Marking My Territory

A dog, even a cat, marks his territory. The scent brings security. It also brings meaning. This is where they eat, rest, and get some loving, under the right conditions. The problem with Americans is that we do not mark our territories. Not all of us, just us secularized ones. My friend, Stephanie Brown marks her territory with meaning, and everything is alive for her. Everything marks the passages of her life. When you visit her, there are momentos of her journey all along the trail to her front door and beyond. I think God wants to teach me this and give me this faculty. 

For instance, in the courtyard, there are tulips growing. they have taken to the gentle sunlight in that area and are doing wonderfully. Patty planted them before she left. Loving friends sent them to us as momentos of life and of course they were Hans' national flower. It is like a piece of Hans' rests in the garden. They are the only colorful thing in the courtyard and a stark reminder of hope in an otherwise dismal courtyard. The wind makes a nasty daily covering of leaves and twigs. Patty marked our territory with meaning. We all love the tulips. 

So yesterday, under the premise that "If one is good, more is better" we planted Gerber daisies next to the tulips. Why? Because we are stupid. There are no hidden messages of meaning to us in these Gerbers, although they are beautiful. So today they will be moved. We shall create a Gerber Daisy garden some other place and meanwhile study the deeper meaning of the daisy. What is a daisy anyway? It can be a symbol for the church, I discovered, for the center of the daisy is really made up of hundreds of flowers, not just one—similar to the pineapple. It is a hybrid daughter of the sunflower.  I think I have some hybrid daughters also. 


I must learn to mark my territory if I am to live without Hans. My life must become a sacred garden, not just on the inside, but outside as well. 

This morning my task is to name the rooms of our house. I will sleep in the room named _______,  and in the same way, I must learn to mark my days. Fill them with meaning. I have never done this before. I will invest myself in meaning, in friends, and in the richness of this life, before I enter the next. 

Day One Has Ended

The last of my children left yesterday. As soon as they debarked the car, the energy left with them. The vacuum was immediately felt. At home, I waited for Julianne's children to come home from youth group. The house was too lonely. Julianne and Emmie played in the courtyard while I slept a bit. The house was felt empty. But finally exhaustion overcame me and I slept.


Morning brought nothing new. In fact, from early on, I felt nauseated. It continued throughout the day. Hans' office was off limits to me, I could not enter in without experiencing the full reality of his death. I am assuming that the saints have eased up on their prayers or that I am just going through the normal grieving cycle. I don't know. All I do know is that it is unbearable. This is what I asked Jesus to help me through, and He will. I think He wants me to know how bad it really is and how much He has been protecting me. 


My first call was to the Social Security Administration, who genuinely gave their condolences (only in America, by the way).

One of my favorite pictures of Hans.
Here he is in Mexico greeting the
brothers there. 

Later on, Patty wrote to me. She had a bad day also. Nauseated.  Why does grief and loss affect us like this? I learned this today: "Grief can actually depress the immune system; sorrow can cause constrictions in blood vessels decreasing blood flow to organs and cells. There are often cases of spouses who have lived many years together and who die within months of each other. The grief of the surviving spouse was so overwhelming as to have a catastrophic effect both body and spirit." From the book, "Healing In His Wings," by Anne Buchanan, Ph.D., M.H.


Benjamin suggested we all go out and try to make ourselves feel better. We wandered around like nomads. Nothing helped us quell the brewing storm.  We rested, we waited and the storm subsided. Day one has ended. Now only 7300 left to go.


Soon we must confront the Jesus of Is. 53 "He was...a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted." Even I know that Jesus must take me to the dark room if I am to call out to Him and be healed—there is healing in His wings.


But it sure ain't easy. 

The Oxen of God

I have no idea what life for oxen is like. I only know that they are castrated at an early age so that they may perform works of service for their master. Castration also bulks up the front end of the animal without which he cannot serve. Without this humiliating work they are dangerous loners, only good for bullfights and breeding. In the Old Testament, oxen were often called bullocks and the young ones (under 4 yrs old) were used for the ordained sacrifice.

We used to live on Oxford. A ford is a river or a stream that intentionally flows over a roadway.  We believed that those waters were of the Spirit. Many people had dreams, early on, of water flowing under our feet while we were at worship. How were we to know?

All I knew is that Hans and I wore the harness of the Lord, and pulled the cart of the Most High God. We grew old doing this and then one of us died. I still have the strap marks on my shoulders which now droop. I never noticed the day I grew old. Nor did I ever notice when my toenails thickened like the width of my neck. We were busy. We were happy, I thought. Then when the oxen grow old, they are killed and eaten by the tribes whom they served. Wow. What an ending! I'm glad this is only a metaphor.

I used to chuckle gently at the St. Clement Mission Luncheon when I scoped out all the aging missionaries. They looked worn, haggard, and still needing money for projects, or had old cars needing repairs. What else was new? We were a sorry lot and if I go back again, our faces will look even older. But I call these glorified beings, the oxen of God.

