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."

Walking the race

I remember one day, in my teenage years when my dad gifted me with some knowledge about myself. I laughed at his observation because it didn't seem like a compliment to be called 'a plodder!' Seeing my confusion he clarified and said something like this, "when others run ahead into things you are consistent and just keep going." I think he said something about having a quiet confidence and after that, I was satisfied he hadn't just insulted me! :)

My teenage years have been long left behind me but here I am at 32 years old, 37+ weeks pregnant, still plodding along - currently walking the treadmill because my actual running days have left me for a while too. 16 years after that conversation and I am still encouraged by my dad taking the time to share his thoughts with me. All these years later I am still walking the race and I'm ok with that. 'Slow and steady....,' I've got the slow bit down, but the steady doesn't come to me naturally. Being blessed with a currently over active and somewhat overwhelmed set of emotions I find I need to seek out refuge in the storm. Too often these nights and mornings I find myself awake in the wee hours, every time running back in the arms of my Heavenly Father. 

I still have questions unresolved. I'm not into blind faith. Eyes to see, ears to hear and patience to be taught and grow in understanding are what I long for. I'm pretty sure I left most of my stupid complex back on the graduating stage with my nursing degree in hand and 10 years of carrying that word around my neck, on the floor behind me. Still, I cannot compare any facts or head knowledge I may or may not possess to the incomparable knowledge and wisdom of the creator of heaven and earth, made available to us if we just ask. James 1 :5 "If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you."

In the arms of my Father, my doubts and fears and hurts and uncertainties are exchanged for the indescribable peace, comfort and joy that I cannot provide myself. It is there I will renew my strength, because I am weary, and head into the storm again.

I look up toward the hills.
From where does my help come?
² My help comes from the Lord,
the Creator of heaven and earth! As for me, I will always have hope; I will praise you more and more. 

Psalm 121:1-2, Psalm 71:14

Richer in Heart

Shop owner, "Are those ALL your babies?!"

I laugh and confirm they're all mine.

Shop owner, "Are you rich?"

Me, "No! I'm rich in heart though."

He paused and put his hand on his heart as he considered that phrase. 

"Rich in heart," he said quietly, "rich in heart, I like that very much..."

This is a conversation I had with a man some weeks ago, that I hope will never leave my memory. It seems like a good place to set the scene for a story that begins in Sunny France almost a year ago. 

We had arrived early to the missionary conference that Jason had travelled to for many summers with his mom and siblings. This year he was returning as a man with his own family of four small children. Our family was complete with two boys and two girls, and as we fumbled around the car making sandwiches and stretching our legs after the long hot drive, another vehicle pulled up beside ours. The man and wife started out of the van, introducing themselves and welcoming us. I noticed their van full of suitcases and faces and tried to count how many kids this fellow mama had hidden in there. They introduced the smiling and well mannered children in their van. "Five children!" I remarked, pleased to have a similar number and I was certain we'd become friends. "Yes, this is five of them, the other three aren't here this year." 

"Eight children," remarked Jason this time (we are mathematicians.) I shot him a warning look, recognising the hopefulness in his eyes and reminded him sternly, "FOUR children, Jason." I held up my fingers to reveal 1,2,3,4 - just incase he hadn't understood my limitations. The conversation shifted to the practicalities of where to check in and locating a pool to cool off in and we never did discuss family size with them or why they had chosen to have so many. 

Something happened that week. A series of events that started further back, when I started to obey - really obey - as God asked me to hand over certain areas of my life to Him. I got stuck at this same area every time, point blankly refusing to hand over how many children I would have. As far as I was concerned, I had gone beyond my duty already. I had four in a world where one or two is supposed to be plenty. I had survived the looks and typical rude comments about getting a TV or knowing how to 'stop that' as if children were an accidental inconvenience. We do, of course, get encouragement and compliments from strangers too, but for some reason those negative remarks survive longer in my memory. 

After a week long, amazing conference filled with excellent teaching and precious friendships we set off on our way to Switzerland for a work conference that Jay had to attend. The car was full but quiet, only for the sound of the CD playing, as we drove though the beautiful mountain roads. The words in the song were the final straw to my already weakening resolve, as they gently dissolved every reasonable remaining thought as to why this area could not be released....and then I began to cry, as I accepted two names from the Lord for our future children and surrendered as the words of the chorus washed over me along with my tears.

"Be strong in the Lord, and never give up hope. You're gonna do great things. I already know, that God's got his hand on you so don't live your life in fear. Forgive and forget but don't forget why you're here. Take your time and pray. These are the words I would say."

