No lyin'. Life is dandy.
It’s a recurring dream that pops up from time to time when life requires reflection; a nightmare for this retired teacher.
My classroom is in chaos. I’m bumbling the lecture, sensing an uncharacteristic lack of preparation as I grapple with my ineptitude and their waning attention. The more I bumble, the more my students rumble, until they abandon all pretense of propriety.
Pockets of chatter pop up like dandelions in the spring marring my once pristine patch of pupils. An exchange between two girls escalates in the back row, prompting a Pavlovian response from those drooling at the prospect of being the first to post the mayhem on social media.
Blessedly, the bell rings and the chaos is carried away on the winds of change.
Lord knows, my life of late has been chaotic.
I thought time would put things right, but still, nothing feels right. Even the weather (sunny and seventy yesterday in Chicago?) has conspired to make February feel like May. I’m confused, as are the crocuses and the daffodils.
My new mantra?
Be still. Trust life and His plan for my life.
And so, like a dandelion (they keep popping up all over today’s literary landscape) I wait; for direction, for inspiration, for that moment when it feels right again to share my joy.
My classroom is in chaos. I’m bumbling the lecture, sensing an uncharacteristic lack of preparation as I grapple with my ineptitude and their waning attention. The more I bumble, the more my students rumble, until they abandon all pretense of propriety.
Pockets of chatter pop up like dandelions in the spring marring my once pristine patch of pupils. An exchange between two girls escalates in the back row, prompting a Pavlovian response from those drooling at the prospect of being the first to post the mayhem on social media.
Blessedly, the bell rings and the chaos is carried away on the winds of change.
Lord knows, my life of late has been chaotic.
I thought time would put things right, but still, nothing feels right. Even the weather (sunny and seventy yesterday in Chicago?) has conspired to make February feel like May. I’m confused, as are the crocuses and the daffodils.
My new mantra?
Be still. Trust life and His plan for my life.
And so, like a dandelion (they keep popping up all over today’s literary landscape) I wait; for direction, for inspiration, for that moment when it feels right again to share my joy.
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