Spiritual Journey Thursday: Shall we dance?

 

I danced in the morning when the world was begun,

And I danced in the moon and the stars and the sun,

And I came down from heaven and I danced on the earth:

At Bethlehem I had my birth.

Dance, then, wherever you may be,

I am the Lord of the dance, said he,

And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be,

And I'll lead you all in the dance, said he.

I danced for the scribe and the Pharisee,

But they would not dance and they wouldn't follow me;

I danced for the fishermen, for James and John;

They came with me and the dance went on:

Dance, then, wherever you may be,

I am the Lord of the dance, said he,

And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be,

And I'll lead you all in the dance, said he.

I danced on the Sabbath and I cured the lame:

The holy people said it was a shame.

They whipped and they stripped and they hung me on high,

And they left me there on a cross to die:

Dance, then, wherever you may be,

I am the Lord of the dance, said he,

And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be,

And I'll lead you all in the dance, said he.

I danced on a Friday when the sky turned black;

It's hard to dance with the devil on your back.

They buried my body and they thought I'd gone;

But I am the dance, and I still go on:

Dance, then, wherever you may be,

I am the Lord of the dance, said he,

And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be,

And I'll lead you all in the dance, said he.

They cut me down and I leapt up high;

I am the life that'll never, never die.

I'll live in you if you'll live in me:

I am the Lord of the dance, said he.

Dance, then, wherever you may be,

I am the Lord of the dance, said he,

And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be,

And I'll lead you all in the dance, said he.

--Lyrics by Sydney Carter, 1963

May...

Maypole dances

Spring into Summer

pastel to neon Creation

you can almost see 

the flowers blossom

beneath unseen feet

dancing 

under a joyful sun

shaking off the ashes

of darkened days

those feet leaping high

so very, very high

melting into the

blazing sunlight

until you can't

see them anymore.

You let out a whoop,

your heart filled

with love and delight

privileged to play

in the garden of the Creator,

the Lord of the Dance.

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free,

'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gain'd,

To bow and to bend we will not be asham'd,

To turn, turn will be our delight,

Till by turning, turning we come round right.

--Elder Joseph Brackett, 1848

SJT writing circle, I hope this music and my humble offering of poetry inspires your own thoughts on "Shall we dance?".

Tuesday Slice: Card circles

 

Back when the year was

barely half-a-day old

I drew my cards

Two for each month

one crystal, one wisdom

Not fortune-telling, but

lenses, ways to view

life and problems and

opportunities

I start each month 

looking at the images

seeing how they fit

my circumstances

or how they don't

the latter suggesting

change, or at least

a new perspective

This month

both cards are

circles

Wheel of Fortune

and

Round and Round

Together they offer

opportunities to change,

reexamining cycles

breaking habits 

that don't benefit me

anymore, or at least

for right now

I'm starting with

deleting emails

about 

summer

professional 

development

ignoring

extra-duty

summer

signups

Breaking the cycle

of unpaid work

in June, July...

though I know it 

will happen,

anyway.

It always does,

because there's always

more to do.

Tuesday Slice: Figuring it out

 

Last Tuesday, the day before attending our annual Texas Library Association conference, I wrote about not knowing if I wanted to continue working in a school library.  We had received word the previous week that we were losing our library assistants, and the state legislature was astoundingly moving forward with bills impeding intellectual freedoms.  Feeling attacked by systems over my pay grade, I was considering jumping what felt like a sinking ship.  I am, after all, eligible to retire.

But.  (You knew that was coming, right?)

I went to the conference, my first in-person in three years.  I was surrounded by like-minded professionals who believe in the right to read widely, promoting diversity in literature and safe spaces in libraries.  Three-and-a-half days of peopling among my people, exhausting for this introvert but filling my librarian heart.  Two days into the conference, we found out that some of the assistant positions were given back, and I was among the lucky few due to working on a Title I campus.

Yesterday, I signed my contract for next year.  I paused before doing so, but I signed.

