Yesterday was a “get through it” day. The needs of my 7-year old autistic son, Benjamin, trumped the plans and preferences of everyone else. On those kind of days, I choke back parenting principles to let safety and regulation be the priority.

Wyatt, his 4-year old brother, tried to process the long, hard day at bedtime. With tears streaming on his pillow, he said he didn’t want his brother to have hard days. Wyatt confessed he had disobeyed because his brother was disobeying, and he wanted to have the same kind of day as his brother. Wyatt loves his brother fiercely. He does everything he can to stay in close proximity “to make sure he’s ok” and puts Benjamin’s needs above his own.

My youngest sons and I are one month into our USA trip, with at least one month to go while paperwork clears. We’re currently in my hometown, staying with a woman who’s like a second mom to me. My mom drove 24 hours from the west coast to be here in Texas with us.

Right now, my boys and I are struggling with allergies and bad coughs. My autistic son’s autoimmune condition is activated, making regulation impossible. There’s a whole lot of coughing, crying, and “body alarms going off”. Still, the admin has to get done. Passports, social security cards, drivers license renewals… lots of uncomfortable government waiting rooms.

I’m writing this 10,000 feet above ground, from an airplane somewhere between Tennessee and Texas. My youngest sons and I have been away from “home” for almost four weeks to renew necessary documents for life abroad.

When we arrived a few weeks ago, the twangy accents caught me off guard. My kids are being raised in a country with 12 national languages, so they just assumed people were speaking other languages!

Have you ever wondered why it’s called “Good Friday”?

Today we remember the Son of Man, the Word made flesh, crucified on the cross. (John 1:14) He left heaven for earth to walk with us and talk with us. On Thursday, Jesus was betrayed. On “Good Friday”, He was “pierced for our transgressions” and “crushed for our iniquities”. (Isaiah 53:5) The crowd cursed Jesus while He prayed for their forgiveness. For our forgiveness. (Luke 22:34) Nothing could have seemed good on that Friday.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, "The cross is not the terrible end to an otherwise godfearing and happy life, but it meets us at the beginning of our communion with Christ.”

I’ve been a little more quiet here the last couple of days because life has been very loud. Yesterday was the hardest day we’ve ever had with Benjamin - hard on everyone. It was one of those nights you go to bed begging God to override memories and cover the rest with grace. Especially for the little ones...

Last week, my youngest sons, mom and I flew from Cape Town to Atlanta. We had no idea how my autistic son would handle the long trip. The kids didn’t sleep, but we stumbled through Atlanta’s airport with joy. One last security gate to go before a deep breath and a six hour layover.

That security line was like a scene from a horror movie. Hoards of Spring Breakers flights had been cancelled at the same time as a partial government shutdown. We walked into a huge room of at least 1,000 people, almost no employees, and immeasurable chaos. People were screaming, pushing, shoving - tired travelers and unpaid employees alike. By this time, we were in a medical emergency. My son was not coping well. Disgruntled employees said no one would help me.

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…