How We Survived the Thorny Paths

In 2008, our family relocated to the Netherlands. My husband, Leon, had been offered a permanent position in Amsterdam, and although the weather was often cool, gray, and unfamiliar, our hearts were full of excitement.

We believed we were stepping into a new chapter. A European chapter. A chapter of opportunity, growth, and possibility.

Like many families who move across borders, we carried both courage and uncertainty in our suitcases. We had children to settle, a new country to understand, and a different rhythm of life to learn. Still, we were hopeful.

But life, as we soon discovered, does not always follow the map we have drawn so carefully.

The financial recession brought many changes. Leon's work situation shifted, and he was forced to look for another position. This was difficult for us because we had hoped to settle in the Netherlands, or at least remain in Europe.

When your cup overflows, you must carry it carefully. In seasons of great change, even blessing can feel heavy. It is easy to lose sight of the end goal when uncertainty begins to press from every side.

Still, we prayed. Still, we trusted. Still, we walked.

In 2011, Leon received an offer from a promising new company in Barcelona. After much consideration and prayer, he accepted the position.

On the surface, everything looked good. Well-known names in the business world were involved as investors and shareholders. The opportunity seemed excellent. Leon would hold a significant number of shares in the company, and the financial benefits appeared very promising.

By that time, our family had become accustomed to challenges. We knew how to adapt. We were willing to embrace a new country, a new language, and another unfamiliar season.

Barcelona was beautiful. But not every beautiful door leads to a peaceful room.

It was not long before Leon began to suspect that something was terribly wrong at work. He raised the alarm. He spoke up. He did what was right.

As the whistleblower, he suddenly had to leave his job in a hurry.

But that was not the end of it. We were advised that the situation was extremely dangerous. Dangerous people were involved. We had to keep a low profile. We had to hide.

The company owed Leon a large amount of money for salaries and expenses. Agreements were not honoured. Promises were broken. Investments that were supposed to materialise never came. Our financial reserves were almost gone.

In one moment, life as we knew it began to collapse.

We looked back and wondered whether we had made a mistake. Had we heard wrong? Had we chosen badly? Had we walked through the wrong door?

But years later, we can say this with quiet confidence: God had not abandoned us. He had a different plan - not an easy plan, but a redemptive one. A plan through which we would one day testify of His goodness, His provision, and His grace.

At the time, however, it did not feel like grace. It felt like fear. It felt like winter. It felt like standing in the cold with no coat around your soul.

James Weldon Johnson once wrote of a day when God's smile would be seen again and His rainbow would bow over the storm. That is a beautiful thought, but when you are standing in the middle of danger, loss, and humiliation, it can be very hard to believe that a rainbow will ever return.

It may sound like something from a film, but we were not actors. This was our real life.

We suddenly found ourselves in a foreign country with very little money, no real security, few possessions, three traumatised children, and two puppies. It was December. It was winter. It was bitterly cold.

There are very few words that can describe that kind of tension.

We were good, innocent people. We had done nothing wrong. And yet we found ourselves asking the question so many hearts ask in pain: Why did this happen to us?

We were in a country where we could barely speak the language. We had very little cash. We felt terribly alone. Our family later called it "an experience beyond words," because it truly left us speechless.

And when life becomes too heavy for words, the soul begins to pray in sighs.

If we had not known God, we would have been utterly without hope. But through His grace and love, He intervened. He provided a small place of refuge when we had nowhere else to go.

That apartment became our hiding place.

The lawyer we worked with advised us to keep a very low profile because the situation was dangerous. We barely ventured outside - partly because of the icy cold, but mostly because of fear.

It was not a glamorous survival story. It was not brave in the shiny, movie-scene way. It was simply one frightened family trying to make it through the next hour.

Sometimes courage looks like getting dressed. Sometimes courage looks like keeping the children calm. Sometimes courage looks like praying quietly in a small apartment while your whole life feels as though it has fallen apart.

And sometimes courage is not loud at all. Sometimes it is a mother whispering, "Lord, help us," while trying not to let her children see how afraid she is.

In the early hours of New Year's Day, we landed back on African soil.

