Smuggling Grace

Syncing up our heartbeats.

I was coming down a hill on my bike when I saw a delivery van parked on the street outside a house. On the side of the van, a slogan read,

ETA: Right Now

This situation meant I had to leave the bike lane: Right Then. The van was in my way. But I digress.

Once I returned to my rightful part of the road, I found myself thinking about ETA: Right Now.

Beyond letting us know that this van moves fast, or is delivering — right now! — it made me think about how often we have to be on, or how often we feel like we have to be available immediately. This can creep into our day and into our living.

For the record, I’m also fine with,

ETA: At a time that works for us both.
ETA: After my body gets some rest.
ETA: Let’s meet in the middle.
ETA: Can you come to me?

— Renee Roederer

Small Wire by Anne Sexton

My faith
is a great weight
hung on a small wire,
as doth the spider
hang her baby on a thin web,
as doth the vine,
twiggy and wooden,
hold up grapes
like eyeballs,
as many angels
dance on the head of a pin.

God does not need
too much wire to keep Him there,
just a thin vein,
with blood pushing back and forth in it,
and some love.
As it has been said:
Love and a cough
cannot be concealed.
Even a small cough.
Even a small love.
So if you have only a thin wire,
God does not mind.
He will enter your hands
as easily as ten cents used to
bring forth a Coke.

Is there a word, phrase, or image that stands out to you in a particular way?

Yesterday, I asked, “How expansive can a sense of home be?”

I was returning to my town and my house and was on a plane, in fact, when I read an email from Richard Rohr. He talks about these themes too.

He says,

“In the metaphor of life as a journey, I think it’s finally about coming back home to where we started,” and, “I don’t know where that trust comes from or even what home is like, but I know I’m not going to someplace new. I’m going to all the places I’ve known deeply. They’re pointing me to the big deep, the Big Real. I do think homecoming is what it’s all about.”

There is something of an internal homecoming when we internalize all the places and people we’ve known deeply. Perhaps we do also move again or travel from place to place. But some part of homecoming is internal. Good food for thought.

—Renee Roederer

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.

View this post on Instagram

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