Community and Beyond

I’ve been reading through past blog posts to inspire me for an upcoming raw food detox that we’re doing, and came across one that I’d written over ten years ago. It’s made me think about how much more we understand the purposes of God for us as a family than we did ten years ago.

The ten year old post definitely deserves a postscript-- an update. Ten years on, we are living in another culture and cultivating a different community, understanding more than we did in those days.

When Dan and I first began to spend time together as a couple, we did so in community. We spent more time with others than we did alone. Even our alone times were spent in the Blue Cafe, where we regularly went for coffee and built relationships with the staff who worked there even as we worked on building our own relationship. Opening our lives to others has been at the core of who we are as a couple from the very beginning; it was what had been modelled to us by those who were discipling us. This continued on into our early married life as we opened the door of our tiny flat with open house evenings including multiple young people, dinners with other couples, coffee and tea with friends, squeezing them into our space along with our twin babies who came along at the end of our first year of marriage. We moved up the hill to a home that, though small, had a design that was excellent for the open door lifestyle that we felt characterised our purpose. We had small group meetings, game nights, Sunday lunches for students, birthday celebrations, and other families with children over to play. Opening our home also meant inviting others to stay for extended periods: friends and family in need, exchange students, overseas visitors. Eventually we had a Sunday evening open house, which allowed others to bring friends along. We didn’t know everyone who came, but eventually they all became part of community, living life with us. It was never easy. 

After ten years of this revolving door, we moved to the US. At first it felt like a break, a long holiday. Then we began to look around us to find the people who God was calling us to do life with. Sure enough, after a while we began to realise who they were and we began the process of building community again. Now in another home, another place, our door is open and though it looks a little different, in many ways it’s exactly the same. Our home is a place for connecting with others, sharing life, praying through difficult times, and seeing God work in the lives of many. Our children have grown up in this understanding, and they know that though we do set aside specific family-only nights, our home belongs to others, too.

As I wrote in the original blog post, loving people as if they were Jesus creates community. There’s no special treatment given to those I can gain from as opposed to those who have nothing to give. Sometimes the house is neat and tidy when people walk through our door; at other times it’s chaotic and not very clean. Sometimes we are struggling with our attitudes and have little to offer; at other times our spirits are connecting to God’s Spirit and we have encouragement and wisdom to give. We are honest and open in those times that things are not going well; we don’t avoid communication or people and don’t pretend that everything is all right when it’s not. There is always welcome, though, and always a safe space.

Does creating community from home look the same for everyone? No. Our callings vary, and our different levels of capacity vary, too. But we are all called to live generously. It’s not always comfortable, never easy, and requires us to be open, honest communicators. It requires us to give up our lives. We cannot remain in our own self-contained castle if we want to live generously.

There's a connection between what we do as a family and the purposes of God. Of course there's the collective purpose that God has for all of us who are following the way of the Messiah: "go and make people from all nations into disciples"; and then there are also the individual callings and spiritual giftings that help us to do that. We’ve been studying Philippians as a family, and as we read through chapter 3 the other day, I realised again how necessary it is that we ALL understand what Messiah Yeshua’s purpose --His calling-- is for each us. 

Mine and Dan’s mutual understanding of the call on our lives to create community and live with an open door has been a foundation of our lives together. We have lived this out for twenty years and are well acquainted with the ups and downs as well as, at times, our own lack in fulfilling this call to shepherd others. Our ability to live generously by opening our home to the capacity that we are able to is definitely our gifting. I know that the “open door” of our home is Messiah's purpose for us, no matter what culture we are in or where we live. It will always be that way. Our children may inherit some of that purpose from us, though it may look slightly different for them. They may be able to live generously in other ways. For this is what an open door is really all about: a tool for living generously as we pursue the goal of what it is that the Messiah took hold of us for. 

