An Update of Sorts

I’ve had people ask how the kids are doing with our new school routine this year, so I thought I’d post a quick update.

We’ve made it past the first midterm period, which according to math means that we’re more than 1/8 of the way done with this school year. I do this with everything. I like milestones. We have basically adjusted to having school on Mondays– not saying we like it. I mean, who likes Mondays anyway, right? I personally have adjusted to packing lunches, buying things like snack cakes and juice boxes and so many zippy bags that I’m sure we are personally responsible for the unseasonably warm temperatures we’ve been experiencing here in Tiny Town. We’ve fallen into a routine.

Some things have been more of a struggle. Finding one on one time with the kids. Figuring out how to keep family a priority. Figuring out when to do the grocery shopping, which has been surprisingly complicated with our new schedule. Dealing with the shakeup that this change has brought to the way our family relates to one another. Having one kid homeschooled and two in public school brings relational changes I hadn’t expected, and we’re going to have to figure out how to deal with that.

R is doing really well in his first year of high school. He enjoys his photography class and is doing well in his classes– including an aced history test this week. He has gradually been immersing himself in the life of his high school and dressed up every day this week for spirit week. He helped decorate his classroom door and rode in the homecoming parade and generally seems to be doing well socially and academically. I’m pretty proud of my boy. 🙂

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S is learning so much this year, thriving in the quieter atmosphere of our home. He is loving his general science class and is making good progress through math. I feel like he’s making really great strides academically and am praying that he will continue to do so. We participate in a homeschool cooperative twice a month, and he is taking an art class and a writing class (taught by yours truly). We’ve only met twice but I think he’s having fun, and we have been pursuing our writing every school day with half an hour of designated writing time. So far he has filled up many pages of his journal with a fantasy story involving a castle.

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G is my most communicative child, and also my most dramatic. Sometimes it’s hard to sift the truth about school from the midst of the drama. But generally she seems to come home happy and relaxed, once she has decompressed a little. She is struggling some with the long days away from what she really wants to be doing (PLAYING ALL THE TIME), but I remember how bored she was last year and am convinced that she’s going to be okay. She walked in the homecoming parade yesterday with the confidence of a movie star on the red carpet.

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As for me, I know I keep promising to blog more and then neglecting to do so. I have a lot of things happening right now– good things, hard things, big and small. Things that deserve to be written but I’m too much in the middle right now. Things that are tiny and mundane and unimportant but take up a lot of space in my life. I am here, though, growing.

I guess we all are. And it’s good.  🙂

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Of Prayer, Waiting, and All Kinds of Answers

Sometimes life is breathtaking. We find ourselves in joyful mountaintop seasons where our prayers are being answered, where there’s enough money in the bank and the kids are happy and our jeans fit just right.

And sometimes life is gut-wrenching. Grief, trial, hardship, and stress pound us like waves with seemingly no break, so that we can barely catch our breath. We cry out and it seems like nobody hears.

I’m not in either of those seasons right now. Right now is this almost bewildering mix of good and bad, joyful and grievous, exciting and stressful. I see prayers being answered and I see prayers not being answered. I see God so clearly at work in situations I’ve been so burdened for, and in other situations– situations that feel dire and desperate— He remains silent.

Lately, instead of answering some of my prayers with a yes, ma’am, here’s just what you asked for, God has been saying here’s what you need: I am faithful. I am good. I love youI will take care of you. And He asks me to trust Him in the circumstance I’m praying for.

Y’all. I’m just going to be honest. I would really just rather have God give me what I want. I mean, faith is great and everything, but when it comes right down to it what I want are more items in the praise column. I want all my financial needs met. I want the thing that is hanging over my head to just go away. I want my kids to thrive in school and I want clear direction for the writing I’m trying to do. I want victory over an ongoing struggle with temptation. I want our church to grow and I want to sleep well at night and I don’t want to wait for God’s perfect timing and God’s perfect answer.

Honesty can be pretty ugly.

I’m so thankful that God is my good Father– that He can see what is best for me in spite of my childish tantrums and demands that I want what I want and I want it now. I’m so thankful that He knows me in all my crazy mood swings and my bewilderment and He knows how to give me good gifts. Not only that, but He loves me– He desires to give me good gifts. And He is able to do so.

