Smuggling Grace

Many years ago, I worked in a context where everyone worked with their office doors closed. There may be many reasons for this — needing quiet, having a place to focus, or other kinds of needs entirely. That context was filled with lovely, supportive people, but this happened to be a very stressful period of time in our collective history. Some part of me wonders if we all kept our doors closed because stress pheromones were constantly floating through the air in that space.

Anxiety can function like a contagion. We can pick up on the anxious energy of others through body language and yes, even pheromones. We may also be anxious about similar concerns, and someone’s anxiety may evoke our own. That same anxiety in a person or community may also trigger older, stressful storylines from our lives. The anxiety can grow.

Sometimes, we need space alone or in small groups of non-anxious (at the moment) people so we can ground ourselves again and regulate or co-regulate our nervous systems.

In a remarkably anxious period of time, it is okay and helpful to take that space, both for ourselves and for the collective circles of people we love.

–Renee Roederer

495.3 miles later, I’ve finished the Es!
3024.8 Miles Total

Since September 2023 (whenever it’s warm) I’ve been riding my e-bike successively to and through every street in Ann Arbor in alphabetical order. Yesterday, I finished the E Streets. Whenever I finish a letter, I write a reflection on place. Today, I’d like to talk about my summer as a whole.

This summer, three of my closest local friends went on sabbatical. I live in a university town, but none of these friends are professors. Each of them had unique circumstances, but they each took a substantial amount of time to get outside of their typical rhythms and travel. I admired them for doing this.

I wasn’t doing this in any official way, either formally or informally, but I thought, “How can my summer have the same kind of vibe?”

“How about… a… staybatical?”

I didn’t set out to stay exclusively in town, though mostly I did. I only made one larger trip. I’ve barely done any day trips either — something that is pretty standard for me in the summer.

Though minimal travel wasn’t my intent, I started calling this ‘my staybatical’ right at the very beginning. It was a framework. How might I relate to this place differently one summer later if I treated this as a special, set-aside time? How could I make space for memories right here?

It turns out, I could do that daily. I’ve kept a running list on my phone since Memorial Day, the informal beginning of summer. Today is Day 92. Every day, I’ve sought to do something memorable. It doesn’t have to be monumental — just something that might lead to me thinking or saying,

“Remember that time when we…?”

Or

“Remember that time when I…?”

Something that will stay with me.

My list is filled with things like,

“Dinner at ____ with ____”

“Walk and photography at ____ Metropark.”

There’s also,

“Mein erstes Mal am Stammtisch” (i.e. the time that I went to a German-speaking Meetup and discovered I’m an extrovert auf Deutsch, too.)

There were so many community events. (Thank you, Ann Arbor Observer Magazine). There were so many outdoor spaces. There were times with neighbors, including the literal ones on my actual street, and the ones that surround my life in this town where I live.

And here is where it led me:

I’m not trying to be overly schmaltzy, but I absolutely re-fell in love with Ann Arbor this summer.

It’s not that I had fallen out of love, though I confess, I have truly gotten to a place where I am over winter. But sometimes you need an experience and feeling of novelty. Sometimes you need to know that if you let a place hold you, it starts to form you.

And this staybatical gave me a framework and an experience of knowing I can shape and be shaped by seasons. Hopefully, this means I can be intentional in winter in unique ways rather than letting it be a blasé, throwaway, cabin fever time.

I stayed right here, and I’m better for it.

—Renee Roederer

Every single day, there are real, raw, human stories of suffering in the news cycle. And likely, some of those harms are impacting real people we know and love. There are times when we feel helpless to prevent suffering and powerless to change it.

It’s incredibly understandable to fall into those feelings. In such times, we need the solidarity of one another – that is,

. . . the sense that we are in each other’s view, that we encounter each other’s pain with empathy,

. . . the sense that we have each other’s commitment, that we are in each other’s corner for the long haul,

. . . the sense that we have each other’s action, that we covenant to act on behalf of one another, especially and most readily for those who are made vulnerable by harms and barriers.

