Smuggling Grace

Many years ago, a friend of mine was having a challenging time with her toddler. It was just one of those very normal developmental eras when defiance was growing, and “No,” was a very common word, both from that toddler and to that toddler.

One day, right when the family was about to leave the house, this toddler was insistent upon wearing her rain boots, even though it wasn’t raining.

“Yes,” my friend said. Then she looked at me and added, “I’m trying to say yes to her when I can.”

A few days ago, I found myself thinking about this again. Maybe we need to say yes to ourselves more often. How many times do we put off the things we desire, the things that bring us joy? What if we said yes to more connection in ways we can? Maybe we can’t talk to a friend for an hour, but we could make a quick call on the way home from work. Perhaps we can say yes to ourselves when it comes to a growing sense of calling — a calling to do something life-giving that others might think is foolish. Or we could allow ourselves to believe in something better, even when other (or perhaps ourselves) lean toward the cynical.

Oh, an by the way, the toddler was right. There was no rain in the forecast, but on the way home, a downpour happened. She was the only one who was ready.

— Renee Roederer

I was at a coffee shop writing when I overheard a group of adolescent boys talking about how voraciously hungry they always are. “Bruh, I just cannot control my appetite!” one of them exclaimed, and they talked about this for like 10 minutes in a pure, wholesome conversation of chumminess and self-awareness.

You’re right, teenage bruhs. You’re hungry and growing.

— Renee Roederer

CW: Addiction
Years ago, when it was still on Netflix, I would occasionally watch the show Intervention. Do any of you remember that show? It was originally on A&E.

On the show, families worked with interventionists to implement an intervention to address and confront the addiction of a particular family member. Family members and close friends would gather together, express love for their family member, name the ways that the addiction had harmed them personally, and share what they were going to change in relationship to the addiction. Then, ultimately, they tried to convince their family member to go to treatment. That very day, in fact.

The interventionists often helped the larger family choose wellness for themselves. Too often, they had let their health go by the wayside. They needed to get well for themselves. Their wellness might also create conditions for their family member to choose the same. I remember Jeff VanVonderen, one of the interventionists, encouraging the families to take a particular posture toward their member with an addiction. He modeled this statement for them, saying,

“I want you to get well, but I’m going to get well whether you do or not.”

This is a helpful decision — in cases of addiction, yes — but also in regard to many kinds of challenges or conflicts.

“I want you to get well, but I’m going to get well whether you do or not.”

Years ago, I did a lot of studying of Family Systems Theory. This area of study explores the ways that communities function — families, workplaces, religious communities, schools — and considers how self-differentiated members can impact the larger health of these communities. This doesn’t involve staying unwell, holding the stress of the organization, or continuously trying to convince the community that it needs help. It often involves prioritizing one’s own health.

“I want you to get well, but I’m going to get well whether you do or not.”

When we do this, we definitely move toward health. Sometimes, others will never choose it, and we need to choose it for ourselves. But sometimes, a surprising thing happens too. That choice adds additional health to the family, community, or organization (not saving it, or taking it on, but a healthy side effect) and sometimes, others begin to choose it too.

So I wonder, what ongoing stories in our lives need this posture from us?

“I want you to get well, but I’m going to get well whether you do or not.”

— Renee Roederer

My grandfather was an orphan. At least functionally, for a while.

That’s a stark sentence, I realize, yet a true one. My Grandpa Jim’s early life was very rough. He was the youngest of five children. When his Mom was pregnant with him, or shortly after he was born — I’m not sure — his Dad died. This part I do know: My Grandpa Jim was born on the very day of the 1929 Stock Market Crash. That plunged the United States into the Great Depression.

His mother could not afford to raise her children so she placed them all in a Catholic orphanage. Then she set a plan in motion; she started selling moonshine! When she made enough money to bring her eldest home from the orphanage, that child helped her with the business. And when they had enough money to bring the second eldest home from the orphanage, that child helped her with the business. This pattern continued until they were all home. My Grandpa Jim lived in the orphanage the longest. He spent his first seven years of life there.

It was a challenging place. They had so little. He once found a chocolate bar wrapper and kept it for a good while just so he could smell it. This was a very vivid memory to him. It was rare that the children had big joys or delights.

But as an older adult, my Grandpa Jim loved to delight in small things.

Here’s a very vivid memory that I have: When my Great Uncle and his Brother-in-law died, most people were out in the hallway after the visitation was over, but he and I sat in the room together for a bit, and he started telling me ghost stories. They felt especially playful and spooky in a funeral home. All these years later, I don’t remember any of the details of those stories, but what I remember very clearly is that he had a red lollipop in the breast pocket of his dress shirt. Maybe that was an odd context to have a sucker sticking out of your pocket and visibly (I mean, there were pants pockets too). But I imagine he found it lying around somewhere in the funeral home — maybe they were there for guests or for children — and he snagged one for himself so he could enjoy it later.

There were other silly, simple delights too. He used to sing these really goofy songs. All these years later, his grandchildren remember all the words. He loved to whistle and shuffle his feet in a little dance. And I honestly believe he was just as excited as the children, if not more excited, to open presents for Christmas.

