Raising Kids
The mile-marker between babies and kids is usually a blur. However, our family experienced a huge, life-changing event that happened when the two of you were 5 and 3. Your Ouma got sick, really sick, and we picked up and moved to South Africa to be with her. (A decision I will always be grateful we made.) This is the momentous occasion that separates, in my mind, the “baby years” from the years spent “raising kids.” Looking back at these pictures, you were both still so small. Yet, you were potty-trained, you could speak, and we were busy learning the alphabet and starting to read. A new chapter had begun.
Why we moved to South Africa.
It was a Saturday. Pappa was out playing golf that day, and I was at home sewing horse heads for a Kentucky Derby party we were hosting that night. (That’s another story.) We got the news that Ouma had been taken to the hospital, but it was worse than anyone realized. When Pappa got the call, it was to tell him that Ouma was in the ICU and they weren’t sure if she was going to make it. Never before had the distance felt greater.
Pappa rushed to the airport. The quickest way to get back to South Africa was via a Delta airline “buddy pass,” secured for us through a family member’s connections. We raced to the airport, but despite all those efforts, the flight remained full, and there were no alternatives. We were told to come back for the next flight (also full) and try again. We called our church, family, and friends, and asked everyone to pray. A few hours before the flight, Pappa called and was told there were 21 people on the waiting list ahead of him, all trying to get on that full flight. We almost gave up. I remember thinking, “what’s the point of driving all the way down there, when it’s impossible.” And then it struck me… “we’ve been praying and asking God to provide a miracle. And now? Now we aren’t even going to show up?” And so, we got ourselves into the car drove down. I’d like to tell you we were full of faith and hope and expectancy. We were not. We were discouraged, desperate, and pleading. We were certain it was impossible. But that is the very definition of a miracle. God taught us a big lesson that day. Do not pray for a miracle, unless you are ready and willing to show up. It’s God’s Will to deliver or not, but if you’re going to pray, show up.
Pappa got on that flight. It was still 27 long hours before he would make it to her bedside, and the prayers remained desperate, “please Lord, let him get there in time to say goodbye.” I cry even now, typing this more than a decade later. But we had just witnessed one miracle, and we were trusting God would deliver another. Pappa arrived. And God had bigger things in store than just a goodbye. Your Ouma was one heck of a fighter! She fought tooth and nail. But we credit God with her recovery that gave us 3 and a half more years together. She was very, very ill. It was an auto-immune disease attacking her organs, and an absolute miracle that she came off dialysis. But day by day, she improved. Pappa extended his stay, but after two weeks, he made the emotional decision to come back home, not knowing what would happen next. While Pappa was away, the three of us prayed, and I’ll never forget the sound of your precious voices, praying for your Ouma.
Throughout the 10 years of our marriage, I had one really big fear. If something happened to Pappa’s parents, would he blame me for the time they missed out on spending together? We’d spent the last 10 years with my family, during a time that we all really needed each other. Now, it seemed it was Pappa’s family who needed us. And we needed them. I wanted you two to really know your Ouma and Oupa, but it was obvious our time together was running out. And so, we started to pray about moving back to South Africa. One door after another opened up, and before we knew it, we’d sold our house (the one where we had raised our babies), cashed out everything that might have turned us into pillars of salt, loaded a 20-foot container, and set sail. Thus began our new life in South Africa. Babies grown, we started a new chapter called “raising kids.”