Pregnant: Megan's Adoption Story, Segment 2

The first phone number Marsha presented led to Holt International Children’s Services in Eugene, Oregon. I’d never heard of it. When I called, they told me about their Korean adoption program. Don’t ask how I knew, but this was it. Our daughter was Korean. It matched the picture etched in my mind’s eye.  I asked for their $15 pre-application packet. They explained they’d recently opened an office in Memphis, Tennessee. The South, steeped in prejudice, had not been ready for Asian adoption until the eighties. Now they were placing children in Arkansas.

Four weeks later, Randy wrote a check to Holt International Children’s Services for the $50 application fee and sealed the envelope. He wagged it in front of my face.

“You know I respect you, Ann. But this is big. I have to juggle our money to have the fifty dollars, and I haven’t heard from God about this.”

“I don’t want something God isn’t directing. It’s scary to think of entering into something we aren’t together on. Whatever you decide, we will do.”

“Okay. Then I’m putting this envelope on top of the entertainment center, and I will pray. I’m not mailing it until I’ve heard from God, understand?”

Thankfully, I was busy with toddlers as time seemed to drag. 

Two more weeks passed, and Randy’s job out of Huntsville, Alabama phoned. They were sending him two hours away, to interview a couple interested in purchasing a line of medical vending machines. A huge investment for this couple, Randy made the appointment to see them both. He’d been trained on how important it was for the wife to be present when talking about an investment of these proportions. He couldn’t mess this up. We desperately needed him to close this sale.

Upon his arrival, he was greeted at the door by the husband. They chatted in the threshold, and found they had things in common. As they meandered through the hallway, the man told Randy his wife had taken ill just before he’d arrived. She had gone to bed.

Later, as Randy recounted this story, he told me how his heart sunk at that moment. With no wife to hear his sales pitch, chances were slim he’d close the deal. He paused where he stood, about to suggest they postpone their meeting, when the husband swept his hand through the air. Randy’s gaze followed.

“This is my wife and children.” He gestured toward a large wall portrait, and Randy stilled. The man’s wife was Asian.

Finally, Randy cleared his throat. “You’re wife is Oriental?”

“Yes. She’s Korean.”

“Korean, you say? That’s interesting. My wife and I have been praying about a Korean adoption.”

The man’s eyes lit. “My wife was adopted from Korea in the 1950’s. Her parents were neighbors with a family who adopted a little Korean boy. This boy always carried a tattered photo of his sister in his pocket. My in-laws adopted that young girl, but before the brother and sister were reunited, the neighbors moved to the East Coast. A year or so passed, and the boy’s adoptive father called and asked my in-laws if they could meet in a neighboring state. There, the man told my in-laws his wife was terminally ill. He asked if they would be willing to take the boy and adopt him as their own, reuniting him with his sister. So, my wife and her brother grew up together near here.”

Electric pulses ran Randy's arms, but before he could respond, the man shifted his stance and pinned a steady gaze on him. “My wife was adopted through Holt International Children’s Services. Have you heard of them?”

Randy sprouted wings and flew home. Needless to say, he mailed the application fee to Holt. But in spite of our vigilant watch over the bank account, the check to Holt bounced like a rubber ball. Was it possible for human error to wreck God's plan?

The third segment of Megan’s adoption story will be posted in September 2013.

Listen for His Whispers

Count Your Firsts

Three weeks had passed since I labored sixteen hours to deliver our son. Taking the elevator to the pediatrician’s office, I smoothed the silver silk on my son’s head, straightened his rumpled appearance, and readied myself for the excitement of showing off my treasure.

The doctor’s eyes locked with mine, and we savored the richness of this moment.  The year before, this doctor had grieved with me after I delivered a stillborn daughter.  My son—this nine-pound, three-ounce cherished cache of body, soul, and spirit—was a double portion of God’s blessing.

The pediatrician did a thorough examination, declared my son healthy, and then in his thick East Indian accent asked me a question—something about reward.  I didn’t really understand what he meant, but nodded.

            The next visit, the doctor asked me the same question—again referring to reward.  I swallowed and admitted, “I don’t understand.”  The doctor laughed, dark eyes dancing, and said with exaggerated articulation, “Has he rewarded you for his delivery?  Has he smiled at you?”