We were confused, defeated, humiliated, and exhausted. We had very little with us - about two suitcases, our children, our pain, and the invisible trauma no passport officer can stamp or measure.

We spent time with our parents and tried to gather ourselves. Leon needed to find work as soon as possible. We had to begin again, although we did not feel strong enough to begin anything.

Then, only a few weeks after our arrival, my father passed away unexpectedly.

His death affected and complicated our lives in many ways. We were still trying to process what had happened in Europe, and now grief entered the room as well. My mother became dependent on us, and the emotional and practical pressure increased.

Financially, it was extremely difficult. Emotionally, it was heavy. We were still wounded, still disoriented, still trying to understand how everything had changed so quickly.

Leon began working again in April 2012, and we knew that it was God who had provided.

Slowly, we could send our children to school. Slowly, we could rent a house. Slowly, we learned to live with very little.

But slow is still movement.

We were barefoot on a rocky, dusty road, and time passed slowly. We prayed. We cried. We carried on. We learned that healing does not always arrive like a dramatic miracle.

Sometimes healing comes as daily bread. Enough strength for one day. Enough courage for one conversation. Enough grace for one bill. Enough hope for one more morning.

In difficult seasons, I have learned that it is important to be honest with yourself and with God.

No one in such a situation can be expected to feel happy all the time. Faith does not mean pretending. Faith does not mean smiling while your heart is breaking. Faith does not mean denying fear, grief, anger, or confusion.

God is not afraid of our honest emotions.

Job cried out in anguish. The writers of Lamentations poured out their sorrow before God. The Psalms are full of tears, questions, praise, fear, hope, and worship all tangled together in the very human heart.

So talk to God. Tell Him where it hurts. Tell Him what you fear. Tell Him when you do not understand. Tell Him when you are tired. Tell Him when your faith feels thin.

A real relationship with God has room for tears.

Some prayers are spoken beautifully. Some prayers are whispered into pillows. Some prayers are nothing more than, "Jesus, please carry me."

And He does.

Our lives did not suddenly become easy. The financial backlog was enormous. We had to rebuild from very little. Looking back, I sometimes wonder how we functioned at all.

How did we survive?

The answer is simple, but it is also sacred: Jesus Christ carried us.

Not because we deserved it. Not because we were exceptionally strong. Not because we always knew what to do. Not because we had perfect faith.

We survived because Jesus is good. We survived because His love held us when our own strength failed. We survived because grace does not wait for us to be impressive before it comes near.

During that season, I began writing a book called Lily Bloom for personal reflection. Writing helped me stay aligned with my life journey. It helped me notice God's hand, even in the darker places. It strengthened my daily trust that God has a plan and purpose for each of us.

In difficult times, when a person is scared or sad, it is often not our own great faith that carries us. It is the love of Jesus.

That distinction matters.

Sometimes we cannot hold tightly to Him. But He holds tightly to us.

We cannot always rely on ourselves, money, possessions, qualifications, or even other people when life breaks open. These things may help, but they cannot become our foundation.

The only foundation strong enough for the storm is the grace and love of Jesus Christ. And that grace is free.

That became part of our salvation: we had roots in Jesus Christ, in His Word, and in the promises of the Bible.

Our roots were not yet as deep as they are now. They were not perfect roots. They were not polished, impressive, public roots. But they were there.

And because they were there, we could return to them.

A plant without roots cannot survive drought. A soul without roots struggles to survive suffering.

We needed to grow deeper. We needed to spread our roots into Scripture, prayer, worship, gratitude, and trust. We needed to discover that God's Word was not merely something to read when life was easy. It was bread in the wilderness. It was water in drought. It was a lamp on the path when we could not see around the next bend.

Having a relationship with Jesus Christ is the most important thing in life. When the road becomes rough and life becomes painful, He is the One who carries us through.

Again and again in Scripture, God tells His people not to be afraid. Not because there is nothing frightening in life, but because He is with us in it.

He is never less loving toward us. He does not withdraw His goodness when life becomes hard. Nothing can separate us from His love.

His love is greater than we can understand, but it is real. It is everlasting. It is enough.

The Lily Bloom book was almost complete when 17 January 2020 arrived - the day my life changed again.

