Sack lunches

David and I went to Village together for 13 years. We were in the same Kindergarten class. I don't remember Mrs. DeHaan being one of those smothering mothers, but I can picture her perfectly as if she was at school often. Maybe she wasn't. Somehow she made an impression on me. Two things: She packed David's lunches in sugar sacks. I always thought that was so neat. The other? She seemed to be a person with a peaceful, quiet strength (which I recognize now as from the Lord). 

Mrs. DeHaan probably didn't even know who I was, but she left an imprint on my mind. What a blessing she must have been to those who knew her well.

-- Michelle (Zavala) Storm 

Many years of friendship

We remember when our daughter Marie babysat the older De Haan children. Much later Florence remembers enjoying teaching pre-school with David and Duane attending. So our families span many years of meaningful friendship with Jan. Her passing saddens us but we have firm confidence in her present joy seeing our Lord face to face.

--Florence & Harold Lappinga

Camping

Our family moved to California  in 1975 and started going to Bethel Church.  It was there that my mom and dad became friends with Mr. and Mrs. De Haan.  We started seeing them at their house after church and they came to ours.  We spent  some time on holidays together.  Every summer we went camping and the De Haan family went, too.  Mt. Pinos, Balch Park, Anza Borrego, Joshua Tree ...

My mom and Mrs. De Haan became good friends.  My mom took it real hard when Mrs. De Haan passed away.

--Peter De Jong

When I moved to Sun Valley

Upon a Sunday afternoon,
when the scent of flowers fills the air,
in a home that’s bathed in soft sunshine,
where from the kitchen, with a warm smile
the visitor is welcomed,
with a voice that resonates with kindness.
A family gathers at the table,
to eat, share, and remember.
In this meal, in this place,
there is genuine acceptance.
Would you like a sandwich?

--Keith Sanford

No Fear of Cancer

Mom and Dad were in the last stages of preparing to leave for their summer in Michigan when Mom went to see the doctor about some abdominal pain.  A suspicious observation by ultrasound caused the doctor to order more tests, leading to the discovery of stage four gall bladder cancer a few weeks later.  Meanwhile, the trip to Michigan was delayed, then cancelled.  Mom and Dad came down to San Diego for Audrey's middle school graduation a few days after the diagnosis.  For some reason Mom and I were talking in the bathroom, and she looked me in the eye and told me that the cancer, according to her doctor, was inoperable, since it was already in several organs, and therefore incurable. Chemo might slow it down, nothing more.  She told me this without any evidence of fear or even self-pity.  I marveled at that.  I remember an email from Dad right before the diagnosis, saying "we are at peace with the outcome either way, for it's in God's hands."  Really?  I thought when I read it.  And yet that peace seemed to pervade Mom's battle with cancer, along with the continued absence of fear or self-pity.  (Here's a photo from the "chemo" period of Mom enjoying a game of Clue with Natalie, Ryan, and Frank.)

I went online to find out more information about gall bladder cancer:  rare, 3-6 months life expectancy after diagnosis, extremely low survival rates.  Even lower than lung cancer.  Ugh.  Also found out that there are only four stages of cancer.  I was hoping for a few more.  A research paper located by a doctor/friend found that one month of Mom's chemo program extended the life of patients with this kind of cancer, on the average, by two months.  Mom powered through 5 months of chemo, and lived 8 months total, but one of those months was before treatment, so I can't chalk it up to any effects of medicine.

Rev. Bill Bierling called Mom "the perfect parishioner" at her memorial service.  She was also a really, really good patient.  In early January I asked her how she was dealing with things mentally.  "Well, I keep pretty busy just taking all these medicines," she deflected.  That was not an exaggeration.  There seemed to be a pill for everything ...

Holding Grandma's hand

Second to her humility and faith, it was her soft, fair skin that I admired. Her skin was silky in texture and creamy in color, which proved to me that she had dutifully stayed out of harsh sunlight for her entire life. She is an adventurer, too, as verified by the many pictures of her (or taken by her) in national parks, campsites, the front lawns of museums. When I pictured her I pictured the color white. Her hair, her skin, her holiness. It contrasted sharply with the brown of their home- the dark carpet, the faint lighting, the deep curtains.