I went to a conference with some ladies from my church this past weekend, and that was the summary of the speaker’s messages: God is able, He is aware, and He is good. If you only have two of those things, you have an incomplete picture of God and how He deals with us. But if you understand that God knows our trials and our needs, that He desires good for His people, and that He is able to do that good thing– well, what you have there is a trustworthy God.

Right now, there are prayers I’ve been praying for years that He is answering, and it feels like a miracle, like something unspeakably beautiful and precious. Something fragile and treasured.

And honestly, there are prayers I’ve been praying for years that, as far as I can tell, God is not answering. Prayers that I believe line up with God’s will. Prayers for good things.

My God is growing my faith, and He is doing so both through the answered prayers and the unanswered ones. He says– Look. Now is the time. See how much I can do? See how much I love you?. You can trust me! And He says– Wait. I know what’s best. You have seen me work before, so hold on and keep working and keep praying. You can trust me.

I truly have no idea what God is doing right now, because it feels wild and all over the place. But I know this– I may fail to trust, but He will not fail to be trustworthy. I may be faithless, but He remains faithful. I may not understand, but He does, and He is good, and He is able.

And as I wait, He renews my strength, so that I can keep doing the work before me. He promises this: In due season I will reap, if I don’t give up.

 

 

Of Comfort, Mercy, and the Mighty Hand of God

Right this very moment, I have two dear friends walking through deeply painful times with their parents. Their stories aren’t mine to tell, but as each of them face the very present reality of mortality and loss, I hurt with them. I wish I could do more– my words seem empty. Every night my daughter and I pray, and it is terrible and beautiful to watch her and listen to her sweet voice as she tries to grapple with the reality of death.

That a daughter could pray for her father to close his eyes and breathe out and wake up in heaven, my daughter cannot comprehend. Honestly, neither can I, but I can more than she can. She is so young, and death– even eternity in heaven– seems terrible and far away and unreal.

Today I read Psalm 139, and I found my eyes drawn again to this verse I underlined last year sometime:

You hem me in, behind and before,
    and lay your hand upon me.

These words speak such comfort to me, as I think of my friends and their loved ones, tenderly held safe in the hands of a good God. As I think of my children, off at their school without me there to carefully control all the influences in their lives. As I think of my own crazy week and the calendar that seems full to bursting right now.

I am held safe.

But there have been times in my life when I have felt hemmed in by God, with His hand upon me, and it has not been a sweet, positive, comforting experience. Sometimes God hems us in and says you will not go any further down this road. Sometimes He keeps us stuck in what seem like pointless or painful places. We wonder if we are making any progress at all. Sometimes His hand is heavy upon us because of sin in our lives. David experienced this after his sin with Bathsheba–

For when I kept silent, my bones wasted away
    through my groaning all day long.
For day and night your hand was heavy upon me;
    my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer.   Selah

These times feel anything but comforting. They feel terrible, painful, and confusing. Sometimes we know exactly why we are under the hand of God, or why He is hemming us in, but sometimes we don’t. Sometimes we just feel trapped and miserable. We cry out and it feels like no one answers, or we don’t get the answers we’d hoped for.

But I have learned– and undoubtedly will have many opportunities to keep learning– that God’s hand never rests on me for any reason other than my good. I have learned that to be hemmed in by God is always to be protected from what is harmful, even if it feels like I am being prevented from doing a good thing.

God’s ways are wise and merciful. He kept us trapped at Bible college and seminary for so much longer than I wanted to be there, with no way out. And you know what? We needed every one of those long years to bring us to a place where we could minister competently in the place where He has called us.

When I was a teenager, rebelling and traveling down a very deadly path, He hemmed me in and refused to let me keep going. I screamed at Him and raged against my parents, but looking back all I see in His hemming actions is mercy. Where would I be if I had gone down that road? I don’t know, but He did, and He wanted something better for me.

In David’s life, when God’s hand was heavy upon him, it was also an act of grace and mercy, because it brought David to repentance.

I acknowledged my sin to you,
    and I did not cover my iniquity;
I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,”
    and you forgave the iniquity of my sin. Selah

My friend, wherever you are today, whether God’s hand feels like a loving Father’s tender hand rubbing a child’s back or like a hard hand of discipline, know this– you are dearly loved by the God whose hand is ever upon you. His hand is always a hand of mercy and grace. When He hems you in before and behind, it is always an act of protection and fierce Father-love. He will protect you from your enemies, even when your enemy is yourself.