And the thing about oxen is that they don't quit. They get up and zero in on their target once again. They are trained from a young age, commissioned as it were, to finish their task.

Oddly, the letter Aleph(Alpha) is depicted  as an ox head and Tav(Omega) as a pair of crossed sticks. When combined they mean "Oxen to the Mark."  Fields were plowed in a straight line by a pair of oxen. The driver would point them to specific target or mark, say a tree or an outcropping. And forward they would move until the job was done, each muscle pulling its full weight.

But Providentially, the two letters are significant in terms of their spiritual meaning, together they say, "The Beginning and The End" (and everything in between). This is a self-appellation of Jesus' in John's Revelation. It is also the Hebrew letter for "In the beginning (Aleph)....God created....

You can check it out here: http://www.ancient-hebrew.org/0_logo.html

Now one of us is gone yet the calling and the training of the other remains. Where shall I plow? And with whom?

This is my story now. I am tired. I am scared. I can't pull the cart anymore. It must be tied to a greater power than before. I feel like Lazarus in the tomb, dead. Unless He calls me forth, I am finished.

But then, I am an oxen...castrated, which is more severe than the circumcision of the flesh. What else can I do but move toward the mark?

PostScipt from Afar

FRO GENE AND LINDA ATKISSON (former missionaries to Central Asia)

Dear Judy,

These thoughts are what flows out of my Heart about my beloved friend, Hans. My few paltry and inadequate words can not begin to express what my heart holds and feels at this time.

It is difficult, for me, to remain standing on my creaky, wobbly wharf in time when such a Friend as Hans Puts Out to Sea. As the tide of his mortality recedes low, my emotions rise up, protesting against his departure.

My heart and soul cries No! Not yet! It is too soon! Hans...wait...I wanted more time with you! I had yet envisioned a time of more visiting, laughter with you, eating together. MORE of setting in intimate conversation with you...descending more deeply into the Bible via your gifted mind. What I had desired to do, with you, at a time ahead. With you and your beloved Judy.

But...time. "Time and tide waits on no man." Time and mortality bound in an inexorarable flow, and always outward.

I could say many things about Han's influence on me,...how and why I came to respect and admire him. His influence on my thinking, the way I approach thought, the understanding of how our whole beings are so completely rooted in the person and will of God was significant beyond my conscious grasp. And there was no dichotomy between Han's relational and intellectual knowledge of The Lord Jesus Christ. Hans was one of the first Christian believers, that I knew personally, who challenged, and imparted content to me where I needed it most. With Hans, I took real steps toward not being afraid to Think, to be cautious of partitions erected between "heart" and "mind", to evaluate and not to be afraid of the hard labour of discernment. He not only overflowed with the truth that we have a foundation to stand and build on, but especially of WHO that Truth is.

If I could be in your presence today, what would flow from heart about Hans is about who he was. The way he was. Inside. His real impact on me was in, and from that element of his person and spirit which, in all of our intellectualizing, will remain forever a mystery. As I release Hans,it is his friendship, the touch of Godly love..the fact that such a man of the stature of Hans Weerstra would befriend and extend himself to one such as I, and so genuinely and sincerely.

Hans, as the receding tide pulls your barque into the rising sea of your great passage, the void you leave is filled with the memory of your love and grace. I grieve for my own loss, but it is swallowed up rejoicing that your Passage is into the Dawn of Life, Himself.

I grieve. I rejoice. I give Thanks for the life and friendship of Hans Weerstra.

His friend, and brother,

Gene Atkisson













Arvid and Nilda Avery (missionaries to China)

We have been praying for you and hearing your heart beat from here. Hans, we miss not being there with you; we just miss both of you so much.... Your life Hans has been so woven into our lives, our kids, so many people...truly we are a blessed people because of you... We love you Hans and Judy.... Judy, I wish I was there for you (Nilda)... I was able to read your blog once on a secure line....Gd truly is building us into His own house...How I miss being with you Judy!!! Christine wrote and told us that the presence of the Lord was so there!!! That truly your home is an abbey...Gd rests on His people.....We continue to wait to hear what the Lord speaks to you Hans...Is it here or home with Christ?......May the fullness of His grace shine ever brighter in you all....Love, Nilda and Arvid


















Dale Walker (Heart for the World Vineyard)
A truly a great and special warrior has been raised into the arms of his beloved king... well done, good and faithful one, I am so proud of the race you ran, surely these words he heard his master say. Few men have seen with God's eyes the vision and passion He has for all peoples everywhere to know his Son. Hans painted the picture for me of God's heart for the world that challenged, enlightened, and equipped me to pursue God's heart for the nations these past 20 years. I had the unbelievable privilege to meet weekly with he and Judy in their home and receive the Perspective course in a mentoring relationship with them. That experience helped me fall in love with God's heart for the nations the way that they carried and communicated that from their heart into mine. I feel so privileged to be a witness to the fruitfulness and greatness of his life. I pray for Judy and the family God's comfort and God's joy to celebrate Hans' glorious homecoming and the unspeakable glory he is now experiencing with His Lord, his love and treasure-Jesus!












