Right

This isn’t the right time.

Amidst a flailing of instruction reading and nervousness, we had taken the pregnancy test (as I tried not to pee on my hand), and it came up positive.

We’d only been back in the country four months.

Steve’s dad had only passed away two months before.

Steve had barely started his new teaching assistant job, and was in the process of applying for the extremely competitive and demanding Graduate Teaching Programme.

It wasn’t the right time.

Never mind that Steve and I have a nine year friendship, with a nearly four year marriage.

Great degrees, successful careers so far with plenty of hope for future prospects.

Spent years travelling and serving with a great Christian ministry.

Loving and supportive families excited for the latest member.

Amazing friends ecstatic at the new addition.

A lovely (rented) house with plenty of space.

It still wasn’t the right time.

I had been rejected from the Step Up to Social Work programme.

I was two days from the UCAS deadline for the Masters in Social Work.

I had applied for jobs and not heard back.

I was still working out my career.

That’s what I mean by “it wasn’t the right time.”

Nothing can prepare you for that overwhelming feeling

The pressure of that new life growing inside you

That will be totally dependent upon you

Rely on you for everything

Will look up to you

And you feel you have nothing to give.

Would my child understand all the ups and downs of changing countries, and changing careers? Would my child understand the fact I just got into retail again so I could have a job while Steve looked after his dad, and I tried to find something different but nothing seemed to open up, and then I found out about them, and it was harder to get another job, and risk losing substantial paid maternity leave

For the sake of a

Future career

Future pipedream

Would my child understand?

Do I really understand?

What is my worth found in?

The right career

The right title

The right view of me that I have built up, that I aim for, that I am seeking to have.

I crave that perfect life,

superwoman career mum,

that bakes organic,

giving 100% to marriage

to childcare

to cooking

to church

to hobbies and friends and socialising

and as my belly grows, aches with preparatory birthing pains

my spirit grows more in tune to Father’s whisper

you can’t have it all

so what do you want?

I have wanted motherhood

since spending summers building Playmobile families and homes around my room

since being oldest girl grandchild caring for all oxford cousins

since learning to read early and gathering nursery group for story time

since holding newborn baby brother in my teenage arms

since texas days surrounded by families babysitting for fun

yet shock of motherhood entering my house unexpectedly

made me forget all these things

forget that I have known for a year which nappies I want to use

forget that Steve and I hunted down random family in airport to see brand of their buggy

forget conversations spent learning about family dynamics to be prepared

forget heart racing moments and disappointment of previous pregnancy “scares”

forget burning desire in heart

to nurture

care

create that cute

ginger afro

competitive machine

the world so yearns for

yet is so not ready for

Baby Baby,

I was made ready for you

And your timing, Father, is just right.

Fyneas

Our community recently welcomed a beautiful boy:

Fyneas Wyn Powell

I remember fondly the New Orleans Mission trip Hannah Powell & I were on when she whispered that her and Matt were trying for baby # 3.

A few weeks later, as they announced their pregnancy (amidst a sea of horrific morning sickness), I mused on how Hannah was probably expectant as we talked…and how I had tirelessly worked a woman, laden with child.

Always keen to help, Steve and I volunteered to be on “kid duty”, babysitting Rhys & Carys when Hannah went into labour. Excitement filled my heart when my phone flashed up with Hannah’s name…when we heard news that she was 2, 4, 6 centimetres dilated…and then when Matt called and said:

“He is here.”

We raced the siblings to the hospital to see their new addition, marvelling at the excitement and blessing of new life.

To our surprise we were offered to hold Fyneas, trusted with this new life at such a young and fragile age. 

As Steve cradled him in his arms, he asked what time he had been born. 

The child in his arms was not even an hour old.

Someone asked later how Steve had ended up holding the baby so early on in its life.

I wondered the same question.

Yes I know I am married to him, but that makes me even more aware his skills. Of how he changed his first nappy (diaper) only 18 months ago and has seldom changed any since. Of how part of our honeymoon was spent with me explaining what a toilet brush was.

I am literally fearful of the day someone asks him to cut the umbilical cord between our child and me. I am certain my screams will be louder than the baby’s.  

Hannah words spoke wisely as to why she allowed Steve to hold the baby so early on:

“I think he needed to.”

At this time, when life seems so cruel and disease-ridden, Steve needed to see the other side.

How beautiful life is.

The potential of a lifetime held preciously in his arms.

The tininess of a body, perfectly formed.

The sheer dependency and expectancy of life.

The intricate construction of a foetus.

A Bump ever-growing underneath a loose shirt

Now a fully-fledged, alive, human.

The joy that comes in the beginning, when it feels as though time stands still for a minute, as even the angels marvel at the joy of the new.

Here.

Born.

Alive.

One of my besties, Freya, has been a great support through this time. One of the most affirming factors has been her continual talk of the cyclical nature of humanity.