This is the God who made you, who saw you and loved you before your mother even knew you were growing within her. Every part of you is precious to God, and He will do whatever it takes to bring you near and keep you safe, to comfort you and show you His mercy.

Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God . . . , casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.

Saturday Evening Ramblings

We survived five days– in a row– of school, and I feel like we deserve cookies. Unfortunately, if we are going to eat cookies I’m going to have to bake them, and I am happily ensconced in my recliner for the evening, so I guess cookies are out.

I started this week with an arthritis flare, which had the kindness to die down about a day before I went in for my quarterly checkup at the arthritis doctor. I think I’ve only actually had the doctor see a flare once in nearly five years. This time she was very eager to blame it on stress. Which, in fairness, I guess it could have been. But still. Everyone always seems to want to blame everything on stress. What if– what if it’s rheumatoid arthritis being rheumatoid arthritis? Crazy ideas.

Our kids’ club at church starts next Wednesday evening, and I have spent several hours this week planning out the whole year, September through April. The calendar is all ready to print, and I’m feeling very accomplished. Not that I did it on my own. Two dear friends came over on Thursday and we figured out crafts and activities and themes. So that was awesome. Anyway, I’m excited for this new year. Praying to see new families reached with the love and truth of the Word of God! 🙂

I’m teaching a writing class for our homeschool co-op this year, and we start on Thursday. I am very much not ready. In fact, I should probably be working on that right now, but I have set a goal to write two blog posts a week and it’s Saturday and I had only written one, so in order to meet my goal I have to write this mediocre, rambling post about nothing and neglect my responsibilities.

My life is very confusing.

A miracle happened yesterday and I found a pair of jeans, in my size, that weren’t hideous, at the Goodwill. Those of you who aren’t thrift store junkies might not know what a miracle this was, but trust me. On the other hand, I guess most of us just flat out have trouble shopping for jeans. So maybe you can understand a little bit. 😉

R got to bring home his school-assigned camera for his photography class yesterday. He’s a happy boy. S got to have a shortened day of school yesterday because his teacher had to go to the arthritis doctor in the middle of the morning. So he was a happy boy, too. G’s glasses broke randomly today, but Art took her in and found a new pair of the same frames and twenty minutes later she was good to go. Then she convinced him that the next obvious step was an ice cream run. So she was a happy girl. It’s nice to see everyone happy every now and then.

I have apparently lost my ability to stay up late. I think I’ve been asleep before 10:30 every night this week. Most nights before 10. Does this mean I’m getting old? My first 39th birthday is approaching rapidly– only 3 months away. Shocking.

G just brought me Bear. I think that means it’s time to stop writing and time to do something else, like prep for my writing class. Or, more likely, read a novel. Because it’s Saturday night and sometimes you have to relax.

Next week I’ll try to post actual posts that have a purpose. Until then, have a lovely day.

 

Around the Table

We gather, every night around 5:30, around Grandpa K’s big old wooden dining room table. So many generations of our family have come together at this table. Nine months ago we put the leaf in for a birthday party, and we’ve left it in, because we like to spread out and it’s more conducive to art projects to have the table nice and long.

I don’t cook fancy food, and none of my serving dishes match any of the others. Cups get knocked over at least a couple times a week, and a buttery knife is basically guaranteed to fall on the table during every single meal. The kids fight silently during prayer, squeezing each other’s fingers violently or refusing to hold hands at all. Passing clockwise is a concept some of us still struggle with.

It doesn’t matter. Family dinners, with all their messes and with the dreadful manners that leave me cringing, with all the complaints or backhanded compliments (“this isn’t as bad as it looks, Mom!”), are still a sweet and sacred part of the day.

They’ve been important for years, but now they are crucial. I miss my kids while they’re at school. Dinner is when we reconnect.

We go around the table and share– What was the best part of our day? The worst? What’s something new we learned? We are teaching conversational skills and hopefully discovering what’s up in our kids’ lives.

