Smuggling Grace

When I find myself driving and jamming to a song on the radio, it’s usually because I love that particular song, or it perfectly syncs with my mood. But yesterday, I found myself beaming with smiles for a whole different reason. A song brought me to a quirky, funny memory.

Did you ever have an imaginary friend when you were a kid?

I did, when I was four. But my friend was not from any typical, imaginary friend category.

A friend my age…? No.

An animal…? No.

A toy come to life…? No.

My imaginary friend was…. wait for it…

Yep. My imaginary friend was Davy Jones of the band The Monkees.

I am literally laughing aloud right now as I type this blog post. Such an overly-specific imaginary friend!

Davy became my bud because as a four year old, I loved watching The Monkees on their exceedingly cheesy Nick at Nite television show. Davy and I would play games, and for a brief period of time that I remember, I would buckle a seat belt for him in the car.

Yesterday, while driving to Royal Oak, Michigan, the Monkees’ song, “I’m a Believer” came on the radio. I smiled at my childhood memory and laughed. I also like the song though I’m no longer a believer that Davy Jones is buckled in next to me in my car. (And, you know… thankfully. Though I suppose I could then ask him directly, “Davy, what were you and your boys thinking when you recorded this song?”)

I didn’t ask Davy anything yesterday in my car. But to myself, I thought, “This is funny. I should blog about this. Or maybe put it in a future comedy set.”

But then I thought, “Wait… but is this also kind of embarrassing?”

It’s a quirk.

It’s both funny and embarrassing. And also endearing. And also, as I’ve already said, super overly-specific in a delightful way.

So I share.

But mostly, I share the invitation to love your quirks today.

–Renee Roederer

Right now, I have some kind of spider outside — I think it’s an adolescent if you will; a not fully grown Orb Weaver — who builds an elaborate web every single night right on my front porch very close to my mailbox and front door. Every single night.

I think… this could be a serious phobia for my mail carrier, right? Plus, I’d like anyone to be able to approach my front door without fear.

So every single morning, I take a broom and knock down this web. The spider then goes upward and spends the day in the gutter of my house, hiding behind a leaf that has also landed there. Then this process repeats.

I know this spider needs to eat. I do not disparage this natural desire. I’m also amazed by his ability to spin this web. (Oh, by the way, his name is Herbie). Last night, I turned on the porch light to watch it happen. I was a little creeped out by all those moving legs, but I was also impressed.

I just want him to learn not to do it… right there. It’s the worst kind of location for me. (Well, except for inside).

Anyway, I want you to know this too:

Two times when I’ve knocked down this web, some flies flew away!
I’m annoying one but saving some.

–Renee Roederer

What if…

… you’re loved exactly as you are and are filled with worth, value, and a particular-to-you expression of what is amazing?

–Renee Roederer

Father Greg Boyle is a person I really appreciate. He’s the founder and spiritual leader of Homeboy Industries in Los Angeles. Homeboy Industries provides jobs, training, tattoo removal, therapy, and a variety of classes for people who are leaving gangs and people who have been recently incarcerated. In the midst of these opportunities, Homeboy Industries has created a large, extended family of kinship — many meaningful relationships over time.

Father Greg was once a guest on Krista Tippett’s On Being. During that interview, he uses a beautiful phrase about the mutuality of relationship. He says that in kinship, we serve as enlightened witnesses, helping each other ‘return to ourselves.’

Toward the beginning of the podcast, he uses some language from Cesar Chavez. Once, a reporter said to Chavez, “These farm workers sure do love you. . .” And to that, he replied, “The feeling’s mutual!”

That line came up again when he discussed this beautiful experience of returning to ourselves. To bring it home, he told a story about one of the homies named Louie and a mutual blessing they shared with some humor. I want to share Greg Boyle’s words below:

“You want to be as spacious as you can be, that you can have room for stuff. And love is all there is, and love is all you are. . .

“Alice Miller, who’s the late, great child psychologist, talked about how we’re all called to be enlightened witnesses — people who, through your kindness, tenderness, and focused, attentive love, return people to themselves. And in the process, you’re returned to yourself.

“Like I have a homie named Louie who just turned 18. And he’s kind of a difficult kid. You know, he’s exasperating, and he’s whiny. And he works for me — although work may be too strong a verb. But homies lately have asked me for blessings, which is odd — it’s like in the last three years — and they always ask me on the street or in my office. And they never say, ‘Father, may I have your blessing?’ They say, ‘Eh, G, give me a bless, yeah?’ And they always say it the same way.

“So this kid Louie, I’m talking to him, and he’s complaining about something. And finally, at the end of it, he says, ‘Eh, G, give me a bless, yeah?’ I said, sure. So he comes around to my side of the desk, and he knows the drill. And he bows his head. I put his hands on my shoulder. Well, his birthday had been two days before, so it gave me an opportunity to say something to him. And I said,

‘You know, Louie, I’m proud to know you.
And my life is richer ’cause you came into it.
And when you were born, the world became a better place,
And I’m proud to call you my son.
Even though — ‘

And I don’t know why I decided to add this part —

‘– at times, you can really be a huge pain in the ass.’

“And he looks up, and he smiles, and he says, ‘The feeling’s mutual!’

