Today we’re celebrating what my eldest learned in his Anatomy strand this term. No tricky wording to trap him or limiting bubbles to constrain him. Just the freedom of an empty sheet of paper, some pastels, and the testimony of what he received and studied. I’ll share this moment with permission from him and open the window to our home a bit. We traced his body outline on a sheet of butcher paper and he filled it in with drawings of all the major body systems and labeled each part from memory. He couldn’t write fast enough, which is a strange thing to witness. His dyslexia usually makes him write painstakingly slow. But today—- it poured out of him. He wasn’t thinking about how long it took him to learn how to read or how brutal the multiplication table was for him— he simply enjoyed the fruit of his faithfulness these past few months and proceeded with confidence to receive the right reward. This took a lot of daily work. It didn’t just happen 🙌🏼 I got to witness those moments when he had to stop and figure out how to layer things. I saw the problem solving wheels that have been helping his dyslexic brain adapt to the world around him churn out workable creative solutions. I saw the moments of resolve when he took ownership of the project and put on habits of diligence. How did he learn those body systems so well? He read/listened to living books about them, studied the images, practiced drawing them and NARRATED it back to me as he was drawing. 🤯 He’s figured out how to teach himself things and that is such a boost of encouragement as we tackle what’s next (we’re looking at you executive function skills!) He’s ready for the next challenge and as it turns out we were never punished for tossing out that awful reading workbook in the trash when he was in second grade. 😂 🔥 Dear young man, you are right on time. I’m still behind you. Let’s take the next step. ✨✨
The response to “Mama, can I help?” does not, for me, stop at the word “yes.” The response is an ongoing one inside my heart. It has to be, because they have asked to enter into my work with their own way of doing things. “Yes,” and then the work begins. Welcoming my boys in, keeping my heart tender towards them, and encouraging the attitude that has presented itself before me is essential once their unique ideas collide with their high energy and limited experience. They want to help, bless and serve. So I must help, bless and serve them by letting them put their kindness into practice. Another round of dishes or a funny looking batch of buns laughingly christened “hot splotch buns” are a small price to pay for another thread well-stitched and pulled tight to bind our hearts together a little more closely. When one boy is helping with a tradition, the moment serves to add weight to the anchor of home and place and meaning. This anchor will serve him well when he goes sailing out into the world. Holy Week is at the doorstep and we have been carefully preparing for the last few days. On the outside, this looks like cleaning the house, preparing and planning out food, bringing out books, readying pysanky tools and finding all the little wooden story pieces that help us mark the progression of Jesus as he sets his face towards the cross. On the inside it looks like setting aside prideful agendas and selfish flesh to love and welcome and make these boys feel down to their bones that this is their home too. I say this to to them all the time with my words, but it must be said with my actions too. They are part of the story and part of the tradition and they are welcome here too. Tomorrow is Palm Sunday and we will gather our branches and march around the dining room singing “Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna in the highest. Lord, we lift up your name, with hearts full of praise. Be exalted, O Lord Our God, Hosanna in the highest.” It is our response and the echo of our hearts as we begin this special week. “Mama, can I help?” Yes, boys, you are welcome here.
Jeff and I fell in love writing letters back and forth while he worked in Honduras. Those letters bound our hearts together in a deep and lasting way. We married and the babies all came one after another. We wrote love letters independently and then we lived out our love letters together. Years went by. The boys were itty bitty and their actions often ruled my day! One day my Abuela called and I told her all about my rough day reacting to my little boys and all the havoc they were wreaking in the house. She laughed sympathetically and said “pero Negrita, remember how your actions shape their day. They don’t have the words to say it yet, but it matters to them. Let your responses be led by love and that action will rule your day.” Oh, she was right. The image of our love letters popped into my mind. I wanted my actions to read like love letters for my boys. I wanted them full of beauty and wisdom and truth. I didn’t want actions that read like prickly letters to an unknown subordinate at the complaint department. It’s been years and years of working hard to teach with intention and love so that my responses could be reminders, instead of teaching in the heat of the moment. Years of battling my sinful flesh to respond with actions of love. The work of the last year, when we have been so often at home, has been to keep the voice of a love letter and not the droning of a disembodied voice nagging in the background. Every day I wake up and walk out of my room, ready to write the day’s letter to my boys. What will I fill it with? Scriptures, hymns, stories, laughter, good meals, flowers, tree climbing, hope-filled grief, freedom, confession, repentance, truth, love, chocolate, dances in the kitchen, longings for restoration? I hope so. Dear boys, I love being with you. Dear boys, i am sorry for losing my temper, will you forgive me? Dear boys, how will we outdo one another in showing honor? Dear boys, let us overcome evil with good. Dear boys, meet me in the treetops, my heart rejoices over you. Love, Mom.
