Grace for Tomorrow

I always said I’d never be one of those parents crying as my children grew up. I never posted videos of them learning to walk with the caption, “Stop growing up so fast!” I declared I would not be the mother crying by the bus stop or hiding her tears at the back door window. I told people that whenever my children took on another developmental milestone, I cried tears of relief and thought about how we could move along to the next one step.

But today, with my oldest preparing for grade primary (or kindergarten, as Americans call it), I feel a heaviness in my chest—not because he’s getting older, but because part of my preparation has involved cleaning out homeschool paraphernalia that I had stocked up and put together over the past year. I’m fighting tears as I think about my oldest going to school and learning without me. 

I know homeschooling isn’t for everyone, but I felt as if I was born for it. When I was a child, I played school after getting home from school, even creating worksheets for my stuffed animals and friends. When tests and exams came along, I typed up all my notes and created flashcards that I would distribute and share with my classmates. As soon as I was engaged, I planned how I would homeschool my children. Charlotte Mason is my hero (just take a look at my writing archives and see how often her name pops up). I already have a three-inch binder stuffed with material. I’ve read several homeschooling books and can tell you the best homeschooling podcasts and Instagrammers out there—and my oldest is only five. 

Why on earth am I giving up this dream? I didn’t have a choice when our life changed and financial needs grew. I knew I needed to devote more time to my freelance and writing career to help supply for the extra costs in our home, and so with a clenched hand and tears soaking my collar, I handed over my homeschooling dream to public school. 

Maybe I sound dramatic, but don’t you have dreams that were whisked away from you and dropped down a bottomless pit where you could no longer even see them? Haven’t you clung to a longing until it was forcefully wrenched from your hands? Isn’t this a human experience all of us face? We all lose things, and when we lose something, our hoped-for future is forever changed—whether in a small or giant way. 

Many changes and unknowns have jolted me in the past few years. Twins. Autism. Mental health struggles. Anaphylactic allergies. Church changes. As I’ve faced each one, my beloved siblings in Christ, both local and distant, have reminded me of the same truth: God gives grace for today, and He will give you grace as you need it. But you must trust Him that He will.

This reality is all over Scripture. The Sabbath, instituted during Creation, tells us to rest for one day out of seven, trusting God that He will provide while we hold still. Sleep—precious, necessary sleep—is a daily ritual in which we lay down and trust God to provide while we submit to the bodies He created. Consider the Israelites in the wilderness who relied on God to provide only enough manna for each day and enough for two days on the sixth day so they could keep the Sabbath. 

Jesus Himself declared, “Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” [1] Or, as Eugene Peterson paraphrased it, “Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes.” [2]

I want to grasp tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. I want to coil my fingers around those days and weave them full of solutions and with my own forms of providence. Yet God says to trust His grace, that it will not be empty but be sufficient, even though the days look so bleak and unknown without my dream unfolding ahead of me. 

Much about homeschooling made me feel in control. I had my hands on the edges of my children’s destinies. Now I know it was only an illusion I created to comfort myself. God is unrolling the scroll of their destinies, and He promises His grace goes before me—despite whatever may be written on that scroll. I want to take my pen to alter its wording and read ahead to make sure all is as it should be, but each day as I prepare for public school with supplies, backpacks, and conversations with my child, God takes me by the shoulders and reminds me of His grace and calling for today. 

What do I have in front of me today? I have tears brimming in my eyelids and a nervous five-year-old. God tells me to tend to that with prayer, lament, joy, His church, and reliance on His grace. I cannot grasp the grace for tomorrow, but I can use the grace today to find peace that He will provide it again. 

[1] Matt. 6:34 (English Standard Version)

[2] The Message

The featured image, “Enter His Gates_Wales,” is courtesy of Lancia E. Smith and is used with her glad permission for Cultivating.

Lara d'Entremont

Lara d’Entremont is first a wife and a mom to three little wildlings in rural Nova Scotia, Canada. While the wildlings snore, she primarily writes—whether it be personal essays, creative nonfiction, or fantasy novels. She desires to weave the stories between faith and fiction, theology and praxis, for women who feel as if these pieces of them are always at odds. Her first book, A Mother Held, is a collection of essays on the early days of motherhood and anxiety. Much of her writing is inspired by the forest and ocean that surround her, and her little ones that remind her to stop and see it. 

www.laradentremont.com