This is the end of this blog.

It feels right to call it finished. Not that it's a surprise since I have not been adding to it, and I feel it is not where our family is anymore. But just now I came to look, to write a note to myself, and I realised it is right to say goodbye to what this blog has been for me. 

And the real treasures do not vanish.
The precious loses no value
in the spending.
  -a line out of context from the poem "But Not Forgotten" by Luci Shaw

Cheers,

Laurel

returning

This February my two youngest children, boys in grades 11 and 12, entered brick and mortar high school and I am no longer a homeschooling mom. My life as I have lived it for the past 16 years has come to its natural end. We have lived fully and deeply; the transition to this phase of our lives has been ...lurchy. But we are finding our footing. 

If I liken our schooling years to a race, I am the marathon runner who stumbled across the line completely spent and needed help to get up. I have since moved from the critical first aid station to the convalescence home. I am encouraged by the days when I have the energy to look around and visit with those who come across my path, but I rarely go looking and when I do it's mostly just to the path outside the home. Crossing the street is still too much. I'll wave at you but will turn back to my bench in the sun or couch looking out at the rain.

So for now, my life is being lived closer to home. Instead of the focus being on what is best for my children's education, I am able to consider my own health and well being. The difficult days are less frequent. I can usually "do something" two days in a row now, although the third is often a flat, slow day and I plan those days of activity carefully. More than that scares me because I know what the next days will be like. (And by "doing" I mean one activity: one yoga class, one grocery shop, one visit with a friend.) I still prefer days at home. I am learning some amazing things about myself, the world around me, and am finding joy and passions that are deeply satisfying. 

I am in no hurry to leave this bench. I have completed and succeeded in my marathon. My recovery time will be a while yet, my next races nothing more than vague thoughts, except that I will plan and run them differently. If you see me, know that I'd love some company. I can encourage you in your race. I can sit quietly and let you catch your breath. I can listen to your dreams. But it's up to you to stop. I can't, and won't, make you notice me.

a time to reflect

I have spent the last 14 years teaching my children in the Charlotte Mason style. I have read and read and read: to myself, to them, for us and for others. I have guided, taught, learned alongside them and been deeply moved through it all. I see the results in them and in myself in subtle, deep ways that have become the fabric of our lives rather than a noticeable wardrobe. Still, as I learn from the lives of those parents around me I can be overwhelmed with a sense that I have come away with nothing. This is not true of course. But it is important for me to examine the question.

I have not always delved as thoroughly as I have wished into the subjects I have taught and Mason's exact words are not always on the tip of my tongue. I have floated these past few years deeply in debt to my community who have taught my children while I have struggled to keep from slipping under the waters of health problems. As we approach the end of our home years I would now give back to the CM community, to homeschooling parents who are starting out and are trying to make sense of the words of wisdom that Mason has left us. I cannot offer enthusiasm, programs, and energy. But I can listen, advise, nudge and guide. I can pray. I can be a voice of objective reassurance when it all becomes overwhelming and you, dear parent, think you are failing.

I have a daughter who weaves. As she has learned the process and I have watched her grow in this skill, I have been impressed with the amount of work that goes into preparing to weave. At least half of the work takes place before any actual weaving happens. It is careful, delicate work and some of it is tedious. The weaver has full control over what kind of fabric will be created and it takes much time.

In this I see a Beauty that can apply to our lives. Perhaps the fabric that others weave will become something flamboyant that they throw over their shoulder and wear as a flowing robe or cloak. Perhaps it will be an undergarment that shapes everything they wear on top but is itself unobtrusive.

If I have a gift to give it is that I can point out this truth to encourage: Each person weaving will create a unique and personal design, each student will come to understand the style of clothing that fits best, and it will be beautiful.

An example: writing clarifies thought

Fro the first time in our home school career, we have fallen off the rails enough that we are having a hard time getting back on. You understand this is not the first time we've derailed! It's the getting back up that is the problem.

I know that ideas sustain, that true learning is hard and is done by the students as they interact with the ideas found in the great books, tell those ideas back in some way, think deeply. This is what we do. I know that to get outside is science that will not lead one astray even if the science pursued later becomes more specific and detailed. We have learned to see nature so that it is just a part of our life. We are in no way complete in this work. I just mean that we have done well.

