Dear friend,
In our current stage of life, our days remain on-repeat. We wake up, enjoy a cup of coffee and a bit of time in conversation and prayer, and quickly begin the routine of getting dressed, slathering on a bit of makeup, and tending to the work and school needs at hand.
Lately, I’ve begun to describe the stage of life as “thick”, like a mouthful of peanut butter. There are teenagers, schedules, work demands, and lab sciences to account for.
Without meaning for it to be so, our world has become quite narrow indeed.
Years ago, Stuart and I created a goal for our family’s labors — a true north to help us set sail in the right direction. The goal became simply: to do right by our children.
We work to make money, not to fulfill ourselves. That money is used to do right by our children; to support their needs, their education, and their health. Our schedules are curated: to grow them in their faith, in their knowledge, and in their skills.
It sounds simple enough, but because of the years such a task involves, it inevitably creates a narrow life; a life that is focused on but a few priorities — repeated over and over again. Over time, like water over a rock, these days begin to shape our children in the way we hope to see them grow.
It takes years of focused action to bring about a harvest.
But isn’t that… a bit boring?
Let’s talk about the art of a narrow life — and let’s get specific. Here’s what choosing a narrow life looks like day-to-day (and what it’s cost us to pull this off):
Though your life will differ from mine, I can only speak to my own experiences in this art form — and I do believe it is just that. An art form.
Stuart often likes to remind our children, as they lament over the tasks of an average day, that “only boring people get bored.” I like to hold myself to this same standard. On the outside, our days may appear to be quite boring indeed. While others share mountain-top moments, unique adventures, or heightening moments of emotion or success, our family is often found in only a handful of places: home around the school table, at homeschool coop, at piano practice, at jiu jitsu training, at church, at family dinners, or around the table of a friend’s house. 95% of our time is spent here and nowhere else.
Narrow indeed.
Yet it serves our family goal well: to do right by the children.
What others may see as walls holding us back from “experiencing life to the fullest”, we see as a means of hedging protection while we continue to train up our children in the way that they should go, just as a soldier trains their skills and knowledge prior to hitting the battlefield. It is in this narrow life that our children’s “norm” is being shaped. This is their bootcamp.
In this narrow life, we are given the privilege and extreme responsibility of creating a safe life for them to train, to learn, and to be shaped by their surroundings. Much as a sapling is protected from strong winds and weather prior to taking deep root, so is the narrow life of our children. It serves as a fjord; a safe harbor from the waves and tidal pulls of the wide open sea. In this way, the narrow life is a life of not just protection, but bounty of soul. It is an opportunity for them to fill their baskets with blessings before the fallen world steps in to have its evil say.
In order to serve our children in this way, Stuart and I ourselves also join alongside them in this narrow-way. After all, we are the leaders and trainers of our little platoon. We are here to pass on the knowledge and skills; the ones who walk alongside them and encourage them to thrust their roots deep into this fertile soil. In such, we are their trellis. For this season of life, we join alongside them in a steady, narrow walk forward.
In our narrow life, it’s normal for us to fill our entire day with “menial” tasks like laundry, mopping floors, cooking food, and tending to bookwork.
It’s normal for our big outing for the week to be a trip to the grocery store or our church’s homeschool coop.
It’s normal for Stuart and I to have little time together; save our quiet time in the morning and perhaps a quick shared glass of wine at a little restaurant while the kids are in jiu jitsu.
It’s normal that our house looks a bit scruffy, littered with pencils and piano books throughout the school week.
“To do right by our children” has led our family to church every Sunday, rain or shine. We’ve taught them in our time together to be able to say the most important words any human could ever mutter: “In the strong name of Jesus, please forgive me.” They’ve seen us hit our knees and ask them for forgiveness when we have done wrong — and like any parent, we have done this plenty. In our small and narrow world, they’ve seen divorce, infidelity, unplanned pregnancies, trauma, and death. They’ve seen adults they’ve respected fall and be forgiven and they’ve had a taste of the bloodbath that awaits them in their journey as a Christian in a fallen world. They’ve been called names and have witnessed wolves snapping at the door.
Our lives are dense with labor in this season. We are focused on building up deep stability in our children’s hearts. Yet in these all-consuming years, as we hold up a hedge against the world, by God’s grace there is beauty even in our smallness.
For Stuart, the primary educator of our children, the art of this narrow life looks like a deepening and saturated love and understanding of their course material and their process and deepening of thought. They are unique canvases and to see the work take shape is inspiringly beautiful. To have a parent devote themselves so fully to the minds and hearts of their children is like watching a master sculptor at work. Daily chiseling begins to form remarkable shapes.
For me, the keeper of home and orchestrator of work-effort, the art of this narrow life is beginning to positively blossom in its clarity. Because I know in my wisdom that not everything is possible (or good for us), I am able to focus and pinpoint my efforts on the pieces that are.
Putting supper on the table is about meeting needs — I can do that in a beautiful, imperfect way (I have seven years of my work in the Cooking Community to thank for this refinement.)
I can tend to creating clean, safe spaces that delight them. Candles, company, flowers, small gifts, cozy cushions, clean clothes, and music transform “normal” into “art”.
I can invest in pieces of work that will serve our family’s goals; that is, to continue to make a living in this effort so that Stuart can continue to educate our children which is our primary goal. This kind of work — slow, deliberate, deeply human — only exists because some of you choose to value it. As a genuine bonus, our children often receive the “gifts” from this work (such as delicious food from The Cooking Community and work in Italy that allow them a broader/cultured view of the world).
In a world of highlight-reels, the narrow life may seem “boring”, “repetitive”, or even “constricting”. Yet in this protected garden, little does the world know, we are raising up mighty oaks. Just as a faithful gardener tends and prunes and protects their vines, so it is in this season. A narrow life with a singular focus; yet it is in this focus that the purpose of our life turns from pragmatism into art.
On my own, I could spread far and wide with little concern for curriculum or discipline. I could film myself at every highest peak and could fulfill my own desires from the many offerings this world has to buy. On my own, my life could be as broad as I wanted it to be, wandering and deciding at will. This way of life has cost us spontaneity, visibility, margin, and plenty of comfort.
— and yet, to die to self is somehow gain. To devote my energy and life to aiding my children (that is to say the future of humanity) is to create an art form that will continue to exist long after my bones have turned to dust.
God willing, when I am gone, they will be here to continue to sing songs and to break bread. They will continue on in the beautiful work that is teaching their own children what is good, and true, and beautiful.
The art of our narrow life is on full display in our children, who although are imperfect sinners just as we are, will have no question of their parent’s heartfelt devotion to them.
So as we continue this season of being home-centered, I look for opportunities to cultivate the beauty that is available to us:
I bake loaves of bread and slather the slices with butter and jam.
I labor joyfully knowing the fruits are for their benefit.
I delight in the goodness I see on display in their maturing hearts.
I offer tea during school breaks.
I support their unique creativity.
I love their father well.
I look into their eyes, listen to their words, and join in their silliness.
I hug them until they choose to let go.
This is the life we have chosen — narrow, yes. But deep. And I would not trade it for a wider one.
Love,
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