Written by Holly Paulette

When we received the email about a week ago that public schools would be closed for the next two weeks (and what now is, essentially, forevermore), I immediately got out a piece of paper and wrote down a half-hour-by-half-hour schedule. A self-proclaimed control freak, I knew one thing for certain: I would become nothing less than the world’s greatest homeschool teacher in the next 48 hours.

We’d start our days with scripture memorization time, followed by happily completing math worksheets, a snuggle session on the couch reading a classic novel, learning cursive on dry erase boards, outdoor recreation time, and finishing off the day making dinner side-by-side, giggling.

Reality: Wake-up. Start the morning reading my Bible and telling the kids they aren’t allowed to talk to me until my coffee cup runs dry. Have a worship music dance party. Complete half of the well-intended math worksheets I printed the night before, then make paper airplanes out of the rest. Run two laps around the backyard for P.E. class. See him cut corners and make him start over. Read half of classic novel but then just watch the Muppets version on Disney+. Repeat. And then I send them outside until their dad gets home.

And here I am. Five days into homeschooling my high-energy, easily-distracted, wonderful handful of a son. A week ago, those three descriptors would’ve been at the top of my “WHY I WILL NEVER HOMESCHOOL” list. But today, a week in, they’re at the top of my new list. My list that says: “Why I finally understand why all of these families voluntarily do this homeschool thing.”

I’ve spent the last two years sending my son off to public school--a great public school, at that--witnessing him come home with reading proficiency, math skills, new friends, funny stories, and an appreciation for diversity.

But this week, I learned I’ve missed out on two years of watching his eyes light up (and his body bounce up and down, and his legs sprint around the kitchen table, and all other boundless-energy things) when he learns something new. I’ve missed out on countless chances to talk through his big existential questions. I’ve missed out on the inevitable stature of humility all homeschool moms must live in, remembering my need for grace upon grace upon grace, every minute of every hour.

This virus has added threats to our world and mayhem to my mind. But I’ve spent more intentional time with my son in the last five days than I have in a while. Even in the madness, God has offered up an opportunity to be present, to eat lunch together, to read in silly voices, to Google “how to be a ninja” without rushing to the next thing, to delight in my child in a way I hadn’t in a long, long time. Don’t get me wrong--it has certainly been a “baptism by fire” experience, and the fire has been a little unruly at times. But fire refines.

I don’t know about next week, next month, or the years to come, but just like our family-favorite Slugs and Bugs sings: “God makes messy things beautiful like only he can.”