Just Stay

"Just stay."

"You don't have to go."

"We miss you."

3 and a half years ago I sat in front of a group of elementary and middle school kids I had spent a lot of life with. I mean, considering I had been in middle and high school myself... I basically grew up with them on my hip and under my wings. My friends back then thought it was cool and even ended up hanging out with us a couple days after school. We didn't really think it would go this far for me. Then again, maybe they did and they just let me hope and wish and dream on my own.

But I sat in front of them and told them I was going to college. And it wasn't UK like we had planned as a family unit. Where the girls and I could still have ice cream and dance parties and the boys would be able to come to basketball games with me. Nope. Not UK. It wasn't even in the same state. I told them I was going to an itty bitty school in Knoxville, TN, to study the Bible and teach people around me how to love... Marcus and I knew then that my journey at Johnson wouldn't look normal. Nothing about me is really "normal." But I knew then my role would be tough... and I would stick out like a sore thumb. The kids didn't understand that though... and honestly I'm still trying to avoid my obvious role here and I keep getting my butt kicked for it. I have a semester left to figure it out okay?

Of course I would still visit! I reassured them. Plus...

"I'll be back in 4 years."

3 and a half years ago I sat in front of a group of elementary kids and led their bible rotation and helped out with homework where I could. I was nervous, but also very at home. Would I ever be accepted or love others like I did in Lexington? Of course Bolivia is a whole other category in this, but I almost felt more foreign in Knoxville those first few months than I did across borders. The adults in the room made comments about how much I resembled him. How the kids just want to be around me. I was honored and terrified all in the same moment. Even though I can fit his basketball shoes... those were still huge shoes to fill and the bar had been set. I was only a volunteer then. But they knew just like I did, they had me for 4 years. 

2 summers ago I sat in front of a group of middle school kids that were a lot bigger and louder than the babies I just spent my first two years of college with, an prior to that. But a few dance moves and a couple jokes latter it was as if I was a middle schooler myself. "This is where I belong" I thought. And I stayed with them through the fall and winter and spring. 

Last January I got a call about needing me to do something really hard. We had just lost Zae and our kids were wrecked. Change isn't something I am too fond of. Which is ironic considering how much I love cities. It is a love hate thing for sure. But that call changed my life forever. And I wouldn't want to change it for the world. 

Almost a year ago I got on a bus full of kids I didn't really know. I recognized a few older siblings, and a few seniors that had helped me out before, but I sat in a seat on my own. We were headed to resurrection. The time is coming where we get on that bus again, only though this time, I'll know everyone. My heart will swell with joy and I'll thank God for this family. 

My heart will also break a little, because the next time I journey out to the mountains that far it will be for my Graduation. And the ones I told "I'll be back in 4 years" will be awaiting my return. And the ones I've done life with the last 4 years will hold their breath and say, 

"Just stay."

"You don't have to go."

"We miss you."

Less Coffee: Honest Thoughts

It's day 3 without coffee.

I wish that number sounded as significant as it felt. 

My head stopped throbbing around 4am this morning. 

I have a lot of peppermint oil & Tylenol to thank for that. 

Funny how we fill the absence of one thing with another...

People have asked me why I randomly decided to separate myself from something 

I love so much.

Something that does not define me.

Something that I am not addicted to, or in need of at least twice a day.

And something I am most definitely not a snob over. 

I can't really see the problem there myself either to be honest. 

Guess that's why I just ordered a cappuccino in The Old City on accident.

Damn.

-

I woke up before the sun this morning.

Got dressed. Ate breakfast. Started the dish washer and wiped down the counters.

I haven't been the best housemate recently.

I want to do better.

Somehow I make a part time position very, very full time.

And then there is school...

Yeah. School.

Less than 5 months away from the end.

I don't handle change very gracefully. If you know me at all, you know this to be true.

I am both excited and terrified all at the same time.

Currently have an essay and a half left to finish and turn in for this semester.

So here I am.

Writing to you.

Again... being finished sounds great.

But change.

-

I went to the Police station this morning so I could get on my knees and beg the judge to reduce a ticket I got at the end of last month, on my way to school.

Gathered all the peaceful vibes I could.

Bundled myself up head to toe cause the high is 30 today and my summertime joy has magically faded away with my tan skin.

I knew I would be surrounded by guns. Surrounded by uniforms. Surrounded by people I want so badly to love... but somehow still feel as though they are the enemy that hurt my people.

Part of me just wanted to tell the cranky officer behind the security desk that I wish I could hug him.

Is that weird?

Maybe. Whatever.

I just know he needed one, and I needed to be the one to offer.

But I didn't. He was just a little too cranky. And I was still nervous.

Turns out my day to beg the judge isn't until 9am TOMORROW.

It's fine.

-

I also need to admit that ordering a cappuccino wasn't an accident.

Now you see why.

