Don’t Just “Trust the Process”

“Trust the process!” I’ve heard veteran homeschool mamas blithely chirp. I think I know what they mean—much of Charlotte Mason’s philosophy seems radical compared to today’s educational methods. Are we wise to buck the establishment? And on Monday morning when our starry-eyed efforts end in tears all round we can only cling to faith that somehow everything’s going to turn out okay.

But rather than trusting the process, I’ve found questioning the process far more helpful. After all, if the process is all it’s cracked up to be, surely it can withstand a little questioning. As I Thess. 5:21 exhorts, “Examine all things; hold fast to what is good.”

Here are three areas I’ve subjected to relentless questioning:

1. Narration – so we really just tell it back?

From the first, I loved CM’s focus on living books, nature, handicrafts – all the things that had been best about my own childhood. But narration struck me as odd and well, rather boring. What was the point of kids parroting back what they read?

My doubts were eased not one wit by my daughter’s allergic reaction to narration. I’ll never forget the dark day when she couldn’t narrate one single line from D’Aulaire’s Pocohontas – that beautifully illustrated, stellar work that homeschoolers far and wide rave over. Catastrophe, disaster! This called for drastic action!

When I started looking for alternatives to narration, I found plenty of options. We could try discussion questions, lapbooking, worksheets. We could just read and say that the book is enough.  We could make sugar cube pyramids and cardboard box Viking ships and Abraham Lincoln beards.

We tried projects until I ran out of strength for our perpetually messy school table. And somehow I couldn’t escape the feeling that projects should be the icing and not the entire cake. Discussion questions seemed a reasonable next step, until I realized how ridiculous I would feel asking my first grader “How would you change the ending of this story if you were writing it?”

No matter how I longed for something flashier, I found myself inexorably drawn back to narration. One day as I cleaned out our school cabinet I came across some narration notebook pages the girls had made back when I believed in narration. Shocked, I realized they were my favorite things we did all year. These narration pages were entirely the girls’ own creations, their thinking, their comprehension, free from adult mediation.

In the midst of all this, my friends and I started a book club. Our discussions included healthy doses of narrating our readings to one another. By narrating for myself, I discovered why narration works: it helps you see all there is to see. I came to believe that narration actually is just closely observing a literary work, artwork, musical composition, or nature. Articulating what we noticed helps us truly know and understand the work we observed.

The best part is how narration opens windows on the world by taking our eyes off ourselves. As  Cindy Rollins says on the New Mason Jar podcast:

“Narration is not about our opinion of the book, it’s not about our feelings about the book, it’s not about where we find ourselves in the book. Those things all happen organically, but that is not what a…narration is about…It is about the actual writings of the book and what the author said in the book.”

I thought back to my experiences teaching freshman English composition classes. How swift my students had been to propound their own opinions but how ill-prepared to grapple with the text’s ideas. If narration served as antidote to this epidemic of self-centered reading, I was willing to commit!

Narration in our homeschool still wasn’t smooth sailing, but over time, my girls matured as narrators and I felt truly impressed at their detailed retellings. I had questioned the process; the process held up; and now I could implement narration with confidence and joy.   

2. The Coziness Myth

I began homeschooling with rosy visions of read-alouds on the couch accompanied by cups of hot chocolate, spellbound children snuggled beside me. When we actually started homeschooling I scheduled our days according to Charlotte’s wisdom – short and varied lessons. The schedule flowed smoothly from subject to subject with a sense of order, balance, and peace.  

Not able to leave well enough alone, I began to tinker. Sure, an orderly rhythm is fine and dandy, but what about coziness? What about those dreams of homeschooling as one big pajama party reading on the couch?

For a few weeks, I tried the relaxed approach. After getting math out of the way, we piled on the couch with a heap of books. The girls were allowed to draw or do a craft while I read to them. Before long, I realized instead of feeling cozier, school simply felt disheveled. The girls couldn’t concentrate on reading while doing another activity. The longer reading time made them restless. Because we couldn’t narrate longer readings well, the information congealed into one big mushy lump in our brains.

Turned out Charlotte was right, but I felt sad admitting defeat until I heard Donna Jean Breckenridge, an AmblesideOnline advisory member, say in a talk that the goodness is “baked in.” The books were bursting with truth, beauty, goodness, and even coziness. Reading them would bring us all those things whether or not I fabricated an elaborate atmosphere to enjoy them in. Instead of worrying about what we could do with the books, what we could add to them, we simply needed to steep in their richness through a banquet of short, varied lessons.

3. We have to do ALL the things ALL the time.

Swedish drill, Solfa, Sloyd – say what? Charlotte Mason indeed offers a generous feast, but sometimes I choose to serve fewer dishes on the banquet table. When I follow a beef stew recipe, I include the basics – meat, broth, potatoes, veggies – but personally, I think thyme tastes like dirt so I toss in oregano instead. I believe this area of how many subjects and how much of each subject to include can only be approached prayerfully. There are seasons when we can do more and seasons that call for paring back.

I’ve learned the hard way that some things must be scheduled and others work better when they happen organically. I tried to force handicrafts until the day I watched my girls, of their own accord, sew a procession of stuffed guinea pigs. I realized they enjoyed sewing when given freedom, had their own creative ideas, and would ask for my help as needed. Now they’ve started a craft club with their friends, minimal adult invasion welcomed.

I’ve also realized I’m not the best teacher to teach them everything. I play piano a little, but they’ll learn much more from a professional. I don’t know anything about drawing, so I farm that out to their co-op. I can’t do everything, so I have to pray about what God would have me do in each season of our lives. He promised His grace would be sufficient in my weakness.

In all our questioning, may we be encouraged that when we honestly seek truth, God promises, “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it,” (Isaiah 30:21).