My children’s personalities shine through in this exercise– R always says that the best part of his day was “Coming home and seeing my MOMMY!” because he’s fourteen and speaks sarcasm like a pro. Generally then he shares something else, but not always. I’m glad he likes coming home. S’s answers are usually short and to the point. He likes to say that the worst part of his day was school, but I make him name something specific, because I’m here all day and he’s definitely not walking around miserable. G’s answers are long and rambling– confused 3rd-grader accounts of playground drama, classroom procedures, and the latest game she and the neighbor girls made up which probably involves doing something they’re not supposed to do.

Yesterday, after G had rambled for eight minutes on the subject of where she puts her math papers when they’re finished, I had to cut her off. It made her cry. It’s rough being the mean mom.

We find ourselves lingering long after our bellies are full, discussing what happened in R’s world history class or the latest book Art read. We laugh and joke, and at least once every meal I have to repeat the rule, “We don’t discuss our bodily functions at the table.” I do have two boys, after all. Three if you count the big one at the head of the table.

People keep asking how we’re doing, and the answer is we’re doing well. Adjusting? Slowly but surely. Struggling to wake up in the morning? Definitely. Really really tired? Absolutely. But God gives grace. And He has reminded me in about six different places in the last week that He is strong enough, even though I’m not.

He has helped me listen to my little verbal processor tell me all the words about her life, even when I really just want to tuck her in and go read a book. He has helped me handle grumpy, out-of-sorts kiddos who just need to decompress. He has given me the privilege of seeing my seventh grader doing so much better than he was last spring. Y’all. I don’t know if S’s brain has matured, or if it’s just because he’s getting more one-on-one time with me with fewer distractions, but this kid is rocking it.

Sometimes the enemy attacks my mind with fear, but God is bigger than my fears. God has my kids, my family, in His good hands. He uses every challenging situation to bring us closer in relationship to Him– to help us grow. I believe that, and I am determined to live it, even on the days when the stories my kids tell me fill me with anger or anxiety.

God has put all of us in a place where, if we dig in, we can grow. And I can’t wait to hear tonight about the ways He’s growing my kids, as we sit around this old table and pass the food.

Hard and Holy Faith

Hanging-By-a-ThreadSome days, faith is easy. That’s because some days, faith is just there, untested, a kind of snuggly blanket that makes you feel good.

But some days– some days faith is the one thin string that is keeping you from plummeting down the sheer face of an unforgiving mountain. And some days, faith is the desperate prayer that when that thin string snaps, there will be a net at the bottom of that very long fall.

It is in this hard place that my mama heart hangs right now. This adjustment– from homeschooling to school buses, from leisurely mornings to early ones with lots of don’t forgets and hurry, pleases, from me being in control of how my kids spend their days and what they learn and where they sit and who they hang out with– this is a big adjustment, and it is hard.

It is hard to see my son struggling with all the big adjustments that come for every freshman in high school, made worse by the fact that every single part of going to school is a big adjustment.

And what it comes down to is, do I trust my Father?

Do I trust that His Word is true, not just for me, but for my children?

Do I trust that He is the God of beauty from ashes, the Giver of good and perfect gifts, the One who works all things together for good?

Do I trust that He goes with my children and watches over them, making a way for them, lifting them up when they stumble, just as He does for me?

Do I trust that it is the trying of my children’s faith that will produce patience, completeness, and maturity within them? That the easy road, that easy snuggly warm blanket of feel-good faith is not what is best for my babies?

Today it took faith to send my kids out the door to walk to the bus stop. I’m not going to lie. What felt right to my mama heart was to clutch them to myself, to retie the apron strings, to cling desperately and keep them home.

When I started homeschooling, it took faith that God was going to teach me and help me do the hard work of educating my children, of spending all my days with them. And now, in a new season, it takes much greater faith to do the hard work of sending them away, of not being in control of everything, of believing that whatever happens to them, they are in the hands of a good and loving Father.

I say I believe God is good, that He is sovereign in my kids’ lives and has a plan for them that will end in beauty and glory. But if I fail to follow the way He shows me, I do not have faith. This is where James’ hard words– that faith without works is dead— have their meaning. Faith is living the hard and holy truth of God’s promises.

Today, that meant hugging my kids one last time and sending them out the door and down the front steps and knowing that they are not alone, for even one second. The God who sees me right now also sees R in his third period science class and G out at her morning recess. He cares for them so much more than I ever could.

