I was walking into a grocery store when I spotted a car in the parking lot. It had a bumper sticker that read,
The world is a better place with you in it.
That made me smile, and I wanted to pass that along, especially if you could use the reminder. Just so you know, it’s a very true truth.
— Renee Roederer
I have a daily rhythm with one of my favorite people. We’ve been doing this informally for a long time, but recently, we’ve given it a name: WDT—Weird Daily Tidbit. We enjoy making each other’s day a little more quirky, and by “weird,” I mean innocuously strange in a fun way.
Like last week, when she sent me a photo of an avocado she had just sliced. When she cut it open, the pit inside was surprisingly pointy. That’s all — just a weird photo of a weird avocado.
On another day, she asked, “Is ‘Cotton Eye Joe’ in a major or minor key?” It’s obviously in a major key, but the way she asked made me stop and think about it. In return, I sent her a WDT — a recording of me singing it in a minor key.
—
My Mom stayed with me last week, and now that she’s back home, we caught up the next day on a few tidbits of daily life. I shared something about my yard, something I probably wouldn’t have mentioned if she hadn’t visited. We also ended up talking about what she had for dinner on the way home and what I was planning for lunch today.
Just daily tidbits. Not necessarily weird — just everyday, mundane details we share because we’re part of each other’s lives.
Whether it’s weird or just routine, isn’t it lovely to have people with whom we can share the little things of daily life?
— Renee Roederer
Last night, a friend asked this question on social media:
If Jesus walked this Earth today, do you think he would be jumping in the vans with ICE to assist in what they’re doing?
I appreciated so many of the responses that followed, including some from Christians. But some who profess to follow Jesus clutched their pearls with a lot of exclamation points attached in their comments. Some were beside themselves, because clearly we have to respond precisely in this way. But it’s the law, they say. If you break the law, you get punished, they say.
My friend’s question holds up a mirror, and I am saddened that anyone might answer, “Yes, this is what Jesus would be doing.”
Here are some more questions:
Aren’t Christ’s teachings about grace and freedom?
Do we actually have laws that require men to wear masks, carry no badges, and tear parents away from their toddlers, driving them away in unmarked cars to prisons where they may or may not get food or medications? Are we required to do that by law?
Didn’t Jesus say that what we do “to the least of them” we do “to him”?
Why would anyone have have less rights or worth merely because they exist in a specific geographical space?
Were you willing to vote for a person who has 34 felonies and was indicted on far, far worse — an actual insurrection — but didn’t go to trial because people were willing to make him President? Do those laws matter, or is that only for people with brown skin existing on one side of a line we made up?
— Renee Roederer
This is a very special post about my Mom, who is staying with me currently and working all week to plant me a garden. I’m very touched by this.
First, some context: If you know me personally, or if you follow me with any regularity, you know I am interested in many things, and I keep all of these disciplined rhythms to make sure they are a part of my days. In addition to my job, which I love, I always have all of these personalized projects going on (blog writing, book writing, language learning, nature photography, bike riding, etc.) Every one of these gives me joy.
But do you know what I have very little time for — or frankly skills for, beyond the very basics?
Keeping up with my yard.
This summer so far, it has been weed-a’ganza, and I pull them… sometimes. And I do hire people to mow.
But my Mom flew up here solo (first time on a plane by the way!) and has spent so many hours gifting me with this garden. Pulling weeds, laying landscape fabric, planting, and placing mulch. She’ll lay the last touches of mulch tomorrow, but I could no longer hold off on taking photos (the part I’m good at) of lilies, butterfly bushes, and daisies.
I love them, and I’m very touched by her loving labor in these directions. I’m also grateful she gave me permission to brag on her.
How old do you think this toy horse is? 40 years? 80 years, tops?
It’s somewhere between 1600 and 2000 years old. It was excavated from Karanis, Egypt, and is on display at the Kelsey Museum of Archaeology (item 3772). I viewed it over the weekend and was amazed by when I saw it.
