Lately, I feel like I’ve exhausted my own exhaustion. I am preparing to travel overseas with young children, organizing documents in two continents for visa applications, and handing over responsibilities in our very new church. My brain and body are desperately looking for signs of the “finish line”… maybe when the to-do’s are done, when we make it to the airport, get off the last plane, or finally submit that visa application. It’s like I’m a dehydrated runner, looking for the water station in a marathon.day

My mom, Wyatt, Benjamin and I land in America in one week. I’m sweating (record-breaking heatwave) and scrambling to tick all the boxes for our visa application submission in America. We had a medical clearance appointment with our pediatrician, Dr. Sinclair, this week. Another requirement fulfilled, but it was more. I told my mom, “God has put the most extraordinary people around us here.”

I’ve been far from “home” so long that this is home and nowhere is home. But we are not on our own.

I’m resharing a post from last year as I prepare to take my first trip back to the USA in over 10 years. My two youngest sons will come along for their first time in America!

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My neurodivergent six-year old is into creating nonsensical trivia. A recent car ride went something like this...

Him: "What color is an oval?"

Me: "Green."

Him: "NO! PINK! How many bricks are in a wall?"

Me: "Probably 96."

Him: "You were SO CLOSE. But sorry, it's 89."

The Details:

My Mom, Benjamin, Wyatt and I will travel from Cape Town International Airport to Atlanta on March 16th. My mom will get us through a six-hour layover and continue to her home in San Diego. The little boys and I fly to Knoxville, TN to stay with Chris’ parents.

We have passport renewal appointments in Knoxville on March 25th and…

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. She’s the best Gosa there ever was. I am so thankful for a mom who loves deep, far and wide. She’s here in Cape Town with us for two weeks, and then the little guys and I are flying back to America with her!

This is day one in Cape Town.

Please join us on Sunday at 9am @ Vista Nova High Pinelands. We’re not a weird church. We don’t use “churchy” words, and we come from every age, stage, ethnicity and ability.

We put on name tags so we don’t feel awkward when we forget someone’s name right after they’ve introduced themselves. And we gather for good coffee, encouraging teaching, and a place for the kids to learn about Jesus in a way that’s relevant to them.

I publicly lamented in last week’s call to worship. I disclosed (what feels like) longsuffering with our family’s visas and ability to travel. I was astounded by the feedback - a good indicator I’d lost hope. So many were praying, encouraging, and holding up my arms when I was too tired to do it myself. (Read Exodus 17:11-13.)

That same day… The same day you responded, prayed, and hoped when I could not… Everything changed. Our immigraion lawyer responded with two clear options:

I sent an overwhelmed email to our immigration lawyer this week. We’ve lived a decade of life and produced a new generation since we’ve visited our family in America - mostly because of government documentation issues. My email felt like an SOS signal… “Have we been forgotten?” “Are we stuck not belonging anywhere forever?”

Not everyone struggles with visa stamps in their passports, but we’ve all some form of SOS from our wildernesses. God’s people were exilec for many years - their history, homes, families and place of worship were ruthlessly destroyed. They cried SOS too. “Zion says, ‘The Lord has abandoned me: The Lord has forgotten me!” (Isaiah 49:14)

This picture was taken 11 years + 1 day ago. Valentine’s Day 2015.

We’d never been closer to each other than a side-hug before we took this picture. We had JUST sort of decided to start dating and sort of betrothed ourselves. (There’s a whole story there.) The missions base I was living on was hosting a Valentine’s dinner. I decided to make things as awkward as possible by inviting Chris to the cheesey, over the top celebration. To my delight and Chris’ horror, we realized we were matching when he arrived for the dinner. I could have changed. Instead…

Benjamin woke up at 5am vibrating with excitement about celebrating Valentine’s Day. We have never, not once, done a “thing” for Valentine’s Day. Needless to say, I felt wildly unprepared. I do, however, keep an emergency stash of treasures hidden away. I dug deep and found these two hand-me-downs given to us months ago. Valentine monkeys!

