I don’t like TV. Or screens in general, really. I could live forever with no TV... but the boys. 

My man loves a good screen-veg. If he gets a chance for a down day, Chris likes to turn on the most boring show Netflix has to offer to nap to. (He wakes up if we try to change it to say he was watching it, and it was “pretty interesting”.) He takes brain breaks with an extraordinarily random assortment of YouTube videos. We even have a screensaver playing from our TV when we play music. 

It’s been a down and out kind of week - all the sick people and the broken-boned boy. But you know what we’re thinking about? We’ve got people. We’ve got amazingly supportive friends in Cape Town and an army of supporters around the world who make it possible for us to pay out of pocket medical expenses. We have a brave, tackling boy who gave it his all on the field. Lifa has dealt with a lifetime of fearfulness. It’s understandable, but it has handicapped him. Now he is physically handicapped, but free as a bird! We are so proud that he was not afraid to put it all out there with the bigger boys. He’s found his feet - even if he had to break one in the process! 

Five years ago, I was buying bricks and building a house. Not just any house - a house named Glory House. Glory House was a vision from God - a way to live out the purpose He shaped me with. To be Mom of the house in order to strengthen families and build His family… A lot has changed since then! 

I thought the morning was going to go one way... and it didn’t. I laughed and took a picture of my set-up in the morning light. (It was still dark outside. The morning light was from the bulb above the stovetop.) I had my communion feast prepared, baby monitor in my robe pocket, coffee brewing and my breast pump cups ready to load up. Today is a special day - already blocked out on the fridge calendar: Mom’s Sabbath Morning. I have realized that the weekends are great times for meeting with people, doing school projects, and walking in the purpose God called us to Cape Town for... not so much for resting and recharging. I was so looking forward to this morning’s Sabbath stillness. 

“Sorry. We don’t have grown-up plates yet.” A frequently used statement in the Ladd house. 

 We live a fairly grown-up life: Grown-ups come over all the time. We are responsible for two children and two pups. And we are starting a church from the ground up. But if you sit at our table (and I hope you will), you will be served a grown-up meal on a plastic picnic plate. (We’ve also got two sizes of plastic cups and a bunch of plastic bowls.)

Tia and 14-year old Ray visited us last week. There aren’t enough words to put to it - two miracle families finally coming face to face after one pivotal dinner and years of facebook messages. Chris and Lifa had never met Tia, and none of us had met Ray. Lifa was just happy their names were easy to spell for the chalkboard. He had no idea what was coming. 

Things feel a little messy over here. And I’m not saying that just because Benjamin pooped on my jeans this morning. 

Rugby games and outreach opportunities are being cancelled because of a rise in gang violence. We’ve had to hire anotherlawyer to the Ladd Family Lawyer Team (ridiculous, I know) to protect us from a reckless landlord. Everyone in the house (except Chris) is breaking out because of hormones. And no one has legal recognition in South Africa (except Chris again). My fingerprints were rejected TWICE by the FBI while I’ve been trying to get paperwork taken care of for our immigration lawyer. 

On Sunday night we sat in our living room with two cooing babies, a toddler with her art supplies, and a couple of couches full of real people. One woman had left her husband that morning after learning that the adulterous relationship from 2013 was still active. Another woman came late because she had a sick child and was caught up in the boughs of an unbearably oppressive home life. Another family is getting ready to welcome baby #3 into the world and has no idea where this baby's car seat or crib will fit into their very compact life.

The expert reveals all: Interviewing Lifa after 3 months of being a big brother

Happy Birthday to the most handsome hero. You’ve made us a family, and you sure do make 36 look good!

I wanted to exclusively breastfeed so badly. I wanted a squishy baby, enriched by the supernatural nutrition from my body. The first few weeks were perfect. Normal newborn exhaustion, joy and the generalised sense of “I have no idea what I’m doing!” We nicknamed Benjamin “Big Chunk” because he was gaining so much weight. Then, I started having extreme pain in my breasts during and after feeds. Long-lasting, lightning pain. Personality altering pain. My milk was obstructed due to a cocktail of  stress-induced tension and a hormonal imbalance. The less milk that flowed, the more pain there was. Simultaneously, Benjamin stopped making gains. His weight fell severely under the line, which compounded stress and meant he needed to feed more. Thus, a problematic cycle was born.

Our stories anchor us. They shape our values, and help us find where we fit. 

We need to hear them, know them and practice them. We need the opportunity to write redemption into them where we need it, and sprinkle celebration through our self-images. 

We’ve got a lot going on in the Ladd house this week… I’ve created a baby clothes organization system, baked and stockpiled Chris’ favorite granola, and filled our freezer with meals. Nothing to worry about over here - the people will be clothed and fed. My husband has become even more super- cleaning up after dinner, taking Lifa to run errands, and not judging my newly developed waddle. Lifa has discovered he’s a song-writing and puzzle-solving champ during the first week and a half of his school holiday while he tries to curb his anxious waiting. We are waiting and expecting….

The Ladd house typically runs like a well-oiled machine. There are colour-coded calendars, two-week study projections, and weekly meal plans with dinner ingredients stored in the “Do Not Touch” drawer of the refrigerator. We’ve found our family’s flow by implementing routine, order and life-giving family dinners in the midst of a nation filled with unexpecteds….

This weekend, I had the most beautiful, wonderful, lovely baby shower! My darling friend, Kelly asked me months ago if she could host it for me. Even then, it took my breath away. Somewhere in a subconscious vector of my mind, I had written in some self-protecting mechanisms. I’d created disclaimers for myself and others to minimise expectations and disappointments.

I initially felt disappointed when there were not enough participants for the Personal Growth Course I was scheduled to teach it at [Arise Family Centre](https://arisefamily.org). Only two ladies showed up for the first scheduled class last week, so instead of using notebooks, whiteboards and therapeutic techniques, we pulled up chairs and chatted.

I knew one lady well. I spent a good amount of time with Granny V before.

It’s one-jillion degrees in Cape Town today, and humidity is on the rise. (Hallelujah! Rain is on the way!!!) As I write this, I’m still in my gym clothes and sitting crossed-legged in a camp chair at Lifa’s rugby practice. I’ve kicked off my shoes in effort to cool down and am set up to spend the next hour writing you story from Arise’s family center. But a one-liner from the rugby field just threw me off course.

I was trembling with the possibility. This was it. Resolution was at hand. Urgently. We spent an hour in the board room, reviewing the court appeal and asking questions. Lifa tried to look convincing “studying” next to me - but was actually gaping at our larger-than-life lawyer with his fast flowing  legal jargon. I initialed every single page of the appeal in a room stacked high with folders and appeals, and we were sent on our way to wait. Urgently waiting. 

It was not what I expected. 

We are the Ladd Family. We sold everything and moved to Africa to serve people. We leap over tall buildings and save people all.day.long. THE WORLD recently wrote us a letter and said, “Thank you for changing me.” None of that is true.

Most days, we do a lot of what you do. Only it takes us a lot longer. Like a trip to the grocery store… you don’t even know. 

Miracles display the glory of God. I want in on that. This post is more of an invitation than a story. I’d like to invite you to send your miracle-request and know I’m going to write it down. I will stand for your miracle with you. On the days you just can’t pray for it, you’ll know it’s covered. I’ll guard it with the sanctity it deserves and not share it with others. And I’ll celebrate every heaven-opening victory with you as you share it with me. I can’t wait!!!