Hope

Every Homeschooling Parent Will Be Ready To Wave Goodbye To Their Teen

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

I’m mad at you! At all of you with a child more than 17 years old who left home! I hate you all! Why didn’t you tell me it would be this hard to say goodbye when they left for college!?

And all of you with babies too, babies that are older than my oldest baby, I hate you all too! Before we had babies, why didn’t you tell us that looking after babies would be so hard!?

Ah, yes . . .

It is because we wouldn’t have believed you even if you would have spoken up.

And if our teens truly understood the depth of our loss, many of these kids wouldn’t leave home. They are good kids. I relayed these thoughts to my husband, processing them aloud through my tears.

“And we want them to leave,” I cried out. “Yes, we do,” my husband comforted. Then he shoots me a sideways, knowing look. I remembered that this morning our teen was definitely right when she was definitely wrong and instead of bursting into tears, I burst into laughter.

I feel some joy mixed with some sorrow.

And so, “Goodbye!” we say as we wave. Except it’s not kindergarten they are heading off to on a bus. We homeschooled so we missed that milestone. It’s 600 km away and the tearing, the necessary, painful cleaving continues.

Reflecting God’s nature He created them male and female. . . Therefore, a man leaves his father and mother . . . The Message

I told you it would be that way, Jesus reminds me softly. Many years earlier, in prayer, Jesus showed me a picture of my daughters, one after the other, ready to board a plane, to soar off on their journeys of independence. He was preparing my heart to say goodbye many years ago, even then.

Many of us homeschooling parents pushed the love boundary of our hearts a little further than expected when we cracked open those brand new math texts on day one of homeschooling.

The depth of love surprises us all, and surpasses the boundary markers we set up to protect ourselves.

If we love what we know, then we will get to know these kids and our love for them will transform us, them. Love always does.

I’m not saying that homeschooling is one domino after the other of perfect days. I have homeschooled for 4,745 days (I’m convinced you don’t have enough math skills to figure out how many years I have spent homeschooling- Who does?). Out of all those days, I have NEVER yet had one perfect day.

Nope. Not one.

Just daily joy mixed with daily sorrow.

Master storyteller J.R.R. Tolkien explains it this way:

The possibility of [sorrow and failure] is necessary to the joy of deliverance . . . giving a fleeting glimpse of Joy, Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief.

And so saying goodbye to the teen as she flies off to college is just another homeschooling day: some joy mixed with some sorrow. We are used to that. We’ve gotten stronger over the years. It’s just another part of the daily homeschooling rhythm.

We will be ready because we have been practicing every day for this: some joy and some sorrow, repeat tomorrow.

We’re going to be OK.

And so as we watch them soar, we nurse our grief a little, and then flap our baby wings and listen for the call from Him into a new adventure.

And in the same way that we invest in our future by putting aside a few dollars each month, is He asking us to invest in our spiritual future by putting aside a few minutes each day to listen to Him calling us, comforting us, asking us to set aside the old, and to pick up the new?

How is he calling you to wake up?

Where to next God?

I can’t quite fly yet but I am sensing another adventure.

Yes, I’ll follow!

(How about you?)

Nerdy Homeschooled Kids Are Our Hope?

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment
(Photo credit: Blimey Cow*)

Yah! I know! My homeschooled kids look nerdy!

Look. We tried to tell them to only buy clothes at stores that cost five times what other stores cost, or twenty times what thrift stores cost.

We pleaded with them to only wear clothes that say little subtle things like “Lululemon” or “Nike”. We told them this.

We told them the kids would only like them if they wore those clothes.

And still, these dang homeschooled kids choose to wear their own stuff they found balled up in the bottom of their closet, or found themselves as a great treasure at a thrift store. (The cowboy hat phase really stank. Maybe because my high school nickname was “Hippiechick” and a cowgirl in the family messes with the cool teenage identity that still lurks inside me somewhere).

We explained these consequences clearly and slowly so they’d understand.

But they have the nerve to wear clothes they like instead of following the rules public high school kids tried to impose on them regarding clothing.

And you call OUR kids maladjusted?

Look – here’s a REAL LIFE ACTUAL HOMESCHOOLED kid to speak* on this topic (unlike me who spent twenty-plus years in public schools and public universities) and you can see how INFURIATING they are!

