Not Strong Enough For It: Part 2

"R.I.P. Zae" 

It was everywhere. Instagram. Twitter. My inbox. I couldn't escape it. 

I leaped to check the news app on my phone, which was dumb of me cause the shooting happened in Lonsdale and "the cops don't come here" statement flooded my mind almost as loud as I heard it the last time last year. Hours would go by before the WATE or WBIR news stations would provide a measly, "Fatal shooting in Lonsdale" or "Man shot and killed, more to come" Man.  Kid was 15. 

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

I cringed thinking about our many conversations of, "What happens when it's one of ours on the news... in the street... the new hashtag..." and how it became reality in a matter of moments.  
I cried, no, I sobbed when I started to think about our Falcon boys. A team I learned to support and love this past semester, but more importantly, a dozen of them call me Chlo, and make fun of how I ALWAYS think I got next during their pick up games on Wednesday nights. 

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

What is my role in this? 
What do you tell kids who just lost their brother/teammate/best friend to gang violence? 
What do you do as a lover of Christ, seeker of social justice, a supporter of the #BlackLivesMatter movement, and someone against violence? 
And dare I join the young voices crying out WHY to a creator I know better than to question...?
I fell asleep in a pool of tears.
I woke up to a short press conference with an emotional police chief, and desperate mayor challenging our Knoxville community to end this thoughtless violence. 

That's when I found out what Zaevion Dobson, a 15 year old sophomore football player at Fulton High School, member of the 100 Black Men chapter here in Knoxville, brother, and son, did last night as he died. 

"Jumped on top of 3 girls to shield them from the bullets." -KPD 

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

And now I know why the first report of the shooting addressed Zae as a man. 

I don't know of many men who will selflessly jump to save a group of people from harm, or death, not once questioning his own life, let alone a 15 year old boy with a future. 

Brave. Hero. A success story. 

These are all things Zaevion will be called the next couple of days. And then most of the further removed public will turn their heads back to their Christmas festivities, and see this day as another one on the calendar. 

Another black boy dead cause of gangs.

But I will still see his friends everyday. His family in maroon. The ones that used to sit with him in class. And play with him on that field. 

And I am faced with the feeling of not knowing how, or what, to say.

I'm faced with prayers lifted up, texts sent, hugs given, tears wiped, and candle lit vigils for a boy that won't be forgotten in this community. 

A community that knows all to well what this loss feels, looks, an tastes like. 

Many will want revenge. Answers. They will feel a sense of urgency to do something, to take action, and to make a difference.  

So we mourn today. But tomorrow we have work to do.

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

But sometimes, even when I don't think I can, I have to be... I am. 

Conversations With J

We struggled through some language arts. Because even though we have been speaking English our whole lives, we still aren't at the levels we should be... and I don't blame either one of us... English is dumb sometimes. Words on the other hand, words have power no matter the language. And between the two of us, we could fill the world with words till the end of time, easy. 

We underlined, added commas, and defined what each sentence was. 

"You know I've been acting good lately." - J 

"Yeah! You really have... I'm proud of you." - me

(insert conversation about how the phrase "good things happen to good people" isn't always true... and sometimes good people still suffer before they find joy - shout out to my Hebrews class coming in clutch!) 

"Ms. Chloe people are saying my Momma is poor cause some people are helping her give me presents for Christmas... but that isn't true." - J

(insert conversation of me holding back tears because sometimes kids can be really mean... and telling him that I know a lot of kids that receive presents from a lot of different people... I also know of a lot of kids that don't get anything) 

His work for the next two days was finished because we considered how many pages were in the packet, and knew he had practice tomorrow so he wouldn't do any of it then. This is the sort of problem solving he has been missing out on - sure homework needs to get done at some point, but if you can make him realize what the rest of his week looks like, and allow him to choose to have a day for just basketball?! Well then, what are we doing just sitting around? We have work to do!

-

Now he was pacing back and forth in front of me.  

(insert a story of him telling me how, a boy we both know and love, was getting made fun of during practice, and how he stuck up for him because "they don't know what we know." I remembered how you said that we should care about our friends... even when no one else is." Again... holding back the tears. )

"Chloeeeee. What do I need to do to be better?! Like... I'm talkin' bout what am I missing? Or can work on... like drills? I don't want people to call me lame. I want my game to speak for itself... I don't want to argue no more." - J

I've learned that J and I are similar in the sense that we have to talk our problems out loud... we don't always want people to respond, we just want someone to listen to us, so that we can make sense of it ourselves. But every so often, we want someone to respond, and to give us sound advice that will take us to the next level. A level we couldn't reach on our own. So I spend a lot of time listening to J. I listen to him, I hear him, and every now and then when I know he is looking for a word that has power, I ask God to lead me in the right direction, and provide a perspective he usually hasn't considered yet.

Today was one of those days he really needed someone to listen. 

And I am just thankful that I get to be the one to hear him. 

  

twenty first

I wrote them down on a yellow envelope. 

But mostly they've been written down on me over the last 21 years. 

Celebrate every victory, big or small.

