Public Schoolers

A month ago, as I was preparing to send my kids back to school, a homeschool acquaintance and I were visiting. “I’m so excited for them to go back, meet their new teachers and see all their friends,” I remarked. “I really love our public school.”

“Except for all the wrong things you have to teach them to unlearn,” he joked.

My stunned look did not linger–this is par for the course, I’ve come to realize. I’ve homeschooled before, and I’ve made a thousand conclusions of my own. How many splinters have I dug out of others’ eyes, not realizing the planks in mine? 

Still, it stings to be a ne-er-do-well, public school lover in the American Christian church these days. Where is our recourse? What does one say? Do I have the right to feel offended–was he suggesting negligence on my part? Because homeschoolers (I believe, from experience) are the touchiest of people when it comes to opinions on raising kids.
What about all things working together for the good of those who love the Lord? Were there exceptions even to this?

I am thirty-five years old. I have a husband, kids, a mortgage. I am an adult, old enough to own responsibility, equipped enough to defend my choices. Perhaps sometimes it would be worth articulating a view so that others might borrow the fortress when in need.

Public schoolers, even those with close friends and family who homeschool, should not be afraid. I should know the risk I take when I write about it… All my brothers and their wives, even my husband and his brothers–homeschool or were homeschooled. There is a lot riding on my opinions–familial peace, to name a big one.

In my circle, the topic of public school versus homeschool is rife with strong opinions. From what I can tell, it’s like walking on glass to bring it up. One person knows the importance of wearing shoes, the other avoids broken glass altogether. Who is right, who is wrong?

If you don’t think Satan uses fear to deceive us in such uncertain times, you are fooled. Still, it is spiritually overwhelming to think of all the possibilities and have no firm conclusion on what is right or best. I’ve felt crippled amid all my options–is the whole world a stage and are we the actors? Does the Charlotte Mason of a hundred years ago still apply to my home in the suburbs? If my children are naturally little explorers, why do they prefer to be inside fiddling with legos? Who am I to stop them? If I, the parent, am their best teacher, who can ever play the role of substitute? Why does my soul immediately feel calmer when I’m not doling out homework and supper interchangeably? Why are my children wild little minions? Am I doing something horribly wrong?

It is a miserable, consuming burden to roll these thoughts about in my mind.

Worse, to feel pressured by others to do the thing that is malleable and wholly adaptable to one’s life situation.

This is why I have given my kids over to public school and left my wrestling thoughts at the feet of Jesus. Let other folks think it a conflict of interest–I am finally at peace.

I have arrived at peace not because of blind faith (though there certainly is a lot of it involved), but because I’ve tested the waters. I’m trusting in the One who has overcome the world (1 John 4:4). Ultimately, this is what happened: I became despaired that I couldn’t do it all, couldn’t be a good wife, mom, teacher, friend. I feared we were all walking straight off a cliff, no matter what was at the bottom of the canyon. We would be dead upon arrival. Well-meaning words from the peanut gallery only increased my anxiety. So we left, grabbed a hold of Jesus’ hand and let him lead us down the craggy mountain.

Surprisingly, He didn’t ask us to forfeit our children to the world. As a younger mom, I think I had the idea that God wanted me to go ahead and passively sacrifice my kids to him–here you go, God, your will be done. Either than, or I’d better turn out kids like perfect little Jesus cookie cutters–don’t screw up, child! And I knew from experience how damaging that could be. But you know what? I hadn’t suspected it, but there turns out to be a very happy middle ground. You don’t have to throw your child to the wolves or lock them up away from strangers.

The Gospel is family-centric; it values self-denial which can’t be discovered more aptly than in a parent’s love for a child and a child’s obedience to their parent. 

One might point to the verse when Jesus says you must hate your mother, father, sister, brother to be his disciple (Luke 14:26)–but this doesn’t deny the importance of the family unit. In context, it is justified to say that Jesus must be the cornerstone of all we do in faith, including marriage or raising kids. The message of the Gospel–Jesus giving himself up for us–is foundational for any success we might have relationally, because love is born of forgiveness; its core is denial of self. This is indeed a struggle, but a beautiful, joyful one.

Paul remarked to Timothy of the great love of his mom and grandma who trained him in the Scriptures from youth (2 Tim 1:5, 3:14-15). Obviously these women didn’t flee their responsibilities of raising young Timothy in pursuit of their own interests…but they weren’t necessarily homeschoolers, either.

Unfortunately, I think some of the Christian crowd has used the Gospel interchangeably with the term homeschool. We think the only way to train up a child is to keep them at home, under our wing. We think, the Gospel is family-centric, and the closest thing to protecting the institution is homeschool. Perhaps it hasn’t been articulated so, but believe me, we public schoolers hear it loud and clear. God isn’t in school, He is at home with me and my kids.

Last spring there was a school shooting in our metro area. As is protocol, counselors went into classrooms a day later to address the concerns of the students. My son, a precocious nine year old, came home that afternoon and reported it to me.

“Did you know there was a shooting yesterday?” he asked.

“Yeah, Jube, I did,” I said. “I’m so sad that this happens, babe. What a rotten world we live in. Did you guys talk about it at school?”

“A counselor came in, and we all sat and talked about it,” he shrugged. “We didn’t do much. The lady made us all take a deep breath and release it–one for each victim. Then she told us we need to talk kindly to ourselves because our ears are listening.”

I grimaced. This is why people homeschool their kids. “And what did you think about that?” I asked him.

Jubal thought for a moment. “You know, I think that it was nice to take a deep breath to remember the people affected, but did it really help anybody? Does it help to speak kindly to ourselves? Because I don’t think it does. Only God can change our hearts. Only He can save us from ourselves.”

