Dear Ink

My son, you know it doesn't take much for me to cry, but I wasn't prepared for the emotions I'd feel this morning when I realized it's your last day of high school. I remember agonizing over the "perfect curriculum" for you when we started our first day of school 13 years ago. It was Calvert. Expensive and more than we needed. But it made me feel like a teacher. (Because, at that point, no one reminded me that I had been your teacher from day one.)

My educational philosophy has changed greatly over the years. I could never duplicate what I did with you, for our family has changed, and I have changed. I understand so much better God's command to teach you when I rise up and when I sit down--you know, all along the way. I've surrendered those petty concerns that first consume a homeschooling mother as I see that you manage to write quite well even though you rebelled against the traditional pencil hold, and you navigate the sea of words like an expert even though I never got around to those formal writing courses. And yes, I've given up my conviction that all children should love math.

This is the moment I'd hear other mothers speak of, but because it was so far away for me, I couldn't grasp how bittersweet it would be. Those doubts are vying for attention--did we do well by you? Did we do enough?

I remember when I first whispered my concerns to you. It was an affront to you, for wondering if I had taught you well implied we weren't pleased with the man you are and continue to become. How far from true this is! But, in this sin-cursed world, guilt seems to be in the air a mother breathes, so the questions creep in, and the best weapon against them is His Word.

And His Word is where you often point me. What mother wouldn't say that her children have taught her far more than she feels she's taught them? You are no exception. You have taught me new things and reinforced those truths I already know.

You've taught me fun things, like learning to love fiction and movies and soundtracks. You've taught me that birthdays don't require cake, for pies will do just as well, if not better.

You've taught me that I second-guess myself to an extreme, and that I make hasty judgments and rulings from parent-court when I'm stressed about other things. You've taught me that two people can argue intensely about something without it coming between them, like after we've disagreed, and you say, "Hey, Mom, did you know...?"

You've taught me contentment as I've watched you cheerfully live within our means, not once complaining that our bank account wasn't bigger or that we couldn't give you more---a car, a paid-for college education, a bedroom of your own...

You've taught me submission to God's will as you've endured painful surgery and a three-year long process of healing. There was no fist-shaking from you or "why me?"

But most of all, you have taught me with your life that God is faithful and gives the increase. The grace you've extended to this wretch of a Mom, because, yes, I am, astounds me, and I know you can only give me grace because of the grace He has worked in you. John said there was no greater joy than to know his children walked in truth, God's truth, and this is our joy, too. To watch you end these high-school days as a young man who firmly grasps the truth of the gospel, who firmly clings to the truth of His Word, who loves His Savior and desires to glorify Him, is the greatest joy of our homeschooling journey with you.

God is faithful, my son. May He always find you so in whatever He calls you to do.

I love you more than you'll ever know.

Love,
Mom