Have I told you my husband preaches? He’s gifted at it too. When he first started preaching regularly, I’d hold a notebook in my lap and scribble every advice and encouragement I wanted to remember to pass on to him later. “Talk slower.” “Say ‘um’ less.” “Great line.”
But somehow over these years, he’s actually become my pastor, and I get lost in God’s truth, rather than my husband’s delivery. I forget to look for where he stutters versus where he shines, because my mind is busy awakening to the points he’s making.
This year, he’s preached a lot about time, and how precious it is. We don’t get much of it on Earth.
I find myself nodding and thinking, “That’s why I home-schooled my girls. Because there is so little time.”
I’ve hardly written about homeschooling. We spent the past few years untangling our own web of emotions and doubts, all while educating our girls ourselves. I’ve hardly felt capable of verbalizing all the angles we’ve analyzed, the pros and cons we weigh with obsession. The problem with making unconventional choices is that everywhere you look, those conventional options you forwent glitter before you.
In the fall, our family will give up homeschool. At least for a while. It was not an easy decision. We made the right call for next year, but if I’m honest, one fact still gnaws at my heart: time is short. It takes time to shape a child, to show them the beauty of Jesus, to convince them that God’s opinion is the only one that matters. And, it takes time to savor motherhood. I want to soak up every drop.
I’ve been a parent for seven years; I am no expert. But I know that my seven year old was crawling just a few weeks ago, and that my five year old already begs to wear makeup. They’re getting older so fast.
Maybe that’s why I’m neurotic about this toddling boy I rock each night. He feels so temporary. His fuzzy scalp, his dimpled hands… It’ll all be gone soon. When he was younger, I’d hold him on my hip all day, until the pediatrician threatened to call a physical therapist if I didn’t let him crawl. These days, he’s learning to run. And I’m learning to let go.
It is the hardest lesson yet.