As I sat beside her, I studied the painted-flower pattern on her shirt, small and spiraling. Flowers, curtains… I remember now when I went to the home fabric store with her and Grandpa and helped pick out the sliding curtain with prints of sprigs of white flowers. So trusting, were they, to go with the idea of a child. As I held her hand I gazed at the window of her bedroom, letting in cool white light and framed by two long, lacy white curtains. It seemed to me like a doorway to heaven amidst the musty, yellow room.

   
--granddaughter Audrey De Haan

Strength to serve

Being a kid in the 70's meant having time on my hands to be with a mom who had time to be with me, a mom whose career was being a mom, whose day and goals revolved around us and homemaking. I know that being just a homemaker doesn't sound like much of an accomplishment to us liberated women who have so much more to fill our lives, but it sure was heaven from a kid's point of view. My mom was a great cook, minus a few recipes, a talented seamstress, an overall excellent homemaker. She seemed utterly selfless; to me she even seemed meek. But I was a determined, hot- headed kid.  Why in the world would I want to be like my mother?  I had better things to do than serve others.  I wasn't going to live in last place.  I had important things to accomplish and become.

Thirty years later and a mother myself, I now wrestle between my personal goals and dreams and the demands and needs of my family, between selfishness and selflessness. How am I supposed to get what I need and do what I enjoy, when I have to be everything for everyone else?  How can I juggle myself and others?  Must I really live in last place?  Must I surrender myself?  This all seems so unfair.

But what is love if not selflessness? And what is motherhood, but love? What are my own kids learning of selfishness and selflessness? The Bible says the first will be last, and the last will be first, and that the meek will inherit the earth. Do I have the strength to be unselfish?  Do I have the strength to serve, not myself, but others? Do I have the strength to put myself last and be just like my mother?

--daughter Jane Hilbrands

Wise and Kind

She’d always had gleaming, bright-white hair. That’s how I remember her, anyway. I don’t remember, in all my life, her soft hair ever changing color. I know it did once, though, because in the hallway, next to and below the photos of Grandpa and their four children, is a picture of her in her early twenties, and her hair is dark. It is hard to tell because the photograph is black-and-white, same as Grandpa’s. All of the pictures on that wall were taken when the subject graduated from Calvin college, and every single one of them did. Even my dad, though he may have tried to tempt fate and go somewhere else, he switched into Calvin in the end, and finished there. And she did too. She met Grandpa there, and after they married they moved to into this house, the one that has these pictures in the hall. I imagine her in her twenties, carrying a bundle that is baby Peter, waving to the Olsens over the hedge as she and Grandpa walk up the sloping driveway that proved to be a wonderful roller-skating challenge for my dad and a nerve-wracking parallel-parking challenge for my mom. I can’t as easily picture Grandpa as young as he is in the photograph, but I try. I can see it in him, but I can’t picture the young guy he was, moving around and doing everyday things. It looks like a paper cut-out.

                  

But I suppose that’s what has awed me about her. She has never seemed to age. I paged through ancient photo-books with my mom on the night before we left, and I was startled to see her, though she was holding me as a tiny baby, looking just as I remembered her. I had grown from an embryo to a girl, and she who had looked wise and kind at the beginning looked just so in the end. She’d always been a petite woman. She spoke quietly and gently, only voicing what was necessary and leaving space for others to say what they desired. She existed by serving, she was a quiet presence that I wish I would have noticed more and thanked more freely. Memories of her are hard to place a finger on, because she was just there, one of the family playing games with us, a calm presence at meals. She cooked, though I don’t remember specifics; we went to many parks and museums and gardens with her and Grandpa, though I don’t know where, save for pictures. She was humble and quietly beautiful.

--granddaughter Audrey De Haan (in photo, 1998)

My 70s childhood

After an hour of watching Saturday morning cartoons, we sat down together to eat Mom's warm melt-in-your-mouth oven egg omelets.  Saturday mornings were always the omelets, Sundays were oatmeal and sweet rolls, Wednesdays Mom was up even earlier to make pancakes before school, and Tuesdays and Thursdays were egg days.  Sugary cereals were only allowed on certain mornings.  My mom had breakfast covered.

I remember riding with Mom in the station wagon with slippery vinyl seats to the fabric store.  There I'd wander for hours judging all the different multicolored fabric designs and imagining wearing this pattern or that pattern to school.  Mom could sew any pattern I picked, so the sky was the limit.  The lady with long, clicky fingernails would cut the cloth, and soon our living room floor would become puzzle pieces of crinkly brown patterns pinned to my beautiful fabric.

