Iris verandert door het kleine flesje

“Het was maar een klein flesje. Heel voorzichtig draaide ik het dopje eraf en de wereld veranderde voor mijn ogen.” Zo begint het verhaal van Ilse. Haar leven is veranderd door de inhoud van een heel klein flesje. En dat kan jou en mij ook gebeuren, als je niet - of juist wel - oplet.

Het aangespoelde flesje

Het was een het zomerdag, toen Ilse alleen op het strand liep. Rustig langs de branding, haar gedachten meedeinend op de golven van de zee. Ineens raakte haar teen een stuk glas, dat daar onopvallend in het zand verscholen lag. Ze schrok en was even bang dat haar bloed zou gaan stromen, maar dat viel mee. Ze keek wat ze nu eigenlijk geraakt had en groef een klein flesje op. De dop zat er nog op.


Met het flesje in haar hand, gingen haar gedachten terug naar vroeger. Als kind speelde ze vaak de verhalen van Pippi Langkous na. De fles die vanaf het piratenschip in het water werd gegooid speelde daarin altijd een prominente rol. Zou dit flesje haar dromen van toen in vervulling laten gaan? Ze droomde toen al dat op een dag de brief in de fles haar leven op zijn kop zou zetten.

En nu stond ze na al die jaren met dit flesje op een leeg strand aan de zee.

De inhoud van het flesje 

Voorzichtig - tergend langzaam eigenlijk - opende de gespannen Iris het flesje. Wat zou erin zitten? Ze hoopte op een brief, zoals in de verhalen van vroeger. En tot haar verbijstering zat er ook inderdaad een papiertje in.

Op dat papiertje was een groot rood hart getekend, met daarin een kruis. En de geschreven tekst… daar moest ze nog eens diep - héél diep! - over nadenken. Want dit was zo onverwacht, anders dan ze altijd had gedacht en gedroomd…

Iris las op dat briefje dat er iemand - een volkomen vreemdeling - van haar hield. Ze was geliefd, haar hele leven al. Dat kon ze maar moeilijk bevatten na al dat seksuele misbruik, de psychische vernederingen en andere vormen van letterlijk angstaanjagende ervaringen. Ze voelde zich niets en niemand. En nu, zo heel alleen langs de branding, vond ze dit flesje.


Wat te doen met dit briefje? 

Toen Iris die avond thuis was, won de nieuwsgierigheid het van haar aloude vooroordelen. Met de laptop op schoot zocht ze via woorden als Bijbel, christen en God naar de achtergrond van dit briefje. De fysieke herkomst vond ze niet, maar wel vond ze de website over Alpha-cursussen. En het leek erop dat ze daar antwoorden kon gaan vinden op haar vragen.


Ze trok dat ook - zij het met lood in haar schoenen - de stoute schoenen aan. Via het contactformulier nam ze contact op met de organisatie. En op dit moment - zo’n twee jaar later - staat het voor Iris als een paal boven water… Haar leven is radicaal veranderd. Ze is niet langer het angstige, wanhopig zoekende meisje. Iris heeft een doel in haar leven gevonden. Ze getuigt nu graag van de wonderen die ze meemaakt. Te beginnen natuurlijk met dit wonder van het kleine flesje.

Wil jij ook zo’n ervaring meemaken? Zoek jij ook een ècht doel in je leven? De tekst op het briefje uit het flesje geldt ook voor jou! Iris (en ik) hopen je snel welkom te mogen heten in de familie Van God.

Dus… Tot gauw!


De openingswoorden van dit verhaal bestaan uit de verplichte tekst, die @Hans van Gemert aangereikt heeft in de schrijfuitdaging van deze maand.

Het is een fictief verhaal. Maar de boodschap is volkomen realistisch. Het geldt heus ook voor jou. De Alphacursus is - ook in de corona tijd! - een prachtige mogelijkheid om kennis te maken met het christelijk geloof.


