Live like it's a TUESDAY!

Confession: I’ve never made pap by myself.

Pap (pronounced like “pop”) is made with water and finely ground cornmeal. It is a base for meals for many of South Africa’s cultures.

 
It looks like mashed potatoes but is more firm and scooped into your hands with stew, beans or some sort of saucy meat. It is the most intense form of carb-loading you’ve ever known!

I’ve lived in South Africa for almost 8 years and have never made the traditional staple food on my own! Before moving to Cape Town, I spent my time in rural communities where the grannies with the BIG SPOONS made pap in bulk. There was just no need for me to make it, and my spoon wasn’t big enough.

Little Lifa helping at after school feeding programs.

Lifa used to chow down on his own culture’s food while we ministered, played and celebrated in community ministry. But now that we live a two day drive away from his culture of origin, he doesn’t have that opportunity.

That kid loves all types of food (unless he can see basil on his food).  He has expanded his palette since moving to Cape Town into the beautiful worlds of sushi and chimichangas. He’s also pushed his limits this year by hiking to new heights (first with an escalator and then a mountain!), swim lessons, new schools, new city, new languages, new everything.

We decided to celebrate Lifa last night. Not for taking on his fear of heights or doing anything unusually super. Just for being Lifa. Sometimes you need to be reminded that you are great because were created with greatness, and that’s enough.

On Monday night, we told him we were going to have pap, beans, cabbage and beetroot for dinner the next night. And he could eat it with his hands. His eyes lit up, and he said, “It’s like it’s a birthday dinner!”

To which I immediately responded: “Or a Tuesday!”

Chris looked at that bright-eyed boy and said, “We are celebrating you, Lifa! We are celebrating who you are, the culture you come from, and the foods you like to eat with your dad.”

There is freedom in celebration. Freedom to eat with your hands and be yourself. It’s like coming home to the place where you don’t have to be anything but you, and you are good. That’s what you were made for.

(That’s why I love birthdays -a yearly excuse to celebrate someone just because they are. No reason required! And you get cake for being you!)

It took me two attempts to make pap last night, but Lifa said I nailed it.  He was so happy. He ate until he almost exploded and was a huge, beany mess. It was glorious!

It wasn’t his birthday. It was Tuesday.

I think instead of loving birthdays, I’m going to start loving Tuesdays.

(For the record: I will also always love birthdays.)

My husband inspired me this week to not need a reason to celebrate.

Just celebrate. Just Tuesday. (Tuesday, the verb.)

What if we picked somebody to celebrate every Tuesday?

 Or what if we just celebrated because it’s Tuesday?

The Kingdom of God has come, and it’s coming. Just like Tuesdays.

Let’s celebrate what is, and usher in the rest with our gratitude and messy hands. Let’s not wait for the right-sized spoons or a birthday.

Freedom doesn’t come with big spoons or birth dates. And joy doesn’t come from circumstances. They are found together, at the table and by making an intentional choice.

 Happy Tuesday-ing everyone!

What A Difference A Year Makes

This morning, I dropped Lifa off with an educational psychologist for a 4-hour assessment. He understood that the psychologist’s job was to give his parents and teachers tools to help him be his best in school, and there was a good chance he would get to draw. She has a giant desk like Dad’s, and he would have 4-hours of uninterrupted adult attention. Game on. 

I never would have dreamt up this scenario one year ago. Last year, I was trying my best to help overwhelmed teachers in the crowded, rural school Lifa was allowed to sit in, undocumented.

What a difference a year makes.

We have had a year of amazing miracles. 

Being granted legal guardianship of a child who “does not exist” on any piece of paper is at least as incredible as an ocean opening. 

Being given a place in a school system in a nation that will not claim you is at least as astounding as the Jordan River opening to grant access to the Promised Land. 

In the wake of that miracle, Lifa has met the giants of identity confusion, academic overwhelmedness, racial and spiritual persecution, fearfulness, loneliness, insecurity, and even that super emotional day when we had to explain to him that he no longer has the body type to fit into skinny jeans. (Proud to say we have fully jumped on the jogger train now. The boy can rock them.) 

In the midst of hard moments, we remember that even after that sea opened, there was still a wilderness to traverse. After the Jordan parted, there were still giants occupying the Promised Land. God was sovereignly there whole time.

School has been our giant this year.

One year ago, there was literally no way for Lifa to continue in his education. He could not enter into the next phase of learning without registration. One year ago, I would have longed for these hardships. When I think about that, they suddenly feel like giant hardship hugs instead of terrifying giants. 

What a difference a year makes. 

One year ago today, this classy Ladd couple took this photo: 

We were celebrating finding the famously technical Contour Path on Table Mountain during our scouting trip to Cape Town. Chris’ dream to re-enter trail running was still just a dream, and we had no idea what we would face as a family on the road ahead of us.

It took us many attempts to find the contour path. We still call this spot on the mountain “The place Mom almost died.” It was the peak of glory to find it on that trip, and it very literally took my breath away.

This morning after I dropped Lifa off for his assessment, I power-hiked up to the contour path, sent my handsome husband a lovey message while I took a few deep breaths, and then ran a 5k across and down the mountain.

Chris is now training for a 100km race in December, has run several marathons on the mountain, knows the trails like the back of his hand, and casually runs to the top of the mountain on a weekday. 

What a difference a year makes. 

Last year’s peak of glory was this morning’s starting place.

We were made to go glory to glory and strength to strength. All we have to do is keep going back to that mountain. 

There will always be giants in the Promised Land. The higher you get on the mountain, the smaller they look.

I hope you stand on this morning’s starting place with the faith to remember the miracles. I pray that you take a minute today to look at the very largest, hairiest, scariest giants and call them what they are: Next year’s starting place.