In the Classroom

It was the first day of our homeschool lessons, and I was pumped. I'd sharpened pencils to fine, black points. I'd polished desks and filled them with tidy stacks of blue-lined paper. I'd even replaced hard, craggy glue sticks with brand new ones. I was ready. Ready to leap head-long into our deep stacks of classics. Ready to revel in math facts. Ready to roll up my sleeves and teach my boys about volcanoes and verbs and the War of 1812.

But the morning didn’t go well. Things didn't go as planned.

“Mom, when it is my turn for math? I’m tired of waiting. Tired. Tired. Tired.”

“Mom, Gabe is sitting too close to me. And he’s gnawing his pencil. Like mad.”

“Mom, tell Zay that it’s ABCD. Not ABDD. He’s saying it wrong. Wrong all wrong.”

So much for my romantic first-day-of-school dreams. The boys' hearts were out of shape.

At first my responses were patient and kind. We need to learn to wait (what if Jesus had put himself first?).We honor one another when we choose to not interrupt. Too many words cause problems, measure them carefully. And don’t worry if your brother eats his pencil (it’s non-toxic after all). But after two hours of realizing how much we’d slipped during the summer, I’d hit the end of my rope. My patience wore out, discouragement settled on my shoulders, and my attitude became as sharp as those number-two pencils.

“I think it’s time for recess," I said. "Mama needs a break.” I opened the back door, ushered the boys to the trampoline, and slumped into a chair.

“Lord this is tough. Their heads don’t work when their hearts are out of whack. And I’m tired. Already,” I whispered out loud.

Show them the fruit, came the gentle reply.

“Fruit? Fruit  of the Spirit? I can’t. I’m frustrated.”

Let me fill you with My Spirit. Let Me fill you up. Then you’ll be ready to pour into them.

I sat for a moment to process the Spirit’s call on my own heart. I’d sharpened pencils. I’d purchased texts and notebooks and flashcards. I’d even gone wild on the desks with lemon oil Pledge.  But I hadn’t prayed up. Hadn't filled up.

Guess I really wasn’t ready at all.

“Fill me fresh, with Your spirit, Lord. And let the fruit flow…”

And then I was ready. In my own strength, no one was going to learn a thing. But when empowered by the Lord, the fruit would come. I opened the door and hollered for the boys.

Oh, the gentle ways the Lord teaches me when I’m trying to teach my sons.

I never want to leave His classroom.

From the Fullness - Summer Blessings

From the fullness of His grace we have all received one blessing after another. John 1:16

Thank you, Lord, for summer blessings. I can't wait to see what You'll bring in the fall.

HAPPY LABOR DAY, DEAR FRIENDS!

Blog Break This Week

Hello Friends,

Happy Monday!

I'm on blog break this week. The three little boys and I are having our first week of homeschool lessons.

Thank you so much for the blessing of your time. See you next Monday, September 5.

Have a wonderful, wonderful grace-filled week...

With love,

Shawnelle

Not Ever Alone

We assembled in front of the television for our evening ritual: retro tv on dvd. Grant and Sam sprawled over the floor. Gabe curled on the sofa. Logan and Zay settled into the over-stuffed chair in the corner. Lonny sat beside Gabriel, and I nestled into his side.
And the whistling tune of Andy Griffith lulled our family to stillness.

But only for a moment.

“Mom,” Gabe said. “I forgot my orange.”

Oranges. The other part of our evening ritual. Leave it to Beaver oranges. I Love Lucy oranges. Brady Bunch oranges. The three little boys, for their bedtime snack, peel and eat oranges. Every night. Every show. It’s as much of the bedtime routine as brushing teeth or saying prayers.

“Mister Man,” I said. “We’ll get your orange. In a minute or two.”

“But I’m hungry now.”

“You’re welcome to go get one,” I said. “We’ll pause the show.”

Gabe’s face scrunched to a frown. “I’m not going down there. Alone.”

We live in an old Victorian. Our family room is on the second floor, and the kitchen is on the first. Down the deep, curvy stairs. Across the lower level. Not a sweet deal for little kids at dusk.

“You’ll be fine,” I said. “This is your home. Your loving, safe home.”

“Still not going,” he said. “But I would like an orange.”

Lonny hit the pause button, quieting the voice of Barney Fife. It was silent for a moment, then Zay jumped from Logan’s lap.