Giveaway closed! Congratulations @ninas.nettles @fernandita31 and @timmonsla 🎉 This beautiful Friday afternoon calls for tea in the library and a GIVEAWAY 🎉🎉🎉 We worked with the talented and creative young mama behind @betterthingscandlecompany to create a candle that captured all the tender warmth of these story time days. Reading together has been a sensory experience for us- the sound of a voice you love, the taste of a homemade cookie, the feel of a soft blanket, that delicious book smell (if you know, you know!) and of course, a story that makes your heart sing!
As a child I rarely responded to things with careful consideration or with a greater purpose in mind. I typically reacted with whatever feelings boiled within my heart in that moment. The vast majority of my growing up years were spent learning the hard way why responses mattered and why I needed to curb reactions and shape them into responses. Marriage and motherhood are exercises in sanctification for me and my flesh driven reactions. For many years, one of the main focuses of our homeschool life together has been repeatedly practicing how we shape our responses. Responses to the Lord, His infallible word, each other, strangers, the greater world, what we read, what we hear— all of it. I know by now that I can not respond with what I do not have. Wisdom, grace, kindness, beauty, TRUTH, must be stored up inside my heart before I can offer it as a response to someone else. This week provided more chances to practice shaping my reactions into good responses. Whether it’s a neighbor’s fear for the future or a child’s reaction to an unwanted bedtime, I must choose to pull from the well of what has been poured inside me and respond with something that hopefully looks more like the love of Christ than the selfish sinful nature of Elsie. I met with failure and success this week, as usual. Repent or rejoice, I made my choices and must choose again today. Yesterday I responded by taking the boys to the beach. Today I responded by engaging in meaningful and important work that will directly impact my children’s futures. I did the dishes and swept the floor, Folded laundry and made a batch of freezer biscuits before the buttermilk turned, made salad dressing, rotated groceries and inventoried the fridge. I read my Bible, listened to a good book, read an essay by Wendell Berry. Watched a bird and a line of ants. I called a friend whose life experience and view of the world differ greatly from mine and I stayed quiet and listened. I scrubbed the toilet and listened to a symphony. I read aloud to the kids. I prayed, “God help me to breathe in today what you would have me breathe out tomorrow, help me shape loving responses.”
These moments are built by years. I look up and behold one of my young men at work and I see the trail of years leading up to the moment. Years of habit training and relationship building. It wasn’t/isn’t easy, and it wasn’t/isn’t all necessarily hard, but it was/is purposeful. In truth my few homeschool resolutions yielded very little (in hindsight that is God’s mercy!). Where I gained the most ground came when I skipped my (often) prideful resolutions and humbly begged for revelations— those Holy Spirit moments when He graciously softens my heart, opens my eyes, tunes my ears, to understand the truth and take that next step of obedience. Those revelations drive me further up and further in than things I resolve to do on my own- they give me bigger, better correction and a refined purpose. A beautiful gift, slow and steady. A chance to repent. A chance to receive forgiveness. A chance to lead and love afresh. Purpose gives grace to whatever plan we set down for the year, even when adjustments to the plan are made. Purpose helps me keep my eyes on the relationship! Some of the big joy in my heart today isn’t just the ease the ongoing work of habit training is bringing to our lives, it’s also the accumulation of years that have built beautiful relationships with my boys. That is JOY- Moments built by years. Five years ago we might have dissolved into tears over a rough lesson. But we’ve had years of problem solving and figuring out how to learn and communicate and that goes a long way in diffusing tough mornings. Years of work, tears, prayer, laughter, goo gone, evaluations, lesson plans, stories and eraser rubbings may not be visible to the eye in this quick mid-morning capture, but my heart sees and remembers. My heart knows the beauty found here this messy morning is an echoed response to the early days of a young mother and her crew of rowdy little boys gathered around box curriculum with an endless list of questions and a prayer on her lips. There is nothing instant about this, Instagram. Hear the truth of what slow and steady builds. Forget “instant” and lean in to the steady discipline of moments built by years. I’m still marching on, slow and steady.
