Smuggling Grace

This is a long video, but I think it’s worth the watch. Someone sent it to me recently and said, “I love his voice.” And now that I’ve listened, I can say, “Me, too.”

But this scratched an itch, both intellectually and ethically, that I didn’t even know I had.

Hanan Browning starts by referencing a previous video in which he made the argument that one day, archaeologists will dig through the materials we leave behind and conclude that Santa is an American god. But in this video, he takes the idea further.

“I’ve got news for you: Santa is one of our gods.”

He adds, “Religions don’t always require belief; they require that you participate.”

And then here’s the part that has really stuck with me: He argues that Santa is a god for whom we’ll allow people to suspend belief as they age, but we’ll encourage — if not require — them to keep the practices.

He says that modern Christianity in the United States is functioning in the opposite way. Among many, it is intolerable for a Christian to suspend belief — or, I’d add, to change how they believe — but among many, it has become completely acceptable to abandon the practices.

Obviously, that’s not true for every person or every circle of Christians. But if you abandon the practices — and I’d add, the ethics — how aligned are you with the religion you claim?

From Tulsa, Oklahoma:

–Photos by Renee Roederer

I’ve been at the Public Health Institute in Tulsa this week, hosted by the Epilepsy Foundation of America. Since we’re only together for a few days, we’ve jam-packed our time with a lot of learning, as well as a few opportunities to be social. I remember feeling a bit sad that I wouldn’t have much time to explore the city itself.

Tulsa has some important history.

In the early 1920s, it was home to Black Wall Street, a thriving, self-sustaining Black district filled with businesses, hotels, movie theaters, and luxury shops.

But this was burned to the ground during a devastating act of racial terror between May 31 and June 1, 1921. After false accusations about an encounter between a Black man and a white woman, a white mob descended upon Black Wall Street, looting and burning homes and businesses across roughly 35 blocks and leaving as many as 300 people dead.

This is known as the Tulsa Race Massacre.

For decades, much of this history was erased from larger public awareness and left out of schools and history books, though it continued to live in people’s memories. In more recent decades, survivors, descendants, Black residents, historians, and others in Tulsa have worked to ensure that this history is remembered and honored — including telling its story on the 100th anniversary in 2021.

Yesterday, I stepped outside Langston University, where we are holding our conference. Langston is Oklahoma’s only HBCU and the only HBCU west of the Mississippi River in the United States.

I decided to take a short walk around the surrounding neighborhood. That’s when I saw this photo on the side of Paradise Baptist Church. It shows the aftermath of the massacre, after city blocks had been decimated by fire. I am grateful I stumbled into this.

As I was returning, a woman from the custodial staff saw me and said, “Are you enjoying taking a stroll around Greenwood?”

“I am,” I said.

And I realized that I was on the very land where this had taken place. Greenwood is the neighborhood that was home to Black Wall Street.

I should know more of this history. And I could have — and likely should have — looked it up on a map before coming. But still, I stumbled into it, and I’m glad to honor it in my own way.

I recognize that I am a visitor here, and my knowledge is incomplete. But this history lives in the bones and veins and voices and fears and hopes of descendants who still live here — people whose parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents lived through the most terrorizing night of their lives, along with the fear of not knowing how much more would or could follow.

And if we know this history — or we stumble into it — we should be motivated to right the wrongs and work for equity on the very land that has known the opposite.

—Renee Roederer

I join everyone in being sad about the passing of Dolly Parton. What a legacy. As many have noted, nearly everyone — no matter their geography, political persuasions, or even musical taste — thinks highly of her.

Upon her death, I’m also remembering a podcast I listened to several years ago. In fact, I’d even say it was one of the most well-done podcasts I’ve ever heard. It was intellectually stimulating and relational. It’s Jad Abumrad’s Dolly Parton’s America. Jad Abumrad is the creator of the tremendous podcast Radiolab. This series about Dolly Parton was a stand-alone podcast, and through it, Abumrad tells a great deal of U.S. history through the lens of Dolly’s upbringing, music, philanthropy, and influence.