Find the beauty in everything.

Be present.

Over planning kills magic. 

If flowers can blossom after long, harsh winters, so can I.

My identity is in Christ, and He made me a masterpiece.

Rest.

I am a hurricane of a girl, and the homeless relate with my wolf eyes. 

Listen.

Naps are for everyone.

Play in the rain.

Seek joy everyday.

Take a deep breath and wait five seconds. 

When hugging a child, never be the first to let go. 

Messy isn't wrong.

Love everyone.

Crying is okay.

Pick Adventure.

Laughing loud just means you have a full heart, keep it up.

Don't let anyone tame your wild. 

The last one was hard.

I felt like I was empty without it.

Then it hit me. 

And the obligatory words were tuned out, and the joy was seen in a drizzly November day.

My twenty-first.

I may have been found by the greatest, but His gift to me will always be, even after the songs stop, the pixie dust fades, Wendy grows up, and Peter dies, that I can be a Lost Boy. 

Not Strong Enough For It #1

"Where's Chloe?!?" 

He choked out through the tears.    

I had already turned the corner. Still in ear shot, but out of sight. 

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

We both needed space, but each other at the same time. Reminds me of the best, who is 2.5 hours from me, soon to be 11. 

I needed him to know it was okay, and he needed to know that I was still there. 

Just there. 

"I'm here" I spoke up, out of the slumber I was in. "Come talk to me."

Only though I didn't really mean it like it sounded... 

He fits right under my shoulder... practically the same size at this point. 

Silence. 

I hate it.

I hate it so much. 

I know he only needed me to be next to him, and not say a word, because we are the exact same person give or take a few things. 

"Good game" is BS in this situation. And I wouldn't dare someone to say it them.

So we just continue being silent, and I remind them all that win or lose, jersey or no jersey, the love doesn't change on my end. 

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

"She is starting to show"

"Yeah... I noticed"

Come April, our EA fam in getting a little bigger, but not in a let's celebrate kind of way. 

Don't get me wrong, we will celebrate with her... we're even gonna plan a shower soon. 

It's just hard when one of the babies has a baby.

She is one special girl. 

And I am blessed to work alongside people who care for our kids like they do.

Even when others won't. 

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

Home.

There has only ever been one place people wanted to consider my home.

I agreed for a long time.

Now know what my soul has been trying to tell me for awhile.

Home is where I sweat, bleed, cry, give and get love on a daily basis, sleep. But it's more than that. It's also where I

celebrate small victories, and big ones,

get smelly hugs from boys twice my size who just got out of football practice, 

get challenged and encouraged, 

wake up with the strength to do it all again, learn, feel Jesus, 

where my beliefs are not ridiculed, but strengthened. 

Much like the succulents in my window, I can survive harsh care, but don't love that forever.

My roots can be cut, and I can relocate with ease. 

Take one of my petals away? No big deal, I will multiply in the next place, just give me time. 

The first wasn't wrong, the last isn't really the last. 

But my present is always where I give my all. 

My present is home.

Breathing is hard when I know something is required of me, and I'm not strong enough for it. 

But you know, sometimes I am strong enough for it. 

to be continued...

middle school camp | I must be crazy

Giddy, anxious, excited, nervous, butterflies.

These were all feelings I had as I prepared for Middle School camp.

I do believe I was more excited about it than the kids.

After a week of rough home life situations, court meetings, hard Wednesday night talks, shootings, suicide, and just anxiety in my own life, this was something we all needed.

We needed the mountains.

We needed family.

We needed Christ.

I told myself not to worry about the usual things I would in regards to overnight trips.

I prayed that God would be in every action.

More often than not I forget I’m not superwoman… I don’t know how though…

Thank goodness I have people remind me daily that I actually suck at a lot of things!

Just kidding. 

With a lot of encouragement and wise words coming my way, I took a deep breath and got on that bus full of kids I have grown close to over the last 6 months. 

I was born for this.

The cabin was basically a mansion. I felt like I was on vacation with my extended family. 

Rachel and I dream for a life like that, much like the Kingdom, where we are all under the same roof. Even a few of our favorites said they wanted to live there with everyone too.

Blood is nothing when you have Jesus in common.

Not to bash our blood relatives at all, but some of these kids have no idea what a healthy household looks like. And for three days, they got to experience a steroid version of that.

Being able to pray with each of the girls in my room as I tucked them in, being able to tell them they are beautiful the second they woke up, facing fears with the boys as they climbed up a ropes course. Playful roast sessions, and encouragement when they thought they couldn't go higher. 

And then they did.

Sharing meals.

Sharing clothes, pillows, blankets.

Sharing painful secrets.

Being honest about my own struggles.

Telling them that I don't have all the answers during small group, and crying in front of them felt like a failure. Then one of them spoke up, tears in her eyes, saying "I've always been told to suck it up." 

Not here.

Not with me.

Not with Christ.

I spent my very early mornings watching the sun rise, and as the kids woke up, stumbling out of their rooms, each gave me a wave, or head nod on their way to breakfast.