8 years ago

Let me tell you a story

about 8 years ago I met a man who was on a journey much bigger than himself. he had left his home, family, and a city full of kids that still talk about him to this day. he went to the one place he told God he didn't want to go.

he used what he had to play, teach, and invest in this new city full of kids. I was in 6th grade when I decided I would do the same one day.

fast forward, that man called us 7 out to be uncomfortable, to never be average, and to be the salt and light of this earth. we're not perfect. we fail. but we are a family.

hot summers where we developed our own camps & made memories under the street lights.

school years full of helping kids read & using our fingers to count.

moving away. college. change.

pain. heartbreak.
joy. celebration.

the call has always been there, in the distance. Every move I've made laced in the thought that it won't be a dream one day. It will be real. It is real.

the years have passed and that man has remained. the dream never fading.

patience.
so much patience.

he began calling us his own.
in the victories and our less than elegant moments.

when the news came that the dream was forming into a structure, with cement, flooring, windows, wood beams... goosebumps covered me and his eyes were just as glassy as mine.

here we are.
8 years removed from the introduction, even more from the birth of the dream.

we are looking at Gods provision.

we are looking at why that man called us out the way he did. so that one day... there will be more like us.

there will be more encouraged to believe that 6th grade dreams can be made real. and more will see that waiting for God to be God, is so, flipping worth it.

and the story continues...

 

the year I will never forget

I woke up with all the air I could fill in in my lungs

only to let it all out with one very long sigh

twenty-one is over today

and I am trying to convince myself to focus on the mountain of homework I have instead of getting emotional like I always do this time of year

it's not working very well 

year twenty-one was one of those years you can't forget

no matter how hard you try

this was the year I mourned the most

and loved the hardest

this was the year I raised my first in the air 

for something bigger than myself

I learned how to use my voice as a 

megaphone

bridge

whisper 

twenty-one had 

baptisms & weddings & deaths

graduations 

lots of coffee  

a major title shift at work that gave me 

my family of high schoolers

being snowed in on a mountain with that family

the honor to help lead a student organization on campus for social unity

basketball & football & volleyball 

games cheering on my kids

celebrating an 18th birthday that will forever be my favorite birthday

breaking ground on the Woodhill community center 

sunshine

city adventures 

our beautiful Bella Sky Rose being born

serve the city meets the EYF fam

moving to the West Coast

making life long friends & family

sand & salt water

graffiti & tacos 

Mexico

life on the street

sunsets & being a momma for a couple weeks 

the boy

unexpected life lessons through suburban kids 

hundreds of hours in urban ministry 

a new home on the east side

see you later's in NYC & NJ

senior year

being a neighbor 

hope fellowship

and of course capstone 

twenty-two will look nothing like twenty-one for a lot of reasons

that's ok

I am thankful for what it was & the work it did on my heart

I left it tired but hopeful

answers in the sidewalk

Today I walked around my city.

I walked out of a meeting I got told to stop running from my calling.

And I just started walking.

I walked till I got a blister from my flats.

This is why I don't wear flats.

I made the phone call I always make in these situations, 

only to be told the thing I always get told in these situations.

Deep breath.

I hate accountability when it's someone keeping me accountable.

Sure, I keep my kids accountable, my roommate, sister, and some friends when they ask me to.

When it's me?

I'd rather just be forgotten.

I wish someone else would step up or feel the same calling within their spirit and that way I wouldn't have to play this out myself.

I walked over the cracked sidewalk.

I squinted my eyes when the sun started to peak through the tall buildings filled with important business people. 

I smiled to the man asking for money against the wall and told him he reminded me of an angel I met in San Diego.

My mind was both racing and at peace all at the same time.

The "to-do" list is way too long, but for some reason, it's okay.

The "to-do" list doesn't go away... not for me. 

The contents will not stay the same, but there will always be work to do. 

There will always be someone holding me accountable.

Thank God.

I will always find my answers in the sidewalks.

Whether I want it or not.

And now it is time to look at that "to-do" list and call out what makes priority.

What lasts.

What holds power and importance.

What things are simply out of my control.

This won't be the last time I consult the cities sidewalk to work things out in my mind and heart.

But now to hold myself accountable.

And put the running shoes up.

Cake Pops on the East Side

For those of you who don't know, I've been blessed with the opportunity to live in a really beautiful home on Jefferson Avenue.

Smack in the middle of Park Ridge and whats famously known as the East Side.
I am in walking distance of Magnolia as well as the Historic District of North Knox.

This is the street where twenty-thirty something young professionals meet and the ladies walk the streets at night regularly.

This is the couple of blocks where more than a handful of my neighbors have composts in their back yards, and the others have low riders with huge subs in the trunk sitting in their driveway.

This is the porch sitting community. The place you take your kids on afternoon walks.
This place is not just where "North Knox" and "East Knox" collide.

This is our home.

