Smuggling Grace

I woke up in a foul mood. Nothing was wrong, really. I had just started the morning by rehearsing an old story in my head, one of those familiar narratives that likes to resurface now and then. You probably know the kind: mostly untrue, not especially helpful, yet stubborn enough to shape the mood of the day anyway.

Thankfully, the day turned itself around. Later, I met up with one of my favorite people, a dear person who moved to another state years ago and was back in town for a visit. She had just gotten off a bus and was walking toward the coffee shop where we planned to meet. At the very same time, I was leaving my driveway, windows down, on a warm October afternoon. It was fun to think of ourselves in real time on our way toward one another. For some reason, that simple thought lifted me.

That’s a feeling I want to hold onto — We’re on our way toward one another — and maybe make it into a narrative of its own.

There is so much division. There is so much separation. There is so much contempt. There is so much loss. I don’t want to deny these realities, of course, but I do want to anticipate something different — something in process, something connectional.

Maybe that’s what I mean by anticipating one another: keeping a kind of readiness for goodness, for kinship, for what might grow between us if we stay open to it.

—Renee Roederer

–Photos by Renee Roederer

Baby Tapirs are extraordinarily cute.

All people in this world have needs that are particular to themselves.
Every person.

And

All people and all communities have unique and particular strengths to share.
Every person, every community.

I’m not sure if we can ever truly run from need, because human need is one of the most honest and real things about us all. But we definitely try. There may be a number of reasons for this. Among them, we’ve internalized lot of cultural narratives about individualism, self-sufficiency, and the belief that we must produce and earn love and belonging. (Psst, those are myths. Dangerous myths).

But those cultural narratives take form in our thoughts and feelings…

“I’m a burden.”

“I’m too much.”

“I don’t want to over-ask.”

“I don’t want to trouble.”

“They’re going to get tired of me.”

“I can’t voice this.”

Soon we’re speaking narratives about ourselves, and we run from our need and from one another. But again,

All people in this world have needs that are particular to themselves.
Every person.

And

All people and all communities have unique and particular strengths to share.
Every person, every community.

There is no shame in any of this. We can embrace these parts of ourselves. We can share these parts of ourselves. We can love these parts of ourselves.

Need away, friends.

—Renee Roederer

This morning, I’m sharing words from Farm Church, a congregation in Durham, North Carolina as they shared them on social media:

When has someone offered a question in conversation that was so lovely, so inviting, and so spacious that it was, to you in that moment, sacramental? Can you remember a time when someone’s curious, non-anxious questioning presence created for you “a glimpse of the almost unbearable preciousness and mystery of life”? (Frederick Buechner’s words to describe the witnessing of sacrament.)

Do any memories and any questions come to mind?

How are we taking time to rest these days, or how might we?

Rest is often the first priority to go. Rest is often culturally railroaded.

In order to receive it, what do we need to clear out of the way? What do we need to prioritize?

Just some questions to think about.

–Renee Roederer

Mysteries, Yes
By Mary Oliver

Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.

How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising.
How two hands touch and the bonds will
never be broken.
How people come, from delight or the
scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.

Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.

Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.

This hasn’t been my favorite two weeks of my life.

But I will start with the positive: Over this span of time, some incredible things have happened, especially in my work community, including a record-fundraising gala and a movie premiere. Truly fabulous.

But also… two weeks ago while e-biking, I collided into another biker. We were both safe from major danger. Though I’m nearly always in a bike lane or on the road, we were both on sidewalk when this happened. It’s actually hard to say who ran into whom. It felt like a mutual collision.

We were also very kind to one another and helped each other a lot. It wasn’t a meet cute, but it was a fall off your seat cute — or at least, nice.

But it also hurt. Big time.

I ended up with bruises, but more challenging, a lot of road rash on my arm. Remember that book, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie? This has been a bit like that. Unbeknownst to me, apparently, I have an allergy to the adhesive of bandages. So on top of my road rash, my skin exploded with an allergic reaction that I’m still recovering from. And then that delayed a minor surgery I’ve had scheduled for six months.

Can someone give me a cookie? But with no ill effects?

I pushed through a record-fundraising gala and a movie premiere (I’ll probably say more about the movie soon). And during this span of time — ironically? — had the incredible invitation to give a talk about my e-biking adventure at a city event. That is, the 3,100 miles in Ann Arbor, and not the fall.

But finally, last weekend, I truly rested. And I’m taking three days off this week.

And you know what’s amazing? I’m not at 100%, but my skin is truly healing. It has made great strides in the last few days. Almost night and day. We’re not some sea creature that can regenerate limbs, but isn’t it amazing that we can regenerate skin? My immune system did this for me, warding off infection (even with a major allergic reaction, I never had that!) and repairing and creating cells. That’s wild. And sure, maybe it’s done that before in some other ways, but it’s never done this. It’s never healed road rash and an allergic reaction. How does it know to do that?

Anyway, I’m glad my body can do uncharted things. And yours does this, too. Grateful.

I plan to go 3,100 more miles with no more falls. Cookie, please?

—Renee Roederer

I pulled into my driveway at dusk, and in late September, I noticed a single daylily in bloom. I have about ten daylily plants, and almost all of them flower in June, with a few lingering into July. But there, in a row of green with no blossoms except one, was a lone latecomer — a bright flower opening in autumn.

That’s a nice image, and it brings me to this thought:

If you have an intention, a project, a relationship, a community, an introduction, a reconciliation, an idea, an endeavor, a vocation, an opportunity to rest, an occasion to play, or anything under the sun that emerges later than expected, it still matters. It can form and thrive in its own time — and that, too, is worth celebrating.

—Renee Roederer

–Photos by Renee Roederer

They’re pretty cute.