And now, we are in the later of "do this later, when they are older". My children are all in high school and one is nearly finished.*  The habits we have laid down have depended on the starting point in our day. And this starting point seems elusive now. I'm floundering to understand what has happened....no, not true. I'm floundering because the habit has been blown apart and my feet are seeking the solid ground of a new habit. A new starting point.

Ah, this is what I need. Thank you, dear Words, for helping me see and understand. To know now the point that has me struggling will give me the momentum to start afresh. Please continue to listen and work this out with me.**



*Except we both know that she isn't really finished--she has much more she wants to learn before leaving home. She is just finding her feet in a sense. And the thought that she has ideas gives me encouragement that we have done the right thing through the years.

**perhaps you wanted to know how I think? Peek into this little window....

while it is still called today

Today is a gift.

I see it written on the wing of a Monarch butterfly; wrapped in a cigar roll leaf that holds a caterpillar cocoon; tucked into the pods of a touch-me-not and spotted along the back of the leopard frogs in the muddy pools.

Today is a gift.

I walk, I rejoice, I glory in the hot sun of a late September day after a cooler than usual summer.

Today I could shout it from the rooftops or dance it out in a newly mown field.

In the back of my mind is tomorrow.

One of these tomorrows will bring snow and icy blasts that make me fight with the door to open it. The drafts running down my back will remind me that my schoolhouse was built before insulation. My electric blanket and fleece pajamas will run overtime and hot drinks keep the kettle bubbling.

However,

Tomorrow will become today and through gritted, chattering teeth I will remind myself that today is a gift. It's harder to believe but I have chosen to insist on believing it. When that last shoe drops and getting out of bed seems pointless, my song becomes a prayer: "Oh Lord, my God, when I in awesome wonder, consider all the works thy hands have made...."

Each and every day is a gift.

So when I read through my drafts that have never been finished or posted, they are full of thoughts I've been thinking, ideas I'm processing, questions I'm asking. Mostly questions. And you, dear people, never get to hear those questions. Perhaps they are your questions too. Perhaps they are just mine and I don't want to expose my folly. This is why I do not publish. So much for really believing that there are no stupid questions, that the process and effort is growth.

A borrowed post

There are lines in writing that resonate. Sometimes it can be the whole tone of a book or blog or website. Sometimes a sentiment behind a word or two. I have spent months on one verse in the Bible, coming back to it again and again, fully intending to get on to verse 4 but never getting past verse 3. "Grace and peace to you from our Lord Jesus Christ." So good.

A while back I stumbled across Tonia's blog. I've never met her. Emailed once. Who is this woman? Remarkable for sure. In any case I read this blog post today. Look for the phrase about not knowing how to answer the questions that seek to measure. Then look for the act of defiance. If only I'd thought to think that in the days before I became aware of my own confidence in this need to be at rest.

And then explore her blog. There are many places to settle for a while.

Need to pray

For the one who holds my heart I pray for it all.
For the three who stole my heart, I pray for so much.
For the one who's been struggling for weeks with emotional heaviness, I pray for light.
For she whose daughter is ailing, I pray for healing.
For a body turned on itself, I pray for a straightening out and new cells.
For those who lost a beloved, I pray for peace.
I thank for a successful home exchange and settling in. times two.
For peace in future educational decisions and the daily yells of "Mom".
For baby number 8.
For strength, and the ability to allow for grace both to herself and her charges.
For those who do not understand the need to pray, I pray for insight.
Grateful to have experienced enough peace in difficult times to know it is possible.
May Christ be glorified.

I have a wise friend. I am blessed.

She has reminded me of the days years ago, when the children were wee-little and I exhausted beyond anything I've ever known before or since. Those days when being empty was the norm and yet I had to reach deeper. And I could not. I cried out to God hourly and more, for strength to carry on. When all I wanted to do was flop and not move and yet I so wanted to be available to those dear little eyes staring up at me, expecting me to be a mother.

I complained of this one day to a friend, how I was so weak I had to keep coming back to God again, and again. Over and over with hardly a break. Just like my children to me. My children didn't see it as a weakness to come back to me. They knew the source of their help and didn't hesitate to ask. Every time. And yet I hesitated to ask the source of my help. But I did because I was desperate. My friend looked at me oddly, suggested I was doing what He expected and desired of me. And I was floored.

