On the days you don't take pictures

Red dirt breezes, preschool play sounds, a freshly swept yard, and a pot of beans cooking on an open fire in the heat of the day. I love walking into the Dayizenza CarePoint site. There’s something so right about the instantaneous welcome of a full-body dust film, tiny little thumbs shooting in the air waiting to meet yours, and the most beautiful-hearted, happy mamas who spend five days a week giving of themselves to feed their community.

Chris started this project from the ground up with these women years ago and has a special place in his heart for them. When we enter the Dayizenza CarePoint gate, I watch the warm breeze blow fresh vision and deeper purpose into my handsome husband while he cracks jokes with GoGo and plans playgrounds with SesEdith.

It feels good there. They love so deeply and so fully. No matter who you are or where you come from. I can’t help but snap photo after photo of the loving, the loved, and the to-be-loved. There’s a Kingdom being built up and dished out in that yard.

Every once in a while, though, there’s a day when I don’t take pictures.

Last week, we went to visit the mamas in the middle of the day. All the kids were still in school, and the mothers cooked, chatted and giggled. It was a hot, hot day, and we noticed a little boy sprawled on a mat in the sun with a gob of tissue in his hand. Chris asked who he was and if he was sick. He offered to take him to a clinic because the little guy, who couldn’t have been more then 3- or 4-years old, was not looking well. The mothers said that he was ok, but his nose had been bleeding so his family had left him there to be cared for during the day.

The women didn’t have to think twice about making space for a little guy who needed a little extra. It’s just who they are. Those are the moments that make the sweetest pictures.

But something was missing in that photo.

It was a picture not to be taken that day.

Chris was worried. He kept asking, checking, seeking information about the little guy. My husband wanted to help the little boy. He wanted the ladies to do something for him. But as far as the mothers could see, this little one was fully loved and cared for by them because he was there amongst them. When you’re with them, you’re part of them. That part of the culture is beautiful.

However, another part of their culture is the reality that, if a child is not your own flesh and blood, the same standard of care, maternal instincts, and even basic needs to protect someone’s life do not apply. Life is certainly valued, but someone else’s only takes second place to yourself and your family.  You respond to a need with what’s on hand and otherwise don’t interrupt the smooth and steady flow of your day. And it’s not because you don’t care. It’s because that’s the way it is and the way it always has been.

It’s a survival instinct. But we weren’t made to survive. We were made to thrive.

We walk a fine line everyday, not wanting to replace their standards with ours, or expecting them to care in the exact ways we do. We are here to find the pictures, the fingerprints of God, in the midst of the strengths and struggles of different histories and lifestyles. We gather up all of God’s images to captures an image of the true culture of the Kingdom of God. 

Some things are done differently in their culture, and it doesn’t make it wrong... but it sure does feel different. And then sometimes, you get down, get dirty and disciple because the Word of God makes it clear how Heaven’s culture would respond.

It was time for us to leave on that picture-less day, and the boy still lay there seemingly unattended. He was under a blanket, wearing a jacket and the blazing sun was shining right on his sweet, sweaty face. The ladies insisted he was ok. He was not ok. Not because I have a first aid pack with all the finest products or because I would throw all those clothes in my washing machine right away.

Not because I think their love is broken. But because God loves that little boy enough to give up His Boy for him and would want somebody to bend down over that body and give of theirs.

We grew up in a culture and families that showed us how to do that.

They did not.

They needed us to be the picture that day, not to take one.

Past time to go, I sat on the ground with that boy and pried the tissue out of his hand as I checked to make sure his nose had stopped bleeding. He was dehydrated and hungry beyond the ability to move or speak. I pulled his mat into the shade, took off his jacket and wiped the sweat away from his body. I spoke soothing words over him as I cleaned off his face, and told him what a handsome young man he is. The ladies watched, first only noticing that I sat down completely undignified-like on the ground in my dress. Finally, they started to see there was more to the picture than the extra laundry I would have to do when I got home. They watched my hands on that tiny, sweaty body. They watched me change his circumstances, and they heard me speak over him.

