In her book Claartje Kruijff, a Dutch minister, turns the familiar question inside out. Instead of asking whether we believe in God, she asks what it means to live as if God believes in us. That makes an interesting shift. The book rests on her conviction that there is already a belief in us, and the work is to accept the invitation. Believing starts with knowing that you are worth it, she writes. When there is a belief in me, I can show myself and fully be me. I already belong. It gives me both self-confidence and a mission. From that belonging I can add my contribution to the bigger picture. God invites me to be the best version of myself.
Believing, as Kruijff sees it, is not passive assent to doctrine. It is active work—presence instead of distraction, openness instead of defensiveness, surrender instead of control. It requires showing up to yourself before you can show up to anything else.
What strikes me in the book is her refusal of certainty. This is not a book of answers. It is a journey, full of question marks, moving through doubt as a traveling companion rather than an obstacle. She stays far from religious dogma. The not-knowing itself becomes a quality, a kind of wisdom. That takes courage in a world that demands certainty from leaders and from faith alike.
Kruijff brings a particular credibility to this exploration. She spent years in consulting firm Accenture and in the London City, working as an organisational psychologist—immersed in the world of high pressure, endless metrics, and maybe even the erasure of human dimension. She knows from the inside what it costs to lose yourself in functionality. A world with only efficiency, she writes, is unliveable. The constant lack of time marginalizes human qualities as care, love and attention. She quotes John Comer: hurried people cannot be loving people.
Her argument moves from the personal to the communal. We become ourselves only in relation to others. We need spaces of connection—places where we can show what matters without polishing it, without performance. For her, the church is such a space. But the principle holds anywhere: you can only belong to a community if you give part of yourself to the whole. That gift is what creates belonging.
She writes: The less I worry about it, the more I dare to live from trust. The more I open my inner door, the more I see. The more I live from my longing, the more at peace I am. She advocates to receive life as a gift, with open arms and an open heart, and to train the muscles of trust, hope, and softness.
Kruijff quotes artists Leonard Cohen (there is a crack in everything, that’s where the light gets in) and Nick Cave (about the God-shaped hole in his heart). Coincidentally, they are two of my personal heroes, who understood that faith and doubt are not opposites but dance partners. That sensibility runs through the whole book.
The invitation that Kruijff extends is not about certainty or answers. But about the opening to live as if you are already loved, already enough, already home.
Claartje Kruijff. Een God die in mij gelooft. Richting en rust in een wereld zonder zekerheid. Ten Have, 2025