Nadia Bolz-Weber once described faith as something like a rowing team. When someone drops their oar — when they’re too tired, too angry, too grief-struck to keep pulling — everyone else in the boat can take over and row harder for a while.
No one pretends the oar isn’t heavy. No one gives a lecture on proper rowing technique. You just pull.
(I actually had the chance to be a coxswain for the Duke women’s rowing team last year. I briefly wondered if yelling into a microphone might be my spiritual gift. Turns out those boats go very, very fast. It was terrifying. Actually, they had to restart the race multiple times because I kept steering us in the wrong direction and someone would clear their throat and remind me: “Kate, this boat costs $50,000.”)
There are seasons when I am the one carried. When my prayers are thin. When my optimism peters out. When my faith feels weak.
And there are weeks when I’m steady enough to row for someone else. That reminds me of something Patrik Hagman learned during long seasons of caregiving for dying family members. They had a simple family rule: anyone was allowed to have a bad day—but they had to take turns.
It’s extraordinary wisdom for hard seasons.
This is why interdependence is both necessary and deeply countercultural in our do-it-yourself, pull-yourself-up-by-your bootstraps culture. We were never meant to row alone.
So my dears, may your bad days be met with mercy.
May your good days carry someone else.
And may strength rotate gently among you.
So today I’m wondering: Who rows for you when you can’t? Maybe there is someone whose oar you can hold this week instead.
I am a triplet and growing up with the practice of interdependence was something I never noticed but have been deeply shaped by. Almost every single milestone in life growing up was done alongside my brother and sister. We faced everything together…sometimes on deeper levels than others, but still together. So now my natural disposition is around collaboration, shared experiences, and interdependence. That has been the most difficult part about adulthood for me now though. It seems like adults are busy, private, and independent. I still have a close relationship with my sister which I’m deeply grateful for, although we don’t see each other as much. How I miss those daily shared experiences. But for the most part many dark nights of the soul have been incredibly lonely. I just don’t really have friends who seek to take care of me even though I put a lot of effort into taking care of them. A lot of them have friends they are closer to with more longevity, so I get it. It feels embarrassing to even say that, like I’m this desperate child with her hand waving “pick me, pick me.” So I want to keep my eyes open today for that other vulnerable soul who may be flailing their arms too. I don’t want to miss an opportunity to row for them.
When my brother passed away unexpectedly, I had a friend I would call every morning for a week or more. It was 5:00 am where I was at, but 7:00 where she was on her way to work. She was my lifeline. Now she is going through a hard time, and I haven’t reached out to her enough, because she has family close by. I’m reaching out to her today, in case she needs me. Thanks Kate for reminding me of this.