My favorite though was when they would gasp and run to give me a hug or ask me if I slept in the couch all night. "That is so uncomfortable why didn't you ask for a bed?!"

Middle schoolers struggle with identity, belonging, expressing themselves, being oddly inbetween too young and too old for everything. 

They are usually the middle kid (shout out).

And heaven forbid they didn't have their phones for an hour.

I love how weird they are.

And I am fearful for how I acted at their age!

But they remind me daily how uncool I am... so no worries there!

Being able to worship with 100 other people searching for Jesus to be a part of their lives in any sort of way, that is something that gives me chills.

Learning how to lead alongside some of best people in the game has been such an honor and humbling experience.

When I need to cry before sessions cause "I am not cut out for this" they are right there beside me to slap those words out of my mouth and remind me why I am here.

Remind me I was born for this.

I hate having a kid sob in my lap for 30 minutes because life sucks. 

I love being able to pray with a kid and say "so yeah... welcome to the Jesus fam." 

I love when my kids try to give me life advice. 

"cause let's be real Ms. Chloe... you are a little crazy." 

I know I am. 

I have to be crazy to be so in love with Jesus I would let those kids eat my last cookie!

Or to only get 5 hours of sleep this weekend,

 dance in the rain just to embarrass them,

let them STEAL my favorite Kentucky sweatshirt,

use my towel, 

get me to dress up like a zombie and lip sync to Thriller with 12 minutes of prep time.

I am exhausted and full of joy.

"this sucks"

I'm currently sitting on the bus that takes kids home after Wednesday night church. There are only two left, and I'll be dropped off back at my car. 

Pretty sure we covered all of east Knoxville in 30 minutes, and that's with seven of them getting off on the same stop! 

They lost a brother this week.
They lost a friend.
They lost a classmate, neighbor, cousin.

And until I had a ball player twice my size tell me "this sucks" I had no idea.
I had no idea how hard this would be.
I've seen death. I've suffered loss. But I've watched a lot more people suffer and die in surrounding communities, other than my own.

I had no idea. And my heart hurts. Because I am not the solution. And that is hard.

I'm pretty convinced I suck at offering the real solution too. Cause let's be real. The little white girl offering Jesus after you just lost your family isn't something I would want either.

                                                                               -

After having so many nightmares about identifying the body, you start to hate sleep. Or maybe sleep hates me. That is something I fear. That I haven't impacted the way I want. Or the way they think I have. I'm too late. It's impossible. They can't change. I don't have what it takes. And by now the Devil has made himself comfortable. Like he belongs inside me more than I do.

Push him out. Start over.
The sun wants to kiss me good morning, but getting up seems way harder than normal.
God is good. But how would they know unless I show them in the midst of all our own chaos.
Be strong.
I hear the words, and feel my body moving, I just don't feel the connection between the two.
I hate being robotic.

                                                                                -

Not everything is well.
Reality looks like the songs being prerecorded.
The face was filtered, and wiped of tears just moments before that picture got all the likes.
The meals were missed.
The prayers are hands clawing for something that looks like a silver lining.
I don't believe less.
I just have a lot more reasons to agree with his statement.
"This sucks"

The story goes on.
My eyes look through the grief like rain, searching for stars. They are still there. They never left.
Neither did You.
Joy.
My heart still beats, because this is their broken story, and I am their writer.
One day, they will see beyond their struggle, grief, rain. And they too will see the stars.

I Won't Be Put On Mute

If it's not one thing, it's another.

Oppression.

Opposition.

Others hateful words.

Failures are adding up, and the victories are small and few.

I have more doubts in what I am doing here, and if it's worth it.

Sin.

Satan.

Selling me a campaign, to believe more in evil, than the Holy. 

The second we catch a break and think we are doing something good, people want to step on it, and remind us that, we are the minority.

I want to say "yeah, we are... were the only ones living like Christ." But that would just be real petty ish wouldn't? So WE have to keep it classy... cause WE will be the ones sent to the office. 

Bull.

There is a reason people chose to just be silent. 

They are sick of their voices being put on mute.

News flash. 

I won't be put on mute. 

That's why I'm here. On earth.

To be the badass with a mega phone as a mouth. 

Refusing to let the minority, the children, the broken, the forcibly mute, the urban, the refugees, the people of God, be forgotten. 

Sometimes I really suck at my job.

Sometimes I get caught up in the little things, things that are put in front of me as a distraction. 

Seemingly good things, people, events, etc.

At the end of the day though, they are part of the problem.

This week my heart was ripped apart, 

Over and over again.

Peoples voices weren't heard.

Words were put in mouths that didn't belong. 

Loved ones were too far away, broken.

Yet, I still see the light.

Because that's the kind of hold He has on me,

I just wonder if you have that same feeling... or if you've somehow put Him on mute too.

This isn't a list of hate filled observations, or a statement of how I have been knocked down and wounded. 

This is a battle cry. 

And I have called roll. 

Seen who will measure up. 

To the ones who played spy, only to know where the Achilles heel was.

Remember what you chose. 

Remember whose voice you tried to put on mute. 

News flash.

