Encouragement to Public Schoolers

Frequently I see these types of articles written–books as well–that are all about motivating and encouraging the home schooling mother (and father) to be steadfast in their convictions. I know people are buying these books, because as a Christmas present to myself, I purchased software that tells me the exact number of people, per month, are searching for key words on Google and Amazon.

I’m no creep, just a nerdy wannabe book writer looking for my niche. 

The funny thing is, there are next to zero books encouraging the public schooler to stay the course. Homeschoolers have a great cloud of witnesses–mostly from their co-op and Facebook groups. I say this with respect, as some of the people I love most in life homeschool: Homeschoolers seem to have the added veterans’ benefits. Their service, as any good Christian homeschooling book will tell them, carries significantly more meaning. A holy calling, perhaps.
Public schoolers, the less anointed, are simply hacking their way through the bush.

I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, partly because I want to sell my books on Amazon, but mostly because I think there is some serious puzzlement surrounding the conservative Christian parenting community today. It’s an elephant in the room sort of dispute, one with firm, heart-burning convictions. Stepping on toes is rude, but I am afraid not speaking honestly is infinitely worse. I’ll attempt to drag the beast into the light.

A week ago, per usual, another man from our church congregation approached my husband, motioned to my family, and asked my husband if we homeschooled our children. Per usual, I needed to walk away. I, too, have firm, heart-burning convictions. There is a sense that, if your children are well-mannered or well-behaved in any way, it must be owed to the fact that the man is an excellent father, leading the home in all integrity while the mother is at home patiently working algebra equations with obedient, above-average children. Sometimes I think judgment weighs heaviest in a place where we feel enlightened. Encourage one another! The good book says, and we hold our superiority (false wisdom wearing church clothes) over another’s head, ready to drop it given the chance.

Rarely has anyone in the church assumed in my presence that we are public schoolers, that my husband is a workaholic, that we struggle daily to ask for forgiveness and say kind words to each other.

The sweetest of souls at church (and I encourage you to seek them) are generally happy to see a small boy resting his head on his mother’s lap in the pew beside them, or the tiny girl spinning in her Elsa dress and sparkly reindeer antlers. They pat me on the shoulder and remind me time will fly by and to enjoy every minute of it. Sure, they forget the monotony and wear and tear of minions, but these dear ones never mention the educational path we are treading. They only remark on the loveliness of children, the glory of youth, the fleeting aspect of time. They lean forward and see my babies in the moment, never prescribing methods of enlightenment or discipline. “Keep at it,” they say, and this is the limit of their exhortation.

And so I have been keeping at it, and outside of church I do not offer anything more as far as advice goes. What is one supposed to say to the man (who hasn’t asked me, but rather my peacemaking husband) who queries if we homeschool? It is trite to say, “We’re trying to be in the world but not of it”–my husband’s go-to, church-acceptable answer. It gets us out of the sanctuary and home to lunch on time, so it will suffice.  But let me explain why it is trite: 

It barely scratches the surface of conviction. 

Our intent, actually, is to be incredibly peculiar, even more so than your demure, denim skirt clad homeschooler with braids. We want the world to see Jesus, only Jesus, and marvel at a love that never gives up and never walks away. A love that sees and understands where the need is and wants better for children–all children. An honesty that demands integrity, but also compassion. We want community that stirs other parents to understand the value of their child. We want families who are hurting to behold a God who made them for a purpose, no matter their circumstances. A God who is very near to the brokenhearted in a broken world. A God who is near to us is God who can be near to them.

It has been a year and a half since we came back to public school. I knew I was again a legit public schooler when I dropped Jubal off and tossed out last minute warnings, “Don’t forget your snow boots! And don’t let the chicken leg fall out of the door when you shut it!” I am back to chauffeuring and kids eating grocery store deli meals in the car before cello lessons. It is its own kind of wild and free.

 A year and a half–this is enough time for the fire in my belly to have died down to embers. It’s no good to cook immediately over an open flame; the temperature is too erratic–scorching, at best. I’ve had more time to roll it around in my mind, and now it makes better sense. I can write about it without feeling too touchy, without risking scorching others. I admit, I was hurt by the insinuations of homeschoolers and the continual belief that they had a holy calling, a higher purpose. The lowly public schooler was on her own, at the mercy of liberal leftists and mandated curriculum.

I’m relieved we gave it another go. Over this past year and a half we have built an excellent relationship with school. Surely it is maturity on my part, coupled with the freedom that children sleeping through the night offers. There are some things we are working on, things we will forever be working on. But I have not handed my parenting over to the school. In fact, our school, a Title I school, encourages as much parental participation as possible. Recognizing that kids need strong home support to succeed, our local elementary flings their doors open.

