We met 20 years ago. I had just turned 22 and moved to LA by myself to start a graduate program at Fuller Seminary. It is a WILD understatement to say this small-town girl had no idea what she had gotten herself into.

I moved into an apartment on campus with two perfect strangers. We slid notes under the doors of the other women on our floor, inviting them over for ice cream. That was the unexpected beginning of the most authentic friendships I've ever had…

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”.

We are HOME! I don’t think it’s ever felt so good to be home. Eight weeks of international travel. Over 30 hours to get home on the last leg. We did it! The boys did great! Happy brothers!

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.

What we were up to last week. (And why I was so quiet in communication!)

The video says it all…

I didn’t know how I could see a lifetime of people I loved while my feet were so briefly on American soil. I was in my hometown, but my kids’ needs trumped my desires for connection, reunion and alllllll the things. A few very dear friends and my cousins helped me put together a dream God put in my heart when I began planning this trip. It only took a few text messages in transit. They orchestrated the details, created an invitation, and made the snacks. People from every chapter of my story gathered in one room, in the church that taught me about the Church, for a couple of sacred hours.

It was too short. It was just right. It was everything

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!

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.

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…

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.

We got an opportunity to show some love to a women’s shelter in Athlone called Carehaven. A building that was last painted over 20 years ago finally gets a face lift. We’re going back in the new year to finish the bars the other side of the facility.