His father immigrated to the U.S. from Lebanon, and Jad also grew up in Tennessee. Many years later, his father became Dolly Parton’s doctor. In addition to connecting with her, Jad was able to find linkages between her upbringing and his family’s upbringing in Lebanon. And he tells so much history of the U.S. — including many stories I had never heard before.

So I recommend this highly: Introducing Dolly Parton’s America.

If you listen, let me know what you think.

—Renee Roederer

Last week, I bumbled into a conference center, carrying a Rubbermaid tub of materials. Soon, I found my table, put out our purple tablecloth, and placed a variety of flyers about the programs and services of the Epilepsy Foundation of Michigan.

I was an exhibitor, among other exhibitors, at a conference with a fun name: It’s called NAPNAP.

That stands for the National Association of Pediatric Nurse Practitioners.

I enjoyed being there. And despite the name of the conference, there was no napping. (Though I could have used that because I woke up very early for this.) Still, no regrets.

A few of the people who walked up to my table asked about the conference we hold in November, which happens to be in the exact same building. We also have exhibitors and community partners at that conference. This time, I was on the other side of that experience.

And that brought back a memory:

Back in 2019, I was going through a lot of transitions in my life. I had just accepted my 10-hour-per-week contract role at the Epilepsy Foundation of Michigan, and I remember attending our signature conference for the very first time. Frankly, I had no idea that eventually I would be in charge of the agenda for that very conference.

But I remember that once the staff had arrived and set up the space, exhibitors started to arrive as well. They were setting up their tables, and I had a moment when I walked into the big plenary space among their tables and a thought emerged in my mind, seemingly unbidden.

You could have a whole other career if you want to, I thought.

Or at least I wondered, Could I?

I had worked in the church for many years, and sadly, I left my last position after resigning under duress. There were some difficult things going on at that time in the congregation’s life, and most people there knew nothing about what was happening. Eventually, I would heal that storyline and continue to have such beautiful relationships with people in that community.

But once I stepped out of practicing ministry in the way I had in the past, I didn’t feel like I could go back in, at least not in the same way.

On that day in 2019, when I walked into that plenary space, I thought, What if I could have a second career, working in this organization and the larger Epilespy Foundation network?

It was just a simple thought. A curiosity. A desire that I was at least open to.

And now here I am, beginning my eighth year.

I’ve just arrived in Tulsa for our national conference. This network is filled with my colleagues and friends, and we’re doing great things together. I’m so proud of the people I get to know and learn from, and I’m so grateful to be in their company.

So when I was an exhibitor last week, all of this came to mind again.

This, too, feels full circle. I’m so grateful.

You just never know how one door can lead to a whole new chapter.

—Renee Roederer

I have some exciting travels coming up soon, and the first begins today. I’m traveling to Tulsa for the Public Health Institute of the Epilepsy Foundation of America. This is one of our major annual conferences, and it’s a wonderful opportunity to learn and have a reunion with colleagues from all over the country.

Two members of our team are attending. I’ll have the opportunity to speak about the work the Epilepsy Foundation of Michigan does through our Here for You Helpline, and my colleague and friend will be talking about the Seizure Recognition and First Aid trainings she has provided to law enforcement and firefighters.

I thought I would share one story that is featured in my presentation. It feels very full circle in my life, and I’m very grateful.

This is me in 2018. This is the year I learned that narwhals are real (I thought they were mythical!) That year, people began to give me a lot of narwhal merch.

I do not yet work for the Epilepsy Foundation of Michigan. But I do decide to call the Here for You Helpline. I have a question.

This is me in 1988. I am in kindergarten. I don’t even know what narwhals are. And this is the year that I am diagnosed with epilepsy.

