When I first met Kirsten Klein, we talked about where her pictures come from."They probably come from somewhere where it hurts," she replied. I didn't know then, but I know now. That's where the recognition takes hold. From that place where life is not only good, but also painful. Back then, I hadn't lost my youngest boy, the pain of my life was milder then, but some was there, and we talked about children coming or not, about being a child myself. About longing and being rootless, being moved around, the roots that were not allowed to take hold. You went out. Out into the wind. Nature became your "ally" you said. Out there you could grow. "I don't pray," she said."It's not like that. My spirituality is tied to the landscape."

Without having any church background or the slightest bit of spiritual longing, years ago I suddenly had to learn to live with, among other things, two visions of Jesus standing upside down in front of me and talking to me, as I recount in "I met Jesus". Up to every other of us have experiences, I documented in the sequel "We met Jesus - And what does it matter to others", but it is still not a field that has been researched much in how we as a society or church should live with.

The only two people who thought it was a good idea to publish my first book were my husband and my editor. Everyone else advised me to keep quiet. They predicted scorn and stoning, or at the very least silence and backs turned. One boss thought I could not continue in my job as a journalist. She got another job before publication, I continued in my position, but why all the anxiety? What was so transgressive in my debut book that it could have cost me my job, my reputation, my family, my friends? And did that happen?