Smuggling Grace

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?

The meek shall inherit the earth.

—Renee Roederer

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.

Maybe we could enact our greatest values.

Maybe we could take care of one another.

—Renee Roederer

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.

Here are some highlights from this week:

Have you seen any good sunsets lately?

—Renee Roederer

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.

The pause might be more contagious than we think.

—Renee Roederer

400 years ago, beavers went extinct in Britain. They were hunted and then couldn’t come back.

But in 2009, after a law was passed in Scotland to restore habitats with native species, scientists brought a pair of Norwegian beavers to a remote rainforest in the hopes that they would repopulate and restore an aspect of the land’s native history.

That’s exactly what happened.These two beavers began to have kits, and then their family spread. Wanting to keep the gene pool diverse, scientists brought in a few additional Norwegian beavers, too.

And once they became established, the landscape began to change in remarkable ways. Eight species of birds relocated to the area. Rare butterflies began laying eggs in the teeth-indented marks beavers made on logs. Freshwater shrimp returned.

And on top of these changes, because of the dams the beavers created, flooding around one of the stops on the tube ceased entirely. City officials had been planning a major infrastructure project to help with this, and then they didn’t have to do it.

Truth be told, some other challenges occurred too, especially for farms that were affected by changes in the water. Not everyone is happy. But the government is trying to place these beavers in the best possible locations.

These beavers are making a remarkable amount of change simply by being themselves.

Maybe…

I need the you-est version of you to be the me-est version of me.

Maybe…

You need the me-est version of me to be the you-est version of you.

Maybe…

We need an ecosystem of one another.

After all, we’re interconnected, too.

—Renee Roederer

–Photos by Renee Roederer

A friend recently shared something sweet. Her five-year-old daughter is convinced that lightning bugs (or, if you use a different word regionally, fireflies) are really fairies.

They are disguised as bugs, but every time they light up, they are revealing their true selves. And to her, this is not just metaphorical.

Every time the green light emerges, she runs closer, convinced she’s going to see arms, legs, and a smiling face in addition to wings.

Whatever — or whoever — they might be, we definitely live in an enchanted world. Savor accordingly.

—Renee Roederer

As I continue my cycling journey, pedaling down every street in the in my town in alphabetical order, I texted an old friend and told him that the very next day, I’d be biking down his street.

He said, “Let me know when you’re coming.”

So that morning, I gave him an ETA.That turned out to be remarkably accurate because I pulled onto his street at precisely the moment Google Maps told me I would.

And I was greeted by the sweetest, silliest thing:

He ran down the driveway, many plastic grocery bags in both hands, shaking them like pom-poms as he celebrated my arrival.

This delighted me.This is the first time I’ve ever been able to tell someone that I was coming to their street on this journey, and it did not disappoint.

I hope you feel celebrated today, too, maybe in ways you didn’t expect.

—Renee Roederer

I opened the door to my local Panera Bread, where I was planning to pick up some coffee. The first thing I saw was two dads in their 40s with two sons who looked like they were somewhere between 8 and 10 years old. They had pushed two tables together, and both dads sat on the booth side while both sons faced them in chairs. Between each dad and son was a chessboard.

Two dads, two sons, two chessboards, two ongoing games.

This was about friendship, strategy, intellect, and fun. I love seeing dads spending time with one another and with their children. And I love that it isn’t only and always about sports. Here they were, sitting across from their sons, thinking and playing together.

There are many ways to be dads. There are many ways to be sons. There are many ways to be masculine. There are many ways to be human.

I love that.

Just a lovely image to encounter while walking in for some coffee.

—Renee Roederer