I won't be put on mute. 

the sun still rose

this is the part of the story people don't want you to know about.

the struggle.
the parts that get rough and dirty.
the sin.

this is the part of the story where I get quiet.

because this isn't a victory... yet.
the potential is there, sure.

I have to remind myself to breathe in and out.
this part of the story wants me to forget.

this is the part of the story where the ghosts are real, and the people are fake.

but the sun still rose today.
and that gives me hope that joy lies in the pages unseen.

I must love middle schoolers

If you were asked to look in my backpack right now you wouldn't find the usual college girl items.

There's a binder full of schedules, a handbook, and rules I'm supposed to follow as an Americorps member. Which some of the kids and I like to call #protocol 

Some paper work with kids information.

Brand new expo markers I forgot to put upstairs in the class room, so when my 8th graders ask me for help with their algebraic equations, I can write them on a dry erase wall. 

They need to see things bigger picture sometimes. Visual. Audible. I am in no way a teacher, but I know what it's like to hate math. 

The folder Sam made me, which I love with my whole heart. 

Meant for the service and culture rotation we had this summer. 

Hands holding different flowers. It's perfect. 

ADHD medicine can be found in another pocket. 

Cause 4'o clock is harder for some than others. We don't love them any less. 

However, we do make sure the pill is swallowed and a high five is given.  

A destroyed planner covered with pictures of family. 

Full of assignments due from last year, weekend trips planned, reminders, parties, breaks, etc. 

Oh and a picture of two girls faces from the photo copier!

Now it's August. A new planner is on the way. 

It will find it's home next to confiscated Lego's, takis, extra shoes to play ball, artwork, candy wrappers and other trash I somehow end up collecting, among other things!

This can only mean one thing...

I must love middle schoolers! 

I actually love them so much, I decided to stay at Emerald Ave through the school year. 

Surprise! 

Stay tuned for more victories, big and small. Adventures. Life lessons. Straight up failures. 

The good, bad, and ugly, that comes with being a family at EA. 

Cause being a middle schooler ain't easy y'all. 

Here's to a school year full of "WHAT ARE THOSE?!"

Apartment 8

An open letter to those who get to live in apartment 8 after were gone.

Yes, the door is shut... no it won't close anymore if you lean on it. We kind of like it halfway open like that anyway...

No, you won't fall through that spot in the floor close to the tub... you might have, had our awesome maintenance man not come and fix the leak though. You're welcome. 

You may not smoke, but your neighbors below do. Which is basically the same thing. Candles were our go to, but after awhile you get used to your clothes smelling like smoke and you continue on.

The water heater was fixed about a month or so ago... but if something happens, expect the oven to be in the living room for awhile why our awesome maintenance man fixes it. 

Your neighbors can hear everything. I think that's why people keep their doors open most days... they gave up "being quiet" awhile ago. Plus... who pays for AC anyway. 

Sorry the front closet rack is jank... we don't know either.

The wifi password is actually the length of the Mississippi river.

Oh and if you want to talk to someone at the front desk... just forget that was even an idea. I don't even believe there is a front desk. 

These aren't complaints by any means. This is just me letting you know what we didn't, and eventually learned. Learned to love, and learned to live alongside some really cool people. 

Get to know the people in your building if nothing else. Their stories, hellos, good mornings, and late night conversations, are some of my favorite memories of being in apartment 8. You can't find a more diverse group of people than an east side apartment complex. 

That stoop, and the sidewalk around the side of the building is where I saw God this summer. Where I called home when things were hard, or a victory was made. It was also where I got to play in the rain with my roommates and read a book about stepping into the unknown. 

I'm glad I stepped into the unknown this summer, where I had a place to end and start my days well. 

Be thankful for the leaky shower. Be thankful for apartment 8. And the things you will experience while you live there. Maybe you have a family to take care of. Maybe you're here looking for work and your seasons change faster than others. Maybe you have roommates like us. Regardless, embrace the glorious mess that is your neighborhood. The gardens, the park, the windy streets that have powerful names like Selma and the like. 

As I spend my last days here I can't help but look back on the unknown blessing this place would be to me. The relationships I have with my roommates is something I can't express the thankfulness. Abby, Grace, and Lauren, you three are beautiful souls, game changers, peace makers, kingdom builders, and so much more. I am thankful for the countless cookies made, the prayer nights, adventures, workouts, game nights, late night talks, movie nights, jazz, making dinner together, coffee and tea shared, quiet mornings being encouraged by your devotions or just simple comments made. I could go on and on. This summer was full of crazy schedules, but the time we spent together in apartment 8 is time I can truly "Praise God" for! 

J

I didn’t have to carry those boxes or backpacks.     J could have managed & Granny is tougher than people like me give her credit for.     I helped anyway.    Walked the several blocks from the park to their home.   Even took the cut behind the townhouses.   Granny told us to walk ahead of her cause of “long legs” but we both knew it was her asthma.  

Next came something real special.  