“But the things that used to be advantages for me, I have, because of the Messiah, come to consider a disadvantage. Not only that, but I consider everything a disadvantage in comparison with the supreme value of knowing the Messiah Yeshua as my Lord. It was because of him that I gave up everything and regard it all as garbage, in order to gain the Messiah and be found in union with him, not having any righteousness of my own based on legalism, but having that righteousness which comes through the Messiah’s faithfulness, the righteousness from God based on trust. Yes, I gave it all up in order to know him, that is, to be conformed to his death, so that somehow I might arrive at being resurrected from the dead. It is not that I have already obtained it or reached the goal-- no, I keep pursuing it in the hope of taking hold of that for which the Messiah Yeshua took hold of me. Brothers, I, for my part, do not think of myself as having yet gotten hold of it; but one thing I do: forgetting what is behind me and straining forward toward what lies ahead, I keep pursuing the goal in order to win the prize offered by God’s upward calling in the Messiah Yeshua. Therefore, as many of us as are mature, let us keep paying attention to this; and if you are differently minded about anything, God will also reveal this to you. Only let our conduct fit the level we have already reached.” [Philippians 3.7-16]

 

A Southern Wedding

My youngest brother, alternately known as Uncle Nathan, was married last week.  

Mr J, Coo, Righty, and Lefty were thankful that Nathan and his bride, Anna, opted for a dessert reception and partook enthusiastically. 

Dan and I were happy about the coffee bar.  I still feel a sense of relief that the only Maley family damage done was a brief fire due to a spilled candle at the table where the boys were doing justice to big plates of cake.

We attempted a family photo but not all family members wanted to participate.

Birth Choices in Indiana

Until two years ago, the choice to give birth at home was virtually impossible for most women in the state of Indiana.  Of course, many families still went for this option, birthing illegally at home either with certified professional midwives [CPMs], lay midwives, or giving birth unassisted.

Home birth was not actually illegal; CNMs [certified nurse midwives] practiced in Indiana legally but the majority of CNMs work in hospitals and choose not to attend home births. In the United States, medical = big business.  Doctors are paid per head for delivering babies, instead of per hour for the time they put in.

Two years ago, after years of hard work by the Indiana Midwifery Taskforce, a large bill legalizing certified professional midwives [CPMs] was passed by Indiana government and signed into law by the governor. This legalisation has allowed women the freedom to easily choose home birth in the state of Indiana.

There has been a definitive amount of opposition to this bill, particularly from the Indiana State Medical Association.  If CPMs, working as highly qualified self-employed birth providers, were legalised with no holds barred, they immediately present a threat to obstetricians working unchallenged in a state that has a high infant mortality rate.  [Home births not included in these statistics.]

1548 is the "fix" needed for two unworkable parts of bill, necessary in order to implement the law the legislature already created two years ago. 

1548 is due to be voted on in the Senate Health Committee within the next 48 hours.  If you are at all concerned about the freedom of Indiana women to choose birth at home with a qualified provider, please call or e-mail members of the Senate Health Committee TODAY!!

Ryan Mishler - Senator.Mishler@iga.in.gov, 317-233-0930

Jean Breaux- s34@iga.in.gov, 800-382-9467

Frank Mrvan - s1@iga.in.gov, 800-382-9467

Mark Stoops - s40@iga.in.gov, 800-382-9467

Vaneta Becker - Senator.Becker@iga.in.gov, 317-232-9494

Liz Brown - Senator.Brown@iga.in.gov, 317-232-9807

Michael Crider - Senator.Crider@iga.in.gov, 317-232-9493

Ed Charbonneau - Senator.Charbonneau@iga.in.gov, 317-232-9494

Ron Grooms - Senator.Grooms@iga.in.gov, 317-234-9425

Rick Niemeyer - Senator.Niemeyer@iga.in.gov, 317-232-9490

Solomon

Just a few short weeks ago, I was nearly halfway through my fourth pregnancy.  At eighteen weeks, my midwife visited and was concerned when she couldn't find a heartbeat for the baby.  Days later, Dan and I sat in a darkened room for an ultrasound scan and saw our fifth child curled up peacefully inside, perfect but for his silence.  No heartbeat.

