A Risk Worth Taking

I walked out of Henry Clay High School for the last time this semester. 

I had the same feeling with Crawford Middle School yesterday.

And Frederick Douglass High School two days before that.

The feeling of any season coming to an end is always tough for my heart to sift through.

Adding up the lessons learned... the hard way, all of the laughter or tears that were had over time.

Even when I think about the absolute worst days, I get a little emotional we made it to this point.

I'm tougher today than I was on August 16th, 2017.

Several schools had no idea, that when I sat in their offices, and told them what I thought could happen if we joined forces, exactly how big of a risk they were actually taking on. 

But they figured out pretty quick I think. 

We all did.

Through growing pains, new schools, referrals, requests, full moons, and lots of e-mails, we made it through 4 months of crazy. 

And at the end of it all, someone a lot more important than me leaned over and said,

"You are a risk worth taking."

 

And that's how I feel about my kids in these schools. 

The kids that came, were there for a reason.

A reason I can't really explain, I just know.

I don't care about numbers much. 

What I do care about, is what we will do now that we know where we are struggling, and how each of us will move forward in order to be the most successful versions of ourselves.

But we needed to get to know each other this semester. 

We needed to gain trust.

Take a couple losses and celebrate a few small victories. 

I think we did that.

Deep breath. 

The real work begins now.

                                                                              -

Much like how these schools took a risk on me, the 2nd fam took a risk with me too.

In some ways it's full circle.

In other ways... it's a fresh start. 

What I do know to be true is, making disciples is the most important thing I could be doing as a Child of God. 

Loving Him and His people. 

Showing them how to live, leading by example. 

And let me tell you what... there were a lot of moments my example was the worst to follow and they knew it.

Other days weren't all that bad, and we found ourselves asking some really good, vulnerable, tough, questions. 

The family grew, much as families do... even though ours has a tendency to want to stay tight knit and approval based only (I am a guilty of this myself) we handled the growth well.

I honestly can't imagine what life would be like if they weren't in it.

Awful I would assume. 

So I am forever thankful. 

For their annoying, dramatic, loud, attitude filled, big hearted, always laughing, keeping me in check, selves. 

And that when I am all of those things listed above... or worse, they still put up with me too.

Soon, a new adventure begins at 422 Codell.

Where we will take the much needed risk of choosing, loving, and living life with some of our favorite little humans.

But for now, today starts a season of planning, evaluating, and hopefully some rest for all of us!

I Hate Guns

I saw him pull it out from his waist band and point it right at another little boys head.
I know both of them.
I see them in school, the park, the gas station.
I expect a lot of things from those two... but this was something that sent chills down my spine.
The next words that came out of my mouth weren't loud, they weren't shaky... they were soft, stern... more serious then any of us were used to.
Then I drove off.

My mind couldn't get off of what I had seen... what I can't unsee from years past.
So I made my way back through the familiar streets, squinting hard and looking for little silhouettes.
This time there were more of them.
"Aye Ms. Chloe!"
All of them climbed into the van but I meant business so all but the one who knew why I came back hopped out and waited on the sidewalk.
Again.
My voice was softer than normal... but it felt strong enough to count.
He should never have to be told the things I told him about being a young black boy in this world.
It is not fair.
And I hate that this is something I had to be part of.
Bad choices. Unsafe choices. Impulsive teenage games.
Those are amplified 100 times over solely based on the color of his skin, his gender, his neighborhood, his friends and family... I'm sick just thinking about it.
He hung his head and said "okay... I'm sorry."
And he shifted it from his waist band to his backpack before he walked home.
Suddenly I realized I hadn't actually taken a breath in over a minute and inhaled quickly.

All I needed to do was drop a shirt off that got left in my car.
I walked into the house unaware of the discord.
Christmas Tree half decorated, half still in the box.
Family meetings aren't a foreign concept around here... Dalton Court is no exception.
"Ms. Chloe I just don't know anymore... I just don't know."
She shared some hard truths about the ones I've known over half their life.
I wasn't surprised.
Disappointed maybe, never surprised.
I did the only thing I knew how to do... but this time I found my voice get soft again, serious.
I told them two stories about me going to visit a kid in jail and of course... my least favorite. Being young black boys in this world.
Bad choices. Unsafe choices. Impulsive teenage games.
Those are amplified 100 times over solely based on the color of their skin, their gender, their neighborhood, their friends, and family... I'm sick just thinking about it.
They were all quiet, emotional, still.
We hugged and wiped the tears and I told them I loved them.
I walked down the stairs and gasped for air again just like before.

I don't do well around guns.
Think what you want about them... shit you will anyway.
But if another innocent (I say this meaning anyone) is senselessly killed by one of them...
I truly believe I won't be able to properly take in oxygen.

They don't know about the time I saw that man laying in the street bleeding out.
They don't know about the dealer who invited me in with one sitting on the table.
They don't know that I refuse to let my father tell me where he keeps his, or it would be long gone.
They don't know the funerals I've been to.

But they know their own pain.
Their own nerve-racking testimonies of who, where, and when.
The first shot rings in your head forever.
Now we sleep through them like suburbanites sleep through grasshoppers.
Waking up to the news from the street.
Hashtags and crying mommas.

Instagram and lunch time conversations will have you thinking this is the greatest gig out there.
And it is.
But I learned early on that my tendancy in wanting to prove people wrong about my kids and their families, matched with peoples inability to listen to the hard stories, only victories, keeps me from speaking on the poorly lit reality we are in.
Don't tell me you can handle it.
Don't tell me I'm being unsafe.
Because one of those isn't true.

