Earlier this week I was in full melt down mode. Like if my mom were here she would have put me in time out or sat me on the stairs for a “come to Jesus” moment. As a child I am sure that I through monumental tantrums. I was what some may call a spirited child, so it is no surprise that as an adult I continue to feel emotions big.
I texted my husband that morning by 9am and said I was done. I was winning the award for the worst homeschool mom ever. If there was an award for failure, I was the Michael Phelps of that Olympics. I said that I could no longer do this. Everyone was in tears and I was a person I never wanted to be. I was anxious and overwhelmed. No one was learning anything except that mommy may have fallen off the crazy wagon again and they all had front row seats to the show.
And because my husband is who he is, and because we are sitting our butts on a therapists couch every week, he texts back, “where is your list?”
You see he didn’t give me advice or agree with me. Or better yet bring a medal home.
He just heard me.
As women, as humans, we need to hear each other more. To ask before we give our opinion. To lead towards the answer, not give it.
My list. The list.
This summer I made a long list of what healing looks like.
What my heart ached and prayed for over my family. What would come alongside Jesus and help the healing process of our family that evil has torn apart. Because we know that Jesus can heal. He will heal. But we also know that we actually have to do the work. The work of healing. The work of believing. The work of inhaling and exhaling. The work of showing up and feeling.
So I put the phone down and went to look for the list.
I went to my room, sat on my bed and let the tears come as I read aloud…..
And most of all Jesus.
Nowhere on the list did it say Math. Or lesson plans. Or science experiments. Or Common Core. Nowhere did it say that my children needed to sit in a classroom and have seven hours of education to be healed. Or at the dining room table being drilled about the industrial revolution.
So why was I trying to push in that which was aching to be freed?
Please hear me. I believe in education. The husband is a public school teacher. I adore teachers. I love our elementary school we came from. I miss it every day.
But this year. Our now. Our reality is that healing and connection are far more important than anything they will gain being away from each other in school.
The condition of their heart and souls is of more importance to me than any grade they could ever bring home. More than any championship they could win. Or worth they gain from win on the court.
Present and healed are more important than schedules and rules.
I want my children to move forth from this year knowing that they were heard and understood.
That to heal you need to do the work.
And the work of healing cannot be found in a classroom right now.
And yet somehow by the first week in October I had already forgotten.
I forget all the time.
Just yesterday I was on my way to my therapist and I could feel the tears already making their way down my cheeks as I drove. I was miles away and already I was crying.
My body knew.
Knew where I was going and was preparing me to release it all.
My therapist tells me that this in itself is growth. That when we acknowledge the truth of what is going on, that this is a sign of courage.
So I go back to the list. One time this morning. Four times this afternoon. I go back and I read and pray through the list.
Remembering what my heart already knows.
Inhaling the truth of brokenness is painful.
Yet exhaling is the healing.