Remedy for Burnout: Remember To Rest

My nerves crackled with anxiety, and I blinked away thoughts of cutting loose and running. The toilet paper wasn’t normally stored in the refrigerator. As my brain power flickered like a dying light bulb, I questioned my sanity. Had I really put unwashed clothes in the dryer and mistaken Lysol Spray for deodorant this morning?

To my side, a daughter murmured to her homegrown doll, Francesca, as she swept the doll’s mitten-shaped hand across a Braille alphabet card. “No silly. That’s not the answer. It’s G. G says Qu in Queen. Let’s try it again.”

Phonic’s therapy. Today.

While still processing the toilet paper in the fridge, my other daughter, walking like Frankenstein, entered the kitchen dressed in cardboard. Have you ever bent to pull toilet paper from the fridge while having a conversation with Disney’s Cogsworth the Clock, alias Asian nine-year-old with a perfectly face-painted French mustache?

Art class. Quirky. But cute.

I eased myself into a chair and peered toward the peaceful sight of the Methodist church building next door. A gentle wind swayed the bushes of the side-yard, and my gaze scaled the white steeple.

Anchor me,Lord!

But an interruption much like television static blurred past the window. My oldest son, wearing Man from Snowy River hat, breezed down the driveway on horseback. A lariat poised in his right hand spun in the air. I jumped to my feet and scrambled to the living room. As I reached the large, front windows, the horse came to an abrupt stop. My son yanked on his rope, and a glimpse of his target stumbled from behind the shoulder point of the Welsh pony. Arms bound, a younger brother yelled to Kingdom come.

Impressive equestrian skills. People skills? Not so much.

A third brother slammed the back door, ran toward me speaking with characteristically disjointed syllables and signing with frantic hands.

Tattling 101. If this son could tattle, he could talk.

Recess ended. I called each of my darlings to attend court. I perched on the sofa and had them form a lineup which included Francesca, Cogsworth, and Man from Snowy River. Lunch over and instruction beginning again at 2PM, I relegated each of them to a different room in the house for one hour of peace and quiet.

Instead of caving, I stretched on the sofa and prayed, remembering back several years to when the children were smaller. And, God reminded me about the importance of rest.

Love your neighbor as yourself… Loving yourself isn’t self promotion, is it? It’s necessary.

I had started well. Once the kids had outgrown naptime, I had still required them to sit calmly on their beds for an hour every afternoon. They could read, draw, play quietly with Legos… When had I allowed this important time of day to slip into obscurity?

I could hear parenting experts telling me to keep my children busy, busy. Then they're less trouble, right? But, creativity and soul nurturing are oftentimes born of quiet moments for kids and moms alike.

God whispered to me the need for purposeful rest. This type of rest would keep me on track with the practical elements in my life. I could handle the work-a-day existence of being mom and teacher if I believed I was doing it all for a higher purpose. I’d forgotten. Like the Children of Israel wandering the desert, I’d let mundane days rob me of my calling, and I’d allowed God’s splendor to dim.

Growing weary in doing well… This Biblical phrase identified and cemented the issue. In modern vernacular, I was experiencing burnout. How does one put the brakes on burnout when you already feel chewed and swallowed?

Reaching for my Bible, I read Joshua 4:3, 6, & 7. God instructed Joshua to lay memory stones. The purpose? To remind future generations of His power, presence, and provision. The stones were taken from the Jordan River, and they were lifted from the riverbed in the places where the priest's feet stood firm before the Ark of the Covenant. This Ark represented God’s presence. Why was this significant? Our decision to parent and homeschool, and the ability to actually do it, had been firmly planted in God's power, presence, and provision from the beginning. So why was I lacking?

Rest—so easy and so hard.

I began to understand. Strong, family memories could wield weapons to slay burnout. New memories were tactical procedures ensuring my future. But what should comprise my memory stones? I couldn’t imagine myself gathering rocks. Then it hit me. Journals, scrapbooks, photo albums, lapbooks—anything that records our progress and demonstrates God’s graciousness to us is a memory stone.

Afternoon quiet time was reinstituted at my house that day. I gathered fluffy pillows, lit a scented candle, snuggled deeper into the folds of the couch, and reviewed my purpose along with my children’s treasured moments.

