Five years ago, the pandemic erupted and millions became reluctant homeschoolers overnight. But then something strange happened: some never stopped.

As a homeschool graduate who is also married to one and has always planned to homeschool our children, I watched with interest. Fellow mommy friends who had never before considered the educational paradigm in which I grew up suddenly peppered me (who had never homeschooled as the teacher before!) with questions.

Now this fall my oldest is “starting” kindergarten (although does homeschooling have a first day, really?). In preparation of becoming a second-generation homeschooler, I did what I do best: I read a dozen good books on the subject. The result? I both re-familiarized myself with the life I knew as a child – and explored the brand new resources available to homeschoolers. Whether you also have always wanted to homeschool, or you find yourself quite surprised to be considering it, pull up a chair – and a book!

Five years ago, I became a mother, giving birth to our firstborn during the first uncertain month of the pandemic. Similar to how the year 2020 tilted the world, my little six-pound-nothing baby changed my entire life overnight – and she and her brother have just kept on changing it with each new baby milestone, toddler word learned, and the dawn of the "little girl" era. 

For many years as the eldest sister of eight, I never doubted I would someday have a houseful of children of my own. Now–well, now I’m in my forties, and that’s not the case. Lanier Ivester, a writer whom I’ve long admired, has walked a similar path. Already this Advent, her brand-new book Glad and Golden Hours has proved to be such a kind companion in the griefs that Advent and Christmas often underline. She writes: 

“We’re all waiting on something. Waiting for God to fix a problem. Waiting for him to give us the desire of our hearts. Waiting to see him face to face. It’s tempting to let the season underscore what we still don’t have, even though another year has rolled around. But how much richer it is, I am learning, to embrace the stark solemnity of the great universal waiting for the Messiah and to find a parable of it in my own desires.”

(Lanier Ivester in Glad and Golden Hours, pg.

There’s something so beautiful about gathering with friends and family to savor a meal together during the Christmas season. After all, why not take advantage of extra vacation time, decorated spaces, and often, weather that is especially conducive to cozy gatherings? Feasting, done right, is not mere indulgence. It’s a way to celebrate the goodness of God and honor His provision of food, joy, and fellowship. It’s a testament to the wholeness that is found in Christ. 

One thing that can really get in the way of wholehearted feasting is our own sense of inadequacy. 

It is far too easy to get caught up in the comparison game, thinking our cooking skills, our homes, or even ourselves are not up to snuff. While it is wonderful to offer our best to our guests, our best can be quite simple. If you have fine china and linen tablecloths, and want to use them, please do!

The first week of December often flies by with excitement fueling each activity and when the second week arrives it can feel like time is too short, the lists of things still left to accomplish too long, and we can all forget an important element in Advent: soft remembrance. 

In Glad and Golden Hours, Lanier Ivester introduces us to the second week of Advent with a reminder that was once shared with her: Christmas is not an emergency. We don’t have to rush. We can slow down, embrace the small moments, and remember what we’re doing and why we’re doing it.

Experiences are wonderful, but they are meaningless if we can’t pause and enjoy them. Beauty is grace, but it’s lost if we don’t breathe it in.

I often tell the story of my favorite Christmas as a child.

That first year, I bought a pretty Advent wreath at our local book store and began reading about how one actually goes about “observing Advent.” (The “right” way, you know.)  

I quickly recognized that Advent, like every other good and beautiful thing, has the potential to morph into an altogether less than beautiful thing. That is, a duty.  A “hurry-up-and-get-it-right” kind of duty. (The very worst kind.)

A devotion every day in December? One for me and one for the kids? 

Learn a new carol every day of Advent? 

Choose one act of kindness–or recipe to make or book to read–every day, for four weeks?

And don’t forget those Advent Sundays–and don’t mix up which Sunday you’re on! 

Thankfully, I was wise enough to stop my perfectionism in its tracks as I embraced the newly discovered observances.

Glad and Golden Hours is a companion for Advent, but it’s also a companion for the seasons of grief and longing that occur all year long.

Stepping into motherhood was a fear-filled journey for me. I’m probably not alone in that, but it was a surprise to me just how impossibly overwhelmed I felt by the weight and ache of fear.  The reality of the cliché proved almost debilitating as I lived with my heart outside my body and felt the pinch of each painful new milestone.

For months now they've been working. Churning up dirt and wreaking mayhem, mostly in the early morning when cars are rushing by on their commute, but often during school pick-up hours, too. A slew of men with hard hats and orange vests intermingling with pig-tailed girls and running boys eager to beat them to the crosswalk.

For weeks I've watched those men lay cones, put up barriers, and direct me through the chaos. It seems they're getting very little done.

I hate motherhood. I’ve never said those words aloud, so it feels wild to be typing them and especially wild to be typing them with the intent of sharing this heart secret with the internet world. But I think it’s time to say it: I hate it.