Teaching from Rest: A Homeschooler's Guide to Unshakable Peace

by Sarah Mackenzie

Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6–7)

We feel small and insignificant because we are small and insignificant.

God doesn’t call us to this work and then turn away to tend to other, more important matters. He promises to stay with us, to lead us, to carry us. He assures us that if we rely on Him alone, then He will provide all that we need.

When a person interrupts what you are doing, you [ought to] recognize a representative of Christ. When the dog is seen getting under the sofa with tonight’s dessert, you at once assume that God wants you to put aside the half hour you have been looking forward to (which you meant to spend with a book in church or doing the stations of the Cross) to make another dessert.

Rest is trusting that God’s got this, even if I’m a mess, even if I’m not enough, even if I mess up every day. Because I do.

That writing assignment on the plan today? Do it well. That math lesson that your child struggles over? Sit down next to him, and do one problem at a time, slowly and carefully. Smile a lot. Lavish him with love. Because whether or not he becomes an excellent writer or a proficient mathematician is not your business to worry over. Your business is that single assignment today and loving him through it.

We are weary because we forget about grace. We act as though God’s showing up is the miracle. But guess what? God’s showing up is the given. Grace is a fact. If you are being asked to feed a multitude with a tiny basket of loaves and fish, then bring your basket. He starts with that. Just like the crowd in the wilderness, which had been faithfully following Jesus for days, sitting at His feet, savoring His words, seeking Him earnestly, we do the same. We bring our basket—whatever talents, skills, abilities we have—and we seek Him with everything we are. He works the miracle. We should count on the five loaves and the two fishes. By themselves they won’t make much of a meal for so many hungry people at the end of a long day, but they nevertheless play an indispensable part in the working of the miracle.9 Remember your true task. Surrender everything. Bring your loaves and your fish, even if you think them completely insufficient. They are insufficient. You are insufficient. But His grace is not. God is not limited by objective reality. His yoke is easy and His burden light.

Ineffable Creator, Who, from the treasures of Your wisdom, have established three hierarchies of angels, have arrayed them in marvelous order above the fiery heavens, and have marshaled the regions of the universe with such artful skill, You are proclaimed the true font of light and wisdom, and the primal origin raised high beyond all things. Pour forth a ray of Your brightness into the darkened places of my mind; disperse from my soul the twofold darkness into which I was born: sin and ignorance. You make eloquent the tongues of infants. Refine my speech and pour forth upon my lips The goodness of Your blessing. Grant to me keenness of mind, capacity to remember, skill in learning, subtlety to interpret, and eloquence in speech. May You guide the beginning of my work, direct its progress, and bring it to completion. You Who are true God and true Man, who live and reign, world without end. Amen.10

You are Peter. You, mother of that little flock of children you have there. Motherhood is a mad and swirling sea. It is wind beating on waves, storm on the horizon, tumult on the waters. It’s bigger than you can ever hope to be. You are clinging to your boat, quite a distance from land now, and the storm is rougher than you imagined it would be. And then God calls you to homeschool—to step out on the water. “Come.” Homeschool? Must I take this on too? “Take heart; it is I. Have no fear.” And so you do. You step out of the boat. Amazingly, the waves do not overtake you. You feel the wind beating hard, threatening to overwhelm you; you keep your eyes fixed on Jesus, hear the clarity of His voice as He bids you come. You do it. You are walking on water.

Choose a literary mentor. I often choose one particular literary mentor to guide my reading through a year. Last year mine was Chesterton. Of course, it will always be Chesterton, at least a little, but this year I’m ready to sit at someone else’s feet, and I’m soaking up wisdom and insight from Elizabeth Goudge.

I tend to choose literary mentors who are somewhat prolific so that I can choose just a couple of titles from their literary buffets. Just a few ideas to choose from: C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton, Elizabeth Goudge, Flannery O’Connor, Wendell Barry, P.D. Wodehouse, J.R.R. Tolkien, Charlotte Mason, Jane Austen, William Shakespeare, Alfred Tennyson, Anthony Esolen, James Sire, Dorothy Sayers, T.S. Eliot—just pick one author, steep yourself in his or her writing, and see what impact that has on your reading and on your living.

I have noticed, however, that my ability to read hard books, think deep thoughts, and discern and cull insight, is a direct reflection on how often I’m using my commonplace. If you need some practical help getting started, we have a simple Beginner’s Guide to the Commonplace Book workshop available at amongstlovelythings.com/commonplace-book.

Take a deep breath, mama. This isn’t as dependent on you as you think it is. Give God your “Here I am. Use me.” Let Him carry the burden.