Giving Up Your Dreams For A Season – Part 2

In my last post I described how our family embarked down the path of homeschooling, all with great expectations and enthusiasm.

Unfortunately, the nature of our chosen way of life meant a return to England for six months in the spring and summer of Sophie’s first year, for ‘home leave’, and I found it a struggle to finish Year 1 with all the disruptions of travel, living out of suitcases and having to leave most of my resources behind in Russia. Still, I consoled myself, Year 2 would be much more settled.

However, that was not to be. Our time here in Russia has sadly and unexpectedly come to an end, and we’re busily preparing to move back to England for the short term while we wait and see what God has in store for our family next. For various reasons it makes sense to put Sophie (8) and Charis (nearly 6) into mainstream schools for the year. I am still coming to terms with the fact that we will never properly finish Year 2, and in all likelihood will be missing out completely on Year 3. Nor will I be able to start Charis off in Year 1 with the greater confidence that comes from starting down a road you have already travelled.

And so, as I pack up the books and the craft materials and the homeschool supplies that it took me five years to build up, I not only feel overwhelmed with sadness, but I realised that I'm also feeling afraid. I’m afraid of many things:

-         I’m afraid that I’m losing my dream, a dream I've held for five years now.

-         I’m afraid that I’m losing my status; the thing that defines me. For at least a year I won’t be ‘a Homeschooler’ anymore.

-         I’m afraid I’m losing my ‘niche’, my ‘passion’.

-         I’m afraid of getting sucked into the 'normal' educational system and of not being able to pull my family out again.

-         I’m afraid my children will be assessed academically and found to be lacking.

-         To be honest, one of my biggest fears is that my children will enjoy mainstream school more than they enjoyed doing school with me and won’t want to return to the dream life that I had envisioned for so long.

As always, I want to ask myself what God is trying to teach me through this experience. What lessons can I learn? How should I use this situation to draw closer to Him and deepen my faith?

But I think it’s too early for answers at the moment. All I know is that God has good plans for us as a family, plans to prosper us and not to harm us, plans to give us a hope and future. (Jeremiah 29v11) In a previous post I talked about having to go through hardships, and this is just another aspect of the one our family is called to walk through right now.

Qu: Have you faced the situation of having to give up one of your dreams for a season? 

Abide in Him!



 

Giving Up Your Dreams for a Season – Part 1

It was a little unexpected, actually, how fast the tears began to flow once I began to tear down my schoolroom. 

I knew it would be hard to pack everything up and sort through eight years’ worth of children’s books, artwork and craft supplies, most of which would have to be sold, given away or thrown away. However, I didn’t realise that, internally, this was signifying not just a move and a change of scene, but actually the end of a dream.

Let’s back up a little. When Sophie, who’s now eight, was just two years old, I enthusiastically embarked upon a low-key pre-school curriculum. For half an hour a day we would sit at the living room table and start learning letters, numbers, motor skills and all about zoo animals. As a teacher myself, growing up in a family of teachers, a good education was critically important to me. Ensuring that my children had the best possible start in life academically was not just a duty of motherhood but something that I was excited about.

About a year later I discovered the world of Charlotte Mason and Homeschooling, and as I avidly devoured books and trailed through websites on the subject, I eased up on Sophie’s academic pursuits. I began to understand the benefits of allowing ample time for a proper childhood, and instead I redirected my time and energies into planning and preparing myself for that wonderful day when we would start ‘properly’, the September before she turned seven.

Living overseas presented its challenges in terms of gathering materials, and those were the days before I discovered the wonders of Kindles, and so each trip back to England involved stocking up the suitcase with a few more books and craft materials, manipulatives and wall posters. When our third child, Nathaniel, arrived, we kicked Daddy out of his office in the house into the spare room adjoining the garage, and turned his office into our schoolroom. I need to add that he went fairly willingly (the increased noise and interruptions in the house were affecting his productivity levels) and he did a great job of repainting the walls a colourful orange and putting up shelves ready to hold all those wonderful books and other materials.