This young man walking beside me was telling me how he’s gonna keep his head in the books this year.   He’s “gonna get good grades, and find a job that hires a fourteen year old black kid.”    It’s unfortunate that he knows somehow that will make a difference.   “I need to save money so I can go to Y and train so I can make the football team… and not be bored.   It’s so boring here.”    I asked him how he thought he would get to the Y and back since it’s not close.   Of course the bus was J’s answer, no surprise there.  

Next question was “If you could, what would you do to make your neighborhood not boring?”  “Well I would want a place to help kids with their homework, and like a pool to swim in… and like a place for kids with disabilities ya know?”   He paused for a really long time.    “Maybe when people need help finding homes I can help them do that too?”

He opened the screen door and I had no idea how we got there so fast.    I wiped the tear that had fallen without permission.   He took the handful of boxes and backpacks I carried, gave me a hug and ran upstairs.    I don’t know how many of our boys will go to college, get their dream jobs, or even out live me. I don’t know if what I say to them, every time, gets through. All I know is that I have to keep loving them, and encouraging them.    J’s goals used to be very different.    Not bad, but now he is thinking of others instead of just himself.   He was thinking about giving back.   Making an impact, a difference.   He was thinking about more than the hoop or the corner.   And you know what?

I couldn’t be more proud. 

process

I haven't been able to process anything that's happened in the last two weeks.
Actually, the whole summer really. 

Haven't had the time, and to be honest, 

I've been afraid to. 

I had a break down in my parents laundry room on Sunday.

Everyone tried talking, listening, and some knew to just wait it out.

Dad busted in wanting to know what was wrong with his daughter,

Mom had to deal with the rambles,

Olivia got the ugly cry,

Michael was there for the recovery.

Almost a week later and I'm still sifting through my heart over it all.

Maybe one day I will be able to understand,

 what it is to love like they love me.

Family always seems to be my anchor,

even after we've been separated by storms for so long. 

My last day at EYF.
It was a beautiful day.
I cried with Rachel as we sat and reflected for a few minutes,
 once the babies were all gone.
Thankful for similar hearts.

Sometimes kids have to stop coming to program.
Sometimes kids have to leave their homes,
even when they don't want to.
And sometimes the only answer is prayer.
Actually, always... it's always the answer.

The wind couldn't have come at a better time,
even though I do miss sunshine.

Tomorrow
 I'm going to sleep,
walk around my city without shoes,
and process.

hour glass love

Six weeks.

It took less than six short weeks for me to fall in love with them. 

Way less actually.

Now there are less than two weeks left.

Two weeks.

I feel so full, yet so empty at the same time.

Being away from my 2nd family for so long during the school year, and then not going back to them at the beginning of May was one of the hardest choices I had to make.

But it was a decision I had to make.

Two weeks from now I'll be headed back to the bluegrass for what I like to call "family vaca" which is code word for taking a bunch of city kids to Eastern Kentucky and making a lot of memories.

It will end too fast.

I will have to pack up, again, and head back to Knoxville, too soon. And start my third year of college, away from them.

Micah Man joked the other day while he was down here for the 4th of July that I missed all of 2nd and 3rd grade for him... he was right. I'll miss 4th and 5th grade too.

Then middle school will be here and I'll wonder how.

I did not get to see my Bolivian family this summer either.

Pictures and texts sent while others went without me, made me so happy and very sad.

I couldn't feel the sandy roads, or hear beautiful Spanish speaking voices sing to our Father. I couldn't hurt myself on yet another hazardous slide everyone dares me to go on.

I do not know where my baby sisters are who got up and left one day with someone they probably shouldn't have.

I am praying for those kids, the churches, the Beams, and that country.

 Despite the distance and time apart, I am forever bound in Bolivia. 

This summer I sacrificed time with other family members, but gained another family.

I don't regret it one bit.

These kids have provided me with their own challenges, heartbreaking stories, laughter till we cry, and memories I'll keep forever.

I can only imagine the feelings I'll have once these two weeks are up, and the summer I spent every day with them is over.

I think this was the summer I needed to realize that I have the type of heart that finds people to love everywhere.

Across the globe. Across the street. 

There will always be kids I call family somewhere else, and people that are cheering me on hours and hours away. I can't be in two different states at once, and I can't fly out of the country every other week to hug the babies an ocean away.

That's why I'm thankful for Him. Because I know He has surrounded all those little ones I love, while I'm not there, to give hugs, or applaud them after winning a school bee, or make a wining shot.

That's why I am thankful for social media and technology to keep me updated on the things I am missing. Whether it's losing a tooth, having a baby, or just seeing their faces.

Sometimes I am distracted by the grains of sand spilling out in the hour glass of time I have for each place I land.

This summer is proof that even though I can't do everything I think I need to do, He provides what I need to do at the current time in order to grow.

That sand reminds me to lover harder, feel deeper, and take every moment in like it's the last.

With Tears In Mind

I was built with a foundation to feel.

Parts of me were formed with tears in mind. 

More often than not, I cry.

Don't worry, I'm not broken, not stuck in a perpetual sadness.

I just feel. 

Deeply.

Hard.

A lot. 

Some days you just gotta let me cry it out and then I'll be okay.