To my wise pediatrician, the first smile would make mother forget all her woes of pregnancy and delivery, and he was right.  The first time my son focused his baby blues on me and consciously spread his mouth, the pain of delivery melted away.

           You see, the way an infant grows and develops after this is astounding—their list of firsts grows at a rapid rate: first coo, first tooth, and first step. But as I mothered my son, and his siblings after him, I encountered a variety of new firsts along the way.

The list grows with each passing year, each first a treasured mental snapshot: first words on the telephone to Dad; first trip to the zoo; first day to color a picture in the lines; first day to ride a bike without training wheels; first day to read a string of words, making sense; first day to strike a homer; first day to say the pledge.  The parent learns to recognize the sparkle in the eyes of success. 

Yes, moms are privy to thousands of extra-special moments if we look for them. God planned them to come one at a time—marking days, months, and years.  Each of those moments—each first—is for our reward and great satisfaction because with passion, we love our kids.

Discouraged? Count your firsts.

Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord,

the fruit of the womb a reward. Psalm 127:3

Listen for His Whispers

Are You Struggling and Can’t See the End?

“You just don’t understand!  I'm not the schooly type.  I'm the cowboy type, Mom.”

My son was nine. We had worked phonics and spelling rules, grueling work for my son battling with dyslexia. Fingers of sunlight filtered through the French doors of our classroom and beckoned my son to come and play. 

I scrutinized the splash of light across his laboring pencil, and his head shot upward, freckled nose following the light like a pointer-beagle targeting a coon. Exasperation darkened his face. He squared his slim shoulders and shook his silky, blond bangs. 

“Can I go out and play, Mom?” At the clear response written on my stoic face, he tried harder. “You just don’t understand!  I'm not the schooly type.  I'm the cowboy type, Mom.”

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed, shook my head, and drank in his earnest eyes. Didn’t this child sleep in six-guns and boots? What would I ever do with this boy? 

Most days this would not have been funny. My heart cried for my son who had to work hard to grasp academics. He was quite accomplished at anything hands-on, and his verbal skills were high. But written words and spelling dodged him at every turn. Obscure, they were burrs under his saddle, trying to steal the glory of each and every day. I can’t remember, but knowing my son and his ability to out-sell a charlatan, I probably allowed him to escape outdoors.

The fruit of adversity is the accomplishment of a goal which dangles, elusively, just out of our grasp… But its fruit is sweeter than any other when breakthrough snaps it from the branch.

Seven years later on a nippy, December morning, this same son strode into the Department of Public Safety to take his written driver’s exam. More than six feet tall, he towered above me. I smiled when I spied his polished-to-a-shine western boots, and they reminded me of a younger cowboy.

I wrangled with what seemed like abandonment when I pivoted to leave him— alone—for his first all-important written exam. Wasn’t this the son who grew sick and sleepless at the thought of test taking?

The driver's test was the first big hurdle into the adult world, and my anxiety level was as high for myself as it was for him. I winked at him and squeezed his nervous hand.

 "You'll do fine. I'll be praying for you..."

An hour later, I returned. His face was solemn as his eyes met mine from his seat across the room, and my heart lurched. Was this the face of good news? Slowly, his features stretched into a relaxed smile, and he stood and stepped the distance between us. Reaching my side, he was breathless with excitement. 

“I passed.”

All the years of letters dancing on a page for my son flashed before my eyes. His tears and endless ways of trying to get out of schoolwork flooded my memories. I could shut my eyes and still hear the droning of the cassette recorder the past weeks—playing the driver’s handbook over and over into the night. This is a day I will hold in my heart forever. A milestone, born of struggle—attained. We’d found a learning style that worked.

The fruit of adversity is the accomplishment of a goal which dangles, elusively, just out of our grasp… But its fruit is sweeter than any other when breakthrough snaps it from the branch.

What adversity do you face this day?  How are you coping in the middle? Or, are you at the end of your long struggle and have a word of hope for us?

When we don't know where to go, His whispers lead us...

Do You Ever Feel Like the Last Laugh is on You?

After thirty-six years of marriage, six children, and twenty six years of homeschooling, I finally understand. Who would have thought after all the play dough I've mixed, bread dough I've baked, and kid character dough I've shaped, I was the ball of clay? I've been the big mix of the Master Potter all along.

