My 4-year-old daughter recently tried to use a colander for a puke bowl.
When I recommended that she get a metal bowl and lie down on the couch to settle her tummy, that’s all she could find. Somehow, I feel like this is an odd sort of analogy for nearly every parent and their emotions about education right now. Everything is off, you feel rather ill and the only solutions seem to have a lot of unhelpful holes in them and may be a disaster in the making.
At least, that’s how it feels.
Our family began school at the beginning of August because we homeschool, and I was going crazy without adding a little more structure to our days. On the first day, I burned the bacon for our celebratory breakfast, weathered some toddler tantrums and bristled at some of the inevitable interruptions that peppered our academic time.
Suddenly, a still voice in my heart said, “I’m OK with an imperfect school year. Why can’t you be OK with it, too?”
In my pride, I wanted to overreact and retort, “Do you want me to fail my children, Lord?!” But I already knew the answer. God is in control. He already knows what’s coming. And He is OK with it playing out that way, burnt bacon included.
In fact, God chose for His own Son to be born into crisis. If Mary and Joseph could have planned for their young son’s education, I imagine that they would hope to have him surrounded by extended family, bolstered by the religious rites and liturgical rhythm of the Jewish people and taught by the same wise elders who instructed his parents in the Torah and the Prophets. Instead, Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus were forced to flee into exile in Egypt for an indeterminate length of time. I’m sure they never pictured raising the Messiah apart from the Temple. We probably never pictured raising our children, temporarily, apart from the Mass and their instructional environments, as most of us have been forced to do at various points this year. Like us, the Holy Family knew the loneliness of isolation, the fear of physical danger and the uncertainty of adapting to new norms and patterns of life.
Extended family and friends, a school (or home school co-op) community, a parish, various extracurricular activities, therapies and social service ministries – these are all huge blessings that support a vocation to marriage and family. Reducing or removing these supports creates a void that is not easily filled. Yet, especially within the essential dynamic of parent and child, God can accomplish all He needs to do in that child’s life this year – even if it looks nothing like we expect.
The first beatitude points us in the right direction: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Mt 5:3). The Hebrew term used for “’poor in spirit” is “anawim” (pronounced “ann-a-weem”). It also translates as “the little ones,” and in the Psalms, this word refers to those humble few who remain faithful to God despite hardship. To be poor in spirit means to recognize our utter dependency on God rather than on the things, people and institutions of this world. We acknowledge our spiritual poverty and our inability to bring about the change we wish to see.
Joseph and Mary were certainly poor in spirit. Their humility was their strength, allowing them to be utterly flexible in the hands of God. Rather than trusting their own ability to control their environment and custom-make a perfect childhood for the Son of God, they relied upon God’s Providence to work out His will through their loving, daily actions as parents. This is obvious through Joseph’s immediate obedience to the messages of his dreams and Mary’s acceptance of the extraordinary mission entrusted to her by the angel. As she proclaimed to her cousin, Mary’s poverty of spirit was the well-spring of her joy: “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord .... He who is mighty has done great things for me” (Lk 1:46,49).
There’s a peace-filled mean between the extremes of anxiety and negligence, and that state of restful activity relies on trust. Recognizing our own littleness, our own emotional tides (and tsunamis) and the reality of God’s omnipotence helps us to overcome the tumult and set our anchor on the only unmoving rock in our lives: our Heavenly Father. His primary goal for us and for our children is not a scholarship to a university, a top position on a team, a memorable prom, a glittering career, an
Instagram-worthy house or fascinating social life. The goal is heaven, and heaven is the promised reward for those who are poor in spirit.
This school year – no matter how quirky, distressing, exciting or academically challenging it ends up – is part of my child’s path to heaven. It will form my children in ways
I could never anticipate. Maybe that struggle will plant a seed that will grow into a particular vocation or calling. I can’t know for sure. But I do know that God extends a hand to us as we face the unknown. He is ready. We too will be prepared, if we start from a place of trust in His plan and then move forward in faith.
Kelly Henson is a Catholic writer and speaker who explores the art of integrating faith into daily life. She and her family are parishioners of Our Lady of Grace Parish in Greensboro. She blogs at www.kellyjhenson.com.