Repurpose and Rebuild

My prayer journal from this past April is littered with petitions to God to make a way for me to stay home again. I didn’t feel as though my remaining school sand had slipped through the waist of the hourglass, but I could feel a pull in my heart, a whisper that was telling me it might be time again. I just needed his confirmation, his timetable, and his provision to make it possible. Writing a tuition check for two kids felt like a shoddy bridge suspended over a mile high cavern we would be forced to cross.

I’ve always known that teaching is not my final destination. That I would not retire at 65 with 40 years in the classroom under my belt. And while I believe teaching is exactly where God has wanted me during various seasons of my life, I’ve always known that there’s something else I’m supposed to eventually walk into.

This past September I found myself pouring my heart out to Brent about just how frustrated I was that I have to choose between being an incredible teacher or an incredible wife and mom. While many women can do both with such grace, that is simply not me. I’m tired of choosing, because at the end of the day, the choice is easy, but I always make the wrong one. What’s the most important thing to me and what is my highest calling?

Marriage and motherhood.

But my husband and kids aren’t the ones writing my performance reviews. My job has had too strong of hold over my marionet strings, and in a moment of sobering revelation, I was reminded that my family is indeed writing my reviews, it just happens not to be on a finite piece of paper.

It’s in their hearts.

I shared with Brent that the ghost of graduation future is haunting me. If I keep on at the pace I’m currently running, I see nothing but a finish line sewn together with regret. How many lost moments with my children will I grieve because I didn’t have the time or energy? How many games will I miss because I can’t leave early since I’m teaching a class? How many parent nights or meet the teachers will I never attend because I, myself, am a teacher? And these are just the surface level regrets. Heavier and deeper regrets lie in the belly of the ocean.

Brent looked me square in the eye and said, “I think you should quit. Some of the best years we’ve had as a family is when you were home.” And he’s right. I was the healthiest I’ve been: physically, spiritually, relationally. And in turn, I was able to support my husband and kids in a way I simply can’t when I’m working full-time. In fact, he had strong reservations when I returned to the classroom 4.5 years ago.

After six months of crying out to God, that’s when all the pieces began to fall in place. God’s whisper was confirmed, his timetable was revealed, and his provision came to us once again in that as soon as we said “yes” to the call, Brent received a promotion at work that made all the recalcitrant puzzle pieces fit perfectly.

Over the past few months, I’ve had two words rattling around in my head: Repurpose and Rebuild. I don’t know how I feel about having two words for a year, but they are holding hands with one another.

I’ve been so busy, I’ve struggled to keep the looking glass clean, and in turn my purpose has become distorted, that is if I even have the luxury to stop long enough to look in the mirror. I’ve simply been surviving instead of thriving. This is going to be a year in which I revisit, redefine, and refine my purpose as a wife, as a mom, as a daughter, as a sister, as a friend.

And then I need to rebuild. All that has been lost or stolen, I’m claiming back. My relationships, my mental health, my physical health.

There’s a lot of work ahead, and it will be difficult to hang on to the inspiration I have now for the remaining 139 days left on my contract, but by God’s grace, He will carry me through. His adventures are always the most exciting.