It has been a long time since I helped anyone with homework. In fact considering the sheer number of kids I had, I got off pretty easily. We did homeschool the upper half for most of their childhood, but that did not mean I was never stuck in the place of nudging them to put pencil to paper. 

 

Even if my twins were of the ilk that needed support, I would have been worthless. I didn't know calculus or chemistry, Spanish or French. I could cheer in a general sort of way, and buy extra yummies but that's about it. 

 

I have read articles about parents who cross the line in terms of doing their children's work for them. Once there was a scandal involving those who bribed universities into accepting their unqualified sons and daughters. I was not obsessed with reading the coverage, though I wondered about the kids themselves. How do they feel, knowing that the world found out about the sham? Humiliated? Angry? Maybe they didn't even know themselves until the news broke. The message will no doubt follow them a long time that they were puppets in their own story. 

 

Things with Benjamin are going well. But there have been times in the past when I wished that God would swoop in and solve this particular issue. He can. Of that I am sure. Any one of the medical stabs we have made to relieve Ben's anxiety could strike a home run. A therapist could show up at our door and usher him past all social ineptness. 

 

Yet there seems to be reticence on God's part to rescue us from our own lives. Encourage, yes. Grab me like a football and vault over all obstacles, no.