It had stopped raining for about fifteen minutes, but that did nothing to improve the condition of the muddy road leading to the Van Woldes' farm. Life seemed extraordinarily sad as I stepped onto the slick, shiny mud.

After ten steps, I lost my overshoes in the thick, sticky clay and had to continue my journey in my shoes. Muddy water seeped through the lace holes into my socks and toes. Splashes of muddy water made my good pants, which had just been steamed and pressed last week, unsightly.

With a mood that was below freezing point, breathing heavily and feeling very sorry for myself, I finally reached the simple residence of the Van Woldes. I was let into the kitchen/living room where numerous children were scattered across the floor. Some were wrestling, others were playing with trucks and cars or colouring at the table. The Van Wolde family consists of father, mother, and nine children, the oldest of whom is ten years old. Disheartened, I asked if mother was home, and the oldest child replied in a mix of English and Drents dialect: “Mom is in the barn; it’s milking time, you know.”

Psalter Hymnal, 1959

So, back into the mud, to the barn, which was quite a distance away. Despite all my self-pity, I found a moment to feel sorry for Mother Van Wolde, who, in addition to nine children, also has six cows to care for and to milk by hand, while her husband comes home from work in the city in the evening. This is how some immigrants live! Such a woman must toil from six in the morning until eight in the evening and then go to bed before ten, exhausted. What a life! It should be forbidden!

I was close to the barn when I heard a woman singing, a high, pure soprano, accompanied by the bellowing of cows: “God will Himself confirm them with His blessing. . . .”

A content person, a happy mother was singing, and her song was not for the cows, but for her children, her husband, herself, God’s people, for Arie Dof, and all to the praise of God.

In the middle of a mud puddle, I stood still for a moment, for it was all so wonderful. I felt myself suddenly changing into a different person. Oh, I can’t describe it very well, but at that moment, I felt the urge to both sing and to chide—to sing because God is so good and so is life; at the same time, to rebuke myself, who can sometimes be such a grumpy fellow.

When I headed home ten minutes later with the fresh eggs, the mud was still thick on the country road. But what did that matter? Psalm 87 has beautiful words and a beautiful tune!

I arrived home late in the afternoon. Katrien was standing at the back door. She looked at the eggs with appreciation and at me and my muddy pants and shoes with disdain. Her lips were still pursed.

I left my shoes, socks, and pants in the mudroom and hurriedly ran upstairs to change. As I stepped into another pair of pants and fastened the belt, I sang of “The Moor with the Philistine and the Tyrian. . . .”

Then Katrien came into the bedroom and said, “Aren’t you suddenly so jolly!” And before I got to “And joyful tones be praised by Israel’s throng. . . .” I planted a loud kiss on my wife’s cheek.

Let us sing! Sing often! Sing joyfully!

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Dof, Arie. (1958). “Laat ons zingen.” (George van Popta, Trans., 2024). In Arie en Katrien in Canada (pp. 64-68). Hamilton, Ontario: Guardian. (Original work published in Calvinist Contact [Christian Courier]).