Friday, October 9, 2015

The one with the dreams

This is when I'm finally going to admit that when I have a hard time falling asleep at night (which for me is about 5 minutes after turning the light out...if it's not instantaneous, then I get all irritated and irrational), I do this thing where I start writing a blog post in my head.  Sometimes that helps me fall asleep.  Let's all just chew on that for a hot minute.  My "writing" puts me to sleep.  Well.

This is also when I'm going to talk about a couple of dreams that I keep coming back to this week.


I went through all of this with the boy the other night, and he then paused and said "You're really bothered by this."  I am.

You see, school shootings (yes, friends, there was another one after the one in Oregon already) bother me quite a bit.  The boy is in a school.  My daughters are in school settings.  I work in a couple of schools.  And, while this frequently occurring spate of school violence is not relative to just this very moment, I've also never dreamed about it before.  I personally feel as if the pendulum of extreme violence in schools shifting to the collegiate landscape. The random classroom where the Oregon violence began was a college writing class.  The first person shot was a college instructor.  It was at a community college.  Check...check...check. 

In my dream, I was back in a high school setting, but not in any school that I have taught in before, nor with anyone whom I knew.  The vivid aspect of the dream comes from the face-to-face encounter between those of us inside the school and the shooter, separated by a wall of glass.  I don't know why he didn't try to come inside.  I don't know why we were at that location in the school (and entrance/exit point).
I have never felt fearful that this situation would actually happen in any of our schools, but oh, my heart is increasingly heavy that this happens and often.  In any context.


The other night, the boy and I were chatting about a colleague/former colleague whose wife quit her job due to mounting frustration.  The colleague then found himself awake somewhere in the realm of 4 a.m. and happened upon a temporary position, which he then applied for on behalf of his wife.  She was hired within a day or two and is much happier for her new situation.

My stars.  Sometimes, you have faith that is seemingly validated immediately.  Sometimes, your faith seems to be nothing more than spitting in the wind.

That night, I dreamed that my spitting turned into validation.  And it felt SO good in that fuzzy half-dream/half-wakefulness. 

And then it was nothing, no more concrete than finding myself caged with a dozen students.  There has been some melancholy hangover associated with both of these dreamscapes, but that (mercifully) is all.      

I don't know how to finish this thought process, really.  It's not a finished and done kind of a thing, no more than a scab indicates that a cut is fully healed.  So, I'll just end with this: I so very much hope that you feel your purpose and are living it out, come what may.  And if you need to act on faith, I hope that you have a hand to hold, too.  That helps immensely, it turns out.

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