I was recently asked which super hero I would be... I gave a sweet answer at the time, but if we are being honest, I am Black Widow most days.
The one who somehow got chosen to be on the team of fighters/heroes because of her toughness.
A group of people that run straight into the fire.
A girl who can talk down the big scary green guy from destroying everything around him.
She is the one who reminds the rest of the guys to be themselves... heroes, when things get tough.
Not to mention she's pretty badass, with a heart in there somewhere!

I'm well aware these won't be the last conversations I have with my boys about guns or poor choices.
I'm also well aware that I was built to walk into those fires, even if it means I have to hold my breath.
Because I am no super hero, but this is our reality.

#23

the following is an excerpt from a late night journal entry:

“last day of 22 feels. 

I finally know whats it means to be confident and secure in who Chloe Paige is. 

This is my greatest personal victory within myself. 

Mind, body, and spirit, I do not need songs or presents or attention... 

that’s my everyday on this earth really... 

this day is more for me to remember who I am. 

What I believe. 

And check myself, to see if it was my last year, did it matter. 

Never in a woe is me way. 

Never. 

But in a “God, it’s me... the one you told to step away from the fake love and self hate. 

And into your arms. 

Yeah it’s me. 

I’m here to do your will for another year. 

Hope I make less mistakes this time around.” 

It was hard for me to admit that he didn’t need me to be a little girl anymore. 

He needed me to be a woman. 

A woman for other little girls. 

A woman that didn’t leave. 

A woman who loved herself. 

A woman who knew what it felt like to destroy her body in order to feel. 

I hated, I hate.. that I had to share my pixie dust. 

That I had to grow up. 

But I love what has been given to me because of it. 

I sob because I don’t deserve it. 

I weep because I feel all the lives that don’t get to live to 23. 

I celebrate because maybe, while I’m 23, people will see Jesus 365 more days because of me. 

Much like low income indie films with sad endings, I will turn 23 and then the rest of the work week will ensue.

And more birthdays will pass and the sun will rise and fall each day and no one will see the significance I see in this.

I won’t waste 23.”

I could tell you how 22 was different.

Just as I predicted it would be.

I could tell you about the milestones, the thousands of miles traveled.

But this story is more than those that happened on a timeline or in an airplane.

I could tell you about the love I didn't know would impact me like it still does.

No degree, or surprise visit could compare to the acceptance of me.

My heart has been refined.

My eyes no longer shy away from the truth that is 'I'

I owe 22 that much.

Even if it did take almost all of it.

I think I'm ready now.

Watering the Grass

I recently found out that my being here, in this made up role, is the reason our beautiful blue prints have a lot more scribbled ink on them.

The unfortunate unleashing of who gets what and who wants what.

The battle for me was costly.

And we feel the constant pushing on those bruises daily, but he knew this would be true. 

Maybe not as ugly. 

But He knew.

I wasn't supposed to know.

I was so caught up in a world that had turned rose colored to even see it.

These sort of things don't pass by me easily.

But this one did.

And I cry often.

Months and months went by.

More people told me how great I was or how "we are better now."

I chalked it all up as bullshit because they hadn't met pride face to face like I had before.

Humility is a dream.

And my dreams look more like nightmares these days.

So forgive me when I don't receive your, self demoting, Chloe promoting, 

find God in here somewhere cause it seems right, praises.

Even the good ones must fail in order to learn.

She says the grass looks greener where I stand and I can't seem to prove to anyone that my kids haven't had grassy front yards their whole life.

But we look like more fun.

We look less like work and more like family.

Put us in a picture frame and hang it on your fridge, I would.

We look like all the little children of the world.

You know it. 

The cartoon drawings of the brown, black, yellow, red, purple,

 kids holding hands around a blurry globe.

We are those little children.

And the grass has never been green.

But we choose to water it anyway, because that matters.

I will never be able to unfeel those bruises.

I cannot unsee the battle he went through.

Because just like that grass, I keep watering me, and made up a role that matters. 

Post Card Love Letters

I find it hard to explain you to people

How at any given moment our connection is stronger

Like a homing device, we always find each other

Miles and miles traveled 

Sleepless nights

Early mornings

Countless cups of coffee laced in conversations

New skylines and familiar front porches

Yeah, I have a hard time explaining you to people

How you see me for the first time, every time

You make me brave

Like how sidewalks kiss the bottom of my dirty vans as I trek through dark alleyways,

You also kiss my soul with your billboard wisdom and welcoming signs

You have taught me what desire looks like

What grit and hard work can become from the ground all the way up to the penthouse floor

I miss you, but I must visit others and gain experience from them

Similar to forbidden lovers, distance is part of the process, 

but you are home

There are many "yous"

And only one me

Constantly breaking off pieces of me and scattering them out like bread comes

I inhale you deeply, only choking a bit this time

I never want to close my eyes with you, I fear I will miss just a moment,

and that would be too much

I find it hard to explain the back and forth 

Time differences

Skyscrapers

Freeways

None of them can keep us apart too long,

a few bring us closer together

If I am Peter Pan

You are Neverland

And will will Wander - Lust forever

I hope you are well while I am away

Post card love letters feel silly

but they do the trick

White Flags on a Wednesday

Just realized when I went to reach for my white flag, I had already used it to dress wounds from earlier today. 

Of course.

Of course the first day of November, fresh out of the October season, had to show out. 

With its post Halloween candy comas, full moon vibes, and rain that never let up.

On a Wednesday, of all the days!

Wednesday tried to break us.

Tried to.

On days like today, 

where kids bring guns to school

the fights never seem to end

and you have to ask too many people where kids have been 

because they keep moving or lying about it

when the world is suffering 

loudly

constantly 

and you have a sore throat.

On days like today,

when the visits to safe seem too normal

when the office doors stay shut

when the parents don't know how to set an example

when self doubt and exhaustion come without warning or welcome.