I remember mornings I rummaged blindly for the coffee pot, desperate for that single cup to start my engine. My boys would someday provide for families, so I pushed myself into each new day before the sun was up. Could the Lord have been making a morning person out of me? I never was, you know, but now I relish the quiet moments before sunrise.

Many days I was tempted to switch on the television and self-medicate from all my responsibilities. But, I wanted my kids to remember their mom as industrious. Could God have been protecting me from hours of wasted time and the squandering of my gifts? Self-discovery happened, instead. I love to write.

Somehow amid all the giving and teaching going on at my house, God is smiling.

Once I made a chart for the children to instruct them in the disciplines of keeping house. One of the little guys said, “Mommy, your bed isn't always made, and your room isn't always clean.” Ouch! While I did my best to teach the children consistency and good habits, God nudged me. Grace is a lovely, undeserved thing. 

Every time the kids took on a project—there I was—smack in the middle of it. I endured to spark their creativity, but discovered talents I possessed; I would not have endeavored so hard for myself.

Then there were all those precious moments when their elbows were on the table and they rested their faces in their chubby, little hands, and said…“I can't.” Who knew I would learn motivational secrets as effective as Dale Carnegie?

I rehearsed scriptures with the children time and again, hoping to build their characters strong and sound: Griping makes us discouraged, honey. A just man falls down seven times, but he gets up. A fountain can't bring forth bitter and sweet water, baby. Ask and He shall give. Could the Lord have been training me?

Grace is a lovely, undeserved thing. 

What about this new season? I still wear a high school teacher homeschooling hat, but I’m also a grandparent and babysitter on call. I’m my mom’s caregiver. I’m an addicted to the core writer. Watch me juggle like a Barnum and Bailey Circus clown. Watch my keyboard as it clicks, documenting my heart. I may have dinner in my teeth, a diaper pail running over, homework to check, deadlines to meet, and an elderly mother asking me to program the DVR for Dancing with the Stars, but I am still growing up.

Somehow amid all the giving and teaching going on at my house, God is smiling. He’s looking down upon my home and sizing up the job. Then in laughter and delight, He’s custom making me fit it—just a little shaping at a time.

Do you ever feel the last laugh is on you? How is God gently molding your life? Certainly, I am not the only one.

Seasoned

I wouldn't be a Southern gal if I didn't own an iron skillet or two. When I married, I was given ten. 

Opening the final gift of my bridal shower, I tugged tissue paper away to reveal yet one more five pound, cast iron bludgeon to add to my culinary arsenal. My grandmother hunched forward to whisper in my ear that skillets needed to be seasoned. The entire circle heard her raspy revelation which led to a round-table discussion on best methods.  Rolling my eyes, I thought: Somehow the excitement of being in love overshadows this Suzy Homemaker session.

When despite my heartfelt newlywed labors, I scorched the eggs four mornings straight; I humbly realized Grandma knew what she was talking about—seasoning is serious. I had a vague idea that seasoning had something to do with iron changing to a darkened state. After all, my skillets had been slate gray when new from the gift wrap unlike my grandmother’s coal black ones. And what was the current condition of mine?  They were orange with rust. Tongue in cheek, I swallowed my pride, and approached my grandmother, asking, "How DO you season a skillet?"  
            Her answer sounded tedious, not in the least romantic. In fact, it sounded like WORK.  But then a space bubble appeared just above my head, where I pictured myself scrubbing scorched eggs off the surface of the skillet while droplets of sweat ricocheted from the pan's surface; and I decided it wouldn’t hurt to listen. Though, this kind of activity was not how I imagined my first days of wedded delight, Grandma’s gentle admonition of marital purpose caused my heart to rouse, and I listened to her instructions with new found ardor and allegiance to backwoods kitchen warfare. 

1.      Grease the skillet

2.      Allocate the storage of the skillet to the oven

3.      Whenever you heat the oven to bake, the skillet will turn red hot

4.      Remove it from the oven while baking whatever you heated the oven to cook

5.      After it cools, grease the skillet again

6.      Repeat

7.      Repeat

8.      Repeat

9.      Repeat

Just as Grandma vowed, the oil and the heat seasoned my iron skillet over a period of time. Cornbread batter stopped sticking to the sides and bottom, and my eggs turned out light and fluffy. This meant my groom became a happier and less-hungry man.

