Empty?

I felt empty.

Steve and I had dreamt about this weekend.

We had loved our time at Keele University:

the campus, the courses, the nightlife,

and the Christian Union.

The CU weekends away with inspirational teaching, relationship building and muddy football games were an annual highlight.

We walked away after graduation both wanting to go back and impart into students at a later date.

Knowing the CU president and our return to England imminent, the stars seemed to have aligned and opened an opportunity.

We were excited and eagerly anticipated all the things we would do, the ways Father God would move.

Who would have known that we would travel to that weekend, driving away from a house shrouded in grief just less than three weeks previously.

Like I said, I felt empty.

The weekend passed like a blur.
We had planned and prepared as diligently as ever, but I looked back and questioned whether things were as creative as we could have made them,

whether we really challenged them enough,

if our words were full of Holy Spirit, or just read off of a paper.

I wondered if I had really given my best,

if we had done the right thing.

After the weekend, our Facebook burgeoned with friend requests, comments about how much our talk spoke to them. And I got the warm and fuzzies.

When you think you don’t do well,

When things are super hard,

But you step out in faith regardless,

God can do great things.

True.

But not the end.

The thing is

I don’t just want warm and fuzzies.

I don’t just want to experience the high of a temporary feeling.

To think I did something good one day

And the next

Nothing substantial has changed

More was in store:

Never would I have imagined

That out of pouring myself out

That weekend still grieving

And being open to what Father wanted to do

That now

Two years to the day later

These girls who sat on seats and listened

Politely taking notes and clapping in the right places

Now

Sit at my table

Text me

Do lunch

Talk birth

Live chat through Obsessive Compulsive Cleaners

And pour into my sweet daughter

(with Petit Filous)

I don’t have much to offer this great world

Just my stories

My inappropriate humour

My meager words

And my love for people

But offer it I will

In the hopes that my longevity

My sticking around and involved

 it makes some difference

It changes some directions

It makes Father God bigger,

more visible,

more tangible,

in more lives.

Losing

My babes are sleeping, but I cannot

I feel as if I live in this place of constant frustration

Of constant wrestling between two polar opposites

Of constant emotional battle where I never win

I know the unconditional love of Father God, his forgiveness and blessings

Yet my Bible remains so often unread, its life-giving words shut off to my heart

I stare at my beautiful baby girl, eyes bright with wonder and joy, loving my time with her

But haunted repeatedly by news stories, fears and worries, that any moment the enemy could snatch her away from me

Enjoying the freedom of staying at home with my princess, wondering about serving in the community, training so I my photos would pay

Yet wondering if it is mere whimsy, an idyllic life far from my reach, and I need to grasp the financial stability of returning to the formal grind of my previous work

Having the low-key, no worries option of renting, and knowing that my home doesn’t define me

But plagued by seeing more and more friends on property ladder, and wondering if we will ever climb its rungs

My heart cries out to write and write, and dreams of a future, a career, inspiring with pen, bringing life with words

Yet it seems just that, a dream so far away, a joy that can’t rise to the surface on long busy days.

Buts and Yets stutter my growth

As an adult

As a wife

As a mother

They stop me from enjoying where I am

And the future looms its dark cloud over me

I remain restless

I feel exhausted

I wonder if it will change at all

Or am I resigned to a life that just feels this torn

In the losing middle of tug-of-war

Why can’t I be satisfied and just enjoy where I am, who I am?

When will I fully understand,

It is what it is?

When will I rest?

When will I win?

Waiting

I have many great traits.

I’d get tired if I wrote them all, but these are my favourite:

My spontaneity and creativity, throwing myself into the new and different, 

desperate for another crazy adventure.

My ridiculous organising skills, 

planning incredible and detailed events at the drop of a hat.

Combined, I’m a fireball of life and activity.

I’m also the least patient person I know.

My ever-increasing belly, shovelling sweets like the Oompa Loompas my husband so affectionately likened me to, weighed heavy on my frame, making me desperate for escape.

Desperate to end the nine months of puking

Of being restricted in my own skin

Of reluctantly slowing down my pace

 The messages piled in:

“Happy Due Date!!!! Any twinges ....???”