It's true that this was not a terrible shock.  I had felt something was wrong, for so many weeks.  As days of pregnancy had crawled by, the sickening nausea I experienced from the beginning was almost unbearable. I'd never had such stomach cramping and pain with the other three, even during the twins' pregnancy.  The kids and I had experienced symptoms of food poisoning in June after eating fruit that was part of a nationwide recall, and my "morning sickness" seemed to be entwined with normal "flu" symptoms until I couldn't tell the difference anymore.

The doctor was clear: this was not a miscarriage, and at nearly nineteen weeks, was not far enough along to be considered a stillbirth.  It was simply "fetal death", and as my body was choosing not to deal with it, labour would have to be induced.

Dan and I went to the local hospital Sunday evening after a day spent with friends, family, and our children.  We sat in quiet and near-darkness for hours.  Dan played his guitar and we spoke in hushed tones to each other and with nurses as they periodically came in to check on me.  In the end, I was only in proper labour for an hour, and gave birth to our tiny baby boy around 7am yesterday.  He was still in the amniotic sac, placenta fully attached --no complications or need for any other interventions-- it was a complete birth.

Not quite six inches long, weighing about 1 1/2 ounces, this little boy was small but clearly one of ours.  His long legs, big torso, and scrawny arms were an exact replica of his two oldest brothers!  Though I will never see him as they are now I can easily imagine him with auburn hair, freckled faces, and big grins, just like theirs'.

We called him Solomon simply because it means "peaceful", which perfectly describes how we've felt during this time.

My father built a box using cedar wood that Dan found in the woods last autumn.  Solomon, wrapped in blue flannel, rested in the box, and the kids placed treasures inside: a bird drawing from Righty, a long letter from Lefty, and a card from Coo.  Mr J wrote a note and shared some of his special things with his little brother: an English penny, a plastic ring, and three crystal "jewels".  

We buried baby Solomon in his little box, halfway between a white oak and a cedar tree.  Dan played the guitar and some of us spoke out our thankfulness to God for Solomon, in spite of his short life.  Wildflowers are everywhere at this time of year and we gathered handfuls of them to cover his box. The children decorated the mound that remained with chestnuts, acorns, sticks, and more flowers.

We sat outside on the ground nearby as the sun dropped down in the evening sky.  Golden sunshine  scattered ribbons of light around us and the quiet was peaceful.

Sadness is close, always nearby when we think about the unexpected death of our baby.  But a deep peace is near, too, always there.  The life of God inside us is the same breath that gave life to Solomon, and we are at peace knowing that Solomon is now with Him.

Dan and I are so thankful for our parents, who've been so helpful and supportive, and for our friends far and near.  Even though many of you are faraway, we've felt so much love from all of you. :)

All photos for this post were taken by Tracey Stanton.

Now

I'm finally back in this little world, after such a long absence! First, I'll catch up where I left off.

Our final week of living in the UK was without a doubt the most hectic time of my life, so far.  It doesn’t even begin to compare to moving into our home more than a decade ago.  I thought that was crazy!  With two busy babies who were not yet a year old, moving our possessions from a flat into a house a few carloads at a time seemed like a big deal back then.  I can look at my twenty-three-year-old self and laugh a little bit.  Not too much, because it wouldn’t be fair to her.  

But this!  Our house was crammed with busyness, constant activity, people.  Last minute meals with friends, frantic sorting out of belongings, throwing away things I never thought I’d throw away, giving even more away — literally encouraging people to leave my house with their arms full of our possessions.

We went to Wales for a final weekend, with Nanny and Grandad.  Then Mr J began to complain of an itchy head.  I did a rushed check, and found nothing more sinister than his usual cradle cap-like dry scalp.  In a more thoughtful, slower time I would have massaged coconut oil into his scalp, and continued to do so until the itchiness cleared up.  Thoughtful? Slower?  These days were anything but that.

