Dear Baby Miller

Dear Baby Miller,

Hey Cheeky!! I’ve toyed with in-vitro names for you such as “Buddy,” “Munchkin,” “Lil’ Mill,’” “Poopsie”… But given your penchant for kicking incessantly, constantly resting on my bladder and your crazy timing into our lives, I think “Cheeky” is the best name for you!!

Madea, your maternal grandmother (who despises being called a “grandmother”), had a special nickname for us. In the early days of our marriage, she called us “Posh & Becks” in homage to our celebrity status and behaviour. You will be pleased to know however that we are not following in their footsteps in regards to naming you after the place you were conceived: It’s bad enough that Birmingham will be on your birth certificate as place of birth. Mummy hopes that doesn’t cause too much prejudice in your later life.

This is one of mummy’s randomly favourite pictures of us together:

Date Night at the German Market

That’s your daddy, looking like an Abercrombie model advertising a BBQ. One day mummy will show you pictures of what daddy looked like at university and you’ll realise that mummy is a miracle worker, able to see potential behind a mass of ginger curls and baggy clothes. It will also explain to you why it takes so long for the family to get dressed up to go out.

And that’s me, your mummy, the one with the eclectic fashion sense (part hobo-part style icon) and the tendency to consistently bite off more than she can chew. I expect your extra-curricular activities and holiday schedule will reflect that same ethos.

Now, for that rare brief two-minute period of the day where mummy is serious and doesn’t make an inappropriate joke, this photo tells you three things about your new life:

1. There will be adventure.

Whether to this German Market, theme park, Texas, a canal, or even to the shops; there will always be a crazy story, a fun time and an experience that seems so outrageous, your friends will think you’ve made up.

2. We bring light.

We desire to shine brightly, stand strong, be different and draw people to examine their lives in its intended fullness with Father God, out of the darkness.

3. You will need to exercise lots as we LOVE food.

A lot.

But hopefully you’ll be annoying just like us and have an incredible fast metabolism so you can eat whatever you want and stay thin.

See, I told you I can’t go more than two minutes.

Cheeky, you are loved more than you know.

(Regardless of the screams of agony you have heard from me during morning sickness, muscle pain, PGP, potential pee-pee infection, costochondritis, and blood tests mummy has had to endure to keep you established and comfortable in your Hilton-esque abode.)

We can’t wait to meet you.

(and see who wins the bets re: the ginger afro)

And though the house is a mess and we’re a little nervous, we are so very ready and so excited for your arrival. On September 13th. Just in case you were unsure of the date.

Love,

Daddy & Mummy

The ones that keep poking you and shouting loudly when you sleep.

xxx

Ps. If you can sleep through the night from the first week, we’ll buy you a car for your 18th birthday.

Life After Mission

We were asked by St. Germain's Church, one of our biggest supporters throughout our time on Pais, to write an article for their mission newsletter on "Life After Mission": what our experience has been returning as missionaries from another country. We are publishing this article to stay authentic and show our experience, as well as encourage/forewarn those who are moving on from Pais this year as they step out. 

S&S

----

After 4-5 years of living and working in America with The Pais Project in the USA, we packed up and moved back to England in September 2011. Much is made of the transition when a missionary first leaves for a country: raising finances to set up a new life, adjusting to culture shock, starting a new position and understanding your new organisation are a few of the enormous tasks to be tackled. Returning from mission on the other hand seems a much simpler affair: typically you are returning to the same country and city you were originally from, with many family and friends surrounding you, thus adjustment should be minimal.

But this is far from the case.

Spending so many years in Arlington, Texas gave us a very strong base of friends who lived close to us, whom we didn’t know what married life was like without.

Weeks were spent emotionally packing, selling and throwing out personal items in order to condense our life into a few suitcases.

We arrived back with no jobs, little finances and no home of our own, with Sebrina moving to a city she had never lived in before and 90 miles from the security of her own family and most of her best friends.

And on top of this all, Steve’s father was suffering with brain cancer.

We were thankful for advice we had before leaving from multiple sources that this transition would undoubtedly be harder than we could anticipate and would test us emotionally and spiritually. But nothing fully prepares you for the actuality of the situation. On reflection, these are our main thoughts on moving back home and starting “Life After Mission.”

You find even the smallest things overwhelming

Banking. Food shopping. Using public transport. Paying bills.

Simple everyday things that are completely different in Texas in comparison to England.

Having acclimatised so well to Texan culture, and despite England being our home, we felt we have to get re-used to everything again. Frustrations often built when we couldn’t quite master or understand the system and we felt like we had to ask for help with the most basic of things. Slowly we got readjusted to the new way of living and found systems that worked for us, but we had to power through the “overwhelmed” feeling.

