The Roadblock

The question came quite innocently.

“Why are you The Dragonfly’s Student?”

Have I not been clear? Have I not explained what my teacher does? Can my readers see the transformation?

Maybe not. Teacher is not usually clear in his lessons.

It was a summer day, or maybe it was autumn. It was my life before – my life as a frustrated schoolteacher. The windows to my classroom were open when I noticed a dragonfly had entered.

He seemed to be looking for his way back out. When I approached to help, he dropped into my hands. I carried him to the window and released him.

That was the first time I saw my teacher.

Since that day, everything has changed. Suddenly, I’m hearing Spirit more and feeling more focused. If I have questions, Teacher comes to me and answers them, in his own, inimitable way. If he wants to talk, he calls to me and I come.

And if he has a lesson, he brings me to the classroom.

Today, he has brought me once more.

 

“There are times when things don’t go the way we planned them,” he says. “There are times when the road we walk is blocked.”

“What road are you talking about, Teacher?” Clever Clyde asks. During the last few classes, I’ve realized how truly clever he is. Like an investigative reporter, he has been able to get more from our teacher than even Irreverent Student has with all of his shrewd comments. “Are you talking about the road to the Dairy Queen or the road we mapped out for ourselves? The road back home?”

“Clever,” Teacher nods, cupping his chin with a Bedazzled purple glove. “Trying to clear the muck of my lessons? Fine. Yes, I mean the road back home. Man, you’re taking the fun out of things.”

“What do you mean the road home?” Hope says, her voice now no more than a timid squeak. “Why do we need to go home? I thought our eternal goal is Heaven.”

“Heaven is home, my dear.”

Teacher nods and transforms the classroom into a primary school playground, his stage is a slide the starts past the clouds and over the rainbow.

Gripping the sides of the ladder, Teacher makes steady progress up the steps. “When we are born into this life, we meet with a committee of friends. We tell them what we want to accomplish with this upcoming life. Then, once the story of our new life has been mapped out, we start the casting call.”

Teacher stops about four feet above us and flicks his hand in Irreverent’s general direction. A couch appears behind him and he falls into the deep, blue cushions.

“No, there is no casting couch.” He chuckles at his own pun. “Everyone who volunteers finds a part in the cast.” He holds an old-fashioned megaphone to his lips. “The cast is made up of your friends, do you understand?”

My classmates and I are speechless at this Hollywood-like revelation of our lives.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Teacher continues. “You must understand that some of them were cast to play your family, some your friends, and some play the antagonist in this movie that is to become your life. Sometimes, a bad guy will always be a bad guy. He (or she) may never be the soulmate you dream about.” He returns to his climb, mumbling to himself, “That soulmate thing is such a misnomer. Everyone’s a soul mate—

He hooks his leg through the rungs of the ladder and leans back. “Always go on with your road map. There are some amazing things coming up just around the corner. Maybe that love will come back to you later in this life, or maybe not until the next. Just have faith that the road will continue and the roadblocks will clear.”

“Why are you telling us this, Teacher?” Clyde approaches the slide and calls up to our disappearing teacher. “Are you saying that even God is blocked sometimes?”

“Really,” Irreverent pipes up, “’Cause if this guy’s saying God makes mistakes, then why the heck are we here? If our eternal road map can change at the drop of a hat, then why the hell does anything matter?”

A purple sequined top hat drops through a cloud and onto Irreverent’s head. He squirms to pull himself out of it while it speaks to us in Teacher’s voice, its bright blue lips floating just under the brim. “I never said God made mistakes. I said sometimes the road is blocked.”

Teacher’s voice booms down to us from above pink, fluffy clouds.  “Haven’t you ever taken a wrong turn when searching for an address? Sometimes a turn that feels wrong takes you to remarkable places you never expected.”

A cow bell clangs deeply and the clouds part enough to allow us to see what caused the sound. High above the tallest treetops, a bell floats alongside the top of the slide. Teacher waves his gloved hand toward us, the sequins catching a glint of the sun. He settles himself between the edges of the slide, crosses himself and lets go. His screams of glee follow him down until the slightly sloped slide launches him into a deep pile of feathers. He giggles, finally taking a solid breath before continuing the lesson.

“And, sometimes, the Big Guy clears the roadblocks in the most amazing way.” He turns to me. “One day he may open a window and a dragonfly flies in.”

 

Until next time, dear friends.

The Dragonfly’s Student

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