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.

The day I became European

This is perhaps an abuse of my blog's title, presuming that I will always have spiritual things to talk about...however I find myself in a strange world here in "Europe" and often times am walking myself into trouble of my own making through lack of knowledge of the places I am visiting and wanted to write a bit about it.

I have often struggled with where I am from. Am I Irish, am I British? (I am Northern Irish, but have a UK passport.) I feel no pride in the country of my birth, actually I'm feeling no "pride" in anything anymore - when did being proud become a good thing?! I should say instead, I feel no sense of identity in my small part of the world. Anyways, there are many things I am sure I am not. "European" is one of those things.

I'm not sure why 'European' is a bad thing to me. Perhaps it's because that title presumes to strip all personality from each of the many European countries and places the worst of the 'decision making / law enforcing / politically correct' masking tape over all of them.

I'd like to think that's where my reasoning lies, but really it's the little things that identify me as a non-European. I don't go nude on beaches, I definitely rid myself of body hair, I don't pedal around on a bicycle with a cigarette in my mouth...there are other little things like the fact that I like to use actual toilets and not...well, I don't know what they're called. Let's say 'squatties' (as opposed to 'potties'.)

I want to just set the scene of my unfortunate incident - just so you don't judge me too badly & see that I had no other choice. We had been travelling for a couple hours, and as unaccustomed as I was to the heat, I had been drinking a LOT of water. (We don't seem to have air conditioning in France.) Anyways, we couldn't seem to find the hotel and I was BURSTING to use the bathroom. Seldom have I ever found myself in such a predicament of NEEDING to find a bathroom. We stopped at a supermarket and asked in our best French, "Ou est la salle de bains?" The assistant smirked at our accent/use of their language and told us something about "the back." Assuming she meant the back of the shop I took step after painful step in search of relief but to no avail. There was no bathroom at the back nor at the front or the sides of the supermarket so outside I went hoping to find one behind the shop. There wasn't one. There was, however, quite an empty car park with a partially tree shaded recycling unit in the middle. It was a spur of the moment emergency decision as I marched with purpose towards the unit, Judah in tow. "Keep a look out!" I called to Jay as I did the unthinkable.

Imagine then the surprise of the French person who was minding his own business pulling into the car park, his car full of recycling. I was past the point of no return when I caught a glimpse of a dark green vehicle pulling up behind us. Assuming that Jay, in his wisdom, had thought to protect our dignity by pulling over in the car; I and my now half-naked son continued in the task at hand until I heard the alarming sound of the clinking of glass entering the recycling bin.

For a split second I panicked and stood up - skirt still aloft, thus startling the eco-friendly Frenchman. Ducking back down to correct myself and cover up my son, I took Judah by the hand and casually emerged from behind the bins and made the swift walk of shame to the cover of our car, as if I had not just become a nudist, squatting-al-fresco European.

There are other stories, such as speaking 'Franish' to a French family (that would be me speaking in error a poor mix of French and Spanish in a conversation) but frankly, that's enough embarrassing confessions for one day.

*Special thanks to my friend, Anne Cortez who helped me identify the language I was speaking. I couldn't have written this blog without you ;)

Supernatural

This is the place where the darkness invades
In the shadows they're lurking and plotting my fate
Mocking and cursing so impatiently restless
Grotesquely huddling against the gate.


The snarling subsides as attention is turning
In silence and terror they stare to the east
For the Heavens are opened and the angels defending
Come charging in power on command from the King


Trembling, cowering, resigned and retreating
The victors are coming, greater power they bring.
Shrieking and fleeing - the name of Christ Jesus,
The blood of the lamb, dissolving their schemes


Quietly, fervently, reverently whispering
"Jesus! Jesus!" the prayer of the saints
What Power! What Might! What Authority bringing!
Our war cry, our mission must never abate.


"For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places." Ephesians 6:12

I will never be the same again

For the past few weeks we have been experiencing life without television. I can honestly say that I seldom miss it. At first it was a little odd in the evenings, to have settled the kids into bed, made a cup of tea and then instead of picking up the remote i've been picking up a book. My heart has been convicted, warmed, challenged, made ill by some of the truths I've been taking in.

Most recently, I started to read 'Crazy Love' by Francis Chan. Near the start of the book he encourages the reader to put the book down and look up this YouTube clip. I would encourage you to watch it, just so you know where I'm coming from.

The short clip shows in ever increasing distance the known size of our Universe. I'm reeling still at the thought of just how big our God truly is. At the very least, it confirms what my heart has known to be true - that all of creation could not have been an accident.

In the days that followed I mentioned to Jay that I was having trouble perceiving who God is on an intimate level after really acknowledging His vastness. I feel that the Universe must stretch even further than the Hubble telescope's impressive range. This element of who God is has always been known in my head but somehow it doesn't penetrate my heart on a daily/weekly/monthly basis. I have begun to wonder how well I really know my Father. I've been seeing these verses in a new light:

Isaiah 55:8-9 8 “For My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways,” says the Lord.
9 “For as the heavens are higher than the earth, So are My ways higher than your ways, And My thoughts than your thoughts."

As I've been wondering where to go with this blog, I've almost expected to round it off in a pleasant, "whatta ya know, I've found my intimate relationship again. Now I'm back to normal!"

I am not back to normal.

It seems I didn't pay close enough attention to the verses I cited. In fact last night I felt awakened again by the most uncomfortable of subjects - one that I have no claim to understand. Hell.

A while back I heard of book that was becoming popular that heralded the great news that God isn't going to send people to Hell anymore! As lovely as that sounds I'll just say it scared me that one man could claim he has understood the thoughts of a Holy God and has translated His Word in a way that could lead people in a false security all the way to Hell.

It's making me uncomfortable to write this, perhaps it's uncomfortable to read too. The Bible talks about people who will be sent away from God's presence who call "Lord, Lord!" - people who think they're safe and have their 'get into Heaven pass.' It made me stop and think - really think. How can I make sure I'm not one of those people! How can I be sure of my own eternal destiny?! How can I lead others into hope and faith if there is a chance I am not right with the Creator of the Universe, of all things seen and unseen? This is not a small thing. This is THE thing. Of all the small things and big things going on in our lives right now, this is the only thing that matters. At the end of this life it won't matter what anyone else did. I will be on my own before my God. Our decisions while on earth will determine our eternal life or eternal death.

To be sure to choose life both in Heaven and here on earth I need to do three things. First, believe in the Lord Jesus Christ - that brings me on par with the demons who believe in Him and tremble, so clearly that's not enough. Second, I need to confess my wrongdoings, my sin (what an unpopular word these days!) and claim forgiveness from the one who took the punishment for my sin. The one who defeated death and Hell through serving my death sentence. The one who rose again, who is now alive evermore and seated on the right hand of the Father in Heaven. The Lord Jesus Christ. Thirdly, and perhaps the most looked over, I need to live a life changed by the Holy Spirit living in me. A life of obedience to the commands of my Saviour, a life uncompromised! Number 3 should be the evidence of 1 and 2. To live moment by moment with Jesus, to do good works - not for mans praise - but so people will see the evidence of Christ in me, that my life would bring Glory to God.

So as I come to the end of this blog I have come to a new realisation. I will never be back to normal. I don't want to be back to normal. If I want to move on with Jesus, if I truly desire to know my God more, then I will be changed - daily!

I will never be the same again, Praise God!