                                                                        -

If you know me at all you know that a huge passion, value, or ideal of mine is to live in community with Gods people. And for awhile now I have been able to live that out in several different ways. Always providing an adventure, learning experience, challenges, and preparing me for when I have a home of my own, and I get to share it with others.

I've dreamed for years of a big house with enough room for a football team size family.
A kitchen table that never seems to run out of room for my big boys, and baby girls.
Space for friends and neighbors to seek rest, fellowship, and love.

This past summer I shared 400 square feet with four other bodies and somehow we still managed to make room for guests to eat and hang out. I really believe that our homes are meant to be places of refuge and recuperation after a chaotic day in the world, but for people that do not have that space of their own... I also feel called to have a willingness to share resources and create a place that welcomes everyone.

Since moving onto Jefferson Ave I have been stretched and challenged in my own beliefs of communal living, and how sometimes you have to put your desires or comforts to the side in order to really look like Christ to the community you're in.

Last night my house was full of beautiful, giggly, creative, patient, loving, little girls. My heart was overflowing so much I had to step away for a few minutes to make sure I wasn't going to break down in tears. It was as simple as watching them play in the backyard and being willing to help clean up the house. It was how they loved on each other and how desperate they were to just have a place away from their reality for a few hours.

A place they can get their hands messy making cake pops, and jam out to some Beyonce in the living room for a dance party. A place they could play, be heard, encouraged, share in the food and fellowship of each other. All we did was open our home and watch the rest unfold.

I never want to take that for granted.

Reverse Culture Shock

This is not writers block. This is not a lack of words. This is reverse culture shock.

I'm still trying to figure out how you can live somewhere for just 12.5 weeks, after living somewhere else your whole life, yet returning to that place feeling like an alien.

I remember walking to get my bags off of the conveyor belt in Cincinnati, my parents I hadn't seen in almost 3 months right next to me, and feeling lost.

God bless them I know they care, I know they wanted to listen to me and my hoarse voice from sickness talk about all of the adventures, lessons, and friends, but there was a disconnect because they did not see or feel or know first hand what I was talking about. I felt so bad.

We walked into their house in Lexington a few hours later and I just started to sob. Mind you this is the same house I lived in all middle and high school. But it was different now. The stove, the central heating and air, the dish washer, the big open rooms, my own room, full of childhood. I was sick. Inconsolable. Never before had I felt this way. All I wanted to do was just walk out the door and see my friends walking into the Park Gallery downstairs getting ready for college group, or see dozens of cars zipping by the most dangerous intersection there ever was. All I saw was the same house, row after row. The suburbs. I couldn't hear anything. No helicopters, sirens, people talking, palm trees rustling. Nothing.

A few days later I was back in Knoxville. Moved back to the East Side. Finding my way into senior year and another term at Emerald. Surely seeing my kids and friends would heal whatever sort of sadness I still had... that and time and I'd be fine right?

Apparently not.

Going through the motions I am expected to achieve, turning in work, showing up for class, scanning into chapel. It's all a blur. Sitting still in classrooms for over 6 hours a day after I spent 3 months under the sun, dancing in the streets with babies that had no homes... Living in this big house after sharing 400 square feet with 5 people... Friends that complain about their iPhone update being slow when I sat on  public bathroom floor to help a prostitute sew her skirt with an earring... And yet I'm honestly embarrassed that I'm more than a month removed from the summer and I still can't shake some of the things I felt, saw, experienced, and left behind in order to just "fit in." F that.

"Why can't I integrate back into this dang southern culture like everyone else?"

I'm still mourning the dead bodies from last year, let alone this summer. So forgive me if I find it a little hard to comprehend why I owe anyone a fake smile. I want to not have nightmares anymore. I want to feel like I didn't compromise. I want to know that my black and brown brothers and sisters won't be another hashtag. I want to stop piling stones in front of my heart because I'm starting to forget what it feels like to allow anyone else in.

But I know those things wont stop happening anytime soon.

And I know that I will continue to have an empty feeling inside of me until I am able to deal with the beautiful wins, and tragic losses from the summer. So my prayer is to be present when it's so easy not to be. My prayer is that I will continue to serve the Lord wholeheartedly, allow myself grace, lament the hard things, and rejoice the good.

Here I am, on the eve of a season change, in more ways than one.
Finally admitting reverse culture shock has settled in.
Still taking names, facing waves, and using up a lot of sand paper in hopes I look like Jesus at the end of this journey.

But this tough girl is tired.

Facing the Waves

"Don't turn your back to the waves!" 

"But I'm too scared!"

"You just have to face it head on."

And then she went back to the shore.

On my last Sunday in San Diego, Amy and I went to where everything somehow makes sense. After a tough night before, both of us were in need of some salt water and sun set healing. So we filled our glasses with coconut water, put on our swim suits, and pilled in sweet Nan determined to find peace.

