Smuggling Grace

I appreciate this extended quote from reporter Adam Harris, writing in The Guardian about a recent direct action and prayer gathering in Washington, D.C., led by participants in the Poor People’s Campaign. Reflecting on the dire consequences of what he called the “One, Big, Beautiful Bill,” Rev. William Barber II addressed the assembled crowd:

“Barber told stories of movement members who died without care – Pam in Alabama, Jade in North Carolina – who called him not for comfort, but for commitment. Don’t quit, they said. ‘They had the courage to fight even while they were dying,’ he said. ‘We ought to have the courage to fight while we’re living.’

“Then he slowed and asked a simple question to those gathered: ‘What will you do with the breath you have left?’ The question hung in the air. He didn’t wait for an answer. A few days later, he told me why it sticks with him. “’hat was George Floyd’s cry. That was my brother’s cry – he died in his 60s, waiting on healthcare. That was the cry of people during Covid: ‘I can’t breathe.’ That’s what I hear when I say that,’ he told me. ‘The breath you have left – that’s what you’ve been given. That’s what you owe.’

“Breath is a gift and a responsibility. ‘We’re not gonna sit here and let healthcare die,’ he said. ‘We’re not gonna sit here and let living wages die. We’re not gonna sit here and let democracy die. It’s time to live. It’s time to stand. It’s time to speak. To protest. To live justice.’ The line echoed down 1st Street. Whether it reached the halls of power was another question.”

You can read the entire article in The Guardian.

— Renee Roederer

What is EMDR?

Adam Copland writes,

The Best Drug I’ve Ever Taken Wasn’t Even a Drug. It was EMDR Therapy.

EMDR stands for Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing, and it’s a highly effective treatment for trauma and high stress. Here’s how it works:

EMDR is a helpful form of therapy for people who

1) want an experience that is somatic (reorganizing the brain and body’s reactions to trauma, stress, and anxiety)

and/or

2) want to do something that can accomplish a lot in a relatively short period of time

and/or

3) want to do less talking with a therapist (though this can also be a part of the process if desired or the therapist thinks it’s helpful) particularly if it’s hard to put emotions into words.

Dr. Bessel Van der Kolk, the author of The Body Keeps the Score: Mind, Brain, and Body in the Healing of Trauma shares that “I’m pretty sure that our EMDR study had by far the best outcome of any PTSD study ever done… It proves that there is something unique and amazing about EMDR.”

— Photos by Renee Roederer

Last weekend, I had the pleasure of hearing the premiere of a new song. It was so new, in fact, it didn’t yet have a name. But it did have a prominently featured lyric: The promise of freedom is so strong.

The band Shake Steady was performing at the Ann Arbor Summer Festival, and before introducing the song, lead singer Sean Ike asked the audience if we knew about Robert Smalls. I didn’t, but he gave us a summary of his story. I’ve since visited his Wikipedia page, and I’d like to share a bit of what I learned:

Robert Smalls was born in 1839 in Beaufort, South Carolina, as an enslaved person. But his life would become a remarkable story of courage, resistance, and leadership. During the Civil War, in an act both daring and courageous, he commandeered a Confederate transport ship and sailed it straight out of Charleston Harbor to Union forces, securing freedom for himself, his crew, and their families. That moment was both an escape and a declaration of dignity.

After the war, Robert Smalls became a vital leader during the Reconstruction era, serving five terms in the U.S. House of Representatives. He used his voice to advocate for public education, civil rights, and the full inclusion of Black Americans in civic life.

As Sean Ike shared from the stage, “Robert Smalls went from being enslaved to escaping and securing his freedom. Then he helped his family escape. Then he became a U.S. Representative in the House of Representatives. Not many have seen that kind of change.” Robert Smalls created change—and expanded it for others.

The new song was about his escape. And repeatedly, Sean Ike sang:
The promise of freedom is so strong.
The promise of freedom is so strong.
The promise of freedom is so strong.

I lift this up on this Independence Day. This holiday comes annually, but still, many are actively oppressed, and the lives and liberty of many remain at risk. Even so, I’m reminded: the promise of freedom is so strong.

We can work to carve out more pathways to that freedom. As Fannie Lou Hamer said, “Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.” The promise of freedom is so strong. What will we do with that invitation?

— Renee Roederer

The University of Michigan Museum of Modern Art (UMMA) has an exhibit titled We Write to You About Africa. These figurines were made, cared for, and owned by citizens of countries in the Middle East and North Africa that were affected by the 2017 U.S. travel ban issued by the first Trump administration. In 2020, Nigeria, Eritrea, Tanzania, and Sudan were added as well, making it nearly impossible for citizens of these countries to visit the United States.

