Showing posts with label trust. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trust. Show all posts

Friday, August 18, 2023

Letting Go Of Our First-Born

 

our oldest has flown the nest

Our oldest child has flown the nest. 

It's only been a day, and I'm sure in the days and weeks to follow, I will have more thoughts and feelings, but for now, I just have a few.

It's a strange phenomenon when you spend 18-20 short years angsting about raising your child well, and then all of the sudden, the time has come to set her free. Did I do everything right? No. Did I give her enough attention? Probably not. Did I love her enough? How do I answer this one? I remember writing in a journal to her when I was pregnant, wondering how I would ever be able to love her as much as she deserves. I am selfish, and imperfect, and fall so short of even being worthy to. I did spend the last almost-20 years of her existence trying to love her, and I know that the Lord has graciously filled in the many gaps where I've failed. She has grown into a very beautiful young lady, with a heart for our Lord, and she has reached adulthood, ready to go out into the world, but determined not to be of it. 

At her new place, I asked if I could make her bed. She obliged her old sentimental mother this task, which seemed so trivial to her, I'm sure. But to me, it meant the world. Together, her dad and I made up her new bed, each of us lost in our thoughts of how we got here because she was 4 years old just yesterday. We glanced at each other a few times, knowingly. Our daughter, the one who changed our life and set it on a trajectory toward much greater things than we ever could have imagined, is now no longer under our wings. 

This is the part of life where you really learn the art of letting go in a much more painful way than you did when she went off to Preschool. Or when she got her driver's license. Or when she got her first job out in the world. The letting go must allow for an ocean's-worth of trust in God, the depths of which you should never discover. She is His, after all. He has a plan for her life that we know nothing about. We can only pray she will be who God meant her to be.

When we made it back home yesterday, we pulled sheets and blankets from the dryer and once again, together, we made up her bed. A sense of finality seemed to sneak upon us; the closing of a chapter. We surveyed her empty room. Hangers dangled, purposeless, in the closet, where many beautiful and feminine clothes used to hang. Her time-worn dresser sat empty, as did her nightstand where she used to keep holy cards and an occasional glass of water. Her painting of La Vierge aux anges (The Virgin with Angels, or Song of Angels) which used to adorn her wall, is now at her new place. Almost everything was bare.

But my heart was full. Yes, there's an ache. But this is the start of a new, exciting chapter. My sweet, anxious daughter whom I've worried and fretted over for many years, has now proven to me that once again, God is faithful. He is the Master of turning even the things which pain and prick, into good and beautiful things. He has her under His wings, as He always has, and I know she will be okay, no matter what. I'm excited to see what He's written for her.

And I realize that my responsibility as her parent has changed some, but has not completely diminished. I'm still immersed in this longest labor. I'm still here to worry over her, to pray for her, to guide her on a moral path. 

And she knows that no matter what happens, she can always come back home.

Friday, September 16, 2016

On Not Having Enough ________to Homeschool, Jesus, And His Little Flower

“I just don’t know how you do it.”

I get the statement all the time, usually followed by, “I could never homeschool, I don’t have enough-

PATIENCE
TIME
KNOWLEDGE
MONEY

Less often I hear, “I couldn’t be around my kids that long each day and not kill them,” but that’s another subject for another time.

The truth is…
I could never homeschool either.
I can’t do it.

At least...not without the Lord.

You see, any “wins” I have in this homeschooling journey are not because I have super human powers. Any perfectly-executed days with no fighting, everyone doing their work, everyone getting along and finishing everything is not because I made it happen. 

I’m just like you.  I have lots of short-comings, lots of failings.  I’m an imperfect, sinful, tired mama just like you are.

And if I’m being honest here, most days do not look anything like the picture-perfect life that is in everyone’s mind when they think about their goals for homeschooling.

More often, there is chaos.
More often, there is crying and whining (sometimes from the kids).
More often there are unsharpened pencils and lost notebooks and taking twenty-five minutes to complete a task that really should've only taken ten.
The coffee isn’t strong enough, the hours aren’t long enough, and my patience isn’t the bottomless well I would love for it to be. 