Our first term of following Year 1 of the Ambleside Online curriculum was so positive. Of course we had our bad days, our days of interruptions, grumpy children, or, more frequently, grumpy mummies, but finally I was doing what I’d been waiting to do for so long. Finally I had a label: I was a Homeschooler. At social gatherings I could now reply to the question “And what do you do?” with the answer “Oh, I homeschool our children.”, which sounded so much better than “Oh, I’m just at home with the kids.” I was loving it! I don’t know if Sophie was learning much, but I was learning all about the Roman Invasion of Britain, the persecution of the early Church,  and the Vikings.

I was soon to discover that homeschooling is not a smooth, predictable path, because it depends so much on family circumstances. Stay tuned as I continue the story in my next post…

Abide in Him!

Are You A Carrot, An Egg or A Coffee Bean?

Things have been a bit quiet on the blog recently, because shortly after experiencing my third miscarriage we were informed that we no longer have permission to stay in our home here in Russia, which means we have just three months to pack up and sell a house we've been living in for nine years and say goodbye to all our friends and neighbours....probably for ever. Consequently, I've been thinking a lot about hard times and trials that God allows us to go through and grow through this side of heaven.

I don't know anyone who hasn't experienced some pain in their life. For some it's a long, debilitating illness; for others financial troubles, or difficult relationships between family members or with friends. Sometimes it's a string of 'failures' at work, or serious set-backs in their career or their husband's career. Some people battle with addiction, either personally or through someone close to them. And for some it's the grief of losing a loved one. For many it's simply the daily grind of trying to cook, clean, feed your family and make ends meet in less than ideal circumstances.

The Bible tells us we will face hardships

"Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, 

as though something strange were happening to you. 

But rejoice insofar as you share in Christ's sufferings, 

that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed."

1 Peter 4:12-13 (ESV)

Anyone who tells you that being a Christian means that God will sort out all your problems and life will be a bed of roses is lying. The Bible is clear that Jesus' followers will experience trials and hardships in this life. It's to be expected. I'm not saying that we should go looking for them, or thinking something is wrong if God is blessing us with a period of stability at the moment, but we shouldn't be surprised when they turn up.

The Bible tells us that God is with us in the hardships

 "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, 

the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, 

who comforts us in all our troubles, 

so that we can comfort those in any trouble 

with the comfort we ourselves receive from God."

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 (NIV)

It's not that God doesn't care. He feels our pain, He is tender with us and wants to comfort us. Jesus Himself experienced horrible things when He was living here on earth - poverty, abandonment, loss of loved ones, pain, imprisonment and ultimately an excruciating death - and so He knows what we're going through. He can sympathise.

We need to allow time to grieve. God doesn't expect us to put on an 'everything is fine' facade and walk about life as normal, and it might take us a while to get out of that place.

The Bible tells us we should embrace the hardships

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters,

whenever you face trials of many kinds,

because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.

Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete,

not lacking anything."

James 1:2-4 (NIV)

OK, this is hard. It's one thing to accept troubles, to do our best to cope with them and get through them with minimal whining and self-pity, but to embrace them? To give thanks for them? To accept them with joy?

God doesn't let hard things happen to us by chance. He always has a greater purpose in mind.

Some of the things I noticed coming from my recent miscarriage:
- a greater desire to cling to God through prayer and reading His Word
- a greater appreciation and thankfulness for the gifts He has already given me
- a greater and sweeter connection with others who have gone through similar trials
- a greater awareness that my life is in God's hands and consequently....
- a greater intentionality about how I can best use my life to serve Him

And lessons I'm learning from having to pack up home:
- thankfulness for all that God has provided over the last nine years here
- a reminder that our true home is in heaven
- needing to resubmit to God's will concerning the plans He has, which may differ from my own

There's a lovely story about a young woman who was going through a difficult period in her life and complaining about it to her mother. Without saying a word, the mother took three saucepans and boiled some water. In one saucepan she placed an egg, in the other a carrot, and in the third some coffee grains. After a few minutes she turned off the heat.
"What happened to the egg?" she asked.
"It got harder." the daughter replied.
"What happened to the carrot?" asked the mother.
"It got softer." answered the young woman.
"And the coffee grains?"
"They mixed in with the water and turned into 'coffee'."
"They each went through the same trial," explained the mother. "The egg hardened, and in the same way some people allow painful experiences to harden their hearts. The carrot softened, and others allow hardships to make them weak and to give up on life. But the coffee: it embraced the hot water. It mixed with it and allowed it to change its nature, and as a result it has produced a pleasing aroma that fills the room. In the same way, darling," said the mother as she looked kindly at her daughter, "It's not the troubles themselves but how you respond to your troubles that is the important thing."


