Advent - The Silent Wait

Friends and family have asked what we will be doing for Christmas this year. The answer has been, "I don't know." We've never done Santa and I don't plan on buying back into the commercialism that the season brings. I don't have a tree, I do have fairy lights and some dodgy sharpie art.

We don't have an advent calendar, we do have a pay it forward calendar.

We plan on buying the kids a few presents each, like we did last year. We also plan to spend Christmas Eve in a long established "friends Christmas" tradition that we got adopted into last year by our Aussie family. Part of that will be a handmade gift exchange. Expensive only in thought and time. 

I'll do some reading of the Jesus Storybook Bible with the kids and maybe we'll attend a Carol service. That's about it for the things that we're doing but it's not all that is happening in me. 

Much has happened this year in and to my heart and it feels ready to rest. To rest. In this the crazy season of presents and cleaning and shopping and cooking and busyness and, for us, moving house too. I listened to a podcast about the silent years. About what it meant to wait for God before Jesus came. He talked about the parallel between those silent years and the advent period. To silently wait for God in the 'most wonderful time of the year' seems almost impossible, but it's what I'm doing this season. 

I was alone last week - and by alone I mean, Jay was travelling, I was very much still surrounded by children! Anyway, I was alone-ish and I took time to think and pray and sit in peace and just be still. I listened to music and wrote a bit and read and slowly the fog that has plagued my mind for months has begun to lift. 

It has been a hard year. I am so weary and so very ready for it to be over. It has brought me to dark places that are hard to speak out loud. It has brought me to the end of my faith and a tentative beginning of faith. Maybe I can talk about things more deeply when I'm rested. It's important to talk about mental health, because when it's broken it can lead to death, just as poor physical health can. This year hasn't been devoid of joy, it brought me my littlest son and kiddie birthday parties and family visits and close friendships and peace and love increased. These things are good. These things are necessary.

I haven't worked anything out. Except that I desperately need this Advent. I need the silence and the hope. I need Immanuel. God with me.  

Jesus' not-birthday

Two years ago we abandoned Christmas. We had done some research and with encouragement from some non-celebrating friends told our families. To be honest, it was a HUGE relief. Each Christmas, for us, was bound up in excess and debt and guilt. So much debt. So much guilt. We borrowed to buy and to look like we were doing fine financially. We borrowed to give it away to friends and family including our kids. We borrowed and I felt guilty. Guilty because I hadn't given enough, guilty because I knew we couldnt afford it. Guilty because it had to be paid back.  Somehow borrowing to give robbed the joy of receiving presents too. It felt wrong, but confusing because I loved spend time with family on Christmas Day, but I couldn't afford the shame of not affording it. It also felt wrong to give our kids boxes of stuff on one day and expect them to believe it was all about Jesus.

We had read about the origins of the season, the evils of what the tree represented and the pagan roots of the holidays date. We were rather dogmatically convinced that *Jesus* would not be bothered if we celebrated Christmas or not. We ran with this as the primary reason, "it's not Jesus' birthday."

I still feel a bit self righteous when I think that even if it was Jesus' special day, He definitely *would feel strongly about me stuffing my belly and expanding my stuff collection while emptying our wallet into our loved ones under the guise of celebrating Him. But I still think it, self righteously or not. (I'm allowed to think this way, because I'm judging myself and how we celebrated the holiday, not you!  I realise many people give to charity and give their time serving others, etc.)

That first year of 'giving up Christmas' we spent having lunch with friends, playing at the park and giving the kids a gift each so they weren't missing out. It was a lovely no-pressure day that I still have fond memories of.

The second year was a bit more surreal. Our first in the summer heat of Australia, waddling around like Mary herself in my 9th month of pregnancy. Jay had just told me he was not a Christian any more, so I had no idea what I was supposed to do about Christmas. One of Jason's work colleagues and his wife dropped in unexpectedly on Christmas Eve with a thoughtful gift for each of our children. The wife asked if we had a tree she could place them under? "Errr, no." She asked if we had a manger, perhaps?! (Still makes me giggle awkwardly) "No, no manger! I'll just put them on the counter." The truth seemed too odd to explain. We gave the kids three gifts each last year and I gave promises to My Love. We ate a meal together and Jay prayed for the last time. It too was a day I remember as being really special in a difficult time. 

Now to this year. I'm happy with giving three gifts each to our children. (Neither Jay or I are particularly motivated about gift giving for each other.) I'm feeling fairly neutral about a tree, although we don't have one. I kinda want to celebrate Jesus on His not-birthday. It feels like the right thing to do. I'm not sure what we'll do. In a months time it will all be over and I hope it will hold special memories too, whatever the day brings.

