Author: gracesmuggler

This year, I have a very small, precious baby bunny living in my yard (though she’s getting bigger!) I’ve named her Bellatrix. Yesterday, Baby Bellatrix ate a long piece of grass like a noodle, and it was cute. You can watch that below or here.

Audio: So close! Are you gonna finish it? Oh, you’re so close! You did it!

It’s really fun to watch her nibble her way through the yard. Here she is doing that. Munch, Munch, Munch.

Yesterday, my good friend Christina Berry sent me this poem, and it’s fitting for my relationship with this little one.

A Rabbit Noticed My Condition

Image Description: An American flag flies in the midst of debris and wreckage in Moore, Oklahoma after an EF5 tornado with winds exceeding 200 miles per hour tore through the Oklahoma City suburb. Public domain image.

There are times when you read a piece, and every single paragraph is a powerful expression of truth-telling. I want to pass along such a piece today:

America’s Optimistic Spirit is Killing Us Because We Don’t Know What Faith Is
by Chris Dela Cruz

I will lift just two quotes:

“These American coping mechanisms of super positive thinking, of ‘frontier’ sky’s-the-limit mentality, and optimistic framing have ill-equipped us to take a horrific pandemic seriously, to confront the realities of long-embedded systemic racism, and to actually use our dream-thinking where it could matter – to pool our resources to deal with an unprecedented economic disaster with actual far-reaching solutions that help people.”

-and-

“And so we are left with thousands of people dead of COVID-19 without acknowledging that it doesn’t have to be this way, with a country that cannot even deal symbolically with our racist statues without federal stormtroopers kidnapping people in rental cars.”

Image Description: A ballpoint pen lying on a piece of paper. Public domain image.

“And therefore, every possibility of a person putting words to something, especially something that’s been difficult, is in itself a sacrament.” – Pádraig Ó Tuama

Years ago, while experiencing some conflicts, I sat down with a pen and a piece of paper. I thought it would be a good exercise to journal in a stream of consciousness. As I sat there, I wrote down whatever came to me in the moment. Then one question jumped off the page and suddenly caught my attention:

“What if they’re write?”

In a moment of self-doubt, I meant to say, “What if they’re right?” But that’s not what I had written on the page.

“What if they’re write?” I asked myself.

This was a big aha moment for me. I realized I had been grappling with a fear that I wasn’t going to be able to use my voice and words to craft my own story, but that instead, others would do that for me. I was so afraid of being silenced.

Of course, in life, there are times when we are indeed silenced. In such experiences, it is important to be gentle with ourselves (it’s okay to give time) and then we can begin to empower our voices in a way that feels right (write) to us. We need the right (write) people and the right (write) moments to let our voices speak truth and meaning.

When we are able to make meaning of our stories — large and small stories, alike — we are able to cultivate narratives that open possibilities for ourselves and create space for others too. I know this to be true: When we make meaning, we heal — in the passive sense (we receive; though is that passive?) and in the active sense (we actively live as healers).

So is there a story you need to tell? Or write down? Or re-imagine?

Maybe you can start small. One step at a time. Or maybe this is finally the time to launch a big narrative in the world. Whatever is best, may you be supported and empowered. You are deserving of such support and empowerment. Your voice matters.

“Don’t let the terrible narrative be the thing that holds you. There is the possibility that you can be the site of generosity from which you, and also your own, can benefit. You can be the place from which goodness and generosity can come — that is, the person who has held in their body the most hostility might be the possibility of the place of hospitality also. And that is a story worth telling.” – Pádraig Ó Tuama

– Renee Roederer

Image Description: An illustration of sheep dogs with black, white, and brown fur. One is lying down, and one is standing up. Public domain illustration.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.

Many years ago, while preaching on Psalm 23, one of my most formational people shared that this phrase can evoke imagery of sheep dogs — as if goodness and mercy continually guide us and lead us, not always in front of us, but often from behind us. We are followed by goodness and mercy in ways that shape our path. Sometimes, goodness and mercy might even limit our path necessarily because they’re steering us away from danger.

They are behind us, following us.
I find this interesting because we don’t always choose to follow goodness and mercy.
Sometimes, we follow other instincts.
Perhaps we need them working behind the scenes.

Goodness and mercy can reveal
what is most true,
what is most needed,
what is necessary for change,
what is expansive for growth,
what is invited for healing, and
what is possible, even when it feels as if no pathway is possible.

Guilt and shame are never good guides.
We don’t need these to hem us in.

We need goodness and mercy.
These form us best and cultivate the best pathways.

Behind us,
Shaping what is before us.

–Renee Roederer

Image Description: Two hands come together and make the shape of a heart. The light of the sun is shining through it.

Never underestimate the power of connections.

This is something I tell myself often. When I say this, I’m not talking about networking or schmoozing. I’m simply talking about the power of being connected in relationship.

I’m talking about building awareness of one another. Knowing names. Introducing people and deepening friendships. Living in kinship. Understanding the stories people carry. Engaging with the giftedness people have to offer. Living in awareness of needs.

Hugh Hollowell of Love Wins Ministries, a community of care and presence with people experiencing homelessness, often says, “The opposite of homelessness isn’t housing. The opposite of homelessness is community.” People often fall through the cracks because they do not have a community deep and wide enough to hold them up in a time of crisis.

So never underestimate the power of connections.

You never know how someone’s story might connect to someone’s story.

You never know how someone’s presence might connect to someone’s need.

You never know how someone’s awareness might increase empathy, solidarity, and action.

Introduce people. Cultivate community space. Learn more about people around you. See what commonalities you might find. Because when we do all of these things, we create the conditions that make support possible — sometimes in ways we’ve yet to imagine.

