teacher nightmares

I dreamed last night that I was teaching, and it reminded me of my car dreams. In my car dreams, I always am driving really fast; really, really fast and it's beautiful until I see a red light. I know I need to stop, but I can't. The brakes don't work and my feet are reluctant to stop the full throttle of the humming engine. I end up using both feet to push in the brake pedal, as if my feet are the physical brake pads grinding the tires to a halt. I sometimes stop but often don't and fly through the intersection barely missing another careening car.

My teaching dream last night felt like this. There was no control. My students were in their seats, except for one boy so I yelled at him, freaked out and knocked over a desk. I grabbed it with clumsy hands when I realized that I had been the one who knocked it over. The kids laughed and another student stood up and another and another, and the class disintegrated. I'm not sure what it reveals but I feel that it is significant that my nightmares involve not being able to control my temper or keep ninth graders in their seats.

But in my dream, J was one of the students in my classroom. The last time I saw her was when the campus police officer was removing her from my room. As she ran out of class and out of building, she was screaming and punched the hallway lockers so hard all the classrooms along the hallway stopped and listened. I haven't seen her since and it hurts my heart. I wish I could hold her baby and ask her how she's doing.

J isn't the only one I carry around, there are so many. There's N, a foster child who opened up about home and life and how badly she misses her mother (who incidentally is the reason she's in foster care). I don't know where she is now. YDC? a new foster home in a new city? What did she do to get moved? Her story keeps going but I don't know it, and I am scared of the hurt she will inflict on herself unless someone loves her.

There's so many more, students who have left my classroom (where is B? and M?) and all the students who still occupy the beat-up, yellow desks. They all leave an imprint on my heart. They are hurting and confused, lost and lonely. Their aching souls scream for love and comfort, though sometimes it is hidden beneath laughter or anger. And if I let myself, I could spend every minute of every day worrying about the sin from their own hearts and from the hearts of others that inflict wounds that may never heal. My beautiful children are all worth saving, and my heart cries out: why doesn't God save them? Not that they've done something to qualify for salvation, but they're all valuable and human and beautiful, full of hints of their Creator. My question is messy with no answer, and perhaps is the wrong question to be asking. But it is the one I struggle with when I plead for their salvation with their Creator.

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