Morning Musings

On the first Monday of our school closure back in March, our Executive and Visionary Director, Susie Theule, sent an email to the SLOCA staff titled Monday Morning Musings. In this first of many Monday emails, Susie, through her beautiful and vulnerable words encouraged us to find the silver linings in the stormy clouds of these unique times, entreated us to view challenges as adventure and urged us to be a community “that allows suffering and hardship to break us open into new and stronger versions of love” and to “make that love louder than the fear.”

I (Sharon) have weekly been inspired and cheered by these emails, so much so, that I asked Susie if I could share with you, the SLOCA community, her most recent writing in hopes that you also may be moved by her musings.  

I am nothing special, I am a musician, I am part of the town. Like everyone else, I do what I can.  

—Vedran Smailović

Dear Friends-

Last week I came upon a story in my reading. I was struggling (and still am) with the reality that most of my work tasks right now are unrelated to what motivates me, to the reason for SLOCA’ being. My days are filled with crunching numbers, filling in spreadsheets, keeping up with news that might impact us as school, with long meetings to work through unknowns and options and plans, with trying to figure out what the “new normal” will be for fall and how to prepare for that, and with carrying a general heaviness related to it all. Occasionally, a conversation will unfold that stirs the creative pot of our mission and vision, allowing me to taste the “why” behind it all, and that will energize me just enough to keep on. But most of the time, there are things I’d much rather be doing with my time and energy.

I know I am not alone. We didn’t sign up for home office work, remote learning, and tech-heavy strategies. Our staff misses the kids, the life they bring, the satisfaction of a good day on campus serving them, and engaging with each other. There is still much good these days, but quiet grief continues to haunt us, and living in the shelter-at-home world oddly wears us down.

Some of you may have heard of the Cellist of Sarajevo. In the midst of his war-torn city, Vedran Smailović showed up daily in a full tuxedo amongst ruined buildings and bomb craters in Bosnia to play Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor on his cello. He began this ritual in 1992 after twenty-two civilians had been killed in a bread line by a stray bomb, and played for twenty-two days straight. He not only offered hope and healing but inspired others to join him in creative and quiet responses to the war. The music is haunting and beautiful (you can listen to him play it here).  

I was struck with Smailović’s response to deep suffering. What he did was vulnerable, courageous, and unexpected. Perhaps he picked up his broom as well to help his city regain some semblance of order, or maybe he sheltered-in-place at times with so many others in real fear. But what we know for certain is that he stepped out with the gifts he had to spread hope and beauty amongst the ashes. He didn’t play a happy tune, though—he chose a piece that honored the pain around and within him. One man doing his part to help people grieve brutal realities, but also find a bit of hope and beauty. 

This inspired me. As I sit in details and spreadsheets and articles and meetings, I am reminded that what SLOCA is about is as important as ever. We offer children and their families learning and beauty and hope to face the world. We equip them with stories and history and critical thinking skills and questions. We give them a place to belong, a place to develop their hearts and their minds and their character. We encourage them to embrace today as we prepare them to be hope for tomorrow. 

So as we take up our brooms to do our part in the (ongoing and long-term) cleaning up of a mess, let us also continue to pay homage to the grief, and to do what we can to play our music of hope and wonder and beauty as we head toward the end of an unprecedented school year and into another year full of challenges. What we are doing matters, and we can all do our part.

Sit with me and tell me once again
Of the story that’s been told us
Of the power that will hold us
Of the beauty, of the beauty
And why it matters
Speak to me until I understand
Why our thinking and creating
And our efforts of narrating
About this beauty, oh this beauty
How it matters.

—Sara Groves, songwriter and musician

With you,

Susie