In the middle

You remember middle school.

We all remember middle school. Let’s face it– there’s a reason why it’s used as an analogy for all the horrible, uncomfortable things in life. Right up there with root canals, middle school is one of those universal ughs that can immediately transport us back to being 13, pimply, and positive that everyone else can see right through our “I’ve got it all together” facade. I still have dreams about middle school that involve an incident in shop class that ended with the teacher telling me– in front of the whole class– that I was hopeless with a band saw. Now, I have no idea why that was so mortifying (especially since it’s proven to be true), or why it still pops up in my nocturnal wanderings. My only excuse is it was middle school. It was scarring. Enough said.

We’ve done middle school a couple of times already around here. And while I’ll say that the homeschool version is much less stressful in terms of peer pressure and social awkwardness, there’s still the given of hormones and the rightful beginnings of the caterpillar spinning his cocoon that make it an age that’s less swan and more ugly duckling.

Right now, Jack is knee deep in the murky waters that will eventually give way to his teen years. He’s thrashing around in a body that’s outpaced his maturity, he’s figuring out some of the uncomfortable truths of the world, and he’s watching some friends leap ahead and others lag behind. Because really, that’s the ultimate rub of middle school: it’s horribly, unfairly uneven. Your best friend is suddenly there, leaving you behind, while you try to sort out the nuances of why girls make you want to throw up one minute and feel giddy the next. But your other best guy friend? He’s still hiding out with and playing Bakugan when he thinks no one’s looking.

Yeah, that’s tough.

Jack is somewhere in the middle, which is only appropriate because he is so fully in the middle all the time. The youngest of the older children, or the oldest of the littles … or an island, by himself, floating from camp to camp as one minute gives way to the next.

I look at him some days and wonder how different his experience would be if he had been the last one, the baby that it looked like he would be when he joined our family. I picture his particular needs not bookended by the push and pull of older and younger, and I feel a wash of guilt at the mother I could be to this boy, if only.

But then I’m jolted back to reality by the sound of his voice as he reads, again, to the little siblings that he, above all the other older kids, can’t live without. Mary Hannah is the mother hen, keeping them in line, ushering them safely from twist to turn, teaching them manners. Mathaus is the police man, making sure that no one gets hurt, everyone is heard, and chaos is kept at bay. But Jack … Jack is the kiss on their foreheads, the hands ready to roll a ball, the back always available for a ride. When I see this, it comes to me: these moments, this sharing– these little ones are grounding his middle years in a way that nothing else could. The fact of these siblings is part of what is making this rough season tolerable for him. It’s the lubricant in a jerky, rusty wheel that must lurch forward, no matter how painful.

Which, of course, God knew. All of my wondering and guilt over not providing the perfect moment for this one, solitary child … God knew. And He ordained something else. Something better. Something that will bring His plan, His purpose into being in the life of my son. Something that I never could have seen or planned. Thankfully.

I link up posts with these wonderful hosts: Mommy Moments, The Modest Mom, Mama Moments Mondays, Monday’s Musings, Making Your Home Sing Monday, Playdates at the Wellspring, A Pinch of Joy, Titus 2sday, Titus 2 Tuesday, Growing Homemakers, Babies & Beyond, Teaching What is Good, Missional Call