In this image provided by NASA, The Artemis II crew captured this view of an Earthset on April 6, 2026, as they flew around the Moon. (NASA via AP)
Do any phrases stand out to you?
The Lord’s Prayer: Maori & Polynesia
Eternal Spirit, Earth-maker, Pain bearer, Life-giver, Source of all that is and that shall be, Father and Mother of us all, Loving God, in whom is heaven: The hallowing of your name echo through the universe;
The way of your justice be followed by the peoples of the world; Your heavenly will be done by all created beings; Your commonwealth of peace and freedom sustain our hope and come on earth. With the bread we need for today, feed us. In the hurts we absorb from one another, forgive us. In times of temptation and test, strengthen us. From trial too great to endure, spare us. From the grip of all that is evil, free us.
For you reign in the glory of the power that is love,now and forever. Amen.
Do you know the phrase “canary in the coal mine”? Have you heard it, and do you know what it means? Apparently, people in Michigan do not know this phrase. Or at least, many people in my circle in Michigan.
I am not here to judge them. Because while I did know it was a phrase, I had completely invented an alternative meaning for it. Here’s what I thought it meant:
A bright yellow canary is flying through a coal mine and gets soot all over it. But you can still see it because it’s bright yellow. Therefore, the phrase means that something is obvious.
This is completely wrong.
But I also knew the phrase was often used to suggest that something was going to fail or fall apart. So I interpreted it as: “The fact that this is going to fail is so obvious that it’s like a canary in a coal mine. It has soot all over it, but it’s still bright yellow, so you can clearly see it.”
LOL.
Here’s the actual context: In the early 20th century, after miners tragically died from carbon monoxide exposure, coal miners began bringing caged canaries into mines with them. The birds are highly sensitive to toxic gases, so if a canary became sick or died (honestly, so sad) miners knew they needed to get out immediately. So a “canary in the coal mine” is actually an early warning sign that something dangerous is about to happen.
I thought my alternative interpretation was funny, so I shared it with a few people at work. And it turns out that 84% of our staff team did not think they had ever heard the phrase before. These are brilliant, well-read people.
I have a vivid memory from first grade. We were learning about birds, and of course, it was always exciting to see the most colorful ones. The lesson was also meant to teach us the scientific definitions of female and male in birds.
One by one, we looked at different species and had to guess which was which. I kept getting the terms confused because nearly every time, the most colorful birds were male. To me, this simply did not compute.
How could this be? Weren’t the female ones supposed to be the prettiest?
At age seven, I had already internalized that women and girls were supposed to be beautiful, and that this was considered one of their most important qualities. I didn’t understand male birds, but already, I understood the male gaze. –Renee Roederer
When I experienced my first spring in Michigan, I was surprised to see that some trees first formed rich red and bronze leaves before they ever turned green. At times, they took on an almost dark purple hue. If this ever happened where I grew up, I don’t remember noticing it. But it is very prominent in Michigan.
It turns out that red maples, Norway maples, and Japanese maples, in particular, often begin the season this way. They do have chlorophyll, which allows for photosynthesis, but early in their growth, other pigments called anthocyanins dominate the leaves and give them those red and burgundy tones.
Those pigments act like a kind of natural sunscreen, protecting the young leaves from sun damage. They also help reduce stress during the fluctuating temperatures of early spring. (And boy, have they ever fluctuated where I am.)
I don’t know exactly what to take away from this knowledge, other than that I find it interesting. But if you need a reminder that it’s more than okay — maybe even necessary — to have a gentler chapter before launching (or relaunching), I think that’s a beautiful thing.
A monarch butterfly, held in a person’s hand. Public domain image.
After a caterpillar spins itself inside a silky chrysalis, it turns into goo. It liquefies inside the cocoon. Between its intricate life as a caterpillar and its intricate life as a butterfly, it truly becomes a gooey mess. It’s hard to believe that something so beautiful emerges, but this is indeed the messy, mystical process.
So if any part of us feels like goo right now, we might be transforming.
When a crab is getting ready to molt, it stops eating and slows down its activity. Then it cracks open the back of its shell and carefully begins to move out of it — legs, mouthparts, and even the lining of its innards. At that point, it is soft and very vulnerable until a new shell forms. But before that happens, it absorbs more water and grows.
So if any of us is feeling soft and vulnerable right now, we might be transforming.
Wolverine Tower mid-demolition. Photo credit: Gary Collins II
I was driving through town when I caught my breath and instinctively put my hand to my chest. I was completely startled to see a tall tower of a building with all of its offices wide open and laid bare. One entire wall had been removed, and everything was exposed. Floor after floor, about ten stories high.
At first, I thought it must have been some kind of emergency. Had there been a fire earlier in the day?
Then I noticed the bulldozers and cranes on the other side of the building. It was in the process of being torn down. A new development will soon replace it. This was planned, but it still felt remarkably unsettling.
And then I thought…
People in Gaza have been living with this reality in nearly every direction for more than two years. Some are even living in buildings like that.
It’s hard to fathom. And still, we’re asked to bear witness and act.
Hobbs & Black Assoc. Inc., 1882; Photo: Creative Commons.
A multi-generational bunch of us stood together at the corner, waiting to cross the street. Between the four of us, about three and a half generations were represented: me, and three people who were all related — a 3–4-year-old kid, his Dad, and his Grandpa. In age, I probably fell somewhere between the Dad and the Grandpa.
Behind us stood an old building made of gray stone. It looks old, and it is, though still beautifully constructed. I happen to know (thanks to a quick Google search) that it was built in 1882. But the youngest among us, taking it all in, asked:
“Is that building from the ’60s?” he said with a sense of marvel.
“Oh no,” Grandpa said. “I think it’s much older — from the 1800s.”
“Does anyone live there?” the boy asked.
“Not anymore,” Dad said. “But a wizard used to live there.”
“He did?!?”
“Oh yes,” Grandpa said. “He had a very long beard. Sometimes he braided it, and sometimes he forgot.”
“And he wore a hat that was a little too tall,” Dad added. “It kept bumping into doorways.”
“Did he have a wand?” the boy asked.
“Of course,” Grandpa said. “But he was always misplacing it. Half the time he used a wooden spoon instead.”
I, the stranger, chimed in, too. “And even though he’s not with us anymore, the impact of his magic is all over the town.”
The light changed, and we started across the street.
He didn’t question it. He just looked back at the building, like he understood this great mystery. And honestly, I think he’s right. You can still feel a little bit of that magic around here.
Smuggling Grace 