On days like today, 

we take the small victories.

And we cry.

Small victories feel so big in a world of heartache.

And we need them.

Like new faces becoming familiar faces.

Brothers who apologize.

And choose love.

Men in the gym encouraging your boys to work hard, take care of themselves, and save money.

Kids who remind you that your windshield wipers needed to be changed a year ago 

and make the cold and rainy trip to the Auto Parts store with you.

When quiet car rides turn in to venting sessions and somehow

I get to be the one on the other end of them.

my heart is hurting from the battle fought today,

my skin is still cold from standing in the rain, talking kids down from a rough place.

but I already used the white flag to bandage the wounds,

because I know better than to ever throw in the towel on this life.

especially not going to waste a resource on giving up, 

when it could keep me alive for a much greater battle later on.

Deep breath.

Wednesday tried, but didn't win.

Starbucks: It's Okay to Be

I've been to Starbucks more in the last month than I have my whole life.

Me... in a Starbucks. Consuming their coffee. 

Spending a God awful amount of money, on a drink that take three years to order.

Throwing away their plastic cups. 

Listening to their sometimes okay, sometimes what the hell, music.

Almost dying from the taste and enormous amounts of sugar within this black tar. every. single. time. 

But.

There's always a but...

Each and every time I come in here, something profound happens.

Right before. During. Or right after.

I hate it.

I love it.

I love to hate it.

My community driven, homegrown, grassroots, fair trade, everyone knows your name... and your life story... coffee shop, just doesn't always work for others "schedules."

Or maybe I just don't want to be known today while I respond to e-mails. 

Maybe the constant "we are best friends with everyone in here" mentality is actually more overwhelming for my meeting... and the American way of faster, no eye contact, consume garbage and repeat method really is something I could consider. 

I mean come on... who has the time to ask what the cute and personal wifi password is for each and every coffee shop that promotes ending sex slavery and hiring boys from the neighborhood to learn business skills and a self sustaining trade that will never die as long as hipsters and sleepy moms exist?!

If you drink Starbucks each and every day, I am not here to attack you.
Consider this a personal opinion, not a judge of character.

I actually envy the mugs for each state you can buy... and those little cups at the end of the summer season, so bright and cheery? I adore those!
Until I turn it around to look at that price, and of course, the green lady herself... the symbol of all things Starbucks.

Anyway... back to the profound things that are happening around this place.

The conversations.

The relationships.

The meetings.

The questions being asked of me, and by me.

I remember things here.

I dream here.

People share things with me here that they may not somewhere else.

I almost forget how much I don't fit in... do fit in, because I am sure that what is happening in those moments, or hours, is something that shouldn't end until it absolutely has to.

I remember him outside of a Starbucks last summer.

He looked like a superhero.

My superhero.

A superhero that had been beaten with his own kryptonite. 

We were both wrong about what happened next.

It still tastes bitter, like the stagnant coffee in the trash cans on the sidewalk,
days after being thrown out.

I remember middle and high school meet ups with my people, where we talked about our dreams and boys that shouldn't talk to our friends and how the Church was really lame most of the time.

We knew back then that 4 walls didn't make Jesus love us more or less.

But we had to wait for the grown ups to catch on...

Still waiting.

I remember interviews, letters written, emails that could change the future, all within a internationally known coffee chain.

I'm thankful.

This coffee is still gross.

But I'm willing to live in both worlds.

I have been living in both worlds.
I remember both worlds here.
I remember real things in this pre-packaged, plastic, bad tasting environment.
And I don't know why.
But I'm unsettled by it just enough to think about it out loud.
To ask myself
 how in the world I got here,
and how it's okay to
be.

The Best Family We've Ever Known

There is a verse in Isaiah 61 that says, “They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated; they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations.”

 I've heard this chapter read out loud for years. I've seen it posted in program brochures, and in Urban Youth workers ministry websites as part of their mission statement and values regarding the investment into urban Youth. This chapter, and this line in particular has been a charge, the call, and road map in how I handle myself in urban Youth work, but also encourages me to know that what I see in my babies, God has already watch play out. It's already been written in the palms of his hands.
And I am blessed with the ability to watch them grow into the very people He had created them to be.

Maseterpieces.
Leaders.
My Brothers and Sisters.

Last night we celebrated at our annual banquet, all of our initiatives under Lexington Leadership Foundation, and the happinings revolving around each. I'm the most thankful for an opportunity to work for a family in Christ, not an organization or non profit. It truly is a family. Encouraging and loving and supporting one another in all aspects.

Last night we reminded 9 of our beautiful young people what Isaiah 61 says about them being oaks of righteousness, how they will wear crowns of beauty, not of ashes. We presented each of them with Emerging Leaders Awards and applauded where they've been, and where they will go, and how nothing will stop them from being a light as long as they or I can help it.

There are a lot of things I could say about them, to them...
But I cried enough last night.
What I will say though, is how incredibly proud I am of my siblings.
And how flipping lucky I am to call them family.

One of my brothers told the guests at our table this is the best family he's ever known. I held back my tears but nodded in agreement saying, me too kid, me too.

sometimes words collect dust

So I am currently sitting across from two of my favorite human beings. 

We have ended the day like this for the last two weeks, while their parents were in South Africa.

There were days I cried because I learned more about myself in these two weeks than I anticipated.

Some good news. Some bad news. 

We are still alive and here to tell the tale of #sissymovesin thanks to so many members of our village.

From food, to play dates, to picking the kids up, and the all around encouragement and support given to me throughout the process. 

It's weird. 

I'm back in my bed and it's quiet and there aren't two little beings to wake up before the sun rises.

It's just me.

