Walking Through Fire: A True Testimony of Faith and Survival
Walking Through Fire: How Faith Carried Me Through Trauma, Injury, and the Impossible
I have hesitated for a long time to share this.
Not because it is dramatic.
But because it is strange.
Some of what happened to us feels almost unbelievable when written down. Even as I reread it, I sometimes think, “That sounds like too much for one family.”
Yet it happened.
And if there is one thing I know with certainty, it is this:
God delivers from all evil.
Not always the way we expect.
Not always by preventing the fire.
But by carrying us through it.
This is the story of trauma, fear, injury, near-death moments, and supernatural protection. It is the story of how faith sustained me when logic said I should not be standing.
When Fear Became Our Environment
There was a season in our lives when fear was not occasional. It was constant.
We experienced violent crime.
We were targeted repeatedly.
Our belongings were stolen.
Our safety was threatened.
There is something that happens when your home, the place meant to be sanctuary, becomes the site of repeated trauma. The nervous system never fully relaxes. Every sound becomes a warning. Every knock on the door feels like danger.
We moved from reaction to survival mode.
At the same time, I was running weddings.
Smiling.
Hosting.
Creating beauty.
Designing joy.
On the outside, everything looked composed.
Inside, I was unraveling.
Faith during those years was not poetic. It was practical. It was whispered prayers in bathrooms between guests. It was asking God to hold my mind together long enough to function.
And He did.
The Dog Attacks That Should Have Taken My Arm
During that season, I was attacked by dogs. Three Elsations attacked my daughter and I. I screamed name on Jesus during 2 attacks and they left.
One attack in particular was severe. The injuries were significant. The tearing and trauma should have caused permanent damage.
Doctors were cautious. The recovery looked uncertain, they said I would not be able to use my right arm again and my finger would need amputation. .
But I healed.
Not slowly and not partially.
Fully.
The kind of healing that makes medical professionals shake their heads and say, “You are fortunate.”
I began to notice a pattern.
Every time something catastrophic happened, there was preservation.
Not absence of injury.
Not absence of trauma.
But preservation.
The 900 Kilogram Gate
Three months before one of our weddings, I heard something in my spirit that made no financial sense at the time:
Get medical aid.
We were already under pressure. Money was tight. The business was rebuilding. Taking on another expense felt irresponsible.
But the prompting would not leave.
So I did it.
Three months later, while opening our entrance gate for wedding guests, the unthinkable happened.
The gate collapsed.
It weighed approximately 900 kilograms.
There was no warning.
One moment I was opening it.
The next moment it was falling.
If I had fallen forward, it would have crushed my skull.
If I had fallen sideways, it would have broken my neck.
Instead, instinctively, I fell backwards. My feet went forward. My head tucked in. The gate landed across my back.
The force was immense.
I was rushed to hospital. Scans revealed a spinal fracture.
The doctor said something I will never forget:
“If the fracture had been one millimeter deeper, you would have been paralyzed.”
One millimeter.
In the hospital room, I was told the probability of walking normally again was not good.
There are moments when medical language lands like a verdict.
I lay in that bed and prayed.
Not dramatically.
Steadily.
I refused to accept paralysis as my future.
The next morning, I got up.
And I walked.
Not just a few steps to prove a point.
I walked up five levels of stairs and back down.
The physiotherapist stared at me in disbelief.
“How is this possible?” she asked.
I answered honestly.
“God healed me.”
She told me she did not believe in God.
I looked at her and said gently, “Well… now you have to.”
One Millimeter Between Paralysis and Walking
Faith became tangible to me in that one millimeter.
One millimeter between life and lifelong disability.
One millimeter between despair and testimony.
One millimeter between statistics and miracle.
Protection is not always flashy.
Sometimes it is microscopic.
Sometimes it is positioning your body in the only angle that allows survival.
Sometimes it is prompting you to take medical aid three months before you need it.
The Car That Should Have Taken My Family
About a month after we returned from one of our most difficult seasons, my mother-in-law received her replacement vehicle from insurance. Her previous car had been stolen at our house along with what little we had left.
We were rebuilding.
Still fragile.
Still recovering.
I had a wedding that day.
My husband took our son and daughter to my son’s first rugby game. It was meant to be a simple family outing. A sign that life was normalizing.
On their way home, just at the corner by our house, a woman skipped a stop street.
I did not see the collision.
I heard it.
The sound was like a gunshot.
Metal crashing into metal with violent force.
A woman came running toward me.
She was hysterical.
She told me my husband and my two children had just been killed in a car accident.
There are moments when your mind cannot process what it is hearing. Everything slowed down. The world felt distant.
I ran.
When I reached the corner, I saw the car.
It was flattened.
Crushed so tightly that it seemed physically impossible for human bodies to have survived inside.
There was no visible survival space.
I braced myself for devastation.
And then I saw them.
My husband.
My son.
My daughter.
Standing.
Not trapped.
Not bleeding.
Not unconscious.
Standing.
Not a scratch.
No broken bones.
No visible injuries.
They walked out of a wreck that looked unsurvivable.
I cannot explain the mechanics of how that impact spared them.
I can only say this:
God protected them.
When Survival Repeats Itself
At some point, survival stops feeling random.
Severe burns.
Dog attacks.
Violent crime.
Financial collapse.
A 900kg gate.
A car crash that should have been fatal.
If any one of those had ended differently, our story would be over.
Yet here we are.
Walking.
Working.
Laughing.
Hosting weddings.
Climbing stairs.
Not untouched.
But preserved.
Faith When You Are Wary of Sharing
I was hesitant to share this because it sounds extraordinary.
Strange stories invite skepticism.
But silence helps no one.
If someone reading this is walking through their own season of trauma, I want them to know:
You are not abandoned.
Even when circumstances scream chaos.
Even when medical reports are grim.
Even when wreckage looks final.
Even when fear has lived in your home for years.
God delivers from all evil.
Not always by preventing the attack.
But by limiting its power.
What Overcoming Life’s Challenges by Faith Really Looks Like
Overcoming life’s challenges by faith is not denial.
It is not pretending pain does not exist.
It is choosing trust in the middle of very real danger.
It is getting up when doctors say the probability is low.
It is opening your business doors again after public humiliation.
It is sending your child to rugby even after years of trauma.
It is climbing five levels of stairs when your spine is fractured.
Faith is not abstract.
It is movement.
The Aftermath: Gratitude for the Ordinary
After surviving that many close calls, your definition of success changes.
You no longer chase applause.
You cherish:
- The ability to walk without pain
- Children arriving home safely
- The quiet hum of a normal evening
- The privilege of hosting another wedding
- A body that functions
Survival recalibrates your priorities.
Gratitude becomes your baseline.
Final Reflection: Delivered Again and Again
I do not claim perfection.
I do not claim unshakable strength.
There were nights I was afraid.
Moments I questioned.
Days I felt overwhelmed.
But every time destruction approached, it stopped short.
One millimeter short.
One step short.
One heartbeat short.
If I had fallen differently, I would not be here.
If the fracture had shifted slightly, I would not be walking.
If that car had compressed one inch further, my children would not have stepped out of it.
And yet.
We are here.
Overcoming life’s challenges by faith does not mean life becomes easy.
It means you discover that protection can coexist with chaos.
It means you learn that restoration is possible.
It means you understand, deeply and personally, that God delivers from all evil.
And sometimes, deliverance looks like standing beside wreckage without a scratch.
Sometimes it looks like walking up five flights of stairs when you were told you might never walk again.
Sometimes it looks like continuing to build beauty in a world that tried to break you.
And sometimes it is only one millimeter.
But one millimeter is enough.
