My fantasy of home-schooling is sunlight filtering in on bent heads at the kitchen table, fresh flowers beside, tidy piles of great literature, Mozart in the background, “bouquets of sharpened pencils.” I dream of a one piece life, where learning to read and making cookies and solving math problems and helping Papa and Daddy roof the house all blend seamlessly, weaving a tapestry of love of learning with threads of grace, strengthened by family relationships, and sewn with fine character. I dream of this still and long for this fabric to be sturdy and beautiful.
However, I am not a seamstress (straight lines by hand or machine are near impossible for me), and I wonder at this task before me. My life seems more filled with chaos than peace, and I realize how much of self must die daily for me to fulfill this calling. I don’t teach at home because I love giving a spelling lesson while washing dishes or fishing manipulatives out of little sister’s mouth during big brother’s math lesson. I don’t feel waves of patience while big brother reads haltingly through a phonics lesson and little brother roars through the house on his self-propelled Radio Flyer. I just feel tired.
And then…there are moments like these.
While brother cheerfully and diligently solves math codes (thanks, Auntie Susan), little brother and sister share laughter and books in the other room. Sunlight filters, fresh flowers adorn, and I feel…peace, remembering my dream of giving my kids a life that is woven of the strongest materials.