You question whether you made the best decision

In the Old Testament, when things went badly for an individual (eg. Job) it is assumed that they have sinned in some way: Job’s friends gathered around him begging him to confess some dreadful sin he had done. The grace of Jesus and the nature of the sinful world that we live in shows us today that this is warped theology, but we can’t help but wonder what we did wrong when things don’t go our way. Despite emotional support from family, friends and St Germain’s church, things often spiralled out of our control and we couldn’t settle as well as we assumed we would. The situation was overpowering, creating lots of tears and questioning about whether moving was the best situation. We knew that it had been a prayerful decision over the course of 18 months, but we needed constant reminders of this in order to be confident in the difficult situation we had found ourselves in.

You worry about the work you have left behind

Having spent so much energy, time and love investing in our roles, and more importantly individuals, leaving was hard. We had clearly communicated our departure in advance but still there were difficulties in our transition. Pais had not been able to find a replacement for Steve’s role as quickly as expected. The Co-National director of Pais:USA was suffering an undiagnosed illness thus the leadership was stretched with extra responsibilities. Some students, despite our best efforts, were connected solely to us and not the wider church thus felt too much of a gap when we left. The wonders of the internet meant that we could talk regularly to all those we missed, but sometimes that made it worse, making us more aware of issues that were going on back in Texas. You slowly have to manage not stopping in your care of those in your old place, but not letting that care consume you and make you feel unnecessarily guilty about situations beyond your control. It becomes a time of learning to depend on the fact that Father God is completely sovereign over all the earth.

You question your spiritual purpose now you aren’t officially in “ministry”

The apostle Paul talks of the body of Christ and the role each of us have to play within it. With the status ‘missionary’ you have great ease finding this role as it is placed upon you: you have a job title, responsibilities, people dependent upon you, events to organise, teaching to plan…your spiritual purpose it seems is clearly laid out when you are in ministry. Suddenly, back home after mission, everything changes: Sunday services aren’t dependent upon you, you haven’t got the set people you are meeting, mid-week events occur whether or not you are there to start or finish them. The lack of responsibility and new found freedom can affect people in two different ways. On one side, you could become revitalised and refreshed, feeling free to try something new and enjoy church more because you now have more of a choice about whether or not you attend. On the other hand, it can leave you confused and feeling redundant, unneeded and unsure of where or if to serve. Both of us have felt both sides of this coin, but are slowly moving into a place of exploring what new things await us in regards to our ministry. One of the great blessings for both of us has been suddenly thrust into a work environment filled with different faiths and we have gladly relished this opportunity which is not afforded to you when you work entirely in a Christian team.

‘Life After Mission’ is a mess of emotions, thoughts and practicalities. At times it can feel that you will never be settled back in, or be able to stop these conflicting emotions. Slowly though, you realise that there is no such thing as “life after mission” – we are all called to a certain place, at a certain time, for a certain purpose, and there are people in our spheres of influence crying out for us to reach out to them, to see them as our mission field, right on our very doorsteps. The thing that people struggle most with in life are transitions, and moving from a different country and completely changing job and responsibility are two transitions combined that have the potential to break an unsupported individual or family. Our prayer, is that Father God will lead all of us to be more aware of those who are experiencing transitions around us, and to find practical ways to support them as they traverse their new life.

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

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.

Others

Another morning spent praying to the porcelain God…

My whole body aches and wretches in pain as, once again, part of my day is spent trying to count the pounds of food wasted, destined for life as sewage

I pride myself on being a relatively healthy person. No major ailments other than anaemia, no broken bones, no big diseases, in fact my only childhood trip to the hospital was to the ear, nose & eye clinic in Oxford, where aged six I lodged a stone up my nose during a boring outdoor assembly.

I have always been an overachiever.

Pregnancy however is proving my Achilles heel, sapping my freakish man strength from my very core:

Anaemia – haemoglobin count lower than ever, creating uber tiredness

PGP – Pelvic girdle pain, causing excruciating hip pain when I sleep on my back and often getting in/out of bed

Pulled muscle in chest – pain breathing deeply, coughing, sneezing, laughing too hard

Suspected UTI – urinary tract infection, causing frequent peeing and pain

At times I have felt my body completely defeated me

And then I remember “them”

That growing life needing energy and nutrients and safety

And I find myself saying to people:

“I don’t care how sick I get, as long as “they” are ok.”

