This school year will be made up of two first days. The first will be for my oldest this coming Tuesday. I’m feeling incredibly excited for him, though it isn’t my usual hyper kind of excitement. It’s a longing, hopeful, peaceful excitement. Over the summer he’s noticeably grown up. He had his first paying job as the camp kitchen dishwasher and spent every possible waking moment at camp. He’s taller now. His voice changed.
The rest of us will begin soon after, preferably beginning by the end of the month. As she’s gotten older, my planning-loving grandmother has gradually acquired a one-day-at-a-time approach to life. I like that approach. I used to think I was horrible at planning, but now I think what a lot of people refer to “planning”, I refer to as “dreaming”.
Plans or dreams, in their earliest forms, are nothing more than mere potentials. The process of bringing all the potential to actuality takes time, effort, trial and error, flexibility, patience, redirection, pain and suffering, and letting go.
In thinking about school for the coming year, four words came to my mind rather quickly. The words were Honor, Work, Service, Ingenuity. Many of the dreams I had for homeschooling haven’t happened. We still do not know the constellations or all the phases of the moon. I look through the curriculum magazines and see all this knowledge I never attained, all these academic levels I never personally mastered. I WANT this.
But I’m learning it’s okay to let the dream become distilled. When this happens, the matters of least importance tend to fall away naturally, and you’re left with the most important things–the diapers, the bottles, laundry, lunches, and suppers.
It’s incredible what happens–I’m not making this up.
You realize the dream was always love.