Hello Dude Perfect!

I'm sending a SEEMINGLY unimpressive "Trick Shot" video you inspired for two reasons:

1. I made a promise to a 7-year old.

2. I'm wiling to bet even my small testimony matters.

I've been praying specifically for "the joy of the Lord" for our family this week. Our autistic son is in a kind of burnout I never knew a child could experience. He is home with me full time and has almost no ability to access to himself, relationships, or any measure of delight. Paradoxically, our household feels like we're walking on eggshells AND our legs have been cut off at the knees.

Since interceding for joy, the meltdowns and heartbreaking moments still happen... But joy entered too. Joy that felt foreign. Joy that didn't match, didn't fit, and didn't "fix"anything either. Honestly, it gave me false hope at first. Maybe this would end soon. Maybe the intensity would let up a little. But that's not it.

The joy of the Lord isn't the absence of hardship. It's the nearness of Christ.

We were washed with wonder and welcomed with dignity today at Wonderdal World . Jam and I had the “Edutainment Centre” to ourselves… well, us and an entire staff.

We’re in a parched and painful season right now with Benjamin’s nervous system disability. He’s at home with me full time, and his smiles are few and far between. The whole family is taking strain.

I’ve been a self-taught weightlifter for ten years. I purchased a secondhand set of adjustable dumbbells a few years ago when caring for a very young child and one with extra needs made it harder to get to the gym. Those dumbbells finally broke beyond repair last year, so I joined an Olympic weightlifting gym. I had never learned the Olympic lifts but quickly fell in love with the sport. I decided to go all in and even got a pair of lifting shoes for Christmas. I could feel strength building in my entire body and see the evidence of muscle definition. Gaining strength has always been a way for me to honor God with the body He’s entrusted me with.

I was excited to get back to the gym after our recent trip to America. My son with a nervous system disability has gone into a state of burnout, however, and I am currently his 24 hour co-regulator.

My son’s nervous system disability is preventing him from participating in typical 7-year old things right now. Even the most basic parts of daily life are too taxing right now.

I sent our hairstylist an SOS message this week, promising to comb out the matted mess on the back of his head before we came for a “no grooming required” cut. She gave me a speedy trim while my son warmed up to the environment with headphones on

One week ago, I was boarding the last flight home from our two-month USA trip. I enlisted USA’s Transport Security Administration’s (TSA) support service for each flight because my autistic son struggled tremendously in transit. “TSA Cares” provides a Passenger Support Specialist to get you through security and to your gate.

Our last flight departed from “the world’s busiest airport”. I had been warned repeatedly that support was dependent on availability, and they were “very understaffed”.

I called her… actually I think I just texted her… at the end of February and told her I had to come to America with the kids. She didn’t skip a beat. She just asked when she should fly in to help. She’s been ALL over the place with us over the last two months, sacrificing more than even I can understand. And she’s really seen the underbelly of special needs parenting.

But she’s never stopped being my mom first. In our worst of times on this trip, when I need the most help, the kids won’t let anyone but me near. So my mom stands back, quietly, longingly, and watches over ME. She gives her whole self, even when she feels stuck on the sidelines.

My youngest sons and I are traveling through America. The boys have loved meeting family and learning their heritage. My 7-year old son has complex special needs, and the travel has been overwhelmingly difficult for him. We have canceled flights, changed plans, and seen less people than we’d like to accommodate.

Last week, we took a long flight from Houston to Los Angeles to submit South African visa applications. The airport, flight, LA traffic, hotel stay, and waiting in a big office was more than my son could handle. My mom was with us, and we’d planned on staying with her from that point. But her home was three hours away. My son just couldn’t. We sat on the floor of a train station in LA, completely exasperated…

If you ever find yourself sitting on a train station floor, paralyzed by your child’s disability and inability to do the next thing…

Or mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted from multi-tasking rapid decision making, the admin of living abroad, and managing meltdowns on a very small amount of sleep…

Have a party. Whatever kind of party you need it to be. Just make sure you call it a party.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

Our beloved van might have had its last adventure, and we’re back to being a one-car family for now. We’re still in the thick of a long, hot summer holiday. The people (specifically, me) are going crazy.

But here’s the cool thing... We’ve unintentionally written some default codes into our family system for a time such as this…

There is no one on earth like Lifa.

We are traversing some of our hardest days with Benjamin right now. I’ve found the end of myself, and my tank feels empty. And then Lifa jumps in the van for a trip to the park. He sits under a tree and plays ninja turtles. He makes heavy times lighter just by being there. He embodies family in the way family was meant to be - the sticks with you, rain or shine, goes along for the ride kind of family….

The South African school year just ended, but it ended extra early for my differently-wired son. His sparkle has been losing its luster since the middle of this year. School breaks, weekends, and our family's accommodations brought no relief or restoration. He loves his school, family, soccer team, and the church community growing around him more than you've ever seen a six-year old love. But even good old-fashioned childlike zeal costs him much…