I love this photo and quote from Ann Voskamp on Facebook this morning. It touched my heart, and I’m hoping Ann doesn’t mind if I share it here with you. If you want to read an awesome blog, check out Ann’s: A Holy Experience website.

We all are human beings with feelings and emotions and opinions and dreams and regrets. I regret hurting teachers’ feelings when I wrote about kindergarten. I’ve found that when I am passionate about a subject, often readers are passionate, too. And sometimes our passions are fire and water.

My passions have been doused from time to time. Sometimes this water is needed. I can be a wildfire that needs to die down, but I’ve often found myself smoldering after being doused. Not in anger, in self-reflection. Asking myself, “Is this thing I’m passionate about worth the burn?”

“Light is always costly and comes at the expense of that which produces it. An unlit candle does not shine, for burning must come before the light.” Yesterday I read this in my favorite devotional, Streams in the Desert. My mood is very humble today. I make mistakes. Sometimes I write mistakes. Pride still needs to be burned out of me.

In church yesterday our pastor preached, “Life and death are in the power of the tongue.” I don’t doubt this. Words can kill love.

My husband said when I ranted about kindergarten it was like spitting on the soldier when you don’t agree with the war. This made me so sad. I love teachers and I love soldiers. But the truth is, there is a war going on in America, and I have regrets.

When my grandma was old, she had a stroke which left her in a care home. Every time I went to see her, she begged me to take her home. “Grandma, I can’t take you home. I can’t take care of you.”

“In our day, we took care of our old people and our little ones,” my grandma accused.

My great-grandpa, a widower, had lived in a trailer behind my grandparent’s house. He was loved and cared for there by his family until he died. Sadly, in that care home, Grandma cried and I cried and then I went home without her.

A few weeks later, I returned from seeing Grandma in the old folks home like I did every week, me with a baby on my hip and a toddler and six-year-old at my side, and asked Scott if I could bring grandma home to live with us.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Scott said with fire. “You have your hands full with our kids.”

“I love my grandma,” I responded on a sob.

My grandma died deeply unhappy in that old folks’ home. I regret that.

When I sat down and thought about our seven children starting kindergarten (six down, one to go), I realized I was wrong when I said all my children couldn’t write their names on the “get into kindergarten” test. Luke wrote his name. And knew all his numbers, alphabet, etc. Luke started kindergarten the month before he turned six-years-old. He was ready for school and I was ready to let him go. He’d done some preschool already too because we had the money and he was older when he went to preschool.

My parents are getting old. After watching a beloved uncle stuck in an old folks’ home by his children, where he died last month, probably from a broken heart, my parents have asked me, practically begged me to never do this to them. This reminds me of our fourth child, John begging me to take him out of preschool after I put him in preschool at four-years -old. “Please let me stay home with you,” John sobbed after the first few days of preschool.

I sobbed too. And I took my son out of preschool. He stayed home with me and peed in the yard and learned to kill rattlesnakes and climb trees. John didn’t know how to write his name when he started kindergarten, but today at 12 years old, he’s doing fine in school. And he knows more about farming than most adults and can sell you a dead horse at the farmer’s market and you’d be happy to buy that dead horse from him.

All my boys play in the orchard and pee wherever they please. And several of them have gotten in trouble for peeing on the school playground. We farm. We’re in a drought. “Go pee on a tree,” I tell the boys. “It needs to be watered.” At school our boys’ wonderful teachers have taught them to use the restroom like respectable young men.

I told my dad the other day that when he is old, I will take care of him. Dad can run around like our sons do and pee on the trees. And nap in the sunshine with the dogs in the yard. And throw sticks for the dogs. We have happy dogs. And happy sons. And I hope some day, happy old parents living here in a trailer in our backyard. Actually, I dream of building my parents a little house behind our house. Every night, they can come and eat dinner at our table. And I will walk lunch out to them at their house. For breakfast, they can drink coffee with me. I’m not a breakfast maker except on Saturdays.

This won’t be easy. My dad can be difficult. He’ll probably pee on the dogs. Right now our four-year-old Cruz pees on the dogs. If someone asked me what I was teaching my son to prepare him for school, to prepare him for life, I would say, “I’m teaching him not to pee on the dogs.”

“You need to put him in preschool,” I often hear. The truth is, I probably do need to put Cruz in preschool. I am so grateful for the teachers who have poured into my children. Who have helped me raise up nice kids. Who have taught my children all the things I’m not good at teaching them at home.

Thank God for teachers.

My fire over kindergarten has died down. My teacher friend was right about some important things and I was wrong. Teachers teach, and I hope and pray I am always teachable.

I don’t want to pee on the dogs and I don’t want to pee on teachers. My husband is a teacher and the students’ parents have been hard on him through the years. He loves their children anyway. Pours his life out teaching their kids anyway. This is what good teachers do.

I asked my husband if I should quit blogging. He said, “No,” you shouldn’t rant, you should write for Jesus. Your greatest strength is your love for the Lord.”

Every day, okay, honesty here, almost every day, I listen to the Daily Audio Bible. Yesterday when I was really soul-searching over whether or not I should keep blogging, I heard the story of Gideon on the DAB.

Gideon was this little wimp hiding in a wine press. He was small and afraid and God came to him and said, “Go in the strength you have,” Judges 6:14.

This really resonated with me. I felt like God was saying “Write in the strength you have.” But what encouraged me most about this story was that God didn’t leave Gideon a frightened, little wimp. God came and strengthened Gideon. And made him wise. And surrounded Gideon with great warriors. And helped Gideon win a war.

The real war on this earth is for the souls of men. Jesus never took on the president or the government or Caesar over preschool or anything else. He said, “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s” Luke 20:25, and then went after human hearts.

Jesus is after our hearts.

And he tells us to go in the strength we have, but he doesn’t leave us weak, he comes and gives us strength.

Praying for strength for you this week my friends.

I love you, and more importantly, Jesus loves you.

Even when you rant, Jesus loves you.

Even when you’re wrong, Jesus loves you.

Even when you don’t love Jesus back, he loves you.

You are loved.

Go in the strength you have this week.

Cruz using my grandma’s old egg beater. I loved making eggnog out of eggs from the chicken coop with this beater when I was small. An electric mixer works much better making cup cakes, but isn’t nearly as fun.