“When we do what we love, we are performing an act of worship.”
(Wayne Muller, “How, Then, Shall We Live?”)
And Muller also says:
“Attention is the physical manifestation of love. Attention is the tangible measure of love. Whatever receives our time and attention becomes the center of gravity, the focus of our life. This is what we do with what we love: We allow it to become our center.”
Yesterday, the children of Village Prep were what I loved. Ninety kindergarten students broke into spontaneous, contagious seated “dance” while eating lunch, because the music and beat of the physical education class around the corner ignited their young spirits. I am fortunate to work in an office with windows that look into the multi-purpose room where they sat, and my spontaneous response to their spontaneity was to pick up my camera, go to the window, and film their joyful actions. They were in the moment- no cares, no inhibition, pure celebration. White teeth shining, beaded hair braids swaying, hands flying, shoulders bumping up and down.
And I am reminded of the evening before- my heart being similarly lifted and filled with a sense of praise when 8th grader, DeVante, came into my office to share simple joy. It was after school, and he was helping our Director of Student Recruitment prepare for the parent information session that would be held that evening. He entered, all smiles, clearly wanting to connect with me. I held up my hand, to welcome him in a “high-five,” and he quickly met my hand with pleasure. “I’m helping Ms. Brantley!” he announced, with happiness and pride so evident. I asked what job she had given him, he explained that he would probably greet guests and walk them to the room where the meeting would be held.
And then he reminded me of the day that two doctors from the Cleveland Clinic had visited the school, entered his math class, and he had explained the scale model design project that the students were working on. I happened to be the guide on that tour, and I remembered DeVante’s eager greeting of the men as they entered the room, and his quick delight in explaining the project. I remember the way the gentlemen were enveloped in the enthusiasm DeVante showed. DeVante shared with me that “Ms. Lombardo (the teacher) told me that she got an email saying that the doctors really enjoyed talking to me…” and again, he was so proud- beaming. He skipped off then, to be of help, and I remained at my desk, stunned for a moment, at how much these very simple things meant to him. He was useful. He was appreciated. He was praised. He mattered. He was honored. He wanted to please.
Such a simple thing, to love a child. To give attention.
