Echo Valley
Last year, we spent Father’s Day weekend tucked into a frost-covered tent under a blanket of South African stars. Our first six months in Cape Town had been challenging. Our souls needed the refuge of wide-open spaces. We drove three hours outside the city, hoping and praying that the campsite Chris found through a very extensive online search would be that refuge. We had reserved a campsite called Echo Valley, nestled perfectly inside of a mountain hug and at least one mile away from anyone else on the private nature reserve, Gecko Rock.
Echo Valley - there's our perfect little campsite!
We didn’t know how it would go on that first, freezing night. Lifa was colder than he had ever been in his life and immediately dropped his brand new glove into the campfire. But, y’all… it was amazing. The quiet peacefulness disintegrated our stress faster than the fire consumed Lifa’s glove. The songs that had always poured out of Lifa’s heart came back. That tripped marked the most epic, life-giving time together our family had ever known.
We tried to return to Echo Valley last year in October for the weeklong school holiday, but it was booked. (Noteworthy side note: We always pronounce “Echo Valley” as though we are uttering the most super superhero’s name.) So we immediately made a reservation for the five-day weekend in April. We had no idea then how much we would need that refuge.
Three weeks after we lost our pregnancy and gave heaven a free one, we didn’t know if we had it in us physically and emotionally to pack up and get ourselves out of town. We longed for our starlit sanctuary, so we loaded up and headed back to our Echo Valley anyway.
When we pulled in, it felt like coming home. We wanted to recreate the peacefulness we found there, so we started by recreating the first picture we took!
Gecko Rock - June 2017
Gecko Rock - April 2018
With no one watching and not a care in the world, Lifa unfolded into the fullness of his fabulous, 10-year old self. Chris and I slept harder and deeper than we ever have on that first night away. On our first morning, Chris kept a fire going until almost noon while we all soaked up God’s goodness in our own ways.
On the second day, we told Lifa about the pregnancy and miscarriage. He has a journal full of prayers that I would get pregnant by the end of April and have twins, so we knew this would be hard on him too. We wrapped our arms around Lifa while God wrapped His big mountain hug around our family. Lifa grieved in Echo Valley’s majesty. Although he faced turmoil, the mountains and the pre-decided family joy rang louder.
We somehow became stronger in our loss. That place became more restful in our weariness.
I left Echo Valley feeling more restored and thankful than I ever have. Can you believe that? If you read my last story, you know that I was not miraculously healed, nor did I graduate through the stages of grief.
The journey is slow and messy when we have to face things we never would have planned, but I’m beginning to believe there’s a lot we can pre-decide by filling our lives with the sounds we want to hear when the usual life sounds suddenly stop.
Scripture ricocheted through my mind when I ran out of prayers. I will never stop reading through the Bible yearly because of that.
Peace bounced off the mountains and back into Echo Valley when my emotions finally exhausted themselves. I only had to remember what I had already experienced in that place before. It was our pre-determined refuge.
Monday was the day we were supposed to hear the baby’s heartbeat. Instead, we had a Ladd family record of a 15-hour fire. My tears flowed all day, and my husband lovingly kept the soothing sounds flickering from our fireplace. Our rental house has become a home of healing and comfort in the process. I immediately feel blessed when I walk into our living room.
Every single time we get in the car, we all say three things we’re thankful for. Every single diner, we each share our high and low of the day. We train our hearts for gratitude at all times and learn our mountaintop and valley moments matter daily. When tragedy strikes, those silly routines feel like soul-rescuing rhythms.
When loss creates caverns within us, the sounds we’ve already put inside ourselves will echo. What sounds will you hear? What melodies do you want to play through your family?
Today we each have an opportunity to begin stockpiling the sounds we want to resound through our families – to build a legacy before we need it. It’s amazing that a joyful noise can echo from a broken heart!