Why We DON’T Take A Year-By-Year Approach to Homeschooling

Now Elisha had been suffering from the illness from which he died. Jehoash king of Israel went down to see him and wept over him. “My father! My father!” he cried. “The chariots and horsemen of Israel!”

Elisha said, “Get a bow and some arrows,” and he did so. “Take the bow in your hands,” he said to the king of Israel. When he had taken it, Elisha put his hands on the king’s hands.

“Open the east window,” he said, and he opened it. “Shoot!” Elisha said, and he shot. “The Lord’s arrow of victory, the arrow of victory over Aram!” Elisha declared. “You will completely destroy the Arameans at Aphek.”

Then he said, “Take the arrows,” and the king took them. Elisha told him, “Strike the ground.” He struck it three times and stopped. The man of God was angry with him and said, “You should have struck the ground five or six times; then you would have defeated Aram and completely destroyed it. But now you will defeat it only three times.” —2 Kings 14-19

 

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Welcoming the wait

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Yesterday, the wait began. Advent officially kicked off, and like millions of Christians around the world, our family entered into the season of remembering the longing for the arrival of the promised Savior while looking toward the second coming of Christ.

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The Inevitable

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We don’t get to decide which things will mean the most to us, or be held in our heart as symbols. Sometimes we know, in the moment, that this thing we’re seeing will stay with us forever. Or we receive a gift, or hear a song, and know it will be linked, always, to a place and a time, or even a feeling. But to choose it in advance? It’s a haphazard thing, not an art at all. Meaning comes with time, and only time can give it the richness our heart wants to hold.

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Why Homeschool? To Be The One to Introduce the Ugly Parts of History

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We’re in the midst of the American Civil War, the littles and I. It’s a nasty, ugly milestone in history that feels even more poignant in this particular space in time, not to mention place. The last time I tackled the subject in our little homeschool, we lived in far-removed Washington, and my children had never heard friends, in passing, refer to The War of Northern Aggression,  or The War for Southern Independence. It was the Civil War, or maybe The War Between the States. There were no Confederate battle flags flying on the route to the grocery store, no markers by the sides of the road memorializing the garrisoning of troops. The whole thing felt less personal, though no less tragic.

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Where is Tigger?

“I’m Pooh,” said Pooh. 
“I’m Tigger,” said Tigger. —A.A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner

 

Squeals of delight.

Dad has been reading A.A. Milne’s beloved Winnie the Pooh stories to my younger siblings for the past few weeks, just like he did with me and Jack. Though the tales have been enjoyed by all (even me, listening in as I wash dishes) there has been one fateful question asked every night.

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