Wednesday, March 7, 2018


What is true here?
I ask this question when my head is spinning and I just need to sit in something solid.

We have bitten off a LOT. Homeschool day three is under my belt and my head is spinning. I love it, and also, it makes me want to cry. I want to fast forward to the day when I have thought through all the things and I am organized and relaxed… ok, more relaxed at least, relaxed enough to be confident and think clearly. Is that an unreasonable goal? I sure hope not. I don’t want to feel nuts quite like THIS all the time. Surely there is a better system.

But, self--  you must remember the lesson God has taught you a million times- there is no system that will fix your tendency to yell when you’re overwhelmed, or their bickering, or fix the fact that you truly are too small for this job; that you need His help and his forgiveness and forgiveness from the children, too. You don’t get to outgrow “weak and loved,” not even in a new town with a new vocation.

So many loose ends. Where will he work? Where will I work? How is any of this going to work? Will we ever be “known” here, will we find real friends? Will we ever have time to see our old friends?  And what of the kids? They need friends, too.
Under it all is this: God, you remember us, right? Have you taken us out into the wilderness to die?
Of course He hasn’t.

But I miss my old people. And there’s not enough time to call each one and catch up a bit; hardly time to send a text. We go to church and I tear up, missing them, praying for them.  I like seeing them all on facebook, but it’s also hard- seeing those pictures makes me want to eat pancakes made by the people whose voices I know and love, and hug the toddlers I knew as babies.

I’m throwing myself into homeschooling- yes, already. I know, that’s crazy, but even more crazy were those days of unstructured time in a new house with six kinds underfoot while I’m unpacking boxes they’re saying “Can we go to Indiana? Where are the batteries?  Where are the legos? I’m hungry. Can we go swimming? Where are the bikes? I’m hungry again.” We needed structure sooner than we needed that last box unpacked.

My kids are awesome people- it has been fun to rediscover this. I get to see them lean on each other, especially in those socially difficult situations--  being the weird new family rollerskating with the Lutheran School where nobody relaly knows who we are or how we got invited. (Dana invited us, for the record.)  They fight hard, but they love well, and it is so good that they have each other during this huge change.
Homeschooling makes me come alive almost like writing does. I get excited about schedules, goals, organizing systems. I love hearing their stories! It turns out the boy who gives us the most fodder for stories is also great at writing them. And I LOVE reading to a captive audience, especiallly when we stumble on an unfamiliar word and we get to define it and put it on our board for future enjoyment. The words! I love them.
They also drive me nuts, those words, especially the ones that say “Where are the markers?” and “How do I print again?” and “Do I have to practice my piano?” and “Can you help me with this for a second?” (times a hundred)  and “Mom can you come here for a second?” and “Marcus just called me an idiot!”
I miss silence, and afternoons with Rainy.

I read this to the kids at breakfast today, and we’re all trying to be like Marcus in the snow, receiving today’s blessings and not letting our souls go chasing after those things not given.  We mostly fail, and yet, God is enough.

What is true here?
The there was a special choral performance at church tonight. Resting in the words, in the stabilizing truth of this poem by St. Teresa of Avila

Let nothing disturb you, Let nothing frighten you,
All things pass away: God never changes.
Patience obtains all things.
He who has God Finds he lacks nothing; God is enough.

1 comment:

  1. Homeschooling many is crazy. There's no getting around it, but it is so rewarding. You will adjust your ideas and expectations multiple times. A day.


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