Like parenting in general, it helps me when I think about homeschooling in terms of seasons. Each season has its own unique joys, its own unique challenges, and each is discernibly different from the one before.

HOMESCHOOLING BEGAN LIKE SPRING

Was it that way for you? (It’s not that way for everyone, so don’t feel bad if that wasn’t your experience.)

But in our home, homeschooling started out with delight…it was like spring here in the Pacific Northwest: new growth and color everywhere. There was no end to the fun of discovering new things through the eyes of my eager young learner. We’d cuddle up during the younger kids’ nap times, or during the toddler’s snacks or “blanket time”, and whisk ourselves away to biblical stories, ancient lands, and forgotten times.

Every day, or certainly every week, there were delightful things I’d notice and remark about to Doug:

  • “Wow, I used to hate history, but now I find it so fascinating. I wonder if it’s because of how it was taught?”
  • “This is incredible… his curiosity and thirst for learning is insatiable!”
  • “I can’t believe how much we can get done in so short a time!”

That season didn’t last forever, but WOW! It was delightful while it lasted.

WITH EACH NEW SEASON COMES A NEW RHYTHM

Now, I’m not taking the literal “Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter” seasons analogy any farther, but the truth is that each length of time we spend homeschooling is like learning a new season, with a new rhythm. Some come back again and again, some are more tiring, some have too much to do, and some feel more laid back.

A little more than a year ago, I entered a heavy-duty “work” season, where I was (for the first time) homeschooling four children. Much less like the frolicking fun of the “spring” I described above, this was much more like the way a farmer puts his nose down and plows out the rows. Because he knows there is much to do, there’s not near as much time to dilly-dally and look at flowers, even if they do happen to be beautiful. Sometimes homeschooling is that way. So many things have to get done, and there’s a limit to the amount of time and energy we have to do it. So we work through it as efficiently as we can, and just “get ‘er done.”

We’ve just ended a season where we’ve, basically, “survived.” What that looked like for us was reading aloud (mostly, the kids to me, to make sure I was rightly gauging their reading progress and pronunciation), some math, and a whole lot of life skills (talking through home selling, mortgages, home buying, what a job search looks like, etc.).

And we have stepped into a season that’s more of a blend. We have some day-in, day-out “plowing,” but then I’m also reading aloud more, and playing in the floor more. We’re stopping to admire the joys (like reading “Come On, Seabiscuit” aloud with my 9-year-old, and talking through historic things like radio announcers, horse races, and life before TV/Internet), but everyone is also doing their math worksheets, Bible study, and age-/skill-specific learning, nonetheless. A little plowing, a little flower-admiring.

My point is NOT to try to make some one-size-fits-all list of all the seasons you’ll go through, but to give you encouragement and permission. I especially want to give encouragement to young homeschooling moms:

  • Homeschool in a way that you are doing what you need to do to follow the laws of your state/country.
  • Give yourself freedom (without guilt or self-loathing) to let one year/semester/season, be different from previous ones.

Pregnancies come and go. Toddlers come and go. Job changes, family illness, and other life challenges come along. Life brings a battery of challenges our way, and I try to roll with them and flex. By doing so, our life has a lot more freedom & joy, and our homeschool journey is able to keep rolling along while changing with the seasons.

Let me encourage you, if you are stressed out trying to follow a certain friend’s “model” or even trying to follow a model or plan that used to work for you but for some reason, just *doesn’t* right now, perhaps it could help you to learn to roll with the seasons of homeschooling. 

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Tagged children, family life, homeschooling, seasons of life

My husband lost his job at our home church, last November. He applied for a number of positions, mostly in TX, and one in WA. It was, and is, one of the more difficult seasons of life that we’ve walked through. Months of hanging on to the Lord in what felt like a swirling vortex.

It was rough. And God was good.

The church in WA (that ultimately hired Doug) flew us up for a ten-day interview/”trial” period, so that we could get to know the church and they could get to know us, and all of us could be much more clear (at the end of that time) on who/what we were getting into, before we or they “committed.” I loved the approach– so different from what I’ve often seen in pastoral search situations: a whirlwind weekend of flurried activities & little-to-none authentic relational connection.

After we came back, we had to pack up our house while waiting to hear back about whether or not he’d be offered the position. Either way, whether we got the offer or not, we knew we’d have to move (either to WA, or to a downsized place in Dallas).

To be honest, I had mixed feelings.

I loved that house— near family, useful to the Body, with so much built-in fun for us as a family. It was such a perfect expression of God’s grace toward us.

I’ve shared before how I think feelings about earthly homes translate to what our longing for and joy in Heaven should be like.

Let me share with you the first prayer written in my journal, after our return to TX after that 10-day interview process (and parts of it are just my raw heart but I want you to see the truth about where I was, and not mask the ugly parts). I forced my hand to begin listing out thanks when I really wanted to grump & throw a fit:

“Father, I am still such an easily-angered, headachy mess. Thank You for this house.

