For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison…
II Corinthians 4:17, NASB
When I wrote last month’s column on Teaching from Rest, I had no idea that the target audience would be myself. I have been homeschooling for so long now that I thought I had things “figured out.”
I should have known better.
Last month an ongoing health issue of mine escalated to the point where it displaced everything else, including school. Doctor appointments, phone calls, research, and pain—the kind that keeps you up all night—took center stage. I had experienced a similar upheaval when my younger son was born with a life-threatening birth defect, requiring around-the-clock care, but at the time, “homeschooling” was nothing more than making alphabet cookies and molding play-doh with my two-year-old. Besides, back then, it wasn’t me who needed assistance, and oftentimes it’s easier to be strong for someone else than for yourself.
As I adapt to the current challenge, which is not likely to change in the immediate future, I am forced to teach from rest—and for my task-oriented self, it’s humbling.
My daughter, who has special learning needs, has less focused time with me each day. Though we’re still covering the basics and her daily brain training therapy, it’s tempting to worry. I have to step back and remind myself, again, that “school” is so much bigger than reading, writing, and math. A few months of delay, in the grand scheme of life, is nothing.
Will we be able to “catch up” on any potential gaps when my health improves? Definitely.
Will she be prepared to be a wife, mom, or enter the workforce some day? Yes, of course. She is already capable in her own way, with her own unique gifts and abilities.
In the meantime, she and I both are learning something much more valuable. I am learning how to slow down, nurture instead of overload myself, let little things go, and be more balanced. She is learning to adjust to change, recognize when compassion is needed on behalf of another, and be patient enough to put aside immediate wants. Together we are learning that sometimes things get hard and there is no quick fix. That it’s okay to cry as long as you eventually pick yourself up and work on the problem. That endurance is strengthened through hardship. That it is okay to rely on the help of friends. That Mom isn’t perfect and that real people are sometimes weak. We are learning to bear with one another as we traverse this journey. Right now, life is teaching both of us—and the learning is much deeper than anything gleaned from a curriculum. Some may say she is “missing out” for a stretch of time on her “education.” But what do they mean by that? I am making sure she is proficient academically; what would she learn in school that is more valuable than what she is now learning in real life?
Sometimes we as teachers forget that we still need to be learners, too. Jesus is often called “Rabbi” in the Bible—the Hebrew word for “Teacher”—yet, the Scriptures say, “…He learned obedience from the things which He suffered,” Hebrews 5:8, NASB. If the Son of God, the Teacher of teachers, had a need in his humanity to learn, and that through suffering, who are we to think we should be any different?
So, I am learning, once again, to teach from rest. I am not being negligent, nor acting from anxiety. I am adjusting my expectations for the need of the moment. It is what I should always be doing, but often forget. In the long run, by God’s grace, I believe both teacher and student will come through this journey more at peace and more mature, each in our own way.
If you are in a difficult season—teacher, student, wife, husband, coworker, employee, or any station in life—the lessons we learn through hardship are universal. Not one of us escapes them, not even the Son of God Himself. In the midst of your pain, ask yourself, and God, what He may be trying to teach you through it. Suffering always serves a purpose in God’s economy, and He has promised us a day in which we will be made new.
…and He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death; there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain; the first things have passed away.
Revelation 21:4, NASB
