I’m writing this post as a preface to the bright and shiny one where I’ll tell you about all the wonderful stuff we’ll be studying this year. You’ll be tempted to think it’s all unicorns and butterflies here at the Wadsworth house. This post will shatter all your illusions. Proceed with caution.
Classical education refreshes itself at cisterns of learning dug long ago, drawing from springs too deep for taint the strength to turn our cultural retreat into advance. (David Hicks)
If I ever really do give up homeschooling, I hope I go out in a blaze of glory like Simcha.
I’m not giving it up just yet but here’s why I teetered on the edge and nearly threw in the towel.
It’s hard.
It’s really hard.
It’s by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
And to quote Simcha, ” It wasn’t the hard work that wore me out; it was the crappy job I did, and the worrying about it. That’s what was so exhausting.”
Ouch. And if I’m honest, that’s the same thing that wears me out. Worrying about it all. Did we do enough? Why can’t she remember 12×9? Why am I not more patient and kind and prepared? Can I not just get a substitute today and go antiquing or just sit in a coffee shop and stare at the walls all day?
And haven’t I brought this all on myself—which I think excludes me from any of your compassion and pity?
In March of this year, I wanted to be anywhere doing anything but homeschooling my girls.
I knew I was done. I felt an ache in my heart that wouldn’t go away. A heaviness—-the kind that comes from bearing the weight of your child’s education on your own weak shoulders. The sinking feeling that I’m just not enough. I’m all out of ideas.
And the lure of greener grass made it all the more difficult. I wanted to work out in the mornings, go for long runs and perhaps buy groceries from three different stores. I wanted to decorate and sew and clean—yes, even clean, without lessons hovering in my head. I wanted stretches of time in my house by myself. I wanted to meet people for lunch and let someone else worry about whether or not my girls could properly diagram sentences. Oh, the places I’d go.
I starting checking into schooling options. I even confessed my secret fantasies to Stevie, who promptly reminded me that I threaten to quit every year in March. Despite the crazy look in my eyes, he humored me. He listened, really listened. And he was ready to support my decision. “Maybe it is time,” he said. “But don’t quit like this. Wait it out a little. You never know how things change in a month.”
So, I waited and trudged on, like a good soldier. We finished strong and had a really good year, despite my struggles.
I gave it one last ditch effort—-I registered for the Circe Conference.
Boy, do those people tell the truth.
This talk by Andrew Kern changed it all for me. (a contemplation of creation)
I’ve never heard anyone quite so inspiring. And he does it with the gospel, in love. It’s as if he saw me struggling, beaten, left for dead on the side of the homeschooling road and became my good Samaritan. My faith in this way of life, this way of teaching was restored. He helped me see my kids differently. This is sacred work but it is work. It was never supposed to be easy.
And here’s what I realized—–here is the crux of my struggle with homeschooling. With cloudy eyes, I will tell you the truth.
I am the one in need of reform.
It’s me that is broken.
I must be a practitioner of the art of learning because it’s my stone heart that needs to be remade.
The curriculum is there to inspire ME so that I can inspire them. I must be drinking deep from the ‘cisterns of classical education dug long ago’. Christian classical education is difficult because it is honest and it leaves no room for phonies. True learning begins with repentance. We must confess that we don’t know what we ought to know. We must come to the table hungry. And our children learn by our example. They know when we’re trying to force feed them from food we don’t eat ourselves. There are no shortcuts and I must confess that I’ve often spent more time looking for a short cuts than doing the hard work of repenting and learning. And maybe it’s gotten to the point where we must confess that we’re not even hungry anymore. We don’t even yearn for what we don’t know so how can we blame them for their lack of wonder.
I was burned out because I wasn’t drinking from the well.
I was taking shortcuts.
I was busy and distracted. I wasn’t practicing what I preached and kids see right through a phony.
I was tired of the nagging feeling of guilt for not doing what I knew I needed to do. I wanted to quit so the ache would stop. I wanted the easy way out.
Isn’t that just like us, as children of Adam? We want easy. We want the beauty without the struggle. We want the glory without the cross.
I had wondered off the path—because the path was difficult. I had lost the ability to see the wonder in it all.
Life is full of His beautiful mysteries and we reduce it all to what we can measure and analyze. We’ve lost our ability to see the mystery. We’ve lost our ability for true wonder. We like boxes to check and papers to grade but what about their hearts? What about ours? Are we truly being transformed? Can we even remember why we wanted to do this in the first place?
The most important question I’ve had to ask myself in preparing for this year is not WHAT are we gonna do but WHY are we going to do it.
And here’s the answer I discovered for why we started doing this in the first place—–
We are here to be transformed. And that transforming is not easy work. It feels a lot like death sometimes—dying to my selfish desires, dying to my ideal of perfection, dying to my own polished agenda. It starts with humility and repentance.
Maybe, the truth is—-I had lost the courage to be honest with myself.
So, thank you to all the truth tellers who say the hard thing—-and reassure us that all the best things in life exact a high price.
Redemption is costly. It cost our Savior His very own life. I shouldn’t be surprised when it costs me mine.
And when the time comes to turn my girls’ learning over to someone else’s tutelage, we will be a different people for this journey we’ve taken together.
This arduous road of becoming who we ought to be has taught us that life is beautiful and life-giving and full of wonder—-but it is not easy and it was never meant to be.
Then there was the wonderful visit with my dear friend, Ruth(ie) and her girls! I tell ya—that Ruth is killin’ me. 