That was when the biggest wave I've ever seen in person beat me up like I was a guy in fight club. Salt in my eyes, my mouth, and sand everywhere (I'm still convinced I have sand in my ears from that darn wave) This is when I started to feel defeated. Like okay, I am supposed to be out here enjoying myself, and spending time with Amy... but no, this wave had other ideas and I retreated to my beach chair to cough up water and sand and cry about the new bruises I had from hitting the ground so hard.

"You done?"

Heck no I wasn't done. 

Was I going to come all this way to the beach just to get wrecked by one massive wave and call it a day? 

No way.

Even after Amy had found her way back to our spot on the beach, I stayed in those waves. The waves I later found out were on the news for some of the biggest and strongest this season. But I could have told you that! And I remembered what she said about facing the waves. Maybe she was right. Maybe facing them wasn't so scary and I was the one who really needed to trust that I would end up okay. Even if I did get a little beat up by the waves. Even if I needed to let the water rush over me while I catch my footing again. 

So, after a few half attempts, I did it. 

I turned my swim suit clad body to the setting sun. 

To face the waves head on.

I jumped up, and came right back down as if no effort was needed.

I wish I could explain to you the feeling that came over me. I had a peace about me, but also so much excitement! I wanted to do it again and again as if I was a child going to the beach for the first time. I stayed out there, facing some of the biggest waves of the season, sharing the space with some of the most talented surfers I've ever seen. We exchanged comments like, "Dude, this is crazy" and I even caught myself yelling back at Amy like, "Did you see that one?!" 

We ended the night with a less than exciting sunset, but I won't remember the clouds and darker sky. I'll remember Amy listening to my story, praying over me, and being the encouraging voice I needed to see that facing the waves head on, isn't all that bad. 

This is all I can say to describe my summer here in San Diego, a season in my life where more often than not I wanted to turn my back on the hard things. I wanted to close my eyes and act like I did not know what was coming my way, or take control over situations that were much more heavy, powerful, and messy than I could handle on my own. But the day I realized that getting knocked down, beat up, or bruised up a little bit in urban ministry didn't mean I needed to sit out... was the day I felt the most at peace with where God had me. 

I started to face the waves head on in San Diego, but that doesn't mean the adventure stops here...

"How was your Summer?"

Much like Jesus had his disciples feel the holes in his flesh, from where he hung on the cross, to make them believe, I too want you to touch my heart and say, "Look, feel, believe what I am telling you!" 

This summer has left crater sized holes in my heart.

It has also filled in a lot of cracks I've been born with, or acquired after being handled without proper care. 

This is a feeling no one could understand without physically poking around in my soul long enough to realize, wow, she wasn't lying, this place is messed up. 

But alas, I will just have to use my half ass words and poor typing skills to convey just how messy it really is...

how beautiful. 

After about a dozen attempts, I gave up writing about what I was seeing, feeling, smelling, doing, experiencing, learning, here. 

Nothing worked. 

Everything felt forced. 

It was as if people were waiting with binoculars at the very idea I had a story to share about being the little white girl who went to California to love on homeless people.

I hated that feeling. 

I hate that I didn't want that title.

I hate that I hated being white. I hate that I wanted to be seen as more than a little girl. I really hated the idea that I needed to give people positive stories about homeless people finding homes, or how miraculously they were no longer addicted to drugs, or how I even bring one to Jesus! 

I hated that I felt the need to shelter anyone from the daily reality of the people I see day in and day out, the true suffering our country is going through right under our phone screens or turned up noses, distance, or just plain ignorance that keeps us from seeing it. The life of the person living on the street. The one hiding behind a title or mask in the church or corporate world. The person who is addicted to numb the pain of their situation. The Refugee from the Middle East. The Immigrant from Mexico. The single mom. The rich white kid who has never had to worry about money, food, or housing. The man whose past is so vividly displayed across his body, even if his heart and eyes look different now. How more often than not I felt like I wasn't good enough for this.

News flash. That's a lot of "I hate's" coming from a girl who preaches Love & Peace. So you can see where some inner turmoil comes into play here. And a lot of resolution has happened, and still seeking to be found. 

Don't hold it against me. 

I don't NEED to give anybody, any particular story.

I don't personally NEED to be anything other than a little white girl, to do what it is I do, just as long as I go about it in a respectful, fruitful, God honoring way. 

So here I am. 15 days away from another seemingly impossible transition. 

Still wondering what it is I am supposed to say about the last 3 months.

Hoping my elevator answer to, "How was your summer?" doesn't sound like a horrible mix of vacation meets activist.

My heart will miss...

Sundays, surrounded by people who look more like the Kingdom will in the end than most churches looks now.

Listening to all the youth group kids laughing outside my window on Tuesday nights & yelling at me from across the yard.

Serving food and praying with the residents at the Plaza every Wednesday with my favorite human beings from the San Diego Rescue Mission.

