I thought the morning was going to go one way... and it didn’t. I laughed and took a picture of my set-up in the morning light. (It was still dark outside. The morning light was from the bulb above the stovetop.) I had my communion feast prepared, baby monitor in my robe pocket, coffee brewing and my breast pump cups ready to load up. Today is a special day - already blocked out on the fridge calendar: Mom’s Sabbath Morning. I have realized that the weekends are great times for meeting with people, doing school projects, and walking in the purpose God called us to Cape Town for... not so much for resting and recharging. I was so looking forward to this morning’s Sabbath stillness. 

“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. 

Things feel a little messy over here. And I’m not saying that just because Benjamin pooped on my jeans this morning. 

Rugby games and outreach opportunities are being cancelled because of a rise in gang violence. We’ve had to hire anotherlawyer to the Ladd Family Lawyer Team (ridiculous, I know) to protect us from a reckless landlord. Everyone in the house (except Chris) is breaking out because of hormones. And no one has legal recognition in South Africa (except Chris again). My fingerprints were rejected TWICE by the FBI while I’ve been trying to get paperwork taken care of for our immigration lawyer. 

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.

The expert reveals all: Interviewing Lifa after 3 months of being a big brother

Happy Birthday to the most handsome hero. You’ve made us a family, and you sure do make 36 look good!

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.

Our stories anchor us. They shape our values, and help us find where we fit. 

We need to hear them, know them and practice them. We need the opportunity to write redemption into them where we need it, and sprinkle celebration through our self-images. 

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….

The Ladd house typically runs like a well-oiled machine. There are colour-coded calendars, two-week study projections, and weekly meal plans with dinner ingredients stored in the “Do Not Touch” drawer of the refrigerator. We’ve found our family’s flow by implementing routine, order and life-giving family dinners in the midst of a nation filled with unexpecteds….

This weekend, I had the most beautiful, wonderful, lovely baby shower! My darling friend, Kelly asked me months ago if she could host it for me. Even then, it took my breath away. Somewhere in a subconscious vector of my mind, I had written in some self-protecting mechanisms. I’d created disclaimers for myself and others to minimise expectations and disappointments.

I initially felt disappointed when there were not enough participants for the Personal Growth Course I was scheduled to teach it at [Arise Family Centre](https://arisefamily.org). Only two ladies showed up for the first scheduled class last week, so instead of using notebooks, whiteboards and therapeutic techniques, we pulled up chairs and chatted.

I knew one lady well. I spent a good amount of time with Granny V before.

It’s one-jillion degrees in Cape Town today, and humidity is on the rise. (Hallelujah! Rain is on the way!!!) As I write this, I’m still in my gym clothes and sitting crossed-legged in a camp chair at Lifa’s rugby practice. I’ve kicked off my shoes in effort to cool down and am set up to spend the next hour writing you story from Arise’s family center. But a one-liner from the rugby field just threw me off course.

I was trembling with the possibility. This was it. Resolution was at hand. Urgently. We spent an hour in the board room, reviewing the court appeal and asking questions. Lifa tried to look convincing “studying” next to me - but was actually gaping at our larger-than-life lawyer with his fast flowing  legal jargon. I initialed every single page of the appeal in a room stacked high with folders and appeals, and we were sent on our way to wait. Urgently waiting. 

It was not what I expected. 

We are the Ladd Family. We sold everything and moved to Africa to serve people. We leap over tall buildings and save people all.day.long. THE WORLD recently wrote us a letter and said, “Thank you for changing me.” None of that is true.

Most days, we do a lot of what you do. Only it takes us a lot longer. Like a trip to the grocery store… you don’t even know. 

Miracles display the glory of God. I want in on that. This post is more of an invitation than a story. I’d like to invite you to send your miracle-request and know I’m going to write it down. I will stand for your miracle with you. On the days you just can’t pray for it, you’ll know it’s covered. I’ll guard it with the sanctity it deserves and not share it with others. And I’ll celebrate every heaven-opening victory with you as you share it with me. I can’t wait!!!

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.)

There have been moments when I thought the 2-year visa journey was going to break me, and now I find encouragement and a little steady reminder from God. “The timing is perfect. We had to get you to right here, Kacy, to see the fulfillment. You wouldn’t know me so well if you hadn’t needed me so much. I wouldn’t have so much of your heart and you wouldn’t have given me so much of the soles of your feet”.

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!