Five years ago, I was buying bricks and building a house. Not just any house - a house named Glory House. Glory House was a vision from God - a way to live out the purpose He shaped me with. To be Mom of the house in order to strengthen families and build His family… A lot has changed since then! 

“Sorry. We don’t have grown-up plates yet.” A frequently used statement in the Ladd house. 

 We live a fairly grown-up life: Grown-ups come over all the time. We are responsible for two children and two pups. And we are starting a church from the ground up. But if you sit at our table (and I hope you will), you will be served a grown-up meal on a plastic picnic plate. (We’ve also got two sizes of plastic cups and a bunch of plastic bowls.)

Tia and 14-year old Ray visited us last week. There aren’t enough words to put to it - two miracle families finally coming face to face after one pivotal dinner and years of facebook messages. Chris and Lifa had never met Tia, and none of us had met Ray. Lifa was just happy their names were easy to spell for the chalkboard. He had no idea what was coming. 

On Sunday night we sat in our living room with two cooing babies, a toddler with her art supplies, and a couple of couches full of real people. One woman had left her husband that morning after learning that the adulterous relationship from 2013 was still active. Another woman came late because she had a sick child and was caught up in the boughs of an unbearably oppressive home life. Another family is getting ready to welcome baby #3 into the world and has no idea where this baby's car seat or crib will fit into their very compact life.

I wanted to exclusively breastfeed so badly. I wanted a squishy baby, enriched by the supernatural nutrition from my body. The first few weeks were perfect. Normal newborn exhaustion, joy and the generalised sense of “I have no idea what I’m doing!” We nicknamed Benjamin “Big Chunk” because he was gaining so much weight. Then, I started having extreme pain in my breasts during and after feeds. Long-lasting, lightning pain. Personality altering pain. My milk was obstructed due to a cocktail of  stress-induced tension and a hormonal imbalance. The less milk that flowed, the more pain there was. Simultaneously, Benjamin stopped making gains. His weight fell severely under the line, which compounded stress and meant he needed to feed more. Thus, a problematic cycle was born.

We’ve got a lot going on in the Ladd house this week… I’ve created a baby clothes organization system, baked and stockpiled Chris’ favorite granola, and filled our freezer with meals. Nothing to worry about over here - the people will be clothed and fed. My husband has become even more super- cleaning up after dinner, taking Lifa to run errands, and not judging my newly developed waddle. Lifa has discovered he’s a song-writing and puzzle-solving champ during the first week and a half of his school holiday while he tries to curb his anxious waiting. We are waiting and expecting….

We went on our second hospital tour yesterday. During our first hospital tour, we sipped fruit-infused water, and Lifa ate fresh cookies from the hospital chef. I pregnant-cried over the intimacy of care, and Chris dreamt of bringing his parents there to see the baby. Lifa put all his attention into his coloring project, desperately trying not to hear body part words.

All three of us found comfort when we were taken into the labor and delivery rooms. Lifa (who’s visited some very scary hospitals with me in the past) said, “This doesn’t smell like what I thought it would. It looks like a hotel. I’m jealous you and Dad get to stay here!” (I quickly reminded him that I’d be pushing an entire human out of a very small part of my body while his grandparents were spoiling him. Jealousy immediately subsided.)

I woke up to my first South African sunrise exactly nine years ago from today. I was ready for anything on January 15, 2010 – and sure it would be the most fantastical 6 months that my 25 years of life had ever known.

I couldn’t have guessed I’d still be here 9 years later living out an entirely different adventure with a handsome Tennessee husband, a dashing South African 6th grader, and a sweet baby ninja-boy growing inside me. The most fantastical thing I did in South Africa today was learn how to make my own yogurt… which turned out amazingly!

There are so many people trying to figure out who they are going to be in 2019. And then there’s Lifa.

We’ve entered puberty, guys. I’m just going to be real – we’ve got some highly awkward, moody, broody moments in the Ladd house these days. If anything can mess with your sense of identity, it’s those raging adolescent hormones and embarrassing body changes.