And then I invited them in. I told the ladies they needed to give him food and water right away. They had a full pot of warm food already prepared, just waiting on the kids to get out of school. And fresh running water from the well on site. It had been accessible and available all day, but they just never thought to change the order of the day. They would have certainly fed this boy when they fed the others. His urgent, critical need in that moment was just another urgent, critical need amongst the hundreds of other people, stories and households’ they knew about.

It only took a moment for the air to change though. Suddenly, their eyes were opened to this beautiful boy. They brought him food and water, and they happily and lovingly fed him. Because it feels good to do good.

These mamas are made of love by Love Himself. And they love to love.

Just days before this day, I had asked SesEdith what she would learn to make her life better if she could only learn one more thing in her whole life. She leaned in and from the deepest place in her, she replied, “Teach us how to take care of our children. Our own children and other people’s children. Teach their parents too. We don’t know how. There are so many parents that are so young, and they never had parents. We don’t know how.”

You can LOVE swimming, but never take a swim lesson or be taken to the water. You have to see the water, and then you have to dive in.

You can’t be held responsible for what you’ve never seen and never known. But we are held responsible for what we don’t show, don’t do, and for our tiptoeing around other people’s values as to not cause a ripple or make a wave in life as we know it.

We aren’t made to take pictures of hopelessness and despair for shock value or to make ourselves feel guilty for that $5 latte.

We are made to be the picture.

You don’t have to be in the middle of Africa’s HIV orphan crisis to bend down, get dirty and be the love people need to know about. You’ve seen. You’ve known.

Some days, stop and take a picture. Most days, stop and be the picture.

BIGFOOT IS REAL: Ladd Family Big Announcement

Seven months ago, I took the strongest, safest arm on the planet, and we walked.

He wore Converse. I wore boots. While we walked, we dodged giant giraffe footprints. We also laughed when Lifa’s big feelings and big feet led to a big face-plant on his first step down that wedding aisle with us. (HILARIOUS!)

Just weeks after that, I still held that strong arm as we walked into our new church together. Lifa ran this time, blissfully plunging himself into the yard full of children playing cricket, rugby and climbing trees before worship began.

We were walking into more than we could have ever imagined, more than being the kid in a cape with the white mom. We were being led as a family, into a big yard, into worship, and into a whole new level of living.

And did I mention that the man leading us is SO handsome!?!

There was a baptism that day at church. The church owns the big house next door to it and rents it out to tenants, while reserving rights to the backyard pool for baptisms. It was my first time to set foot in that yard. I fell in love with the huge tree that bowed down to just the right height for a swing and a slide. I was enchanted by the porch that wrapped around the back, overlooking the perfect picnic yard and mango trees. Something was welling up in me as the church marched in for that baptism, and it was bigger than just my some-day dream of rocking chair porches and hammock-strewn gardens.

I looked at my new husband and, without realizing what I was saying, told him, “This is our house. And I love it.”

Blink. Blink.

Baptism!

Back to the car.

“This is our house. I think God just showed me that.”

We just got married. We just moved into the perfect newlywed home – safe, secure, within our means, and just the right size to learn how to be a family.

Our small home was perfect for our small family. But what about God's Family - the One we were made in the image of?

You see...

Before we got married, God said this:

“I will fill whatever space You give Me.”

That means we have a responsibility to make space – more space than we could even imagine – and trust God to fund it, fill it, and make Himself famous in it.

If we give Him little, He’d do a little.

But if we give Him A LOT? He’d do even more than that.

Bring it. We’re totally in, Lord.

Increase our imagination, and then do more than we could ever imagine.

(And please, oh please, let those mangos taste awesome. We are mango people.)

After the baptism, the blinking and my mildly apprehensive claim, Chris said, “Ok. Keep praying about it.”

Oh boy did I pray.

We walked miles and miles through our neighborhood in the first months of marriage. Lifa mastered riding his bike with no hands (and falling like a boss) during those walks, and Chris and I put our minds and imaginations together. With every step and every walk, we were making more space for God in our marriage, our words, our dreams, and our vision.

I remember the walk when I told Chris, “I’ve been praying about the house. I’m sure. And I think it’s going to be sooner than we think we’re ready for.” That was in early November. I said I thought something was going to happen in March. I also told him that God had asked me to drive by that house everyday and thank Him for what He’s already done, and I’d been doing that for the past month.