Spiritual Leadership

There was a time where I would have considered 'spiritual headship' to be a uniquely male entitlement. I easily assumed the role of 'humble helpmeet' in all submissiveness and was perfectly happy to do so. I felt secure under the authoritative and trusted judgement of my husband and this spiritual role spilled over into almost every area of our lives. It was never a position that was demanded by him, but rather one we mutually observed to work. Since we rarely disagreed on ANYTHING, it was simple and joyful to follow him wherever he went in spirituality and physicality. We were a team. A linear team.

My thoughts and actions on this topic have shifted. We have recently both abandoned religion. It looks different on us. Dramatically so. It has, however, been painfully and beautifully liberating for me.

At first, the burden on spiritual leadership felt uncomfortable, so much so that I pushed it off my shoulders almost as soon as it was placed there and half heartedly and begrudgingly dragged it around on a rope behind me. I knew full well that it was mine, but I pretended it wasn't there. I think I was hoping Jason would come along and absent-mindedly pick it up again, perhaps exclaiming, "Ah that's where I left it! Thanks for minding it, babe." That, of course, has not happened. At the time, I was alarmed at the thought that I would be forced to pick it up. I realise now that it's mine to carry and perhaps always was, at least in part. Surprisingly, if you hold it right, it's really not that heavy. 

Spiritually speaking (and I think Jason would agree) I was always more intuitive and discerning than he was. He specialised in correctness in doctrine and things that could be quantified, whereas I always felt more passionate about relationship. I enjoy talking with God, listening to the Holy Spirit, being whole heartedly in love with Jesus. For me, religion sort of got in the way of the organic loving relationship between my creator and I. Things got a bit skewed with religion when it implies that God views men more importantly than women. I mean could God really look upon me more favourably if I wore a hat in a building self-entitled as 'church?' Does it please Him when I keep quiet, in that place? Perhaps if I fulfilled traditional roles like serve tea or look after the children I would be a more 'Godly woman.' When my experience of religion aligned very little with my experience of the love relationship I had with God, then one has to go. 

So religion, good riddance. I may feel a little wobbly without your familiar borders, but I also see more clearly and move more deliberately towards God without you. 

As far as taking spiritual leadership over my own life and our home, I was very reluctant. I believed what had always been implied, that it was a mans job. I wondered what to do without my husband to fill that gap. However, I am being made whole. I am stronger than anyone gave me credit for - myself included. I am a work in progress and am discovering who I truly am and perhaps more telling, what I am not.

I am no longer a nurse, but a strong mother.

I am not stupid, but becoming wise.

I am not weak, I am a warrior.

I am not passive, but confidently active.

I am not ugly, but have lasting beauty in heart.

I am not a dependent of my husband, but serving alongside him; excelling beyond him in some areas, submitting to him in others. Remaining equals throughout.

I am not Debbie. My name is Deborah.

I am the spiritual leader of this home.

 

No Favourites

Gracie, “Wow, momma! You’re really getting thinner already.”

Me, “Thank you, Gracie. You are now my favourite child!”

She smiles and rolls her eyes, knowing that I’m teasing and then I squeeze her because she recognises aloud, “You don’t have one favourite. We’re ALL your favourites.”

The sweet compliment she paid me has encouraged me today as I reluctantly put one foot in front of the other and invested some time on the treadmill. On my own in the garage, with music playing in my ear and feeling the rhythm of my feet turning minutes into miles is a great place to gather my thoughts or at least attempt to un-muddle them a little.

We have been blessed for the fifth time with an adorable little von Meding. Eli James has been here for ten days now and long anticipated before that. I found it difficult, while pregnant, to accept that we would soon have a new little one in the house. I often struggle with this reality while pregnant, not really believing that it’s happening (even while in labour) until I scan their tiny face, hear them cry and hold their precious fragile body in my arms. I.am.overwhelmed. Overwhelmed, and in awe of the fierce and gentle swell of love for them. I have done nothing to my heart to facilitate this emotion, it just happens. Effortlessly, painlessly my heart expands to love another little one without condition, protect without fear, serve without (much) complaint and sacrifice. Sacrifice to the point of death would not be too costly to me; such is my love for them. My Gracie Boo is correct. I don’t have favourites. Each is as precious to me as the last. Each one in their diversity and with the different challenges they bring us hold their place firmly and independent of merit in my heart.

These thoughts come to me in a jumble of tears and with a quiet voice in my heart that whispers, "How much more does the Father love me?” 

I am loved. You are loved. No favourites.

Making friends

I was made a friend today. I had no choice in the matter. She saw me and decided I would be hers. She ran over, gesturing that she could hold Eli. 

I'm not in the habit of handing my baby over to strangers but I told her that she could hold him when he wakened. She squealed in delight at that promise and ran off to play.