Twenty years later, I lounged on the sofa, awake before the children for a rare moment of quiet. As I considered all the challenges and tangled problems of my life and tried to tell God how He could fix them, the image of my large iron skillet popped into another space bubble just above my head. Of all things to envision! And in the deep quiet place of my heart, I heard the Lord say, “Ann, you're just like that old, iron skillet.”

I grew quiet. Forevermore! How am I like a skillet? As I pondered the analogy, I realized that through the years of use and faithful seasoning, that heavy, blackened skillet had become my most desired kitchen tool and dependable friend.

How have You seasoned me, Lord? I just feel rusty, I thought as tears streaked my cheeks, and a sob swelled in my throat.

And the answer came. The fires of life: money pressures, marriage challenges, the blur of diapers, meals, training, homeschooling. Oh, the hours of homeschooling!  Will I ever make it through to graduation with one child—much less six—and, what about their unique learning differences? How will I meet everyone’s need when there is only one of me? He reminded me, I am never alone. Then His tender disclosure made my eyes grow wide with understanding. All the circumstantial difficulties of life knotted together were the oven of my seasoning. 

But I know that heat alone does not a seasoned skillet make; and I realized, neither do trials alone grow us into instruments of service fit for our Master. Layered between my red-hot oven moments when I think I might die from all the demands. God is the Faithful One who seasons me by anointing my head with the oil of His Holy Spirit. He soothes me with His presence and His Word. His mercy, new every morning, covers me while His love streams through me providing genuine joy. His patience gives me hope. He hardly ever takes the trials, the heat, or the oven away. But He consoles me again and again, oiling me to tackle the fire because I have an intended purpose. What about you? Are you a little smoky from the frying pan?

Listen for His Whispers

Know Your Limits

Recently a friend suggested we adopt a dog for my fifteen-year-old, Caleb, when we had sadly been forced to put down his childhood dog-friend, Trevor. Don’t think for a moment the temptation wasn’t there because I love my child, but I said, “No.” A slight tug of guilt niggled about... One minute. Just what had I endured in rearing six children for a period of thirty years?

• Six hermit crabs, and six hermit crab funerals.
• Four turtles—big ones, small ones, green ones, speckled. Don’t kid yourself that turtles are slow. They ran from my kids.
• Two rabbits, one which lived indoors. Do you know how often and to  what extent Lucy, the indoor rabbit, pooped?
• Add to this list, a goldfish bowl. Three aquariums, one of which my five-year-old, Jarred, wore on his head while jagged shards of glass threatened to sever his carotid artery. Not to mention, the ten gallons of dirty-fishy water and flailing fish that landed on the carpet.
• Three horses: Cricket, Lady, and Chess. Cricket lived in the backyard for a few weeks. What was that like? Well, aside from the balding yard, it was a little like trying to have school with children while being entertained by the circus. Never tie a horse to a swing set. Even if it’s made of iron.
• We had a number of dogs. Sheba, an Alaskan Spitz, as a puppy favored pooping in the floor furnace (while it was radiating) and later climbed sixteen foot fences in rain storms.
• The twin puppies Jiffy and Skippy found new homes quickly since they hadn’t been such bright ideas coupled with potty training two young sons.
• The adopted dog, Cinnamon, Kirk renamed Lassie. Why? I haven’t a clue since she was a Weimaraner mix and not a Collie. Stubborn as the day was long that dog and the boy.
• The Cocker Spaniel pup, Blessing, that should have been named Curse the way she chased cars, bike riders, and school buses.
• Tucker, the Lhasa Apsos, whom someone paid two hundred dollars to own and gave to us. That should have been a no brainer.
• And Trevor, another adoptee who should have had the Native American name rug-lies-in-a-heap-where-you-wish-to-walk.
• Three litters of puppies. One surprise litter had to be kept in our empty in-ground pool, because we had no backyard fence.
• Another litter, delivered by C-section at the vet clinic in the middle of the night, actually lived after the vet took each puppy from their mama’s womb and handed them to one of our eight family members. My husband, children, and I had to briskly rub each puppy with a towel to start their breathing.
• Cats? I’ve lost count. There was the one kitten which lost her life when she darted under a moving rocker. Then there was a white cat, Sassy, that needed a mental institution after young Joshua locked her in a tool box for four one hundred degree plus days.
• The next cat was a gray and white tabby named Seeka, and she lived with us a long while. She was perfect pet with Megan and Joanna. They daily dressed her in doll clothes and took her for spins around the yard in a baby buggy.
• Seeka had kittens. One, we thought a boy, was named Morris until we discovered he had become with kittens. This male, orange cat was hastily renamed Morrisa and had five orange babies, then licked a laundry detergent bottle and died. The next day Seeka delivered six new tabby babies. A proud mother and grandmother, Seeka adopted her grandchildren and nursed all eleven kittens. Now that was a precious lesson.
• Jake and Sweety, our lovely, cheerful, innocent parakeets. How much trouble could they be? They ate one of my expensive second grade ABeka readers. They were not good pets in a house with twelve foot ceilings. Try catching one of those while balancing on a seven foot ladder.
• And, I must mention Lucious, the jack-ass. No, I cannot politely call this animal a donkey. Lucious had one speed no matter how many times you prodded him with cowboy boots. He traveled stand-still-miles-per-hour. Except for when his neck would suddenly stiffen. Then he ran like a streak of lightening, bolted to a stop like a speed racer at a red light, and hurled his rider over the pasture fence with no remorse.