Today, faith meant turning to the work of my day– hunkering down at the dining room table and digging into math and grammar with my middle son, trusting that this work is what I am meant to do today, that this work is just as good and worthwhile is teaching all three of them was last year.

Today, faith is a thin strand that is holding tight to a big and powerful God, a God who loves me and loves my kids. A God who loves you.

I don’t know what hard thing you are facing today, but I bet you’re facing a hard thing. Because life is hard, and we do not grow if we are not forced to push up through the hard and find the God whose glory waits on the other side. Sometimes we can’t see Him. Sometimes we catch only tiny glimpses. We must still look. We must still trust.

We must live and speak and make choices in a way that shouts from the rooftops– I believe that God is who He says He is and that He will do what He has promised.

This is faith, and just when it seems that thin string will break, we discover His hands have been holding us up all the time.

Favorite Mommy

She’s my best girl and I’m her favorite mommy, and yesterday, with her backpack on her back and her tummy a little fluttery, she told me she was too big to hold my hand. I took it with good grace, I guess. We were walking into her new school to meet her new teacher and leave her new folders and pencils and glue in her new desk, and it’s only natural that she would look around at all those other kids and notice that none of them– except a few tiny ones– were holding their mom’s hands.

Growing up is natural and good and not a tragedy. But man, there are times when it gut-punches a mom who has been privileged to keep her baby little just a little big longer.

new deskWe made our slightly confused way into the labyrinth of our daughter’s new school. It’s all new and different for us; she’s the only third grader whose mom feels like she’s at Kindergarten orientation. We find her classroom, and her desk is right there in a cluster of three, with her name, like a million other third graders’ names, written neatly on a tag at the top. We meet her teacher.

She is a little older than me– her youngest is in my oldest’s class– and she’s been teaching for years. She is kind but not gushy, and she seems willing to try to put us at ease without being willing to baby us– we are not, after all, first-time school parents, bringing their tiny five-year-old in for her first year of school.

Except we are. Somehow I manage not to fling myself on this poor woman’s neck in a weepy entreaty to please love my daughter and be patient with her and forgive me if I hate her just a tiny little bit for taking the place of teacher in my little girl’s life.

On the way out of the elementary side of the building and into the secondary side to get a locker and a laptop for my oldest, at least three different people tell my daughter that her new teacher is wonderful. “She’s the best,” one lady says. You don’t have to tell G twice. She’s already a little bit smitten.

She has been so nervous, but now she is just a bouncy little ball of thrill and excitement. She can’t wait for Wednesday, can’t wait to sit at her desk across from a girl whose first name is my daughter’s middle name. She can’t wait to find out what it’s like to ride the bus, eat in the cafeteria, hang her backpack up on the special hook just for her. She can’t wait to let Mrs. K teach her.

And I’m really glad, y’all. Really, really glad, because this whole transition is proving hard enough on this mama without my daughter being a huge mess of I-don’t-want-to-go-ness.

But she didn’t want to hold my hand. And she told me, in a whispery nervous way, that she thought maybe Mrs. K was the best teacher, and not me, even though she loved me very much.

I’ll always be her favorite mommy, I guess, but I think I’ve been supplanted as her favorite teacher.

Trusting God’s good hand as my kids grow is a hard and beautiful thing, and right now it’s hard more than beautiful. In each stage our relationship changes, and what it means to be my kids’ mom changes. And that change isn’t bad, but it hurts a little bit.

Today, I think about tomorrow, and I take my daughter for a haircut and I buy my son new socks and I make waffles for lunch, and I cry into my Bible in the morning and my laptop in the afternoon. Tomorrow, I will pose for the silly first-day-of-school shots and I will hug my leaving kids and try to educate my staying kid and I imagine that he will be tired of my tears as we review math facts and dig into American history.

Tomorrow will be a long day, as I wait to hear all about third grade and ninth grade– did she make it okay between bathroom breaks? Did he manage to get his locker open and to find his way to science class?

But they will come home to me. I will still be their mom, even if I’m not their Teacher.

And I will still be their teacher, because I am their mom.

Their favorite mommy, even.

On the way back to the car, G forgot she was too big to hold my hand.

Thunderstorms, Pavlov’s Dogs, and One Sleepless Night

(A Tale of Motherhood)

Last night, there was a thunderstorm in Tiny Town. Actually there was this random long series of storms and not-storms, with lightning and thunder rumbles, then quiet, then more lightning and thunder rumbles, then quiet. Then a huge crash that sent me flying out of bed to check on my daughter. She was fine. My heart was pounding.