“no sign yet?! booooo xx”

Due day came and went…

“Where are these babies??????”

“Dear baby miller,

I am writing to officially give you an eviction notice. Please vacate your mothers womb by 12am this evening before the overdue cranky woman hormones go crazy ;) “

Everyday waiting for something…but yet nothing came, not even a hint…

“You not blown yet? Milking this whole pregnancy thing abit too much aren't you?”

“Ok, I'm done being patient for you!!! Go jogging or climb some stairs ... or ... OTHER things ... and get that baby moving! “

You were “done”?!

I was done.

Overdone.

Completely spent and exhausted from being patient.

Dogs and cats wait 60 days.

Rabbits wait 33 days.

Mice only wait 20 days.

Humans?

271 days.

Why forced to have so many bloated days?

What reason is there behind this torture?!

Texts of encouragement came in, but none spoke more strongly than this:

“These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance.

That is why waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother.

We are enlarged in the waiting.

We, of course, don’t see what is enlarging us.

But the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy.

Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, 

God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along.

 He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition. That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.

God knew what he was doing from the very beginning.”

{Romans 8}

We wait

For that spouse that never comes

For that job promotion they say is just around the corner

For the day we will earn more

For that relationship to be fixed

For the house of our own

The morning the contractions started

Painfully waking me at 5am

Faithfully pulsing every 20 minutes

Five hours later

As my mum arrived panicked and scared of missing the birth

They remained still 20 minutes apart

My pudgy self bounced frustratingly on the exercise ball

Netflix choices blurred into mundane viewing

My time had come

Labour was imminent

But yet Father God was still calling me

In a place of patience

We wait

For the marriage proposal

For the big break into the industry

For the manager to appreciate our efforts

For the fertility treatment to work

For acceptance on a course

For healing

The sickness came back.

My “friend” vomit that had consumed each week of my pregnancy

Overwhelming took over my labour

Contractions ranged from 1 to 7 minute gaps

Each painfully convulsing my body

A disjointed 10pm walk to the hospital

A delusional time on gas & air

A two hour grueling stint in water

And there she was.

The words of the friend rang in my ear:

“Labour doesn’t matter once it’s stopped.”

Those things are coming.

Those dreams deep in our beings, with heartbeats and kicks and pains

Have life within them

They are cooking, developing, growing.

It may not be happening to you as quick as the dog

Or the cat

Or the mouse

As quick as your sister

Your friend

Everyone else

But it’s coming.

It was relayed to me, that I spoke these words to my precious Zella, 

as her wrinkled grey body lay wetly on my exhausted chest:

“I did this for you. I did this all for you.”

All the waiting

The agony

The stretching

The pushing

My reward, my prize, the end

Was truly worthy of the waiting

My heart has softened

My soul has learnt patience

My character has developed

Truly, I was enlarged in the waiting

Dear Baby Miller - part 2

Dear Baby Miller,

Sweet merciful Zeus, you are due tomorrow!!

And by due, Mummy means this is the expected day of arrival, marking exactly one year since Mummy and Daddy arrived back from America, and Mummy will probably ball her eyes out and be devastated if you don’t come on our special day.

Welcome to the world of Miller family pressure.

There’s so much Mummy feels she wants to impart to you, teach you, brainwash you with on your arrival, but this little letter contains one of the most important lessons you’ll need:

“Don’t take things on face value.”

Mummy is the one people usually meet first.

When Mummy enters a room, people know she has arrived. Her loudness prevails, alongside her over-friendliness and penchant for inappropriate jokes at inappropriate times.

Mummy is the crazy, charismatic, over-zealous one with a wooing tendency.

But wooing people only gets you so far.

People need consistency, character, faithfulness, and endurance.

They need sensitivity and understanding, and genuine love.

And that’s why we have this guy:

People make jokes about “pre-Mummy” Daddy:

Wild, curly hair, a wardrobe consisting entirely of baggy jeans/cargo shorts, red t-shirts and baseball caps.