A new life screams its arrival into the worlds as another, maybe just a few rooms away, closes their eyes for the very last time.

As cancer continues to try and grip Steve’s dad, his daughter Joy swells with the anticipation of a second born. 

This cycle continues, repeats, renews, every minute.

As Steve and I have openly talked of our plans to adopt, many have asked if we intend to have children of our “own” as well.

As I held Fyneas on Day 1, Day 2 and Day 4 (if I hadn’t been catching the plane to England, I think the Powell’s would have thrown me out of their house), there was a time on Day 4 I just didn’t want to let go.

His 8lb body next to my chest.

His sweetly swaddled body.

His gentle, peaceful reliance and vulnerability.

I could have sat there for a lifetime.

If Hannah had said, “You can have him” or “I can’t look after him any more”, I would have carried him out and loved him as my own, opening his eyes to the wonder of jerk chicken, America’s next top model, street dance and a remorseless competitive spirit. 

The grades of the children I help home school have been great, and one loves me helping her to study for tests, with my mix of press-ups and high fives as punishment and rewards.

In England I got an email saying she had 100 on a test and my heart leaped:

“My kid got 100%!!”

Our life is a revolving door of children and teens running into our arms, hugging & kissing, texting and calling. As I prepare for this year’s graduation, I am reminded that these seniors were just 8^th grade when I arrived in America.

“My babies are graduating high school.”

In our marriage statement we commited:

“…providing a loving and God-centred environment for all those who enter our home and our lives!!”

Whatever is placed before us, whatever is put into our hands, whatever we are entrusted with

Will.

Be.

Our.

Own.

And if the whole world belongs to Father God, if he is the author and creator of all, is anything “our own” to begin with, even if it comes from my womb?

As we saw numerous people at the !dea Camp comment upon and live out the journey of life with a child who has special needs, I felt that would be, for us, a step too far.

Something we couldn’t handle.

Something we don’t have the ability to handle.

Yet when recently we spent an afternoon looking after such a child, amidst the feeding tubes, limited speech and ankle injury, Steve remarked afterwards that he loved that time and his heart was opened to welcoming that kind of child into our home, if that’s how we were led.

Some may look at us as naïve 20 something’s.

Unaware of the full magnitude of all the things that we talk of.

Caught up in a fad.

And I accept these opinions.

Maybe even agree a little with some.

But know that there is one thing

A thing we

Embrace

Love

Fully understand

Are not naïve about

The sacred, precious, fragility

of Life.

And we seek to uphold that in all what we do.  

We will be naïve

Lacking worldly experience and understanding

Simple and guiless

Unsuspecting and credulous

Because people who are

Not burned by the hardness of this world

Unscathed by the expectations of others

Not settled into a predefined box

Step forward in an unrestrained freedom

Believing Father God can do great things.

Who knows what lives may be changed as a result.

 

Jemi

My cousin’s baby has finally arrived with the name:

Oluwajemi

Called “Jemi” for short, her Nigerian name means ‘God has answered me’.

And the truth is, He has.

For Femi and Jordelle, as with any other parent, all you desire is for your child to be healthy. They didn’t care whether it was a girl or a boy, they just wanted “it” to be well.

God answered that. 

And that's a huge thing. 

But Father God answers the small things as well. 

I remember the phone conversation with Jordelle in early December last year. With her first sentence she told me that she was pregnant. 

With her second sentence, she asked Steve and I to be god-parents. 

Knowing our always tight and hectic summer schedule, and with the baby's due date right at the end of the week we planned to be in England, we prayed that Father would have her born on time and we'd get to see her. 

Halfway through our week in England, and four days earlier than expected, we got news that Jordelle had gone into labour. 

A painful and agonizing 24 hours later (for which I have an increases amount of respect for my new heroes - all mothers who endure labour), Jemi was born. 

God answered our prayer. 

It was small, it was selfish, but God answered it anyway, giving us four days to spend with our beautiful god-daughter before we left.

He answered the huge. He answers the small. 

And then there's the random. 

In 2 King 6, a group of prophets led by Elisha, are cutting down trees, when one of their axes falls into the water. 

Axe gone right?

Elisha, probably uttering a silent prayer, instructs one of the men (also most likely uttering a silent prayer) to show him where the axe fell into the water, then throws a stick which makes the iron axe float to the surface. 

God answered their prayer. 

Father God deeply cares about the huge, small and random asks we have. 

The school paper. The ill relative. The football game. The work conference. The household budget. The mourning family. The new relationship. The bullied child. 

Let us not be as abusive and flippant to treat Him like a ethereal vending machine, who chugs out a delightful treat in return for a rusty coin of hurried meaningless words. 

But let's not be too scared to open our hearts to converse with Father God of the universe, who despite the awesome role of being in charge of all creation, answers our prayers. 

What will you ask Him for today??

Jordelle and Femi's words back to Father are revealed in the meaning of Jemi's middle name 'Feyishara'?

"Take this as yours."