  • all 4 bedrooms
  • all 3 bathrooms
  • the office
  • the sunroom
  • the large living & dining areas
  • the beautiful kitchen with the corner window box
  • the large laundry room
  • his & hers closets
  • the pool & cabana area– pleasant in all seasons (even in the winter sun!)
  • the yard & firepit– the tire swing Doug built and the jungle gym that was Mike’s [Doug’s dad]
  • the workshop where so much fun has been had & the chicken coop built
  • the “junkyard” where the chickens have resided
  • the attic that has held our children’s clothes
  • the care groups we’ve hosted
  • the friends who’ve come to swim
  • the football games enjoyed in the front yard
  • the kids’ enjoyment of the yard, the fort with the spiral stairs, the junkyard, the “secret-cut-through behind the fence
  • the front garden beds

There is so much I love about this home. I trust You. I *know* You know best. You’ve given us everything good– always what is best for every season.

You are good & I trust You. I trust You to give us the best WA home– and that ultimately in Heaven I will be delighted by You alone,
— having been stripped of earthly idols.

I feel Your stripping away now- of the idols & earthly ties. And I need it and value it, even though it is immensely painful.”

God is so good to strip away the cravings of our flesh & our love for earthly things— even when they are pried from our grasp, or it feels like the rug has been pulled out from under us. His heart for us is GOOD, and we can rest in that, even when everything else is swirling & uncertain.

One of the things I have prayed for our family and our children is that we would value people over things, and that we would hold our “things” loosely (including homes). So then, I have to welcome even the difficulty of “losing” a house that we loved.

[And with that, permit me a brief rabbit trail: DO I THINK GOD “OWED” US A NICE HOUSE? Not at all. In fact, for the whole time we lived there, even right up to the last moments I spent there, I felt like it was ALL GRACE. I remember my sweet believing friends in Turkmenistan who are under constant threat of persecution. I remember Chinese believers meeting quietly in small apartments and baptizing new believers in tiny tubs in crowded bathrooms. I remember the poor and the rich and the well-provided for and the financially-struggling friends and family members that I’ve had and call to mind that God is good amidst it all.]

He is GOOD IN EVERY circumstance. 

So then, I can praise Him and be content with “much” when He provides it.

WHICH brings me to today.

After about a week here, our realtor drove in front of a beautiful house near the church and said she thought it would be perfect and was about to go on the market. I told her it was excessively out of our price range. So that was that. Or so I thought.

A week later, when we upped our budget by quite a bit (it takes a while to get used to WA prices after being in TX) I asked to see it.

A short walking distance to our church, with a double city lot, it is precious and enjoyable in every way (and more) that I could have asked for. Like each of our previous homes, it is a picture of GRACE. 

We signed the papers for it this last weekend.

God has just done it again. Blown my mind with His goodness and care for us.

He would still be GOOD if she hadn’t accepted our offer. He would still be GOOD if we had ended up in the smaller home a 15-minute-drive away that we thought we’d be getting less than a week before we made an offer on this one. He would still be GOOD if we’d had to pause our house search and ended up renting an apartment. He’d still be GOOD if we had ended up on food stamps in a downsized house in Dallas. He’d still be GOOD if Doug was still looking for work and we were still hanging out on a limb in limbo. He will be GOOD if somehow this contract fails and we don’t get this house.

But today, from my vantage spot– the place where His sovereign hand has brought us– I am utterly overwhelmed by His grace. I want to praise Him for His good gift to us. My praises are flying heavenward for all that He has done to teach me through these (relatively) temporary, earthly homes. My home is in Heaven, and until then, I get to learn about “home” through these earthly provisions He gives.

This weekend, in the midst of Easter thoughts, it was so very clear to me:

God shines brilliant through the muckiest muck. Crucifixion, then Resurrection. What looks bleak is made beautiful in His time.

LET ME ENCOURAGE YOU:

  • PRAISE GOD IN THE MIDST OF THE MUCK.-– Force your heart, your lips, and/or your pen to list out the good things of your hard time. I know it’s not easy. OH, I know it. You saw the journal entry– I was migrainey and frustrated and heartbroken. But as I began to list out all of the good things, my heart began changing and praising Him became easier.
  • WHEN YOU ARE HURTING, TAKE HOPE FROM OUR REDEEMING GOD.–  At the Cross, in Jesus, we can find real & lasting hope. What seemed final and senseless– Christ’s DEATH– was redeemed by the Father. Our hope is in the resurrecting God who redeems the things that seems most tragic, most confusing, most hurtful, most jarring. When no man could make good out of a situation, God can.

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Tagged Discontentment, Heaven, Home, Moving, trust God

You remember the story.

Twin brothers– one with a penchant for cooking, the other a hunter. The cook (the younger of the two) had the favor of his mother. The hairy hunter was his father’s delight. In a moment of desperate hunger, focused on the immediate longing of his belly, the hunter traded his birthright— his blessing because he was firstborn– for what his brother had cooked up. When his twin conspired with his mom to get the blessing from Esau at the end of his father’s life, Esau could only blame himself.