And….
As long as I’m being honest here…
Homeschooling for us isn’t just a choice.  It’s not the “superior alternative” to brick and mortar schools I painstakingly researched and took on as a “martyr” for the good of my children’s education and future.  Far from it.

Do the grave issues which define the modern public school education play a factor in the overall decision?  Of course they do.  But they aren’t *the* factor for this choice, and this is not so much a choice as a calling.

The choice here was not 'will I homeschool as opposed to send my kids to school', but 'will I answer the call which God has so obviously- sometimes blaringly- pressed upon my heart?'

Until two years ago, I was pretty happily sailing along in our homeschooling journey.  Yes, of course, there were bad days.  Many, many, MANY bad days.   The questions of my ability or desire to even continue cropped up in even the easiest of moments.  But we had *just* finally settled into a decent routine, were happy with our chosen curriculum, and I felt like I was starting to get the hang of things, finally after five years.  I felt grounded in this decision and at peace with our path.  I was feeling proud of myself.  Almost a little too proud.

And then life got caught up in a whirlwind of so many different things, as life is wont to do, and I fell pretty hard, flat on my face.  I was exhausted. I was beaten down. I was depressed.  I couldn’t imagine going through one more year with my children at home all day long, in my personal space, depending on me to educate them, some of the littles needing far too much more than I thought I was capable of providing.  I was self-focused but in all the wrong ways.  Then the self-doubt crept in.  Am I even equipped to do this?  Won’t I be failing them if I attempt to continue down this road?  The questions eventually turned into statements and I had pretty much all but convinced myself that I was completely inept and that it would be best to send my kids away to school.  I remember telling my sister that I no longer felt called to homeschool, and as any good sister and friend would do, she dug into my statement and made me think more with logic than with my emotions and heart.  With a few short and simple questions, she unpacked all of the junk I had swirling in my brain, challenging me to discern if it really was that I was no longer being called, or if it was that I was just trying to take the helm back from the Lord and steer this ship on my own.

Thank God for wise little sisters is really all I have to say about that.

At this point, we had already looked into sending the kids to a local Catholic school.  Our parish was willing to help us with tuition and we had heard from the principal that they just needed us to come for a meeting to discuss.  However, encouraged by some very prayerful and holy women who didn’t even know what I was angsting over or praying about, I started a novena to St. Thérèse.  I knew that this was a very serious, life-changing decision to make, and I couldn’t see through my emotions, exhaustion and self-doubt to really make a rational one.


I asked St. Thérèse to intercede for me.  To join me in my pleadings to the Lord, to offer prayers on my behalf to our loving Father to give me an answer.  If this was still my calling, I asked St. Thérèse to send me a rose.  But not just any rose, a lavender rose, one of the most beautiful and expensive and fairly rare roses there are.  Hardly anyone knows that they are a real thing.  I didn’t tell anyone what I had asked for, not even my husband.  I wanted to make sure that if I got my answer, that it was authentic and unadulterated.  Only then would I know for sure it was from the Lord through St. Thérèse, the little flower of Jesus.

Suffice it to say that I got my rose, and in a most unexpected way! And I knew.  I just knew that all of the thoughts, all of my self-doubt and even all the encouragement to stop homeschooling from well-meaning people who really just don’t understand- all of that was for naught.  It was a distraction.  It was a trick.

The truth is no one has enough patience, enough time, enough knowledge, enough money.  No one is equipped to do this thing called homeschooling.  Not without the proper focus and the proper truths laid as the foundation can any of us actually make it work – and I mean any of us, not even the most seemingly put together, perfectly organized, public-speaking, book-writing, workshop-running homeschooling enthusiast there is.

And what is that proper focus?