If I puke everyday, which I seem to enjoy so much, it seems worthwhile pain to endure as long as baby is alright.

Pregnancy seems to be cracking this snow queen’s heart.

Making her think of someone other than self.

And I’m reminded of Jesus:

“When he saw the multitudes, He was moved by compassion for them…”

“He said, ‘They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.’”

“Ok, My Father, if this cup [dying for man’s sins on the cross] cannot pass away from Me unless I drink it, Your will be done.”

I know I am no Jesus.

But this womb growing seeks to shape and embrace the fullness of this simple truth.

Others first.

What situation today is Father God using to call you into that place?

The place where you sip

Bitter drink

Gladly

For joy is found when that cup

Is empty

Drunk

Fully devoured

To save the lives

of others. 

The Worst.

Worst things about being pregnant

#1:

not being able to eat sushi.

#2:

not being able to eat smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels.

#3:

going up a size in clothes.

#4:

working in fashion store that does not have a maternity department thus being resigned to squeezing yourself into jeans that are too tight.

#5:

feeling/looking/being fat because of #2 & #3.

#6:

peeing lots thus needing to break your perfectly rational fear of not using public toilets in case you get a disease.

#7:

having to take blood tests (which you hate) for diseases you know you don’t have (like syphilis) and then the tests getting lost (which is typical) so that you have to give more blood (which you detest).

#8:

lets not even talk about bras/bust size.

#9:

even if you have a normal ailment, such as muscular pain in your ribs, you are not able to see your normal doctor and are scared into visiting the triage maternity unit, where you wait four hours, lying on an uncomfortable “bed” lined with rustling paper towels, listening behind an ugly nylon curtain to harrowing tales of women further along in their pregnancy, only to find out that your baby is fine, it is just, as you thought, muscular pain.

#10:

having to master the art of holding puke in your mouth because you need to pee/poop at the same time and unfortunately they haven’t developed an app for that.

Don't have sex (before you are married), because you will get pregnant and not be able to eat sushi or wear cool clothes and be miserable for eternity!!

NB. People who “enjoyed” being pregnant need not comment on this post for fear of me hurting them (remember, I can blame everything on my mood swings and pregnancy hormones…even manslaughter).

Best thing about being pregnant:

#1 (a mute (moo) point as currently there only seems to be one):

The little thing inside of me, currently the size of a mango, who is going to come out (after hurting me some more) all covered in poop and blood, but will get placed into it my ams, wrapped in our organic cotton blankets, and smile at me, thus helping me realize it was all very much worth it, and showing me so much more of the purity and love of Father God. 

Shame that’s still 4.5 months away.

But I guess worse things could happen. 

Tock

We stand to attention at its bells

Grudgingly wake up to its alarms

Wait nervously as its hands tick

This wonderfully uncontrollable thing

Silently is in control of us

It comes

To no surprise

That I delight in nothing more

Than sprinting ahead

Of the tocking master

To chase it down

And refuse to let it grab its hands on me

But sometimes

Especially in this time

Time defeats me

By not telling me how long

I must wait

Wait for a job

Wait for a house

Wait for friends

Wait for course answers

Wait for money

Wait for these things

But what am I really waiting for

My heart cries “What time is it Mr Wolf” desperate to run paces ahead

To a sweet victory

And not be devoured

By the dinner time of the enemy

Who lies in wait

For those who would waste the ticking minutes

Pouring over pages of John’s words

I read over and again

It is not yet me time

My time is not come

Brother Jesus seems to enthralled with the

Watching of the clock too

For there is something ahead

That cannot be awaken

Until its due time

What am I waiting for?

Lessons.

For Kingdom school is starting

Lining up outside

Awaiting the creaking of an opening door

To the room of revelation

Where head master would draw me in

And show me the things I have not yet grasped

My lesson now?
Patience.

And yes this is a lesson I have repeatedly learnt

But each time I flunk out

Because what has been remembered for the test

Has been forgotten for the life

Patience.

To not think my short-nosed plan is so correct and accurate

That I need not wait to see how things pan out

To realise there was no real way to prepare for all this changing

The moving of bags

The moving of roles

The moving of heart, and connections with friends

The moving of place where we learnt to be married, where we learnt to be missionaries, where we learnt to be truly us

Patience to settle back into this land of cold unfamiliarity

My house

not yet restored to being

my home

nothing yet has gone to “plan”
no job or school was one on our list three weeks ago

no idea remains for the rest of the year

for the nearly four weeks

have been a rollercoaster no end

Tick.

I still have much patience to learn.

So much to learn about the sovereignty of the clock maker.