Saturday was Mandela Day - a global call to action that celebrates the idea that each individual has the power to transform the world, the ability to make an impact. As you can imagine for us here in South Africa, Mandela Day is a BIG DEAL! Nelson Mandela fought for social justice for 67 years, so we celebrate his birthday on July 18th each year by spending 67 minutes to serve others.

I shared a parenting revelation at dinner last night. My husband’s response was, “I could have told you that.” It’s true, but we cannot all be as wise as Chris Ladd. This mere mortal needed to experience it to really get it.

We live here! We know those storms! We just went 24 hours without electricity last week because of them! A quick google search on this revealed that the actual Portuguese translation for the “Cape of Storms” could also be read “Cape of Torment”. The very same cape as the Cape of Good Hope. You could say it depends on the day, the wind, the weather. Or it could be the perspective and experience you bring. But you know what else... it could just be what you decide to call it.

Currently, I’m listening to:

One neighbor’s perpetual weed-eater,

Another neighbor’s toddlers on bikes in front of our house,

My husband’s booming Tennessee accent on a phone meeting,

Benjamin announcing the end of nap time from his crib,

The video I just made for Help Club playing in the background,

And a kettle boiling for my 89th pot of coffee.

I have no idea where this will go, how this will grow, but the vision I see is big, beautiful and transformative for generations to come. If you’ve got a bit of time, watch this week’s Thankful Thursday video and pray for moms in South Africa to be reached. If you don’t, pray for us on the go! We love you lots!!

I didn’t know what to do with a newborn. I needed my mom. Lifa needed his mom. My body and my husband’s mental health were shutting down. I desperately sought refuge in God’s Word through the YouVersion Bible app - the easiest thing to hold onto while caring for a baby. I found incredible encouragement through a plan by the Help Club for Moms there and decided to do a little research on their website.

Suddenly, there was help! There were moms! There was hope! I didn’t know how much moms needed moms and people needed hope until I ran out - until I was stuck half a world away from my mom and didn’t know how to be the mom to the kids living at my house.

Wet bicycle tires. Cycling with dogs on a leash. Oncoming car. Moment of panic. Squeezes front brakes by mistake.... Lifa went flying. Poor Lifa took a big, hard hit yesterday when he flew over his bicycle handlebars and fractured BOTH elbows.

Cape Town, you are a beautiful city. We cannot wait to bask in the sunshine on your beaches, breathe in your fresh mountain air, wave at your flamingos, and, most of all, watch your lovely people come out and live fully and freely in the city we all adore. Keep well, Cape Town. We can’t wait to play with you again!

My NaNa tells me that, when people used to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would respond with 4-years of unbridled confidence, “Whatever I’ll be, I’ll be.” I like to think that was wisdom beyond my years, but it was really just raw stubbornness that still has yet to be refined.

I have a vision. My eyes don’t see it, but my heart does. So I set the table by heart instead of sight. 

On Tuesdays, I pack a bin full of anything pretty I can find in my house. Tablecloths from the linen closet. The vase of flowers from the kitchen. The candles from the bathrooms. The colorful candy dishes. The frames and decor scattered around the house. And the fruit bowl. 

I love Thursday mornings. I buy beautiful flowers, roll out a tablecloth, and spread out scrumptious snacks, tea and coffee. I sprinkle board books, blocks, and baby blankets throughout the living room. At 10am, our house fills with moms and babes for Cape Town’s first ever Help Club for Moms. 

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.)

It was Thursday night. We were PACKED and completely impressed with ourselves. Chris had already put the roof rack on his SUV, packed tools, supplies and all things manly. I had prepared and frozen 9 days worth of meals, plus ziplocked loads of homemade granola bars and snacks. The Ladd family was going camping!

Thank you for your prayers, comments and encouragement from the story I wrote about crying on my closet floor. Since then, we’ve celebrated 3 years of beautiful marriage, hosted a wonderful bunch of people for my 34th birthday, and Lifa got his first bloody nose at a rugby practice. He felt like he had finally become a man.

He shaved slashed lines through his eyebrows

He never wears the actual school uniform.

He comes into a room, and the room responds.

I could go on and on describing the big, tough, intimidating presence in the inner-city class I’m teaching. And then I’d watch your face change when I told you he is only 13.  The last five weeks has been quite a journey with Arise Cape Town. I’ve been going into a high school into an impoverished, gang-/drug-infested area of town to work with 8th and 9th grade boys who’ve been identified as “needing an intervention” for their anger problems.

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….