For the Love of Learning

Remember your first day of school?  Laying out your clothes before you went to bed?  Waking up early for a special breakfast, then boarding the school bus all decked out in a new backpack full of paper and newly sharpened pencils?  Remember the anticipation and the promise that that day held?  A new year meant a new beginning, a world of possibility, and nine glorious months of transformative brain power at work to make you a lean, mean intelligent machine.  Whatever happened to looking forward to going school?

For my kids (myself included), what happened was "school."  Instead of an institution that promotes creativity and fosters imagination, my children sit in rows and learn how to be the best darn test takers the world has ever known.  They answer A, B, C, or D to a variety of questions designed to assess what has been drilled into their brains all year.  A few weeks later, we receive a report that hopefully proclaims our children "meet expectations."  How my heart swells when it declares that they've "exceeded" them!  But where did my children go?  They are but hollow shells of those starry eyed beings who got on the bus that first day of school. If only they had space to create, time to dream, and opportunity to discover this big, wide, amazing planet, I can only imagine what progress might be realized.

With nearly three dozen students in some classes and teachers facing mandates to teach a standardized curriculum, no wonder we've created a society of robots programmed to receive, repeat, and regurgitate an onslaught of ever-challenging information. 

Discipline, I like.
Structure, I embrace.
Training, I adore.

The public school, though necessary and arguably beneficial, can only serve the masses.  And yet deep down we all know that every human child is a wellspring of opportunity--a brilliant little soul who is and who is yet to be only once in the whole history of the world.  Like a blank canvas, they embody beauty, the quintessential masterpiece of creation.  Art lives in the wandering.  Creativity reigns in the freedom. 

And so I think I've decided to home school my kids next year.  And it's not because I want to insulate them from the world.  On the contrary,  I want to show them the world!  I want to open up their future by reclaiming their present.  I want to help them discover their unique gifts and abilities.  Oh, we'll read and we'll write and we'll do math problems out the wazoo.  We'll explore challenges from every angle, develop creative solutions, and above all else keep learning.  Every teacher I've ever met is all about the learning!

As for expectations?  Well, in taking this first step, in saying the words, "home school" out loud, I'm doing something I, for one, NEVER expected....Teachers of the world, I commend you.  Your job is big, but mine is bigger.  You taught them to read.  You taught them to write.  Now, let's teach them to think.

Are You There, Mom?

As my kids get older, I find myself pushing them farther and farther towards the edge of the nest.  Eventually, I'll touch them with my finger, and off they'll go...not to tumble downward, flapping their wings helplessly for me to pick them up again, but instead to soar to amazing heights.  I often ask myself, "For what other purpose do I feed and clothe them, teach them and train them?"  Surely, it's not simply to keep them alive.  No, it's to send them on their way!  Of course, that's my hope.  

Even at the ages they are now, they crave the independence.  "Mommy, let me do it!" my four year old cries as she brushes her teeth and clips a bow into her waves of curly hair. 

"I want to stay home by myself!", my 10-year remarks as I pack everyone in the car for the dreaded weekly trip to the grocery store. 

"Don't walk me to the bus stop!", my middle schooler laments.  Never mind that it's raining, and that I was going to hold the umbrella for her until she got on the bus.

I've come to realize that I may not have to push them out of the nest at all.  They are the ones giving me the boot! 

And yet as much as they want to hold me at arms-length, there is something in them that also wants to make sure I'm still there. 

I'm reminded of this inner turmoil when we are at the park. 

"Watch me, Mommy!", Cari Jill says as she runs to the tallest slide. 

"Did you see that pass?", Aaron asks as he tumbles to the ground with his football. 

"I'll be climbing that tree over there.  Where are you going to be?", Gavin mumbles as he runs away with a pack of friends.

I'm not going anywhere.

A month ago, I chaperoned the Middle School holiday dance.  Of course, I was spying, but I tried to be respectful of my 12-year old.  I acted as cool and aloof as humanly possible, talking only to my friends and just barely peeking at Christiana over my own half-full glass of punch.  In fact, I had no intention of speaking to her at all.  Yet, every half hour or so, there she was, making her way over to where I was standing. 