Dinner time meant experiments.  The latest hope had been clipped from a magazine and prepared, complete with an enticing name like "Beef Skillet Fiesta" "Casserole Italiana" or "Fire Station Casserole." The most imfamous attempt was a dessert mysteriously named "Peach Ping."  It quickly became "Peach Pavement" to us kids since it came with serious crust issues.  Each dinner Mom made was complete with main course, two vegetables and a starch, plus often a real dessert.

--daughter Jane Hilbrands

Note from Jan

I was looking for a devotional to read and I found one of my old devotionals.  I opened it up and found this thank you note from Jan.  It said, 

"Dear Juanita and Miguel, 

Thank you so much for inviting us to your lovely, lovely house.  We could see the new kitchen.  We really had a good time at the dinner.  We enjoyed it.  

Here is this devotional.  We were thinking it would be nice for you.  We started this with our Bible study group and we wanted to share it with you in Spanish.  

Love, Frank and Jan."

I just wanted to share with you this lovely memory.  Jan was a such a nice lady and it was a privilege for me to have her in my house that day.

--Juanita Najarro

Jan's recipe for romance

Two years ago, when I got married, Jan attended my bridal shower.  One of the activities that my sister planned for the shower was for the guests to write a Recipe for Romance and share them with me.  

Here is Jan's recipe: 

 5 cups of love
 4 cups of patience and understanding
 3 cups of good humor 
 2 cups of interesting things to do and places to go
 1 cup of housekeeping and homey atmosphere

Stir all together with lots of prayer.  
Bake everyday.  
Serve with candlelight and music.
 --------
I think that after 54 years with Frank, Jan knew a thing or two about marriage!
She will be missed by all of us.

--Martha Villalta

Every Birthday

Growing up, I only got to see my California aunt, uncle, and cousins every few years or so since my family lived in Michigan. But, my Aunt Jan was a person who remembered every single birthday with a card. And she didn't just send a card with a funny birthday wish printed on it. She always handwrote a letter in the card, asking about how things were going and telling a bit about life in California. After I got married and had children, she made sure to include my husband and kids in her birthday card and letter list as well. It is proof of her wonderful caring spirit that she took time out of her days to write and send all those cards with letters over the years.

--Niece Chris Sabatowski

Goss St: home away from home

Jan (“Mrs. De Haan”) played an important, nurturing part of my life during some key junior high and high school yearswhen I needed a "Mom,” following my own mother’s death when I was 12.  Actually, the whole De Haan family played an important “home away from home” role for me during this time.  On countless occasions, I was encouraged to stay for dinner after spending time at the family's Goss Street home.  

I have a key memory of Jan when she drove David to my house, so that he could spend a weekend with my family at Newport Beach, where we often went.  I had just completed a first year (sixth grade) at Village Christian Schools, while dealing with my mom’s illness, so this must have been early summer 1978, when I was 12 and David was 11.   David was unsure about being away from his own family in a new environment, and I distinctly remember Jan very calmly reassuring him (and my own mom) that everything would be OK for him.  It is a sweet memory. 

In more recent years, I really enjoyed the times that I got to see Jan and Frank and get caught up with each other’s lives, now relating as adults.   Looking back though, I see such warmth and patience with Jan, much like my sixth grade memory of her.  

--Jeff Masino

The Night Jan Got Mad

It was sometime around winter 1974, another sleepover night at Davey's house.  After a full day of Hot Wheels track building and Jane tormenting we had settled down to watch one of our favorite movies that seemed to always come on around the holidays, "The Great Race". It's the one with Tony Curtis, Jack Lemon and Natalie Wood and features the greatest pie fight scene of all time. Back then the De Haans had a huge, white leather swivel rocker. It was, by a longshot, the most entertaining chair in the house. I don't know who's idea it was to place piles of neatly folded clean laundry on the chair with a Peterson kid in the house, but let's just say some of us didn't see the clothes ("How can Tony Curtis stay pie-free amid all that flying pastry?"). Jan came upon the mess and said, "Oh, no! Who did this?" Now mind you, she said this to herself, but with a power to her voice I had never heard before and never heard again. I don't recall the culprit ever speaking up, but the evening concluded as usual by being tucked into the top bunk with a kiss goodnight on the forehead. Lesson learned. I love you Jan!

