This week, our youngest son, Zander, is turning eighteen. A milestone that feels like a story I have been reading for years and suddenly realise is reaching a new chapter.

I drift back to a summer afternoon long ago. The sun lay warm across the garden, and from the swimming pool came the bright, bubbling laughter of my boys. Through the window, I watched Charl lift them onto his shoulders and launch them through the air in perfect arcs. I stood there, smiling, grateful for second chances in love and life.

And yet, in the middle of that happiness, a soft, almost whispered wish formed. Charl was such a good stepfather. May he one day also know the deep, anchoring joy of being a father. Years earlier, on a 4×4 weekend in the mountains, he had said something that now feels almost prophetic. Our boys were still toddlers, chasing dust and sunlight. “Your sons are so adorable,” he said. “If I could one day have boys as sweet as this, I’d love to be a dad.” Neither of us knew how true those words would become.

The little star we longed for

“Man proposes, but God disposes,” Dr Kruger said gently. “We can help you fall pregnant, but the outcome is not in our hands.” On the sonar screen, we watched the embryo being placed back into the womb, a tiny flicker of possibility. To me, it looked like a small shooting star, streaking across a dark sky. I prayed that this little star would bring us light, love, and joy. And God answered that prayer in ways I could never have imagined.

Eighteen years of becoming

Zander grew into a beautiful young man. He is thoughtful, curious, and full of dreams that stretch far beyond the horizon. Looking back at his initial eighteen years, I notice a trail marked by those who moulded him. Individuals God intentionally and gently positioned along his path.

There were the brothers, Jacques and Christo, who awaited his arrival with the excitement only children can hold. They wanted to teach him everything, including sports, technology, how to join in, and how to belong. He is no longer the younger brother who needs direction, but they still include him and convey in their own way: “I’ve got you.”

There were the grandparents, Ouma Martie and Ouma Lenie, who read him stories and brought him joy. And then there was Oupa Frikkie, who asked if he could be Zander’s grandfather. He stepped into that role with wholehearted love: Saturday playdates, birthday parties, small rituals that stitched him into Zander’s life. Even now, across the distance between South Africa and Europe, he remains present. It is a gift to be chosen repeatedly.

The hands that held him

I remember the first morning at Welgemoed Pre-Primary School. Zander stood small and uncertain, a little figure on the edge of a new world. My heart ached as I walked away. Then a blonde girl with violet‑blue eyes approached him, took his hand, and asked if he wanted to be her friend. Abby showed him, in one simple gesture, how easy belonging can be.

George was his neighbour, classmate, and partner in many mischievous adventures. I still think of the time they threw burning crackers into the toilet and blew off a piece of the bottom. One could say their friendship was sometimes… explosive. They baked, built, barbequed and learned together. They made each other’s worlds bigger without even realising it.

When we moved to Switzerland, I worried again. Would he adapt? Would he find his place? After his first day at school, I waited outside, full of questions. His first words were: “Hi Mom, is it okay if my friend and I go to the pool this afternoon?” No drama. No hesitation. There was already a friend and a plan. Nate became one of his most enduring friendships. One that distance and continents could not break.

Over the years, Zander’s world grew larger. Friends from different countries, cultures, and languages became part of his story. A colourful village of parents, teachers, neighbours, and families helped raise him.

And then there were his cousins, Altus and Marga. They are his South African connection, his reminder of home. Altus taught him about hunting, nature, and Afrikaans rap. They visited us in Switzerland. He shared his European world with them, and they shared their South African world with him. Through them, he learned that belonging could stretch across oceans.

A prayer for the road ahead

When your child turns eighteen, you realise the road ahead is suddenly much longer than the road behind. There are so many things one could wish for him — success, health, wisdom, opportunity, and a beautiful future.

But if I could pray for only one thing, it would be that Zander always has good people in his life. People who love him when he shines, but also when he is still figuring himself out. Individuals who enjoy his company in times of ease and stay loyal when difficulties appear. People who maintain his gentle heart, despite a world that often tries to toughen it. Friends with integrity, who speak the truth even when it is difficult. People who draw him closer to God and remind him of what truly matters. I also pray that he himself will be that kind of person for others.

I pray he dares to dream boldly and walk his own path, but never trade his character for success. May he be strong enough to stand on his own when needed, yet humble enough to ask for help, and that he will know when to hold his ground and when to change direction.

And when life moves faster than he expected, when decisions loom, and he feels unsure, I pray he will remember: God still holds him in His hand.

The light we never expected

Eighteen years ago, we didn’t know him. We didn’t know his face, his laugh, his dreams, or the kind of man he would become. We only knew that we longed for him. Then we saw him, only a tiny shooting star on a sonar screen. I prayed, “Lord, let this little star bring us light.”

Today I know God answered that prayer far beyond anything I could have asked. Zander brought light not only to us but also to his brothers, his grandparents, his friends, his teachers, his village, and everyone lucky enough to cross his path.

He was a shooting star then, and he still is.

Regards

Emsia