The few Thursday nights I was able to make it to our college/young adult group and just surrounded myself with some extremely woke young people on fire for the Lord. I owe a lot to those friendships. Y'all did a piece on my heart about what it means to be transformed and adopted by Jesus after a life less than perfect. 

Being able to say "Happy Food Distribution Day!" every Friday to a group of volunteers that are THE MOST ridiculous, but I wouldn't want them to be any other way. 300-500 people coming through our line every week, whether I was the one handing them the food, cleaning up, gleaning for other ministries, or just trying to keep the spirits up as I walked around, that has left a mark for sure. 

All the afternoons spent sorting through fruits and veggies at Feeding America, getting to know the future business owners, lawyers, doctors, politicians, etc. informing them what it feels like to be that 1 in 5 kid going hungry in San Diego.

Every day I went out on the street.

I've never felt the way I do about East Village for any other neighborhood. 

Let that sink in.

There are places on this earth I call home. And then there is East Village. 17th down by Imperial and the bypass might as well be Hell on earth. Take away the drugs, rapes, alcohol, mental illness, physical disabilities, burnings, stabbings, cool. The fact that people are only living with what is on their back, in filth, in their own little village blows my mind. 

I've met people with joy out on the street, there is no joy there.

The strongest street team leaders do not choose to go there most days because it is that rowdy, and yet, I somehow find myself drawn to the darkest depths of that block. 

When others are fleeing, people like me go running toward it. 

Not for a gold medal, not for praise, but out of fear that those people will never see light if I don't go.

I could list off names, experiences, days that left the most impact on me. Days I sobbed driving up, or pulling out of the driveway because I just couldn't hold it in anymore. I could tell you of the dozens of times I made a group of kids turn around in their tracks, or how I still can't breathe around cops. How I took shanks away from drunk ladies, or hugged weeping men because they will never be the father they needed to be to their children. Have you imagine what it's like talking to a group of kids over top 4 choppers looking for a man that killed 3 people in their sleep. I could relive the ongoing jokes I have with Sweet Willy, Heather, Charles, Ms. Streetz, Freckles, Tim, etc. about how a little white girl can earn respect out on the street if she works hard enough for it. 

I could tell you how I fell in love with being called his Mija. Became part of a family that represents everything hot mess and redeemed by the Lord. How five guys in the mission taught me more about what it means to be treated by a man respectfully, than any other dude in Bible college ever has. I could tell you how living in 400 square feet with 5 people is crazy but so doable. How I swore I would never get used to sirens, and the day finally came where it was just background news. I could tell you that some days the most exciting thing about my summer was counting granola bars or zip lock bags. I've learned to appreciate the other side of ministry. The behind the scenes, the numbers, the phone calls and e-mails. I do not love them. And I'll be honest, I never will. But I do appreciate them. 

There are things I won't share.

Things that got zipped up and put away just like the bodies in those bags.

Anger, hurt, sadness, joy, celebration, all things that I need to hold onto or leave behind here in this city so I can be fully present once I return to the south.

Much like I needed to be fully present here in SoCal. 

I ask for respect in that decision. That some parts of my heart will just be fleshy craters, and no one else besides my family here, and my sweet Father in Heaven need to be concerned with. 

So when the question is asked, "How was your summer?" I'll smile big, maybe even hold back a few tears early on, share a memory here and there and say "I learned a lot, it was messy, and it was beautiful." And I'll revisit a place in my heart that is still aching to understand what it all meant. 

Margins in the City

I ran as fast as I could - sand kicking up behind me

My shoes and all other cares in the world were left in the dust.

Consumed.

-

As the sky turned different shades of bright orange, yellow, pink,

I was waist deep in the water wondering how on earth something so beautiful could also be so, 

Destructive. 

-

As I shook the hard worked hands of my brothers and sisters I couldn't help but question when was 

the last time someone smiled at them, let alone sat and prayed with them.

Broken.

-

I bawled more tears for the earthly fathers, than I ever have before that day.

I also learned that this is something I will be called to forever, even in the dry seasons.

Passion.

-

It's very easy to overlook the margins in the city.

This is the part of urban ministry people don't tell you about.

Find the margins, hold tight, and remember why you came here.

Coming Summer 2016: Cali

It all happened really fast... or slow? I can't fully remember. 

But I know I was a mess. A ball of tears and angry at the world. 

Sorry, let me back up for those of you who aren't aware that I'm about to make one of the biggest moves of my life this summer.

Currently finishing my Junior year with a double major in Bible & Theology and Intercultural Studies with a concentration in Urban Studies at Johnson University... and low key hoping to get a minor in Sports Ministry but that's just a dream.

Being an ICS major means I have to fulfill a minimum of 300 hours of field experience through a cross - cultural internship. Most of my peers will be spending the summer overseas since they're in ESL, Chinese, Missions, etc. I however get to stay in the states for mine since the whole goal for me is to serve as some sort of urban youth worker within inner city communities. 