Our last family day out before leaving had been planned for ages: a trip to Birmingham, to see the new library together and visit the Botanical Gardens.  Armed with Pizza Express vouchers, we crowded round a table at the restaurant and enjoyed a meal in the bright sunshine together before heading over to the Botanical Gardens.  Finding myself sitting in light so vivid I could barely see, I moved to the other side of the table to escape the glare, holding Mr J for a few moments on my lap.  Absentmindedly, I stroked his hair, and suddenly spotted something tiny moving on his scalp. No!!!!

Yes.  

Instantly I knew that both Coo and I would have them, too.  And I was right.  Somehow, Dan and the older two boys totally escaped the scourge.  

So our last week at home was filled with the craziness of an international move, as a shipping company arrived to pack our remaining belongings into their boxes, and brave friends gathered round to help me cut and comb out my dreads.

In spite of the fact that the bugs could probably have been eradicated and my dreads saved at the same time, I didn’t feel able to complete our move into my parents’ home in the US with a question hanging over my head —ahem, hair.  Nope, they had to go.  My friend Hannah cut them. She and my neighbour friend Beckie, along with other friends here and there, spent hours helping comb them out.  It was a tedious, unbelievably long job, but I wouldn’t trade those last few days —not for anything.  We laughed, talked, and watched the house empty out around us.  

I wish I could have taken photos, documenting for posterity those last seven days.  However, true to the chaos around us, my camera was dropped and broken on that fateful day in Birmingham, and I have no photos.  

Of course, grabbing a few moments to blog, here and there, would have been helpful too.

But the morning of our day out in Birmingham, I poured an entire cup of hot coffee all over my seven-year old, previously well cared-for Macbook.  Not purposefully, of course, and I can’t even really explain how it happened.  It just did.

And I was the person who always felt myself above managing to ruin my technology with spilled drinks or food.  Talk about eating humble pie.

Dan’s Macbook would have been available for us to share, had the motherboard not inexplicably died the day before mine drowned in coffee!  

I think it would have been less bizarre if we were accustomed to destroying our things; but we're not!  We only update and replace if we absolutely have to, so this forty-eight hours of total destruction was unprecedented.

All at once, possessions we took for granted were gone, like the proverbial slate being wiped clean.   

Five months away from the insane changes of that last week, here I am blogging again on a laptop that was recently gifted to our family by some wonderfully generous people.

Life goes on.  My hair is growing longer, the kids are taller and eating even more than usual, my youngest brother has left home and gone to Australia, and we are here now.  

Now for us is a multitude of different things.  I've been doing quite a bit of sewing, and am replacing my stock of cold-process soap supplies so I can start making soap again soon.  The kids run wild in the woods, finding out about new birds and other wildlife every day.  Dan is busy exploring work options, and together we're trying to get to know people here, a world away from where we've been.  

As soon as I possibly can, I'll be replacing our camera, so I can blog photos that give you an idea of what our now looks like.

Leaving the Hobbit House

We're leaving our home here in less than three weeks, and my house is starting to look like it.  I rather wish it looked more like it, for that would mean that I've accomplished more! 

I'm feeling like Bilbo Baggins, happy in my hobbit dwelling and thinking with some trepidation about an as-of-yet-unknown adventure awaiting me.

Some of my favourite places in our house:

My little cooking corner, just the right size, with everything in easy reach.

Quiet time, bedtime, a perfect space for a small person who wants to snuggle or sleep --and I love her tiny place, too!

Chilled evenings with friends and family are the best here in our dark, fairy light-draped, red-painted living room, relaxing and enjoying each other's company. The kids love reading here during the day; it can be an oasis of calm in the midst of our noisy house.

Meals around this table, or card games late at night with friends. There's always a homemade candle burning at the centre of the table when we're sitting down together. 

