Smuggling Grace

All day long — whether we are experiencing some of it personally or simply receiving the daily waves of news — we are encountering difficult realities and outcomes. Of course, each of us carries our own particular concerns connected to ourselves, our families, and the people we love.

Meanwhile, many people are struggling with higher gas prices and inflation. Even before these recent shifts, many people were barely making rent. Some of us are parenting. Some of us are caring for aging parents. Some of us are in the sandwich generation, trying to hold both at once. Many of us are asking new questions and rethinking our priorities. And if we’re honest, sometimes those priorities don’t feel as centered as we want them to be, and we find ourselves numbing with all kinds of opportunities for distraction and dopamine.

I guess what I’m wondering in the midst of all this is: Is there anything we can make easier?

Easier for ourselves. Easier for others. Easier for our loved ones and neighbors.

Maybe we feel the weight of needing to fix enormous systems. And yes, we should be working together on those things. But is there anything we can do within our own lives, rhythms, relationships, and possibility-making that might make things just a little easier — or in some instances, a lot easier?

I had a little chuckle with myself recently when I said that I wanted a “season of ease.” Then I started calling it an “easeon,” blending the two words together.

And honestly, I think I want one.

I don’t mean checking out. I don’t mean disengaging. I mean paying attention to what can be softened, simplified, shared, supported, or carried together. What big thing or tiny thing can we make easier on a regular basis?

What if, over a period of time, we practiced this?

What can you make easier for yourself and others? Want to join me?

—Renee Roederer

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 think this must be a Michigan thing.

—Renee Roederer

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

*I wonder if we would teach this differently today. Also, like humans, biological sex in birds is not always binary.

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.

—Renee Roederer

— Photos by Renee Roederer

What an incredible legacy.

I love these recollections from Stephen Colbert about the first evening that the Late Show was scheduled to air. It almost didn’t!

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.

It’s good to be gentle.

—Renee Roederer

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.

—Renee Roederer