It’s been probably 12 years since my oldest started being afraid of storms, and since then I’ve always had a kid afraid of them– till this year. G doesn’t love them, exactly, but she also doesn’t cry and freak out anymore. It doesn’t matter. I have been trained, like Pavlov’s dogs, and now I am wide awake with the first rumble, every nerve tense, waiting to be hauled out of bed by a crying child.

I guess maybe this is a picture of motherhood in general, really. They need us for every little thing and then suddenly they don’t and they can’t understand why we are checking in on them when they’re taller than we are and it’s storming at night, or wanting to know why we insist on knowing where they’re going when they leave the house. They will never understand that it’s because just yesterday– I’m quite sure of it– they couldn’t even burp without our help.

This morning at 2:20 or so the storm started, and our bedroom window was open. The curtains were blowing all over the place, and the rain was pouring, and the thunder and lightning rumbled and flashed in an almost continual rhythm– not loud, but constant.

Suddenly– “MOM!” I rolled over just in time to see my daughter’s form silhouetted in our doorway, lit from behind by a particularly bright flash. Art and I both jumped and I may have yelped.

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When next I saw my child, after I had recovered my composure and could breathe again, she was curled up in her bed, back to the door– to me– with her quilt over her head, ignoring my middle-of-the-night super patient mommy voice asking her what she needed. After a couple of attempts, I pulled the blanket back from her face and asked if she needed something. She opened one eye and squinted at me accusingly. “Why did you yell at me?” Her feelings were hurt.

I lovingly (of course– it was 2:30 in the morning after all!) explained that it’s not fair to be mad at people for their startled responses when you sneak up on them in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm and scare them half to death. I asked if she needed something and she said not really, she just was kind of scared of the storm and thought I should know.

Of course.

I had just dozed back off– about an hour later– when the aforementioned huge clap of thunder shot me out of bed like a clown out of a cannon.

Another hour– 4:24– and I had just entered a lovely dream sequence when I heard my angel’s voice again. “Mom!” I stumbled down the hallway.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I can’t sleep.”

Me neither.

So Much Bitter, So Much Sweet

Once upon a time, I broke a longish blog silence with a post about homeschooling, public schooling, and depression. And I sat back and wondered . . . what will people say?

Honestly, most of the time people don’t say much about my blog posts. Maybe I’ll get a couple of likes, a couple of comments on Facebook. Sometimes it really bugs me. Sometimes I don’t worry about it. But if you talk about school choices, life changes, and meds, you never know. In the circle I live in, there are a lot of people who would consider public schooling and even mentioning medication in relation to depression to be controversial, if not downright sinful.

Thankfully, I have the most amazing friends. Friends who have reached out in so many ways to cheer me on and encourage me. Friends who have shared their experiences– with depression, with chronic illness, with public school, with making hard choices. Friends who have just offered such sweet words of love and advice and friendship.

This is what it’s supposed to be like, y’all. We can rip each other to shreds easily enough. Or we can see a person who is mourning– even a person whose grief is one we cannot fully understand— and we can cry with them. We can lift them up, be one more little stitch in the threads that are holding them together.

Last night, when I sat here typing all those words, I was grieving. Today I’m rejoicing. You know how these life transitions are– so much bitter, so much sweet. Today I am seeing the sweet, and a lot of that is because of the kindness of my people– unexpected people who have taken the time to reach out to me.

I am excited for my kids to go to school, to have opportunities I cannot give them in homeschooling. I’m excited for R to be able to take high school math and science from good, qualified teachers who actually understand chemistry and electricity and quadratic equations. I’m excited for G to be able to play sports and have a whole group of kids to play with every day at recess. I’m excited to teach S without distractions and time crunches.

I’m excited to have a little extra time to go calling with my husband and participate more in his ministry. I’m excited to volunteer at the school and show up with balloons on birthdays and make a super big obnoxious embarrassing fuss. I’m excited to cheer for the Vikings and to go to winter concerts and school plays. I’m excited to have a parent-teacher conference that doesn’t involve just talking to myself.

