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…

Benjamin didn’t want to go to his rugby training today. He’s faced waves of anxiety about the sport he loves so much since he saw his brother get carried off the field on a stretcher. Lifa is on the mend, but Benjamin still felt scared today. But we got there. We showed up without expectation.
And GRIT came out of that kid! …

In our current season of life, we don’t go to OT. We go to fields. We bring balls and brothers. It’s everything. (Lifa is often with us, but he’s still recovering from his rugby injury.)

Hard kicks. Full contact tackles. And a PRO MOM game of kicking balls up a hill (recorded on double speed bc it was so intense for so long). It’s always been the best way for Benjamin to find himself and feel like himself…

The boy loves worship music. He regulates with it. He worships with it. He makes up his own.

He asked me to write the words down for him as he sang them this week. I just had to give this a permanent place.

Here it is. A new fresh hit. Dictated by Jam. Written by Mom.

Did I sit quietly in a corner while my chidren tackled each other in the aquarium this evening?
Yes. Absolutely. It’s Jam’s necessary heavy pressure work.

Did I advocate for my kids to have their own space and NOT make friends with some sweet kids who desperately wanted to join in the fun? Did I speak to the children and the nanny on my kids’ behalf?
Yes. Without hesitation….

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."

In honor of the month-long winter holiday ending, here’s one of the reels I started and never finished.

Context:We were right in the thick of unrelenting rainstorms and cold. I was overstimulated, and they were under stimulated. I took them to the aquarium for a last-ditch effort to save my sanity while we waited for the Springboks rugby match to come on that evening. Benjamin and Wyatt had their own rugby match for a crowd of cheering stingrays, sea turtles and one overly-tired mom who released her dignity and just started recording. But we all won!…

I’m shivering on the sidelines of a Benjamin’s winter soccer clinic. I started feeling sorry myself here for a frozen, raining moment. The other 24 moms dropped their kids off, but I remain, with toddler in tow. I stay visible, available - an ever-present external nervous system. And did I mention it’s cold?

But as I pull my thick hat over my ears, perspective warms me. I don’t have time to rattle off how glorious it is that Benjamin is thriving here on the soccer field, or that he is dancing like a deeply-loved goober between goal posts with his best friend right now. That’s for another day.

Pent-up energy is ricocheting off our walls during an extra long, extra loud, extra rainy school holiday. I'm giving my all, but my autistic son needs more than that. The rest of my family gets less of me, and my son still doesn't have enough. I start each new day already storm-battered.

I tiptoed to my Bible one morning while the house slept to see if Jesus was still in the storm-stilling business.

Join me in a conversation with Deb Weakly from Help Club for Moms. Deb is a long-time friend, and she invited me to share about my journey in special needs parenting to offer encouragement to moms all over the world. I’m very much still in the trenches, learning the hard way, and even shared that I had completely lost my cool on Benjamin an hour before we started recording! But we so often find God together, and in those valley lessons of learning to worship anyway.

Maybe this is a chat you can relate to, or maybe it’s one to share with a friend who can.

I recently spent an afternoon with moms ahead of me in their special needs parenting journeys. A familiar knot twisted in my gut as they shared about unenrolling their children from school. My personal nightmare, one I push down deep, was tea time conversation. You see, statistics agree with every story I've heard. Children with my son's diagnosis are often unable to stay in school and endure so much just trying to grow up.

One of the most valuable currencies in the Ladd family is power. The first thing Wyatt says when he wakes up is, “I have power to play!” When the little boys feel they have eaten enough, they flex their muscles to prove they have sufficiently refueled their power supplies.

We had a BEAUTIFUL morning at Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens this morning. We were given a tour of a textiles exhibition, went on a short hike and fished for tadpoles with our bare hands. When it was time to head out, Benjamin’s legs buckled under him and emotion overcame him.

I did a ridiculous thing. I ordered a walking pad to use for five days and return. I can explain. (A walking pad is a treadmill without handles to slide under a desk and walk while you work.)

My husband went out of town for EIGHT days. Our two youngest sons only attend school a few hours in the morning and struggled with Dad being away….

Benjamin showed up at soccer practice today wearing headphones and Crocs, with no intention of getting out of the van. No, he didn’t have his best practice anyway. He didn’t even make it onto the field. But he showed up, and the showing up is a turning point - a bookmarker we will go back to again and again.

Sometimes you just have to get there.
To your people. To your Father. To His House..