Stories of grace & new beginnings
Updates from our house, reflections from our team, and glimpses of the tiny miracles that unfold every day at Daybreak.
Forty women, one morning, a room full of leather and colour. Once the materials are paid for, what remains cover roughly one day of running Daybreak House. This is a piece about what one day actually holds, and why forty new people knowing our name matters as much as the money.
Forty women, one morning, a room full of leather and colour. Once the materials are paid for, what remains cover roughly one day of running Daybreak House. This is a piece about what one day actually holds, and why forty new people knowing our name matters as much as the money.
A woman’s arms. A baby’s head resting against her shoulder. The second painting in The Radiant Collection is a tribute to every pair of hands that has ever held a Daybreak baby.
Self-Reflection – Experience at The Grové Schoombee Foundation Before I started my internship at The Grové Schoombee Foundation, I had a general understanding that there
A blank line where a mother’s name should have been. A blank line where a father’s name should have been. And yet, on her birth certificate, one word was already written: Promise.
She had no inheritance, no status, nothing to offer but her own quiet existence. This is what Promise’s story teaches us about grace that isn’t earned.
Some of the most important voices in our society are the ones never heard. Babies who cannot speak, toddlers who cannot name what happened to them, children whose stories are written in behaviour and silence rather than words. As social workers, we are called to listen to what cannot be said, and to fight for those who cannot yet fight for themselves.
A painting on an easel. A little girl who does not know her story is about to hang on someone’s wall. This is the beginning of The Radiant Collection, and the first painting is called Promise.
Yesterday morning, Madel was paging through our baby files in my office when she stopped at a birth certificate and said it was the weirdest one she had ever seen. The surname was spelt wrong. Where the parents’ names should have been, there was nothing. I started crying. Last night I sat with that blank space and a prayer for our little warrior princess.
We thought we were a baby house. We were. And then, very gradually and without asking permission, our babies became toddlers. This is the story of everything we did not see coming, including the potty training, which became a group sport.
Three years ago, Daybreak House opened its doors. What we could not have fully anticipated was the village that would gather around us. Swimmers, runners, cyclists, bakers, weekly visitors, and people who flew in from the other side of the world. This is our tribute to the people who showed up.
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