These are the clothes we told our homeschooled kids to wear:

(Photo credit: Blimey Cow*)

These are some of the clothes they actually wear:

(Photo credit: Blimey Cow*)

I mean, homeschooled kids just wear whatever they want!

And OUR kids are the ones with a problem?

Whatever.

Maybe being maladjusted to our culture ACTUALLY means you have your head screwed on straight.

Maybe the cookie-cutter mold everyone is supposed to fit is broken.

The most popular TED talk of all time is Sir Ken Robinson’s Do Schools Kill Creativity? (Maybe this talk is popular simply because of his name. Isn’t his name awesome? How did HE get a “Sir” in front anyway??)

But um, yeah, public schools are broken.

Maybe homeschoolers will get around to improving our society someday. They already are some of the kids giving society some hope.

Is homeschooling nerdy the new cool?

Hmm… Our family met a bunch of homeschooled kids we liked at a recent homeschooling conference. Some of them were ranchers. Maybe even I might . . .want . . . to wear a cowboy hat, after all. . . ??? Hmmm . . .

Blogpost Footnotes

*The majority of today’s blogpost photos are from a hilarious video produced by Blimey Cow: Seven Lies About Homeschoolers. Well worth your 4 minutes.

Science Proves Your Teen Doesn’t Have To Be A Jerk! (Part 1)

/ Lori Lawe / 5 Comments

It was the kind of research results that make you readjust your position in your seat, sit up straighter. Your hand automatically reaches out to tap the audiobook’s 10-second replay button a few times.

Huh?

Yup. Your teen doesn’t HAVE to be a jerk!!!

I was listening to the audiobook Your Best Brain: The Science of Brain Improvement by John Medina. Consider the following excerpt from Lecture 17:

“Epstein makes several important observations about the powerful effect of culture [on teens] . . . Epstein points to a study . . . looking at adolescent behaviour in 186 pre-industrialized societies. The research did NOT find lots of classic impulsive, obnoxious, get me away from my parent’s teenage behaviour in ALL of them. In fact, they found the opposite. More than half the young males exhibited no rebellious behaviour at all. Teens in these cultures spent most of their time hanging around their parents. They often helped with the chores both in family and in broader social activities”.

It kind of sounds like the homeschooled kids I met.

We attended a 4-day get-together with classically homeschooled kids from almost every US state and many Canadian provinces recently.

It was a culture shock.

In fact, the previous year, I attended this same event with only my kids. “You have to come to this event next year with us,” I pleaded with my husband. “This is culture shock.”

So my husband rearranged his holidays to attend this year with us.

“Uh-huh,” he agreed. He was glad he came. Some things just have to be seen to be believed.

The biggest culture shock is that all the teens weren’t jerks.*

“That must be your own rosy glasses you have put on only when you observe homeschooled kids!” you protest. “You don’t even know most of these kids for Pete’s sake!” you spit. (Wait- I know you don’t spit but it kind of ruins the effect if I say “You say politely”. Stay with me on this one.)

Consider the following reasons why it seems to me that these kids were not in the habit of constantly being jerks:

1) At the family barn dance (Can I stop there?) in which parents and all ages of family members including teens danced in the same big hall (Can I stop there?), often a very young child would join in the fray. Partners switched every few seconds sometimes, in a (deliberately) Jane Austen style. EVERY SINGLE TEENAGE BOY that I saw whose turn it was to dance with the 3-year-old, hunched down, smiled and spun the little girl in time to the music. EVERY SINGLE ONE.

Photo Source: Logos Online School Website

It was so sweet to watch teen after teen do this, it made me tear up.

These are not the teens skulking in corners, hoping for a chance to get outside and smoke some more pot.

As if this itself is not enough nails in the coffin of the myth that all teens HAVE to be aloof jerks, there is more evidence to follow that I will talk about next time.

Hold onto your hat. Adjust your position to sit up straighter and to take more notice. 

Entering this homeschooling culture, even through reading this blog post, may be enough to seriously damage your low expectations of today’s teens.

Check out this site below to blow another sock off the low expectations we so often hold for our teens.

the rebelution – rebelling against low expectations

Blogpost Footnotes

*Yes, of course, there are homeschooled kids who are jerks. I’m a jerk sometimes. So are you. And, similarly, there are myriad amazing public schooled kids. Of course!

