Author: gracesmuggler

We know that phrase, “Prepare for the worst.”

There may be times when this truly needs to be said, but I’m going to venture to guess that we haven’t heard these words spoken to us directly very often. So… I wonder, why do we so frequently assume the very worst outcome is going to happen?

I also ask this question of myself, because this is perhaps a bit of a paradox in my own life:

People experience me to be very optimistic, upbeat, and positive (at least, people tell me this) and every bit of that is authentic. And at the very same time, I have such a propensity to move toward anxiety. I am capable of imagining the worst possible outcomes. I’ve learned to live in the ambiguity of this, choosing joyfulness and gratitude as much as I can (that’s what makes me seem optimistic). But the paradox is always alive – these two truths at the same time.

Does that resonate with you? I bet others live this paradox too.

I thought about this again this weekend, and that’s when I thought, why not make it a practice to Prepare for the Best?

I don’t mean any sort of head in the sand or head in the clouds lack of engagement with reality. But I do mean, what if we spent time pondering what is possible? What if we believed more was possible? What if we lived in that direction so much that more actually was possible?

Despite my anxious tendencies in life, I believe in these questions, and I believe in what they can create.

So what if we spend some time Preparing for the Best?

– Renee Roederer

Sometimes, I marvel at who is in my life.
Sometimes, I am stunned to ponder that I could begin alone
then
become
connected
to
who after
who after
who after
who.

And this never ends.

It’s like a Big Bang, really.
A Whole Universe of Belonging.

We each start as a singularity.
Then
each one of us
bursts forth,
brought into an abundance of connections,
born anew bit by bit
through the particularities of relationship.

And these particularities
create
build
form
nurture
cultivate
and
renew.

They expand.

This is an ever expanding Universe —
this Cosmos
of
who after
who after
who after
who.

– Renee Roederer

This is my Wishing Rock.

It comes from the shore of Lake Michigan and was given to me years ago. I was trying to remember exactly, but I my memory fails me. . . I’ve had it since 2011 or 2012. Somewhere in there. When the weather is warm, it typically sits on my dresser (because I’m not wearing pockets) but during the fall, winter, and spring, it usually rides around inside my pocket. As you can imagine, it’s gone a lot of places.

It’s a Wishing Rock because it has a full band around it. There are lots of traditions with rocks like these, but you can hold such a rock and think about what you most wish. Perhaps deeper, you can hope for what you most dream.

I’ve been thinking about this again this morning, in part, because it’s going back in my pocket. More significantly though, I’m thinking about the wishes and dreams we carry. Sometimes, they are ripe with possibility. Sometimes, they are weighed down with the reality of unlikelihood. But are these ever the primary or final story — that is, simply  whether they are possible or not possible? No, there is more than this.

Between those brackets of assumed outcomes (whether reality or our own perception) there are so many stories of what is possible. And if we want to see a wish or dream come to fruition, whether personal, for our communities, or for our world, we have to lean in its direction. We have to say ‘yes’ to it again and again. (After all, doesn’t it keep showing up in our consciousness again and again?)

To put it another way, we have to be a part of the very prayers we make.

So what is your
wish?
dream?
prayer?

How can you take even just one initial step, leaning into its direction?

–Renee Roederer

Suddenly, I heard my own prayer.
As I was making my final rounds before sleep —
turning off lights, putting dishes in the sink —
I suddenly heard myself,
my deeper self,
reverberate words from a prayer nine years ago.

There it was,
from a moment I had actually forgotten:
The words rose up and found themselves inside me
like a thought I didn’t think.

It was a mantra I prayed during a Taize service
in a time of transition —
a time
for which I was not ready, yet
for which I was being prepared.

Two phrases of prayer, uplifted over and over,
anxiety lending itself toward trust,
wondering if change can change us
even if we would like to change its pathway.

Times like this can shape becoming,
our own shaping,
our own becoming.
Times like this can shape our meaning-making,
as we carry mantles we do not know to choose,
yet for which we are lovingly chosen.

Despite what we hope for,
Despite what we wish for,
even our Deepest Despite
can lend its way toward a world of meaning and becoming.

So I suppose if a prayer can return again,
we can return
to this truth,
to this wondering,
to this becoming.

 

Last week, I bookended a post with quotes from Pádraig Ó Tuama. He is a poet, theologian, and the leader of the Corrymeela Community in Belfast, a peace and conflict center where a great deal of connection and healing happens daily. I encountered his words while listening to an interview with him on Krista Tippett’s On Being. I cannot recommend this episode of her podcast enough to you.

I listened to the unedited version of this podcast very slowly over the last three weeks. It was the kind of thing I needed to savor, because I found Pádraig Ó Tuama speaking so much needed truth, comfort, and tenderness toward me and the whole audience. I needed all of it.

Today, I want to share some more of his words with you. They are about prayer. He spoke these words at the end of the podcast, and they moved me so much, particularly in the presence of some grief I’ve been feeling alongside others.

Today, I want to say this to any who may need to hear it: Friends, it’s okay to say Hello. It will likely help us, and we do not do so alone. I also believe God greets us as we greet our days. These words —

Neither I nor the poets I love have found the keys to the kingdom of prayer,

And we cannot force God to stumble over us where we sit,

But

I know that it’s a good idea to sit anyway.

So every morning, I sit, I kneel, waiting,
making friends with the habit of listening,
hoping that I am being listened to. . .

