In conversation with Gert Nauta
A life of faith, love, and courage
“Don’t overthink it—just do it”
After a half-hour drive, we arrive in Hoofddorp, where Gert and Diny Nauta live in a neighborhood on the outskirts of town. Their beautiful home features a cozy living room that overlooks a nature reserve. Cows, sheep, ducks, and geese—you won’t find much more wildlife there. A lovely view from the backyard, but I didn’t come for the view. I’m here for a conversation with Gert: a fascinating man with a life story that touches the heart.
Thirty years in Hoofddorp, but not without pain
Gert and Diny have lived in this neighborhood for thirty years, but that was never really the plan. They used to live in the middle of the polder, in a ribbon development—nice and spacious and free. Five children and plenty of room all around. But Schiphol had other plans; the family had to move to make way for the construction of the fifth runway.
“That broke my heart,” Gert admits honestly. Diny shakes her head. She never really liked it there. Taking the kids to school, running errands, getting everything done; in the polder, that was always such a hassle. Once they’d settled in Hoofddorp, Gert had to admit it himself: “We should have done this ten years earlier.” That’s how things turn out.
Five children, a difficult time
Gert and Diny have five children. “Not one too many and not one too few,” says Gert with a smile. Four girls and one son. They started with two daughters, but then there was a nine-year gap. After her first births, Diny struggled with postpartum depression and recovered only slowly. After those nine years, number three arrived—in Diny’s eyes, a late bloomer, because she herself had been one. When Gert saw how well she was doing this time, he got excited. “I said: I’m fine with it, let’s go for a fourth.” What followed were twins.
In those years, Gert was the sole breadwinner. He worked in steel construction. He started at a small blacksmith’s shop in the village making stair gates and garden fences, and ended up working on power plants and soccer stadiums. From the bottom rung of the ladder, he climbed almost all the way to the top. “I’ve done just about everything,” he laughs. “Except for Feyenoord—they weren’t interested in building anything.”
From Reformed to Evangelical
Gert grew up in Vijfhuizen, a small village where the Reformed and Evangelical churches stood literally on opposite sides of the street. He was Reformed; Diny was Evangelical. Back then, there was quite a bit of friction between the churches, even on the school boards. Gert still remembers pointing to the Reformed church as a little boy and asking, “Mom, they don’t believe in the Lord God there, do they?” That’s how it was talked about at home.
Until, around the age of 35, they both hit a wall. In 1988, they came to faith—not “boom, just like that,” but through a process. It began at the Betteld, an evangelical campground in Doetinchem. They had ended up there by chance, without really knowing what to expect. They arrived on Monday—they weren’t welcome on Sunday because of the Sabbath rest—and were immersed in a world of Bible studies and deepening faith.
The breakthrough came during a Bible study on Ruth and Boaz. The speaker concluded with the words: “Make sure you’re in Boaz’s field. Because if you’re not getting food on the land where you are, then you’re on the wrong land.” Gert and Diny looked at each other: this was about them. They drove home almost jubilantly.
“In the Reformed Church, we came to know God. With the Baptists, we came to know Jesus. And in the Living Gospel Church, we came to know the work of the Holy Spirit.” A three-stage rocket, I call it. Gert laughs: “Yes, but you can’t just cut that with a pair of scissors.”
A heart for others
Life also had its medical low points. At age 24, he developed a herniated disc, right in the midst of raising a young family and a demanding job. “I thought my world was falling apart,” says Gert. “But I didn’t know the Lord then the way I do now.” After a year, he was free of it and has never had any trouble with it since.
Ten years ago, his heart began to falter due to an abnormally low heart rate. The solution was a pacemaker, which has been doing its job for ten years now. “Let’s keep it that way,” he says dryly. How did that feel, lying there on the operating table? Gert pauses to think. “You’re forced to face the facts. This could have been the end, or we’re going to keep going for a while.” Was he ready for it? “Actually, for both options. I’ve never been afraid of dying. I’m attached to life, but I know it’s finite. Just not when.” The hardest part, he says, is the realization that your wife will have to carry on alone.
Available, willing, and reachable
At a conference, speaker Jan Pit made an appeal: who is available, willing, and reachable to work for the Lord? Gert began shifting restlessly in his seat. Just then, Diny whispered to him that she was pregnant with twins. Jan Pit seemed to almost hear it and said, “Now don’t go thinking: what about the children?” Gert stood up. Diny followed.
