I shared late last fall about having to come to terms with Mondays. Not for the typical reasons; actually, I usually look forward to the fresh slate of a new week. No— Mondays for me this year have been the antithesis of what this relaxed homebody has loved so much about our lifestyle.
For more than a decade a half, our homeschool has been, well… homeschooling. This past year, the Lord graciously pushed me all the way from the nest of my comfort zone, which I had been clinging to with white knuckles. He made abundantly clear what I have known since moving to Tennessee: this is a new season, and He is doing a new thing.
So instead of a slow, cozy Monday at home, I learned to embrace a new rhythm. The dominant theme of the day was Fine Arts, with a decided emphasis on music. And while I admit I still checked the rear view mirror longingly from time to time, remembering how sweet it was to start our week with a day spent gently reading and writing alongside one another, I learned to see the beauty in the space to which God had led us, and to relish those hours spent listening to my children discover the beauty of their giftings and His creation of music.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s why I teared up at their spring recital.
Or then again, maybe it was Simon getting his bowing just exactly right on both pieces with the beginner’s group— despite having missed two months of lessons due to his bout with Serum Sickness. Or his million dollar smile as he headed back to his seat, confident in a job well done. Or Birdie being asked to lead those six novice violinists in their pieces, and doing it with such poise and sweetness.
Maybe it was seeing John Mark, who found his wings this year in so many areas, absolutely nail a Bach minuet alongside his instructor after only a year of lessons. Or knowing that he had finally, finally found something that came to him as easily as breathing, and was gaining the confidence I had prayed for through the simple act of finding his very own God-given talent.
But then again, perhaps it was Birdie’s duet on Jerusalem’s Ridge, a tricky little fiddle piece she has labored over for months, finally mastering. Or maybe her delight at realizing that she has hit the ceiling of the skill level represented in the first group, and will soon enough be treading into the deeper waters of the more advanced students.
At any rate, I did fight back tears on multiple occasions. Seeing the fruit of this year in my children cemented what the Lord has been speaking to my heart as I’ve ruminated on what has felt like a huge year of growth and transition in our homeschool, family, and calling. God doesn’t owe us a reward for our obedience to His voice. We’re expected to walk where He beckons, not knowing if we’ll ever know why. But occasionally, we are gifted with a glimpse of the work He is doing in us and through us. I think this recital was one such glimpse for me, and that realization alone was enough to bring me to tears of joy.