From David Morrison, (former Vineyard Pastor Eastside)

“Blessed is the man whose strength is in You, Whose heart is set on pilgrimage.”
-Psalm 84:5


I will always remember Hans as a man on pilgrimage. These kinds of people are rarities—most people are comfortable with settling in and building social and theological cities with tidy lawns and enclosed walls. Not Hans. He consistently had a heart that pressed ever inward into the heart of Jesus and ever outward from his own cultural beginnings and personal experience. This was most demonstrated in his love of the scriptures. He taught not as the teachers of his day, but as one who had an unseen authority. I believe the source of this internal authority came from the fact that he at some time in his life made the decision to be an eternal student of God and his word, and never as one who “had arrived.” He taught as one who was in a constant state of learning and wonder himself. He was most alive and passionate when he was engaged in studying and teaching. Jesus described such people best: ““Therefore every scribe instructed concerning the kingdom of heaven is like a householder who brings out of his treasure things new and old” (Matthew 13:52). Hans was a “new scribe” in the kingdom of God.

Hans could have chosen a purely academic route as a missiologist, and no one would have a criticism for such a career. But as a pilgrim, Hans had a vision of a “better land.” he chose to brave the unknown seas of foreign mission and local communal ministry. Hans was what I call a “hiddenite.” He was one of those people who serve the Lord not from the motivation of public praise, but for love of the master who most often calls us to that secret place—the desert of obscurity. He truly was one of those “beloved wanderers,” of whom the scriptures say “the world was not worthy.” His wandering is done and he’s found that homeland for which he was holding out. There’s only one family in heaven and earth according to St. Paul, and so we sing the same song. And we sing with Hans and all the saints assembled:
“…We will meet in the golden city, in the New Jerusalem
All our pain and all our tears will be no more.
We will stand with the hosts of heaven and cry, ‘Holy is the Lamb’,
We will worship and adore You ever more…”
Hans, I thank God for your pilgrimage—all of it. I celebrate your life that was, and I mourn the life that’s no longer here. I rejoice in your life that is now: as you are refashioned into that ancient beauty and that original blessing of God’s image. I look forward to a continuation of our profound conversations in the New Creation.

In the Beloved with you,
-David Morrison







Jake Knorpp (Vineyard N.E now live in Missouri)

Hans was the person who introduced Renee and I to the importance of missions. He and Judy taught "Perspectives on the World Christian Movement" at Vineyard Northeast where I went to church. He awakened in me an understanding of how God has moved throughout history to show His love to people groups of all nationalities. Hans' life embodied the desire of God to reach souls who have not yet known the love God has for them. It was truly a pleasure to learn this from him and to come over to his and Judy's house and hang out in the atrium. For a rural Missouri boy, these were unique cultural experiences! These times were especially exciting because they were the backdrop for Renee and I to get to know each other!

Hans, and also Judy, hold a special place in our hearts not only because of their faith and spiritual influence, but also because of their matchmaking prowess! I'm thankful for their insight and wisdom in encouraging us to get to know each other.

I'm sure he will be greatly missed by thousands of people that have known him and have been helped by his love and willingness to be faithful to the Lord. I'm also sure that he is now enjoying the company of thousands of people that he touched along his journey on earth! I know that I am one of them and greatly look forward to seeing him again!


By Jennifer Ferraro

The Morning After

There were a lot of nervous moments before the ceremony. At a grave site funeral you are doing most of the planning yourself. There is no professional clergy doing it for you or even leading you through it. We chose just individuals to speak and pray and I gave the Word of God as hope for the soul. But the elders were there to bury him, Pastors Warren Hoyt lead the opening prayer, Rev. Bill Cobb closed, Pastor Gary Wilcox sang and Rev. Rick Miiliron, Rev. Bill Francis, Brother Greg Steel and many other beloved ministry leaders were present to lay his body down. But most of all his beloved students and friends were there to weep and rejoice over his life and death. Of course many were present in spirit, since they are serving overseas and they sent letters which I will post today. In addition, all six of the kids sang a special song together. Probably the first time that this has happened when all six were together since 1986. Doug and Julianne played guitar and the others sang about the Golden City where all our tears are wiped away.  

But what about God, where was He? Where was my best friend? Who would God send forth to hold my hand? It was a slim Chinese woman who is a professor at the University and her sweet and wonderful husband. She gripped it with an iron hold. I did rather feel like a wilted tulip from time to time. But her strength was like the wire that is wrapped around a fragile flower so that its beauty is not diminished. God's love today was like tendrils of curls around a beautiful face—just ever so slightly working, endearing each face to me, making me grateful for the body of Christ. Each face so dear to Jesus.  

