I have a nightmare

I have a nightmare.

I have a nightmare one rooted deep within the injustices and partiality we find in the American education system.

I have a nightmare that one day this nation will crumble under and live out the reality that "some men are more equal than others"

I have a nightmare that one day this will trickle down to the most precious piece to our economic/social/country's future: our youth.

Unfortunately, I didn't awake from this dream. It's my reality. My cause. My drive. Eventhough I know that the public education system will never be healed because sin has effected all things, I'm still motivated to strive for excellence in my teaching. I trample over the comments of the teachers who curse their students with their condescending advice and dead-beat dad attitudes. They can roll their stone somewhere else, because this educator will always believe in her students come rain or shine. i am convinced there are no bad students, just bad teachers.

Mirror

I want to make learning an outlet not only to escape the realities my kids encounter on a daily basis but as a means of power to illuminate the lamp of their future. The road less traveled.

I want them to some how walk in my classroom and have their life messed up by my intense love and intentional teaching that is both rigorous and relevant My big prayer is that each kid would know walking in and out of my class that they are loved by me for who they are, who they can become, and what they were made for. Presently I have this huge burden for the 'bad kids' the 'throw always' the ones that some wait to see in prison and out of their hair.

God has given me the appropriate amount of grace specifically created, measured, and designed to administer for such a time as this to my kids. A kind of grace that has the transparency of Christ when held up to the light reflecting on my students. I like the throw-aways. The rebels and the hard to reach kids.

'Why?' I wondered one day? Like why does my heart beat for these kids? Why is there nothing but compassion that comes to my mind when I think of these kids by name?

Then it hit me: that was once me.

God looked upon my rebellion, my mess and granted me freedom and gave me a second chance. He rescued me, showed me what I was made for, purchased me, now continues to poor out unmerited favor on me a: a rough kid.

If I have been treated so unfairly well, beyond what is deserved how can I fail to do the same to my kids?