And suddenly — kinship so quickly. You’re not sort of this delivery system. But maybe I returned him to himself, but there is no doubt . . . that he’s returned me to myself.”

Friends, I hope you’ve had this kind of experience lately, even if socially distanced.

Or I hope you can recall this kind of experience — of returning and being returned — in a way that fills you right this instant in the present moment.

Suddenly, kinship so quickly.

–Renee Roederer

Connections build empathy and solidarity, and these commitments create supportive and protective communities. Everyone needs this, especially when we face difficult challenges.

Hugh Hollowell, founder and director of Love Wins Ministries in North Carolina, says that the opposite is homelessness isn’t just being housed. The real opposite of homelessness is community. When we extend our community relationships to include others, it is less likely that someone will experience homelessness. People often lose access to shelter because they’ve lost relationships.

We all need community support and care –

when we’ve lost a job,

when we’ve lost a loved one,

when we’ve begun a transition,

when we’ve left a religious community,

when we have mental health needs,

when we have financial needs,

when we have a deportation order,

when we’ve received a diagnosis,

when we don’t know where our next meal is coming from.

Does someone come to mind when you read this list? Can you reach out to them so that their access to community ties are strong?

Do you find yourself on that list? Do you know that you’re worth support and belonging? You are. Reach out to someone and let them know how you’re really doing.

Community is an intrinsic good, and we all need it.

– Renee Roederer

Our DNA carries stories.

Of course, our DNA articulates the building blocks of how our bodies grow — a type of narrative, so to speak — but beyond that, our DNA carries stories of our ancestors too. Researchers have discovered that our DNA carries imprints of our grandparents’ life experiences, and perhaps, further back as well.

Sadly, this was initially discovered by looking at the impacts of trauma. When ancestors have endured trying experiences, descendants carry some imprints of those experiences. See this:

Grandma’s Experiences Leave a Mark on Your Genes

But we are not stuck in these stories. The same discovery tells us that we are writing our DNA even as our DNA writes some aspects of our lives.

So. . .

All the work we do
to heal,
to grow,
to connect,
to create space,
to write new stories
in our lives, and
in the lives of our communities,
shapes the physical building blocks
of ourselves and generations that follow us.

That’s a powerful thing.

–Renee Roederer

I really appreciate the book, Emergent Strategy: Shaping Change, Changing Worlds by adrienne maree brown. I find it to be a remarkably refreshing, empowering paradigm shift in how we understand our relationships, our connection to the earth, our activism, our organizing, and our processes for affecting change.

There is so much I could share, as this has opened up reflections for me in many directions. But today, I want to share a piece of the book that has been sitting personally for a long time.

adrienne marie brown says,

“We need each other. I love the idea of shifting from ‘mile wide inch deep’ movements to ‘inch wide mile deep’ movements that schism the existing paradigm.” (page 20)

Inch wide, mile deep… I absolutely love that.

She is encouraging us to move away from a paradigm we might recognize very well (do you?) — that is, plunging into task-oriented work in a huge array of areas based on the urgency of the many needs around us. Those needs are very real, and when we experience burnout, we might find ourselves driven more by ‘shoulds’ than feelings of relational care. In the midst of this, she encourages to move toward a paradigm that is based on relationships — going deep with them, going deep with the care of them — because that is how transformation really happens.

It’s also much more sustainable. Whether it’s in our employment, our vocation, our neighborhood vision, or in larger scale movement work, mile wide, inch deep rhythms often lead to high burnout and low impact.

But inch wide, mile deep… That’s refreshing, transformative work.

And lately, I’ve found myself desiring this. To plant myself/ourselves particularly — not widely, but deeply — to be all-in on a few things, very specific inches,

trusting that those roots go deep,
trusting that those roots find nourishing soil,
trusting that those roots intertwine with other roots,

finding connection to the people planted in other inches.
(and intersecting)
(and providing collective nourishment).

—Renee Roederer

There are times when we have to say no to what is being asked of us, even if it’s good and important, in order to say yes to the most central value we have.

We have to protect it, not only because it’s important to us, but because it might be the most important role we play in community.

We can’t say yes to everything. We are limited people.

Sometimes, we have to say no so we can keep saying yes.

–Renee Roederer

Okay, that’s a dramatic title.

But doesn’t that seem true? Doesn’t that feel true?

Perhaps like me, you’re witnessing a lot of stress rising to the surface. We may feel this inside ourselves or see it in those around us. We need empathy to care for the stress inside ourselves and those we love. This is important. At the very same time, there are many occasions for burnout or frustration.

Some people are carrying particularly painful experiences at the moment — difficult emotions of grief, financial downfall, illness, challenges in making decisions about schooling and public events, and much more.

And at the very same time…

Collective, near-universal stress seems to be rising too.

This is what I suspect is happening: We all got a bit more normality in our lives, and that made us feel safer and more supported to feel our fuller range of emotions from 2020.

“It’s a COVID hangover,” someone said to me yesterday.

Exactly. That’s it, exactly.

–Renee Roederer

And it lived in the house. Like, with the family.

And that is quite literally all I know about it. I simultaneously wish I knew more and am glad that I do not.

But I can’t resist that as a title. It’s just too good.

Over The Weekend, I Learned My Great-Grandmother Had a Pet Squirrel Named Corky.

It will remain a weird mystery.