In some spiritual traditions, we hear language of bearing each other’s burdens. Lately, within that vision, I find myself thinking about what it means to shift each other’s burdens. 

We can easily become incapacitated once we realize we cannot instantly fix the systems that are causing burdens. But our empathy, and most importantly, our committed action can change these systems and these burdens. Do not underestimate what these can do.

When we see pain for what it is, we add our validation, and it shifts burdens.

When we add our resources of money, time, or skills, it shifts burdens.

When we use our voices to name wrongs for what they are, it shifts burdens.

When we use our minds to create solutions, it shifts burdens.

When we honor the humanity of people who are being dehumanized, it shifts burdens.

When we take direct action and demand justice for the oppressed and vulnerable, it shifts burdens.

If we want to change the large-scale systems that cause harm, we have to disrupt them. But alongside that commitment, we have to live and model our lives with a different rhythm altogether – with different commitments and ways of relating to one another.

We practice solidarity. Frankly, we practice love.

And within that way of living, we share and lighten the loads that people are carrying. We assign energy and responsibility to where they really belong.

We shift each other’s burdens.

–Renee Roederer

While leading a congregational service this weekend, someone read these words:

After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. (Revelation 7:9)

Alligator Alcatraz is no more.

Bombs no longer fall on Gaza hospitals.

The colonized are free.

ICE is vanquished.

The gulags are closed forever.

The impoverished stand liberated.

All people — every nation, tribe, and language — serve as beloved witnesses.

And if all of these things are no longer — in this vision, or another vision you hold dear — why not work for them now?

— Renee Roederer

Frieda is an opportunist. But if you think about it, isn’t any spider? The right criteria for a web placement seem to involve maximum opportunity for stability and the ability to catch bugs for dinner.

I visited Cedar Point for the first time over the weekend. My favorite activity was riding the gigantic Ferris wheel. A sizable spider had taken up residence on the wheel, spinning her web in the triangle of red-colored steel bars. I named her Frieda. All day long, she rode the same wheel, round and round, and at night her masterful web glowed pink in the shimmer of colored lights. I have hardly ever seen so many bugs attracted to one web. There were already plenty, and as we stopped suspended at the top, I watched more fly in, even as new riders loaded below.

Right place, right time.

Years ago, I was gifted some purple basil seedlings. One day, to my sadness, I noticed they were wilting in their planter container. It was almost time to replant them in a proper pot, but now their stems were completely wilted, lying flat on the dirt.

So I moved the soil into small clear bowls and added water. Those little plants drank it right up, and in short order, they sprang back into growth. It was astonishing to see how resilient they were.

Right place, right time. Right boost, too.

If we want to see human beings flourish, maybe it’s worth thinking about where and how we can be part of that. Sometimes it means being opportunists — casting our nets (or webs) wide. Sometimes it involves being someone’s boost. Growth happens when the right place, the right time, and the right help come together.

Right place. Right time. Right boost.

— Renee Roederer

— Renee Roederer

I haven’t been to every precise place in Ann Arbor, obviously, but I thought I had been to all the neighborhoods. Tonight I found a section of Ann Arbor I’ve never been to by car, walking, biking, or visiting anyone.

And I was having so much fun exploring that I forgot to look down and see my 3000 mile turn.

All miles have been in Ann Arbor, going street by street in alphabetical order. I’m only on the Es but will be in the Fs in a couple of days. I have biked the equivalent of a cross country journey — just right here.

And I’m still discovering new things!

— Renee Roederer

“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 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. Yes, 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

Bees bumble from flower to flower, using the navigation of bright colors to bring them to life-giving nectar. They collect it and covert it to honey to care for their young, and by extension, the whole hive.

But they have no idea about something else. . .

They have no idea they are pollinating so much of the world’s food supply.

It helps me to remember that. The lives of bees are already so intricate and complex even in what they do intend, but beyond that, their work yields more life and complexity than they know.

Maybe this can remind us:

Individually, and especially collectively, our best intentions, our best connections, our best work, our best loves, and our best visions may yield more life and complexity than we know too.

– Renee Roederer