And the ones I’m most thankful for are the homeschooling ones.
I see myself with my children, all day, every day, with some of those days hard, but every day wonderful.
We were together.
As the chair moves beneath me, regulating my heart, my knees creaking with old age and my hands not as nimble as they used to be, I am filled with gratitude for these long lost homeschooling days.
These are precious and they have become a part of me, so much so that I am the woman today because of my homeschooling years. How I long to jump out of this quiet solitude and transport back into those loud days, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, but always loving.
Raising up babies is no easy task, but homeschooling made it easier. As I rejoice in gratitude for what I was allowed to do, I also feel some pride welling up. Not the idol kind, but the satisfied kind.
I let myself sit in that for a bit while the memories wash over me, comforting me.
The babies grew up, as they tend to do, and left to live their own adventures. And now I have my own adventures to relive and how thankful I am for that! I have these stories, stories of a life created.
And these stories are sanctifying, yet comforting, as I wrap them around me like a warm blanket. For the rest of my life, I will have these stories, these memories as a part of me, a wonderful, loving part of the woman I have become.
I wonder if all grandmas have these stories? I’m sure they do.
But mine are special because they are mine and as the sunlight spills across my face, I close my eyes, feeling the warmth on my cheeks and I tuck the stories into my heart for another time.