A Dance for Today- A Passover Story

We gaze at the ornately decorated tables and pause with wonder at the symbols of remembrance that will be explained throughout the evening. My children grumble about their hunger. I am hungry for what is to come.

I’ve done this before. Choked down the horseradish. Ate the salty herbs. Splashed juice onto my plate. Proclaimed praise to the Lord God of the universe.

The anticipation builds as we pour and pour again. The table is finally spread and we feast with friends. Then the dancing continues.

My little girls giggle with glee as their dance teacher takes their hand. Other women join the train flowing through the tables. A few men gather at the back to kick in unity. My son arm in arm with his father expressing the joy of redemption.

Yes, the joy! How often do I forget the list of chores and accomplishments to just celebrate?

Oh, that each day would be a celebration! I walk in grace. I live in peace. Glory! Hallelujah!

It is easy to see the darkness. It is easy to lose hope, but God conquered the grave. And when he arose this world changed. Love infiltrated the human heart. Individuals awoke to liberty, free to release fear and bitterness.

Yes, I remember the stabs of bondage, but after mourning comes rejoicing.

Jesus endured the cross for the joy set before him and because of that every day brings hope. (Hebrews 12: 1-3) Do I walk in that hope? Do I pause to laugh with my children? Do I celebrate today?

This morning the answer is yes. I awake and choose to continue dancing.

Detours and Distractions

This morning started with a long pause as I scrawled arrows in the lesson book. My children were sick last week, so plans stalled. Copying a lesson from one day to the next used to frustrate me.

Why take time to write out what will become scribbles?

I thought it would be a good idea to capture the serendipity of whatever came next in our curriculum by simply writing down what we did each day. That way detours would be recognized as school, because learning really does happen when conversations turn and questions appear.

I quickly realized that didn’t work for us. We needed a general direction, a goal, a starting place.

Now I prepare for each week as it comes. If lessons aren’t sketched out by Monday, nocturnal me gets up before dawn to make it happen.

My plans aren’t elaborate: an idea with a resource or a page numbers from curriculum. Library day tucked in here. Activities listed on the side. Observations splattered here and there.

As we travel down the grid, record the distractions and detours. Because sometimes those are the things we remember the longest, the things that put life into perspective:

1/14/10 Prayed for Haiti. Looked at pictures of Faith Orphanage before and after the earthquake. Kids overwhelmed by compassion. They want to send their toys.

The plan isn’t the destination. It is a map of scratches and arrows attempting to reveal the One whose breath flung the Heavens and whose Spirit whispers to souls.

My Homeschool To Do List

Melancholy settled in as the hours passed. My to do list unmarked except for what I’d deemed most important: prayer, Bible reading, school lessons, and home-cooked meals. Those things took all day. Literally, all day. What about the trail of obligations and ideas for things I wanted to pursue?

My brain tried to focus in the quiet of the night, but darkness and sleep shut out the whispers of failure. That was enough for one day.

Bug, Age 12, 2010

I am task-oriented by nature, so my spirit lifts when I can stand back and look at accomplishments. The dullness comes from my weary eyes. They glance around the room and get caught on the undone and the messes. Yes, meals are consumed, but the smiles and laughter linger. Lessons are, hopefully, stored in the hearts of my children. My little prayer book is stashed away to collect even more memories later.

This is my life now. This is what is important.

The lists in my notebook grow each day, but the time I have with these children is short. Oh, some days feel like they last forever. The truth is they don’t.

Bug, Age 5, with Baby Sunshine, 2003

Now is the time to make messes, so I brought the craft table in off the porch.

Now is the time to read great books, so I let my son devour a biography during our normal math time.

Now is the time to make a home, so I close my eyes to the missing boards around the windows and the torn up bathroom. Those things will be fixed in time, but I don’t want to miss the eternal for a nagging piece of paper. The truly important things I do in a day are hard to check off as done.

Boxes of Books Scare Homeschool Mother

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Boxes of books tower in my garage. Lesson planning resources are tucked away to wait for moving day, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking about the school year when I should be sleeping.

As I try to quiet my thoughts, the mental checklist reveals a gaping hole in our planned subjects, science. How did I forget something so important?

Then I remember all that is tucked in those banker’s boxes: Math, English, geography, art, history, Spanish, literature, penmanship, spelling, and yes, even some science.

So many wonderful books. So many tentative plans.

But there are not enough hours in the day to do it all. If I scheduled each day minute by minute and crammed it into my children’s brains, would it even stay?

I take a deep breath. The books are not my master. The curriculum doesn’t have to be completed as directed. I examine the motives of my heart. Why are we homeschooling? Why did I choose this curriculum? Why are we reading this now? Sometimes it is serendipity, but more often than not it is a choice made by love.

Love requires discipline. Love asks for sacrifice. Love is hard work sometimes. But it is also the foundation of life, of everything creative, of joys unimaginable. And when I remember that, the boxes of books and gaping holes cease to threaten.

The Light in the Shadows

My stomach gnaws on worry. My mind races trying to beat the fears down with truth. I know we aren’t supposed to be anxious. I shared Proverbs 16:9 with a friend just last night:

A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.

So why does it seem harder to trust God to direct someone else’s steps?

It’s been a long two years. My husband lost his job in 2007. Everything he’s done since then has been fits and starts. Temporary work, part-time jobs, continuing education classes. We thought provision had finally come.

On our trip to Idaho, he heard about a job driving from Southern Idaho to Seattle once a week. He applied. He was told to keep in touch. Then confirmation came, “When can you start?” Two weeks later, Dylan left.

He’s been training. But were words misunderstood or enthusiasm misread? Whatever the reason, the door slammed shut.

Now we grope along the wall looking for another opening. I long to escape this dim gray fog. I want to see where these steps will take us. The path behind this door seemed so perfect. So comfortable. I could paint and pack knowing the bills would be paid.

Plodding past hope still swinging on hinges, I try not to look back.  I must trust God to lead my beloved.

There is light in the eyes of Providence. He beckons us to continue walking, searching. He will open a door we don’t even know exists yet. He will expose the beauty in the darkness. He will reveal the other side of the glass.

Until then, the mist reminds me to look to the one who radiates the full spectrum and scatters my path with glimmers of the rainbow.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. (1 Corinthians 13:12)