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.
Me, smiling and wearing a purple dress, wearing a lanyard with my name and a yellow “STAFF” banner. This was on November 9, 2019. It’s the day I wondered if I might have a new career.
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.
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.
Smiling. Did you know narwhals are real?!?
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.
Also smiling. What are narwhals?
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.
Two colleagues smiling!
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.
Smiling as a new employee!
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.
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.
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.
My oh my, what a wonderful day We’re having, we’re having Why, oh why, are we looking for a way Outside it, outside it?
These lyrics came on when I had my music on shuffle. When they did, I was instantly in two places at once.
Last October, a family member and I went to see Jacob Collier and Chris Thile in concert, and surprisingly, we ended up in the front row. It was an exhilarating experience. These two people have so much talent, and watching them magnify the gifts of the other and improvise brilliantly was thrilling.
They started their concert with this song — “My Oh My” by Punch Brothers, Chris Thile’s band.
Alongside that memory, I found myself deeply in the present moment too, taking in the beautiful scenery around me. As I’ve been sharing lately, I was once more riding my bike during the time of the sunset.
This was a beautiful day I was having.
This was a beautiful moment I was having.
Of course, I don’t have to tell you that there are many times when we are not having wonderful moments. We have these experiences individually, and we know about many painful, unfolding events and traumas in our world.
Not everyone is having a good day.
Some are depressed. Some are bullied. Some are imprisoned. Some are profoundly lonely. Some are dealing with serious illness.
Over the last week, I’ve been reading from the Psalms in the Hebrew Bible. It’s been many years since I’ve read through them. Often, they are so raw and real — very human. And right alongside this deep array of emotions, we read a sense of wonder and marvel. We encounter language about steadfast love.
Have mercy upon us, O Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have had more than enough of contempt. Our soul has had more than its fill of the scorn of those who are at ease, of the contempt of the proud. Psalm 123
It is he who remembered us in our low estate, for his steadfast love endures forever; and rescued us from our foes, for his steadfast love endures forever; who gives food to all flesh, for his steadfast love endures forever. O give thanks to the God of heaven, for his steadfast love endures forever. Psalm 136
It’s important to remember that most the writers of the Bible were oppressed people. It’s crucial that we reclaim that knowledge and awareness. We live in an age when some of the most powerful utilize the Bible as a tool of oppression.
Let me share a few texts with you, because there’s something else I notice.
Yes, there are words of longing and expressions of pain, but in the next psalm, or perhaps even in the same psalm, there are majestic words that cast a vision of an enchanted world.
Praise him, sun and moon; praise him, all you shining stars! Praise him, you highest heavens and you waters above the heavens!… Mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars! Wild animals and all cattle, creeping things and flying birds! Psalm 148
Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens, your faithfulness to the clouds. Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains; your judgments are like the great deep; you save humans and animals alike, O Lord. Psalm 36
Could it be that oppressed people are seeking their place in a magnificent world, reaching for a steadfast love that exists beyond the bonds and bounds of excruciating experiences? And what might that mean for our world today?
I don’t want any of us, especially those who are most oppressed, to feel as though we need to reach for the heights when we are truly in the depths.
But how liberating might it be to proclaim that the world is ours? That it is magnificent? That there is a love that reaches into those depths and far beyond them, finding us right where we are?
A black and white close up of two people holding hands. Wikimedia Commons.
I was driving home when I saw a friend’s name pop up on Apple CarPlay. It had been several years since we’d connected one-on-one.
When I was able to play her text aloud, she said that I had just popped into her mind and she’d been thinking about me. It felt so good to connect with her.
Likewise, earlier that very same day, I was in the middle of my work when one of our community members immediately popped into my mind. I wasn’t doing anything that logically led me to think of her, but there was the thought. I remembered that she had been going through so many deeply painful experiences. I’m hoping she’s okay. I reached out after more than a year.
A bit more playfully, years ago a friend shared that he thought it would be fun if we had a mode we could turn on, and every time we passed another person, we would see a number representing how many degrees of separation there were between us.If the number was small, as it likely is in a shared geographical area, we could spend some time trying to figure out what those connections might be.
The truth is, we’re more connected than we think we are. Or at the very least, we’re more connected than we allow ourselves to notice.
So if we’re more connected than we think we are, I suppose the question becomes: How will we be connected? How might we act on those connections, even the ones that seem far removed from our everyday experience?
What about immigrants who were deported, not to their countries of birth but to a third country? How will we be connected to them?
What about women, men, and even children in prisons and detention centers? How will we be connected to them? How will we engage those connections?
What about families sleeping outside? Or people who have experienced horrific earthquakes? Or people who don’t know where their next meal will come from? Or people who have lost their TPS status and now have to check in and wear ankle monitors while living under house arrest?
How will we be connected?
–If any of us is feeling alone and wondering whether we’re being thought about, almost certainly we are. A friend recently shared a really meaningful article about a family that experienced reconciliation after a long estrangement. At times, the writer wondered whether members of her family were still thinking about her. After they reconnected, she learned that they had been thinking about her often all along. If we’re feeling alone, we’re almost certainly being thought about.
–And if we feel that we have an abundance of connections, if we feel well supported, maybe we have more than enough to find ways to act on those connections that seem far away or outside our everyday experience.
If we’re more connected than we think we are, perhaps we could live into a vision of greater solidarity.
I’m not trying to be overly saccharine here, but it’s a lovely thing to ponder: Can you believe we have a sunset every single night? And that it’s different every night? And that we can simply look outside and take it in?
Lately, I’ve been completely enamored with Golden Hour. Any time I can, I like to ride my bike during the hour when the sun is setting.
Every single time, I find something beautiful. And every single time, it’s beautiful differently.
Like any town, my town has crosswalks at street intersections. But there are also places where crosswalks sit midway through a street. Usually, there is a button you can push that activates flashing lights, and traffic is supposed to stop and allow people to cross.
Yesterday, I was at one of these crosswalks, but there was no button and no flashing light. I was sitting on my bike, waiting for a break in traffic so I could cross.
I assumed cars wouldn’t stop for me. I wasn’t going to wave anyone down. I was simply going to wait. But to my surprise, after a while, someone did stop. And when that person stopped, so did the drivers on the other side of the road.
Someone has to stop first to signal what’s happening.
I know we often get remarkably busy, and we simply put our heads down and move from one task to another. When we’re surrounded by other people doing the same thing, we might feel that we need to keep going too. But I suppose the same premise applies.
Someone has to stop first.
Someone has to take the break.
Someone has to unplug.
That also becomes a signal. It draws everyone’s attention and increases the odds that someone else will feel comfortable doing the same.
Smuggling Grace 