Shortly afterward, they saw an ad: De Hoop in Dordrecht was looking for someone to teach young people the metalworking trade. It was the perfect fit for him, but he was rejected. A year later, he was approached again—and rejected again. During that same period, they met Frans, a man struggling with addiction whom they mentored for years. Later, Frans’s sister said: “You didn’t have to go to De Hoop. The Lord just wanted to know if you were available. And you were.”
Softer-spoken, but straightforward
In his work, Gert was used to holding his own amid the rough language on the construction site. When he walked into the site office, the men knew there would be no swearing. “They knew exactly what to expect from me.” In church, things sometimes work differently; there, more tact is needed. And he sometimes finds that difficult.
“I’m not always verbally strong enough to engage in a discussion in the congregation in a ‘Christian’ way. Then I fall back on construction worker language, and that backfires. Then I know I’m better off keeping my mouth shut.” Diny adds: “He means so well, but it sometimes comes out a bit bluntly.”
Still, Gert has softened. He’s become more approachable and more emotional, too. “On the one hand, that’s enriching,” he says, “on the other hand, it sometimes gets so intense that I can’t find the words.” He laughs shyly. He comes from a man’s world where ‘crying’ wasn’t part of the deal, but he acknowledges the change. The Holy Spirit has done His work.
To Ukraine, without hesitation
And then the most surprising chapter. One Saturday morning, Gert ran into a fellow church member, Hans, who was collecting relief supplies for Ukraine. Over coffee, Gert asked when Hans was going again. “Next weekend,” Hans said. “And who’s going with you?” Hans hesitated, but Gert said immediately: “I’m going with you.” No doubt.
“I just had to tell Diny,” he adds dryly. Diny: “He came home that Saturday and I could tell right away. He told me he’d promised Hans he’d go. I was actually okay with it right away. This was the right thing to do.” The children had a harder time with it. Before he left, their children came to pray. “We’re letting Dad go, but we don’t know if we’ll see him again.”
Five kilometers from the front
They’ve been there several times now, each time with a truck full of tools, medical supplies, and food. The first time took them to Kherson, near the Dnieper River—the dividing line between the armies. They saw tanks shot to pieces, destroyed houses, and trenches.
“In the distance, we heard the explosions,” Gert says calmly. “Our escort wouldn’t let us go any further; it was too dangerous. We had an hour to unload and then had to leave immediately.” They were just four or five kilometers from the front. On a later trip, they drove fifty kilometers under anti-drone nets. Gert: “That’s when I thought: now we’re really in a place where things could go wrong.” Once, they were sent straight to a spot under the trees upon arrival; an hour and a half earlier, drones had been hovering over the parking lot. As a white convoy, you’re a sitting duck.
Sad
What touches him most are the stories. Like the grandfather who told how a rocket destroyed his house and his granddaughter lost her leg. Two years later, Gert saw the girl playing in the garden with a prosthesis. “You’re a grandfather yourself,” I say. “That makes it hit really close to home.” Gert nods, but says nothing. He doesn’t need to.
Or the story of the man whose two sons are fighting on opposite sides of the front lines. Brother against brother. That’s how painfully intertwined the ties are in eastern Ukraine.
Back in the Netherlands
After every trip, Gert needs a few days to settle back in. No grand stories at the dinner table, just a moment of rest first. Only then does the conversation begin. “When people at church ask how it was, I do tell them a bit,” he says. “But you can’t convey that feeling if you haven’t been there yourself.”
He thinks back to his first trip to Romania, thirty years ago. After weeks in Roma neighborhoods where people had absolutely nothing, he walked into a supermarket in the Netherlands. The first thing he saw were shelves stretching for meters with dog and cat food. “That was a huge shock. You get used to it, but it never becomes normal again.”
A father figure in the congregation
When asked if he fulfills a fatherly role in the congregation, he responds modestly. He thinks of the young people he sees, sometimes struggling with life. “What can I do for them? How do I approach them?” He looks at his own grandchildren; they know they can always turn to Grandpa. He doesn’t know if he always finds the right words. “But if I run into something, I don’t shy away from it. I do my best.” And sometimes, we agree, a hug is enough.
A richly blessed life
At the end of our conversation, I ask if he would do it all over again. He doesn’t have to think long. “I don’t think I would have made any different choices. We’ve been richly blessed. Of course, we’ve been through our share of trials, but we can look back with gratitude.”
Getting to know God among the Reformed, Jesus among the Baptists, and the Holy Spirit in the evangelical church. Not planned, but that’s how it turned out. And that spontaneity with which he said, “I’ll go with you, Hans”—that is perhaps the most beautiful proof of how the Spirit works. Don’t overthink it, just do it.
“Absolutely,” says Gert. And then, with a broad smile: “Hallelujah.”
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