Other days, maybe you needed to cry too and didn't even know it. 

I can be a help in that way.

When one of our 4th grade boys tells his squad to "share the ball with them" nodding at the 1st grade.

boys, I tear up on the sidewalk like a proud mom. Cause that was a big deal.

Or when siblings might get separated and you can't do anything about it. 

Or when the body comes around you in prayer cause you miss 'home', and they remind you that they 

are your family too.

Don't get me wrong, my life is consumed with laughter just as much, if not more, than those tears... 

but sometimes I wish feeling like I do, didn't interfere with my work... or sleep... or day to day life. 

I have to be careful.

Take a step back.

Breathe. 

And understand that not everyone feels like me. 

And that's okay. 

Understand that He is the only answer, nothing I can come up with on my own will serve any situation better than He.  

I am thankful for being made this way, with tears in mind. 

I tend to rely on Him a lot more when my eyes react to the joy and the sorrow they see everyday. 

Always a Daddy's Girl

I don't know what to thank you for more, the lessons you taught me growing up, or the patience you had to have waiting for me to actually follow through with said lessons.

I wanted to do everything I could to make you proud. I still do really...

Every tree climbed, every bike ride that didn't end in a crash, all the balls dribbled and shot through a hoop - they all somehow point back to you.

I remember the prayers said every night, and the texts sent in my now twenties, reminding me I am still your little girl. I hope that never stops.

I wish some days I could be more of what you expected, uniform, more disciplined, maybe even someone who has learned how to keep her mouth shut... but then I think that would go against my upbringing. You learned all the Disney quotes, you dressed up, and did hair. You told me to be me and to show the boys what's up when challenged.

I am choosing a path that scares us, let's call it what it is. But I am so blessed that even when it is scary, you have confidence in me and are letting the reigns go.

You encouraged me without even thinking you were, to be someone who could stand on her own two feet, even if they were scraped and bleeding, and one shoe was untied!

I have a protective instinct and a fiery temper, all this from you.

Thanks for being my dad on the good days, and the hard.

No matter what, you will always be the reason I am called a 'daddy's girl'

I love you.

                                                                            -

Another beautiful reason about why we celebrate today is how you chose us to be yours. You didn't have to pick us, you didn't have to pick any of us, but you did. I can't thank you enough for that.

Countless hours spent pouring into us with the word in hand. Almost always full of answers to our endless questions. I knew then, that one day I too would want a basement full of questions from kids I would call my own even though they all went back to their own homes at the end of the night.

You have to deal with more tearful phone calls than anyone else.

You taught me how not to be average, what excellence in the eyes of our Lord should look like, and that I should challenge anyone who thinks I can't do something because I am young. Through my own insecurities and flaws you showed me that I am a masterpiece, and bang 116 day in and day out to remind all your "kids" that we should not be ashamed of the gospel or ourselves.

Somehow you are always right... and I hate that.

Blood may be thicker than water - but we drink sweet tea so that doesn't matter! You push me to be great, and I know I have pushed your buttons more often than not, but hey it's what I do best.

I do believe I get my pride and my leadership from you.

Thanks for leaving foot prints all around for me to step into myself, and really figure out what the future holds for an anomaly like me.

Love ya dude.

Dear Sunday

Dear Sunday,

I rolled into your arms for the billionth time this morning, but it felt like the first time.

The sunrise peeking through my makeshift curtain out of blankets, kissed my bare face and gave me the feeling I could take anything on in that quiet room.

I sipped on a cup of coffee, which still feels like a mix of home and adventure, while I deemed brushing my hair, and even putting on base makeup as a poor use of our time together.

I read a blog, and did a devotion under the covers about missions in my own apartment complex.

I watched a dear friend breathe while she slept on my couch.

I packed my bag for a Sunday of worship, day on the water, and a class on non - violence in the evening.

I talked to my sister and teared up cause I just love her a lot.

Dear Sunday,

I think you go unnoticed too often. But you look might fine from where I'm sitting.

Simple. Significant.

Food Stamp Nutrition

                                                                                 
Have you ever taught a group of kids about nutrition, or the importance of eating healthy? Yeah? Some of you at least.

Okay, let me ask you this.

Have you ever taught a group of kids about nutrition, or the importance of eating healthy... and have one of the boys ask you if, 'when their dad gets soda from their food stamps, and they don't get soda till their next food stamps get approved, is that enough 'healthy' time in between drinking sodas?'

This is just a glimpse into some of the stuff I see and hear daily from my kids. This is what the kids in Park Ridge, the 'ville, Oakwood Lincoln Park, etc. are dealing with when people tell them they need to eat healthier.
                                                                                   
I was in a Family Dollar on Magnolia, just a 2 minute drive from my church, to pick up some sandwich bags. It didn't take me longer than a few seconds before I realized this was a "grocery store" to way more people than you would assume. Cheap clothes, all kinds of plastic toys, food (but not the fruit and vegetable food) this food came in a box or can or wrapper, soda and energy drinks by the crate. There were 3 families in front of me and all of them were counting out change or using a check they were just given from their job. Talk about living pay check to pay check.
                                                                                   
We gave the kids $2 at Freezo - and you better believe those kids know what they can get for $2. If we would have told some kids from across town they had $2 I can guarantee you at least have of them would have thrown a fit they didn't get more, and they would have had  hard time figuring out what they could get for that much. I'm not saying those kids are worse than mine who know the amount of change in their pockets, or mine are better cause of it. I'm just trying to think out and maybe even make some sort of point in the process.

