Tempus Timoris

This morning my daughter and I argued over her Latin homework that she needed to get done. It wasn't really about the Latin. In the grand scheme of things, I don't give a fig for Latin. It was about how the things we choose to invest in within our lives shapes our character. It was about the fact that sometimes I feel like a terrible mom. (I feel this even more so when I have to nag her about homework. Strange as I might be, my parents never had to nag me about homework. Chores, yes. Homework, no.) It was about the fact that sometimes I wonder if made a mistake in choosing to homeschool my children. It was mainly about my own fears.

Sometimes, it feels as if I am alone in educating these kids, and if they end up struggling and failing, it's a reflection on me on my choice to educate them at home. Sometimes it feels like people are always watching ... always judging ... judging the moments that my kid is a little awkward in social situations, judging if one of them doesn't know how to spell as well as other kids the same age, judging if one doesn't give a rip about wearing fashionable clothing and just wants to wear mismatching athletic pants and t-shirts every day, judging for any little imperfection or quirk. And sometimes all the fears, all the "sometimes" crash together in my mind and I lose it.

Being a mom is a thankless job. Being a homeschooling mom is even more so. Not only do you have the struggles of nagging about chores, cleaning up after one's self, being kind to your brother, and helping with homework ... you're actually in charge of the homework.  You're the one that grades the papers and has to give all the (hopefully constructive) criticism. It means you get to be there for all the "aha!" moments too, but it often feels like a lot of nagging and nitpicking. It often feels like you never get to be the "fun" parent. It often feels like the weight of all their futures are on your shoulders. And no one ever pats you on the back and says, "Good job."

I know. I know. I tell my daughter all the time that just because you have a feeling doesn't make it the truth. 

My daughter and I also had a (not good) moment this afternoon when I felt so utterly disrespected, and I yelled. My daughter's shoulders caved in, and she wouldn't even look at me, so of course I felt worse. My point was valid, but the way I expressed it negated any impact it might have had. I screwed up. I often feel like I'm screwing it up. I don't know how to get past myself and parent her, teach her with all the love I have in my heart for her, all the love and curiosity for the world I want her to have. And because I don't know how to make it better, I want to run away. I want to cower under a blanket in the dark. I want to escape away on a walk. I want to hide in a book. 

And yet, I know how foolish that is. My two brothers each lost a son 4 months apart, and then another 4 months later we found out our mother has cancer. It was a brutal time for our family, and we're still walking through mom's cancer treatments and the aftermath of grief and loss. We understand better than most that our days are numbered.  We know how foolish it is to invest in things that don't have eternal significance ... yet this is my impulse.  To flee. 

Where can I go from your Spirit?
    Where can I flee from your presence?
8 If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
    if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
9 If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
    if I settle on the far side of the sea,
10 even there your hand will guide me,
    your right hand will hold me fast.

Is there really a time for everything? Every season under the sun? If I listen to my feelings, this seems to be the season of fear and failure. But if I listen to the promise in Psalm 139, I know that although I can try to escape from my fear and failure by running away or hiding in a workout or movie or book, I cannot escape from God. 

God, help me to recognize your presence in each moment. Help me to trust and seek Your hand to guide my steps and my words in each moment of my day ... but especially in the difficult ones.