--Brian Peterson

Watching us

I remember how Grandma D would watch us so carefully whenever we were in the water at Big Whitefish Lake, at our pool, or at Lake Michigan.  She would watch us like a hawk and never take her eyes off of us the whole time we were swimming.

--Alex Hilbrands (grandson)

Yorleni Sapp, Jan's friend and fellow cancer fighter, wanted to say this entire statement at the memorial service yesterday.  She wasn't able to read it all the way through because her feelings of loss were so strong.

Life is but a stopping place,

A pause in what's to be,

A resting place along the road,

to sweet eternity.

We all have different journeys,

Different paths along the way,

We all were meant to learn some things,

but never meant to stay...

Our destination is a place,

Far greater than we know.

For some the journey's quicker,

For some the journey's slow.

And when the journey finally ends,

We'll claim a great reward,

And find an everlasting peace,

Together with the Lord.

We gather here today in memory of a dear member of this community.  In memory of the mom, wife, sister, teacher. In memory of a dear friend and mentor who inspired us, who inspired me even in her very last days. 

I met Jan about 15 years ago when I first came to Sun Valley;  she guided me through the mission and vision of the community center.  I remember she taught me how to use Quick Books so I could help the center, and she taught me how to help with ESL classes and serve people.  When I became the Director of the community center she continued being a mentor and one of my main supporters. 

In the last months she kept teaching me, as we both were fighting the tough battle of cancer.  When we used to call each other after chemo and share about our good and bad days, she would share information with me and share bible verses.  The last time I saw her, probably a week before she left, Jan looked at me and told me she was strong.  'I have grown a lot...it's a painful way to grow,' she said, 'but I'm doing good.'    I looked at her and just told her how much I admired her and I told her how I wish I could have her peace.  I had the opportunity to tell  her I love her. She said she loves me too and she said she was glad I met my husband Matt. Then we said bye. 

I wouldn't seen her again after that evening, but her words, her teaching, her work, her fight, her love and peace in the Lord will stick with me and keep inspiring me.  Her memory will always be with us, and her legacy will continue through all the lives that she touched. 

--Yorleni Sapp

We met Jan because she and other members of Bethel were able to welcome a long-haired drummer who hadn't been to church in a while, our son Keith, to their fellowship.  In one of our first conversations with her, Jan introduced us to her daughter Ellen, who had just come back from two years teaching English in China.  Clearly her dedication to ministry extends to her children.

We got to know her slowly -- she was the type of person more likely to take pictures than to be in them.  Jan introduced Keith to her son Peter, and they became housemates, living just a few blocks away from Jan and Frank in Sun Valley.  Eventually when Keith moved out of LA he was accompanied on the long drive to Colorado by Peter's younger brother David, who was moving to Colorado the same week.    David and Keith stayed at our house when they arrived in Boulder, and when David met our daughter Laurel, the two of them hit it off immediately, getting married a few years later.

Keith went through some personal hard times back in LA, and years later Jan made the comment to us that God was able to use those hard times to forge a strong bond between our families.

--Mary & Gary Sanford

Christmas circa 1979

One time when I was in junior high Mom did some shopping in early December for a bunch of necessities (socks, underwear, etc.) for my siblings and I.  Then she decided, just for kicks, to gift-wrap them and put them under the Christmas tree along with our other presents.

When Christmas eve arrived -- our family followed ancient European tradition and always opened Christmas gifts on Christmas eve -- I grabbed a light, squishy package to open.  I must have looked very confused when I opened it, mumbled "Uh, thanks, Mom and Dad, for the pack of tube socks," raised an eyebrow, then we all started laughing.  Of course, these packages kept coming up as we went through the gifts, and we'd jokingly whine, "Moooooooommmmm," each time we found one.  Mom by this point was crying from laughing so hard.  There were few things we liked better than watching Mom  be unable to stop laughing.

Curfew

One of the most remarkable things about Mom, to me, is that I never saw her get angry at anyone.  No yelling, no sulking.  I don't know how she did it.  I don't think she was hiding anything, I think she was just not at all an angry person.  I wish more of that would rub off on me.

I remember one time in high school when I stayed out at Odin's place with friends until 1:30 or 2 am.  The next day, out in the garage, Mom just looked me straight in the eye, and told me matter-of-factly "From now on we'd like you to be home by midnight." So I said "OK, sounds reasonable," feeling bad that I'd thoughtlessly crossed an invisible line, even though I hadn't even been reprimanded (!)

I came home by midnight after that.