The lesson I learned from homeschooling

          Finishing up our first year of homeschooling, I taught a lot, I learned more.  I learned that I love watching her flourish and blossom in her subjects, reciting her verses and her knowledge of the scripture. I love seeing her learn independently, reading and doing math without my prompting.  I have also  learned that I don't handle a non-compliant child well and I have even less patience than I thought I did with her. Subsequently, I recognize my own voice when tired, exhausted, fed up and, yes, even screaming. As parents, we teach, without schoolbooks and #2 pencils, we are constantly teaching. I feel like our number one teach/preach is obedience. Obedience is tested daily, if not hourly, when homeschooling my little one. But my reaction to when she disobeys speaks volumes more to a 5yr old than the lesson itself. We teach of a loving, forgiving God, while we are red in the face screaming at numb-bottomed children. No wonder the concept of grace and mercy are so foreign in our culture.

 

     In love he predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace, with which he has blessed us in the Beloved. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace, which he lavished upon us… Eph 1:5-8

I want grace. We need grace. I want to be scooped up with my head buried in His chest when I’ve done something wrong. I want my Savior to stoop low, cup my face and tell me that He loves me more than my sin.  I know my sin hurts, but why don’t I know it more.  What if, mothers, our scars, our stripes as some proud moms would say, burned every time our little ones hurt us, or others? If they disobeyed at school, we felt the fire in on our bellies.

Why don’t I feel the weight of the burden of our sin? I don’t have to feel the pain of the nails, the tearing of the flesh from the bone, or the weight of a world of sin on my shoulders, because He took that for me; so how do I forget it so easily? I wonder if the macerated edges of the open scars burn every time I give in to my worldly hurts or my fleshly desires.

We prayed as she went down for a nap. I explained that we both need grace, that mommies and daddies hurt God’s heart too when we don’t obey, but that when we ask, He forgives us. I prayed over my sweet child, whose near-devil tantrums can cause this unabashed mother to cringe.   So I brushed the sweaty hairs off her tear-stained face, pulled it off her neck, so she could breathe. So I could breathe. And I prayed. Prayed for grace and second chance (ok, third, fourth, tenth chance) for both of us and wisdom for us to teach that to her so that that she may love others and give the grace that has been given to us. So I scoop up her face in my hands. I tell I love her more than her disobedience. 

When we kneel before the throne, we can feel that His grace is freely given, His grace is bestowed upon us, and He scoops our faces, while His hands are still burning from our sin, and reassures us that He loves us more than His pain.  Because He didn’t die for sin, He dies for the sinners.