With this and additional bans, it has become easier for some objects to access the United States than for the artists who created them. A marker in the UMMA exhibit states:

“We present this display case to remind our visitors of these discrepancies in mobility, and how such restrictions limit who can enjoy, and who can interpret, works of African art in museums the Global North.”

I stepped away from my car and did something I do nearly every day of the year: I was walking from my driveway toward the front door of my house. My mundane activity was interrupted when I saw green blips from various places in my yard. For me, this was the first sighting of lightning bugs this year (or fireflies, if you’re from other regions). They have emerged.

But in addition to arriving once more, there is also a concept called emergence. Though they were not right next to one another, or interacting (at least in ways we humans might call interaction) they seemed connected, because their green blips lit up in near-synchronous rhythms.

Moments before, I didn’t even know they were there. And now, they were revealing themselves — yes, in different places, but also as a complex, interconnected system. I don’t even understand this, but I can marvel at it.

There are so many ways that humans seem disparate and separate. And we definitely behave that way at times, lacking empathy or even calling empathy something dangerous (can you believe people are actually saying this?). Whether you call it selfishness, greed, total depravity, social entropy, or something else altogether, these are real forces for evil, and they show up in our communities and inside us.

But still…

And…? Still?

Might we be more connected than we think? Might we be capable of more? And right now, might there be circles of human beings working for good — some out in the open, and some under the radar — ready to emerge at the right time?

What if an emergency, or layers of emergencies, is precisely the right time for emergence?

— Renee Roederer

I do not have the words to adequately express the degree to which I completely and utterly love summer. For instance…

Last night, I hopped in my car at 10:15pm and drove down to the two-week-long summer festival in my town. It was the closing event of the final night. I knew I was going to arrive late for this last movie of the season. I also knew I was going to leave early. Just a half hour of enjoying this.

I really did. There I was with a snack of yogurt, seasonal strawberries and blueberries, and chocolate. I joined hundreds of people in my town, sitting outside to watch Wicked: Part 1. I couldn’t find any empty seats, so I just sat on the grass. This is not at all strange; others were doing the same. I took off my shoes, feeling the cool grass beneath my toes, and smiled when Elphaba finished singing “The Wizard and I,” and the crowd applauded. (Cynthia Erivo always deserves applause in my book.)

Then something delightful happened. I’m still giggling about it. I’m not sure if anyone else broke into song afterward, but during my particular 30 minute screening, it turned into a one-word singalong. And, if you’re not a TikTok user, please forgive me for this reference, but here’s the moment: During the song “Dancing Through Life,” Nessa sings, “We deserve each other… me and—” and lots of people chimed in with, “Boq.” Just that one word, sung with perfect timing and a perfect fifth down.

…“Boq.”

At that moment, a collective laugh erupted from the crowd.

TikTok references aside, I eventually decided to lie down in the grass and just look up. There, above me, was the Big Dipper, spilling whatever contents it’s carrying in our direction.

I love summer. It is my wake up call to be a person who savors.

There is so much on my mind and heart these days as I think about our collective experiences. I know that’s true for so many of you, as well. I think about people who don’t have the luxury to lie in the grass, feel safe with fellow townspeople, watch a musical, and view stars. I’m mindful of them, too.

When we find those moments of savoring, I hope we can take them in with deep gratitude. And then, I hope those moments can propel us toward working for a world where everyone has the opportunity to enjoy summers — on their own terms, with their own beautiful choices.

— Renee Roederer

Dear Friends,

As I reflect on this journey of writing and sharing with you, I’m filled with gratitude. Your support, whether through reading, commenting, or simply being a part of this community, means the world to me. The conversations we’ve had, both in public and private, continue to enrich me greatly. Thank you for being here.

Today, I want to share something a little different from my usual posts. I make a point to keep my writing accessible to everyone, offering it free of charge. I’ve chosen to remain outside of paid platforms like Substack so that these words can remain fully accessible. This is something I feel strongly about, and I plan to continue.

However, once a year, I open a small window for those who might like to offer support. If you’ve found something meaningful in what I share and feel moved to do so, I’d be deeply grateful for a small contribution through PayPal (link below). Your support helps cover the costs of maintaining this site and ensures that I can keep the content coming. Or, you can think of it as treating me to a coffee (or a few!)—a small gesture to show your appreciation, should you feel inclined. Please know that this is entirely optional, and there is no expectation. Your presence here is more than enough.

If you choose to contribute, you can do so here.

Again, thank you for being a part of this community. I’m so fortunate to share this space with all of you, and I look forward to continuing this journey together.

With appreciation,
Renee

— Photos by Renee Roederer