The seasons are changing. My oldest is gone more than home now, and the next two boys are working out in the gym and growing manly muscles on their lean arms. My daughter’s turned into a lady with a keen sense of right, a quick tongue and an even sharper wit.
We’re all growing up. Not that I’m crying, mind you. I welcome the opportunity to wrestle bigger challenges than whose Hot Wheel this is. It’s just a different type of parenting now. They still need shepherding, just with a looser hand.
I’m reminded of my first parenting lessons, years ago. I had adopted a 100 lb. Labrador Retriever with an assertive streak. What a tough bugger he was in obedience class, refusing to lie down on command unless I body-slammed him and pinned him in my own version of a wrestling hold. I only outweighed him by about 3 pounds, and he had testosterone and four legs on his side. He strained to keep his head above mine. With persistence, he learned to work with me. We moved to off-leash training, where he had to choose to obey lessons like, ‘don’t chase the kitty across the road just because you’re the dog for the job and I’m not looking’. At the end of the summer, we won 2nd place at the trials.
I wish it were that easy to train kids. Today, I’d be thrilled to come in second place. On that day, I felt gypped, and came up with all sorts of consolations. I was a teen with a large, intact male dog competing against an adult with a spayed people pleaser. She wasn’t at all moved by the lovely mutt in heat that wandered through the final exam. My dog looked like Pepe Le Pew floating away after a Persian cat.
I didn’t recognize the real point. That class was a joint effort to develop well-mannered companions, not a competition to see who could produce the perfect show dog.
Education is not about perfection.
I will never be a perfect mother, homeschool or otherwise. My only charge is to love the Lord more than anything else and figure out how to stir each of my students to choose to follow me in that, daily. But just like my old Lab, the outcome boils down to a choice that is outside of my control. Will he follow my path, or not? Milk bones or a swim in the lake assist with retention, but just like most adults on earth, if it doesn’t pay off, he probably won’t repeat it.
My oldest kids have learned the basics of come, sit, and stay.
It’s now time to go off-leash. What they know, they know, and what they don’t will show quickly. We’ll focus there. Move into the world, my children. You will fall. Know that – but know also that falls are not fatal. You’ll get up and be stronger. I’ll help you, but only if you need it. You have the rest of your lives to fine-tune who you want to become.
Someone asked me today how I parent high schoolers. I couldn’t help but chuckle under my breath. I’m really not the one to ask. But yet I am – I can answer from experience that there comes a point when you must trust that what you’ve done has made an impact and that your children are competent to think and move on their own. But you’re not done.
You must still pray. Pray for quiet patience that exudes faith, in God and in the child. Pray for safety and quickly growing wisdom. Know that God is there, and won’t blink, even when it’s midnight and you haven’t heard from your son since lunch.
If you’ve been diligent with your time when you had it before you, you will not be disappointed now. The Bible doesn’t just spout cool maxims that encourage us emptily. When the proverb says, ” Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.” – it’s a promise you can lean on.
I found this interesting elucidation in Clarke’s Commentary:
When he comes to the opening of the way of life, being able to walk alone, and to choose; stop at this entrance, and begin a series of instructions, how he is to conduct himself in every step he takes. Show him the duties, the dangers, and the blessings of the path; give him directions how to perform the duties, how to escape the dangers, and how to secure the blessings, which all lie before him. Fix these on his mind by daily inculcation, till their impression is become indelible; then lead him to practice by slow and almost imperceptible degrees, till each indelible impression becomes a strongly radicated habit. Beg incessantly the blessing of God on all this teaching and discipline; and then you have obeyed the injunction of the wisest of men. Nor is there any likelihood that such impressions shall ever be effaced, or that such habits shall ever be destroyed.
I’ve not done everything right. But that’s where the prayers come in: God is the perfect Father. He can instill in each of my children what I never taught. They’re in good hands.