This is the story I told my friend who mentioned my chore in teaching them to unlearn all the wrong things they pick up at public school.

We are not raising kids in a bubble, and they are far more equipped for the world than we give credit. But it has taken me a lot of leaning into Jesus to release my own children into a hostile, hateful world.

I came across a wonderful, out-of-print copy of Heaven Help the Home! By Howard G. Hendricks. Published in 1973, its words  on the “prevailing attitude of passivity” ring even truer today:

Many parents somehow hope for the best and plod along under the cliche, “We just trust the Lord”–which can be a pitiful cop-out. There’s one thing you want to tack in the center of your theological thinking: in both the Old and New Testaments faith, belief, trust are never passive.
Faith that is genuine is always active. The Psalmist put it clearly, “Trust in the Lord and do good” (Ps. 37:3, NASB). You see, your behavior either gives the lie to your beliefs or underscores their reality. Are you trusting the Lord for the means as well as the end? He works in both.

Look at the evidence. Noah sweated through years of preaching, of warning about the flood, of building a boat of radical design. There was no stagnation in Noah’s life. He was running a race with a global cloudburst. God said so–and Noah acted.

Abraham put his townhouse up for sale. To settle in the suburbs? Never! He toured the desert like a nomad. He spent a lifetime scouting real estate for his future family. God said, “Move!” Abraham kept moving.

Moses, plucked from the seclusion of the bulrushes, became the favorite of the Egyptian palace. Later, the diving mandate from the burning bush shifted him into high gear. He defied Pharaoh, marched across the Red Sea, wandered through the wilderness, and never stopped until God took him from Mount Nebo. No immobility for Moses.

All these heroes and many more pleased God because of their faith. The storms of unbelief were raging, but these stalwarts of the faith kept on building the fire! There is no excuse for late 20th century parents to close their family shutters and huddle in the darkness, just “trusting the Lord.” We need to move out where the action is and mix it up with the society to whom God has called us to minister.

What an exhortation! I can’t say I’ve heard anyone cheer so encouragingly, so loudly for true faith in action. God, who is able, calls and equips. He is pleased to help us on the long journey of raising kids. He doesn’t abandon us when we choose public school!

Still, I know how scary it can be. The third chapter of 2 Timothy has some severe words to describe terrible times that were ahead for believers. He warns,
People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God–having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with such people.

2 Timothy 3:1-5

I don’t believe Paul is talking only about people outside the church, but all of culture as a whole. Even people who parade around, waving their Christian flag. This, if we’re being honest, is horrific yet prophetic. It’s already obvious in our lifetime. But we cannot let fear defeat faith, and we who follow Jesus have marching orders.
Join with me in suffering, like a good soldier of Christ Jesus. No one serving as a soldier gets entangled in civilian affairs, but rather tries to please his commanding officer. (2 Tim. 2:3-4)

Isn’t there inherent danger in following Jesus, bearing a cross, raising a family? 

If we are losing our children it is because we’ve abandoned them to themselves or preached another gospel altogether. We’ve left them under the glossy banner of Jesus when we should’ve been leading them to the cross. We’ve touted unnecessary freedoms in favor of strength training, that they might bear up under oppression and persecution. 

When I read Bible stories to my kids, I’m blown away by the foolish, worthless characters God happens to use for his glory. Gideon? Weak, cowardly. David? Seemingly manic-depressive. Jonah? A jerk. Yet God routed their fickle nature and the arrogant culture pervading their times. Can He not use me, too? Can I not depend wholly on His word, which is able to equip me for every good work? (2 Tim. 3:17) Can not my children depend on Him too?
I–a lover of books, art, history, and all things nerdy could set them on a path of memorizing Shakespeare and quaint poems from the 1800s, and they might tire of it in a year’s time. I might organize the nicest little reading nook, take them on every nature walk within twenty miles. Do I think this sort of lifestyle will follow them into adulthood? Isn’t this exactly what King Solomon cried out as meaningless? I could wear myself out preparing a path for my child and not my child for the path. Or I could look at things more reasonably from a kingdom perspective–everything in passing away. We are but a breath, a vapor. Our minds aren’t for reckoning as much as our souls are made for worship. In light of what is going on in the world, shouldn’t I make them aware that people will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God?

We are in this world, and yet we are not to look like the people around us. Throughout life we are making choices. I might choose to be a stay at home mother with my children in their early years because it seems beneficial to them to experience a mundane, safe, dependable home life. I might decide to get rid of Netflix, eliminate screen time, feed my kids more veggies, go to bed early. It’s up to me as a grownup–I judge what is necessary, what is wholesome and appropriate for my family. Might we slowly teach them about racism, entitlement, poverty–by bumping shoulders with the world?

If life, then, is a million choices, each one will draw us closer to Jesus or distance ourselves from Him. If the better portion of our life–adulthood–is to be spent “testing the spirits”–how are we preparing our kids for the future? What kind of education will best teach them to ask the right questions?

This is where we have settled, in that hazy mundane of kids beginning to ask hard questions and Jesus-take-the-wheel kind of answers. Public schoolers with our eyes on the horizon, feet in the fire. 

It will be said that a rational person accepts the world as mixed of good and evil with a decent satisfaction and a decent endurance. But this is exactly the attitude which I maintain to be defective… We do not want joy and anger to neutralise each other and produce a surly contentment; we want a fiercer delight and a fiercer discontent. We have to feel the universe at once as an ogre’s castle, to be stormed, and yet as our own cottage, to which we can return at evening.
No one doubts that an ordinary man can get on with this world; but we demand not strength enough to get on with it, but strength enough to get on. Can he hate it enough to change it, and yet love it enough to think it worth changing?
Chesterton, Orthodoxy