I thought I would feel more relieved, or excited to rest... whatever that even looks like... but now,
I am thinking even more than ever about what it looks like to share a home with little ones.
My spirit is on fire, but very quiet.
This is new for me.

//

Doors were wide open the past two weeks.
Grateful, obviously, for the ability to use the Patrick household as my own.
Meals cooked.
Lawn mowed by the brother.
Lots of prayer and laughter in the family room late into the night.
Recently had the opportunity to reflect on my story a lot.
Seeing it all come together in a beautifully woven tapestry, along with the rest of this city, and individuals who have been touched by Urban Impact, much like I have.
Having teens tell me about Jesus.
Listening to them talk about what it means to be a light.
Joking at dinner about how they will need to take care of me when I am old.
Being sure to tell me that their homework is racist so they can't do it or they will be offended.
And then actually doing it well and turning it in on time.
Watching our Community Center become more and more real.

I was in awe of who my siblings were becoming right before my eyes.
Knowing that there was always a plan.
One I could never see on my own, but always tried to create a version for myself.
I walked on sidewalks that felt like concrete straight from Nineveh.
But God was showing me how Holy it truly was.
How fleeing from here would be stupid, because these were the ones he chose for us.
These were the streets that housed our forever family.
Who gives a shit if the board doesn't want to pick us for installing sidewalks?
We have our connections to each other.
That matters.

//

Moms told me I needed to write.
So here I am.
The barista in this coffee shop is talking way too loud for my liking and I really don't want to address the emotions I am feeling... or rather... not feeling.
Monday was a living hell.
Bodies in the street, who were once known by us.
Bodies on the news, you suddenly feel connected to.

Heroes.
Strangers.
Pain.
So much sadness.
People keep talking.

I wish this barista
would
stop
talking.

//

Tomorrow morning I am loading up with some of my favorite people and making a great adventure to a new city;
Detroit.

The need to get away is an understatement.
But not my usual, pack a bag, throw up the deuces, can't stand it here. get away.
It is time to heal.
It is time to grow.
It is time to learn, absorb, see with new eyes, shake hands and cry with people who understand how deeply reconciliation and love for the minority is needed.
Our only connection this week with anyone around us is Jesus and cities and that's enough for me.
I want to feel again.
Feel more than hurt.
Because the ones I love deserve it.

//

sometimes words collect dust.

My Brothers Keeper

This one is about my brothers...

We don't share the same blood,
but no bruise, scratch, or bullet wound, has touched you, and not myself.

Our hair texture,
Eye color,
Height,
Address.

Reflect something different.

I prayed for you.
I prayed for all of you, before I even knew who you were,
how many of you there would be.
I asked God to send me a brother because,
even though I loved my two sisters,
I knew you and I would have a special bond.

One after the other, He kept sending brother after brother.
1 became 3, then 6, then 10... now all of you!

You all have been my body guards, protectors, safe spaces,
and the strong but quiet force I could never be.

You all have also been the prime source for my grey hair, anxiety,
and constant prayers of safety, justice, and tears.

But you are my brothers... and I am my brothers keeper.

I will get things wrong, fail over and over, tell you the hard truths you don't want to hear, and embarrass you till I die...

But I am your sister... and you are your sisters keeper.

Loyalty is something I don't mess with.
Remember that.

I also want you to remember that every time we shove, push, and argue, it is never because I hate you or think of you less than anyone else... it's actually because I love you, and think so much of you, I would do anything for you to not give up on yourself, and settle for acting like a fool.

I also have some anger problems...
I know some of you can relate... and we can handle each others rough edges.
Thank you.

I've known most of you half of your life... the rest of you, we still have lots of years to go together.
Time away and distance apart from you all scared me for a long time... then I would come back, and it is like nothing changed, other than your height and how deep your voice got! I am thankful for you mommas, grannies, pops, for allowing me into your life. Words can't express what having someone in your corner feels like... and I hope I can be that someone for you all as long as my heart has a beat.

Texts, calls, facetime, hours in the front yard, hours in your houses, miles and miles in my little yellow car or a ministry van, trash talk on the basketball court, and tears in the hallways. You are the ones who see deep inside my soul, and call my bluffs before I even start.

One day I'll be old, sitting back in a rocking chair, no longer running in these streets like I do now.

BUT.

I'll still be cheering for you, I'll be in your corner praying over you and asking God to send you little brothers to watch how you live your life and maybe then you will understand why, after all these years, I always said

"Look me in the eyes. I love you."

Cold Bodies

Cold bodies seem to be loved more after they hit the ground,

                                and the blood spills out,

          caught in crossfire 
          pre-meditated 
          warnings given
          too young always.

There is suddenly time and space to feel things,
unhappy things, 
this is when certain communities mourn.
and others look on with judgment and have expensive coffee talks about what could have been done to avoid it.

Cold bodies seem to be loved more after they hit the ground,

                                  and the blood spills out,

           wrong place and wrong time
           last words they would have never chosen for themselves
           hurting people taking matters into their own hands 
           people of influence and privilege collecting data and news clippings.

We do the thing, the shock, the pushing away emotions, the remembering better times,
Burn candles, pray for the family, write about it, forget about it,
till the next one,
and we repeat,
and nothing changes. 

When it rains, it pours.
But I've decided to set out a bucket to catch some of this damn rain and put it to good use in a community that is suffering from a drought of systematic death.

I wanna love bodies while blood is pumping in their veins. 
Not once they turn cold. 

The Air is Changing: Year of Jubilee

The air is changing, the sails have shifted, and the year of Jubilee is here.

I'm looking outside a dirty floor to ceiling window in A Cup of Commonwealth at fast walking business men, and cart pushing homeless. 

Wondering which news article is going to be sent to me this weekend in hopes for my perspective.

