I am a walking contradiction. Depending upon which minute of the day you talk to me, you might hear a different version of this story.
On one hand, I feel relief. Joy. Release. Freedom. I am not the one in charge of two kid’s education. I don’t have to be the one to manage everything all the time. I am not juggling reading lessons with math lessons with diaper changes with meal prep, cleaning the sinks, and getting the laundry into the dyer before it starts to smell. I am not the one convincing someone to write three sentences instead of one or to read a book they didn’t pick. There’s quiet when the toddler naps. I can take a breath.
On the other hand, I am not the one in charge of two kid’s education. I don’t get to create an atmosphere of learning and joy around the table every day. I am not choosing curriculum, ordering books or supplies, nor am I witnessing with delight the incremental progress as they grow in their understanding of this world we live in. I am not planning field trips that ignite our imaginations or stretch our ideas of how God might use us in this life.
We won’t have Friday adventure days (though we can have them on the weekends!) and won’t start our days around the table with steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Instead, you will gain other adults who want to see you grow, spend three days a week in the garden, and get to go to music class twice a week and art class. You’ll learn skills I don’t know to teach you, practice being independent in a safe space, and have opportunities to make friends you will see every day.
I take my toddler on a walk. Even at 10 a.m., it’s so hot we are dripping in no time. We prep dinner, eat too many snacks in too short a time, pull out a puzzle that never gets done, keep her out of the big kid’s room, reassure her that they will come home soon, give her a middle-of-the-day bath, and put her down for a nap. It’s quiet now. And I love it, and I hate it.
But I mostly love it. And then I wonder if I should love it a little bit less.
God, I heard you those many months ago when you asked me to open my hands and trust you with my big kids. It was your voice that put all of this into motion. I’m reminded that obedience doesn’t always make sense but produces a harvest of righteousness. I can’t quite see what you are doing in my life right now. I’m still home with a toddler, but it does feel as though a new season might be just around the corner. Breathe your Holy Spirit into our days.
May we delight in learning more about ourselves, you, and the world you created, whether we are gathered around our kitchen table or at a school desk.