We are observing cultural norms among various groups of teens. And the culture of these homeschooled teens aligns well with the science quoted in the study.

Jesus Longs To Guide You Through Pain (And Hold Your Hand)

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

I hobbled around, one hand on my back, bent over and twisted.

I did too much at my new CrossFit class, and I could feel the muscles in my lower back clenching, pushing me into a C-shape. Maybe this strain will get better on its own? I was in denial, but my body kept slowly bending me over.

The name of my chiropractor popped into my head. Oh right! But we were leaving on holiday. I didn’t have time. I continued to pack, holding my aching back. But again, and again her name went through my head that morning, as I was thinking of other things.

This is one of the ways God speaks to me. He reminds me, again and again.

I don’t always notice the first time.

So I called the chiropractor, the one I hadn’t seen in five months, the one I had somehow forgotten about after a season of happy back. She surprisingly had one cancellation that morning, which worked perfectly before we left on holiday.

Her touch was like the hand of God. I don’t mean to be overly dramatic but that is what it felt like to me. My body obeyed her and re-aligned. My posture was upright. I (carefully) went about my day and in only several days, instead of several months, I was running again.

“Yeah, I don’t even know how I found her,” I mentioned to my husband offhandedly, as I distractedly finished my lunch. I had forgotten.

The next morning, my prayer group reminded me.

Years earlier, a friend had some trouble with her foot. She mentioned the name of the person who is now my chiropractor.

Her, Jesus seemed to say.

My friend was reluctant to give me her contact information. “I have no idea what she’s like concerning backs,” she cautioned.

Her, Jesus repeated.

I was in a phase of rejecting all therapy.

Everything I tried, every physiotherapist, chiropractor, masseuse, and others had made me worse. Much worse. I was afraid to try anyone else. “I’ll just have to solve this on my own,” I had thought.

But with a nudge from God, I made the call.

I was tense and nervous in her office that first day.

But she became the gift God gave to me.

I could run faster, complete the triathlon, and horse around with the kids again sooner, much sooner.

(There is Another and another who helped my back a ton as well, but those are different stories).

God walked with me in my pain and His Spirit guided me to a person who used her skills to allow God’s healing through my body.

And I am thankful for her.

And I have remembered, now, to be thankful to God for her, too.

If I dwell by the farthest oceans, even there your hand will guide me. Ancient Text

Need some advice?

Ask!

God, you long to give out treasures, but we so infrequently come to You to receive. Help us, Jesus, to run to You as a small child in distress runs to their father, longing for an embrace. May we receive Your love, and may Your hand guide us ever more often to the gifts You long to pour out upon us, as a good father loves to give good gifts to his children. May we trust You more deeply with our headaches, heartaches, body aches, and spiritual aches.

Are Ordinary Homeschooled Kids Reading Books Hope For Our Society?

/ Lori Lawe / 5 Comments

It started off as an ordinary day.

We were visiting the largest city in our region and decided to stop in at the library to borrow some books for our youngest daughter’s summer reading cache.

We walked in awe, looking up in wonder at the size of the magnificent building. So many books inside!

I headed to the children’s section to seek some advice on finding excellent books.

My daughter perused the shelves as I asked the librarian for classic books that my daughter hadn’t read yet.

He jumped up, taking us on a tour through several sections and a couple of different floors of the library in our quest for books.

“These are the most popular books for her age group,” he began. My daughter scowled. Trashy and scary novels without much depth weren’t her cup of tea.

“No, I’m looking for classic books,” I said again.

He was visibly excited.

“This is such a joy,” he said, his voice quaking. “I don’t meet many kids who actually like to read.”

“Huh? What?” I thought? I was distracted by another book he placed in my hands.

“I’ve read that,” my daughter stated absently, going back to a nearby shelf.

Together the librarian and I found ten classic books. My daughter had read five of them, which we returned.

“Wow!” He was still excited. He was venting at me now, in a state of catharsis.

“You know, usually I only get requests to print things for kids when they are on computers. I don’t get to actually look for BOOKS.”

“WHAT now!?” I thought, again distracted as he showed me another book.

I shook my head, looking at my daughter’s reaction to yet another trashy, popular vampire page-turner.

“Could I ask,” he began hesitantly, “why you and your daughters prefer classic books?”