Whether that's here in Knoxville, back in Lexington, or wherever God says to go. 

This summer that "wherever" just happens to be San Diego, California!

Pause

(Insert about 15 hours of crying spread over the last 3 and a half months)

I never said listening to God was easy.

Continue

I won't go into all the messy and chaotic details of how I thought I would be in Montgomery, Alabama this summer, or Harlem and that didn't happen.

Leaving the South won't be the hard part. Leaving these mountains or my sweet city that bleeds blue is always emotional, but my heart does entertain the adventure of new cities more often than not.

Leaving my family and friends... never ever easy, but I've been gone from them longer and farther than this before, and their support means so much to me in this.

I can't even write "leaving the kids" without crying.

"I'm not leaving"

I say it over a hundred times a day... to them, but mostly to myself.

3 months away from the ones I have spent almost every day with since last summer makes me want to just say it's not worth it.

But that would be the dumbest thing I could do.

I have to go, I need to go.

This will be one of the most life changing, influential, and greatest learning opportunities for me to experience while in college, and life as a whole! 

I've been dreaming about Oakland and Compton since the 8th grade and now my chance to see the cities I've been dreaming of for 7 years will become reality. I get chills thinking about it. 

I know it sounds crazy. Who loves cities they've never been to... especially "those cities."

Having the opportunity to serve and learn from some of the most seasoned urban ministry folks on the West Coast is something people like me can only wish for, and I get that opportunity for a whole summer. Making connections, relationships, starting to network for after graduation. This is a huge stepping stone for my future, education, and faith journey. 

Faith

Seeking the peace of the city

Claiming what is better and not letting anyone take it from me

Knowing that sometimes heartbreak is really just you making room to love more people

This summer will look like serving the homeless in multiple different ways.

Loving and caring for refugees.

Food distribution to over 70,000 people a month.

Conferences. Training. Leading dozens of missions teams in our community. 

Attending church at New Vision Christian Fellowship and forming relationships with my team.

After telling my parents and the kids I feel like I can breathe again. That doesn't mean the anxiousness is gone. Or the sadness about leaving them doesn't cloud my mind everyday. But I know that after 3 months I will return from a season of people pouring into me, teaching, training, and showing me what it's like to run a program in some of the most diverse cities in our country - filled and ready for another year in school and at Emerald Youth Foundation. 

Better equipped for the work I love so much.

Three weeks from now I will see the Pacific Ocean for the first time. Some of the worst poverty and greatest wealth within a couple miles of each other in our country.  

I just want to ask for prayer over this big move.

For travels. The summer programs I'll be part of. The team. My family and kids while I'm away. 

And for me to have faith as I am still in the fundraising process.

P.S. I just googled it and I'm less than 20 minutes from In-N-Out. 

Pray for my waistline while you're at it!!

Dear Rowdy Boys

Dear Rowdy Boys,

Yeah, you know who you are.

The ones who never stop talking till you call on them in class.
The ones who wear their pants a little lower cause that's what the grown men on your street do.
The ones who joke around and mess with everyone until someone says something about your moms or hairline or how someone broke your ankles last weekend in the game.

Then your jokes become perfectly shot venom to their Achilles heel, just so you don't seem weaker or emotional.

News flash. We all know that hurt.

My heart has always chosen you.
You who smell like the outdoors, or your uncs' house.
You who will do or say anything to get positive attention from someone.
You who love to wipe your sweat on me and rush to tell me about your grades... or hate to tell me about the trouble you ended up getting into at school that day.
We talk about your newest crush, how siblings are super annoying, argue about who the best point guard in the game is, and dream about where we will be in the next couple of years.

My heart will never stop choosing you.
Young to old.
Years have gone by, and I've gotten tired, but
I refuse to give up on you.
Back talk. Hateful attitudes. And a lack of respect for authority.
There is a reason behind all of those things. And I'm here to listen.

Those dudes in the tinted window cars.
Those dudes who rep something you fear and respect all at the same time.
They don't listen like I do.
They will only choose you while you're of value to them.
I will always choose you, rowdy boys.

I can't be mom... even if you ask me.
I can't be your girl... that's just #protocol.
I'm not blood, but I can be family.
I will be Miss Chloe.

And sometimes that means sitting on a bus in silence why you cry over the tragic loss of a friend.
It means playing 1 on 1 while I tell you about where I'll be for the next 3 months and being honest.
It means showing up in the Ville and just walking with you so you can be heard.
Sometimes that means not yelling when I absolutely want you to know how upset your behavior makes me. Because yelling to you is an unfortunate norm.
You better believe I know your Granny, Momma, Auntie, and big brother. We're close enough to where if you act a fool, I have permission to remind you what's up!
So sit back down sir.
There will always be times when you hate me with your whole being.
There will be times you spit on me, push me away, call me things you think will hurt my feelings.
You wait for my reaction. And when you don't get one, you will hate me even more.

