photo credit: en.wikipedia.com

There have been so many in the 20 years of education I’ve had. The concrete block halls of my elementary school, cheerfully bedecked with apples and kids’ drawings and creative bulletin boards. And then the similarly structured high school halls, devoid of artwork and covered with lockers and more graffiti than the administration allowed. That gave way to the much more beautiful (and expensive) buildings of the midwestern Christian college I attended – fall leaves on the front lawn at the foot of the limestone bell tower that chimed regularly and rang a lot in the spring with each engaged couple who ascended its heights to announce their joy.

But which school has been most instructive? Probably not any of these buildings, per se. They were an important launch into a lifetime of learning. I have been schooled about my heart and in the most crucial of lessons (love) in the four walls of home. My own home in which I grew up with my parents and two younger brothers, and now the home I cultivate alongside my husband with our twin daughters.

This gives a new meaning to the term “home school.”

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Part of a 31-day October writing challenge. Read the series here.