How could I not have already learned this?

She was right. And I learned that God was pleased with me. It brought me rest and confidence.

Sometimes I need an object lesson! And sometimes I need that reminder, again, because I forget so easily that God is my sufficiency and is pleased with me.

Thank you, dear, wise friend.

my one big idea

Recently I was asked for my one big idea for this year's schooling. What was the one thing among all the other plans that I had determined would be done no matter what, or that solved that one problem to make life run smoother? The speaker had chosen a new kind of diary for a record of certain day-to-day decisions and plans. The other mom in our trio gave her idea but my mind was roving through the corners of the empty room to find something, anything to give as answer. Nothing but dust bunnies came to my rescue. I parried and changed the topic.

Of course, since I'm talking of it now when the conversation happened weeks ago you may be sure that it's bothered me. And to be frank, the question in a different format had been asked by me, of myself many times since late winter/spring. What really are my ideas? Yes, school fills my thoughts. The plans, hopes, desires and work towards those goals. But apart from school: who am I? Do I have any real thoughts of my own? Where are my interests? Do the reasons I give for not pursuing interests hold water? Or am I just thoughtless and uninterested in life? I can hear someone telling me not to be silly and giving me examples. Or maybe someone else has similar thoughts. But I'm good at covering up what goes on inside.

There. You've caught me at a quiet, open moment. I won't go on to reveal more of those inside thoughts right now. Instead I will parry and change the topic.

I just received a book I'd ordered called a Grain of Sand by Dr. Gary Greenberg. It is beautiful. The photographs of each grain of sand are incredible. I pored over the book Saturday morning with my children and my niece and nephew. It was a beautiful time not only of reading of the wonders of sand but also of sharing the wonder with these precious children. And I get to brag because my 10 year old immediately identified three of the grains as coming from a sponge, lime and coral. I wanted to know how he knew that and he replied that it was from reading Life and Her Children by Arabella Buckley, last year's school book.

*Sigh of happiness*

And speaking of books, I have a whole new stack for this year, including my very own copy of the Complete Poetical Works of Wordsworth. I'm sure the other library patrons will be happy to hear that.

I sense in part my life is in a transition from a mother of children to a mother of growing thinkers. Perhaps this has left a void that I want to fill meaningfully instead of just with the junk that hovers at the edge wanting to be sucked in in order to exclude the meaning. The question of who I will be when I grow up has perhaps a different twist. Who will I have been when I look back?

la

Are we ready?

After a day that has followed a week that has followed months of planning for school this fall (ok, I admit it, it seems in fact to be what I do all year round), I find myself unsure of whether I've actually accomplished anything. I can look at the specifics of what I did and feel happy that certain things are taken care of. For our first term I've chosen 4 of 6 Wordsworth poems, I've chosen our Plutarch life and printed it off all ready with the term 2 life chosen but not printed, I've gone through my sister's booklist and found the books I already own so she can borrow them, I've located in my shelves a science book we'll use this year. That's not bad really. And although I had thought to give you the list of things yet to accomplish I think I won't. I'll instead enjoy the feeling of satisfaction from the things completed.

But back to the idea that this is what I do all the time, this planning. I think some of what I describe as planning I should just rename research or teacher development or maybe even just for fun. Because this idea that I must always be planning drags me down since it means I'm never ready for whatever is upcoming. And most of it is fun. Especially those "planning days" that are combined with my friends as an excuse to read each other's books, pick each other's brains and share coffee and chocolate together. And then finish it all off with dinner out. I almost feel guilty for enjoying my work so much even if I don't get paid.

My final thoughts:

The Labourer's Noon-Day Hymn by Wordsworth 1834-1835

Up to the throne of God is borne

The voice of praise at early morn,

And he accepts the punctual hymn

Sung as the light of day grows dim:

Nor will he turn his ear aside

From holy offerings at noontide:

Then here reposing let us raise

A song of gratitude and praise.

What though our burthen be not light,

We need not toil from morn to night;

The respite of the mid-day hour

Is in the thankful Creature's power.

Blest are the moments, doubly blest,

That, drawn from this one hour of rest,

Are with a ready heart bestowed

Upon the service of our God!