Whether it is the Nashville Statement, Joel Osteen, Confederate Statues... again, people seem to care what I think. 

And when I say, care about what I think, I don't actually mean that. 

Trust me, if I wanted to sit around and talk about it, write about it, I would.

I would be heard.

They care for a response against what they know. 

What they grew up with.

They want me to be the white, female - believer of Jesus and justice - Liberal Arts meets Bible school educated - millennial, who just hates the idea of normal gender roles - and would dare to say whatever she's thinking in front of her conservative, very southern, grandma any day.  

They want someone that cares about them, to argue with them, in the most respectable way.

To offer the "other" perspective, since I am up close and personal with that "other." 

Ain't that some bullshit. 

I have become jaded and cynical even more than I began.

Unfortunately day to day conversations have become background noise.

Nothing hurts more than not knowing how or who or what to do with a high schooler and their family in  the midst of chaos. 

Watching people you care about suffer from a system that protects you over anyone else.

Swallowing the truth that I will do nothing to help the majority of those suffering in this world, and I know they very one who can, and I don't even bother to thank Him most days.

People want so badly for the numbers. The results. The victories. 

And they want to watch us bleed from a distance, but throw the opportunity for us to speak about that pain, without ever offering to apply pressure on our wounds while they stand there blindly. 

I do not have all the answers, I don't always ask the right questions, I don't always rest, or jump into action, or respond in the most loving way. 

I read my twitter feed way more than my Bible.

But my goodess I am trying.

I said the Year of Jubilee is here, and I mean that.

It sure doesn't feel like that though.

Our fields are under water. 

The seeds have been stepped all over in protests. 

And the harvest baskets are light.

Yet, the work is still there.

I will not miss the blessing of one soul because I am tired. 

Or there is a lack of direction or help or distractions with mega phones and cameras.

I will fail.

But I won't stop trying because the air is changing, and the sails have shifted.

So please, go ask someone else what they think about these articles, 

or step out into these streets yourself.

Dare ya.

Transitions: Last & First

I'm still trying to avoid everyone's post grad questions.

Sometimes I practice my answer before a big event. 

Most days I just find the furthest shelf in my mind, and deepest crack in my heart, to hide away any unwanted thoughts of how things are feeling since I left Knoxville.

For some reason no answer seems to taste good when it comes out.

And no one seems truly content with what I have to say anyway.

Being in a constant state of uncontrolled (by me) anything for this length of time is easily comparable to a slow and painful death.

Dramatic I know.

This is also terribly human of me.

I hate to say it, but I need a damn routine if I am going to survive.

Routine for me means I know when and where I can be ridiculous, spontaneous, free.

My purpose stays in tact and my restless spirit still finds a way to explore.

I also take way better care of myself... which is something I did very little of this summer.

I'm currently on 5 different prescriptions and covered in essential oils.

Basically, I am the example of what not to do in full time urban ministry, when it comes to self care.

But.

If you must know, I am reminded everyday I made the right choice for me.

That doesn't mean I don't sob every now and again when I see pictures of my kids beyond these city limits though.

Tomorrow is the 1st day of school here in Lexington.

Which means its the last day of summer, ministry wise. 

Ouch. 

I just felt part of my soul breaking at the idea of winter being a few months away.

Despite the premature fear of snow and ice already making its way into my head, 

today was one of my favorite days.

I am beyond grateful for all of the laughter, hugs, and celebration of what was, is, and will be, within our Urban Impact family.

Today served as the best ending there could have been.

A distraction for yet another transition.

And a marker for a new season full of planting, watering, sowing, and praying.

They are SO not ready for school tomorrow.

Marcus leading the kids on a tour of their community center, after the new drywall was put in,
 is probably one of the highlights of my life.

Shout out to Stivers Strength for leading our boys so well in the gym.
 It's not just about the muscle, it's about the mind.

Marcus turns 40!

Deuces summer 2017, you were weird, sweaty, and just odd enough to make me love you.

Mid Summer Night-mares

I wish I had a better way of describing how this summer feels

Part of me feels like I'm fighting for oxygen among the dense, thick uncertainty... I mean, humidity.
Another feels like I should really just unpack the rest of my things because what is the point if there is no new address to validate these boxes.

Go with the flow should be my middle name. Along with stubborn, bossy, loud, emotional... you get the picture.

But there is no flow to this summer.

There are some dates on a calendar that are important.
That say camp.
That say fun, family, ministry, city life, partnership, joy.

But they also say wandering, waiting, wishing.

                                          -----       -----        -----       -----         -----           ------ 

I realized the other day it had been over a week... actually way longer... since I had talked to any of my kids in Knoxville.
The worst part about it is I brushed it off because I had camp and meetings and, and, and.
I'm aware I no longer live there. I'm aware they have friends, family, and other really awesome people right there with them.
my fear is that I will become a name on a list in their life that left.
Forgot them.
Didn't want them anymore etc.

The selfish part of my wants to be everyone's Miss Chloe. 
Everyone's best friend. 
Everyone's sister.

No matter if I'm right next door or hundreds of miles away. 
I felt this when I left for college and I feel it now.
It's not possible.
And this truth is slowly killing me. 
This balancing act of multiple cities, facetimes, messages, and trips.

My love for people is the only thing that keeps me going, and the very thing that could sentence me to my grave if I don't come to grips with reality soon.

One of my dear friends and I had a conversation in early April about a fear I had for myself in ministry. "Do you think you enabled them? Do you think they will be able to function without you... without this context of you?" And as very important as those questions were... and in a whole other setting I'd love to talk about that with anyone.

I've since realized another question that should have been asked, "Do I think I enabled myself? Will I be able to function without them... without that context of them." And for the first several weeks, maybe even months it was downright hard.

