Smuggling Grace

A dear friend recently gathered a treasured circle of people in her home to honor the birthday of a loved one who has passed. Most of us were meeting for the first time, and we were honored to connect with one another. During our time together, my friend read a blessing by Jan Richardson that speaks the gut-wrenching truth of what grief feels like. It also recounts how clichés can wound a person during times of loss.

My friend read the entire blessing, but before she began, she shared one line: “Give me instead.” Addressing those gathered, she said, “Thanks for being ‘Give me instead’-ers.” That line, along with the blessing, will stay with me for a long time. I’d like to share it today:

The Blessing You Should Not Tell Me

Do not tell me

There will be a blessing

In the breaking,

That it will ever

Be a grace

To wake into this life

So altered,

This world

So without.

Do not tell me

Of the blessing

That will come

In the absence.

Do not tell me

That what does not

Kill me

Will make me strong

Or that God will not

Send me more than I

Can bear.

Do not tell me

This will make me more compassionate,

More loving,

More holy.

Do not tell me

This will make me

More grateful for what

I had.

Do not tell me

I was lucky.

Do not even tell me

There will be a blessing.

Give me instead

The blessing

Of breathing with me.

Give me instead

The blessing

Of sitting with me

When you cannot think

Of what to say.

— Jan Richardson

May we strive to be “Give me instead”-ers.

I truly love where I live, but I am so over Michigan winters. This post is actually about the opposite, but let me first set the scene:

It’s not just that it’s cold outside in winter (though I’m not a huge fan of that either). It’s what happens socially. When our long winters drag on, people tend to stay inside more, and it becomes harder to socialize organically. Many go into hibernation mode, living a cozy, mostly indoor existence. But I love nature. And I love people.

I struggle with this dynamic because I’m very extroverted. Don’t get me wrong—I enjoy cozy solitude at times, too. I embrace it. But, basically, I’m a golden retriever in human form. I tire of how much work it takes to set up social events when it could happen much more naturally if it were simply warmer.

So, that’s how I feel about winter.

But that’s not how I feel now. Why? It’s warming up! Sure, we’re barely above 50 degrees most days, but this process will continue over the next few months. What’s most obvious to me, though, is that the social hibernation mode is over and continuing to thaw. I’m running into more people when I’m out and about. There are more opportunities to spend time with friends, both one-on-one and in groups. Events are popping up. I love all of this.

On Saturday, I walked into the grocery store and bumped into a treasured friend I hadn’t seen in a while. We stood by the bananas and caught up. She’s an incredibly wise woman, also witty and hilarious. I loved every part of our conversation. She told me about a gigantic rally taking place just down the street—thousands of people gathered to promote democracy. After leaving, I drove down the street and honked at them with joyful abandon. I was so glad she pointed me in that direction.

But before I left, she playfully scolded me. “And put on a jacket, won’t you? It’s chilly outside!”

True.

Yet my dear friend, after many long months, socially, it is not. I’m so glad to be scolded about my jacketless existence, especially with a dear friend, right by the bananas.

— Renee Roederer

Do you ever feel a desire to take action, but wonder if it’s too small, too meager, or too insignificant to make an impact?

Maybe you’ve had a sudden urge to call an old friend. Or perhaps you left messages for your elected officials. You joined a group of friends to make protest signs. Your community collected canned goods to donate to a food pantry. You watched your neighbor’s toddlers for a few hours. Your gardening club planted some seeds. You recommended a podcast to a friend. You wrote a social media post, encouraging others to take action. You read friends’ social media posts, encouraging you to take your own forms of initiative.

These actions may seem small, but when we all act at the same time, caring for one another and connecting through our relationships, we can create a contagion of action. And in community, our collective efforts can evolve into movements.

Here’s an excellent analogy: dominos have the ability to knock over others that are 1.5 times their size. So, something tiny—say, a 5-millimeter domino—can eventually move something immense. A member of my community shared this on social media over the weekend, and I loved thinking about it.

