Smuggling Grace

I hate to break it to you, but you’re imperfect. And you’re going to be imperfect today. Me too. We might as well enjoy it.

I was driving to lead a service for Parables when I glanced down and noticed a coffee stain at the top of my dress. And not from that day, I have to admit. Oops. I had also worn this dress the day before when I attended a Celebration of Life in memory of my friend’s Mom. I had not seen this stain before leaving the house.

Then a few minutes later, I glanced down again and saw another coffee stain. This one had actual coffee rings. What am I, a coaster? I had not noticed this either.

But this was all fitting. At the Celebration of Life service, it became clear that my friend’s Mom had a hallmark laugh. She laughed hard and often. And many people shared that she enjoyed laughing at herself — especially if she made a mistake, was clumsy, or had misunderstood something. She also loved to dance, and her family had created a dancing playlist in her honor.

Here I was, listening to these songs, noticing my coffee markings, and laughing at myself, too. I hope she would have approved.

We are going to be imperfect — today and every day. Rather than chiding ourselves, can we laugh? Or at least give ourselves a little grace?

—Renee Roederer

–Photos by Renee Roederer

I didn’t. What a bummer. But it did give us the era of the dinosaurs.

Do you know the smell of spring?

What comes to mind when I ask that question?

Maybe it’s the smell of dirt after it has rained. Maybe it’s the scent of lilacs in bloom. Maybe it’s the smell of freshly laundered clothing that we’re about to wear outside on a warmer day.

What is it for you?

We’re able to anticipate those things because we’ve experienced them before. And I think there’s a certain wisdom in that. I sometimes try to imagine what it would be like to live through winter if we had no idea that spring would return.

Even when we grow tired of winter (I am, aren’t you?) we still carry the memory that change is coming. I’m glad we can anticipate that.

And in the midst of so much chaos and pain in our world, I’m glad that we can still anticipate some goodness, even if much is unpredictable. It’s interesting that we can sort of remember the future. We can easily imagine aspects of the future because of what we have known in the past.

Maybe that memory can help guide us.

—Renee Roederer

When we think about significant memories, we often think about people and milestone events. We remember how we felt in the presence of someone we love. We remember what it was like to try something new, build something together, complete a goal, or watch a new possibility unfold. All of these moments matter.

But can you also think of times when you were simply present and noticed something relatively ordinary?

I remember being five years old and lying with my head in my Mom’s lap during a church meeting. Sunlight was streaming through a window, and I could see dust specks drifting and swirling in the beam of light. That memory is still vivid.

I also remember traveling on a bus through Germany during my college years. At one point we stopped because someone had noticed cherries for sale along the side of the road. They were dark, almost black cherries, perfectly in season. I remember how alive I felt in that moment. Time seemed to slow down as I took a bite and savored the taste.

I remember looking out the window of my current home and watching a baby bunny grow up in my yard over the course of several weeks.

None of these moments were milestones. They were small, quiet experiences. But sometimes those moments stay with us too. Sometimes they remind us what it feels like to be attentive, to slow down, to be fully present.

Maybe we need more moments like that. Or maybe we simply need to notice them when they happen.

—Renee Roederer

Have you ever had that uneasy feeling that you’re bothering someone, even when you know they could simply say “No,” or “Not quite yet”?

I think many of us carry that fear. Recently someone said that to me: “I don’t want to bother you.” And I replied, “You’re not bothering me. You’ve never bothered me.” I meant that sincerely. Then I added something else: “Even though you haven’t, you’re actually allowed to bother me.”

When we care about people, we’re willing to be inconvenienced for them. That’s part of what it means to care. The small interruptions, the extra time, the shifting of plans — those things happen because relationships matter.

That conversation reminded me of something I once heard someone say about boundaries. She worked in a caring profession, and she shared a phrase she sometimes tells herself when she begins to feel irritated: You can inconvenience me, but you can’t hurt me. Then she pauses to think about the difference.

Being bothered or inconvenienced is simply that — a moment of interruption, a small shift, an adjustment of time or energy. But it isn’t harm. Harm is something different. Sometimes we need to remind ourselves of that distinction.

So if you ever find yourself worrying that you’re bothering someone, maybe this is a moment to offer yourself a little grace. Sometimes we need help. Sometimes we need care, attention, or time from someone else. That may inconvenience someone.

But it is also not harm.

And we can give ourselves grace for needing one another. That’s a good thing, after all.


—Renee Roederer

I sing in a large community choir, and I really admire the approach and artistry our conductor brings to leading us.

Sometimes we rehearse a section of music that is still relatively new to us, or perhaps a part we haven’t visited in a while. We can usually sing the core of it, but there are still some obvious mistakes along the way. When we run through sections like that, our conductor often pauses and says something like, “There are a lot of good things happening in there.”

No one is under the impression that we didn’t make mistakes. We know when things are messy. But he has a way of lifting up what is working and helping us recognize that we are making progress. He will certainly tell us when we are way off, though we usually know that ourselves. Still, very often he chooses first to name what is going well.

I was thinking about that recently, because there are times when we get into a rut and forget to notice that a lot of things are actually working. This isn’t to say we should deny the things in our individual lives or in our shared life that are struggling or unjust. Of course we need to name those things clearly.

But sometimes we begin to treat those challenges as if they are the whole story — as if they are fixed, total, and immovable. And the truth is, that’s rarely the case.

Often, there are a lot of good things happening in there. I wonder where we might be able to notice that in ourselves and in one another. Maybe we need that reminder.

—Renee Roederer

I had an experience this weekend that absolutely blew my mind.

I was together with two of my very best friends from high school. We were back in the area where we grew up because one friend’s Dad had just died. We gathered together for the funeral. The three of us stayed in an Airbnb together for the weekend in the area where we grew up.

While we were there, we started looking through a big, hefty book that my friend had found while cleaning out her Dad’s house. Out of curiosity, she had begun thumbing through it and discovered that it was filled with newspaper articles that were a hundred years old — and in a few instances, even a little older than that.

I was already stunned that this thin newspaper paper could be so well preserved. But then something even stranger happened.

When we flipped the pages, a small note slipped out. I picked it up and looked at it first, utterly flabbergasted.

“What?!?” I said.

My friend next to me leaned over and said, “Edwin Hubble?!?”

Another friend asked, “Who’s Edwin Hubble?”

And we said, “The Edwin Hubble. The astronomer the telescope is named after.”

Edwin Hubble taught at New Albany High School in Indiana from 1913 to 1914. I already knew that, but what I didn’t know is in addition to physics and math, he taught Spanish.

The note we found is written in Spanish.

Translated, it says: “I will come with great pleasure, my señorita.”

So now we’re left with a question.

Is this a flirty note from Edwin Hubble? Or is it simply saying that he will gladly come to an event or invitation?

We don’t know, but we think more than likely, it’s the latter. It may be connected to my friend’s long-ago relative who was a performer in her young adulthood. There are photos of her in the same book. This may be a note sharing that he will gladly be present for a concert.

We’re not sure. But we checked his signature, and it looks completely authentic.

I am absolutely stunned by this and very excited about the find. My friend will have to decide what she wants to do with the note — perhaps give it to Hubble’s collection at the Huntington Library near Pasadena, California, or perhaps keep it.

Either way, what an incredible discovery.

And such a mystery.

Who were you writing to, Edwin?

—Renee Roederer

–Photos by Renee Roederer

So many unique forms of life.