There was a pause because the restrictive legislation keeps moving forward.  I've no doubt that certain groups, like "Moms for Liberty", are behind this.  After listening to a "CBS Sunday Morning" segment on book banning, I looked up the group's website.  The doublespeak is carefully crafted, but plain to see.  Their idea of liberty is narrow, and doesn't seem to be paired with "and justice for all."

Why?  Why are people so determined to restrict others' access to information and ideas?

Later that day, I was reading Kelly Barnhill's When Women Were Dragons (a book bursting with righteous social commentary).  Chapter 21's ending caught my breath; I had to take a booksnap.  Here is at least one answer to the why.  

That mom group's definition of liberty is the kind of freedom Barnhill describes.  The Giver by Lois Lowry is also about the same kind of freedom.  What both books warn us, though, is that legislating a cover-up for what makes people uncomfortable and rocks the status quo does not make those situations go away.  The cover is always blown; the universe arcs towards justice.

I'm okay with being uncomfortable.  So let's go once more into the fray, shall we?

Tuesday Slice: Today, I just don't know

 

I want to write about good stuff today.  

I want to write about how beautiful the weather was yesterday, sitting in my backyard after work for a bit.  I wasn't among the last people leaving campus for the day, for once, so I had time to breathe and enjoy some fresh air.

I want to write about how I didn't kill the beautiful flowering plant I got for School Librarians' Day (was that just two weeks ago?)--it just needed water to perk up.  How the notes of appreciation from students and staff made me feel like I am where I belong, that I can keep doing this for a few more years.

I want to write about finding the tote-that-turns-into-a-backpack that I bought three years ago for an annual conference that COVID cancelled, and how I'm finally going to attend the conference in person this week.  I want to write about how I'm excited to learn and grow as a librarian alongside my colleagues...

But.

Today, I just don't know.  It's been a week since confirmation that library assistants' jobs would be cut across our district (I guess because librarians are superhuman, and can do the work of multiple people within a forty-hour workweek?).  In the same week, SB13 passed the state Senate and moved to the House, the bill requiring more hoops to jump through to put books on our library shelves (I guess because my state certification as a teacher and a librarian, supported by degrees from state universities, doesn't make me qualified enough to make those decisions?).  Other bills are moving forward too, regarding prosecution of librarians and mandatory book labeling by vendors.  There's even a bill proposing that our highly trained school counselor-educators (yes, they have to be dually certified, like me) be replaced by chaplains (I guess because separation of church and state doesn't apply to public schools?).

I want to be excited about going to conference tomorrow.  I want to think that I have six more years in this profession, in this state, even though I am eligible to retire.  

But today, I just don't know.

Tuesday Slice: It takes two

It's national School Library Month!  Last week, I wrote about the good things happening in our library.  This week, I want to talk about the most important partnership that keeps a school library humming and growing--the teamwork of librarians and library assistants. 

We have an old-ish, small-ish school--about five hundred students, give or take.  And a small-ish library, four hundred square feet below current minimum standards but still holding over twenty-thousand materials (yes, we have a lot of weeding to do).

School librarians, at least in Texas, are not trained to just sit at circulation desks and check books in and out.  We have to be certified educators first.  Our master's program covers collection management; children's and young adult literature; curriculum support; cataloging materials; financial responsibilities; scheduling; equity and diversity; teaching information literacy, research skills, and technology use.  We teach through lessons and carefully planned read-alouds, and get to know our students and staff in order to provide just-right materials and keep our collections relevant.  

So who is checking books in and out, maintaining the shelves, helping with yearly inventory, keeping the library open while the librarian is performing all the tasks listed above?

Our library assistants.

Their work is just as important as the librarians' to-do list.  What good is a well-curated collection if the shelves and library closet aren't orderly enough to find materials?  Flexible access to the library is an important factor of its effectiveness--but the librarian can't be in two places at once, doing both tasks of teaching and running the desk.  

