Smuggling Grace

I started this year off with a guiding question:
How expansive can a sense of home be?

With that, I’ve also engaged in a practice. I’ve tried to be frugal in a lot of directions so I can be less frugal in one. Once a month, I have traveled to see loved ones. And without fail, all the weekends I’ve done this have been the very best months of the year. I can feel my nervous system settle, and I can feel my desires come more alive every single time I do this.

And within that, I have been energized to come home to Michigan and prioritize the same kinds of relationships here, too. How expansive can a sense of home be? Michigan is home; each of these places is home. My people are my home.

So I’m asking it again. How expansive can a sense of home be?

And how might that be true for you, too, whether you actually travel or not?

— Renee Roederer

P.S. I’m also reminded of this Billy Joel song.

— Photos by Renee Roederer

Neanderthals died out 40,000 years ago. And that is just a tiny blip of time ago. A whole parallel species of human. I’m enjoying this documentary on Netflix.

Bisan Owda is a 25 year old Palestinian journalist and filmmaker. She is best known for documenting experiences in Gaza on social media during this time of violence.

This video really moved me. She says, “This is the rule: When they show us death, we show them life,” as she leaves the unending sounds of drones to distribute water.

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A post shared by Bisan Owda (@wizard_bisan1)

As I drive through town or zoom down the road on my bike, I am astounded at how green it is, and quite suddenly. I don’t even have to be traveling somewhere. When I step outside my house, I see that the sides of my yard, recently filled with the dead remains of last year’s wildflowers, are filling in with green day by day. It seems like all of this has taken no time at all.

When the conditions are right, it seems like growth is immanent and almost inevitable.

I think I might like to take that to heart in all sorts of situations. So I’ll say it again:

When the conditions are right, it seems like growth is immanent and almost inevitable.

— Renee Roederer

Welcome to May.

Where I live, May is my favorite month. It’s warm. It’s green. Flowers are blooming only to be replaced by different flowers that are also suddenly blooming. This change is so rapid that it invites my attention. If I don’t stop to smell the lilac bush, I will miss it entirely a week later. If I don’t take a picture of that tulip, I will miss it. My daffodils are already gone.

And since I’m currently co-leading an eight week program on mindfulness (see my post here about Project Uplift) I’ve decided that I’m going to engage this month as Mindfulness May. I want to be present. I want to pay attention. And I invite you to join me.

Yesterday, I had to smile about this plan because I was riding my bike, and I knew I was nearing 1000 miles on the odometer. I was just a couple miles away, and I knew it would come during this ride.

“I want to watch it turn,” I said to myself. “I want to be mindful and notice it.” I also thought about how I would write a blog post about mindfulness and pledge to practice it during the month of May. I imagined that I would snap a photo of 1000 miles on the odometer and put it at the top of the post.

Well, guess what?

I became so enamored with my surroundings in nature and the wind on my face as I rode, that I got to a stop sign, looked down, and that odometer read 1001.8 miles. I missed it!

So the question is,

Was I less mindful because I missed it?

Or

Was I more mindful because my surroundings caught my attention and caused me to miss it?

🙂
A Merry Mindfulness May, friends,
— Renee Roederer

Rhythms of welcome.

Once a month, I have the privilege of leading a Sunday morning service at a local church among a community called Parables. This community centers the needs of disabled and neurodivergent community members. Last Sunday, people from a residential community with intellectual and developmental disabilities joined us, and the energy was joy-filled.

Rhythms of welcome.

We always sing a song at the start of our time together.

I am welcome, I am welcome,
I am loved just as I am,
I am welcome, you are welcome,
We are loved just as we are,
Oh Spirit, burn that truth within our hearts.

Rhythms of welcome.

People embraced each other.
A person played the piano.
A person shouted with glee that she gets to go to a baby shower.

Rhythms of welcome.

—Renee Roederer

— Photos by Renee Roederer