I renewed my mind, setting it on the finished work of Jesus Christ—the Believer’s ultimate rest—and basked in the comforting help of the Holy Spirit.

Refreshed…

 “[What would have become of me] had I not believed that I would see the Lord’s goodness in the land of the living?” Psalm 27:13 (Amplified)

What about you? I’d love to hear what sustains you. What restful thing do you do to regain focus?

                       

*The preceding story was created as I journeyed through burnout and explored a remedy for it. Rest is the letter R in Remedy. Stay tuned for future blogs concerning letters E-M-E-D-Y.

           

2 Thessalonians 1:3

Joshua 4:3-24

Psalm 16: 9

Isaiah 63:14

Listen for His Whispers...

When Trouble Finds You

New beginnings are like new blooms; they anticipate sunshine and dew-kissed days to blossom.  They spring forth, by design of the Creator, fresh, sturdy, yet tender and lovely.

We had moved to a new beginning—a different house, neighborhood, town, and state. I was prepared. I’d gathered curriculum. I’d planned entertaining activities for my toddler. My boys, seven, six, and five, had organized closets filled with learning games, and I had a teacher corner, complete with manuals and motivating magazines. I had made calls and studied state law. My paperwork was filed.

            On this first day of school, my primary agenda was to feed hungry tummies. I scrambled eggs and made toast. Kissing my husband as he headed for work, I skipped to the bathroom to groom while the kids ate. When I came back, the kids had deserted. The boys had made a pirate ship of the bunk beds and the toddler was listening to music. Happy sounds filtered the rooms and the sun’s rays splashed my face while I scrubbed the frying pan at the kitchen sink.

            A knock sounded on the back door as peals of laughter and playacting grew louder. My daughter clamored through the room marching to music. I scanned the table. Scrambled eggs dotted its surface.  Electric curlers were atop my head, but I was dressed. I shuddered. Being in a new place, I didn’t know people. Who would knock on the back door at eight in the morning?

I managed to pluck two or three rollers from my hair as I opened the door. A stranger stood there.  Be gracious.

“Mrs. McCauley?” he said, never cracking a smile.

“Yes?”

“I am Mr. Jones and I am with the state truancy department. Someone filed a complaint with us saying your children are not in school. This is the first day of school, ma’am. Are your children here?”

Panic gripped. Heavenly Father! This was before the days of organizations telling you what to do in such situations. The door was wide open, and this man had one foot in the threshold. Wisdom told me to show confidence and honesty. What else could I do?

“Please come in…” I smiled, though trembling. The children’s games ceased and they swarmed, grinning at the company. I told them to do what they were supposed to be doing, and one by one they trickled away. The pirate ship sailed.  Hails of shiver me timbers reverberated. I swept my hand around the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry things are a mess.We just finished breakfast.”

He said nothing.

“Mr. Jones, I am a homeschooler. My children have not been outdoors this morning, and I don’t understand who called and complained.”

“The call was made last week, before school began.”

“I don’t understand. Why would someone do that?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. Why don’t you show me your paperwork?”

            I invited him to follow me to my teacher corner. Anyone could tell I was organized and serious, but suddenly I realized I had been remiss. I had filed papers without making a photocopy, and I had no proof of what I’d sent the state. An explanation nervously poured from my mouth.

            He asked to see the children’s books. I showed him everything and treated him with the dignity of a trusted friend. As he strolled once more to the classroom, he stooped to speak with my three-year-old, who now sat with a book. 

“What are you reading, honey?”

“A book about Jesus.” She beamed, and I could see her eyes blaze a trail to his heart.

The man rose, meeting my eyes and said, “You are doing a wonderful job…”

Most of the time trouble will come calling when it’s least expected, and situations can spin out of control in a hurry. Granted, I should have been more prepared, but what I learned speaks volumes.  A gentle answer can turn away wrath. What is meant for evil, God can change for good. The attributes of our Father—truthfulness, graciousness, confidence—exercised in our actions, can produce lovely blooms endowed with hope of flowering. What about you? Have you had a negative reaction to homeschooling turn around because you cried out for God’s virtues? Have you found yourself in a new situation, counting on God to be faithful and fruitful in your endeavors?

*Author’s note:  I do recommend homeschoolers join HSLDA and learn what to do in a situation like the one above. The days of pioneering are over, and there is helpful information on what to do before and after your rights are threatened.  

