Thank You

Posted on by gracesmuggler
A colorful array of vines and leaves on a building.

Thank you.

So many people have reached out to me over the last couple of days, just as I have reached out to many people. Beautiful exchanges have been shared. I’ve heard,

“How’s your heart?”

“I just want you to know I’m here.”

“Love you, miss you, please don’t forget to care for yourself as I see you caring for others.”

“Make sure you’re getting enough sleep. Protect your brain!”

“When [___] happened, I thought of you.”

“Love you.” (This one, I’ve heard repeatedly.)

Every bit of this has meant so much to me. Threats are not even, and we must remember those most impacted. Most often, that is not me. Yet sorrows and love are carried collectively.

Here’s what has meant so much to me:

First of all, the abundance of community care has been on display so beautifully in many directions over the last few days. I hope this is finding its way to you too. If not, please let this particular post be one tiny piece of it. [3… 2… 1… mmmh!]

Personally, I’ve been in a place of profound gratitude to hear from so many people, and so meaningfully. I’m not necessarily surprised, but I’m definitely touched. I can easily think of a number chapters in my life that stretched out long when I was placed in a caregiving role without the ability to have much of that care flow back. When I was younger… during COVID… (oh so much during COVID)… when I’ve had to be a “professional” and couldn’t easily be considered part the community myself. (By the way, I believe in behaving professionally, i.e. ethically, but with only a few exceptions, I don’t think people are often served best with that kind of distance.)

Anyway, none of that is true in this moment. None of it. It’s just care in all directions, and I have felt it so deeply. Good to be in it with you.

— Renee Roederer

My Wise, Loving Friends

Posted on by gracesmuggler
May be an image of cloud and tree
A tree with yellow leaves.

I have so many wise, loving, and beautiful friends. On social media, which can be known for doomscrolling, misinformation, and the banal memeification of complex existence, these friends can lament faithfully, and then express true hope and perspective centered in loving neighbors and whole communities — all without any denialism or putting any heads in the sand.

What I’m saying is that when I scroll through my feeds today, I see so many brilliant ways of making meaning and casting vision, right at the precise moment people are exhausted, alert, and scared.

And I just think that takes great gifts of resilience and fortitude. I love you so much.

— Renee Roederer

Scared, Middle of the Morning Thoughts

Posted on by gracesmuggler
A road I walked down yesterday.

I am trying not to panic, but I, too, am so scared right now.

We’re not wrong for feeling vulnerable. We’re not wrong that the most vulnerable among us are made remarkably more vulnerable.

And in grief, I am missing people tonight who I wish I could call and talk to about this.

I am not prepared to lose even the nominal amount of justice and order we have in a country that is already frequently unjust to vulnerable people. I don’t think I am prepared for that level of grief and chaos. I am scared of where we’re going. I’m scared of how much people are willing to give over.

All of that is true.

And

I will also say this:

So much is uncertain, but what I will not lose is loving my community. What I will not lose is loving you.

— Renee Roederer

Mental Health Monday: Working for Hope and Change, No Matter the Result

Posted on by gracesmuggler

This morning, I’d like to re-share a post that I first published here in 2016. This was something that Ben Johnston-Krase wrote as a guest blogger right before that election 8 years ago (hard to believe we’re here again). But here’s my prediction: Though I recognize I could be wrong, I think Kamala Harris is going win the election. I am going to be grateful. I am going to celebrate her historic Presidency. I am going to cheer her on in many things. I am also going to push and protest on some of her policies, actions, and inactions. I believe we should do this, no matter who is in office, based on our values.

I am thinking about this piece again because I know that we are living in this uncertainty. I want to ask, who are we going to be no matter what? What are we going to do, no matter the election’s result?

Here’s that piece from 2016:

Ben Johnston-Krase.

My 10-year-old daughter asked me the other day, “Dad, what will we do if Trump wins?” I’m sure she had overheard me telling some friends that if Donald Trump became president, we’d move to Guam. “Guam?” she probably thought. “Where’s Guam?” No doubt the thought of relocating to some remote island, wherever it was, loomed large in her mind as she calculated distance from friends, school, family…

She looked anxious, and so I responded, “Well, honey,” I said, “If Trump wins, we’ll stay right here and we’ll keep working hard to, you know, further our values.”

Further our values? Ok. At least that didn’t involve moving to Guam. And so, somewhat satisfied I guess, my daughter moved on with her day. But she left me wondering, what will I do if Trump wins? For sure I’ll need a better explanation for my kids. But really, what will I do?

So here it is. If Trump wins, I will…

Spend at least 48 hours with the pain. One time I dropped an axe on my shoeless foot, which was bad enough, but a nanosecond later the axe’s handle bounced into my groin. I yelped and went down to the floor like a 175-pound slab of twitching meat, crying out in pain and wishing for unconsciousness. It’ll be like that. For at least 48 hours. First I will feel the pain.

Next I will call to check on friends and neighbors. This is what you do after a disaster, isn’t it? Make sure everyone’s ok? This will be a good time to share casseroles.

I will briefly check real estate listings in Guam. I’m just being honest.

I will arm myself with sources that will focus my attention away from worthless regrets and hapless escapist fantasies—sources that kick my butt, remind me who I am, and who I feel called to be. These include things like Martin Luther King Jr.’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” Wendell Berry’s poem, “The Mad Farmer, Flying the Flag of Rough Branch, Secedes from the Union,” and a bunch of prophets from the Hebrew Scriptures. I’ll listen to songs like Frank Turner’s “Journey of the Magi” and Ingrid Michaelson’s “Blood Brothers.” I’ll immerse myself in poets and prophets that have called the world toward goodness and grace.

I will get my ass to work. I’ll double down on everything good and wonderful and beautiful I’ve ever been taught. I’ll listen more and I’ll sharpen my sensitivity to injustice. I’ll seek out relationships with those with whom I disagree. I’ll paint signs with my children and show up at more protests. I’ll teach them again and again that justice, liberty, and equality are worth fighting for and I’ll show them what that fight looks like. I’ll learn more names on my street. I’ll write more music, create more art, and cheer on those who are doing the same.

If Donald Trump wins, I will strive to more vividly shape my life in opposition to smallmindedness, fear, and violence. I will find others who are doing the same and together we will not simply work to elect someone else in four years; rather we will look to address the conditions in our culture that have paved the way for a Trump to become anything more than a sad reminder of what happens to us when we succumb to our worse instincts.

In short, if Donald Trump wins, I will grieve and then I will stand and fight for the world as I hope it can be. I suppose this is what I meant when I told my daughter that we’d “stay right here and keep working hard to, you know, further our values.”

In light of everything I’ve just said, maybe the best question for me is the one Mary Oliver asks at the end of her poem, “The Summer Day.”

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

No matter who wins nationally or on the state level tomorrow, there’s work to be done and I only have but one wild and precious life to live. God help me to live it well. Otherwise I might as well be in Guam.

— Ben Johnston-Krase