While in South Africa, Tim and I had a problem we've never encountered before. (And by problem, I mean "something of absolutely no consequence whatsoever.") When people we met asked where in the world we would be traveling to next, we didn't have an answer for them.

It's been 40 years since my parents came to the United States from South Africa. It's a country I'd visited before only once, when I was 8 years old. Whenever Jessica had suggested we go there, I'd come up with some excuse, some distraction, some reason to go somewhere else instead.

We came back home from South Africa with our bags packed full of stories to share. We hiked across mountains and walked along beaches, we baked in the African sun and were baptized by the rain. We shed many a tear when we departed, but we made promises to return.

As I sit down to write this post, it's been nearly five months since our baby boy Belly passed away in our arms. But the day I plan on posting it - November 8th - will be the anniversary of many, many happy things in our life.

There is a place in South Africa, a very special place indeed, where it was so important for us to finally - for the first time ever in all our travels - make a reservation ahead of time to stay there. What could possibly be so special that we found ourselves making a reservation? Well, pull up a chair and I'll tell you.