Earlier this week, when I was leaving my workplace, I saw some Hersey Kisses in a bowl, and I put about five of them in the pocket of my jacket. All week long, every time I’ve put on my jacket and grabbed my keys in my pocket, I’ve also been surprised that I have these there! I just keep forgetting they’re there. And each time, I have this huge spike in delight. People who know me well also know how excited I get for little treats, and how much I enjoy the surprise of them, whether they’re displayed for a group or whether people give them to me personally. It’s a big swell of delight for something small yet unexpected.

And I didn’t make this connection for a long time, but now I ask, “Do I get this from Grandpa Jim?”

—Renee Roederer

Jim was a Navy Veteran, and I’m remembering him today on this Memorial Day. He fought in the Korean War, and like many Veterans, that experience gave him both camaraderie in relationships and pains of war that he carried with him.

He died on this very date 26 years ago. Remembering him is a blessing.

— Photos by Renee Roederer

Sometimes, people name difficulties that you desperately wish you could take away, but you don’t know how. You listen, and then they say how much that means. Presence is enough.

Sometimes, people are grieving, and they are exhausted by all the cliches they’ve needed to dodge. You take a walk together or just sit in silence. Presence is enough.

Sometimes, a young person is lonely and feeling overwhelmed. You watch a tv show together or text back and forth. Presence is enough.

Sometimes, people bring a difficult, personal challenge to a Zoom screen among others who care. They discover they’re not alone — in that problem, and in being loved as they are. Presence is enough.

Sometimes, people are feeling isolated and disconnected. Their friends give them an old fashioned phone call. Presence is enough.

Sometimes, you’re feeling sad, anxious, or weighed down, and you tell trusted people what you need. Presence is enough.

–Renee Roederer

I put two sacks of food—one not even full—into the trunk of my car and drove them to Food Gatherers, our local food bank. “These seem so meager,” I thought. The CEO of Food Gatherers had recently addressed our City Council, sharing that the organization would soon face a $2.5 million gap due to federal cuts. Underwhelming, indeed.

Then I remembered a powerful story about a tiny offering of five loaves and two fish. Sometimes, our small offerings do add up and multiply.

When I arrived, a worker was just exiting a semi-truck. He was a driver for the organization. “Would you like me to take those for you?” he asked.

I told him I appreciated that, and then I added, “Thanks for everything you do. It’s really important.”

“You’re just as important,” he replied.

“Mutual affirmation is important!” I said, and we both smiled.

But also, isn’t it? Maybe that’s a meager offering that multiplies too.

— Renee Roederer

I thought I had a great idea. My bike tires were low—not dangerously so, but still in need of air. I have an air pump for my bike, but I was struggling to get an accurate reading of the tire pressure. This left me feeling like I was just pumping air willy nilly.

“I’ll bike to Costco,” I thought. They have an air pump for car tires, and I knew it was reliable for measuring tire pressure. I checked online beforehand, and it seemed compatible. When I arrived, everything fit just fine.

But it turns out… that was a bad move. The Costco air pump blew out my tire.

That sounds more dramatic than it was. It wasn’t an explosion, but there is now a hole.

So… now what? I didn’t have a car, and I couldn’t ride my bike home. I have plenty of friends who could have picked me up, but I wasn’t sure any of them could fit my bike in their car. I was just about to try to arrange an Uber, realizing I’d need a vehicle large enough to take both me and my bike.

Then, someone overheard my predicament. He’s a young graduate student, and he suddenly said, “Can I take you home? I have space.” Sure enough, he had an SUV with the back seats already down. It was such a kind offer!

I also noticed a logo on the back of his SUV, and it turned out we shared connections to two towns. He had also lived in Texas, where I did previously. We had the nicest chat on the way home.

Next up: a purchase of new tires. It was already time for them, and now… it’s necessary.

But I’ve also been thinking about this, too. Every day, we’re bombarded with a news cycle where we constantly hear about people being awful. Yet there are still some truly great humans in the world. I’m glad to spotlight one of them.

— Renee Roederer

I arrived at Riverside Park and immediately saw tables and tents set up by nonprofit organizations. Joyful music played over a loudspeaker, and I watched the community gather. Some people were laughing, some were tapping their feet to the music, and others were engaged in serious conversations. The smell of barbecue wafted through the air, and I spotted a puppy happy to receive my attention (and I was just as happy to give it).

This was a community event hosted by A Brighter Way. With the motto “Reentry through Relationship,” the organization brings this vision to life through kinship, support, and resources. A Brighter Way works with people who have been formerly incarcerated, helping them find employment, housing, and, most importantly, a community that cares. All of their staff members have direct, lived experience with incarceration and the difficulties that follow when community care and resources are often withheld after release. On their website, we learn that 33% of formerly incarcerated people have not been able to find a job four years after their release, and nationally, 68% are re-arrested within three years of their release.

By expanding relationships and upholding dignity, the community at A Brighter Way has a recidivism rate of only 3%. They are clearly doing a lot of things right.

But I didn’t need stats to tell me that. It was evident at the community event, where we shared a meal and built those relationships. Adam Grant, the Executive Director, said a number of things that will stay with me. He mentioned that often people say what’s needed are more resources, but the resources are already out there. They just need to get into the right hands. He then added, “Those who are closest to the problem are closest to the solution.”

Those who are closest to the problem are closest to the solution. This rings true at A Brighter Way.

This could be true in many other places as well. Who has the lived experience to drive meaningful change? Who has the leadership and expertise close to the issues at hand? Isn’t it often those who have been most directly affected?

— Renee Roederer