There have been several deaths in families this week. We know about the shootings, police brutality, poor grades in schools, athletics being an outlet... but what we tend to ignore is our kids getting fed, and fed well.

The last three weeks I have been trying different ways to get one particular middle school boy to eat. We as a team have talked about it, prayed about it, watched, provoked, made bets, encouraged, educated, sat back and watched, celebrated, and come home feeling defeated.

Today we celebrated. An orange for a snack, baby carrots and peanut butter, cantaloupe, takis, and he attempted a sandwich but looked at me like "please let me done" and I couldn't have been more proud.

It was beautiful.
                                                                             
The 9 boys I have in my sports rotation were given a real challenge today when I had someone else come in a teach them some soccer basics. He even told them it was more internationally famous than basketball AND football. No one believed him - welcome to urban youth in america. But we struggled and almost broke our ankles together. Despite the fact we may never be soccer players - we gave 100% and that's all I asked of them today haha cause soccer is hard y'all!

hidden in the margins

making unfamiliar streets, my streets

a borrowed book

a porch swing with the early morning sun

falling asleep next to your best friend

walking a couple blocks to work 

sitting on counter tops, till the crickets are asleep,

conversing about it all

whole albums, not singles

being honest in my faults

attempts at being a minimalist 

saying, I love you, and hearing it back

pimps that get second chances 

new friends 

not posting ish like the rest of the Christians,

cause I believe what Jesus said, not those others

understanding myself well enough to throw my hands up,

and being able to call myself out

saying I'm sorry, and meaning it

paying rent

success stories you never saw coming 

learning what the word lonely means

being intentional, and failing at it

facing your fears and still turning around to run after you took a step forward

news headlines 

groceries

a sweet maintenance man 

Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday

the beauty 

the opportunity

this life

me

hidden in the margins

coffee conversations

I tend to do some really weird things in the name of the Lord. Like not drink coffee for nearly two months... That may not seem like a big deal to you. To some, it would be the end of the world, having to take your caffeine IV out of your arm! After some prayer and lots of "this won't impact me" self talks, I decided to remove the drug. Yeah. I said it. And my goodness did I feel different. I went from an "I got this" mentality, to a "why in the world did I ever start drinking coffee in the first place and WHY in the world did I choose to give it up?!" Oh yeah... HIM.

Much like illegal substances, alcohol, food, and you name it, can become an addiction, coffee can be the same. An idol of sorts. But we Christians don't like to admit that we are just as addicted to something that is running our lives and our wallets just as much, if not more, than the guy addicted to pills in our neighborhood... cause we aren't "that bad." And that's freaking stupid. As soon as we walk into our churches there are coffee stations, if not an actual coffee shop in the first few feet of the building! "Welcome to our church - where we praise God with one hand and hold our coffee mug in the other!" I'm not saying quit coffee or it's from the devil - I'm just telling you what I know in my own life, and the way it has affected me. I have an issue with idols other than the man who saved me from some dark ish. So I got rid of coffee. And with it - a lot of relational moments went out the door too. So I prayed some more to figure this out.

Much like my "past idols" I have learned what balance looks like, and not trying to control something on my own. Stepping away from something or someone until I get the okay in my heart that it is no longer an issue. Which brings me to why I had coffee tonight.

Coffee brings people together on a whole other level - young and old - coffee snob or not - that stuff gets people around a table daily. I was blessed with going to one of my favorite coffee shops in Knoxville tonight with someone I love to death. She is about to take a huge leap of faith and move to Belize for a good long while serving, growing, and learning, in so many different ways. She is a kindred spirit of mine, someone I look to for a perspective of endless joy, and a strong passion for the broken. Our conversations are always centered around Christ, our crazy beautiful urban kids, making big and little moves for Jesus, and just always leaning on each other in times of unrest and uncertainty.

I am thankful for coffee tonight because it provided the opportunity for me to catch up with someone I care deeply about. I am also thankful for a Tuesday that doesn't need me to be up at 6am cause this coffee has me wide awake! I don't anticipate drinking coffee again until the situation calls for it.

I am thankful for the lessons I have learned over the past few years while a cup of black liquid was in hand. I am thankful for the lessons that happened without it. I am thankful for conversations about drug dealers, and books that challenge us to have radical faith.

I am thankful for a June 1st thunderstorm. For walks in the city after it has rained, and all the street lights are reflecting at my feet. I am praising God for Mondays and for a pool our kids can learn to swim in. For an hour nap that I still can't believe left me feeling that rested. I am thankful for this past week and the things God is moving in my heart that I do not even understand yet. For the hard conversations and having to admit my own mistakes and swallow my pride. I am so thankful for my housemates who put up with me on the daily and eat the food I make even though it's real scary. I can go on and on. 

