But about this quote- can you even? It's hanging in our bedroom, so every morning it speaks to me. Unfortunately its voice is quiet, and the voices of my children (AKA the four horsemen of the apocalypse) are L O U D. And my voice becomes louder than all others when: we're in the middle of school and I hear glass shatter in the other room or I'm trying to read with Georgi and the younger two are fighting (over something we have two of) or we're having 'quiet time' and it sounds like elephants are on the loose in the girls' bedroom (you should hear me shout-whisper) or I'm trying to think..or not think. There are many times throughout the day that mama's voice is like a fog horn. Oh that I would stop to think of Mr. Studd's poem more often. The glass breaking would be no thing but a chicken wing. Winston waking up early from his nap wouldn't mean my death, but would mean more opportunity for me to show him love that day...or patience, joy, self-control, etc. If I considered what lasts more often, I would calmly use the children's fighting as a chance to talk to them about grace, peace, and putting others first.
Our home school journey has been stressful and tiring as of late. I'm worried I'm not teaching them enough- like if they went to public school tomorrow they'd be 2 grades behind. Or I worry they're too sheltered- like if they went to public school tomorrow they wouldn't know what to do with people who are different than them. I'm worried we spend too much time together- like if they went to public school tomorrow they wouldn't want to come back home. When we started home schooling 5 years ago, I wanted to do it because it was familiar. I was home schooled, so it felt natural. Every year that we choose this for our family it gets harder to feel conviction...like am I doing this because I'm not being brave? Lots of people tell me I'm brave and doing the right thing, but is it bravery just because not many are doing it? Or is it cowardice because I'm used to being the minority in this situation and I'm completely comfortable with it? What makes it 'right'? Because we're christians? I wrestle with these thoughts on the daily. Ask Andrew. He's starting to think mama's gone cray zee. He hardly gets a toe in the door in the evening and I'm rolling my eyes and sighing deeply about 'his children'. We spend late nights talking about our calling- where/how/what?
But then I read this incredible work of poetry, and all else seems to shift into place. No matter what we choose, may it be with our eyes on the prize for the joy set before us. We've been given this little tribe to love and lead and let go, we hope to do so with zealous certainty.
|First day 2015-16 school year|
|First day 2016-17 school year|
The rest of the story..poem..