Though we may be unprepared, the Holy Spirit is our Helper.

Listen for his whispers! 

Popcorn Memories

One night, a few years ago now, my body as always longed for rest, but the alarm jolted me awake at midnight's blue, when the kids would be fast asleep. What?!? Then I remembered. I slipped from beneath flannel sheets and electric blanket into the still cold of our ancient house, looking back with longing at my soft pillow. The century-old stairs creaked as I scaled them in cloak of darkness, a tight fist about a one-dollar bill. I tiptoed through the upstairs maze, my feet dodging dressers, cast-aside shoes, and prickly, little carpet tacks at every portal. As I shivered, I smiled to myself; my mission would soon be accomplished. A baby tooth awaited me in a snack-sized Ziploc tucked under my second-born's pillow.

Carefully, carefully, I inched toward Jarred's bunk.  Five feet… Four feet… Three feet away from his wee, slumbering snore... Faint moonlight softened his little face into a deceiving sweetness. Two feet… I reached out… And the world plunged from its axis! My legs went sprawling in mid-air; the breath I’d been holding burst into a wild, squeal of terror. The room shifted, rocked, rolled, and I landed in a bruising heap among more than a thousand glass marbles. Looking up at the ceiling, I knew with icy certainty— my favorite red-haired mischief-maker had booby-trapped the tooth fairy! Every scene from The Ransom of Red Chief went flying through my head, as I turned red with fury.

That night carried the real potential to send me over the proverbial edge, though I forgave my repentant son, toothless grin and all. The next day, black-and-blue and sleep deprived, I needed a vacation, but there was no money for such a luxury. I calculated the cost of a sitter for the day and decided I was worth it, but none were available. Randy will watch the kids this evening, and I can escape. But events conspired against me, and of course, he had to work late.

I was stuck. Stuck! Stuck! Stuck! And in the midst of my stomping about with no glamorous place to hide from this exasperating day, memories began skipping through my brain like popcorn. Pop! Pop! Pop!

POP! The time my creative toddlers destroyed their room. No, I really mean destroyed. As in every toy out, every stitch of clothing strewn. Have you ever stood at the door to that room? Well, I knew they couldn't clean up their mess alone – but I simply took one look, turned and walked away, shaking my head like a lunatic and babbling, "Just – clean it up." When I returned, they had cleaned it all right. Around the baseboards in perfect rows marched a baseball, a shoe, a Big Bird bank, a sock, a soldier, another shoe, baby lotion, a Fisher-Price tape player, another sock, and on, and on, all the way around the room. I sipped my iced tea and studied the two-man clean-up crew, now chasing their squealing younger sister.

POP! The morning my son, Joshua, decided to take down the chain link fence. I had never analyzed how a chain link fence is put together, much less taken down, but my son visualized a fort built from that section of fencing. Not only did he dismantle the section screw by screw, he also took the garden shears and cut an ingenious doorway through the middle of it. Would you think dull garden shears could cut through chain? I stared at the gaping hole, thinking, My head is actually going to explode this time. I had two choices: I could have an aneurysm, or not. Making the obvious choice, I looked at my son and said – teeth clenched – voice low, "Put. It. Back." By sunset that evening, the section was back in place, the center bound together with wire like a great incision.

I learned from each catastrophe. When did each shenanigan, my children pulled, transition in my mind to an endearing memory? Finally, I sat wilting on the back stoop, watching my kids romping in the yard, and with memories came bubbles of laughter.

I sipped my iced tea and reflected on my life with children. Hadn't God been good to me, after my first child was stillborn? Hadn't He whispered to me that I would have children? Me. The mom of six blessings. My heart softened. Despite my annoyance, He refreshed me. From that night forward, the tooth fairy never again retrieved teeth from under children's pillows—making the exchange instead at the downstairs' bookcase.

But I learned that survival is about clinging to God’s merciful gift of humor, gracing me with the perspective to laugh at, and occasionally even with, my children's hoodlum ways. Sometimes a restorative vacation is just a step backwards into a few blessed minutes of hysterical laughter. 

So, pop back in time, and tell me your funny. When did humor help you survive?

Mornings in our lives are those fresh, new 

beginnings we cherish each time we 

experience God.