Until one day.
After I continue to choose you.
Day after day.
You realize who I am.
And that I love you, rowdy boys,

It's hard to get all A's

I get upset when kids going home over the weekend without food till Monday.

I have an issue with safe teachers that consider themselves gods compared to their rebellious classroom.

I'm not okay with cops stepping over boundaries cause their badge gave them some sort of pass.

I have an issue when my kids feel like the only way to avoid and forget about all the shit that is happening around them, or to have fun, is to get high.

It bothers me that when there is an event to support non-violence in the community in memory of Zae, somehow, no one is safe even then. 

I have an issue with gang members taking peoples lives and thinking they are above all moral conscious. 

It breaks my heart when little girls are left to raise their own little girls alone.

Ebb and Flow

This is the cycle

Again and again 

Gun shots
Sirens 

The smell of bud or liquor on every corner

Lifeless Bodies

No one knows their stories.
No one knows their hearts. What they love to do, what they wish to be.
But I know. Because I have listened. I cared enough to ask.
They wish to be alive.

"It's hard to get all A's Chloe."

It's hard to get all A's when the resources aren't there to help you anyway. But it is really hard to get straight A's when you have to look over your shoulder all day. Or when you don't know if mom is coming home that night. Or if your home is actually a shelter with a bunch of other moms and kids who have been abused and unloved like you. Or you haven't eaten anything for 3 days. Or maybe you can't get straight A's because your brother, daddy, cousin were shot and killed last week and people brush it off like "they knew better."

The streets are ruthless, heartless, and cold.
Territory. Protection. Identity.
All of these things can be sought after and achieved in other ways.
It is the easiest and most difficult thing to do. To sign your life away.

But every now and then I am greeted with some of the brightest smiles, biggest hugs, "I love you too's" and all of those things fade away long enough for me to remember why I am here.
Why I chose such a god forsaken path down graffiti covered walls and littered sidewalks.
It's the hope that those little glimpses of light turn into forest fires in their souls. And the dark parts of their lives will be snuffed out by their light.

Staying up late into the night this weekend, listening to them, had to be one of the most filling, and exhaustively saddest things I've ever done.
I was excited to be let into their lives this past year.
I had no idea it would lead to feeling like this.

They are my family.
This is our city.
When they cry, I cry.
When they bleed, I bleed.
And when they get accepted to college, or denied the job, or welcome a child into the world. I am right there with them. 
Because I know that is what Jesus would do.

And maybe, just maybe, with enough prayer, faith, and challenging, that ebb and flow can start to look a little different. 

Walks in Woodhill

I know picking up and leaving one city for the next does not remove the pain, anxiety, papers, tough work days, lonely nights, laundry, and unknowing of the future. I know this. And yet I knew it needed to happen. I needed to pack a bag and feel the sun on my face, in my city, in the midst of what feels like the longest winter season ever. (said with tired sass and maybe even an eye roll)

My only request this time around was to see inside. After 7 years of envisioning what it would be like. Dreaming, planning, getting our hopes up, seeing a blue print, only to never happen. 

Yeah. Of course I want to see inside. 

So we walked.

Cause God isn't the only one who knows we need the sun to survive after a winter like this one. The first "warm" day in months. We walked from almost one side of Woodhill to the other. Adding a few friends along the way.

Kids running from their yards for hugs. Pops throwing the football with boys no taller than my knees. Waving to the mommas on their stoops. Peeking around doors to say hello to old friends. Holding hands and hearing "sissy look!" every couple of seconds.

I was exactly where I needed to be.
I felt the things I needed to feel again in that place. I needed to be reminded why I started this journey so many years ago. In that neighborhood.

If anyone knows me, they know that my entire life revolves around Loving God and Loving Others.
And "ministry" doesn't have a clock in or clock out time. It's simply my life. This neighborhood has been calling me for a handful of years now. 

But I have also been called to live in the beautiful city surrounded by mountains and orange fans. With kids that feel more like family than ever before. With families that ask me how to handle certain decisions. And a boss that is as crazy about them as me.

So I do what I know best wherever I am. Here or there... or way out there (aren't you curious now?!) Gods timing doesn't mean I have to be passive in the waiting. I can still be brave. I can still love people like they need. And when the time comes, or if it never does, I'll go. I'll stay. That's the cool thing about being in love with God. You're kind of willing to do anything for Him.

Pops wasn't passive all these years in the waiting.
I won't be either.
We will be brave. We will play ball in the street.
We will continue to take walks with those who need the sun.

P.S. That beautiful girl in pink? Same age as me when I chose to be brave and join a village not knowing what it would mean. I know a lot more now. And I am really excited to see where she will be brave now that she is part of the village too.

tuesday night: simple things

I really need to be writing a paper.
For the book I've hardly started.
It's due Thursday.

Also,
I really need to sleep.
I haven't gotten more than 10 hours of sleep in the last 4 days.