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Requiem: Chapter 5
- Just in time Stephen March could save himself from a certain death with a lateral leap. The bright red glider drilled into the window of ' Redstone & Son ', a branch of a Western electronics company that had gained a foothold in the New World. One of the first groups to have won this authorization after the Second Cold War. The reinforced windows of the electronics store were no match for the kinetic forces of the runaway vehicle. The window glass splits into countless small pieces. At the last moment, Stephen had seen the murder vehicle rushing at him in the light of the window window. His rapid reaction, an instinctive reflex at the moment itself - was happiness or perhaps the result of his daily workout - had given him that small chance and saved his life. Because most of the pieces of glass had been broken up by the movement of the glider inside the shop space, March had not suffered any serious cuts. His pants and vest were torn and smeared by the fall, and his left leg was a little worse planed by the unsoft contact with the concrete, but the rest was not easy.. While he was still recovering from the first shock, he heard above the panicked screams of the pedestrians who witnessed the event, from the store a metallic scraping. To his great surprise, he saw the red carlide moving out of the storefront and turning to him. Stephen frowned amazed the eyebrows. Apparently, that killing machine was targeting him. This wasn't a coincidence, not an ordinary accident.. His hunch shouted at him a single word: “Run!’. He took the first street on the right at a delirious pace, almost slipping he could just avoid a pedestrian who was angry behind him. A second later he heard a bons accompanied by a creepy scraping sound. Stephen looked backwards and saw the unfortunate passerby crushed by the chasing autobot slipping along the wall in a blood-red pattern. The fear knocked him in the throat, the adrenaline made him run even faster. He thought the Metro, I should get it.. There, the runaway computer car wouldn't be able to follow him. He jumped up the stairs with two steps at the same time that would lead him to the main street via a few inland roads and also to the entrance of the underground train network. Whenever he reached the end of one of those roads, he heard the murderous vehicle approaching and blowing his neck like a hot breath. He walked even faster, and it seemed like he was given wings because of the fear that drove him. Eventually he came into the street where the entrance to the Metro was. He saw it as a redeeming mouth that would swallow it up. Another ten meters. With his last breath he squeezed out one last sprint. With a tiger jump, he plunged forward down the stairs and hurtfully rolled to the bottom of the entrance, where he hoped to be safe from the murderous autobot. Stephen felt vomited. It was a miracle, but apparently he didn't break anything at first sight, even though he was in pain everywhere. He crawled stumbling and leaning against a pillar again upright. The red monster remained hovering in front of the entrance to the Metro for a while and then disappeared out of sight.. People looked at him with fear, and many walked around him in a wide bow.. In the light of a window of a train he saw the reason. He just looked like a wreck. In the toilet of the underground, he tried to decent his clothes some and take up the worst damage. All in all, it turned out to be too easy. All his muscles were stiff due to the intense effort but nothing felt broken to. He bled from a number of small wounds to the elbows and hands. The abrasions on his leg did not look really life-threatening, although it had to be taken care of professionally. Stephen should see a doctor as soon as possible for a skilled patch. Now he no longer looked like a diplomat Stephen March, but more like a clochard who had walked into the wall several times in his alcoholic haze... or perhaps fell down the stairs of the Metro. His first idea was to tell the police everything and file a complaint against strangers. Only then did he realize that he had not seen a license plate number on his murderous stalker. In the New World all gliders or autobots were numbered on the bottom, the doors and the top of the vehicles. So one could immediately see or find out which city or area they came from. In addition, the windows were darkened so that he could not disclose the face of the driver or occupants. weird! He would wait a while to visit the police. His sixth sense told him that he might do more harm than good with that.. After an hour on the emergency service of the nearest hospital, he was given the necessary iodine tincture, special adhesive plasters containing an antibiotic and gauze dressing - and what was especially important - a strong painkiller. His leg was not broken, but still hit worse than he had previously suspected. Stephen told the doctor on duty that he had fallen from the stairs of the subway entrance due to a misstep and sustained those injuries. Even if that was only half the truth, it wasn't a lie. It sounded really convincing how Stephen brought it, but this explanation also avoided any annoying questions from the doctor on duty or a mandatory visit to the law services. Stephen March didn't get high on the Security Service right now, especially after the unsolved murder of his half-sister Suzy. The idea of walking a block and a little more at Redstone & Son to inquire, he also rejected. Maybe any witnesses recognized him while the police were still there investigating the case. What intrigued him most of all was the reason behind this unexpected attack on his person. Why was he attacked, hunted like a wild animal, eventually he was also nearly killed? What was the point, what was behind this, was this connected to Suzy's murder?? All the questions haunted in his head. He felt hunted and anxious and looked around as he sought his way back. When he was back at his apartment, he first poured himself a good whiskey.. He knew that it was not wise to mix medicines and alcohol, but this was an exception to the rule. His hand was still shaking slightly when the golden moisture was poured into the crystal glass. He took a big sip of Chivas Regal. Stephen felt the fluid that immediately warmed him a way to his stomach, which now settled some. Stephen let the last hours before his mind's eye pass. After the identification with Suzy's personal items he had received from Mr. Huang, he went for a walk in the shopping streets of Sanctuary. Getting his feelings back under control after the psychological thump he got in the morgue. Then suddenly the red homicide vehicle that showed up at him? Stephen put the rest of his whiskey glass aside and poured out the contents of the canary yellow plastic bag with his sister's personal belongings, whom he miraculously could have saved during all those struggles of the last few hours, onto the table. There were the usual things that are usually found in the possessions of a woman. First of all, her torn and bloody garments, which he laid apart with due respect and a great piece of dismay. Another example of the lack of sympathy from the New World police forces. In the pocket there was also a torn handbag, a broken lip gloss, a key ring, a hairbrush that had also suffered under the trap, a crushed pack of started paper wipes and a wallet with some banknotes in it, some pictures, but all her credit cards were missing or withheld by the Security Service. Scattered, he was messing around in all the boxes of her wallet when he found between two pictures in a note pleated in two. March immediately recognized Suzy Chang's beautiful female handwriting. There was only one word on it and a number: “Passage 6.”. It didn't tell him anything. That couldn't be the note Captain Vastai was talking about. The conscious note that referred to him? The key ring of four keys he weighed equally predominantly in his palm. He immediately recognized the blue rectangles key of an autobot. Number SW280387. Nothing was referring to that Passage 6. One of the other three keys must have been from Suzy's apartment since the name was printed in the key bar of the residence where she was staying: ' Pinewood House Asurai ’. A number was printed on the tip of the bar: 837. As he already knew, this referred to the eighth floor apartment 37. The other two were still a mystery to him. A mystery that he would certainly try to solve. He wouldn't ask the police what those keys were for.. By the way, if they had been of some interest, he probably wouldn't have gotten it.. Maybe today he took a walk to Pinewood House Asurai. Stephen changed and took the elevator to the underground garage with a painful grimace on his face in his own autobot and entered the address of the residence. The speech recognition program looked this up in its internal memory, started the almost silent drive system and the vehicle automatically slipped into the traffic jam of the pre-programmed route. Stephen leaned weary backwards in the seat and waited with his eyes closed for him to reach his destination.. copyright Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere Requiem: Chapter 4 or 6 - Requiem: Chapter 4 - Requiem: Chapter 6 -