Analysis of “Teacher returns”

Now in 2020, I’m doing some hindsight thinking and processing my Dragonfly blogs. .. I believe my mind was doing mental gymnastics as I was searching for my way back to God. 🙏 I am oh, so grateful for these messages that brought me back to God and His Beloved Son. I had not chosen a screenshot for this post until now, when likening the lesson to the one given by the One True Teacher, Jesus Christ, seems very appropriate.

The text from the university was simple: Your teacher will be holding his next class this afternoon. Please plan to attend.

It has been a while. After the first handful of substitutes, the school decided to just cancel the classes. Now, we’re all sitting in our old seats. Except for Irreverent Student. Fresh off his neatly kept, No-Shave-November experience, he’s standing by the door, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Is he here yet?”

Glancing at my watch, all I can do is shake my head.

“Figured. He doesn’t care if we graduate. Doesn’t he get that we need to pass his class?”

“I’m sure he does, Irreverent –”

“Ivan. My name is Ivan.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Why haven’t you said anything before?”

He shrugs as if the answer should be obvious. “It’s no big deal, really. I just ….”

His answer gets lost in a thought. I’m ready to wait for him to finish, but that’s when the dragonfly swoops past his face in a jet-like fly-by. So unlike a normal dragonfly.

Teacher’s back.

He zooms by every student before finally hovering over the stage at the front of the room and unfolding himself into the human form he takes. Tall, with blonde waves of hair under a deep purple baseball cap, strong swimmer’s body covered today by a royal blue knee-length kimono-type thing. What the hell?

“Good afternoon, dear students. I am so glad you were able to come.”

Like dutiful students, we respond in chorus: “Good afternoon, Teacher.”

And he laughs. Not a soft chuckle or a sharp “Ha!,” but a whole-hearted, belly rolling roar.

“Is that what the subs did to you?” He skips down the steps and plops himself on the bottom one. “Seriously, did they make you into Stepford-wives or something? Did they remove your frontal lobes?”

We stare at him. I’m trying to figure out what we were supposed to say and why what we said made him laugh. I don’t get it. Did we do something wrong?

“What were we supposed to say?” Irreverent, I mean, Ivan, asks.

“It’s not what you were supposed to say that I’m laughing about,” Teacher says. “It’s how you did it. And how you’re reacting. Fuck! A few weeks away from me and now you’re back to being mush-brains.”

Hope shoots her hand into the air, but instead of letting her talk, Teacher addresses her next. “No questions, Hope. I thought at least you would not have changed. You were so far ahead of the others.”

Then he turns toward me.

“And you, Writer. What has my absence done to you? How have you changed?”

“Um—”

“Don’t bother.” In silence, he walks up the steps and takes his place at the podium. Why does he seem angry?

This isn’t right. I can’t stand by and let him treat us this way.
“Wait a minute,” I say. “You leave us with babysitters for three weeks and you think we’re acting like idiots because we can’t explain why we answered in chorus?”

Then I can’t hold it in. I leap from my seat and slowly walk up the aisle toward his stage.

“Did you ever think that we are ecstatic to be free of the substitute hell we were in? Did you ever think that we would miss you? Maybe we can’t answer your questions because we don’t know why you left. Maybe we wonder if something we did before is what caused you to leave us in the first place or what makes you mad now. Did you ever think of that?”

The tears flow freely then. I collapse at the base of the steps, drop my head between my knees and wipe my face with my hands. I’m not crying, [ I lie to myself! (2020 edit). ] This is stupid. I didn’t do this for attention.

Someone slides out of a seat and approaches me. Probably to soothe me.

No, I can’t have that.

I stand up to walk out of the room and almost run over Ivan. He holds my shoulders to stop me. “Don’t leave.” His patience surprises me.

“It just hit me. Could this be one of his lessons?” he asks.

We turn to look toward Teacher, who’s smiling slyly. “Well, well. Dear Irreverent is learning.”

“Ivan,” he repeats his name. “Teacher, I would like to be known by my real name.”

“Is that what you’ve learned since I’ve been gone?”

“Yes, sir.” He steps from me and faces the class, his fists on his waist like some kind of superhero. “I am Ivan …” he glances toward me before continuing. “Ivan the Irreverent!”

“Big step, Ivan. Good,” Teacher says, pulling his chair from behind the desk. “Now, about Writer’s questions. My dear, were you worried that I was gone? Were you worried you were alone?”

He doesn’t wait for my answer. That’s good, because I don’t think I have a good one ready. [That was me then, always trying to be the teacher’s pet but never fully understanding.]

“You were never alone. None of you were.

“Writer, I saw you screaming at the dragonflies when none of them was me. Hope, I was there when you were frantically looking for guidance. Who do you think played that song?”

Obviously shocked, Hope composes herself upon this new revelation, “I thought I would never know what to do. The song is what helped. Thank you.”

He walks around the room, telling each and every one of my classmates where he was when they were lost or desperate. I wait, running possibilities through my head as I try to pinpoint what was him in the silence of his absence. Finally, he approaches me.

“And you, dear Writer. Do you know where I was for you?”

I start to shake my head, because I don’t know. Then my heart flutters with a little voice of Knowing … not butterflies, but a Knowing that gives me the strength to speak my Truth.

I whiplash my face toward his – “Were you that? Are you the Knowing in my heart when I’m trying to move through the day?”

He smiles then turns to the class. “So what’s the lesson, class?”

Then, as the good students we are, in chorus, “We’re never alone.”

“Believe it, it’s always true!” he said.

With 2020 hindsight, I now Know. These blogs were my little voice of God speaking and teaching me the lessons of the Creator God, through a little dragonfly that would talk to me sometimes.

Until next class, my friends,

The Dragonfly’s Student

Original post: http://thedragonflysstudent.com/2013/12/05/603/

4 comments

  1. Heya this is kinda of off topic but I was wondering if blogs use WYSIWYG editors or if you have to manually code with HTML. I’m starting a blog soon but have no coding knowledge so I wanted to get guidance from someone with experience. Any help would be enormously appreciated!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I truly love your blog.. Pleasant colors & theme. Did you create this web site yourself? Please reply back as I’m looking to create my very own website and would love to know where you got this from or what the theme is called. Thank you!

    Liked by 1 person

    • With the help of WordPress, I was able to create this site. They make it very easy. As for the Memes I share, I use the MemeGenerator
      APP on my phone. I use WordPress because it is a convenient way for me to document my thoughts and organize my world views. It is my journal, which I’m happy to share with others. Thank you for reading my blog. ❤

      Like

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