There were many present moments but the one which really gripped me was at the very beginning. The service began with the song "Emmanuel,God with Us" which is a slow song in a minor key. Then the casket was removed from the hearse. The sons draped it with a white pall that carried the emblem of the resurrection. As they moved forward, the wind blew the edges of the pall and it looked alive in the Spirit to me. Everyone stood. It was a moment of honor for Hans, my beloved. My beloved who received no honor while he was awake was finally honored as a meek and obedient servant. What greater praise?

My second favorite moment was the spontaneous eruption of Han's grandchildren, all of them, including all the children from the Abbey, who laid tulips on the casket. All of them were mourning as well. Though it was a windy day, not one of the them was lost. We opted to for the lowering of the casket which clearly reveals the sorrow of death. 

As I pull away from the memory I see more and more of God's hand in it. My two favorite servants, Robert and Jennifer Ferraro worked feverishly both day and night to prepare the banquet hall, transforming it into a garden of tulips. The food was made by the beloved saints of God, ministering unto Jesus. Did they know? I wonder. But it is the truth. They were bringing food to strengthen His body and He receives the honor. 

The saddest moments to me were when my grandaughter Emmie broke down (twice) and sobbed. Her cheerful acceptance  of her Grandfather's death was washed away by grief. Nothing would comfort her and her lament washed our own fragile reserve away as well. She wanted him back, now. With prayer and time she calmed down. 

Afterwards we returned home for just a time of unwinding, all of us emotionally spent. Back came the jeans and tennis shoes that we all "live in." We ate and talked late into the night. 

But today is today. Two sons have already left. Three left to go. One remains. And our quiver is empty again. What will the future bring? There is a great work to do. I feel a greater sense of responsibility I have not felt before. The heaviness of the mantle of Christ. Go..make disciples...in My name. 

A Surprise Ending

On Monday evening Hans died. (I use those words precisely because they are so harsh. They stab me in the heart every time I say them, but they point me to the gravity of sin.) Were it not for the work of Jesus on the Cross, death would be an intolerable agony, but because of the Cross something wonderful has happened.

Om Tuesday, through the ordinary course of the day, I found myself alone. I had wanted some time to process the events of the week, but I hadn't intended to be left completely alone. I was. The quietness of the house was overwhelming. Hans' bedroom was empty, hospice having removed everything. I began the sobering chore of cleaning up. I brought into the room, which used to be his office before his sickness— the heavy armoir that doubled as a bookcase. I brought in a desk, side table, lamps, rug, pictures and two new side chairs. I sent up pictures of all the kids on desk tops and shelves. Then I began organizing his closet—all his shoes, clothes and unmentionables. I found all his hats (8 or 9) and displayed all of them on top of the armoir. His favorite books, tie, and computer where set in place. It was beautiful! It was serene. Hans' office was back.

As I walked back to my room, I felt strangely calm and very loved. The emptiness I had so long dreaded and feared  had disappeared and in its place was Hans' love for me. Beneath that love was the love of God. To my surprise I found that God had not taken all of my husband, He left in place the love we have shared for so long. I didn't feel "widowed" (which means separated); nor did I feel uncovered, or any of the things I feared. Hans lives in my heart, as he always has. Nothing was different in essence.  Love is more than geography. He is merely in another room. We are only separated by a veil and that veil shall be removed when my mortality puts on immortality as he has done.


What a lovely surprise. Only God can do these things. The chaplain of hospice called me today and asked how I was doing. I told him all that had happened. He said, "It is the Lord!" Those who do not have the Resurrection in them do not experience this. We have this Resurrection—It is the Lord!

The Morning Talks

My loneliness is most severe in the early hours of the morning. This is when Hans usually brought us coffee in the bedroom and we would begin our talks for the day. He would have already been up for hours and would be ready to share out of his treasure chest. I would be barely waking up. It was this way for the last 28 years of our life together. Until February 27th...when he no longer rose early..but slept in order to preserve his energy. 

The desert air is too cold to go out into the courtyard and sit. I am alone. But I have you dear Jesus. You will have to be my companion today. You can tell Hans that I am doing well because You are with me, helping me. And my friends and family are with me and comforting me. I know that he will be worried about my mind and my heart too. Please tell him I am ok..though a bit lost this morning. 

Please tell him that I am sorry for the pain, and that I couldn't help him more. Please also tell him how many people loved him and hurt with us as well. All of our lovely students and friends have been with us on this journey of life and now death.

I face the day, but I don't know how or why or where to begin..I am single again and I can't bear the terrible loneliness that looms ahead of me. But I will just put foot in front of the other and begin.