Before I can do any of that.
I need to share some of the simple things with you...

I was standing over the sink, washing dishes, when he asked me what it was like to go to space.

I had come over for dinner, which has become more of a regular thing now, 

with the deal I would clean up. 

I said deal. 

His mom and dad were getting the other two ready for bed,

he could have been in the play room, all those toys to himself.

Instead though, he chose to ask me about going to space, and how it's really weird I live at school.

"You can live in the spare room!" he said.

"I think I just might P" I told him.

There is just something about sharing a meal around a table that means so much to me.

Or when I ask for suggestions on where to take your car for repair and they just prove to me yet again what a selfless community looks like. 

And the conversations had right before my long drive back to the south side, 

always make the commute better. 

I am at peace. 

The simple things.

I can thank Him for the blessings, and wipe a few tears in solitude.

-

Knox County Schools were canceled today.

Immediate sadness filled my heart.

No school, no program.

Just as I was settling into the idea that I would have the evening to actually write that paper I mentioned earlier, I got a phone call joking about how we don't have off days.

And before you get all up in arms about me needing rest and time to be a college kid, 

I hear you. 

But if you know me at all, that paper wouldn't have gotten touched without the motivation of seeing my babies. 

Plus, I work so much better under pressure... and we have been given the Sabbath for a reason, I take that ish serious fam!  

Cleaning the van, getting some paper work stuff up to date, I never have the chance to do that.
Also, there were puppies at the church to play with, so that was the best surprise ever!

Today it happened. 
And I'm okay with doing the little things, because sometimes it leads to my boss handing me the card and saying "take the girls to dinner."

My rest looks different from other peoples rest some days.

Today it looked like letting two Fulton Seniors drive me around, running errands, and eating way too much pizza, while we talked about how "people be catching feelings too quick."  Where they plan to go to college. And parents.

The simple things.

And somehow I get to call this my job.

It's Tuesday night and my to do list seems to be getting longer, rather than shorter. 

But I can't find anything to complain about.

The simple things just keep filling me up.

This is my community.family.life. 

I don't deserve it at all.

lessons from the hardwood

I stood in the middle of the gym watching the boys play ball. There were three different games happening, all demanding my attention. 

"Ms. Chloe watch this!"

"Aye this one's for you."

"You seen that right?" 

And of course all the screams, eye rolls, hand gestures, and sweat, that somehow always ends up on my shirt. Gross. 

Wednesday use to be the worst day of the week for me. Now it's one I look forward to most. For a lot of different reasons. Family time is my favorite. And I never get tired of playing or watching ball with them. 

There is going to come a time when none of those boys play in that gym anymore, and I won't be yelling at them to hustle back on defense. And the thought of that makes me really sad. That's life. 

I'm just real thankful that right now, in this season of life, I am blessed with the ability to stand in the middle of the gym and watch the boys play. And soak up all the life lessons that come from that hardwood floor and that hoop.

alovelikethis

I've never known a love like this.                
I've never known heartache like this.
I've never been pushed, challenged, or lived like this.

Yes, I have loved.
Yes, I have had my heart ache.
Yes, I have been pushed, challenged, and alive.

But not like this.

         -                                                                                     

I wrote that in the notes of my phone in a parking lot a few weeks ago, one frigged night, after all the kids had gone home, and I was alone.

That was the day I told the middle schoolers I had accepted a position at EYF's new High School Resource center, College Street, in Mechanicsville. 

The offer came just a day after we had lost one of our high schoolers in a random drive by. There was no way I could handle whatever it was they wanted me to do with the High Schoolers. Not before his death, and certainly not after. Plus there was no way I could leave the middle schoolers. 

So I said no. 

Several calls, texts, and conversations later, with the people that do everything in there power to encourage me to pray, and make my own decisions based off of what God says, not Chloe, or the rest of the world (darn them.) I was asked again later that week by two different people if I would take this on. 

Removing my selfish desires, anxieties about how the high schoolers wouldn't like me, and having spent all of Christmas break in prayer about it, feeling as though this was an opportunity you don't pass on.

So I said yes. 

After numerous pep talks, and about two break downs, prepping the building, and training (tutors, volunteers, and ourselves) what this should look like on a daily basis, we are here. Working out the kinks. Recruiting kids. Small victories, major victories, and a couple failures... oh and more prayer. 

First week is in the record books, and I can't wait to see what God has in store for the next 3 months, and beyond, with this site, and these kids. 

Their stories have begun to be written on my heart and soul. 
Their stories are worthy, bold, dark, messy, vibrant, beautiful, violent, heavy, inspiring, foreign, rhythmic. 
The words I wrote then, are still breathing today.

I've never known a love like this.                
I've never known heartache like this.
I've never been pushed, challenged, or lived like this.

Yes, I have loved.
Yes, I have had my heart ache.
Yes, I have been pushed, challenged, and alive.

But not like this.