           I have been known to say, I will endure for one of my children when I may not for myself. Love and laughter keep us on a steady course, and the lessons of living, adopting, and dying enrich us. But I know my limits, at least at this stage in the game. Sometimes it is okay to say, “No.”

Listen for His Whispers... Sometimes they're loud.

Remedy for Burnout: Yield, Who Brings It?

“Why do you homeschool, Mrs. McCauley?” The school principal’s gaze ignited and blazed a tunnel straight through to my mother’s heart.

A thousand replies flitted through my brain, but only one surfaced. “W-Well, because I enjoy my children.”

Her blue eyes softened to a tender gray. “Now, that’s the answer I wanted to hear. You’ve passed my test.” Her mouth spread into a warm smile, and her heels clicked away.

My children were young, and I was clueless. Days filled with nature walks and finger painting diminished and academics became harder.

 You will reach your bountiful blessing because of His faithfulness. Your land will yield the fruit of His bountiful harvest because of His grace.

How do you keep it together when all your plans for a group activity end in chaos? The older my children became the more difficult it was for me to enjoy them sometimes.

Like the day the table was covered with individual laminated charts representing numbers one through one hundred, homemade and colorful. Pennies, dimes, nickels, quarters, and fifty cent pieces were neatly piled in small groups in the center of the table. The kids and I would count, skip count, talk about money denominations, and enjoy one of those shared times when work could be done as a group.

Then it started.

A squabble. A complaint. A tattle.

Often when I’d try fun learning it would end in disaster. Frustrated, I’d call the whole exercise off and send the children to do not so fun seatwork.

I had a faithful heart to homeschool. I wanted to do it right. But at the end of the day—many days—all that was leftover were honest conversations between God and me. My energies were spent and my emotional coffers empty.

Especially when they became teens and our family faced the challenges of outside influences and poor choices. Don’t kid yourself. They will make poor choices. Some more than others. But it is the same with us all.

Many messages to homeschooling parents are aimed at teaching us to be yielded servants to our families, rather than the understanding that Jesus is the Ultimate One, who is faithful to bring the yield.

The opposite of my frustrated effort was grace. Grace. When we’re frustrated, we’re trying to make something happen on our own. Grace does not make us a debtor. Grace says the payment is paid in full. How to parent with grace? Only by total abandonment.

Many messages to homeschooling parents are aimed at teaching us to be yielded servants to our families, rather than the understanding that Jesus is the Ultimate One, who is faithful to bring the yield.

Oh, from my earliest days of homeschooling, I wanted to be faithful, but I couldn’t be faithful enough. He is. I cannot be gracious enough. He is. I cannot always hold onto my happiness, but He holds on to me.

The biggest remedy of all for burnout is to grasp the understanding that you will never be enough for your children. Oh, you want to be. Everything they say and do feels like a reflection of your own personal worth. But in reality, that isn’t true. You are imperfect and so are your children.

Ps. 85:12-13 (New Living Translating) says: “Yes, the Lord pours down his blessings. Our land will yield its bountiful harvest. Righteousness goes as a herald before Him, preparing the way for his steps.”

Allow me to encourage you. You will reach your bountiful blessing because of His faithfulness. Your land will yield the fruit of His bountiful harvest because of His grace.