Because of this I have been able to volunteer in a number of capacities. I’ve been made privy to the needs of families, and fortunate enough to lend a hand. I’ve been invited to teach English to non-English speaking families. I helped to hire a wonderful new principal. I even built gingerbread houses with the front office team the week before Christmas! To me, this is infinitely better than trudging to the Christmas finish line as a homeschooler. I am energetic and fresh-faced, happy to collaborate on finding pieces of missing homework or researching fossils. I love being a part of an advisory committee, and I’m the first to bring pies in to the teachers. Because of our presence in school, our church has been able to fund and distribute school supplies and engage with the surrounding community. Best of all, I can have a meaningful, equal conversation with the 95% of the American population who doesn’t homeschool. I’ve made friends, by George! Maybe it’s a weird character flaw, but with someone else handling the majority of schooling, I can relate to them, invite them over without feeling like they are trespassing on my head space.

My experience in public school isn’t equal to a life calling, nor do I treat it as such. It’s simpler now, I can be myself and not worry what I’m missing on a checklist. I can once again be all things to all people. Mom, wife, friend. I can wear my sweatpants to Walmart (heck, anywhere!), walk the kids to school with my unbrushed hair. I can commiserate with flag football parents, loathe Pokemon and video games, wonder aloud if I will ever have a paying job again (my stay-at-home years are underwhelming on a resume). My kids are seeing me write, walk the dog, and clean the car (for the record, I don’t usually find chicken legs in the car door pockets).

It is a real gift that our taxes actually pay for something valuable. I think this was the goal of public education as it was born of Christian mercy–to notice the least of these (children), and to pool resources into the tool most instrumental in affecting their future (education). Of course if we walk away, it will crumble. Of course if the foundation is leveled it will be rebuilt on nothing more than good intentions. This is why I am here. This is why, as long as my children are thriving, we are staying.

Homeschool isn’t for everyone. I’ve heard that a million times, but when said it has certainly been carried by an aloof tone. I can tell you this: public school is for everyone. It is incredible the level of help I have gotten with my older kids. They are tested and re-tested. I receive phone calls and emails. Concerns are voiced. We can’t meet his needs here, one teacher told me. They pulled strings and transferred him within the district in a matter of days–the call was mine. You see, teachers are interested in parents who care! For the most part, you doing your job (being a parent) makes their life as a teacher easier. There is sometimes headache, sometimes frustration, but talk to any homeschooler and see if she doesn’t have the same issues. The point is, I have way more people on my side.

But aren’t you worried about the other kids at school? The bad influences, the worldly exposure? In life, there is no sliding scale of morality. One cannot be more moral or less moral. One can either be moral or immoral. The confusion stems from regarding one schooling option–homeschool–as moral, and public school as immoral. Indeed, this is wrong. Public school is amoral for the time being.  Amoral, meaning with no promotion of moral values whatsoever. Sure, there is a push to be kind, eliminate bullying, prevent violence–but there is no why explained. Until this point, I haven’t encountered any specific, offensive perversions. I agree, these are strange waters. Why wouldn’t I rather have them home, under my thumb and tutelage, promoting my own agenda? It’s a valid question.

Indeed, public school has potential for immorality–subjected to more local laws, and possibly headed down a sticky path, but homeschool could as easily fall off the tracks for self-righteousness factors.
Here’s what I want my kids to ultimately gain from public education: a bigger view of the world, and a bigger view of God. The world is hopeless without Jesus. Go ahead and let them see for themselves.

Public schoolers, I say this to encourage you: Despite what you might be hearing via social media, your favorite Christian writers who happen to blissfully homeschool are a teensy, tiny minority. Nowhere in the Bible does it say that the straight and narrow path is lined with Charlotte Mason ideology. You aren’t going to hell for putting your kids on the big yellow bus, even though there’s a book out there that claims you will. They are less than 5 percent of people who can financially, practically do it, typically with immense spousal support. Do not stress yourself out over this decision–God’s got your back! When we first began school with our oldest, I felt like I was facing an identity crisis. I will either set them up for success or failure. This is it, it’s up to me. Well-meaning voices in my circle confirmed this notion, and it scared the pants off of me. Let me toss in another well-meaning voice, mine:

You are not immoral for schooling your kids the way you see fit. You are not amoral. You are every bit as responsible as the next parent who loves her kids. You have a huge, massive, unprecedented opportunity to rock this world through public education. You have the outrageous privilege of standing up and being brave in a time where your kids will witness what it means to take a stand for Jesus. You are capable of making your children behave. You are not facing a losing battle. Your words matter, your presence matters. Stick your foot in the door and win over the office ladies. None of this signing up to bring the napkins to the school party and then backing out business. Show up! Listen. Speak. Be heard. Notice those kids who hang out with yours. Sneak a teacher their favorite candy bar. Buy them a gift card to a fancy restaurant. Send thank you notes incessantly. Do it again and again and again until it is second nature, till the love of the Father is fragrant to them, till they are asking, why in the world does this lady care so stinking much?

Love others big. I promise–your kids won’t just notice–they’ll never forget. And that’s an education worth giving them.