Last year, we spent Father’s Day weekend tucked into a frost-covered tent under a blanket of South African stars. Our first six months in Cape Town had been challenging. Our souls needed the refuge of wide-open spaces. We drove three hours outside the city, hoping and praying that the campsite Chris found through a very extensive online search would be that refuge. We had reserved a campsite called Echo Valley, nestled perfectly inside of a mountain hug and at least one mile away from anyone else on the private nature reserve, Gecko Rock.

I’ve wanted to write a beautiful, adjective-smothered story about our amazing camping trip ever since we pulled out of the campsite last Tuesday morning. But the week didn’t go the way it was supposed to. (According to me.) It’s been almost a month since my womb released our baby girl 35 weeks too early, and we gave heaven a free one. I expected that, after a month, I would be able to type that sentence without weeping. I expected to be back on track physically. I expected to be better by now.

Our perfect little Ladd baby has already left a legacy in our family. In holding her and letting her go, we are changed forever. We can say with resolution that we are a family who pre-decides and re-decides every time we need to that our God is good. We rejoice, whether happy or sad, when heaven is populated. While she is rocked by angels in everlasting life, we get to give our lives on this earth for the purpose of populating heaven.

For a limited time, Lifa understands the world through our words, prayers, actions and interactions. His expectations, desires and reality are formed at his bedside nightly as we pray for friendship, school, courage, and character. His tastes are formed during the music marathons we play in the kitchen and in the conversation and meals we have at dinner. 

We had the teaching materials, projector, laptop, and sweets to use for the icebreaker game. It seemed like we were all set to go. But at the last minute, someone said, “Just one more thing – we should probably bring a bucket.” Yesterday, we began a group with Arise Cape Town for 8th and 9th graders who have experienced traumatic events and need help managing their residual stress. Every Thursday morning, we are graciously given an hour of school time, an open room, and 11 teenagers- all coping with PTSD in very different ways. 

I was a single missionary for my first five years in South Africa. I lived in a volatile and largely unpoliced part of the nation, and the window of opportunities seemed very small for this independent, adventure-loving lady. I eventually adapted to living behind security bars, not driving at night, and other new-life nuances. And then it just stopped working. Three years in, I hit rock bottom. 

The greatest win for today, however, is to stop asking questions and letting my insecurities and inadequacies spiral out of control. The greatest win is to just write something.

You have to be moving to have momentum. Your miracles and breakthroughs happen inside your momentum. We honor God with our movement.