The only thing that counts

A year ago, I made a friend at an evening church program. She was a beautiful, strong mother of five kids, one only a few weeks old. She was witty and warm, undeterred by my pitiful, awkward small talk. We had two hours to burn and so we sat on the sofa in the foyer, sharing space. We were both in the process of looking for a church–she, because her previous church was splitting up, and we were looking because we’d just moved to the area. I made a comment on how hard it is when things change and you have a bunch of kids in the midst.
“I just enrolled my kids in our local public school,” I  confessed, “and we homeschooled last year. Who knows how this year will go!” 

 “I homeschool my kids,” she said. “It’s really hard with the spread in ages. My big girls do great, but getting my ten year old boy to do his work is like pulling teeth. He screams and cries and has major meltdowns. I’m afraid he’s going to hate me.” Then she paused and said, “I wish someone could tell me it would all be okay if I just put him in public school.”

As I drove home that night, I couldn’t get her off my mind. When I homeschooled, I was constantly overwhelmed. Was it the three boys who circled like yapping puppies, never settling down? The baby who didn’t sleep through the night? Was it a lack of spousal support, the threatening feeling of no personal boundaries? My futile attempts at keeping things orderly? I was forever spinning my wheels and making no traction. Burned out emotionally, I was irritated when asked to teach Sunday school, too overstimulated to be gentle with anyone but myself. I was wedged between the most unforgiving rocks–expectation and obligation–and it was crushing me. Trapped. I was desperately trying to survive and secretly considering if I ought to cut my arm off Aron Ralston-style, just so I could escape.

Homeschooling friends would pat me on the back, nod knowingly. But I don’t think they knew. I don’t think they’d felt that way.

And I think my new friend was trying to tell me she was caught between the rocks.
I wish I’d stayed to help dig her out, to listen better as she poured out her worries. I wish I’d had the forethought to encourage her with what God says in his Word.

In Galatians, Paul addresses freedom in Christ under the umbrella of grace. The church there was tacking on extra rules and regulations, being swayed by every whim, and he saw it fit to set them straight. He said to them,
The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.
(Galatians 5:6)
The only thing that counts. Everything else is going to fade away. How can you love your child best and trust Jesus the most? If those two arrows insect at homeschool, then homeschool. If they intersect at public school, then public school! 

My family ended up in a Title I school in the city before we hit the sweet spot. All the resources I’d been collecting, the research I’d depended on earlier–it was all garbage in light of what I think the Lord was trying to teach me.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart
And lean not on your own understanding;
In all your ways submit to him,
And he will make your paths straight.
Proverbs 3:5-6

Trust me, he’d been whispering, my plan is so much bigger than what you can see. Follow me and you’ll never wander into the desert.

I’ve known people who have avoided public school because they are conservative, and they feel public school too liberal. Many of these people have advised me to depend on God, that those he calls, he equips. I know liberals who have avoided school because they think it too conservative. Most of these people have no other advice than to wing it.
But I’ve met very few people who risk their lives by banking solely on the words of God: I will never leave you or abandon you (Deut.31:8), and, take heart, I have overcome the world (John 16:33). I desperately want to be one of those people who believes it’s true.

Think about this, when your little girl comes home crying because someone made fun of her outfit. When your little boy rode the bus home and heard all that naughty language. When they don’t make it into chamber choir. When there is porn in the locker room.
Is trusting Jesus–just Jesus–enough to handle these situations? How do we actively prepare our kids for this world?

I love the perspective Francis Chan takes on schooling:

Some say it’s unfair to throw a child into public school. They compare it to throwing a kid into a rushing river to teach him or her to swim. It’s unfair and impossible. That assumes the Holy Spirit has limited or no power in their lives. I have chosen to see my children as Olympic swimmers. I tell them they are missionaries in their schools and can trust in the Spirit’s power to overcome challenges and to have an impact on those around them. My hope is this training in Holy Spirit dependence proves helpful in an unreached people group or Fortune 500 company…I am not saying everyone should throw their kids into public school. I am also not saying we should foolishly endanger them. I am just wondering whether our habit of underestimating God’s power in them may be a mind-set we develop in them that continues through middle school, high school, and into adulthood.
(Francis Chan, Letters to the Church)

Public school will not cost you your child, but apathy will. 

I’ve done the math. My kids are in school 6.75 hours a day, five days a week. This adds up to 33.75 hours a week, 20% of my week. Even if I subtract sleeping from the equation, I have twice the amount of time at home with my kids as the time they spend in class. Public school is just another hammer in my toolbox.
It is an institution, yes, but it is not just a cold, brown brick building. It is filled with people; mostly the kind that love kids. Now, I’ve met a few weirdos in school to be sure, and there is always going to be someone pushing an agenda. But guess what? We all have an agenda! I have one too, a clear purpose in mind: let them behold a world that needs Jesus. Let them, as a process of maturation, come to their own conclusion.
It’s amazing to me…a tool I could have never designed on my own. My kids return home to me daily pointing out differences:

“Cody watches scary shows, he’s always talking about Freddy or Chucky. I wish he didn’t talk about that.”
“He says the D word all day long and he sits right next to me! I’m so tired of it!”
“I don’t think Ricardo believes in God, he’s always muttering nasty stuff about the teacher.”
“Kyle says his parents beat him.”

Rotten stuff, right? But it is these matter-of-fact observations that show me they are picking up on the idea that this world needs to be put right. The rotten stuff itself opens the door for mercy to flood in. And usually, interspersed with their observations of a broken world, my kids glow with pride:

“Guess what? I got to go down to the kindergarten class and give a presentation on bullying and how to fight it.”
“Mrs. C paired me up with Avi because he doesn’t speak English and she says I’m such a kind helper.”
“I got three pride passes this week!”
“I started a kindness club at recess–we come to the rescue of people who look sad!”

At the kitchen table after school, the lines are open. I’m here to listen and react thoughtfully, carefully. Far be it from me to shut this conversation down. This is as good of learning as any, and I feel so free, so light. I’ve come to the end of myself and found He is right there, leading the way. He’s preparing my kids in ways I never could’ve dreamed up on my own.
It’s the safest and wildest place to play.

Public school didn’t free me from the twin boulders of obligation and expectation–faith expressing itself through love did.