I’m excited to see what God is going to do in all of our lives as we learn new ways to trust Him, new ways to grow together, new ways to serve and laugh and reach out. I’m excited because I know that God has led us down this road and He is not going to fail. I’m excited to see where the road leads, to know it may lead through hard times and valleys but in the end it leads to what is good.

This morning I sat on the floor and labeled a pink binder, four spiral notebooks (one sparkly one with unicorns on it!), a box of crayons, a box of colored pencils, a pencil box. I labeled scissors and a puppy folder and a stripey lunchbox and a backpack covered in shooting stars. It’s sitting where I can see it– propped against the wall– ready for an eager and nervous third grader to carry it off to her classroom next week.

Today I ordered math curriculum and worked on a daily school schedule, and I discussed the fine art of lunch packing with a brand new high school freshman. And I read message after message of love and support. Life is changing– new flavors swirling into the already beautiful and rich life God has given us here in Tiny Town.

All of these things– backpacks and totes of homeschool materials and new gym shoes and friends who love me– are good gifts from my good God who loves me and my children and never fails me.

Bitter and sweet. Like a good cup of coffee with my favorite chocolate caramel creamer in it.

New school year? Bring it on.

Of Changes and Sorrow and Eyes Wide Open

My blog is a dusty, neglected corner of the internet these days, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Writing and I have had an increasingly complicated relationship recently. I know I need to be writing. I just don’t know what, or where. I’m lacking direction and it’s making me procrastinate and make excuses.

That’s neither here nor there. I decided to blow some of the cobwebs out of my blog tonight because things are changing in my family. Good changes? I think so. But honestly? Really hard changes. The kind of changes that keep you awake at night, that make you cry into your morning coffee.

Last school year was really hard for me. I struggled with depression basically from September through April, and I could barely function some days. I felt completely incapable of handling my life and the challenges of being a pastor’s wife, a homeschooling mom– honestly, just the challenges of getting dressed and making breakfast were almost more than I could handle some days. And Art and I started talking about ways we could ease up the pressure on me.

Through the wise counsel of friends and family, and through a lot of prayer and conversation, Art and I reached the decision to enroll two of our children in our local school this fall. After seven years of homeschooling two and then three kids, this year I will only be teaching our seventh grader. Next Wednesday, for the first time in their lives, two of my kids will get on a big yellow bus and head off to school.

I believe God led us to make this decision, and I believe it is the best decision for our kids and for our family and yes, for my own mental health. R, who is going to be a freshman this year, will almost definitely graduate from our local school. G, who is starting third grade, will have her situation reevaluated at the end of this year. If she thrives, as I fully expect she will, she’ll stay at public school. S, who is behind and needs some extra attention this year, may end up heading off for high school in a couple years, or not. Each child is different. We want to do what’s best for them.

And meanwhile– after a change in my meds, my depression has all but disappeared. We’ve had a lovely long summer because we finished early and didn’t start in July like we have in past years. I am excited for this new adventure for my kids, and for the opportunity to really pour into S and help him get caught up.

But I am mourning. I’m mourning the freedom of school-when-we-want-to, of choosing to take a day off and head to the park and call it a field trip. I’m mourning loss of the sweet joy it has been to be with these amazing kids, who I love so much, all day every day. I’m mourning the routines I’ve built up over all these years. I’m mourning the fact that I will no longer be the main voice my kids hear. I’m mourning month-long Christmas breaks and vacations in October. I’m mourning the simple words “homeschooling family.”

And, as much as I pray, I am afraid. Afraid we made the wrong choice. Afraid of peer pressure and immodest girls and bad friends, of third-grade-girl drama and driver’s ed and  my kids losing the sweetness that I love about them. Afraid that they’ll be too much like the other kids– and not enough like the other kids.

We are leaving one season of life– me and the kids with binders and flashcards at the kitchen table– and entering a new one, with bus schedules and lunchboxes and, oh yeah, me and one kid with binders and flashcards at the table. These transitions are hard, sometimes devastating to a mama heart.

But here is what I know. My God who loves me and has always faithfully cared for me also loves and faithfully cares for my kids. He will be with R in the locker room and with G on the playground. He will be with S and me and our pile of flashcards. He has a good plan along this new road we are taking. He does beautiful things, and He gives good gifts.

We’re going to plunge into this new path with eyes wide open, looking for Him at every turn.