priorities

When people ask, “How’s homeschooling?” I find myself with too many things to say, so I say little. “I love and hate it, depending on the day!” “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I feel like I was made for this!”  All true, but I could say so much more!

So here’s a glimpse into our lists and days:

I start with the list of measurable things, the kind that I can check off (oh those lovely checkmarks!)  This is our rough daily schedule, the part that is put on paper:

chores
morning time and devotions
memory work
history or science
math
grammar and writing
read aloud to everyone at lunch or after
advanced math
latin
rhetoric
*check in with all kids regarding independent work: piano, cartography, debate, reading, math facts, handwriting, presentation preparation, exposition, etc

Our days are finally taking shape in a semi-predictable way.  But I am learning so much, and so painfully sometimes, that these measurable things are not always the point, often have to be put aside, for the sake of the other things God sends.

A sampling:
give that lecture about self-control (again)
help the child with feeling of overwhelm
deal with somebody’s temper
balance their need to be noisy with the others’ need for quiet space to focus
vacuum up the dog hair
feed the gecko and pray for the gecko
feed everybody (again)
teach THEM how to feed everybody
rebalance the chore assignments
rethink discipline strategies
navigate more Big Feelings
have Big Conversations about Big Ideas
exercise
make space for friendships and neighbors

Those are a few things I might be called upon to do for the family that do not make the checklist.
And then my personal list of non-measurable never-ending to dos:

Give YOURSELF that lecture about self-control
Deal with YOUR temper or overwhelm
Learn, read, study well so that you can teach
Model that self-control and gentleness you are trying to teach and fess up when you fail!
Discover this job is too big for you (again) and pray for help
Run out of patience (again) and pray for help
Run out of everything, pray and nap
work on your own health/diet so you can love and serve well
Soak up some nature
Bump up against big kid issues; the kind you can’t simply solve with words, reign in with boundaries, or fix with consequences; feel your smallness, pray and commend them to God
Be a wife! Love and support my husband. (sorry it’s at the bottom, hun.)

I see the value of these things that do not make the measurable checklist.  I just want to do them all AND get all the things off the list.

I just want to be squeeze 30 hours of productive work out of a 24 hour day.  And I want do it all perfectly, in a clean house, with children who love each other!

Like nothing else in my life, homeschooling is forcing me to make hard choices about how I spend my time. It’s forcing me to ask, why is THIS on the list? What really matters here? 

All I know is, I’m learning right along with the kids. And I’m not going to get it right every time. Just like they inexplicably forget their math facts, I will inexplicably forget everything I’ve learned about being gentle and flexible, and we will power through, and it will get ugly.

But I will keep pressing forward, relying on the grace of God, celebrating the small victories along the way.

This week, when the boys flailing arms and giggles made it impossible to diagram sentences, I sent them out on the trampoline “for ten minutes,” and then I let them stay for thirty. An hour later, I let them celebrate the end of a math lesson with another trampoline break. Win.

Today, I celebrate that moment when the child who USUALLY shuts down during math or latin corrections ALMOST shuts down but instead... powers through. And it seems miraculous, the way the lesson ended with both of us smiling. (I absolutely could have danced about it, but I played it cool.)

Thank you God for little victories and signs of growth!  Help us as we try to sort out the urgent and the important tasks in our lives.  Help us keep our eyes on You as we continue to ask “what matters here?” and “what is the next right thing?”  May our rest be in you, in your grace alone, as we see so clearly through your son Jesus.   Amen. 

more on the invisible line...

On crossing that invisible line,

Sometimes, when I look at them, I get glimpses of the adults they may someday be. These days, it’s happening more often, and it takes my breath away. This child I taught how to walk, how can he handle a basketball like that? That motherly smile on my daughter’s face- is that really the same face that she’d cover in pureed bananas, the same mouth that would scream when I tried to clean her with a wash rag?  The arm of my son-- the same one that hung around my neck while he wiped boogers on my shirt-- he stretches out protectively in front of me in the parking lot, reminding ME to watch for cars.

Christmas 2011
My son is wearing a tie tonight, and he's up on the highest riser. This child, who is uncomfortable in large crowds, who spent our first year at this church hiding behind my leg; he is determined, serious. I don't know if he sees me, but it's almost time for him to take the microphone. He reads, clearly, confidently, and the moment is over. But the second he finishes, he looks right at me, and he sees my proud smile. He gives a subtle nod, receiving my message, and gives his shoes a tiny, satisfied smile. And I am suddenly overwhelmed with joy, with the privilege of being the one he looks for, the one whose approval goes right down into his heart and makes him smile like that.

Advent 2017
He plays in church today, for the offering, and he acolytes, too. He has practiced; he remembered his music; he prepared himself without one reminder from me. His moment comes, and he plays well. He keeps his head down during the song, he stays focused. I am proud of him, as always, and I smile loudly. And when he’s done, he gets up, grabs his book, and he doesn’t look at me.

He doesn’t look at me.

A few days later, I happened outside, and there he is, using the snowblower for the first time. He returns my look of surprise with a proud smile, and continues, confident in his work. His snow pants reek of fumes when I find them later, balled up on the floor. Play clothes turn to work clothes, and boys become young men. 