God is like a potter, and we are like the clay in His hands. Sometimes He wants to mold us in a way that is painful, or He might want to turn us into something that we don't want to be. But we need to trust Him and allow Him to mold us in the way He thinks is best. Will we be like the egg, the carrot or the coffee grains?

 Qu: How do you usually respond to hardships? Like an egg? Like a carrot? Or are you learning to be more like a coffee bean?

Abide in Him!

Miscarriage and and the Miracle of Life

It had happened again. In fact, it was the third time in four years that the same woman, performing the ultrasound at the gynaecological clinic, had turned towards me, shaken her head, and told me that our baby was dead; that there was no heartbeat. Not allowing the tears to fall, not yet, my husband and I edged our way through the queue of other pregnant women, all in various stages of swolleness, waiting outside. This baby would never swell my belly in that way any more, not now. It wasn't to be.

Practical matters to attend to pushed aside the desire to dwell on our sorrow. We needed to act fast. Unlike last time, when we were taken by surprise by the bleeding, we had a few days before anything would happen. We collected the children from their friends and greeted them without the happy smile they were expecting. Another sibling in heaven now. That makes three, waiting for them up there. It wasn't to be. God had other plans.

Wonderful husband spent the afternoon on the phone; phoning friends for advice, clinics, the insurance company, the airlines.... I spent the afternoon cleaning. I had to keep busy, and we would be having friends to stay in our house to look after our kids while we were away. I had to do something. Anything but wallow. I wasn't ready for the tears yet.

The next day we flew to Moscow, the two of us. Was it wrong to enjoy being on a plane without children for the first time in a long while? We made our way on the metro to the apartment of some gracious friends. The next three days were spent visiting the western clinic. We marvelled at the difference in the standard of care compared to last time. There was sadness, yes, but there would be no trauma. It would be straightforward and trustworthy. We even got a little picture of our baby, something the clinic in our home town had assumed we wouldn't want. A general anaesthetic and my baby and I had been parted, for now. There was no fault, no blame, just 'one of those things', 'something to be expected at your age'.

We said goodbye, physically, to our baby on February 4th, exactly 7 months before its 'due date'. Since then we've had a chance to reflect, to grieve, to pray, to question and to be comforted. Here are some of the lessons I've learned from this experience, and I wanted to share them with you:

1) Life is Hard
It's a cliche, but it's true. As Christians we can't escape the sadness and the hurt that there is in our fallen world. God never promises that life will be easy. I've heard it said many times that He is interested not in our happiness but in our holiness, and it's often through the painful experiences of life that we grow most in our faith. He shields us from many things, and only in heaven will we realise exactly how many, but, in His infinite wisdom, He chooses not to shield us from all that is wrong with the world.

2) Life is in God's Hands
How comforting to know that God is in control! Even when we don't understand why He has allowed something to happen, we can trust Him that He had some higher good in mind. We may never know this side of heaven what that higher good was, but we can trust our lives into His hands. Yes He is sovereign and all-powerful, but He is also good, and He loves us. Sometimes He wants us to pray for miracles, because He is a miracle-worker, and times like this shouldn't stop us from continuing to pray for those miracles, but when those miracles don't come we don't have to look around for someone to blame. We can trust Him that He knows what He's doing. Even in the midst of a painful experience we can see how God is in control. My husband and I will always be thankful that we took the ultrasound when we did, and not when we'd wanted to a week or two earlier. In making sure that the clinic was all booked up until February 1st, God allowed us time to find out the sad news long before the bleeding would start and I would have to be rushed to the local hospital in an ambulance, like last time. He was also in control when he cleared our friends' schedule in Moscow for that very weekend, giving us a safe haven in which to receive prayer and comfort during those few days.

