In conversation with Joyce de Vos
Letting go, learning and loving — an honest conversation about faith, family and growth
There are certain questions that keep you awake at night. Questions about eternal life, about what lies beyond death, but also about whether you’re doing the right thing as a parent, as a believer or simply as a human being. Wim asks them openly and without beating about the bush, and that is precisely what makes this conversation so special. Because honesty, as it soon becomes clear, is the common thread running through it all.
A warm home
When Wim asks about my earliest memories of the family I grew up in, I don’t have to think long. Warm. Safe. Loving. My mother is someone who really loves a cosy atmosphere, cooking, and simply being there when you come home. She was always waiting for you. My father was the more dominant personality of the two — outspoken and very clear about what he thought — but it was precisely that which gave me a great deal of stability back then. You knew exactly where you stood.
It’s only when you get older and look around you that you realise how special such a stable foundation actually is. In the world of therapy, they sometimes say: the fountain flows from the top down. I’ve always been able to receive unconditionally from my parents. They are givers.
If you ask me whether there are things I missed out on, then — looking back — it’s a deeper emotional connection. My father lost his own father when he was just thirteen. It was a shock, but life simply went on. Working hard and looking after your family is the example he was given. My mother has a Moluccan background; warm and welcoming, absolutely, but in that culture they aren’t used to questions like: how do you really feel and why? Allowing yourself to feel sadness without beating about the bush – that wasn’t part of it. I only had to learn that later, together with David. And that wasn’t my parents’ fault – they gave everything they had. But you can’t give someone else what you haven’t received yourself.
What I inherited from my father
In many ways, I’m more like my father than my mother. I definitely got my black-and-white thinking from him — though fortunately I’ve refined that a bit over the years. But also the clarity and directness. I usually don’t have to hesitate for long: I like this, I don’t like that. He’s exactly the same. Just like being present in a group, or writing and having a keen feel for texts. Those are all things I recognise very strongly in myself.
I’m good at expressing my opinions and I’m enterprising. In that respect, I have, as I call it, more masculine than feminine traits. I really had to consciously develop the caring side. When David used to be ill, he’d initially call his mother rather than expect much gentle warmth from me. Fortunately, things are very different now. But I’m a late bloomer in that respect — and in many other respects, for that matter.
Singing is another example. I wish I’d taken that up much earlier. But everything has its time, as Wim rightly points out. My personal development has been that of someone who only dares to truly show what’s inside at a later age.
A journey of faith, not a sudden switch
People who have followed our journey over the past few years sometimes say: “You’ve suddenly completely changed.” As if a switch had been flipped overnight. But of course, that’s not how it works. Anyone who has read the book Raw will understand better how this came about. It was an eight-year journey during which David increasingly and more intensely came up against his own limitations. He became depressed, whilst work carried on as usual, the diary remained packed, and we also had to care for our young children.
There was immense pressure on our family at the time. David became seriously unwell mentally, and in the meantime, everything had to be kept running. It was precisely during that period that patterns emerged which we had both buried deep inside for years. He realised he could no longer confide in me and said at one point: “I can’t do this alone; we have to delve into the depths together.”
I’m certain: if David hadn’t started his own recovery journey, I would probably have remained comfortably stuck in my familiar thought patterns for a very long time. That would have been much safer. Just leave things as they were. But that option was no longer available, because things were only going downhill for him. So I went along: to therapy, to the psychologist. At a time like that, you’re no longer just dealing with his condition, but you’re also confronted with your own blind spots and the things that aren’t quite right with yourself.
When the diagnosis of ADD came up, a whole lot of pieces of the puzzle fell into place. David had always tried his very best to fit in with how the world works, whilst his brain simply functions differently. That takes a huge amount of energy and wears you down. If you keep that up for years, you unconsciously create a minefield in your marriage too: as long as we avoid this or that, at least things won’t blow up. Until, of course, one day they do blow up.
God is greater than our frameworks
We came from a world where faith had a fairly straightforward formula: you read the Bible, you pray, you proclaim, and you have faith. For some people, that works perfectly, it really does. But for us, it no longer worked that way. And that forced us to ask questions we’d never dared to voice before.
