Slowly, over months, with trips to the bookstore and clicks of the mouse and gifts from family, we have filled shelves on a new bookcase full of possibility.
I have researched techniques, learning styles, curricula, styles, hopes, dreams– scoured websites, read blogs, talked with friends, formed ideas, rejected one thing for another, been lost, been found again, and waxed eloquent to a patient husband who is glad to let me take this thing and run with it.
I wonder if his heart can safely trust me.
Only two days remain now, till all the planning and purchasing and agonizing begins, I hope, to pay off. Today we do our own things, but two days from now we will clear the table after breakfast and read history, learn literature, practice holding pencils and adding numbers.
I must press down self-doubt. I must trust instead.
Over the months since God called me to school my children, I have begun to feel that I can trust no one but myself to teach them. Perhaps this is true, right now, for us. Perhaps it’s just me being paranoid or prideful. Part of me thinks I cannot trust myself either. What if I fail?
I will fail. This I know, living here with myself as I have all these years. This weak frail flesh, this prideful and temperamental and lazy spirit, this person that is me fails daily, in the loving and the training and the nurturing and the feeding and the clothing. Add schooling to this list, and who am I to think that suddenly I will never fail?
I must trust the God within me that my failures will be used by Him in my children’s lives as much as my successes. That they will learn on bad days as well as good days, and that the lessons learned on the bad days may be the lessons that are most important. I must trust that the God who called me is faithful to perform it.
When our plans for this year involved sending our boys to school, I thought how I would revel in the quiet and the special times with just my daughter. But now– I think how I will revel in the joy of having my children with me a little longer, the privilege of drawing them closer to my heart as I teach them.
I know some days will be terrible. I know some days I will want to cry, scream, give up, eat unholy amounts of chocolate, and curl up in the fetal position. But I feel blessed for the chance to keep my little people with me another day. I know soon they will not be little people.
And I am quite sure that years from now, as my babies leave the nest, I will never regret spending a few extra days with them. Even the hair-pulling days.