Within a Year

Good job.

A new car shining in the driveway.

Keys to his own front door.

A small nest egg, quietly growing—

proof that hard work meant something.

Jaco believed he was steady,

anchored in a world that made sense.

Then the tide turned.

A meeting.

A letter.

A handshake that felt colder than it should.

Retrenched.

Three months, he tells himself.

Three months and he’ll be back on his feet.

He sends out CV after CV—

carefully typed,

hope folded into every word.

Silence answers.

Not even a “no.”

Days stretch.

Savings shrink.

Numbers on screens fall faster than his hope can keep up.

Cards begin to carry the weight.

One pays another—

until even that fragile balance gives way.

The car goes.

A chapter closed with a signature.

R30,000 remains.

A number that once meant little—

now everything.

The house follows.

Walls that held laughter

now belong to someone else.

Pretoria West.

A Wendy house.

Four thin walls between him and the night.

Fuel runs low.

He watches the gauge more than the road.

“What if I get the call…

and can’t even get there?”

The phone changes too.

Smart becomes simple.

Dreams reduced to calls and messages.

Life does not pause.

It never asks if you are ready.

Two months later,

even R1500 is too much.

And the question echoes—

not loudly,

but constantly:

Where now?

Within a year,

Jaco stands where he never imagined—

among makeshift homes and uncertain tomorrows.

And still,

the sun rises.

The world moves.

People pass by, unaware.

We’ve seen it before.

Again and again.

Not always with the same name—

but always the same story.

And in quiet moments,

when everything else is stripped away,

another truth remains:

The cross was never a promise

of comfort or ease.

It was something deeper.

Something eternal.

A reminder

that even when the ground gives way beneath us,

there is still meaning beyond the moment,

still hope beyond what we can hold.

Not a life without struggle—

but a purpose that outlives it.

Thank you, Jesus.