Laying Down What I Love

We found out this week that we will not be able to start the 2023/2024 school year in our space, our precious school building will not be ready for us. There are so many behind the scenes things involving a school shooting that make decision making a tangled web. Holding the space as an employee and parent make the logic and heart conflict much of the time. I understand the delays, yet my heart longs for our space. The tensions of trying to move forward have me flat on my face on an off, over and over. How many times must I open my hands and resign my hopes to God's timing? How will I know when to push and try and fight for things, and when to rest and trust and resign to our reality. I often times do not know. 

I have loved The Covenant School for eleven years now. I've had to lay this home away from home on an alter many times before. The first five years we were a part of the community, we didn't know, come each enrollment season, if we could afford tuition. We didn't know if we could make it happen. I despised each January as enrollment season rolled around. Phil and I would have to agonize over what we could pay and how much financial aid would help us make it work. I cried as I had to be honest with myself and had to trust that if Covenant wasn't doable, God would make a way for our family elsewhere.

Provision came through again and again, then one year Phil said to me, "Sonnie, we will do whatever it takes to make this work. We will have our kids go through Covenant and work to make it a consistent reality." I sighed a deep breath, feeling like we could confidently say we would make it work, with God's continued help. I hit a stride of investing in the community without fear of having to say goodbye. Then COVID came and shook our ground once again. I wasn't afraid of loosing our school community, but traditions had to change, my expectations of our community had to change. I was constantly dealing with a disheartened spirit. We all were. Press in, press on, keep trying, keep hoping.

Katherine led through COVID with such decision-making strength. How do you appease a community with varying degrees of belief systems, government entities setting different standards, a consistent wave of sick teachers and students, the knowing that learning wasn't what it needed to be with covered faces and distanced presence. Oh the shifting, the constant letting go.

Our feet were finally starting to feel sturdy again. Our leader so tired, exploring the needs of her aching body, her desire to be present for her teachers and students stronger than what her body could give. All the while our courageous staff was pressing forward, reestablishing our traditions and norms, finding our grooves, growing enrollment and our place where kids can be kids in the light of God's ever present love.

I've had to ask myself many times if my love and commitment to Covenant is maybe too deep, possibly unhealthy. Should I care this much about a school? In my childhood of constant transition and lack of community, the magic of this school captures me. Elementary years here have felt foundational to our kids and have shown me the deep joy of belonging somewhere. We thrive when we are known. And now, here we are, not able to re-enter our space in the time frame my heart so desires. My position at Covenant feeling very much ordained for such a time as this. I love this place more than I knew possible. I am being challenged once again to lay it down, trusting God's kindness and nearness and timing. This narrative is beyond our darkest nightmares, our rebuilding will be methodical, our community is much more than our building. My hope is in a depth of healing, that our community, our kids, may be empathetic world-shakers who shout the goodness of God with every breath they breathe. May it be so.