1 Corinthians for the Homeschool Mom

We’ve had an unusually rough day here on the homeschool front:  crying, temper tantrums, and slamming doors seemed to be the norm rather than the exception.  It was a frustrating day; one of those days that makes me question our decision to take on the task of educating our boys at home.  After all, it would be so much easier to put them on that yellow bus each morning, wouldn’t it?  

It would… maybe… but when the day comes to an end, when the boys are finally tucked into their beds and all is quiet in the house and I am alone with my thoughts, I know in my heart that school is not the answer, not as the result of one bad day, or even two or three.  Because, honestly, the good days far outnumber the bad, and more often than not, homeschooling the boys is a blessing:  an opportunity to really know them, their thoughts, their hearts, the way they learn, their highs and their lows.

Even so, sometimes I just need a reminder as to what’s really important, what really matters at the end of the day – and it’s not how many math problems were completed or how many spelling words were written correctly.

Tonight, when I opened my e-mail, I found the following reminder of just that.  Sent by a homeschooling mom-friend who recently moved to Hawaii (THANK YOU, Heather), a quick internet search lead me to Heart of the Matter where Misty Krasawski posted 1 Corinthians for Homeschool Moms in March of 2010.  The following has been modified slightly from the original.

If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and teach my children Latin conjugations, Chinese and Portuguese, but do not have love, I have become a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal, and no matter what I say, they will not hear me.

If I have the gift of prophecy, and know my children’s bents and God’s plan for their lives, and know all mysteries and all knowledge, and am the keeper of the teacher’s editions and solutions manuals, and if I have all faith, so as to move mountains, and even keep up with my giant piles of laundry and dishes, but do not have love, I am nothing, even if my friends think I’m Supermom.

And if I give all my possessions to feed the poor, and my formal dining room gets turned into a schoolroom, and our family vacations look more like educational fieldtrips, and if I surrender my body to be burned, never having time to get my nails done, put makeup on or even take a bath, but do not have love, it profits me nothing, because all my family cares about is the expression on my face.

Love is patient with the child who still can’t get double-digit subtraction with borrowing, and kind to the one who hasn’t turned in his research paper. It is not jealous of moms with more, fewer, neater, more self-directed, better-behaved or smarter children. Love does not brag about homemade bread, book lists, or scholarships and is not arrogant about  lifestyle or curriculum choices. It does not act unbecomingly or correct children in front of their friends. It does not seek its own, trying to squeeze in alone time when someone still needs help; it is not provoked when interrupted for the nineteenth time by a child, the phone, the doorbell or the dog; does not take into account a wrong suffered, even when no one compliments the dinner that took hours to make or the house that took so long to clean.

Love does not rejoice in unrighteousness or pointing out everyone else’s flaws, but rejoices with the truth and with every small step her children take in becoming more like Jesus, knowing it’s only by the grace of God when that occurs.