It began like an ordinary day. The same as any other day. The kind of day we do not usually notice as a gift until it is nearly taken from us.

But that morning, I did not wake up.

When my son could not wake me, emergency services were called. Apparently, the paramedics struggled to find a pulse. I was already cold and gray. They intubated me, stabilised me, and rushed me to hospital.

I was in a coma.

Doctors and specialists told Leon they were not sure whether I would survive. While the doctors fought for my life, God held my life.

I had been using medication for fibromyalgia for many years, and there appeared to have been an unexpected interaction between medications. What followed was terrifying for my family and life-changing for me.

But God saved my life.

Waking up every morning is not ordinary. It is mercy. It is breath given again. It is another chance to love, to heal, to forgive, to bloom, to begin.

Robert H. Schuller also said, "Problems are not stop signs, they are guidelines." I understand that more deeply now.

Problems can teach us. Pain can refine us. Loss can awaken us. A near-death experience can remind us that life is a gift, not a guarantee.

In 2024, after twelve long years, our life path began to feel easier. It was as if the rocky, dusty road slowly opened into fields of flowers.

Not because everything was perfect. Not because every wound had vanished. Not because the past no longer mattered. But because grace had been growing quietly all along.

In November 2024, my book Die Lelieblom en moed vir die stap op ons lewenspad was published and became available in bookstores and online.

In this book, I share a short autobiography, along with thoughts and encouragement for the journey of life. We all walk a path in this world. Sometimes we walk through beauty. Sometimes we walk barefoot over stones. Sometimes the road bends dangerously, and we do not know what waits around the corner.

It helps us to be prepared for life - not in a fearful way, but in a wise and rooted way.

Because life happens. Storms come. Plans change. People disappoint us. Bodies grow tired. Loss visits. The unexpected arrives.

And what we do in response will shape whether we merely survive, slowly wilt, or learn to bloom again by the grace of God.

I compare our lives to the calla lily.

The calla lily carries beautiful symbolism: sincerity, honesty, inner beauty, faithfulness, and quiet strength. For me, inner beauty is deeply connected to knowing God, living in truth, walking with Jesus Christ, and allowing His love to shape the hidden places of the heart.

The Bible has become the manual for my life. It is where I have found answers, comfort, correction, courage, and hope. It is where I return when the path is unclear.

That is why I love sharing what I have learned.

Through Lily Bloom Lifestyle, I want to encourage women to live with faith, gratitude, emotional resilience, spiritual strength, and gentle courage. I want women to know that they are not meant to walk difficult paths alone.

We need God. We need one another. We need wisdom. We need emotional honesty. We need spiritual roots. We need beauty, laughter, tea, prayer, Scripture, and sometimes a safe place to cry.

We also need to care for ourselves. Not selfishly, but faithfully.

We cannot keep pouring from an empty cup. We cannot bloom if we never tend the garden. We cannot live joyfully if we ignore the wounds beneath the surface.

To love ourselves well is not vanity. It is stewardship.

When we begin to understand that challenges are part of life, we can prepare our hearts more wisely. We can become women with roots deep enough for drought, courage strong enough for storms, and tenderness soft enough to keep loving.

Lily Bloom Lifestyle was born from this journey. It grew from faith, tears, survival, gratitude, and the deep desire to inspire hope in others.

It is a way of living that embraces genuine gratitude toward God and a mindset rooted in faith, hope, truth, and beauty. It is not about pretending life is easy. It is about discovering that God is good even when life is not.

It is about learning to bloom on the path you have been given.

Not perfectly. Not loudly. Not without scars. But honestly, gracefully, and with roots planted near the water.

My family and I can testify that God carried us through danger, loss, financial hardship, grief, trauma, and illness. We know what it is to walk through thorny places. We also know what it is to see flowers growing again where we thought nothing beautiful could survive.

That is grace.

And this is the heart of my message: You may walk through winter, but you are not forgotten. You may face drought, but you are not abandoned. You may be pruned, but you are not being punished. You may feel buried, but perhaps God is growing roots. You may feel weak, but Jesus is still strong enough to carry you.

The path may be thorny. But with God, you can survive. With God, you can heal. With God, you can rise. With God, you can bloom again.