The praises never seem to end. I am filled only to be emptied again.

Kind of like a coffee mug.

joy in popsicles

i tossed and I turned last night.

i got up.

i laid back down.

but the excitement just couldn't seem to leave my body till about 4am.

then at 6am I was up again waiting on my alarm to go off in 15 minutes.

christmas morning is really the only thing I can compare it too.

the joy of knowing you get to spend the whole day with some of the coolest kids around is worth a sleepless - I can't wait - night. 

i picked out the red one.

one of the five shirts I 'get to wear'.

i put on the gifted shoes that aren't really shoes. 

and ran back up our apartment stairs to get my sunglasses. 

Can't forget the sunglasses!

the bananas were cut in half.

cereal was poured. 

everything was in order, now all we needed were kids!

as they pulled up we threw the football around.

i can catch way better than I can throw - i'm just being honest.

some familiar faces. some new faces. 

all middle school. gosh I wish I were as cool as middle schoolers! 

some things will never change. like my love for basketball.

or when you get picked third from last in pick up (surely not cause I am a girl... I blamed it on the shoe choice) I had two baskets and some steals - and cause I know you care so much three turnovers and a block. Not bad for what I was up against - NBA (middle school) offense these days is tough!

other adults had to tell me it was time for lunch - which I quickly informed them the next shot won.

our team lost. but we had some mad teamwork. our handles just need some work. 

something you learn about these kids real quick - they keep going and going and hardly eat anything. 

some of them never stop eating - but it's rare and they are mad picky. 

boxed school lunches never made anyone jump for joy, 

but there are people who would die to have what's inside them. 

our kids... they have been eating these boxed lunches all year. I don't blame them one bit. 

one of our boys didn't eat breakfast or lunch. so I asked him if he had a choice of an orange or banana what he would choose - orange it was. 

He devoured it. 

So I made a deal that if he wasn't going to eat the boxed lunch he needed to find me and eat the fruit I brought for the day. There is no way I am letting him go over 8 hours without eating while he is in my care. 

got over my fear of drowning for about an hour and managed to slide into 3ft of water seven times with the kids before my eyes were burning from chlorine. small victories right?

here's to the long summer days spent with kids that find joy in popsicles,

bad tan lines,

being sore after one day,

and praying the rain away just a little bit longer - even if it messes with your "twenty-something" plans later that night... cause a pool with seventeen middle schoolers is way better than those anyway!

sigh. tomorrow the babies are gonna be here. and the excitement starts all over again.

day 4

For only being here a few days I feel like I have lived here for a very long time.

I am at peace here.
I would not dare to say comfortable yet. I'll be honest I tip toed the first night cause I felt like I was staying over at someone else's apartment.
I'm more okay with the weight of my walk on the floors now.
I remembered where the silverware drawer was today.
Small victories.

I already made my own dinner, very poorly I might add. My roommate and I died laughing about how ridiculous I was in mistaking quarts for cups and had to start all over again.
My roommates made a much better dinner tonight - I just took the trash out and spilled black bean juice everywhere.

I called my mom.

Training.
Paper work on top of paper work.
I was sworn in to serve our nation, state side, the other day... weird.
My site has 6 girls and one very brave guy. God bless him.

Adventures in apartment number 8 are in full swing. With a busted water heater across the hall, one of my roommates and I managed to temporarily, and dramatically, stop the water, as well as calm the grandmother down. Not to mention acknowledging the little girl peeking around the stove we pulled from the wall.
In East Knoxville people don't really come around their units to help you out - you do it yourself. Don't worry guys. These ladies have it under control.

Packing lunches.
Cooking dinner.
Having friends over to 'your place.'
Doing dishes.
Groceries.
Going out with your roommates to hear some jazz.
Late night talks before an early morning - cause technically we are still young enough to be this sleep deprived and get away with it...
Laughing so hard you cry.

For only being here a few days I feel like I have lived here for a very long time.
*I think I like it here.

moments

words.

meaning.

moments.

all this will come to and end.

all this will shape and form.

identity.

early rising - no naps - up late

snuggles with my favorite 2 year old

nails painted by a 6 year old

waffle house

boyfriend shorts

untamed hair

sun kissed skin that "looks like sissy's"

night market 

north lime coffee & donuts

not drinking coffee for 2 weeks

sun

middle school lunch bunch

road tripping to georgetown with the best

academy

new dress

adventures in an old brewery 

sweet tea

counting down the days I will be back - then back here again

packing up my life

reading with my kids

fried chicken 

street art 

new music

exploring old warehouses 

getting rid of 1/3 of my wardrobe 

reading a book that actually sucks

living out of boxes

taking care of a friend

new movies

crazy old man who believes in biracial couples

being claimed as the third

young adult groceries 

spray paint 

not saying goodbye

sirens

learning the system - so I never become like it fully

building soap box cars

developing the future gameplan

taking responsibility 

ambition