There, I greet God and my own disorder.
I say Hello
to my chaos,
my unmade decisions,
my unmade bed,
my desire and my trouble.
I say Hello
to distraction and privilege.

I greet the day, and I greet my beloved and bewildering Jesus.

I recognize and greet
my burdens,
my luck,
my controlled and uncontrollable story.

I greet
my untold stories,
my unfolding story,
my unloved body,
my own love,
my own body.

I greet
the things I think will happen,
and I say Hello to everything I do not know about the day.

I greet
my own small world,
and I hope that I can meet the bigger world that day.

I greet
my story,
and hope that I can forget my story during the day,
and hope that I can hear some stories,
and greet some surprising stories during the long day ahead.

I greet God,
and I greet the God Who is More God than the God I greet,

Hello to you all, I say,
as the sun rises above the chimneys of North Belfast.

Hello.

– Pádraig Ó Tuama

 

 

Now.

If you’re anything like me, you are at times, bandied about by time.

Perhaps moments from the past shape present anxieties. Or they may reach even further and send our minds into a fearful, imagined future. We can easily move back and forth through time without being fully present to the moment and hand.

But what would happen if we were more fully present?  To the moment at hand?

What if we paid attention?

What if small moments opened up gratitude for us?

What if daily life and routines could be experienced in such a way that they become the anchor to connection? That is, if they allow what is in front of us to remind us of our loved ones? Or inspire us to what is larger — perhaps even a calling, large or small?

The present moment is here to shape and guide us in our thinking, feeling, living, dreaming, and connecting. So what if we focused more deeply upon it?

Someone I know is calling this month Nowvember. I love that. Today is Nowvember 10th. What can we experience within it?

–Renee Roederer

“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 right (write), 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

 

 

If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten we belong to one another. – Mother Theresa

We do belong to one another.

At times, we forget this to our collective diminishment. But there is never a moment when it is untrue. Perhaps we need to rekindle this awareness in ourselves, particularly in an era that so often denies belonging and worth.

Last night at Canterbury House, we held an All Saints remembrance. We sang Taize choruses and surrounded ourselves with photos of loved ones —

people who have died,

people we admire yet never met,

people who make up our Family of Choice.

This is Kinship. We really belong to one another. 

A friend of mine recently lifted up a recognition about the All Saints celebration, particularly as it is practiced by Protestants: There is no great expectation about who these saints are or have to be. In fact, some of those expectations fall away. They are “family, friends, mentors teachers, coworkers, pastors, anyone.” Biological ties are less important. Class and status are less important. Everyone belongs. Everyone is a part of the Great Cloud of Witnesses.

Last night, I surrounded myself with people who have been to me parents, siblings, and children, something I rarely get to celebrate and honor so publicly, because everyone would look and assume – not connected, not related.

But in Nurture-Kinship, we are. 

And in Christian Communion, we are. And in the Great Cloud of Witnesses, we are. And in Shared Humanity, we are.

And this matters so much.

We do belong to one another. Let’s remember and celebrate.

– Renee Roederer

We need silliness, joy, and laughter.

In times of collective stress and anxiety, we human beings crave moments of levity as well. Thankfully, these can often find us, even if we’re not particularly looking for them.

I am one of the administrators of a large Facebook group called Young PC(USA) Leaders. This group has about 1800 people in it who are leaders of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) under the age of 40. Yesterday, I asked a question which turned into a hilarious conversation:

Zen Master and teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh, says,

Life is filled with suffering, but it is is also filled with many wonders, such as the blue sky, the sunshine, and the eyes of a baby. To suffer is not enough. We must also be in touch with the wonders of life. They are within us and all around us, everywhere, anytime.

This is the very first paragraph in his book, Being Peace.

He continues with these words,

If we are not happy, if we are not peaceful, we can’t share peace and happiness with others, even those we love, those who live under the same roof. If we are peaceful, if we are happy, we can smile and blossom like a flower, and everyone in our family, our entire society, will benefit from our peace. Do we need to make a special effort to enjoy the beauty of the blue sky? Do we have to practice to be able to enjoy it? No, we just enjoy it. Each second, each minute of our lives can be like this.

Do we have to make a special effort to enjoy the blue sky?

Truthfully, yes, sometimes. There are days when it may really be an effort. Perhaps today is a day like that.

We may be struggling with ongoing feelings of sadness and anxiety. We may be grieving. We are certainly grappling with yesterday’s news: A person with a semi-automatic weapon murdered 26 people in Sutherland Spring, Texas while they were worshiping in a church. This ignites loss, pain, and fears.

Sometimes, it probably does take a special effort — or at least, a special intention — to enjoy the blue sky. Or the sunshine. Or the eyes of a baby.

But we really can choose the intention to enjoy these too.

Thich Nhat Hanh does not teach people to put their heads in the sand. His primary teaching is that love is understanding — that if we want to love others and ourselves, we have to listen and understand one another’s suffering. This is so important.

And alongside that suffering, we can marvel at the joys and the beauty too. “Suffering is not enough,” he says. Joys and beauty can come alongside these pains.

Thich Nhat Hanh says, if we can enjoy and smile at these, we can embody peace — peace that will be made available to the suffering we and others carry.

So today, I put that wonderful intention in the world —
That we might enjoy the sky also.

–Renee Roederer