One winter day, a homeschool family called. They’d tired of examining a frog and mudpuppy another family found in their bag of ice fishing minnows. If we didn’t take the specimens next, they’d be experimental bait. When I saw the unfortunate pair held up in their transparent bag of clear water, utterly vulnerable as
We were thrilled with our firstborn, but whenever people congratulated us, they usually added, “Enjoy your time with her. Soon she’ll be in school, and you’ll be writing again.” Sure, I’d silently retort, in about eighteen years. God had clearly blessed us with our daughter. He’d also made it clear we were to homeschool
For generations, our ancestral farmhouse collected generational stuff, until little paths wound through it. My grandma dropped by shortly after my husband and I moved in. I was mortified, but all she reported to my mother was how nice the brown cloth looked on our table, the one spot I’d managed to carve from
One Sunday we actually made it to church early, and an elderly saint asked how homeschooling was going. I admitted that some days we didn’t seem to accomplish a thing. “Did you read them the Bible?” she asked. “Yes.” “Then you did accomplish something.” The truth of her words resonated, strengthening with time. At