Thirty-Six Hours in London

The entire purpose of this trip was to renew Lefty and Righty's American passports.  Each time one of our American passports needs renewal [every five years for under-16s] we make an almost ritualistic trip to the American Embassy in London.  We've also visited the embassy to register our children's births as American citizens born abroad, collect my American passport [lost by Royal Mail], pick up emergency passports, and most recently, Dan had his visa interview there. We've counted eleven trips so far, but this is definitely the last one to the embassy in Grosvenor Square.  We're leaving, obviously, and in 2017 they're packing up and moving to the new embassy building in Wandsworth. Judging from the design --the new building looks like a silver ice cube with giant hairpins sticking out of it-- I'm sure the security there will be boundlessly adequate. And to think we just walked in off the street when we went to register Lefty and Righty's births back in 2002!

Over the last two days, I've been reliving our last trip to renew these guys' passports.  They were five and a half, and Mr J was two.  We visited the Natural History Museum and enjoyed the dinosaur and earthquake exhibits, had bread and homemade stew for tea from our food thermos, and stayed in a hotel that hadn't been decorated since the 1970s. Mr J stuck his finger in an electrical outlet the next morning before our appointment at the embassy and fussed the entire time we stood in the security queue because he thought we were taking him to the hospital over his sore finger. He'd had two ambulance trips already that year [it was only March]; but that's a story for another post.

We stayed at a "boutique hostel" in Willesden Green this time.  It lacked the silence, retro decor, and fabric-covered mattresses --probably bedbug infested-- of our 2008 hotel. [Have you ever slept on a laminated mattress? My advice: don't. It's rather sweaty.]

However, the hostel was full of European tourists, mostly under the age of 25, so the atmosphere was noisy and friendly, and we definitely helped liven it up with our crew.  

Not long after arriving on Thursday afternoon, we took the Tube to the Science Museum.  Dan, Lefty, and Righty came here for a Christmas trip one year and they were looking forward to showing us some of their favourite things.  We saw a piece of the Moon, which has never been in contact with the Earth's atmosphere, permanently preserved in liquid nitrogen.  We viewed an exhibit on the history of flight, complete with remnants of flying apparatus and machines dating back a few centuries.  The kids played for a long time in "Launchpad", an interactive gallery.

Remembering the fun of the roaring mechanical dinosaurs and the "earthquake room" that really shook, we decided to move on to the Natural History Museum, which is right next door to the Science Museum.  However, both exhibits were closed for maintenance.  Disappointed, we decided to carry on, to our doom.

As we rode up the majestic escalator into the giant Earth sculpture to reach the first floor, Coo's tiny foot somehow became trapped between the moving step and the side of the escalator.  After lots of shouting on our part, we managed to get the attention of someone below, who stopped the escalator.  Dan held her while a helpful bystander and a designated First-Aider worked to free her foot. It was twisted at an odd angle, and though my memory of the experience is a blur, I remember thinking that we were definitely going to be making a trip to the hospital.  The three boys were terrified --mostly because Dan and I had shouted, but also because their little sister is their treasure.  She went off, carried by Dan, to have her foot examined once it was free.

To our surprise, they both joined us not long after.  Apart from a small bruise below her toes, she was fine.  I guess it pays to have her bendy foot joints; her little foot twisted quite far but not far enough to cause a sprain or a break.

Everyone was ready to call it a day after this, so we headed back to the hostel, via a long walk through Hyde Park where we saw a heron and herds of tame ducks, geese, and swans.  

Another visitor to the Park shared bread with the kids so they could feed the birds, who were clearly accustomed to being fed by the public.

We put together a tea of beans on toast with rocket salad, and I chatted with other hostel residents while preparing food in the communal kitchen.

We had an early start and were downstairs munching through breakfast by 7.45.  The boys enjoyed the free juice, unlimited toast and cereal, and jam packets. Yes... my kids eat jam from their tiny single-serving packets with a spoon. I guess it's too hard to spread it on the toast.

Our embassy appointment was mid-morning, and the sun was out, so we had a lovely, stress-free journey into the centre of London.

We negotiated the passport process at the embassy and went for lunch at Whole Foods in Picadilly.

Post-lunch, we spent the remaining hours of the afternoon in the British Museum.  Coo fell asleep in the mei-tai on my back, so missed everything!

