Thursday morning and we’re plodding on. I had a good lie in which was very pleasant after yesterday’s early start. Maddie dug out her Bee book which I’ve read more times than I can count to help her fill in a bee fact file. My admiration for teachers has grown so much over these weeks. How they coax and enthuse and keep doing it day after day and help little learners learn is beyond amazing. With all those different characters in a classroom, the confident, the shy, the pleasers, the oppositionals, the excited and the frightened. Continually finding creative ways of sharing information and inspiring them to want to learn. Thank you, teachers.

Whilst Maddie and I wrote about bees Liam and the boys used a Frozen themed alphabet and the alphabet song to learn new letters. And then the three little ones used their name puzzles as a game. Which might have been slightly fairer if Micah’s didn’t have the letters printed both sides. For children that consider most things ‘not fair!’, they didn’t actually seem to mind this completely unfair method of playing.

I had a mess-related sulk this morning. It wasn’t mature or kind or pretty. Continual disorder is probably the thing I struggle with the most about having everyone at home. I get stressed by the mess and dirt but equally it’s been hard to be motivated to do anything about it when it’s a never ending battle. As I’m trying to sort one room, the others are being destroyed around me.

I know it’s only for a time, and I know one day I’ll be missing them being here, but for now, when there’s nowhere else to escape to, and there’s no break from it, it gets me down at times.

But we settled down. I had a long cleaning session whilst Liam patiently played games, made flower pictures, and then I went for a run. And getting out for half an hour was good for the body and mind.

I received a lovely message from Maddie’s teacher today which was helpful in the whole school decision dilemma. I’m grateful for people who get it, who care, who support, and for answers to prayers.

Earlier this afternoon I went into the garden and cut a few sprigs of lavender. This particular shrub is a standing joke between Liam and I. About 16 years ago, before we were married, and I had literally no horticultural knowledge or skills at all, I decided to plant lavender seeds. I took them seriously, watered them, and even asked a friend to take care of them when I went away.

Of that large tray of seeds, we still have two shrubs. They have been very slow to grow, but we’ve packed them up with us every time we’ve moved house, and Liam has faithfully watched over them. This is the first year they’ve been big enough or fruitful enough to really be considered taking any notice of. After 17 years!

In that time I’ve not gained an awful lot more gardening skills or knowledge, but I’ve successfully bought lavender plants much further along and even grew a huge lavender border at one house. But these little babies kept moving with us, in the hope they’d eventually grow big enough to be something lovely.

When I was running today I thought about those shrubs, and their slow, slow growth to reaching their potential. And I thought about myself, and how much I dislike the growing and learning process.

I have a tendency to not want to make mistakes. And so I’ve been reluctant to try things, in case I fail. Crafts, sports, diets, skills, speaking in public. I’ve been too proud to want to risk the humiliation of failure. Like the famous line from Apollo 13, ‘failure is not an option’.

But here’s where I have to learn to accept my humanity. Because I do fail. And I’ve made big mistakes. And I’m learning that if you don’t, you’ll never become who you’re meant to be. Who God has made you to be. If we’d thrown those spindly looking lavender shrubs away over the years because they were a bit pathetic and not flowering well, I wouldn’t have them here now, a reminder of allowing time for growth. Reminders to not be impatient with myself and others over our failings and flaws and slow growth, but seeing how gentle care and nurturing can produce beautiful flowers.

The potential for growth give me hope. For me, in my good days and bad days, in my slow progress, and for my children. To remind me to keep being patient. To keep tending, nurturing, learning how to best care for them, watering and feeding them well, and to keep loving. And to keep trusting the One who created us, waters us, is growing us, and is ever-patient with our weaknesses.

I listened to these words from a song today:

‘I stand upon the solid
Rock of faith in Christ
This steadfast hope shall not
Break apart within the trial
I am assured His promises will never fail
As long as life remains He is faithful

God is patient
God is kind
He does not envy
He does not boast
His ways are higher than my own, His thoughts consume the great unknown
Of this alone I am sure
My God is love.’ (Elohim, Hillsong worship)

I often fall down at the list from 1 Corinthians 13. But God doesn’t. He is patient, He is kind. He is love.