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.