My library assistant takes pride in keeping our library looking great.  She takes the initiative when shelving to pull the musty, dusty books she thinks should be weeded.  She is an avid reader who is quick to recommend books to our students.  She covers ninety-nine percent of our library email account, sending and receiving interlibrary loans.  At this time of year she's busy with inventory; we have to scan all barcoded items in our collection, which includes both books and teaching materials.

It really does take two to run an effective school library.  

Spiritual Journey Thursday: You can't take the Catholic out of the girl

 

Ruth is hosting this month, and has asked us to  

reflect on Maundy Thursday and 

the origins of a personal spiritual practice 

this Spiritual Journey Thursday.

Her post is here.

I miss the incense.

I miss the feel

of water on my fingertip

from a cool marble basin

finger to forehead

to sternum

left shoulder,

right shoulder,

sealed on the lips.

I miss the moment

of reverence caused

by genuflection

the meditative quiet--

that I preferred to 

preludes on the organ--

that forced me to stop

breathe

listen

and simply absorb.

I miss the rustle

of whisper-thin missal pages

the cadence of common prayers

the peace that comes with

being apart from the world

even for just an hour, and

being a part of a global

community.

I don't miss

the patriarchy

the feeling less-than

the dogma that

welcomes to the table

only those who jump through

man-made hoops

insisting on intermediaries

between me and

my Creatrix.

But I do miss

the ritual 

and

the incense.

*********

I have kept the Church of my childhood at arm's length for almost two decades, but you wouldn't know it if you visited my home.  There are crosses over the main door and all the bedroom doors (the risen, not crucified, Christ is on the children's bedroom crosses; we are a faith based on resurrection, after all).  An old ceramic bust of the Virgin Mary hangs by the front door, her nose slightly chipped, most likely during a California tremor.  Dried palm leaves are tucked behind a mirror.  A large wooden rosary hangs on the wall between the dining and living rooms, and a collection of rosaries hangs by my desk in the study.

Praying the rosary is a meditation I resort to in times of unrest and weariness.  I very rarely follow the Mysteries; more often, I choose a person to pray for with each Hail Mary.  If I'm worried about rushing, I purposely recite the repeated prayers in French, which makes me slow down.

This Good Friday, I plan on taking a quiet moment to choose a rosary from my collection, pause, breathe, and pray.

*************

It is such a holy season.  My Islamic friends are observing Ramadan, fasting from sunup to sundown and reflecting on transgressions and reparations.  My Jewish friends are celebrating Passover; I remember a time when one of the parishes we belonged to (we moved a lot) celebrated a Seder meal with a nearby synagogue for Maundy Thursday.  Jesus was Jewish, after all.  Our traditions are so closely intertwined; it's a shame that our religions are often used as the basis for exclusion, shame, and violence.

I'll ponder that in prayer, beads in hand, tomorrow.  And maybe light some incense, too.

Tuesday Slice: Happy School Librarians' Day!

 

"Good morning!  Bienvenidos!  Welcome back!  Happy April!  Happy School Library Month!" I said to students from my duty station in the hallway yesterday morning.  "Can you imagine our school without a library?"

"NO!" was the emphatic answer, on their way to class.

This is the month when I pause and celebrate.  I look around the library, and see the positive changes in the physical space and the collection--and see how far we need to go, because maintaining a relevant collection is a never-ending process.  I think about the books we've shared, lessons I've taught, research I've supported.  I say a prayer of gratitude for my assistant, who is a master at shelf-keeping and reminding me to breathe, drink water, and go to the bathroom before she leaves for lunch duty.

I think of the students who smile when they say "We've got library tomorrow!" and the teachers who stop by for chocolate on their way to pick up kids from the cafeteria--or to use the office or closet for a much-needed moment of private recomposure.  There have been baby showers held in this space, club meetings, professional development.  Twice-yearly book fairs transform the library into bookstores for a week at a time.  Interventionists and counselors pop in with a student or two in between class visits, taking advantage of quiet corners and comfy seating.  And then there's the twenty-seven classes of preK through fifth grade students who visit every week for read-alouds, lessons, and checkout.

Yep, I'm with you, kids.  I can't imagine our school without a library, either.