Now? A few months out? I feel that functionality setting in for them. For me? I am searching for a road map to my own life.

                               -----        -----           -----           ------           -----           -----

This new normal is a carnival mirror of a past life bending itself into the current one.
I don't like carnival mirrors.
But these hot, sticky, mid summer nights will mess with your mind just enough for you to fall for the mirage.
And a similar beat to the ones you love will have you dancing to a rhythm that promotes everything you thought you were against, but the cameras have already caught you mouthing the words. It's too late, 10 seconds from now it will be gone, and yet forever there ingrained in your soul and theirs too.

These are my mid summer night-mares.
What are yours?

4th

I want to tell you a story... I need to tell you a story. 

Today is my least favorite.

But I wasn't always this way.

Yes, I always fought for justice, peace and to stand up as a voice... someone else's voice.

I wasn't always the one marching or protesting or finding myself in conversations that make doing the right thing feel so off center from the rest of the country. 

I was the girl who held her flag the highest. 

Who sang the National Anthem at her first ever talent show. 

The girl who told her daddy she would fight in wars even if it killed her. 

Because her country, her people, were everything.

Uncle Sam, Lady Liberty, Bald Eagles, and lots of guns.

I can tell you I read a book that changed my life. 

Or that I met some people who would show me the value in the fight I had inside.

How to turn that into passion.

I always fought for justice, peace and to stand up as a voice... 

but this time it would be for me, for them.

I have gone through every phase imaginable.

Guilt, shame, disgust, shock, fear, grief, pride, ignorance.

I defaced flags.

I refused to stand or sing the National Anthem.

This time last year I was sobbing on someone else's floor, in Southern California, just days after being in Mexico, because this place isn't free, or safe, or dreamlike for anyone that looks like my friends. 

My family. 

Surrounded by poverty in the 1st world.

Fearing the young black and brown men in my life won't live to see another day.

Still in disbelief that man on TV somehow won the election in November and has destroyed peoples lives each and everyday since.

And yet, it's terribly easy to be a young white girl and be uncomfortable in this country.

It's a privilege because nothing will happen to me.

Here's to fighting for justice, peace, and being a voice for someone else on this very American Holiday.

These Boarded Up Walls

I want so badly to make sense of this hurricane within me.

To keep up with the wind, or feel as deeply as the rain does falling toward the pavement.

I have boarded up my windows in preparation for something powerful to consume me, unsuccessfully, of course.

But in this process, all else within, cannot escape properly, or enter back in.

I see through the cracks, golden skies, green grass.

Safety, love.

And here I stay.

Locked behind the only thing I have control over.

These boarded up walls.

This way no one will ever have to experience these crashing waves,

dangerous, risky, wild.

I protect myself and them... whoever they are.

But every so often, I catch a ray of that golden light through the crack in my boarded up windows and I can't help but wonder

what it would feel like to be held by your sun.

The Tears Have Hit

I actually surprised myself on how long I held my tears in over the last two weeks.

Terrorism.

Violence.

Hate.

Discrimination.

Injustice.

Bodies everywhere.

The past two weeks I have been blessed with the opportunity to sit with a good chunk of our families and catch up, introduce myself, and just take a front row seat to what it looks like beyond the threshold... in every sense of the way.

It didn't hit me till after I left a small apartment off Codell where a half dozen little girls all grabbed my hands and legs and ushered me to their "playground," which is actually just a spot out front before the street and the dirt meet and there was a soccer ball just waiting for us.

It didn't hit me till I sat in a Nepali home that smelled like curry and vegetables and was offered orange Fanta in a tea cup out of the china cabinet. And the most intelligent young lady told me that her life was for the better now that she knows us, but she still wishes she understood English more.

It didn't hit me till I had a young man say he was over the struggles life keeps handing him. Not having dad around sucks. Having a sucky dad right in reach isn't any better. He might as well take to the streets since that's all there is. Fathers Day isn't fun for everyone, and the streets have no mercy.

It didn't hit me till I was watching video footage of a baby girl crying and hugging her mom because she just saw her dad shot and killed and questioning if her mom was next. Knowing there was no victory to be found here. Only hurt, loss, death, injustice, and sin.

It really didn't hit me till I looked myself in the mirror and realized I had more hate, anger, exhaustion, and an unforgiving spirit, in my heart than love these days. 

Pray for me,

The tears have hit.

Parts

This season is 3 parts

1 part closing of an old season

1 part new season

1 part colliding of the first 2

Parts of it don't fit right

Like an old pair of your favorite shorts you pulled out of the closet in your parents house

Doesn't mean you love them less or they changed

You did

And that's okay

At least I'm trying to tell myself it is

Parts of it make me feel more alive than I ever have

Like a gust of wind just swooshed underneath dusty sails for the first time in years

Like no smile could be large enough

The ebbs and flows have parts of familiarity and foreignness simultaneously

I can tell you this though

When a boy I've known a lot of years asked how long I was going to be here & I said 

"I'm home now, that's all I know" 

I meant it

Not as if other places haven't been home

They have been some of the best homes I've ever known, and I miss them dearly

I love cities, the stories they tell, the adventures they hold

But they aren't home without my people

And right now

I'm home

Sorting out the parts that make sense to me

and the parts that still feel a little rusty

The part that will always make most sense

Our boys

This neighborhood

For such a time as this

Civil Rights & Late Nights

This is my attempt to tell the world... or my 7 followers on here, about how listening to God is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but also the greatest thing, every single time.

When my plan, my comfort-ability, my fears, are all silenced by the One who knows best.

I was excited, I was anxious... I was taking deep breaths to see how this would make or break me. I really wanted to dare God to prove He was right in this... but I know better than to do that these days. 

