I cannot pray, my Lord, I cannot pray…
I locked the door to you and
cannot find the key to open it.
Since childhood
– now I lay myself myself to sleep –
You always heard,
but now You seem to rest
and slumber deep.
I know, my Lord, it isn’t so!
You’re always there, cupping Your ear
with nail-torn hand, resting the other
on your Father’s arm, waiting . . . waiting!
My prison has a door which only locks
from the inside, yet, I cannot escape.
My prison has a window,
a cross-barred, grimy window,
When night is gone,
my tumbling thoughts are gone,
I pull myself up on the bars,
and look through the cross
longing for the dawn of grace.
I know that soon You will whisper:
My son, my son . . . long ago,
one day, long ago,
I saw you put your key
on the ledge of that cross . . .
did you forget?
Herman de Jong
1932 – 2004
This picture of Herman de Jong was taken six weeks before his death on July 27. It shows a pensive side that was well known to his family and which reflects the periodic struggles he had with depression over the course of his life.
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