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.