I thought I would sneak in a homeschool post before my week of rest. I want to post most Thursdays my homeschool journal — my homeschool life. I have pretty posts planned that I’d like to share with pictures captured still — almost look romantic. But not always a true depiction of my reality. But I have no real time for those. Not in this mama’s rhythm of life. So I choose to share straight off the paper, my penciled words. May this place here never make any one feel like they can’t measure up. May I never post anything less than true reality. This is what I have to offer today. Words raw and real from my journal.
And I sit before my preteen
tears slowly sliding down her still
baby cheeks.
And she tries so hard
I know this trying so hard.
Never good enough.
And I don’t help.
I snap at her
because of childhood disobedience
not much different than my own
Where is grace? Why no grace offered
when so much is given by the Giver Himself?
I’m not very good sometimes
in choosing grace when it counts.
Struggling teacher.
I’m a mama. I’m not qualified for this.
Exhausted until I ache so bad
I cannot sleep and I wonder —
Is this right?
Am I really called to this?
I want to quit already, just four weeks into homeschool —
ten years into homeschool.
And He doesn’t reply because the answer I’ve already been told.
Instead His light shines on the deep dark places of my soul.
I can teach all I want to.
Plan all I want to.
Try all I want to.
And still get it wrong.
Anything I want with all my heart is an idol.
Perfect family.
Perfect homeschool.
Perfect children.
Yes, this is what I’m still striving for.
Pressing and pushing toward the wrong goal,
still holding on to control.
And finding myself weak.
And wondering why I’m weary.
I get agitated at slow learning.
And realize again, I am the slowest of learners.
And I have to leave the table, leave pre-teen,
and get catch my breath.
A moment alone.
And He does the rescuing.
I am drowning in my own works, still.
Even in homeschool.
He does the rescuing and I know He still loves me — still wants me.
Standing at the fence post, surrounded by air, grass and trees,
He quiets this soul, calms my mind and my heart.
And His peace enters in again.
In His Presence is a sweet broken,
a sweet sorrow only found when
a wretched heart is held by a Holy God.
I hear Him calling, “Come.”
He draws me in near to Himself.
Until I’m truly sorry.
Until I know I am loved fierce.
Until our hearts connect again.
Until all is well.
With new breath, He gives me back, washed clean of my sin,
a vessel of honor ready to pour again, as wife and mama.
And lighter now, my feet bring me back home,
my legs carry me upstairs
and my heart brings me low.
Still finding pre-teen in the seat and posture where I left her.
I pull her up and draw her in close.
Until she knows I’m sorry.
Until she knows she’s loved fierce.
Until our hearts connect again.
Until all is well.
And with new breath,
we sit down to pour over Latin, again.