The Middledom Manifesto: This is where I stand, neither to the left or to the right, but feet feeling their way through the middle, between the past and the future, between the good and the bad, between certainty and doubt.

last night who pops up in my head? johan
slender little johan i wish we had grown up together

To all family and friends and communities of Herman and Stiny de Jong, and of son Henry, Wendy and Jovita we wish you a blessed Christmas in 2025, and offer to you some Christmas stories that were gifted to us by Herman and Stiny.

So great was the knowledge of the wise men, so great their conviction, that it sank deep inside the heart of Aleb. He knew without a doubt that the wise men’s words were true

And as I stood in front of the cabin, the thought suddenly occurred to me that this is where Jesus was born a couple of days ago. I knew it. It had to be.

I cannot pray, my Lord, I cannot pray… I locked the door to you and cannot find the key to open it.

The road between Orangeville and Listowel stretched ahead of me, endlessly. A fine drizzle obscured

Patriarchy has been a problem, not because it’s some grand conspiracy, but because of a lack of good will.

Times were different then. Workers at farms and factories did not earn much and there were few social services. In the depression era, farmers could barely keep their heads above water.

Have mercy on us, O Lord, when, with a great artillery of suspicious, black-and-white, theological wordplay, we gloss over the precious precedent of your long suffering and mankind’s.

I like to imagine what it was like then — my neighbourhood, or ravine-riven Toronto, or the Sarnia savannah. It would be nice, just once, to hike through old woods from the lake shore to the escarpment or High Park to Forest Hill, or along the beach from Centennial to Bright’s Grove, and see nothing but trees and meadows, streams and lake.

A tale of deconstruction: He is alone. The dyke is still wrapped in morning mist and the sheep that keep looming up are standing motionless, except for one pleading lamb

Nicholai Church in Leipzig was the beating heart of East Germany’s Monday demonstrations that led to the fall of the Berlin wall in 1989 some 36 years ago

This story is about three daddies and their firstborn babies. It happened at the first AACS Conference held at Niagara Christian College. It is better not to mention names.

On the occasion of Justin & Laura’s wedding, July 5, 2025, we remember Harm & Dina’s marriage 91 years ago.

we always gave . . . ach, ja . . .to so many good Christian causes. On New Year’s Day he’d get the shoebox and dump it all on the table . . . all the good Christian causes.

Once in Canada, Dirk Bult quickly climbed the social, church and Christian associations ladders. In all areas, he rose far above the average immigrant. His well-founded opinions were valued on the boards of Christian organizations. At church meetings, he tested the church council against the principles of the Reformed world view.

I brought the conversation to the town gardens where I had first met her father and which we had both enjoyed for so long. But now, Jan Koning was finished.

My son said bluntly, Can’t you do that yourself? (a teensy-weensy bit belligerent, second generation trademark.)

he was a stalwart man fierce eyes under bushy brows. here a foot there a foot as if the zeeland clay still stuck to his wooden clogs

The Lord bless you and keep you. The little boy peeked up at their pastor — Just for a moment! It was a sin if you opened your eyes while praying

Explore Middledom in the shade of its Tag Cloud. See what’s common and search for what’s not.

Almost every Canadian family has a dog or a cat. A quarter of supermarkets is used to display food for those pets. There is a very wide choice of all kinds of brands, because like humans, pets are very picky.

On the eightieth anniversary of the Liberation of the Netherlands, Harry van der Laan looks back with the eyes of a child.

This is the story of our van der Laan reunion worship service, the summer of 2023, in the now abandoned Vennekerk, the church where my parents came of age.

Herman de Jong’s prose story of “A Good Friday” has been with me for as long as he’s been gone — twenty-one years now. I wish I had known it before then, just as I wish I could have talked to him about it.

Good Friday morning. I climbed
the spiraling, creaking stairs
to the organ loft,
young and inexperienced,
I needed to practice
for the evening service.

She is small and sturdy. He, tall and lean. Looking at him, you’d know that they are over-65s. They’ve been shopping here for years.

This story, by Herman de Jong, about a social visit and the troubles it deals with is full of humour and grace.

A Story by Herman de Jong about a McMaster university student finding peace and love on the island of Terschelling — his (and Herman’s) ancestral home.

On the edge of our bathtub is a little green elephant. It has stood there since the children were small. My wife keeps it there to hide the soap behind it.

I’ve committed to buckling down for a while to translate and reissue the collected works of Herman de Jong in an accessible format and adding in what family histories I have.