Reflections: The Night Before the First Day of School

The night before the first day of school always makes me think and I rarely sleep.

I think about what my kids have learned over the last year, what they still need to learn, and what I hope the year ahead holds for them. I think about curriculum and books and experiences and whether I am doing enough.

And if I'm being honest, one of the things I wrestle with most is the fear that my kids are missing out.

Are they missing out on friendships? Are they missing out on the formative relationships that happen naturally when children spend their days surrounded by teachers and other adults? Are they missing out on lessons that I can't possibly recreate at home? Are there things they should be experiencing that they aren't?

I don't think those questions necessarily go away just because we have chosen a different educational path. I still have moments when I wonder if I'm getting this right.

But every now and then, the Lord gives me a little glimpse of what I am beginning to understand about education. A reminder that some of the most important things our children will ever learn aren't necessarily the things we sit down and intentionally teach them.

A few days ago, my boys and I went fishing. I should probably start by saying that I am not a fisherman. At all. My boys, however, were determined. So we spent about five hours fishing, and in those five hours we caught two very small fish.

It was not exactly the fishing trip of our dreams. But I watched my boys struggle. They struggled to cast. They struggled to bait their hooks. They got frustrated. They tried again. They watched one another. They figured things out. And slowly, without me really noticing it at first, I watched them become more confident and independent. They were learning, even though I wasn't teaching them a lesson.

Then an older man came over to us. If I'm being honest, I was a little hesitant when he first approached us. He started talking to us, though, and within a few minutes he was looking at the boys' hooks and bait and showing them what they were doing wrong.

He knew exactly what he was doing. He showed them the right hook and the right way to bait it. He explained what they needed to change, and almost immediately, the boys started catching fish. One after another.

But the fish weren't really what stayed with me. It was everything else that happened in that conversation.

This man began telling the boys stories. He taught them things. He asked them questions, and they had to learn how to communicate with someone they didn't know. They had to look him in the eyes when he spoke. They had to speak loudly and clearly. They learned to say, "Yes, sir." They listened to someone who was much older than they were and recognized that he had something valuable to teach them. Somewhere in the middle of all of that, they learned something else: not to judge a book by its cover.

I drove home that day with tears in my eyes because I couldn't stop thinking about how easily I could have missed what was happening. We could have taught all of those things in a classroom. We could have had a lesson about respect. We could have talked about communicating with adults. We could have read a book about making assumptions about people based on their appearance. We could have discussed perseverance and problem-solving.

They could have learned all of those things in theory. But they didn't learn them in theory that day. They lived them.

They experienced what it feels like to struggle for five hours and keep trying. They experienced what it feels like to be helped by someone they don't know. They experienced what it means to listen carefully, to communicate clearly, to show respect, and to recognize that wisdom can come from people who don't look or live or sound like us. And, as a bonus, they learned how to fish.

That day reminded me why I am so drawn to an education that makes room for real life. I don't want my children to simply know things. I want them to know how to live. I want them to be able to sit across from someone who is different from them and have a conversation. I want them to be able to look people in the eyes. I want them to know how to work through frustration instead of immediately giving up. I want them to be curious enough to ask questions and humble enough to listen when someone else has something to teach them. And I want them to understand that the world is full of opportunities to learn if we are willing to pay attention.

There are lessons in the classroom, certainly. There are things they need to read and write and memorize and understand. There is tremendous value in good teaching and intentional instruction. But there are also lessons at the fishing hole. There are lessons around a campfire, in the garden, on a hike, at the dinner table, in a conversation with an elderly neighbor, and in the moments when something doesn't go according to plan.

Some of the things I most want my children to learn can't be found on a worksheet— and maybe that is what I needed to remember tonight. On the night before the first day of school, it is easy for me to start measuring. Am I doing enough? Are they learning enough? Are they where they need to be? Are they missing something?

But then I remember that fishing trip. I remember two tiny fish after five hours of trying. I remember an unexpected conversation with a man I might have been tempted to overlook. And I remember my boys sitting there, listening, learning, asking questions, and becoming a little more confident in the world around them.

Maybe they aren't missing out— maybe they are simply learning in places I wouldn't have thought to put on a lesson plan. And maybe I don't have to manufacture every opportunity for them. Maybe I just need to be willing to notice the ones God puts right in front of us.

So tonight, as we begin another school year, that is what I am praying for—not just that my boys would learn more, but that they would become more.

That their minds would be curious and capable. That their hearts would be tender and strong. That their bodies and brains would develop as God has designed them to. That they would grow in confidence without losing humility, and in independence without forgetting that they need other people.

And I'm praying for myself, too.

I pray for patience when the day doesn't go according to plan. I pray for wisdom to know when to push and when to step back. I pray for creativity when something isn't working and the humility to recognize when I need to try again. I pray that I won't become so focused on what they are supposed to learn that I miss what God is actually teaching them.

Lord, protect their hearts and their minds this year. Protect their bodies and their development. Give them a love for learning and a desire to know You more deeply. Surround them with people who will speak truth into their lives and help shape them into the men You have created them to be.

And give me the grace to be their mother before I am their teacher. Help me to be patient, intentional, present, and faithful. Help me to trust You with the parts of their education I cannot control.

And when I start wondering if they are missing out, remind me that You are not limited to a classroom.

I don't know exactly what this school year will hold.

But I know who holds them.

And for tonight, that is enough.

With grace and grit—

Kehla