My mom has these themes in her conversations and lectures. I suppose all moms do. But, until recently I haven’t always listened. It used to be my attention was all on the mistake that was pre-requisite to the lecture or on what I had to say.
Moms tell stories. I don’t just mean the ones they tell over and over which we children have catalogued and numbered. They place you in their Story by saying this is what God did and how He did it in my life. So listen up and look out. God’s going to do the same for you.
I come crying to her, frustrated. I know what I want to do with my life. I know what God wants people to have. Why can’t I do it right now?
She tells me of her trying to learn how to homeschool us. By the time she understands how to teach a certain age group, we’ve grown up. Why would God teach this to her if she can’t use it?
Along come two children who need help outside of their family in their homeschool journey. They’re hurting, attention starved, and behind in their studies. What does God know right?
I almost have it figured out. Then we have to move to another city to live with people I barely know. I’m whining again.
She’s been sick for several years, but she’s better now. She reminds me of all the library books she poured over and all the HGTV shows she indulged on during that time. She says, maybe she needed that education to make this new house work.
I keep rambling about teaching children who want to learn, Africa and Katie Davis, Kentucky and one room schoolhouses, teaching children to make connections, to know the Story they are living-because it’s the one God wrote. I talk and talk about teaching children to know their gifts and bents and showing them how they fit in the Kingdom.
We move again, this time it’s just family – but someone important is missing. He’s not here. She’s got another house to use her education on. I’m confused and angry.
I get a phone call about teaching a co-op music class. This is not what I want to teach for the rest of my life. I want to teach more than music, do more. I’m an English major, ok.
I take the opportunity. The conversation is supposed to be over. This other mom on the phone tells me of a church school that provides free Christian education for children from broken homes. She wants me to come hang out. She wants me to be involved.
A dream. Seven Years. Three homes and countless heartbreaks. It’s here.
God gives us gifts and then makes us wait before we see the manifestation. He knows we need things besides that one gift that we would rather ignore. He forces us to learn and gain what is necessary. We think we can work out His great plan all by ourselves because God gave us the idea. He has to get the other people ready. Gifts don’t work well with the old man. He has to break us, crush us, transform us.
He writes better than we do. Much better.
He also tells them very well. We just have to realize our storyteller has been sitting there all along.