- Sidewalk Prophets, 'The Words I Would Say'

I handed over the fear of having disabled children, knowing I was blessed to have four healthy kids. I gave up the anxiety that cripples me over weight gain in pregnancy and being terrified of facing labour again. I gave up the, "what will people say about us?" I surrendered financial concerns and stopped my repeated question, "how will I cope?" I offered my fear that I will be tired foreverrrrrrr...an absolute possibility, and resigned my confusion as to why He would want me to have more children when I knew others who were desperate to have just one child. I still have no explanation on that, except that I know it is not because of anything I deserve. God has absolutely seen every single daily and hourly failing I commit as a parent so there's zero evidence to suggest I would be trusted with more because I'm so good at parenting! It's simply not the truth.

Poor Jason hadn't noticed my quiet cascade of tears until he caught sight of my red and swollen eyes and heard my stifled shudders of breath. He looked concerned and then smiled gently (while carefully manoeuvring the roads, cos he's awesome like that) as I explained the battle that had been going on all week and the result and most recently the names I had been given and what they represented. We talked and cried (mostly me...ok yes, just me) and rejoiced in obedience and the hope of plans for good that God promises us. (Jeremiah 29:11)

It just so happened that we had opportunity to stay a couple of nights with the family of 10 from the start of the story while making our way back to the ferry to Ireland. Dear Jennifer got the whole story in one go, and we finally had opportunity to hear their journey of how they ended up travelling the path of trust and surrender before us. It was a God ordained visit and one I will always remember as one of those pivital times in my life.

On we journeyed back to Ireland, cracking the cars sump on a low speed bump and leaking oil all over the ferry. We prayed together that night as we looked towards a long day of tow trucks and exhaustion. The next morning we woke to Grace's smiling face as she asked, "are you excited to see what Jesus will do today to help us?!" Shame on me, I wasn't. She was full of hope based on the Bible story I had told the night before. She heard the Word and believed it, as I silently prayed for God to prove Grace's faith and work despite my lack. Somehow, the car started. Miraculously, the car didnt explode as we made it to the first petrol station purely on the hope of a God who can be trusted. A God who works miracles and does things that aren't logical, in ways I'll never understand. And it's a good thing too because He has given us something else. Someone who will make us richer in heart. Little Von Meding number 5, the one I wasn't going to have, will be blessing us with their presence in January. Here on the other side of the world. A gift from God despite my failings and doubt. A miracle knit together in my womb, how every child begins. For no child is anything short of a miracle and a gift. 

As we start these first weeks and months the doubts and fears I gave up are starting to whisper again, as if they have permission to be here or belong in this heart. They do not. By God's grace I will see them transformed into faith and hope and love and freedom. Because God does that like no other. From the burnt ashes of my offerings to him, beauty will rise. To Him be the Glory!

Return to me

Return to me

Return to me with fasting.
Fast from all that distracts
and steals you away from me.

Return to me

Return to me with weeping.
Awake, and weep for what has been lost.
Weep in the shield of my arms,
my beloved.

Return to me

Return to me with mourning.
Do not rend your garments for
I do not require your shame,
but your exposing.

Return to me

Rend your heart, tear away the mantle.
It can not protect, only harden.
It can not heal the crevices chiseled
or hide the lies engraved.

Return to me

I will remove this heart of stone
and offer you a heart of flesh;
a whole heart bound up
and protected by my law of love.
I will inscribe upon it true things.

Return to me

For I am the LORD your God.
I will not hasten to anger
but am extravagant in love.

I put before you life,
Wholehearted life.
Return to me
and LIVE.


Joel 2:12-13, John 8:44, Ezekiel 36:26-27, Luke 4:18, Jeremiah 31:33, Matthew 7:12, John 14:6, Deuteronomy 30:6, 16, 19-20, John11:25.

Our homeschool story

I never dreamed we would decide to homeschool our children. It started seemingly by accident. It was December 2007 and I had just felt God calling me out of work as a paediatric nurse. It made no sense. We wouldn't have enough money. I had a good job and Jay was studying full-time at University with only his scholarship money coming in. God has a way of getting his point across and He made it clear and unmistakable that I was to be promoted to stay at home with our two children whether it made sense to me or not.

As the months began to roll in, I grew accustomed to spending more time with my very smart 3 year old and very cute baby girl! I decided not to send Caleb to nursery school. I had just started spending all this time with them and I didn't want to send one to be looked after by someone else while his sister and I were right there at home!

There are people who we have had the privilege of wandering into our lives and impressing us with their parenting long before we were parents ourselves. Some of these wonderful people were homeschooling families. At the time I assumed it was an American thing to do because all three were American. Jason (who himself was homeschooled until age 9) did some research with me and we were pleasantly surprised to find out there were some families in Northern Ireland 'home educating' as they call it. I had the opportunity to meet with some of these mothers and the possibility of schooling my eldest child for his first year sounded reasonable. So we did it.

Caleb flourished in this environment, learning quickly and enthusiastically. He read in no time and had a passion for all things maths and science. I found it easy balancing time with baby Grace and schooling with Caleb.