“I’ll go get it,” he said with all the valor and bravery and courage a four-year-old could muster. “I’ll go get the orange!” He stood tall. Squared his shoulders. Made a bold face.

“But aren’t you scared?” Gabe asked.

“I am,” he said. “But God will go with me.”

Zay struck a pose. Grinned. Performed a mini gun show. Then he was off. Down the stairs. Across the house. Into the darkness.

Fully confident in the presence of God.

I learned from Zay that night, my sweet, brave, trusting little son. When I’m afraid? I’m not alone. When things are dark? I’m not alone. When the route is long and shadows lurk? I’m not alone.

Not ever alone.

Ever.

I will never leave you nor forsake you. Joshua 1:5

Thumbs Up

We pulled to the curb, in front of the tall, brick dorm, and unloaded my son’s belongings. Everything material he’d need for living, packed into heavy, gray totes. Soon we’d grab a cart, and Lonny and Logan would begin the haul, up to the sixth floor.

“Hey, Logan,” a handsome young man called. He crossed the street and he and Logan did the brother-hug. Quick embrace. A few cuffs on the back. They fell into easy conversation. What was your summer like? Missed you, Buddy. The guys have been waiting for you…

Then the young man continued on his way. But it was just a moment more before a bevy of young men came up the walk. Logan! Hey! Good to see you. More hugs. More cuffs. Conversation and friendship and gladness and joy. A few minutes later, others joined the group. These are the young men, I thought, that God has brought my boy. The ones he’ll pray with, laugh with, grow and move into manhood with.

Thank you, Jesus.

An hour later, when the totes had been hauled and goodbyes had been said, I watched my young man walk up that same sidewalk. There was a bounce in his step, an ease in his stride. When he reached the door, Logan turned, tan and strong and long-summer blond, and gave me a thumbs up.

My heart smiled.

Thumbs up to you, too, Sweet Boy.

Now go ahead and fly….

Sweet Sunday

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good! His faithful love endures forever. Psalm 118:1

“Is it almost ready?” Gabriel jumped up and down. Rubbed his hands together. Peered over the edge of the ice cream machine with eyes round as half-dollars.

“Dad said ten more minutes,” Zay said. Then he sighed, hard, like the world was pushing on his little brown shoulders.

The ice cream machine whirred and chugged while three swim-suit clad little boys caged about the patio. My parents chatted with Lonny, our older sons, and our dear friend Miss Jean. I carried the cut glass ice cream bowls, a flea market find, from the kitchen.

Precious, simple goodness.

The ice cream machine was Lonny’s Father’s Day gift. It has a hand crank and an electric motor, so we can plug it into the outlet on the back of the house when the boys’ little arms fall at their sides, like limp ropes, from churning.

We’ve given the machine a workout this summer.

As we scooped ice cream into bowls, I glanced around the patio and was blessed by each family member. It seemed, for a few moments, like the world spun more slowly. And I was grateful, from a deep-heart place, for a last-of-summer evening when burdens were light, worries were far off, the biggest, deepest decision was whether to top our ice cream with fresh berries or chocolate chips.

Thank you Lord for your goodness, so powerfully evident in this sweet Sunday.

The Bible Tells Me So

I stopped by the little boys’ room, for one last peek, before I went to bed. The giggles had quieted. Movement had stopped. Bed springs were silent. Sweet, sleeping peace had fallen over our home.

I was drawn to Gabriel. He lay, curled on his side, eyes closed, sweet summer-brown face relaxed and still. His small hands were clasped, as if he’d drifted off to slumber in the middle of a prayer.

I ran my fingers through his soft, white hair. Then I kissed his warm forehead. He shifted a little, then settled back, wrapped in the sweetness of rest.

For a moment, I was so filled with love that I thought my own heart would break. This little creature. Helpless and small. Needing me so. I ran my finger along the curve of his neck. Beautiful. How could something so amazing belong to me?

I love you that way, I felt the Lord speak, deep in my spirit. I delight in you. Just because you’re mine.

In my head, it’s hard for me to imagine. That God could love me so much.

Difficult to grasp.

More than I can fathom.

But I have to believe.

The Bible tells me so.

The Lord your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with His love, he will rejoice over you with singing. Zephaniah 3:17