We saw the Rosetta Stone, of course, and the Ancient Egyptian rooms, and four out of five portions of the Middle East exhibits, all Assyrian.  Coo woke up as we were leaving, just in time to catch a glimpse of the Rosetta Stone. Mr J was relieved; he had been disturbed that she was missing it!  My mother figured out that we saw about one-twentieth of the museum, in the three hours we spent there.  I think a week would have been more sufficient in order to fully appreciate the treasure trove of artefacts and history contained within this palatial space.

The three boys were totally exhausted inside the museum; however, back on the Tube they were rejuvenated enough to work out as the train sped through the Underground.

We returned to Roosevelt, and then Dan negotiated rush-hour London traffic all the way east to Shoreditch, so Mom, Coo and I could investigate the People Tree sample sale.  Dan and the lads stayed in the car and watched east London Friday night wildlife; apparently Shoreditch is the new Camden: a hipster's paradise.

Driving home to the Midlands, all was going well until we were stopped in a traffic quagmire not twelve miles from home.  As four lines attempted to merge into one, we travelled three miles in the space of an hour!  All seven of us were so relieved to step through the door at home, no matter that it was much later than we'd intended.  

Today, all four children have played quietly, subdued by their hectic travels.  

I like London, and have many happy memories of times spent there with family and friends --not just at the American Embassy!  It is diverse, fun, and full of all the things I love: quirky small shops, healthy restaurants and Whole Foods, theatres, enormous bookshops, super-easy Tube travel, never a dull moment.  

Yet Edinburgh still is, and always will be, my favourite.

Hadrian's Wall and Housesteads Roman Fort

Our last morning in Scotland started with a two-hour cleaning session, as we determined to leave the holiday let where we stayed the week in better condition than it had been when we arrived.  I made cinnamon rolls, using a stainless steel water bottle in lieu of a rolling pin!

There was enough for all fourteen of us.  And then a bit more.

Finally it was time to get on the road.  The sky seems enormous in Scotland; I really don't know why.  That's just an impression I've always had.

We had an entire day of travelling ahead of us, as we planned to take a scenic route through national parks and forests, ending up near Hadrian's Wall in Yorkshire before we finally found a motorway and headed home.  After three hours in the car, this was how things were looking.

Righty and Lefty.

Coo.  Yes, there are crumbs and food remnants all over her clothes.

And Mr J, like a puppy dog, window open.

As we crossed the English border, Mr J opened his window and shouted "Goodbye, Scotland!" at the top of his lungs, which is, believe me, very loud indeed.

Taking the sting out of saying goodbye was the long-promised visit to World Heritage site Hadrian's Wall, the ancient stone boundary that stretches seventy-three miles across the width of the United Kingdom.  It was built by the occupying Romans in a last-ditch attempt to fend off the fierce Pictish tribes living in the Scottish borderlands.

Before arriving anywhere near Hadrian's Wall, we had a long drive through Yorkshire.  It was beautiful.

We stopped at Carrawburgh and stomped around in the temple of Mithras, long-abandoned.  Coo fell into a squelchy sheep-pooey mud puddle, spoiling what she weepingly termed her "best clothes".  After an initial mini-breakdown, she recovered remarkably well and happily consented to continue her adventure wearing pyjamas, jumper, and wellies.

Our next stop was Housesteads, a National Trust/English Heritage site. It was past six o'clock at this point and too late to visit the museum, but we walked up the hill to the the actual fort.

We spent over an hour in this isolated spot, enjoying the wonderful landscape and stunning views that stretched for miles. The darkening sky was overcast and filled with billowing grey clouds, so I cannot imagine how incredible the view must be on a clear day!

We walked to the bottom of the hill, up an incline, and left Housesteads, ready to leave the chill wind behind for a cosy four-hour drive home along the motorway.  

It was wonderful to be back in the Midlands, in our own house, in our own beds.  Yet I don't think this trip to Scotland will ever be forgotten by any of us.  It was a lovely week, full of friends, fun, cold weather, sunshine, history, and adventures.