Side note: If you didn't already know I am THAT parent who shows pictures of her kids at all the get together's and tells endless stories she thinks are hilarious that no one else understands out of context but keeps telling them anyway. Only thing is, I'm not even a parent so....

On Friday night it was when the "original" four requested I come into their hotel room and just chill. Their cracks at each other, their reminiscing of when they were younger, and their pure giggles gave me peace. 

On Saturday night I sat in Granny & Granddaddy's living room surrounded by kids I love so dearly, friends & family that have poured into me over the years. Stories were shared about how cruel white people had been to my own adopted family in Tennessee. The kids went from goofy to quiet real quick when Granddaddy told a story about when their Mr. Marcus had a cross burning in his front yard in a neighborhood not far from where I went to college in South Knoxville. 

It hit us all in different ways. 

We were coming off of 3 days in Alabama and Georgia for a Civil Rights Tour. Some may call us crazy for loading up a van full of teenagers and taking them to places like the Equal Justice Initiative, 16th Street Baptist Church, The Center for Civil and Human Rights, Edmund Pettus Bridge, and other major memorials or museums. We ventured through Nashville, Montgomery, Selma, Birmingham, Atlanta, and Knoxville. This is what we do. We love these kids just enough, and are just crazy enough to not only want them to grow to be leaders in their communities, but actually make moves for them to grow and stretch and experience life beyond their street corner, so they can do just that.

We went through a lunch counter simulation that is hard to explain if you haven't done it yourself or if you are unaware of what that experience was like for so many. Moments later I found myself watching a film on the Freedom Riders surrounded by my black and brown boys. I watched them wince and shake their heads at how people were treated and how they knew me, their very white Ms. Chloe, even being in that room with them was a big deal. 

The tears just started to flow. 

The history is heavy yes, but the present...? 

I find myself holding my breath and praying constantly that more hashtags, more bodies, more crying mothers would not find their way to my phone, desk, or heart anymore.

I want the present to matter and influence and change how their future will look. 

That is my why I guess.

And that is how I can be confident I am exactly where I need to be in this space of time.

Because it could be anywhere, just as long as it is somewhere, and it is bringing purpose and passion and prayer to the forefront. 

They hugged me and I just remember telling them over and over how I loved them.

"We know. We love you too." 

Our last night we slept in a building I know very well. It was filled with kids, just not the kids I was used to being there. And somehow, amidst the slowness I felt, a little off center, J's request to tuck them all in sealed the deal on what I already knew... what He has always known. 

There is a place on my instagram that says, "I love people, cities, and trap beats." I hope people can tell from how I live my life that loving God is a given... I also hope that they can see this choice was hard, but each an every breath I take in this new chapter gets a little easier. 

Here's to the continued fight for Civil Rights & late nights with the kids that feel like family.

Happiness vs. Joy

If you would have asked me a few days ago how I was holding up in my new job... I would have described it in a way that would have sounded like I was not happy. 

I am here to say there is a difference in being happy and having joy.       

Do you know the difference?

I sure hope so, because it made a world of difference in my life when I learned those were two very different feelings or states of being. 

Hands down I will choose having joy over being happy ever time.

There are parts of my spirit that will never fully understand how to function in a cubicle or a building lit with florescence. But this is what I signed up for. What goes on in those spaces matters. It is important. And I am here to learn. Not all parts of this life are happy, so why should this? 

As long as I have my joy, I'm doing alright.

So to make sure the joy doesn't ever leave... I knocked on some doors.

Thursday night I spent almost 3 hours at the Peterson boys house. 

What started out as a discipline session ended up being the longest catch up for Ms. Chloe and her boys. They are surely the reason I'll go grey early... but also a source of my joy.

Ty still knows his place in my life will always be the one to remind me of my wrongs, 

and for that I am grateful.

Friday I went to my brothers house. 

Not by blood. But by choice. 

I was just going to give him some forms for a trip we are going on with the High Schoolers and ended up pulling weeds in our sweet friends yard for a few hours. 

I told him the story about when I was younger and how my dad used to tell me, "if you ever get lost, just look for Big Blue... and you'll always find your way back home." Which was silly to me back then because I didn't live anywhere near Big Blue... but now, I feel very strongly about it being my North Star. 

We talked about moving to big cities, family, school, mistakes we've made that caused us to get real scared. All he wants to do is the right thing. His observations of the world and "if we're being honest" confessions were enough to rip my soul out and fill it up all over again. 

Saturday I did my very best to hide from the rest of the world.

Needing so badly to be by myself. While simultaneously craving people. 

This is the rip tide within me.  

This is what it feels like to be lost in your own city.

Happiness comes and goes.

It's joy you gotta fight for.

Manicured Lawns & The First Day

I have re-entered the world of manicured lawns, matching houses, and people who pull into their garages before they say hello to their neighbors.

For a lot of people this is the dream.

This is the home they work hard to get all their lives.

It is safe, quiet, on the edge of the city, but still close enough to count.

This is not where I will stay.

This is where millennials both find their comfort and discontent with the world.

We sip our coffee prepared in our parents homes wondering how the hell anyone could have voted for that man, and plan our next rally to support some cause we seem appropriate to tweet about that day.

A lot of us ended up here post grad.

So many of my friends are writing a narrative that tells them it's okay we are here. 

"We didn't fail because we came back to a childhood home." 

"We didn't fail because our current form of employment seems vastly different

from what our student loans paid for."

What if I did get the dream job? 

What if I didn't marry in college?

What if I want to live in the neighborhood that sounds less like birds chipping and lawns being kept up and more like sirens and basses booming?

Should I feel bad for working 40+ hours a week as an urban youth worker like I always planned? 

I don't think my friends are failing.

I don't know why I am so blessed.

There are hard days and better days ahead.

