
The Great Pause™ is the gentle reset our family needed before jumping back into curriculum. By pausing on purpose—resting, reading, and noticing—we’re rebuilding joy, attention, and honest thinking so learning can grow from peace, not pressure. If you’re ready for the same exhale, begin with The Great Pause.
I’ll be honest: this is new to me, too. Mid-summer we made a hard choice that also felt deeply right—we brought our fourteen-year-old daughter home to homeschool. Her private school was wonderful; however, tuition was no longer sustainable. She had been asking to homeschool since 2020. Although public school is the right and necessary choice for many families, it wasn’t the best fit for our daughter or our current home life.
We still hope she’ll return to her private school for junior and senior year. In the meantime, our aim is to preserve a classical, Christian education at home—without losing our peace.
The moment I became the primary educator, the Law of Performance rushed in. I dove into comparisons, read countless reviews, and built ambitious schedules. Soon, anxiety replaced peace. Eventually, I even began writing my own curriculum in a frenzy.
That panic became a spiritual wake-up call. Scramble is not provision; instead, it is Curriculum Chaos dressed up as care. As an educator, I know the truth: the quality of what we do leaves a longer mark than the quantity. Therefore, I pivoted and chose Provision Over Pressure™.
I returned to Charlotte Mason’s wisdom, gathered living books and Great Books, and drafted gentle questions and goals. Along the way I found a word I hadn’t used for myself before: deschooling. Soon after, we brought our second grader home as well. By then, excitement had replaced fear.
Deschooling is a season of decompression and re-orientation after leaving a highly structured environment. It allows hearts and habits to reset so attention and delight can re-emerge. Some families follow a rough guide—about one month for every year spent in school—but the deeper aim is to watch the child, not the calendar.
This pause helps you:
It is not academic abandonment. Rather, it is the right work in the right order: rest, read, notice, narrate, and make. It is also not forever; think of it as a humane on-ramp to steady learning.
For a Christian mother, deschooling reaches deeper: we call it The Great Pause™—a Gospel-rooted sabbatical that trades the Law of Performance for the freedom of grace. The Law demands, “Prove it now.” The Great Pause replies, “Rest; your vocation is secure in Christ. See your children’s souls before their checklists.” This mirrors a Pauline method: after his conversion, Paul embraced obscurity—withdrawn years of hidden formation (Arabia, then Tarsus) before public work—so that zeal could mature into wisdom. In the same spirit, we choose hiddenness before hustle, roots before fruit, and formation before performance, trusting that quiet, faithful practices will make true rigor possible when it’s time to build again.
This isn’t a retreat from rigor. On the contrary, it lays the foundation for true rigor by restoring peace. Consequently, our teen learns to think clearly, write honestly, and persevere kindly—without the panic that once framed every day.
Begin gently: The Great Pause™ (free).
I grew up in public school and later attended my daughter’s private school, graduating in 1999. I’m grateful for much of it, yet the pace wore me thin. I entered community college because it was expected; I drifted through classes I barely remember and eventually stepped away.
Five years followed—ordinary life filled with work, making things, loving people, and paying attention. Without a label, I had deschooled myself. When I returned to college in 2005, I was new. I started over with focus and joy. Courses came alive, and relationships with professors deepened. Only recently did the pattern click: a Great Pause prepared me to learn again.
That experience explains why our daughters need the same space now—at home, with us, under grace.
We’re keeping a few simple non-negotiables and letting the rest breathe.
Every day has a sense of order and expectation, but only minimally. Presence comes before productivity; therefore, the tone sets itself. Our to-do list at the beginning of every day finishes with time in Scripture and the reciting of The Lord’s Prayer.
In the first few weeks, I allow the girls to read freely and play or create. As we move forward, most days will include a living reading. Both girls will narrate orally. Our teen will adds 6–8 written sentences. Clarity matters more than length, and repetition builds strength.
I intentionally point out what’s happening in nature outside of our windows: we notice the squirrels preparing for winter and the geese gathering for their southern journey. I’ve added more artwork to our walls and we have now collected a few beautifully illustrated classics (my new favorite illustrator is Robert Ingpen). Then we “tell it back.” These small acts steadily rebuild attention.
We ask questions such as, “Why do you think that is?” and “Where did that come from?” As a result, honesty replaces performance, and humility becomes normal.
Evenings, weekends, or a two-week half-term reset—all are valid. The motto remains: Rhythm, not a deadline. Consequently, the pause fits real life rather than fighting it.
In only a few days I’ve seen delight rise on its own. The girls are curious and engaged. Yes, there are still crabby moments; however, the root has shifted. It’s no longer dread of a looming test or a packed schedule. We meet rough moments with grace instead of “perform better now.”
For a fourteen-year-old:
For a second grader:
Behind what—an imaginary average? Our aim is not to perform to a bell curve. Instead, we want to form persons who love truth, think clearly, and serve their neighbor. The Great Pause makes that aim more likely, not less. We aren’t delaying classical education; rather, we are preparing the ground so those seeds can take root faster and deeper.
It isn’t magic. Off days still happen. Nevertheless, a steadiness is growing that feels like health.
If you feel the financial pressure and spiritual weariness of the educational Law, you are not alone. Whether your children learn at home, in private school, or in the necessary and vital public system, the Law of Performance can find you. The good news is simple: grace can find you first.
Your choice to bring a child home can become an instrument of healing. You cannot pour from an empty cup. You cannot teach from anxiety. Your family needs a Pause.
We’re choosing to anchor our home in grace, not striving. We’re practicing Provision Over Pressure™ and trusting God for the fruit.
Begin your gentle sabbatical today. Start here with your free guide!
Rhythm, not a deadline. One quiet day at a time.
October 11, 2025
© 2025 Living Arts Press™. All rights reserved | fergus falls, minnesota
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