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."

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!