I am on the neon green blow-up raft, desperately trying to stay afloat, to relax amidst the play of kids.  Futile, I know.  They’ve decided to play ‘King of the Raft’ instead, and I am being pushed and pulled off, toppled and dunked by 3 small children.  Their currency is laughter and they spend it freely.

I have an interview in 3 hours with the library board, and I’m nervous.  Instead of stewing for hours, I jump in the pool.

My legs are wrapped around the air-in-plastic as I try to hang on.  We roll and laugh, splash and fight for control.  I know they’ve got me, and I’m going to be dunked.  I’m afraid once I go under, I won’t come back up.  With a deep breath, I give up and roll in.  I was right.  In their exuberance, they are sitting, standing, on my legs and back, and I move them aside to get air.

After a brief lesson on how not to drown someone, it’s back to fun and games and silliness.  I need silly to distract me.  To remind me of life.

We crash into the side of the pool.  “We’re crashing into a wormhole!”

After swallowing too much water, burps appear, bringing with it much more laughter. Their screams are holy laughter.

The 4 yo learns a new trick of plugging his nose and going under water.  They are turning into fish before my eyes.

I have no idea what’s for dinner.  My kids and I are playing, laughing together.

I give piggy-back rides and glide across the 3 feet of water, trying not to scrape my knees.  We splash and dunk, little hands scraping at my shoulders, back, legs.  3-on-1 is definitely not fair and I am overwhelmed, dunked.  I have to make a rule of no pulling at the strings of my suit.  (An unnecessary rule if you wear a one-piece!)

I have a meeting and I’m nervous.  Keep swimming.  Keep playing.  Live in this moment.  Don’t give in to anxiety.  I can feel my eyes burning from the chlorine.  Visine will take care of it in time, right?

I look into the eyes of my son, face dripping, eyes wide and alive, laughing wide.  This is joy.  This is a hard-fought victory lap, with him, my middle son, my sensitive one, the screaming matches over the years, and the lack of understanding until books have shown the way.  That he looks at me and laughs and plays and screams ‘GET MOM!!’….it’s too much joy for me to hold.  I throw him in the air and he splashes down.

I should be getting out, getting ready for the meeting.

I should be making dinner or cleaning the house.

I should be doing something useful, practical.

But I want to swim.  I want to play, laugh.  I want to be “beautifully unuseful to God.”

I want my children to giggle with me.  I want to infuse their minds with good memories.

I look at their faces, I think of my interview, and the nerves fade.  This is why I’m going for the position.

This glorious unusefulness is so important.   Because life is a gift.  Culture is a gift.  Stories are a gift.  I have measured out my life in chapters.

I want this job, to help lead and form the library, because it’s healthy existence is vital to a thriving culture.  For my community, for my kids, for the good of humanity.

“Culture is the stuff we make of the world.  And it is the sense we make of the world.  Culture is material and culture is meaningful.”

Material and meaning merge as I spin and splash, jump and laugh with my kids.  These beautiful images who work so hard at diving, breath-holding, cannon-balling.  We are deliriously unuseful because this is our world.  Our gift.  I focus on their eyes, the sound of their laughs, watch their tricks; all of this extremely ordinariness, that has no meaning beyond simply being in this moment.

“Once you have lost the idea that the world is a gift, that culture is a gift, that culture can be taken, blessed, broke, and given, all any of it is, is useful.  And then, eventually, this is all you can make of human beings – useful.”

And when the interview comes, I don’t have much to say beyond my obsession with books, my deep love of libraries, and how they have formed me, educated me.  I have no experience, except my hours spent within these walls every week, but I know books and the importance of this building.  But I want to sit on this board.

I am passionate and they know it. 

They met me 2 months ago when I was ‘public comment’ and pleaded with them, horrifyingly near tears, to preserve our children’s library.  I led the charge to get our community riled up because we walked in and physically felt it when we saw our library destroyed, the victim of a new-fangled inter-shelving idea.  My son cried.

And so I wrote a story, I wrote a letter, and I commented.  I gave voice to the librarians who had their hands tied, and we all rejoiced when things returned to normal.

So they know.  They’ve met my passion.  They know I believe in this culture, this gift.  And like any gift, it has to be treasured.

I wait nervously, wondering if they’ll decide to go with the college-educated woman, who expresses no ties to this building.  I feel I am the natural choice, but do they?

I return home, and wait.

The next morning, this morning, a phone call.  I know before I answer it who it is.

“The position is yours.”

Sheer gratitude.  Grace.  Gift.  And the fun of voting for myself, come November.

It’s hot again today, 101, and splashing has already been going on for an hour.

“Mom, come swim with us.”  Sheer gratitude.  Grace.  Gift.  And the fun of a dunking.