March 2018
I get the text while I’m making lunch: “My baby has died.” My dear friend, 20 weeks pregnant, oh God please no…  I’m crying over the mac n’ cheese, and my son comes in, asks what’s wrong. I just hand him my phone; I cannot speak. Later, kids are at the table for food and I have to tell them but I can barely form the words. And my son says, “Mom, do you want me to pray?” I nod, and the tears stream while he says the words, the exact words we need in that moment.

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On this side of that invisible line, it’s hard, and unfamiliar, and  more beautiful than I expected.
My plants still need to be watered and fed, but sometimes, I rest in their shade.

every facet

“As Christians, we recognize every facet of our day as coming from the hand of God. it all passes through His fingers first, and He uses it to make sure that we lean hard on him.” Sarah Mackenzie

We discussed this quote around the table several weeks ago. Oh, that God would help us see! Every facet of our day- the little things, the big things, the pleasant moments, and the trying circumstances- our heavenly Father is never surprised. EVERY moment is an opportunity to lean on him.  “Yes, even your little brother! God sent him to you so you could lean on Him for patience, or compassion, or self control.”
I myself forget this so often! Today, for example. I had a nice list written on our whiteboard, detailing exactly what we were going to accomplish for school. As we went along, we rearranged one thing for practical reasons; then another to weather a child’s emotional tornado. We conquered math cheerfully, but things got a little hairy during independent time. After library time, I added something to help all of us cope (ice cream) but that squeezed out something else; then another child had an emotional tornado.  So I scratched my favorite (art) and decided to just get the high energy boys OUTSIDE. Of course I wanted to multitask while they played, but I couldn’t find my computer, and I was out of breath getting dinner on before we leave.  Soon I’m panting, waiting at a red light that simply SHOULD NOT BE inflicted on someone who has so much going on.  I’m enraged… at a red light: I have no space in my life for this inconvenience. 
I have forgotten my moments come from the hand of God. I have forgotten who is in control here. I have forgotten how to lean. The quote is worth repeating:

As Christians, we recognize every facet of our day as coming from the hand of God. it all passes through His fingers first, and He uses it to make sure that we lean hard on him. Sarah Mackenzie


God, help us see this! Help us, when our list is rearranged, to lean on You!  When emotional tornados destroy our plans for the day, remind us to lean on you for strength!  Help us remember that You are the Creator and we are mere creatures.  Take into your hands what we have done and what we have left undone. Forgive what is evil, complete what is lacking, and lift the burden of those things that threaten to suffocate.  Into your hands we commend ourselves. our bodies, our souls, and our time. Amen.

Welcome, fall

Three kids are sprawled in my living room with Calvin and Hobbes, C.S. Lewis, or late night Latin. “I’m going to bed now. Don’t stay up too long, and make sure you turn off the lights.”  I have entered a season free from bedtime battles, the season where they outlast me in sports as easily as in night-time reading.

This podcast from Emily P Freeman got me thinking about this transition.  With some of the kids, we’ve crossed that invisible line from childhood to adolescence. Because of this, I am a mom in transition as well, learning to let go, and to grow along with the big kids.

When they were little, they were largely under my control. I could put boundaries in place to keep them safe. I could address those ugly outbursts with consequences, and often change their behavior. I remember how good it felt to help Lorraine stop whining by empowering her with baby signs when she was too little to talk. And, watching the toddler throw a fit got easier, the more kids I had, as I better understood that my job was simply to weather the storm, to be the wall that doesn’t budge when they bash their heads against it.

Raising little ones can make you feel big and powerful, for a little while.

Until they turn into big kids.

The transition is subtle.  Suddenly, I look around and realize I am no longer the strong wall of protection and discipline, keeping my babies safe and taming them into civilized humans by doling out controlled life-experiences mixed with tidbits of wisdom. Now, my little people are taller than me. They are young adults with sparkling ideas, quick wit, and biting sarcasm.  They carry big questions, and they fight secret battles in their hearts that I can’t fight for them.  I am no longer the director of this play (if I ever really was.)

I’m the coach on the sidelines, barking through a megaphone while the game moves along at a dizzying pace, knowing they won’t always listen to me, but still gripping that megaphone like it’s my job.

As summer turns to fall around here, I carry questions with me:

How can I love them best in their remaining days at home?

How will they fare amidst the cacophony of voices? Have I taught them to listen well?

When I see their heart-struggles, when should I speak, and when should I simply pray and remain available?

What does it mean to love them, faithfully, today?

And as summer imperceptibly turns to fall in our home, my role is changing once more:

The megaphone is going away.  I’m the mom on the bleachers, whose voice doesn’t carry like it used to- whose voice is becoming just one voice in a stadium.

I’m the mom on the four-wheeler… on the BACK of the four wheeler, rid of all illusions of control, praying desperately.

photo credit: Lorraine

But I’m also the mom drinking tea on the back porch, looking out at her garden. So much sweat and toil went into that ground early in the year: breaking up the soil, the planting, weeding, watering. Now it’s fall, and I haven’t even looked back there in weeks!  Despite my neglect there it is: a sunflower, tall and strong, blooming cheerfully, pointing its face up to the sun like it was made for this.

And I realize that sunflower will keep growing whether my hands are involved or not.

That it was never my work to begin with, not really.

Welcome, fall.

Grow me up with them, Jesus!