Verse thirteen speaks of Jesus, the Righteous One, who will step in and save the day. He did.

And it doesn’t matter how many mistakes you make or how many your children will make. If we’ve chosen Him, He is enough.

When God Whispers

Remedy for Burnout: Diligence Now & Blessing Later

Joanna, a five-year-old orphan and blind, was no doubt my daughter. She thrived like a watermelon seed planted in my heart and growing.

The paternal and maternal love for her was enormous, though we’d never met. God grafted her in our hearts, not unlike a pregnancy, and we anticipated her arrival.

But Joanna’s adoption story is for another time. This story is about her education. I’d never been around anyone blind. I’d never considered how they learned, let alone how to teach someone with visual impairment. How does one say—terrified?

The journey to parenting began months before our daughter came home from the Philippines. If I was going to homeschool Joanna along with her siblings, I had much to learn.

I called the state and spoke with advocates for the blind. One suggested teaching the Braille alphabet with a six cup muffin pan and ping pong balls. Another recommended a screen board. A rectangle of cardboard with door screening stretched over it and stapled down. This way, when anything was written or drawn over the screen the paper was perforated. When the paper was turned over, raised lines revealed what you wanted to show. Joanna would enjoy coloring because a simple page of any design could be converted to raised lines. Still other suggestions were about mobility. We bought a hard shell baby buggy for Joanna to push, and it became a buffer for her little body between walls and furniture.

Every time I surveyed the whole apple of Joanna’s education,

it overwhelmed me by immeasurable proportions.

Fear gripped and battled to conquer. Even as we traveled to the Dallas airport to meet our small daughter, the war raged. She cannot see. She doesn't speak English. Oh my. What are we doing?

We rehearsed our Tagalog, her native language. And, we had a cassette recording to explain simple things to our child in her own tongue. Ready or not, there we were. And, what happened at the airport?

Love conquered fear. Young Joanna captured our hearts and held us captive.

One year and four surgeries later, our English speaking, Philipino daughter was ready for kindergarten. I received word about a ministry in Plano, Texas. This ministry transcribed ABeka Christian School curriculum into Braille for sighted parents of blind children and for blind parents teaching their sighted children. The Braille, loaned by grade levels, was mailed to private schools and homeschooling parents around the country, and it just so happened the curriculum was an older version of ABeka. The print copies were no longer available. But, we owned the older versions of these books, having used them with our other children. Joanna and I had books that matched.

Joanna delighted in learning. We acquired a Brailler along with a Braille watch, slate and stylus, and other essentials for the blind from a precious Christian family whose older, blind sister had passed away. So, where to start?

When first beginning our homeschooling journey, we were told the years 

tell what the days never know. This speaks of diligence. 

Being faithful with what is small.

We dove into school that year, and I quickly discovered Joanna learned like any other child. She was a visual learner. (One whose eyes were her fingers, mind you, but visual all the same.) She delighted in learning and was quick. Often her peals of laughter were like bells tinkling through the house. Why had I been so afraid? God certainly knew me better than I knew myself, didn’t He?

There came a point in time when Joanna sailed with her Braille, and I no longer had to visually keep up. I presented, and Joanna learned. Just like any other child.

The ministry in Plano went belly-up two years later and closed its doors. I received a call asking if I’d like to house the Braille and be the lending library for other homeschool parents around the country. Living in a one hundred-year-old -house with walk-in attics had its advantages. One Abeka reader when stacked in volumes often equaled my height. There was plenty of room for the hordes of boxes. The day those books began trickling into our care was like Christmas. And for years, we served others while having every grade level we needed for Joanna. Oh, the goodness of God!

When first beginning our homeschooling journey, we were told the years tell what the days never know. This speaks of diligence. Being faithful with what is small. Every time I surveyed the whole apple of Joanna’s education, it overwhelmed me by immeasurable proportions. But being diligent to take a day at a time and to enjoy the learning process and my child paid off.

After turning eighteen, Joanna tackled the local high school where she received an honors diploma. From there, she navigated college. Joanna, a bright and lovely child, is now a married woman and mother.

But today we target diligence. God provided everything Joanna needed to succeed. One bite at a time…

How do you eat an elephant?

We are told in Colossians 2:6-7, that as we have received Christ, we should walk in Him, rooted and built up, established in faith and abounding in thanksgiving. Do we realize what this means when our efforts are discouraged, when burnout consumes us, or when quitting seems a better alternative?