What are those truths you are supposed to lay as a foundation for your homeschooling life?
Here are just a few:

I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me. (Philippians 4:13)

The Lord is my Shepherd, there is nothing I lack. (Psalm 23:1)

I waited patiently for the Lord to help me, and He turned to me and heard my cry. (Psalm 40:1)

Entrust your works to the Lord, and your plans will succeed. (Proverbs 16:3)

And let perseverance be perfect, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing (James 1:4)

We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to His 
purpose. (Romans 8:28)

Commit your way to the Lord; trust that God will act. (Psalm 37:5)

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, on your own intelligence, rely not. (Proverbs 3:5)

And there are so, so many more truths you can find if you only seek Him out.  And not just for your homeschooling life, but for your daily life outside of homeschooling.  None of us on our own has anything that we need to make it through, but take heart!  We can find all we need in Him.

I’d love to say that our year after answering this call one more time went splendidly. It in fact did not. I was battling depression and anxiety, I was still recovering from some emotional trauma I had experienced the previous year, I was still feeling very much exhausted and depleted.  But we spent our days reading, having fun with a different approach to learning with yet another new curriculum, being gentle with each other, and praying.  The kids did very well, their portfolios were found to be impressive by their evaluator, and we not only survived another year, we thrived.  But there were still LOTS of days where everyone was fighting, kids whined about not wanting to join in lessons, pencils weren’t sharpened on time, notebooks were most definitely misplaced, and the antics of the two littlest who are not school-aged made for some very disruptive entertainment. I was self-focused in many moments. The coffee was still not strong enough; the hours still not long enough, and much of my plans and ideas for our year were thrown out the window on day three.  This year has again started much in the same.

But if I remember those truths I mentioned earlier, the very foundation of our homeschooling journey is that God is with us, God will bless us, God will uphold us and all we have to do is put our trust in Him.  On our own, we have nothing.  But with God, we have everything, and when we get out of the way to let Him steer our ship, we are guaranteed safe passage, even through these ever-murky waters of our homeschooling journey.



Jesus, I trust in YOU.

St. Thérèse, pray for us!         

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Trust

A thousand times I've felt the weight of my laboring through this season of my life, felt its jagged edges scrape against me, the burden of carrying six souls through this world, hoping that they make it relatively unscathed. Hoping that they are not marred too much by its ugliness, and in particular, not by the failings of their haggard, desperate mother.

A thousand miles I've tread the path in stark silence, memories aching to be expelled, worries drowning out my inability to just do the next thing. Just staring into blank space.  With joyful feet around me, kid-noise echoing, and I, too unwell to even crack a smile through my pain.

I wrote once that I used to think God made a huge mistake in giving mothers just two arms to care for their babies.  I wrote this at a time in my life where that weight and the shifting grief within me over a life I had to let go of, was heavy on my mind.  When the few children I had then already felt like too much for me, and I wasn't sure if I was capable of living the life I was called to. 

Motherhood.

Of course I could live it.  Of course.  But could I live it well?

I look behind me and see the tiny toes in the sand which follow their mother's path out to sea, to the raging waters of this life where the world is vast and often dark, the depth of knowledge and understanding and love not quite known..  Those little toes stepping lightly into the weathered boat made in the crooks of arms encircling, trusting and seeking and ready.  And I, unable to shove off, to let go.  To take their small hands in mine and set sail.

I cry out:

What if I lose sight of the beacon?  What if even in the calm, angry gray clouds threaten on the horizon, and I become lost? What happens to these babies of mine?

The Lord's answer:
 

Ah! But I do not make mistakes, and it only takes two arms to clasp your hands in prayer.  Stop wringing them in worry, stop faltering upon the shoreline and focusing on the horizon, imagining things that have not yet even come.  My lighthouse looms, always in the peripheral, the light of My Love a clear direction even against the raging waters.  The silence is for rest, rejuvenation. It is not for staring into the darkness, seeking out the jagged edges felt sweeping past raw feet in the surf.  Never mind those.  Never mind the hastiness and urgency welling up inside. Let go and realize that the I, the One who made those babies and called them out to sea, also made you, their mama, strong enough to bring them safely back to Me.