My first day at The Lexington Leadership Foundation has come and gone.

It's really cool it fell on my little brothers 5th grade graduation because they share a career they want to be when they are older and I was just a few years older than him when I wrote mine down and told the world everyday after that what I wanted to be. 

"I want to be Mr. Marcus."

Eight years later, something even cooler happened.

I got to be Ms. Chloe.

If you know me or any part of this adventure I've been on for twenty-two years, you know how big of a deal that is, and why the tears come while writing that.

My team had already cleared a desk near all the windows.

Bought succulents and a big calendar.

Colored pens and bright folders.

They know me so well.

I learned a long time ago that there are a lot of things that won't go my way,

and a lot of things that will.

I've learned recently it's okay either way.

So for now, I'll live in the neighborhood with the matching houses, 

with the nice lawns and quiet neighbors.

Not considering it a fail.

But seeing what there is to learn from this community too.

San Diego Thoughts

"Have you left room to deal with all the things that have been happening or will be happening very soon?"

"Where are the margins?"

"Chloe, you need to cry... when are you going to do it?"

"This is your season of rest, you need to be ready."

No matter how it's said... the same message has been given to me over the last week or so.
Longer if you consider all of senior year being spent in a counseling office where simliar things were always mentioned.

This is the dark side of being Chloe Martin.

This is the part of me who didn't choose to get out of bed many days this last year.
The part that kept watching everyone I love hit a glass wall, I built years ago, and seemed to replace the hammer with windex.
This is the part of me that says, "I'll just think about that tomorrow" like Scarlet O'Hara from Gone With the Wind.
Pushing. Shoving. Compressing. Not initing her emotions to the table... or car, sidewalk, church pew, desk, bed, conversation with friends, shower
Nowwhere.

I am currently in a season of transition. Lots of great water and spreading of seeds has been the last couple of years.
Tilling the land here and there, prepping for a harvest that I honestly don't know if I will ever see. And that's okay.
From season to seaon the need to trim back vines, fertilize, rest the soil, all varries.

For a long time I had a lot of help with this process.
There were even some barriers set up to insure I would be on the right track.
And there will still be guidance, leadership, love, and a path laid before me, don't get me wrong.
It's just now, the barriers are being lifted in a way.
Time to see how my roots hold againt the weather.

For a long time people that loved me would joke about how I would put on my running shoes when things started to happen I did not vibe well with.
I want to challenge this a bit and say that I have always known my capacity for things.
I knew when it was time I needed to rest, to step away, when the water was too heavy for my chest.

The salt water and sunshine in San Diego.
The sidewalks and familiar neighborhoods in Lexington.
The city lights and mountians in Knoxville.
And everywhere else I journey in between those cities the last 4 years.

Refuge. Reconcilition. Redemption. Restoration.

The running shoes are there, and I do want to use them some days... but I think after the last 4 years I have realized there is more value in admitting the need
for rest and refueling and dealing with things head on, rather than run in the complete opposite direction!

                                                                         -

To answer the questions that keep circiling me,
I cried long and hard in my bed on the west coast last night.
A combination of the drastic changes coming my way, something that was said to me by a mentor that meant the world, and realizing that my heart isn't coming back after
I gave it away last summer.

Deep breath. It was much needed.
That plus a salt water sunset was the exat healing I came here for.
Not running away from respobsibilities or change or anyone in paticualr.
Just the exat remedy my soul needed.

I hugged my people.
Drank all the coffee.
Laughed, sang, napped.
Ate my favorite foods.
Laid on the beach.
Served with Urban Missions.
Help a friend move in.
Heard new stories and relived old ones.
Saw the streets packed with even people as small rivers flowed through their tents.
Went to the desert.
Prayed. Prayed some more.
And got prayed for.

Now, I am ready to get on that plane tomorrow and face this new chapter head on.

Monday Afternoon on the West Coast

It's Monday afternoon & I am sipping on a White Espresso Mocha outside on Park Blvd in San Diego.

There are no school assignments to be working on.
No job to be rushing off to.
No alarms set.

My degree for Intercultural Studies with a concentration in Urban Studies will be delivered in the mail in the next week or so.
Pretty anti climactic if you ask me.

After four years of blood, sweat, and tears.
Days spent in the library (or not at the library)
The less than glamorous grades & the grades I was more than shocked to pull off.
None of it matters now.
And I knew this day would come... I think I knew it a lot more than my classmates if I'm being honest.
I was never a great student, so I didn't hold it against myself that I didn't have cords when I crossed the stage.
That is cool for some people, just not me.
My cords looked like handshakes with drug dealers, finally understanding what Jesus meant when he said love your enemy, and growing up enough to know that the first boy doesn't have to be your boy.

I am an adventurer.
I am an experiential learner.
I need to walk through the fire & rain myself, not just read about it or hear about it in a lecture.

I won't always be on Park Blvd. sipping on a White Espresso Mocha with no schedule or place to be any particular time.

Very soon I will be in meetings.
I will essentially be in the real world classroom... the one I have loved, lost, and learned the most in thus far.
I will be the teacher and the student at the same time.
The to do list will look more like paying off loans, shaking important peoples hands, and placing everything a the feet of Jesus... and some grant writers.

A sweet San Diego friend of mine told me something I will hold onto for a long time in this line of work, and life in general. "If young people like you don't make mistakes, they aren't doing anything at all. So you better make mistakes."

I don't want to be like the Scribe who very flippantly told Jesus he would follow him no matter what, without thinking of what that truly meant.

But I do want to follow Him, no matter what. And I want to be at a place in my life where, even if that means I make a mistake, people reject me, or I feel alone some days on this journey, I know it is well worth it.

Now to soak up some West Coast Sunshine!