I wasn’t sure where to begin. He works in the children’s section of one of the largest libraries in our Province. (“Province” is the Canadian word for the American term “State”, Google Translate told me). Shouldn’t HE be trying to convince ME to choose books with more depth for my child?

I shrugged off the WHY of the question and spoke for a few minutes about mentors as the main characters of books, helping us to learn how best to navigate through life’s challenges.

He wasn’t convinced. “Well, I don’t know about THAT,” he countered.

The pieces of the puzzle of what he had been saying all morning came together into one unfinished whole. I was seeing a bigger picture, though I had to guess as some of the puzzle pieces were still not available.

But definitely, this ordinary day for us at the library was NOT an ordinary day for the librarians.

My homeschooled kids, who actually LIKE to read, were neon flashing lights in that place, screaming NOT ORDINARY! NOT ORDINARY!

Do we look in wonder at my kids?

No. Classically homeschooled kids consume challenging literature like fires consume water from fire hoses. They all read a lot.

We look in wonder at our culture, seen afresh through the contrast of our kids.

They’re missing out on all this?

Is this another way that homeschooling kids are hope for our society?

Ways that children reading classic books offer hope for our culture will be discussed in a future post.

Does Your Life Inspire Others To Soar?

/ Lori Lawe / 3 Comments

Here’s a picture taken just after I completed a triathlon.

I’m the one in the hat. You can also tell which one is me because I’m the one that is “fit looking”. Just sayin’. Well, at least I should say that I’m the one that looks “fitter than I was”. Whatever.

Yes! We are wearing matching shirts! I completed this triathlon as a memorial for my dad, who passed away not long ago, and who inspired us all in physical strength by completing many triathlons.

Leaders inspire others by their examples.

. . . lead them by your own good example says the ancient text

How will our lives inspire others who are watching us, even though we don’t see them looking our way? By our example. Are you awake to who God is calling you to become?

In the last post, we talked about how God often wants to wake us up to His vision for our lives, if our ears are screwed on tight enough to hear Him.

God may be blowing open your expectations of what He can do through your life if you sense any of the following:

1) God is whispering about something you know you could never accomplish on your own strength.

2) God seems to envelop you in love, even for just a moment, or to touch your heart with His invisible love. With Him as the wind, holding up your wings, He can move mountains.

3) God is trying to wake you. He stands next to your bedside, gently nudging you. He picked up your ears off the floor. Will you put them on?

What does He see when He looks at you? Ask Him! If you don’t hear His gentle whisper, continue reading The Message. Every word read helps put a bit more glue on our ears, ever ready to fall off.

How may God be calling you to set an example for others of a life well lived?

Abba, continue to speak in ways that we can finally grasp the truth that You have much, much bigger plans for our lives than we do, with You at the helm, guiding us for Your kingdom purposes. Help us to be able to hear You more clearly, we pray. Keep our ears screwed on tight.

Yes, I Was Mentored By A Random Internet Stranger!?

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

An eagle showed up in my life.

She was drawing out the vile illness from my heart with her questions, green goo surfacing, and I was astonished at the sticky mess dripping off my clothes.

“Yuck! How do you clean up this stuff?” I asked, panicking.

“Why don’t I call you, and we can talk about this some time?” she offered.

My mind swirled.

She was a random internet connection.

Should I open my heart, and the great vulnerability within to a random internet stranger? What was I thinking???

Well, I’ll start with how it all began.

I had a recurring dream for a couple of years. The title of the book that was recommended to me by Amazon matched the title of the dream.

(I didn’t say that this story would be easy to swallow. I only promised the truth).

And no, I had never followed the random inner longings of a dream before.

I discovered Heidi Baker, a missionary in Mozambique through this book, and then was connected with a handful of people who met online weekly to pray about this common spiritual burning that it sensed God was putting on all of our hearts.

From within that group, one of those ladies started a Facebook group, which I joined regularly.

It was in one of those groups that I met Aja, who was now probing my heart with her questions. Goo from the depths that had not surfaced before was now spotting my clothes and I come back to my story – do I meet one-on-one with Aja, or not?

I met with my pastor, spouse, and a handful of trusted friends over iced coffees one sunny summer afternoon to ask their advice.

“I am heading down a spiritual rabbit trail that I don’t know if I will emerge from,” I began.

I shared what we spoke about, the journey that it seemed God was guiding with his large invisible palm, squishing me together with this new group, as so many lumps of clay, joined in the spirit.