Does the word of God speak only of renewing your spirit? Or is it just as much about your soul and your body? The Bible speaks of the Trinity, and that applies to human beings too. But what we experienced back then in the circles in which we grew up was an almost exclusive focus on the spiritual. For example, someone might be preaching from the pulpit whilst severely overweight, yet no one would dare to raise the issue. Or relationships at home that have completely broken down, yet this is piously swept under the carpet. Are these not matters that are intrinsically part of the gospel?
Jesus wept when Lazarus died. That is pure emotion. So those feelings are allowed to be there. And yet, certainly within the evangelical movement, we sometimes seem terrified of those raw emotions. What is still acceptable and what is not? At a certain point, we thought: we want to break out of that cocoon of limited thinking. We want all facets of life to be given an honest and open place.
That also applies to the way David now manages his mind. He meditates and does breathing exercises. He first seeks peace to simply be: who am I in God? I am His beloved child and I don’t have to achieve anything at all to get anywhere. For me, that is the absolute heart of the Gospel. Someone with ADD simply often cannot concentrate for fifteen minutes on a traditional form of prayer. Listening to the Bible via an audiobook works fantastically for him. Whereas reading with focus for three hours straight suits me very well. I wouldn’t dream of stepping into an ice bath; that really isn’t for me. But I can see that it helps him enormously.
It’s not the one universal method; it’s a way. And thankfully, we give each other complete freedom in that.
Losing friends
To be honest: that loss hurts. It would be inhuman to claim that something like that just rolls off your back. Valuable relationships have come to an end, people have distanced themselves and some attacked us fiercely at the time. Sometimes my initial reaction is: forget it, I’ll throw it all in the bin and I don’t want anything more to do with that evangelical world. But deep down, that doesn’t fit with who I am at all.
What helps is that I can understand it. I used to be in exactly the same position and I come from exactly the same culture. I get their beliefs and I understand very well where their reactions come from. That realisation eases the pain a little. It gives me the space to think: they’re allowed to go through their own process. They don’t have to think the way I do.
What has also helped enormously is that David and I went through those intense processes together seven or eight years ago. If we hadn’t laid that foundation back then, it would have been a lot harder now to hold on to each other so firmly. After all, you get a proper beating when you go public. But we’re really doing this together.
Our sons
When the book Raw was published and our collaboration with Doorbrekers came to an end, we could tell straight away how our boys felt about it. The youngest — who is more like me in terms of emotionality — said to David: “I think you’re brilliant, you’re really brave.” That touched him deeply. Our eldest, who in terms of character is more like David, initially reacted with something like: “What have you done? Why couldn’t we just do this together?” He confronted him very directly. I think that’s wonderful, that openness.
Over the past six months — which, in hindsight, was even tougher than the period surrounding Rauw — I’ve noticed that they’re both finding their way. But of course there are challenges too. As young as they are, they’re being asked what they think of it all and where they stand in their own faith. What we tell them at such moments is: this is your own journey.
We’d love it if you understood where we stand, but we certainly don’t expect you to agree with us on everything. David has also literally said to them: “If you feel called to set up a foundation like Go and Tell, then I’ll be the very first to support you financially. Because I stand behind you unconditionally as a person.”
The most important thing we want to impart to our sons is this: whatever you do, wherever you end up and whoever you become — lay your hand on your heart and know that you are the Father’s beloved son. If you hold on to that, we are happy people. Nothing and no one can take God’s love away from you. Full stop.
Staying married
Finally, Wim asks: what is the secret to being married for 23 years? My answer is simple: we are soulmates. We have been from the very very beginning. Deep down, we both know that God has given us to one another; I still believe that to be sacred after all this time. We are meant for each other.
Everything I lack in character, David has. And everything he lacks, I make up for. The art of the journey is not to fight those differences, but rather to strengthen each other in them. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve fought over those differences long enough. But the hunger and the will to truly understand one another was always greater, precisely because of the deep valleys we’ve gone through together. At some point, you reach a stage where you know: I wouldn’t swap this for all the gold in the world.
We said it to each other just this week, when we saw yet another couple in our circle splitting up. We looked at each other and thought: what we have is far too precious to just throw away. After all these years, we’re still madly in love with each other. And that, I think, is the real secret.
Joyce de Vos’s website
@wimvanputten