Don’t get Mummy wrong; she is aware of the high standard of work. She single-handedly transformed Daddy from a vagabond band roadie to a professional looking hottie:

But the truth is, Daddy has done a deeper transformation on Mummy.

Teaching Mummy to listen.

Showing Mummy how issues can be dealt with without extreme confrontation.

Learning to enjoy the quiet.

Becoming more patient with people and their issues.

Truly putting Father God first and seeking after Him in everything.

Being someone of true integrity.

Genuinely loving others.

Not being afraid to trust and open up to people.

Every step of Mummy’s difficult pregnancy, Daddy has been there.

Supportingly taking Mummy’s hand to walk her everywhere.

Rushing from work to get to midwife and scan appointments.

Reassuring texts of love throughout the day.

Pulling back Mummy’s hair to puke in the mornings.

Bringing breakfast in bed when Mummy was too weak to go downstairs.

Waking in the middle of the night to readjust the duvet each time Mummy returned from the toilet.

Buying Mummy skittles, ginger beer, Chinese takeaway and anything else random she craved/whined about.

You are blessed for so many reasons, with an amazing family and so many people praying for you and eagerly awaiting your arrival; for the fact you have been so healthy so far; for the hand of God already showing itself upon your life providing for you in miraculous ways.

But Mummy weeps at how blessed you are by the amazing Father you have been given.
Because I know how powerful a thing that is a child’s life, and it will change the trajectory of your life.

Some people look and think that Mummy is the boss, the head of it all.

Like I said, don’t take things on face value.

The truth is, while Mummy has carried you, Daddy has carried Mummy.

See you tomorrow.

xxx

Joneses

I want to be like the Joneses.

The Joneses are a great couple.

Fun, lively, adventurous.

And most importantly,

They have lots of money.

They’re both professionals, well respected in their jobs,

And at the end of the month, when their pay cheque arrives

They don’t weep with sadness.

The Joneses love to travel and go and see their friends all the time

They always buy everyone’s drinks at the bar

They produce the most unique and expensive birthday presents for friends

Their clothing is impeccable.

Parties, at the fancy hotels they hire, are an extravagant evening of outrageous fun.

Holidays are filled with business class jaunts across the world

And they can often afford to pay

for other members of their family to join them.

The Joneses are cool.

The Joneses are great.

But the Joneses are not the Millers.

And that makes me envious.

I have this nagging feeling that the Millers

will never be that couple who earn tons of money.

And I thought I was ok with that.

Neither one of us has a tremendous desire to climb the corporate ladder

After Miller man’s brief encounter of retail management,

he realised that he wanted to grow people and not profits

After Miller woman’s profound calling to youth ministry aged 15,

she knew that she was inspired by the thought of impacting the lives of the broken, young and hurting

Neither one of these comes with a massive pay packet

And that was ok

I thought

But five years following graduation

Not even earning enough to meet student loan pay off threshold

And you start to wonder

Is the life of the Millers that good

That effective

That profitable?

And you peek over the fence

And the grass looks lush and bright

And for just a day, or a week

It seems great to roll around

On the other side

Profound night thoughts make me ponder

What is true wealth?

For our wealth of experiences

Of travels to African continent

Jet set transatlantic life

Training people who impact a generation

Helping write book that calls others to action

Mentoring young people and seeing them thrive in their futures

Being told by non-Christians, that our faith seems so strong

Is there not a great richness in this as well?

And commitment made, and stuck to, alongside marriage vows

To live debtless

Unchained

Without credit card, store cards

Mortgage or car loan

And see the real freedom

That could be had

Are we not richer with bank balance that stays in black?

When Father’s holy word says

“fret not yourself”

and

“do not be envious”

I must remind myself

We are the Millers

Called to something different than the Joneses

Or the Smiths, or the Blacks, or the Scots

Our path is individual

And looking over fences

Merely distracts from the garden I am to tend on my own patch

Being rich is not a crime

Being poor is a not a sin

The real travesty of life

Is when I’m so blinded by the endeavour for the more and different to what I have

The world misses out on me concentrating

On the things I am called to

The things the Millers are meant to do.

Photo © Paul Green