I listened to both their wise cautions and their encouragement.

And I met with Aja.

Open your heart, I felt God whispering during that first call, as I spoke with her.

I was surprised.

You’re safe here, He continued to encourage.

And beyond the obvious safeguards that we use by engaging the big ol’ gray matter in the head, such as by asking if I am being encouraged to: (1) read my bible? (2) connect more deeply with my local community (?) (3) connect with the Lord?

Beyond those questions, which were answered with a yes . . .

. . . I was growing spiritually.

My plumage was starting to fill out.

She sat in the chair between Jesus and me and facilitated our conversation so my own quiet times could bear more fruit.

And I was just about ready to fly, by the grace of Jesus.

Is it time for you to choose a random internet, or in-person connection to soar with, too?

On a COMPLETELY UNRELATED topic, we are hosting a regular online listening prayer and connection time soon.

Details will be posted soon HERE.

Rejoice in Your Fear

/ Lori Lawe / 3 Comments

The newspaper is like the genie in the bottle, a monster emerging from the words. It stares down at me, huge and menacing. My teeth quake as I glance at it, trembling. I am afraid.

I am left in the corner, quaking, the monster guarding me, bidding that I say right where I am, crouched in the corner. It is watching for when it is safe for me to come out.

But it never is. Another scare. Another news item. One crisis after another. I crouch and hide, obedient to my fear.

But when I attempt to rise on quaking legs, and when I stand, holding, as a crutch, the arm of the One standing next to me, I feel a bit stronger. But my head still spins.

Come, He seems to bid. Take just one step, my child. One step and then another. I focus on Him, who steadies me when I walk.

His face becomes a bit clearer. The arm that I rest on feels a bit more solid, and less a figment of my imagination.

And my fear, which once dominated me, returns to rest deep within the newspaper, where it belongs. It is always lurking inside there, and within the words of some others that I meet.

But I realize now that fear is too strong for me. I cannot tame it. But it can be supplanted by my intense, prolonged, focus on the One who is not afraid.

And then I walk. And then I run. And then I give a cup of water to the thirsty. And then I wash the smelly feet of the hurting stranger, the one who, also, has been terrorized into a shell of herself by her fear.

“Come,” I bid. “There is One who will help you to walk. Let’s take the first step, together, sister, brother. I will show you how to lean on His arm a bit more often, a bit more of your full body weight supported by Him the next time you fall. Don’t let go.”

And as we tread upon our fear, He is raising up a great army. He passes you the weapons that are needed for this great war: love, compassion, humility, dependence, servitude.

Only the weak are strong. And thus, my fear has strengthened me, as I have been pushed, ever more into the loving arms of My Father, who holds me as I cry. Let’s not miss the opportunity that our fear points us toward.

Don’t panic. I’m with you. The Message

Let’s rejoice in our fear because we have been pushed, more often and more deeply, into His arms of comfort. What are you afraid of, sister, brother? Come and be comforted in the arms of the greatest comforter, so that you too may be a comfort to others with the comfort you have received.

What is one step that the Father may want you to take today, to live out of love, and no longer out of fear? How can your fear strengthen you, as you remember that it is the weak that are actually strong?

Pretend You Don’t See My Mess, Please – I Prefer Bondage

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

Jealousy. Green sticky goo must come out of me somehow. I am jealous. I hide my hands behind my back. A cover-up; I will pray for you. But behind my back the goo leaks. No one notices until the puddle of goo forms at my feet.

I stand back in shock. That must be someone else’s jealousy I am standing in! I take a step to the left in horror, trying to kick the green goo off my feet, legs, trying to be free. My friend smiles at me compassionately. She understands that the green goo couldn’t possibly be mine. I am HER friend! She stands in a puddle of her own goo. I pretend not to notice.

And so the mutual self-denial is edifying. Let’s bow our heads, hold hands in unity, and pray for the one that we esteem so highly. We are spiritual. We aren’t jealous. But when we are done, our hearts pump specks of charcoal throughout our bodies. Death has touched our hearts. We won’t speak of our sin, and so our sin holds us captive.

But in my room at night, where no one can see, I cry out to God in desperation. God, look at the state of my heart! It is singed with death! I try to pray, but my prayers go up in smoke. Can you help me? Name it, He speaks, gently. Name why your heart is smoldering now, a smoking log and not a blazing fire.