I can think of no better way to complete this week of looking back at God’s faithfulness than with a miracle! This story from November 2012 celebrates being a part of one of many food multiplications I’ve been able to watch God do. He is so good, and He never runs short. Remember that this weekend in whatever you find yourself doing!

Almost 5 years ago, I wrote a blog about "What I Didn't Know 4 Years Ago." I can't believe I've almost been in South Africa for 9 years! I still remember the power in writing those words as I reflected over my first 4 years here. If I wrote today about what I didn't know 9 years ago... well, you better be glad you can just read it one short story at a time! Read my story, and then take a minute and look back on where you were 4 years ago. And think about how far God has brought you!

I'm so excited about this week! In my previous story (Learning How To High School), I shared my current battle between reasoning, questioning and just plain remembering what is TRUE by remembering what God has brought us through. I'm celebrating God's faithfulness and welcoming in even more of His goodness this week by reaching back into the archives and posting stories on our website that have never been seen there before! This is one a personal favorite... and it's about CAKE! Please enjoy this story from August 24, 2014.

Did you see our new house!?!

There is one thing I didn’t show you on the tour: our closet.  

First, you should know that closets are almost non-existent in South Africa. If you’re lucky, you get a few built-in cupboards. Chris and I have never been able to fit both of our clothes in our bedroom before now. You can imagine the squeals of delight when we opened this little magic door in our bedroom…

Three and a half years ago, I spent a week as a guest in glorious Cape Town, studying ministry development. I interviewed local leaders and social workers all day, and headed straight for the beach afterward. (Perks of the job – and this city!) I wondered aloud with the friend on the towel next to me why that other American, Chris Ladd, was sending me so many messages. We ate sushi almost every night while dreamt of and diagrammed ministry models….

They ranged in age from 3 months to 79 years. Our Thanksgiving guests came from every walk of life, spoke multiple languages, and one of them is going for his purple belt in karate this weekend. It was everyone’s first time to celebrate my favorite American holiday, and they had all googled “Thanksgiving” before they came to know what to say, bring and expect. They had hilarious expectations from American movie clips, and they came with flowers, chocolate, wine, hugs, double-cheek kisses, a jar of honey, a candle, a ball, and a giant clay pot. South African hospitality is amazing!

Last week, as I was leaving the counseling center to pick my shiny-eyed boy up from school, my world got rocked when I made eye contact with a 3-year old. She was wearing a fluffy, pink jacket. And her eyes were not shiny. The inherent shine that is part of the thread our Creator creates with was gone. Already. Her parents were also threadbare. 

A few nights ago, he actually got too tired to chew. So he just started swallowing his food in big, loud gulps. In effort to keep him awake, I started telling stories about some of our very first dinners together. I talked about what it was like to teach little Lifa how to chew and swallow his food before we even spoke the same language, and how his body was slow and super-ultra-gross in learning how to digest nutrients. Before our dinners, he had mostly lived on flavourless porridge that slid down his throat without requiring chewing and without delivering any nutrition to his swollen little body.

Every Friday night, we go to a market in Hout Bay. It’s the highlight of our week! We look forward to seeing the beach, mountains, every type of person you could imagine, stalls filled with artists and their products, a live band, and the most amazing selection of fresh, cheap dinner options. We go early, draw our weekly cash from an ATM, and find a seat before it gets too crowded.

We do our best during dinner table talk to keep Lifa’s father as the hero every dad deserves to be to his son. We do everything we can to stay in close contact, despite the distance, language and culture gaps. Dads are important.

It may seem outlandish to compare the issues of humanity to a sunset walk on the beach with your husband. But maybe it’s not if we put things into perspective from the proper vantage point.

What if we don’t have to hold the whole world in our hands? What if we just use our hand to hold another?Or if we just give up a sunset for someone else to experience a love beyond what we could create on our own? What if we had fun with someone because they’re worth it?