Please keep in mind folks that, not long before, this man walking next to me had moved into a new town, become a father, a husband, and nothing had settled into a new normal yet.

Maybe our new normal is meant to be space-making, imagination-growing, prayer-conquering, and ground-claiming.

Maybe the cadence we were meant to march to is the kind that makes mountains cannonball into oceans. The kind that doesn’t just visit during baptisms and look longingly at the back porch, but moves in and flips on the switch for the Light of the World.

That faithful, handsome husband of mine did not hesitate. He contacted the church and shared what God had spoken to me. And he joined me in drive-by thank you prayers. He started claiming the finances and ignoring all the parts that didn’t make sense - like the church having no idea what they were going to ultimately do with the house, the tenants that still lived there, our own capacity and budget, and so on and so on… Details-schmeetails.

Then we went to America. We got to meet our new families, spend time with the people and places that shaped us, and speak. We covered A LOT of miles on that trip and shared a lot of meals with people we love. With every meal and mile, we made space. We claimed what was ours: more than we could think or imagine. Not because we wanted more, but because we could not, would not limit our Maker. 

Like the widow with the jars, we don’t ever want to stop bringing jars because ain’t nobody got time to put a lid on the King of Kings. (2 Kings 4:1-6)

I wonder if the widow ever felt insecure about asking her neighbors for their jars? Or felt too presumptuous about the big stack of empty vessels she brought to be filled? We brought jar after jar of our bare-naked faith for Him to fill by sharing with everyone what we believed, not knowing how HE was going to do it. Only knowing we don’t want it to stop. Chris pursued the pastors of the church; we kept pressing in; we kept asking and thanking. 

“…Go outside, borrow vessels from all your neighbors, empty vessels and not too few.” 2 Kings 4:3

May 1^st.

WE’RE MOVING IN.

Y'all.. there’s a huge kitchen! And a double oven!

(Oh, and don't worry that I'm already prayer-claiming a KitchenAid mixer, food processor,  and dishwasher. Aka: Your Kingdom come, Your will be done.)

A double-oven and a big farmhouse are only the beginnings of spreading out wide and increasing our imagination. You can taste first cluster of grapes after a lifetime of manna and think you’re satisfied. You can glimpse of the Promised Land from the banks of the Jordan and feel fulfilled. And you’ve really only been a taste-tester and a spectator of the Kingdom.

It’s all about what you do from there.

The Lord told Joshua, “I will give you every place where you set your foot, as I promised.” Joshua 1:3

But if they never set their foot there, they never got the promise.

Everywhere they walked was theirs.

After walking around a desert for 40 years, they only walked 1/3 of the lush, life-giving territory they’d been led to, so they ultimately only claimed 1/3 of their inheritance.

Every jar the widow brought was filled to sustain her family and show the neighbors God’s oily glory. The oil only stopped when she stopped bringing jars.

The Ladd family is going to have a big kitchen full of jars and big, big feet.

We aren’t going to stop walking or bringing jar after jar, bucket after bucket to the Promise Maker. He says to bring the Kingdom to earth, and we will. One step, one space at a time.

We will move into a big house on May 1^st, and we will walk the entire perimeter of that territory and claim it – we will claim more than we can see and more places than we can step.

We will watch Lifa grow into his big feet as he adventures in that house, and we will grow our imaginations and take bigger steps together as we gather there, with more and more people to make space for more and more of God.

You’re invited.

Take a walk with us in imagining, in faith, and in practical, real-life steps.

Send us the words of promise and encouragement God gives you.

Invest in the space-making and territory-claiming.

Maybe you’re a part of the way God will fill our space – with curtains and beds and rugs and furniture. Or with the ongoing increased expenses of daily life in a bigger space. Maybe it’s through prayers, partnering with us monthly, or going into your own yard, church, school, office or hometown and taking big, big steps and thanking God for giving you that land. Live there, settle in it, and feast.

Now you know, and you can’t not know.

Big promises are fulfilled with you take big steps and claim the land.

So maybe Bigfoot isn’t actually real.

But it's our big faith and footprints that claim a big space and reveal a big God.