Each field is then a hallowed spot,

An altar is in each man's cot,

A church in every grove that spreads

Its living roof above our heads.

Look up to Heaven! the industrious Sun

Already half his race hath run;

He cannot halt nor go astray,

But our immortal Spirits may.

Lord! since his rising in the East,

If we have faltered or transgressed,

Guide, from thy love's abundant source,

What yet remains of this day's course:

Help with thy grace, through life's short day,

Our upward and our downward way;

And glorify for us the west,

When we shall sink to final rest.

la

I hold on because I have to

God knows I can't really do this teaching stuff. I don't have enough knowledge to lead my children to great heights of learning, to the depths of wisdom. In talking with my friend, Sandy, this evening I likened the feeling to the desperation of being at sea without a boat. I can't touch bottom, I can't even see the sides. But because I have seen God's work in my life I can trust him to hold me up even as I see him pulling me deeper out. My reaction is to grab for the scrap of wood or broken raft floating by so that I don't sink. But I will sink eventually with those choices. I desperately do not want to be out of the water on a broken raft when God wants me in the water trusting him. I need to watch him, keep my eyes on him, hang on to his rope. It will never break.

Two people today have told me this is good to hear. One was Sandy. One was me. Sometimes I just need to put my thoughts and feelings into words. Thanks Sandy for helping me do that.

It works

The 7th Annual Charlotte Mason Educational Conference was of course wonderful. It always is a time to be inspired (and often overwhelmed) by such a large group of people who do their best to put into practice the wisdom of Charlotte Mason in their homes and schools.

This year the sessions started out with a day of "immersion" in a school setting. I chose the multi-age homeschool session with Nancy and was thrilled with it. One of the best parts was the realization that we already do very much what Nancy showed us.

Now that's encouraging!

After all these years of reading, studying, trying to let go of my learned ways of education to fit in with what I sensed to be a whole view of education I have confirmation that this way works. And this "confirmation" is not in truth unexpected. I have been thrilled during these years lately to see my children blossom and thrive. They exhibit few of the "I hate school" symptoms that some of my friends describe. They are interested in life and in the simple thrills of the world around them. They relate well to those in their spheres of influence. They are thinking, relational, growing creatures and--this is the best part--they love to share it with Pieman and me. They take us along for the ride. They open our eyes to wonder and together we laugh in delight.

Watercolour painting by my mother-in-law of a photograph taken by Pieman of English seaside beach huts. She too is learning a new joy in her life. It never needs to stop.

I've not been in picture-taking mode for months. Instead, imagine...

...the sound of remote control cars endlessly circling has been the background along with frequent refreshings of our new worship CDs. The kettle has nearly continuously refreshed the teapot with yet another new flavour to be poured into lovely pottery cups just big enough for my hand and small enough to necessitate a refill, again and again--it was the year for tea gifts!
*happy me*

With cold sunny light pouring in the windows and a cozy woodstove within arm's (or back's) reach we have felt little need to venture far. A few walks or runs for the brave, church and gatherings with friends. Christmas weekend has been a haven. Our hearts are full to overflowing with our blessings and we have been challenged to renew the keenness of our awareness of God and our ears to hear him through a more intimate and deliberate relationship with him.

As today leaves thoughts of Christmas behind and turns towards the new year, so my thoughts turn slowly and thoughtfully to the next year and the plans that already start to fill it. I have a window of planning time--a whole week to work at some of those ideas I'd put off till 'later'. Likely 'a whole week' will be not nearly enough time but I hope to not waste it. Yes, it's Christmas holidays and we have friends to visit and turkey to eat. Life's pace is more relaxed though no less full and my mind has time and space to roam and to return refreshed, hopefully with ideas blossoming into concrete plans. I hope as this year unfolds for myself to be gentler with my family, more dependant on God and thus productive in lasting, satisfying ways. Ways that may not be obviously lasting but by their very rightness will be satisfying.

Perhaps my words are leaning towards the philosophical and esoteric. My apologies for the confusion since I am hinting only at my thoughts and not stating them clearly.

Ask about it over a cup of tea someday....

Friday evening, I should be making supper. Well, I am making supper but I have stalled. My body aches and I am tired. Tired of the aching, the lack of enthusiasm for cooking and finding food that nourishes richly both the body and the eyes. Tired of noise but unhappy with silence. Today has been a good day so I am not pleased with my reactions now.