What I did not expect, somewhat naively perhaps, was the criticism! I'm still not sure what fuels it. I suppose it strikes fear in some that I'm damaging my children by not doing what everyone else does. Perhaps they think I'm not up to the job and will eventually mess it up. I imagine some must believe that my actions are a direct judgement on their choices for their children. Whatever it was, the impression they left was that we were starting something terrible awful, and this was sometimes discouraging.

I should add at this point that there were some who fully supported us and their kindness has not been forgotten. There were also a few who weren't sure we were right in the head but they had the grace to stand with us anyway.

I felt (and still feel) that God led us gently to the path we're now on from day one of calling me out of work. On that particular day one we were in Florida. Next door to the condo we were saying in came a homeschooling family who were good friends with Jason's aunt. They only stayed a few days but as they read scripture and prayed with us they sealed the truth firmly that it was our responsibility to train our children in the way that they should go and for us it fit with this idea of schooling at home.

Two years passed and in September 2011, while travelling on a Ferry, our class gained another pupil, miss Grace! She is a delight to teach. She's smart and eager to do well. A little praise goes a long way with her. She's also easily distracted, so regular twirling breaks are needed (for us both) but she gets the work done and thrives. Caleb regularly has to take himself to another room to read because she does her best and most fanciest writing while singing (her own songs!) She is quite the artist, enjoying every art challenge I set and plenty more that she sets herself in her spare time. Her favourite lessons at the minute are learning to read with daddy.

This September, the rambunctious whirlwind that is Judah will storm the class adding another personality and teaching challenge to the mix while the sweet and determined Sophia Hope tries her best to get involved in whatever the big kids are up to.

Our kids are friends, they like each other! Yes, they still argue sometimes, but then come the moments to treasure where you can see how close they really are, with a random hug/kiss or random act of kindness. Our kids are happy! They have travelled a lot. They have seen poverty first hand so are learning the value of what they do have. They demonstrate better than some adults (myself included) a passion for making a difference for the poor. They are compassionate. They are not embarrassed to pray. They've talked to people of all skin colours, ages, walks of life without apprehension. They are confident. We encourage them to think for themselves, not just do what we do.

You could say they are sheltered...if you mean that they don't know swear words or questionable songs. They don't know what they're supposed to be watching on tv or what the latest 'must-possess-or-you're-not-cool' gadget is. I can live with that.

They don't have 30+ friends of the same age that they see everyday, but they do have friends. In fact they have great close friends. They are learning now what I didn't learn until much later that having a handful of close friends, the kind you keep your whole life is better than having 200 acquaintances. More than this, they are learning how to BE a friend.

They are not your definition of 'normal.' Every child is created extraordinary and we intend to keep them that way.

Hurt feelings

Last week a teary eyed and angry boy came back from youth club. A great act of injustice and embarrassment had been served and his young heart didn't know what to do with it.

Accused in the wrong of something he would not do, he was told off in front of the whole group and singularly denied the end-of-club-treat.

Daddy found him hidden behind the church piano when he came to pick him up and the great injustice was explained to me upon his return.

I stored away my immediate reaction which would have been to hug and soothe him and give him a treat bigger than he would have got at youth club and wallow in his injustice with him, I wanted to call up the leader in question and give him a piece of my mind, but something stopped me.

I went to his room where he sat quietly on his bed and told him the same story my dad told me. It was my dads injustice story from when he was a boy. He too had been at a children's club where part of the uniform was a hat. Some boys had been throwing their hats in the air (dad was likely one of them!) when a leader came in demanded that no hats were to be thrown any more. Dad obediently put his hat on and stood in line when some smart Alec came up behind him, took it off his head and threw it in the air - dad got in trouble and for once it was not his fault!

Caleb enjoyed this story so much that he asked for more. I told him of the greatest injustice, that Jesus was punished for the sins of all, for the sins of mine, of his, of the smart Alec with dads hat and even the leader who told Caleb off just an hour before.

Still he pressed me for my story of injustice. I feel I was quite a naughty child, perhaps more mischievous that naughty, but either way I was hard pressed to find a childhood story that I was not at least partially to blame for!

We settled him to bed minus my story and I promised I'd think about it and get back to him.

Today a teary eyed and angry lady stands at the stove typing and stirring a cup of tea. Great acts of injustice and embarrassment have been served and her (slightly) older heart doesn't know what to do with it.

I haven't been searching out these stories, I'd put Caleb's request out of my mind and stored it with the rest of the crazy that bubbles beneath my facade of serenity. Quietly Jesus is nudging me, standing beside me and encouraging me to allow the hurt to surface. He is here, it is safe.

What to do, what to do. My heart demands justice. My heart desires reconciliation...but I stop dead in my tracks in the shocking realisation that for every way I have been wronged I have also been wrong. I have been unjustly treated and I have served injustice. I have been the victim, I have been the victimiser. It's easy to be the hurt party. It is harder to admit guilt.

Mercy.
Forgiveness.
Grace.
Peace.
Freedom.

You know who you are, I'm ready to be reconciled.