She held me to it, calling me over to sit with her family when she saw him awake. "My baby! I love him!" she exclaimed repeatedly, excitedly requesting her mum take pictures of them together. Her Mum, who spoke no English, made herself understood, asking my permission in gestures and looks for her to hold Eli too and to take my picture.

My new friend, a sweetheart of a ten-year-old, dropped down onto the checkered rug beside me, giggling. Inches away from my face and in plain sight of my freckles and imperfections, she stared into my eyes and told me I was beautiful. It's funny that she could see my heart, for I saw hers clearly too. 

This beautiful bundle of energetic joy interrupted me today. I'm excited to call an Afghani, Muslim, Asylum seeking, Child of God my friend. This Northern Irish, Jesus loving, Child of God can't wait to see her and her gentle family again.

You are the God who sees me.

For many months these ugly thoughts have invaded my head at the most ungracious of moments. I remember all I 'gave up' to be here. I think about the nursing career I might have had. I wonder if I would ever have pursued that Masters degree I had secured a place in. Perhaps I would have been a university lecturer too? People would see what I did. It would have value.

I look around at the mess of toys and clothes and dishes undone. The floor rightly accuses me of not mopping it any time recently and I have curtains unmade and painting to do between school work and entertaining busy preschoolers and feeding a newborn. There is always more to do, even though I have not ceased working since my feet hit the floor today. Everyday. 

(I'm nursing Eli as I write this...and then putting him down for a minute to chase down the bin lorry because the bin didn't get put out on time, he sees me, empties it and I wave 'thank you' before catching my breath and typing again...)

Every-so-often I ask Jay of my value. Every-so-often the kids tell me my value, as they see me. I humbly read heavy things in their school work like, "when I'm happy, I tell mummy." "When I feel sad, I talk to mummy." "If I am scared, I go beside mummy." These things aren't exclusive to mums who stay at home with their kids, but don't steal my thunder, this is my value. Isn't it??

Months ago I sat at the side of a swimming pool drinking coffee and willing my very pregnant body to wake up into Monday morning while I watched the kids take their swim lesson and thought about all I had to do at home. Another week of service, another week of exhaustion, another week of work nobody sees.

I see you.

I imagined I heard it through the echoey pool noise. I stopped and listened again to that small voice that whispered despite my exhausted and ungrateful attitude.

I see you.

Right where I sat I began to cry and laugh and cry again as peace filled my heart. (Like I said - I was very pregnant, no one batted an eyelid.) My God sees me and that was enough for that day.

I soon forgot about that moment and continued getting bogged down in service because that's what I do. It's my job and I couldn't work out why I wasn't getting any better or any happier at it. If anything, I found I was correcting the kids more and more. I was repeating myself in frustration and despairing at times, as if I had taught them Nothing about having character and obedience and showing love...even though I spoke those things to them all.the.time.

It took me longer than I care to admit that I was speaking other things louder. Those things made my words clanging cymbals. Big, loud, repeating, clanging cymbals. 

For a few months things have been different over here. I've been walking on what feels like shifting ground. All I thought I knew and how I thought my future would look is up for change and I feel uncertain. JJ Heller's lyrics sing in my head, "When my world is shaking, Heaven stands. When my heart is breaking, I'll never leave your hands...The hands that shaped the world are holding me, they hold me still." I realised that I never held the future, I never had control of anything in fact!  I am guilty of running to God more when I have a problem, or I'm scared, or I'm happy - (like my kids say of me!) Many early mornings and late nights I found myself awake and running to God. I started reading through the Bible start to finish and it was there, near the start, where I met Hagar. Hagar is a lady who lived her life as a slave. She knew what it was to be unloved, used, treated cruelly and ultimately driven out by her mistress and master - whom she was pregnant by. She fled to the desert where we read the angel of The Lord •found her •called her by her name •instructed her what to do and left her reeling in the knowledge, "You are the God that sees me." (Genesis 16)

Many times these past few weeks, I've thought of Hagar. Of all the Hagar's that followed after who had/have a much harder life than me, and yet God finds me, calls me by my name, tells me what to do and leaves me reeling in the knowledge that He sees me too. I didn't get it the first time, but I get it now and I'm writing it down, because I know I'll forget. 

Serving without feeling like a servant is not possible. It just isn't. You will, at times, be taken for granted. You will feel like the work never ends (because it doesn't.) You will wonder about the worth of your work, since you may not have any monetary value placed on it. Sacrifice is hard when you're forced to make it, but when you willingly sacrifice it becomes something different. It's an act of love and there is a joy I never thought possible in truly serving in love. Love is a game changer. It's a heart and life changer. It's my value.  I want to be measured by how well I love - even when no one else sees me. My God sees me and that's what makes the difference. I love because He is Love.

"Let your light so shine before men (and your children) that they may see your good works and glorify your father in heaven."