My heart aches too these days. It is not easy to say goodbye. I cry easily and pray frequently.

And now I will get back to making supper. Life continues and there are joys to match the sorrow.

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In the middle of the night I awakened feeling I'd been asleep for hours. It was 42 minutes since I had turned my light out. And the time up to then had been slippery. While I toured the Metropolitan Museum of Art with the Kincaid children it slithered and crept. Although it was 9:36 when I started to read, somehow the clock said nearly midnight when I closed the book. Strange goings on.

So now, I sit here, book and journal both at hand. I have read, I have written, my mind has wandered the halls of Everywhere One Goes In the Night. I am still awake. I will not be so tomorrow, or rather later today, but really there's not much I can do about it now. Experience has taught me it's easier to just get up and do something than to lie abed tossing and sighing. Besides being up doesn't waken Pieman who has been working awfully hard. And one can usually find time for a nap on a Sunday afternoon. Usually.

I suppose I could make some soothing chamomile tea but then I'd have to use the facilities which would wake me again and besides 1) I don't like chamomile tea and 2) I don't have any. See reason 1. Coffee isn't a good option under the circumstances.

The good news is I didn't plant my frost sensitive seeds just before today's snow even though the weather this past month has been unseasonably gorgeous and seed-planting tempting.

So happy dreams to all you slumberers.

It is good to have a home, but one always feels drawn to that which appears more comfortable.

Words spoken today by a friend whose family seems, and truly is, thriving where it is.

How false my heart feels to want what it doesn't have even knowing that the apparent comfort of another life would be just as uncomfortable as this. And is discomfort so bad? Can not discontent compel me to seek contentment from the One source that satisfies? That is the grain I am taking from my friend's comment. A warning and a signpost to my heart.

The smell of bread rising, the sound of my washing machine servant working cheerfully, children protesting that geography is more important than math at this moment but doing the math anyway, these are all signs that I feel at home.

So hush, you heart.

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It's March.

Made it.

I've only worn out two sweaters this year and purchased two new ones to replace them. One new scarf, one shawl, new socks. The wood stove has made an enormous difference.

And apparently I've been vitamin D deficient and that is really, really important for me. Who knew? I am more thankful than you can know for those little, round, squishy pills.

CTM told me I'm doing better this year at not hibernating. "You don't just move from the stove to the chair in front of the fire to the furnace room to get more wood for the fire."

Thanks.

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I'm thinking today about giving. Likely this post will not give you a complete picture of my thoughts since I am abbreviating them. But perhaps it will spark your own thought process.

When people ask me for something how willing am I to give? Requests for help, for my time or energy, for a 'thing' be it money or something else come up regularly. I'm not talking so much about the various organizations trying to raise money for this or the other project, but people's requests, the people around me, the people I run into in my normal circle of living. Especially when it is in my power to give, I would like to be one who gives easily, freely. When it is a sacrifice for me to give, even then I still think I should and I want that to be something that defines who I am. Joyfully.

I have lots of room to grow in this area but I don't want to forget my thoughts of today. I don't want to slip again into my habitual thoughts just because they're the habits I'm used to. I want to begin, to continue, the difficult task of creating new habits.

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I was born and raised Mennonite Brethren. Although I no longer have a membership in such a church I still consider myself to be MB. At times I forget how important it is to me. Then I read a book by Margaret Epp and am reminded. Easter approaches and I make paska and am reminded. I catch sight of a tub of dry cottage cheese, think of vareneki and am reminded. Hear my mother singing in harmony with her sisters and am reminded.

Amidst all the stories I hold and memories I treasure I realize one thing: food seems to play such a huge part in the MB tradition! Here is a blog I love. Many of the recipes here I recognize, some are newer than those in my Mennonite Treasury cookbook or my We Are Our Mother family cookbook. The beauty behind the food though is something deeper, a desire for relationships. The beautiful gift of hospitality and welcome. A sharing of our selves with each other and even strangers. That is why I sometimes weep when I come across recipes and the stories that go with them. They bring memories of people I have known, times when my life has been influenced and enriched by those with whom I have been privileged to share a moment. Of course my family is central to many of those memories. I am Mennonite Brethren.


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