Our inspired actions, no matter how small they seem, can initiate so much. Don’t underestimate them.

— Photos by Renee Roederer

This is a lovely message. Dr. Nathan Mellor explores how mental models are flexible and how adopting a growth mindset allows us to change the way we think.

We are living in uncharted times. It feels as though so much is shifting beneath our feet. Federal funding, government safeguards, and civil rights are facing rollbacks and threats, while new movements of protest and community care are emerging. Simply put—what a time to be alive.

In the midst of this era, as a person in midlife, I find myself reflecting, “What is it like to be very old right now?” and “What is it like to be very young right now?”

I think about the mover-and-shaker elders who have worked so hard to build laws, rights, and systems of care in this country. Several such people are often on my mind and in my heart. One elder, who has expressed, “Every day, I feel like my life’s work is on the verge of being erased,” continues to move forward and create “good trouble.” I want her to know we have her back, that we are in the fight with her. I also think of a Black, sage elder in his mid-70s, who has witnessed so much struggle and triumph. He says, “This is the most dangerous time I’ve witnessed in this country.” Yet, he remains committed every day to “building a better world.”

Likewise, I think about what it’s like to be a young adult in this country right now. I’m fortunate to have relationships with many treasured people in this stage of life. Young adulthood is full of transitions, and what is it like to navigate those transitions when it feels like so much is changing—nationally and even globally? I want them to know they are cared for by people my age. We have their back, too, and we want to help create better pathways for them as they move forward.

We often talk about the Sandwich Generation—the time when we care for both aging parents and young children at once. But this need goes beyond our families. It’s something we must embrace as a society right now.

So if someone older or younger came to mind while reading this, maybe take a moment to reach out and connect. And if you need support, whatever your age, it’s completely valid. It can be asked for, received, and cultivated.

— Renee Roederer

For twelve years, I’ve lived through long Michigan winters. Each year, when spring arrives, I’m completely delighted, and I never quite get over it. From the start of the season through summer, I’m filled with gratitude for the contrast.

I’ve been reflecting on spring’s dual nature: I fully expect its arrival, but I still find myself surprised by it. At this time of year, I always wonder: what would it be like if winter started, and I had no knowledge that spring would follow? What if I couldn’t expect it?

And that brings me to another thought: if I were a chipmunk born in 2024, would I have any concept of the end of winter once the season arrived in my daily experience? Would I just think, “Well, I guess this is my life now…”?

I have no idea what a chipmunk thinks or perceives. But I’m glad I can count on this change, and I’m glad I can still feel surprised by it.

There are probably a lot of life metaphors in there somewhere.

– Renee Roederer

With great pain and loss, Palestinian families in the Silwan neighborhood of East Jerusalem have received and continue to receive eviction notices. They are in danger of losing their land and homes to tourist sites and to Israeli settlers.

In response, they have created a public art exhibition on their homes themselves, called I Witness Silwan. Buildings in the neighborhood contain artistic renditions of eyes, including those of actual people like Che Guevara, George Floyd, and Rachel Corrie. These eyes look in the direction of tourist sites which continue to expand. Art provides vital forms of truth-telling and ways to honor human stories, and these eyes convey humanity and a sense of diligent, steadfast witness. They also honor thousands of Palestinians who have already been dispossessed here.

I invite you to take a look at what they have created. You can also support them on their site.

What if… the worst things you believe about yourself —

I’m not this enough,
I’m not that enough,

I’m always like this,
I’ll never be like this,

That person thinks this about me,
That person thinks that about me,

That whole community thinks this about me,
That whole community thinks that about me,

I’m too this,
I’m too that,

I’m not capable of this,
I’m not capable of that —

aren’t even true?

Wouldn’t it be liberating to believe what is much more true?
What is much more possibly true?
What is flat out true?

That
We’re loved,
We’re worth loving,
We’re capable of loving.

And

That
Many
Many
Many Things
Are Possible.

–Renee Roederer