"Did you see that dress, Mom?" 
"Are you having fun, Mom?"

Really?  She wanted to know if I was having fun?

My children want to know that I'm paying attention, that I've got their back, that I'll protect them, cheer for them, and congratulate them.  They may say they want to do it "all by themselves," as well as assert their independence in other not so subtle ways.  But they'll always be back.  Drawn to me like a magnet to metal, they're always close. 

I, too, want to be assured that someone cares for me, is watching out for me, and loves me unconditionally.

Are you there, God?  It's me...Chantel. 

"Hey, God, I'm going to do this thing my way...but I hope you're there; I hope you're watching.  I hope you'll save me if I fall down.  And God, I really hope you'll bless me even if I do the wrong thing."

Like the Psalmist (like our children), we say, "O Lord, I call to you; come quickly to me.  Hear my voice when I call to you" (Psalm 141:1).

I want to do it all by myself, and I also want the strength of God.  I want both.  I need both.

Psalm 139:7-10
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.

Thank God. 

Thank God for those verses as well as the promise of Psalm 73:23-24:  Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand.  You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory.

Thank God, that even though one day my children may leave my home for good, they won't be far from God.  So now, when I clasp their tiny hands and look into their eyes, I hope they see God's reflection in mine.  I hope that even though they push me away, I'll take advantage of all those little moments that I unexpectedly get back--moments when they come running into my arms--happy or hurt or excited or angry--I want them to see God in me and know that like him, yes, I'm still here.  As he guides me with his counsel, so as their parent, I am instructed to do the same for them.

I'm still here.

 

My Mother's Prayers

Never underestimate the power of a prayer.  I've been praying since I was old enough to talk.  I've always loved words, and I love literature especially.  I find great power in the words that I read.  Nuances, cadence, and intonation all serve to convey emotion in a story.  They are part of the story, the words but the part that isn't really words as well.  I understand this when I'm reading a book, and yet when I'm talking to God or even THINKING about talking to God, I sometimes don't do it because I don't have the words.  Thankfully, God knows our hearts.  He knows our anxious thoughts, and I don't have to think, write, or say a single word for him to perceive exactly what I need or want.

In recent weeks, this idea has become very clear to me.  Over my lifetime, I feel like I've "barely prayed" if that makes any sense, and yet God has answered my prayers in  VERY REAL ways.  In high school, I prayed that God would give me a husband that loved God more than he loved me.  And he did.  After I married, I prayed that God would one day give me a daughter.  And he gave me two.  I prayed that as a family we would be able to both hear and heed God's direction for our lives.  And he brought us to Canton, Georgia.  Most of my life, I've barely prayed and yet God has heard me and answered me. 

My children are just now learning to pray.  When they hear me talk to God, they hear me asking him to help them grow into people that love Him and love others.  Those two things are really all I ever hope for them.  Reading a biography of Abraham Lincoln recently, I became intrigued by his religious views.  Although he clearly believed in God Almighty, he did not affiliate with any particular American denomination or church.  This is what he said:  "When any church will inscribe over its altar, as its sole qualification for membership, the Savior's condensed statement of the substance of both law and Gospel, 'Thou shalt love the lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul and thy neighbor as thyself' that church will I join with all my heart and all my soul."  Yes, that is what I hope for my children as well!

Lincoln also penned these words:  "I remember my mother's prayers, and they have always followed me.  They have clung to me all my life."  I love the imagery of the prayers following him, on his heels, literally clinging to him all his life.  Even if he wanted to, he could not fling them away.  They were a part of him because God heard his mother's prayer.  He answered her by giving little Abraham Lincoln a heart wholly devoted to God and others.  At a very pivotal and divisive time in our country's history, there stood a man whose mother's prayers enabled him to lead a nation on the brink of destroying itself and knit it back together.   I stand inspired by his testimony.  If God can answer me when I "barely pray", I wonder what he will do when I pray with such sticky conviction that my words endure the generations.