The hardest homeschooling days - A Spiritual Journey

The hardest homeschooling days weren’t when they were little and every day was brimming full to overflowing with  laundry, dishes, sweet, early morning snuggles. The days when I was pregnant and heavy and carrying teething toddlers on my hips while working out geometry problems. The days of veggie sticks and cupcakes with sprinkles, dandelion posies in jam jars and wailing car journeys. The days of stolen moments to nap or write a few lines or knit a few rows. The days of giggling under blankets, sofa forts and tea parties on the living room floor. The days of aching loneliness and the sweetest consolation and moments of communion. Times where it felt like Jesus was actually walking beside me when I was afraid.

No, the hardest days came after these. 

As life became less brimming and overflowing I began to exhale. I began to forget the things that had given Grace to the grit of struggle.

I prayed less. I think that’s where it began.

Soon I stopped going to mass every week. I would go to the woods instead. I'd say things like, ‘I find my God in nature more than in church.’ I forgot the Grace of sacramental life. I forgot that the sacrifice comes before the blessing. 

Although I still find the beauty of the creator in His creation, I don’t idolise it. This world is not our soul’s true home. Ut Migraturus Habita.  

I started to read books on buddhism and the new age. They seemed so full of esoteric, knowledge, and secret patterns that connected all the dots in the universe, like how constellations connect stars. There were similes and symbols everywhere.  I went down ‘truther’ rabbit holes and got lost. I rediscovered astrology. I went to new age gatherings where women were goddesses. I stopped seeing deception for what it was, the antithesis of truth, the doorway to forgetfulness.

The word religion means to re/connect, to bring the fragmentary, the incomplete and the broken to wholeness, to holiness. To remember who we are. There is a touching and telling moment in  the story of the prodigal son. It comes after the son has squandered his Father’s inheritance and is sitting, starving among the pigs and their empty husks. It is a still life portrait of a worldly dream come to it’s natural conclusion. Yet it is in that moment of complete disillusionment with what the world offers that he remembers his Father’s house and ‘comes back to himself’. After ‘coming back to himself’, his true self, and identity as His Father's child, he musters the strength and clarity to return to his true home.

A half truth is a complete lie. We are made for the fullness of truth. And there can only be one truth. 

In the faith, the evil one is known by names that denote his character. He is known as lucifer, (the light bearer), devil, (accuser and deceiver), satan, ( adversary).

Here is a comprehensive list of names and their meanings taken directly from Biblical texts.

Satan can come dressed as an Angel of light. He is the deceiver. He is the father of lies.

During this time of wandering away I began to fall for many lies. The truth became tough to swallow. I began to think the laws of The Bible weren't a good fit for me. I began to take on the rules and belief system of the culture which says anything goes, mocks virtue and seeks to justify vice.

It was a tempting paradigm. The temporaral, physical self wants its immediate needs and desires, perspectives and opinions to be satiated, fulfilled and ratified even if they destroy its eternal soul.

Real, authentic compassion always tells the truth because, however hard, the truth is always the highest, purest, most beautiful and most loving path for our eternal souls. 

My children were watching my struggle.

They began to act out, they became confused, they began to question absolute truth too. 

My physical health deteriorated. I became ill with one thing after another.

I understood something was wrong. Like the prodigal son, I began to think of My Father's house. The days when I could just run into His arms like a child. To be under the authority of The Father is also to be under His protection. I began to pray again. I stopped hiding from the Bible and the condemnation I rightly felt when reading it.

At first it was like walking through a desert. I didn’t feel the consolation and close communion I had before. I felt far away and distant. I felt unworthy. This continued for many months.

I remembered Jacob who wrestled with the angel and wouldn't let Him go till he blessed him. 

Then I came across Chelsea's testimony and Jamies and Steven Bancarz. 

I prayed for delieverance with Derek Prince sermons. I made a choice. I chose Jesus over everything else. I chose Jesus over fear, resentment, pride and self sufficency.

One night, I felt like I was on fire. I had a terrible pain in my stomach. I knew that if I just got on my phone and watched some random video or scrolled through some pretty pictures I would find some relief, some numbing for the pain. But I just stayed still in the flames and waited. And waited. 

I waited on The Lord alone. I only wanted rescue from Him. It was like a complete surrender. 

Then I saw a vision of Our Lord on a throne. It was real. The room was dark but I saw this light shining through that dark, piercing it through, His feet were like bronze and His robes shone like precious, white gold, His face was partially hidden in a cloud. I felt his hand reach down and rest on my stomach. Suddenly, all the pain I'd experienced for the last few years vanished. The fire was utterly quenched and I felt perfect peace like I've never felt before in my life. 

After this I got into the Bible like I never had before. I knew that even if I didn't understand everything in it's pages, what was nessecary for my soul would be made clear. I became more humble. I realised how, despite all my book reading, I really understood less than I did when I was a simple, illiterate child. I became a child again.  I read and prayed. I went to confession. I went to mass. I began praying novenas and rosaries. I attended The Mass of The Ages, The Tridentine Mass. 

My children were watching. They were curious, they asked questions, they joined me.

They were upset we didn't do halloween the first year, but by the time the strange noises that had been scratching at the windows and in the attic ceased, they were convinced. They began to see the deception that runs like a string of fake, twinkly lights through the culture. They deceided they wanted The True Light and the peace that it offered.

They too began to pray more. We prayed together. We went to confession together. They read their bibles and learned to love them. They found peace. We, as a family found peace.

My physical health began to improve. But most importantly, my spirtual health returned.

No more panic attacks, no more light headedness, no more strange aches and pains and debilitating tiredness. No more low level depression in Autumn and Winter. 

The three years that followed this experience have been some of the most trying in some ways. Covid came, My father passed away, my mother began needing daily care. There were diagnosis and exams.  Our best friends moved away. Yet, despite this,  I haven't ever felt more peace. Jesus says His peace is a peace that surpasses all understanding, a peace the world cannot give. This, I find to be completly true.

And so, I find myself somewhere near where I started. The place of overflowing sinks and cups. The place of grit and unfathomable Grace. The place of stillness in the surrender and peace is a person not a place.

I share this only becasue I feel led to. I share this only because perhaps someone needs these words. 

I am an introvert and it's not easy for me to open myself up but I do it as an act of obedience and love that it might touch some soul on a similar path.

This is just a chapter in a bigger story. I don't have the burden of writing my story, only of faithfully playing my own small role in it and retelling it as truthfully as I can. 

If I can do nothing more, at least I can do that.

There is no perfection this side of heaven, so don't imagine every day is easy. God never promised that we wouldn't have trials, only that He would be with us through them all, giving His Grace and strength to our surrender. 

And through Him these trials are redemptive and meaningful. A life-bestowing paradox. Gving is receiving, death is life,  the end is the begining and the stillness the dancing. 

Praying whomever reads this is enjoying a restful and restorative christmas-tide. 

With love,

Blessings to you and yours. xxx