3) Life is Shared
God created us for community. The church is the body of Christ, and if one member is hurting then all the members feel it. God ministers to us through others coming alongside with words of comfort, with prayers and with offers of practical help. How wonderful to see the body of Christ rallying round. How thankful we are for our sisters and brothers who willingly share our pain. We certainly experienced a lot of love and care during that week. Perhaps the most comfort is received from those who have also gone through similar, painful experiences. The Bible says that we can comfort others with the comfort we ourselves have received, and just as those people have ministered to me in a special way, I know that one day I will be stronger and better-placed to comfort another who may be grieving in a similar way.

4) Life is Precious
Finally, if there's one thing you come away with after having a miscarriage, it's that life is precious. It's a miracle. It should never be taken for granted. Just a few days later I heard that a close friend had lost her baby in the second trimester....again..., and that a friend of a friend had had a still birth. How fortunate I am to have three, beautiful, healthy children already! Every day we need to thank God for the children we already have; every day we should appreciate them and appreciate the wonder that they bring to our lives. We don't know how many days are numbered for us or our children. It may be a few weeks, a few months or many long years. For this baby its days were already numbered at eight weeks old pre-term. Let's enjoy and be thankful for each day of life that God gives us. Life is precious, so precious.

Abide in Him!



Photo credits: freedigitalphotos.net/ worradmu - sad woman, Victor Habbick - decaying rose

Sharing Pain

God, in His sovereignty, saw it right to put us through a time of testing. We were just coming to terms with a surprise pregnancy, eleven weeks in. Just beginning to get over the panic of adding an extra little one to our already chaotic home, just beginning to dream and plan and think of baby names and slings, just beginning to borrow maternity clothes....when the bleeding started. I'm thankful we had time to have an ultrasound, to figure out what might have gone wrong. No, it wasn't the exercise video I'd done that morning; no it wasn't Nathaniel jumping on my stomach a couple of days ago with his innocent, oblivious, childish enthusiasm. Our little baby had died already four weeks earlier.


We tried to breathe, tried to hold back the tears, tried to be strong while we figured out what to do. You see, living as we do in a remote part of Russia, any medical emergency brings with it a whole other set of fears and stresses. We made plans, bought tickets to Moscow, booked into a Western-standard hospital, sent the girls off to stay with friends.....and yet still in all of this God, in His sovereignty, had other plans for us.


When the bleeding started coming more heavily I was glad it was at home rather than on the plane the next morning. But more and more poured out of me. Life oozing away. The baby's, mine...I started to feel dizzy. We had no choice. We called an ambulance, and thus it was that I let go of any last ounce of control I felt in the situation and submitted myself fully into the hands of the local medical system, and ultimately into God's hands.

God sent some angels to watch over us. A neighbour already in the same ward. Doctors and nurses that genuinely wanted to help and to heal. But this was to be a lesson in faith, trust and strength of character. An operating room looking more like a torture chamber in a James Bond film, made all the more unsettling when I was told I couldn't have anaesthetic. Then my blood pressure dropping so low they couldn't get a bottom reading. Flurry of activity, concerned faces, needles, drips..... God's grace. I regained my colour and life pumped through my veins more strongly once more.

And then over the next few days came more trials. So many drips I lost count; a painful catheter in place for six uncomfortable hours; sparse conditions with no privacy; a toilet with no seat, no toilet paper, no soap, and an open bucket full of unmentionable things; another operation, this time with drugs that sent me off into some strange world where I could hear and see but make no sense of it all; and perhaps hardest of all not being able to see my husband for more than ten minutes a day and my children not at all because it wasn't 'appropriate'.

But more angels came. Local friends (women) bringing food, plates, mugs, towels, magazines and more importantly love, understanding, sympathy, a hand to hold and tissues to weep into. A group of friends strangely more united, drawn closer through sharing pain together. My Russian friends said I was 'one of them' now, and I felt strangely proud.

And so, here I am, back at home, so grateful to have all that behind me, and yet still to have the processing of what happened ahead of me. Why? Why go through all that pain? What was the purpose? I know it will take a while to find even the beginning of any answers to those questions. Perhaps the greater question now is: How will this change me? Will it harden me, make me more bitter and angry? Will it soften me so much that I become scared, helpless, useless? Or will it change me in a way that will eventually bear fruit and spread a pleasing aroma? I pray the latter.

Abide in Him!


drip: freedigitalphotos.net / janoon028