–Renee Roederer

Image Description: Pádraig Ó Tuama.

A few years ago, I had the opportunity to listen to an interview with Pádraig Ó Tuama on Krista Tippett’s On Being. I was so grateful to hear it because it has turned out to be one of my favorite episodes of her podcast.

Pádraig Ó Tuama is a poet, theologian, and at the time of the podcast, he was the leader of the Corrymeela community, a peace and reconciliation center in Northern Ireland. On this podcast, entitled, Belonging Creates and Undoes Us Both, Pádraig Ó Tuama says so many powerful things about voicing and hearing stories. He describes the experience as sacramental.

Have you ever thought about story as sacrament? A means of grace? An opportunity to connect with God and neighbor? An moment to make the past or hoped-for-future present? An invitation toward recreation? The promise of belonging, no matter what? New life — resurrection?

Perhaps when we have the opportunity to tell or hear a story, especially one that is very true and formational to life, we can remember this framework. I’ll share some of Pádraig Ó Tuama‘s quotes below:

“And therefore, every possibility of a person putting words to something, especially something that’s been difficult, is in itself a sacrament.”

“Words are the way to put narrative onto something, and to turn an experience — and especially, I suppose, thinking of conflict situations — to turn an experience that you would rather not have had into something where you can say, at least I’ve had the capacity to tell a story about it, even when that story is painful and unfinished and unresolved, nevertheless, there is a way in which to have words for it. You’re crystallizing it. You’re sacramentalizing it.”

“Let’s begin to be gentle and soothe the fear of fear and find a way that story can be its own liberator if you can find a way to hold it in a generous way.”

“And that is where language is limited because language needs courtesy to guide it and an inclusion and a generosity that goes beyond precision and become something much more akin to sacrament, something much more akin to how it is you can be attentive to the implications of language in the room for those who may have suffered.”

“Don’t let the terrible narrative be the thing that holds you. There is the possibility that you can be the site of generosity from which you, and also your own can benefit. You can be the place from which goodness and generosity can come — that is, the person who has held in their body the most hostility might be the possibility of the place of hospitality also. And that is a story worth telling.”

–Renee Roederer

Image Description: Julie Andrews twirls as Maria in the midst of the mountains.

… I finally watched the Sound of Music. For the first time.

Yes, yes, I know.

During this pandemic, I’ve started doing something fun with someone. We have this ritual that we call Surprise TV. She picks something for us to watch, and I don’t know what it will be until we sync up our computers and… surprise!

For years, I’ve loved shocking people by telling them that I’ve never seen The Sound of Music. But with Surprise TV, she got me. We started it up, and the hills were allliiiiiiive!

I watched it. All three hours of it. And I live-tweeted my reactions. You can see those here:
#ReneeWatchesTheSoundOfMusicForTheFirstTime

–Renee Roederer

Image Description: A microphone on a stand with shimmering lights in the background. Public domain image.

We internalize voices of people —
people near, people far,
people recent, people long past,
people who affirmed, people who criticized.

Sometimes, we carry these voices around for a long time.

Who is telling you about you recently? In your own mind, whose voices are chiming up? If we could see a pie chart, what percentage of time and space do those voices take up in our thinking? In our processing? In our feelings? In our beliefs about what is possible?

This may be something to consider, because I know that in many cases, we privilege the most cynical voices.

Maybe we need to turn this completely in the opposite direction. How can we privilege the voices of those who gave affirmation? Those who challenged us because they believed in us? Those who opened up our perspectives on the world? Those who helped us find a calling larger than ourselves? Those who loved us no matter what? Those who created space for us to be ourselves – including opportunities to try things and fail, and get back up again?

Though we are each one person, we are made of these many parts. As we negotiate these, in a real sense, we are in relationship with ourselves. So how do we integrate the best voices into our own internal voice?

It’s good to give these more airtime.

– Renee Roederer

The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe, image from Artisan Landscape.
Children are coming out of this shoe in all directions!

“What if you think of it this way?” she said.

Sometimes, we can shift a situation simply by reframing it.

Years ago, a friend of mine was feeling sad, frustrated, and angry. Then, as we sometimes do, she began to turn those feelings inward, feeling sad, frustrated, and angry with herself for having such feelings in the first place. In the midst of that, she had a conversation with someone pretty wise. That person said,

“Imagine you’re a grandmother, and you have so very many grandchildren. In fact, you have more grandchildren than you can count, and maybe they’re running around all over the place. It probably feels pretty disorienting. Frustrated though you are, you’re a loving grandmother, so rather than lashing out at all these grandchildren, you approach them one at a time, and you try to figure out why each one is acting up. These grandchildren are your feelings. Maybe they have some things to tell you. What if you approach them one by one and ask them they need?

“Maybe you say, ‘Honey, you can’t run around like this, and you can’t hit your sister feeling over the head. But come here. Can you tell me why you’re frustrated? Can you tell me why you’re feeling so sad? I’m listening to you.’

“Then listen to yourself. Really listen. Mirror back what you hear. ‘Oh, I hear that you’re scared. Yeah, that can feel scary.’ Then say, ‘I’m here.’ And give these grandchildren what they need — love, reassurance, and confidence that you’re going to be present and that you’ll protect them.”

This was a wise reframing.

Sometimes, we especially need to remember that we are in relationship with ourselves. Entering that recognition more deeply, we can have important insights and grow. None of us is uniform or monolithic. We have parts, and sometimes, some parts of ourselves need to be heard by other parts. We can have internal dialogue. No need for shame spirals. We can hear ourselves with loving intention.

So if it’s helpful, I offer this reframing: You too can be that grandmother.

–Renee Roederer