Whispers in the Wind

Since the day started, I’ve stepped on a Lego, an oddly shaped block, one 1980s vintage Fisher Price Little Person and a pet rock. The poor little person got chucked across the living room in a fit of quiet rage, his blue cap pinging every so satisfyingly off the front door frame. The other items fared much better, my foot getting the worst of our confrontations. I think I’d just had my fill of sharp object contact by the time my heel came down on that little plastic head.

I’m a homeschooling mom. Three kids – two of them old enough to be in school. The little guy is old enough to cling incessantly to my pants leg and beg to be held whilst simultaneously mouthing small, chokable objects. All three of them are my heart and soul, each with his or her own little room in that interior castle. On days like today when I’ve stepped on the last toy I can handle and my words of instruction have fallen on deaf ears and the toddler is biting the tips off the crayola markers (blue drool dripping down his chin), I remind myself that I never wanted to be in this place. I never wanted round the clock child rearing. I never wanted to teach little people to read, to count money, to add three digit numbers or make a diorama of a butterfly life cycle. I always wanted children, and I’m grateful we have the little bugs we’ve been gifted. But teach my own kids? I fought the call to the homeschool life harder than a Lego jamming my tender flesh. I was a high school English teacher, after all. What could I do with a one room schoolhouse of real little people?

And yet here I am. Thrust into this life of schoolbooks in every corner, math in every making-waffles-for-breakfast, critical thinking skill practice at every red light. I’m knee deep in well intentioned Jesse tree projects (forgotten), review week scrap book pages (set aside), and educational screen time options (preferred). Right now it feels like I’m surviving on the fumes of a whispered prayer: a desperate plea for Mother Mary’s guidance that I might be the mother my children need, the teacher they’ve always wanted. I may have even shared with my young pupils this morning that yes, some days I really dislike homeschooling.

But the truth is, I don’t dislike homeschooling. I dislike the self doubt and fear that somehow I am not enough. That for my children, being at home all day with me is somehow detrimental to their social and thinking skills. That they will be behind their peers in math, science, reading and writing. That I could serve them so much better by going out and getting a job, eliminating our financial concerns and saving money for something like a trip to Disney. I know where these thoughts come from, arriving at my weakest moments when I am already tired and prone to negative self talk. Throw in a few well-placed toys and bare feet and you have a perfect storm of tantrum inducing frustration wherein one sets the best possible example of not taking a deep breath and counting to four (yes Daniel Tiger, I am listening to you).

Through it all and by the grace of God, my children love me. They are learning, not just the regular subjects they’d get in school, but also the valuable lessons of giving unconditional love, offering true forgiveness and overcoming our biggest weaknesses. Perhaps they would have learned these things in school as well, but I am happier that they are learning them here at home, in a safe space sheltered from judgement and social anxiety. We have plenty of opportunities to play and learn with friends, from our classical Catholic hybrid curriculum, to our parish homeschool group and other classes and activities. So I guess the question becomes – how do I teach myself? Sometimes I fee like Elijiah, who said:

“I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the sons of Israel have forsaken Your covenant, torn down Your altars and killed Your prophets with the sword. And I alone am left; and they seek my life, to take it away.” (1Kings 19:11)

Now granted, I’m only dealing with the education of children, and they certainly aren’t striking down prophets with their plastic lightsabers or coming after me (well, not usually, anyway). But when I feel like my world is crashing down around me and all I can hear is the sound and fury of my failures, it helps me to remember the next part of the story:

“[The Spirit of the Lord] said, “Go forth and stand on the mountain before the Lord.” And behold, the Lord was passing by! And a great and strong wind was rending the mountains and breaking in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of a gentle blowing. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood in the entrance of the cave. And behold, a voice came to him and said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”(1 Kings 19-22)

What are you doing here, Ginny?

And the answer, of course, will always be learning to listen to His whispers in the wind.