Sometimes I’m not sure why I’ve got to this place. Why I’ve bothered.
I’m talking about the days when things don’t go as I’ve hoped for, or wanted, or planned and life seems to have drained out of it all.
I’m talking about staying home with the kids, homeschooling.
Homeschooling – does the word conjure up scenes of perfection in which little children always play and learn happily in a cosy, well-kept house? Where afternoons are spent laughing over baking sessions or craftsy moments and nutritious meals are dished out constantly and effortlessly to well behaved diners?
I have those days when everything seems to flow seamlessly. When Roo has long naps and we fit in all that we could ever do, even with two school pick ups in between.
But you can be absolutely sure I also have those days when my hair stands on end after I find soil scattered everywhere, from the kitchen to the living room (just after the house has been cleaned) because someone did a science project while I was upstairs putting Roo and Piglet to bed.
Those days when I have two extra laundry loads to run because I forgot to remind little ones to go pee before sleeping and consequently get not one, but two wet beds in 24 hours.
Those days when I say things to the kids that I really regret afterward (like “shut up!” because the baby can’t sleep but that reason is completely irrelevant for the sheer wrongness of it all).
Those days when I feel like such a lousy mother I can’t do it anymore, but then I have to write a commissioned article on “Why I’m Homeschooling” (all of it being true but the irony of it on such days is gut-wrenching).
The season of Lent has come and gone and I’ve been following a Bible reading plan more or less regularly each day. I’ve needed it so, having had too many “those days” of late.
This Easter, the force of Jesus’ resurrection struck me with a particular bent. Do you ever think of Holy Saturday, the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter Sunday?
Holy Saturday is a day of waiting.
The days I get so tired, when I’m waiting for strength to return, those are my Holy Saturdays.
The days I have absolutely no inspiration left in me to mother, teach or write, those too, are my Holy Saturdays.
The days I just have to do what has to be done, feelings aside, and wait upon God to renew and refresh me, those are my Holy Saturdays.
Those days are tough. They really mightn’t be the way they are, but for the sleep deprivation and the sheer number of hours we spend between ourselves, myself and the kids. They remind me of the days I could work uninterrupted in an office and make me want to leave everyone at home, drive out to my favourite joint for a latte and never mind what time I’m needed at home once again.
Yet, the impression of bleakness is really what it is – an impression.
There will be a Resurrection Sunday. There always is.
I just need to remember that fact on those days, those Saturdays, when there is nothing I can do except wait.
I just need to keep persevering, serving and knowing that joy and new life comes in the morning.
Because it does. It always does.