Friends and family of the Ladds, I’d like to introduce you to Johnny Ladd (Benjamin’s) and Johnny Firetruck Rainbow (Wyatt’s). I have already duct-taped Johnny’s leg on, but all monkeys and boys are living their best Valentine’s lives. 🐵🚒🌈

Several years ago, I spent an afternoon with a pastor's wife who was far ahead of me in experience and wisdom. She casually shared, "I've decided I'm never going to eat candy again." It totally blew my mind, and I don't even like candy. I'd never heard someone, just another normal person like me, pre-decide for freedom like that. I don't think she was in bondage to M&M's, but this woman had goals for her future. She could taste and see that the smallest measure of freedom had a lot more to offer than the finest confection.

Has someone ever tried to encourage you in a hard time with a well-meaning, "God won't give you more than you can handle"? The motives are pure, but the theology doesn't line up.

Wednesday was more than my family could handle this week.

I send the Friday Call to Worship out via WhatsApp every Friday morning at 6am. This self-inflicted deadline has nothing to do with the receivers, but it's part of a deal - a holy handshake of sorts. The deal: "God, I'll show up because I know you will." I'm not trying to manipulate God with time-bound transactions. It's more of a "dealing with myself" deal. I cannot write until He deposits something in me - often a subtle, internal stirring during the week's events, Scripture, song, or phrase.

This is a rare week when I've shown up to my keyboard at 4:30am on Friday morning with a blank screen before me.

The little guys and I had a Saturday morning splurge: a trip to the blueberry farm! Despite the summer heat in a greenroom, it was easily one of the most special mornings we've had in a long time. It felt like a gift from God. Jam was able to stay fully present, fully himself. He reached for his brother's hand during the tractor ride and found peace in the unhurried pace of plucking blueberries from the bush. My favorite part was…

I had an encounter with my pride this week.

I was born with a fierce stubbornness that's helped me jump in, without looking back, to what God has called me to. I drove a U-haul from my small hometown in Texas on my 22nd birthday. I moved to Los Angeles to start work and seminary in a city where I didn't know a soul. I moved to Africa on my own at 25 and became a mom. Somehow though... Even though I've lived on donations for 16 years...

I asked my three-year old son, Wyatt, what I should write the call to worship about. He replied without hesitation, "You should write about everything because I just love my family so much."

Context makes that statement so profound. We've just finished a long, hard school holiday. Our six-year old son, Benjamin, struggled at the edge of autistic burnout. There were few peaceful moments and many meltdowns. Little Wyatt adores his brothers and has a special connection to Benjamin. We've watched Wyatt's love for Benjamin grow exponentially in the last months, even while Benjamin lashed out against him and dominated the attention of the household.

There was just one unexpected guest during my personal retreat… a baboon! He silently came in through a second floor window with stealth and determination. Before I could register what was happening, my house guest helped himself to the candy in the candy dish and flung open the freezer and fridge doors like one of my own offspring! I, the ever-calm, cool and collected one, screamed like a crazy lady and threw a pillow at the freezer door...

just went away - all by myself for three nights. Yesterday, the day I returned home, marked 16 years since I left America for South Africa. This time away, a gift from a friend who met me use her holiday home and my husband who handled EVERYTHING in my absence. It was silent, peace-filled, restorative, and an unspeakable blessing. I reflected on the last 16 years, the goodness of God, and I read and read and read and read. I slept, and I read. And then I did it some more. I am so thankful!

It's 2026! Some are working out new year's resolutions, while others are still shaking the dust off of 2025. I tuned in (a week late, as usual) to a raw WhatsApp conversation about the new year in my neurodivergent parent support group. Weary parents disclosed visceral reactions to the social standard of dreaming big for the year ahead or even celebrating it as they stagger across the finish line of 2025. They found solace in relatable stories and sentiments, and then resolved together to take one day at a time. I was too late to join the conversation, but I related deeply as I read it.

These three brothers. They are God’s gift to me and to each other. Sure, there are less stable moments than unstable, and they could not be more different… but God designed Lifa, Benjamin and Wyatt each with a very special capacity for brotherly love. I pray they will be lifelong friends, always calling out the best in each other, and continually overcoming every obstacle with their unity.