Big Girls Don't Cry

In a recent conversation with a friend, I mentioned that I had cried myself to sleep over something (can't even remember what now), and she marveled at my ability to cry. Apparently, I cry a lot. I didn't realize that crying was a virtue, but I must admit I'm pretty good at it. From single tears to uncontrollable sobs, I've mastered it all. Of course, I have zero control over the tidal wave of tears surging just below the surface.

Crying for me is cathartic. Somehow through blurry eyes, I see more clearly. When I cry, I can get right down to the center of it--the core. I feel and know all at the same time. I know from whence the tears come--anger, fear, sadness, regret, loss, disappointment, confusion, shame, hurt . . . And then I cry until there simply isn't another tear left. It usually doesn't take that long--just enough to really feel. Then, when I've cried my last, I usually know what to do--the next step to take, and it almost always begins with prayer.

But this post isn't really about how I cry. It's about something I learned while crying myself to sleep on Sunday night. For reasons I'll share some other time, I came face to face with the realization that homeschooling may come to an end much, much sooner than I anticipated. I wasn't prepared for that possibility (and it is only a possibility) and I cried--BIG TIME! And as I cried three things became clear to me: 1. I love homeschooling. 2. I believe in homeschooling. 3. I haven't done a very good job at homeschooling.

As I lay in bed, body still shaking with each sharp intake of breath, I prayed. I breathed out confessions of time wasted, words wounding, love too shallow, and selfishness too deep. I prayed for more time, more joy, more love, and more of Him to help me do what I know to do. I prayed for big-picture vision and day-by-day strength. And as I prayed, I vowed to make today count--the only day I'm certain of because it's here. right. now.

And I slept. . . and the Lord renewed . . . and morning came, and two beautiful faces snuggled up close under the covers, feet intertwining. Two faces so different, yet bound by brotherhood. And I knew what to do with this day . . . love it and live it out together, side by side, faces to the wind, hands held tight. And we did. There were books, Play Doh, markers, Legos, cars, Olympic competitions complete with homemade medals, runny noses, snacks, computer discoveries, math problems, reading challenges, meals, wrestling, Bible verses, sibling squabbles, painting, picking-up, laughter, questions, Daddy time, phone conversations, rolly-pollies put in jars, music, and messes, oh my, the messes. It was exhausting, but not wasted. And I didn't cry--not even once.