Looking down in shame, I speak. “I am jealous.” And the Lord dances. He dances with joy, pulling me out of my despair to join Him. Well done, he whispers softly into my ear. And I am joyful. Like a toddler covered in mud, who made a mess of their surroundings, I am free. The mud washes off, easily.

My mess does not define me. I am defined by Him, the truth, because I speak the truth. I see myself through His eyes, forgiven, when I am honest with Him, myself, others. Not overly self-deprecating. Not hiding. Just honest.

I bring my problems, like a difficult math question to my Father, for help. “Why am I jealous?” I ask Him. He points to weeds in the garden of my heart that I have neglected to uproot, yes, but He also shows me that there is green goo in the air, everywhere in our culture. I breathed it in, and it took root, simply because from grade school, we compare the one to the other. An unhealthy system has infected me as well.

And it doesn’t matter, actually, why I am ill, or how I contributed to the growth of the ugly mess. The doctor has come, to innoculate me with His love. And I can dance again.

And so the next time that my friend and I stand in pools of our own making of green sticky goo, I can get out the broom, the one that Jesus gave me. I can offer to show my friend how Jesus helped me clean up my life, to sweep away the goo. Do you want to borrow the broom? Holding the broom with Him, you and He can sweep away your goo, too. And He will dance with joy, as your heart is revived, refined a little more. And we are free to soar.

We don’t have to hide.

If we claim that we’re free of sin, we’re only fooling ourselves. A claim like that is errant nonsense. On the other hand, if we admit our sins—simply come clean about them—he won’t let us down; he’ll be true to himself. He’ll forgive our sins and purge us of all wrongdoing. The Message

Consider asking God if there is any strange goo at your feet that you don’t want to see. Holy Spirit, set us free, we pray. May we be courageous enough to see ourselves the way we really are, so that our eyes can begin to see with clarity the vision You have for our futures, as we connect our lives to You, we pray.

Did You Find A Crumb Of Hope For Your Teen Yet Today?

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

The dawn of a new day. I can sense the inspiration.

A blank page.

A new life.

The possibilities are endless. We are inspired.

Parents spend thousands of dollars on baby clothes, cribs with matching wall decor, and expensive lotions for baby’s butt. We are inspired. The possibilities are endless. We haven’t messed this up yet.

We have hope.

But in the depths of the dark of night, on the page that has been written on, crossed out, erased, for the teenager who has messed up big time, inspiration and possibilities seem like a closed book. Every corridor that can be walked down from here seems dark, foreboding.

For the sullen teenager, a disappointment, we toss her an iPhone and watch her walk to her room. His life feels like the depths of night, right now. We must have messed up as parents. We spend less time with her and feel more frustrated. The dark corridors all seem to point to the same place, the place we don’t want to travel down. This is your journey, we say.

Good luck.

But what if his silence is imploring you to walk down the darkest of corridors with him? What if the light at the end of the tunnel will be so bright, so warm, that it will heal your soul too? What if the savior of your kids’ life isn’t you after all, but is the One through whom all things are made? What if, at the end of the journey, you find a piece of your soul?

And so we pray, on our knees, for our lost son, forgotten daughter. We pray until our hearts are transformed. We pray until we have some extra love left over, poured out to us from the Father, to give to our children.

We pray until we can find a tiny bit of hope to grasp onto, and then we continue our journey, offering a morsel of hope to our child when the opportunity arises. And we pray some more.

And in the transformation of ourselves, a tiny bit piece of beauty comes from ashes. The possibilities are endless for us and for our children. They are, like a new life, even this day, as are we. The page written on, erased, still has room for new words. Hope is born this day. And all is well with the world. I nourish my soul with today’s food and pass on a crumb to my child. It is enough to sustain her, for today. And He is pleased with His child, with you.

Oh! May the God of . . . hope fill you up with joy, fill you up with peace, so that your believing lives, filled with the life-giving energy of the Holy Spirit, will brim over with hope! The Message

God, though we have left a trail of continual failing as parents, and though our teens look back on a similar trail of constant failing, You never stop reaching your arm of love down to us and helping us to stand, again, to keep walking. Would you help us up again today, to continue our journey as parents, though we are tired and discouraged? And may we show the same grace to each of our children we pray.