Where there is a root, there's hope for a new beginning and hope for renewal. If you were once rooted, built up, and walking in faith with Christ to homeschool your children, you can be again. Having homeschooled now for more than twenty-five years, I can assure you. The big pay-offs come from day to day diligence coupled with the fact that Jesus paves the way. He’s always a step ahead, ready to love you and support your endeavors. So, dust off and begin afresh. He is new every morning.

Joanna McCauley West

When I told Joanna about this article, she was eager for you to hear her story of God's goodness. Once, she was a whisper from God in our ear;

forever, she is a blessing.

 

Listen for His Whispers...

Remedy for Burnout: Enduring for the Eternal

God is joking, right? Move away from our state and to an uncertain destiny just because of homeschooling?

We had to question what God had told us about homeschooling our children back when our oldest was five. The decision hadn’t been easy then, but God placed a knowing inside us that it was the right thing to do.

There will always be conflicting points of view and interpretations on how to best handle situations, but your commitment to that one thing you know God spoke to your heart will see you through. When burnout hits, if our motivations are built 

and based on God’s unchanging nature, we cannot fail.

Backed into a corner, we had to reconsider. Two things transpired to make us question whether we should stay in our home of twelve years. We had adopted a son who was hearing impaired. The size of a three year old, he labored through a church preschool program and private speech therapy services, but these situations held at bay decisions about public school until his adoption was finalized. The other consideration was our oldest biological son. The state we lived in required second graders to pass an exam, and this child lagged behind in reading—not that unusual for boys his age. But, there was one shot at passing the test, and he didn’t.

The law was the law. If your child had a special need in any area, then the parent was required to be certified in that field to home educate. I had to be certified in both reading specialty and hearing impairment to homeschool two of my children, and I wasn’t.

The local school district complicated matters by telling us they would not hire someone certified in hearing impairment. We went to battle. We knew our rights. Going to the highest levels to insist the schools provide for our adopted son, we worked to change minds and hearts, but it did no good. We spent so much time in war there was no time to spend with the children, especially our hearing impaired son, who had desperate needs.

Father, tell us what to do. We put the house on the market, and it didn’t sell. Is this your answer, Lord?  We could leave our home and move fifteen miles across the state line and homeschool each of our children in freedom. What a temptation! We prayed harder.

“For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

2 Corinthians 4: 17-18 (NKJ)

One day, my husband came home with an answer. A good steward of God’s wealth and blessing maintains his material belongings in a responsible manner. The conflict? The Bible also says, that the planet is our temporary residence, and that we should make decisions based on what is eternal rather than on what is temporary. What did we know for certain? Our two biological children and two adopted children were God given. To live an authentic example of relationship with God was our highest responsibility to them. And the biggest lesson life had taught us? God is most concerned with what will last.

Money? It comes and it goes. Places to live and things to wear? He promises to provide. Our decision was made based on enduring for what was eternal. We moved across state lines and continued to homeschool our children. I am not saying this is the right decision for everyone in our situation. I have never seen God do anything the same way twice. But, I am saying, it was the right decision for us at that moment.

There was a price. Our house never sold, and we endured hardships. Was the hardship fair? Adversity made us want to doubt our decisions. Even now, I sometimes wonder if we could have done something differently. But each time we were challenged, we counted it joy and pursued knowing Him and the fellowship of His sufferings. God never once failed us financially. He supplied materially and entrusted us with two more internationally adopted children.

“For we know that if our earthly house, this tent, (I realize this can mean our bodies) is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” 2 Corinthians 5:1(NKJ)

Throughout the years we have been faced with this one question. Would we choose what is important now or what would be important later?

Heartfelt commitments require endurance through hardship, trial, testing, and attack. Outward circumstances are never easy to decipher. There will always be conflicting points of view and interpretations on how to best handle situations, but your commitment to that one thing you know God spoke to your heart will see you through. When burnout hits, if our motivations are built and based on God’s unchanging nature, we cannot fail.

*The preceding story was created as I journeyed through burnout and explored a remedy for it. Rest is the letter R in Remedy. Exercise your faith is letter E. Meditate More is letter M. Today's post is letter E, Endure for the Eternal. Stay tuned for future blogs concerning letters D-Y.*

 Listen for His Whispers...