I went through testing and was in a neurologist’s office when he diagnosed me. It’s amazing that I heard and remembered his terminology, because I carried those words with me for many years, even though I didn’t know what they meant. I won’t see any doctors or specialists about this for years to come, and I won’t have any epilepsy education — age-appropriate or otherwise.

Six years from now, the seizures will eventually fade. But as you might imagine, I had many questions for a long time.

I get in contact with Russ. He holds my future job, but I don’t know that yet. I get to ask my questions. This leads to answers, information, and ultimately, community. It also leads to an appointment with a specialist to ask more questions. This appointment felt sacred to me.

This is me in 2019. I got a new job! This is the year I start working 10 hours a week, taking calls on that very Here for You Helpline. I’m discovering that lives are changed on both sides of the line.

In 2026, I’m starting my eighth year, and as I share this with you, I serve as a mission strategist for our organization. I’m the Sr. Director of Programs and Community Care. Our Program Team leads conferences, support groups, Seizure Recognition and First Aid trainings, self-management programs, and more. I work with grant consultants to develop three grant proposals per month, and I serve as staff liaison to our Professional Advisory Committee, which includes more than 50 epileptologists, neurologists, EEG techs, and psychotherapists.

This has been one of the biggest adventures of my life. It has also been one of the best learning environments of my life. I started with some experience in providing individualized care (pastoral background) and forming new communities. I’ve continued to deepen those kinds of work, as they continue to teach me. Everything else, I have newly learned because I’ve had the best team imaginable as my teachers.

Full circle.

I showed up because I had a question.

I stayed because I found a community.

—Renee Roederer

ICE recently announced plans to spend $20 million on thousands of pairs of electric shock gloves. They will use them to subdue immigrants, or perhaps bystanders or protesters. They deliver a painful shock at the mere touch of a hand. This is dystopian. They are made by a manufacturer in Kentucky called Compliant Technologies LLC.

The ACLU recently reviewed more than 1200 cases of ICE activity and found a shocking frequency of use of force:

A recent post from A Mighty Girl addresses this report and shares, “Reviewing more than 1,200 immigration enforcement operations over the past year, the ACLU documented agents pushing, tackling, or pinning people to the ground more than four hundred times, and using weapons — chemical irritants, rubber bullets, and Tasers — about as often. Its researchers catalogued chokeholds and officers kneeling on people’s necks, tactics many police departments ban outright, alongside agents ramming cars, boxing them in, and smashing windows.

“Immigration agents, one of the report’s authors said, have ‘used force in a way we’ve never seen from these agencies, in their history.'”

So now, ICE, which has innumerable documented cases of excessive force, is about to be fitted with shock gloves. A Mighty Girl also says that the shock gloves have been described as “an ‘invisible partner’ and a ‘force multiplier,'” and “prized by some officers for a telling reason: as one police official touted, the pain it inflicts leaves ‘no burn marks or scars.'”

That makes it harder to sue. It also makes it harder to pick up on video, at least in a provable way.

Horrifically, a news story recently developed in Omaha concerning the same gloves. Without superintendents or the school board knowing, similar gloves were purchased for Omaha Police Resource Officers in Omaha Public Schools. Teachers had no idea. Parents had no idea. Students had no idea.

Until they were used.

Twice — once on a middle school student and once on a high school special education student.

Parents and students packed a school board meeting, and I’m glad to tell you that these will no longer be used there.

Obviously, these kinds of gloves can be seriously dangerous to children or people who have disabilities. I’ve also read that there are disclaimers to this effect. But here’s the thing — it’s easy to guess incorrectly on the age of a person. It’s even harder to tell if someone has an invisible disability or chronic health condition. Also, a person might not even know that they have vulnerabilities in their heart or nervous system.

Who have we become that we are this willing to dehumanize? And who have we become that we’re willing to give whole classes of people this much power?

These gloves are dystopian.

—Renee Roederer Also, it’s not too late to call your senators and representatives about this.

–Photos by Renee Roederer

I learned so many things about sunflowers that I didn’t know!