And then there’s Jesus. He, for the joy set before Him, endured the cross. What a stark contrast He is to the carnal Esau, who for a single meal, sold His birthright.

In Hebrews 12, they are two examples, exhibiting a focus on entirely different things– Christ focused on eternal joy; Esau focused on momentary hunger: 

“let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus …who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, …Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, …Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord. See to it that …no “root of bitterness” springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled; that no one is sexually immoral or unholy like Esau, who sold his birthright for a single meal. For you know that afterward, when he desired to inherit the blessing, he was rejected, for he found no chance to repent, though he sought it with tears.

How many things in our lives have the potential to be like Esau’s stew?

  • Will I choose the immediate pleasure that I desire… despite the cost?
  • Will I choose what is temporal and fills my belly… even though it does not go along with long-term goals?
  • Will I choose what my feelings convince me will make me “happy”… even though it breaks my vows or goes against God’s Word?
  • Will I choose to say the thing that my flesh longs to say… though it brings sorrow, pain, or division?
  • Will I choose a focus on acquiring more things that make my life easier… despite having spoken beliefs that only Christ– and not things– will satisfy my heart?

…or Will I take up my cross and follow Jesus, because of the joy set before me in eternity?

Now, let me say– it’s not always that simple. If my choices are english muffin or oatmeal for breakfast, one’s not stew, and the other “the cross.”

But sometimes it IS that simple.

Sometimes we know… by the Spirit, by God’s grace, we know. We know that there is a decision facing us– something we will say or not say, something we will do or not do, a vow we will break or not break, someone we will wound or not wound– and one choice is “stew” and the other is “cross.”

And don’t tune me out: I’m convinced that this sort of big-picture philosophy actually matters in those places where the rubber meets the road in the Christian life.

It’s how affairs happen. A woman’s desire for an affectionate, heart-pounding kiss from someone she’s gotten too close to overrides the vow she made to her husband and to God, and within a short time, everything about her life has come tumbling down. Stew.

It’s the place where laziness meets parenting– we want them to be quiet, and so instead of doing the (longer, more difficult) work of training our children to be pleasant and enjoyable, we frustratedly yell, “Would you guys JUST BE QUIET?!” Stew.

It all (ultimately) relates to the the stew and the cross.

In that moment, when the choice is ours, will we choose the temporary, short-lived, good-to-the-eyes, easy “stew”, or will we choose to embrace the cross of the Christ-life– willfully enduring the suffering sent our way because our eyes are set on eternity?

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Tagged Discontentment, Eternal Perspective, intentionality, suffering, trust God

Psalm 23 has come up in various places in my life lately… you know how God does that? Sometimes He brings something to your face in various ways all at roughly the same time.

Quick story:

Last week, we thought we’d found a potential house for our family. It was an old church that had been converted to a daycare. It had the good bones of the old church, but some of the daycare decor that would actually work for our family (like a huge wall grid for sorting laundry & stashing games in the laundry room right off of the family room). It would have been majorly cool. And a great size for our family. With some acreage (and a view of the Columbia RIVER–ACK!). But it didn’t work out. The more we looked at it, the more obvious it was that the potential cost for renovation was too close to the line for us to take the plunge.

That afternoon, I told my nearly-8-year-old daughter that it was a good day for a nap. But the protests were fierce. “I don’t NEED one! I don’t want a nap! I’m not a baby. I’m not even tired.” On and on they went.

But I know my daughter.

All the signs were there, and we’d been ultra-busy & up later than usual the previous few nights. So I insisted. I told her to trust her mama who knows what she needs. In not much time at all, she was asleep. And even with a mid-nap interruption that woke her up, she took over a two-hour nap.

She CLEARLY needed the rest.

It made me think of the house and the decision not to buy it. Perhaps God is keeping me from taking on more than I can handle. He is making me lie down and rest and not buy that house (and all the associated energy-sucking work that would come with it). 

God knows what I need better than I do. He is my Father who knows me better than I know myself.

He knows when I need rest. He knows when I would take on more than I should. He also (conversely) knows when I can do more than I am.

He knows me. I can trust Him. 

Though I would take on more than I should… Though I would lie to myself and say “I can do it”… Though I might kick and scream and say, “I don’t need to rest!”

Though I might be convinced, “God built me strong” (which… yes, I used to say)

He knows me better than I know myself. He is my Shepherd, and He faithfully, lovingly cares for my soul with a long-term view for His GLORY and my GOOD.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.

(from Psalm 23)

The Psalmist said, “He makes me lie down…” And sometimes, that’s exactly what He does. I don’t know if I’m moving into a season of more rest, and less running around. But sometimes our Shepherd makes us lie down, even at times when we would choose to be “up” and “doing.”

But I know this: if He makes me lie down, it will be for my good and for His glory. 

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