It’s incredible to think that some children nearly 2000 years ago rolled this little horsey around, making it journey across rocks, and floors, and walls, probably making neighing sounds just like our kids do.
Some adult with a name that we will never know made the hole for an eye. Maybe we can imagine our parents or grandparents finding a way to carve out that eye hole.
So if we can feel so much commonality across time — if we can imagine people’s uniqueness but also see how similar, and tender, and recognizable they are across time —
— is there any reason we can’t honor the same across geography and borders in our own time? The children who play and the parents and grandparents who love them have dreams, and affection, and worth, just like our own.
— Renee Roederer
I was riding my bike and looked down to find a very shiny, very cute bug. I don’t usually call bugs cute, but this one was. “What’s your name?” I wondered. “Might it be something in the human realm? Crystal? Horacio? Lila? Or maybe it could be something more conceptual like horses sometimes have?”
That’s when I decided this bug could be named That’s How the Cookie Crumbles.
That’s How the Cookie Crumbles rode with me for a good while. My new friend crawled around sometimes, but mostly stayed in a little nook near my brakes. We journeyed through multiple parts of town. As I pedaled, I thought about how this bug doesn’t know anything about the larger geography, the town’s infrastructure, or even what a bike is. But nevertheless, we traveled together. I’m sure That’s How the Cookie Crumbles knows all kinds of things I’ve never known either.
And here I was, one miniscule human being, flying on a rock throughout space as I rode a bike.
I, too, am a Ride Along, with a multitude of others — fellow humans, green bugs, and more species than I can count, constantly propelled by gravitational forces in a universe of which I, and we, know next to nothing, really. At least on the scale of what could be known.
And it is a very good ride, isn’t it? Or at least, it could be.
And when it isn’t, why can’t we see that our borders mean nothing? In the grand scheme of things, we are riding along on a rock together, and we could just as readily honor one another rather than separate, violate, starve, deport, and malign.
We could marvel. We could journey. We could celebrate. We could protect.
— Renee Roederer
2529.5 Miles Total
For those of you who are new to this highly inefficient project of mine, here’s a quick recap: Since September 2023, I’ve been riding my e-bike to every street in Ann Arbor in alphabetical order. When the weather is warm (right now, it is!) I set out from my house and ride to a new street, exploring my city in a structured yet adventurous way. On any given day, I don’t know where I’ll go until I plug the next street into Google Maps. I like to call this “curated randomness.” Both words in that phrase feel appropriate.
As of today, I’ve completed all the streets starting with the letter D, bringing my total mileage to 2529.5 miles. Each time I finish a letter, I write a little reflection on the process and what it feels like to be connected to a sense of place.
As Zelda and I zoomed during this season — that’s my bike’s name — I happened upon so many flowering trees. This was especially true in May. It was a contagion of discovery, as I would turn a corner here or there and suddenly find trees newly in bloom where they had not been just a few days before They kept surprising me.
If I had an instinct to pause or take a photo, followed by a thought of, “I’ll just do it tomorrow,” or “I’ll catch that later this week,” I quickly realized how unlikely that would be. Because only a few days later, that tree would no longer be in bloom. Others would have taken its place, but I would have missed out on *that one.*
And this brings me to the title of this reflection: “Sometimes, later could be now.”
While life continuously changes, how many times do we put off what could be the most important to us?
Calling or visiting a friend…
Playing with the kids without checking the phone…
Getting involved in a community…
Taking action on an important issue…
Booking the vacation…
Saying “Thank you” to the people who need to hear it…
Prioritizing our health…
Taking a step in the direction of a dream…
Saying “I’m sorry” to loved ones who haven’t heard that yet..
Voicing “Yes,” to something outside of our comfort zone…
Snapping photos together…
Learning a new language…
Saying “No” to injustice…
Standing up for ourselves…
Sleeping more…
Eating without interruption…
And…
And…
And…
Whatever it may be for each one of us, truly, later could be now. So what if we act on it? Enjoy it? Choose it?
— Renee Roederer
Smuggling Grace 