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…