Shots Fired

Shots fired.
Not the kind you think.
Lacking in words, and the two finger - thumb combination of a hand gun.
Reality is, it was probably a hand gun.



You say turn it down, I turn it up - maybe you will actually listen this time.
After one glance you make your judgment calls, or should I say it was the way you were brought up?
Still figuring out what sort of jargon to use that describes your offensive opinion - without being on
defense. See what I did there?



Probably not - you're too Great of an American for this to be your sport.
Yet when I step up to meet you at your plate - being on the offensive is considered biased. Huh.
Guess that's why I never loved Baseball - you shouldn't stand on a mound of your own
knowledge and yet unable to make a connection this simple.



I've come to the conclusion that my passions will always draw funny looks.
That your idea of a bad part of town or sketchy neighborhood is what I call home.
I think it's sketchy that your so called neighborhood doesn't have art work on its buildings or
sidewalks that tell a story - but that's just me.



Is it safer to be 'safe' or to walk along a bridge overtop some hard truths in order to reach something
simple and beautiful?
I will never push anyone to live like I do - or accept the things I accept - I do however, refuse to
allow you to tell me what is "right" or "better" just because that's what you chose.
I will laugh and continue on my God created path.



Scrapping up any sort of reason to be present other than when my kids are around.
Struggling to care about what is said in class while this world crumbles before my eyes.
I cringe every time I hear men hunting in the woods down the road and a shot is fired.
I hate knowing that there are children in this world that have known nothing else.



My heart belongs to a world you will never understand, one you will go lengths to avoid, and hand me words of distaste. And that is okay. Because unlike the echoes of the bullets sound through those
mountains, your words, rude stares, and exhaustingly loud silence, will not shake me.

                                                                                                                                                       


The Lord did not gift me with teaching a traditional classroom - He tore down the walls and removed
the desks and said "Be a lesson. Always."

So this is me - changing with the weather - ironically dealing with broken picture frames holding quotes like "Embrace the glorious mess that you are." Getting lost in conversations about powerfully simple things. Organic things.

Some brave individuals have done their best to describe myself back to me. Most are as hesitant to label or define me as much as I am. I refuse to check boxes unless its a shopping list full of essential items like takis, new ink pens, or a pair of Nikes.

And when an unknowing group of students looks to me on how to handle trash pick up in a section 8 apartment complex - I take a deep breath knowing this is my classroom on a field trip - and sometimes the trash on one playground unfortunately doesn't look like the trash at another just a few miles away.

I thanked Jesus more today on our little field trip thank I have the entire month. Was it just the location change? The people? A mix of things? Yes. And when that sweet, white, middle class, East Tennessee woman says "I didn't know anything coming here... I was scared to death, but 7 years later a good friend and mentor of mine has found Jesus and is a new believer. And that tells me something. It tells me if I show up long enough, you get their trust, you help their kids, then the mommas come around... before you know it they show up to bible study on Wednesday."


And that is what I needed to hear. Give it time. Don't give up. And I certainly don't or wont know everything when my time comes to game plan. Noah got some crazy stares too - and look where it got him.