matching pajamas and morning routines

I’ve written about it before when I was much younger. About how there is a sacredness around tucking in and waking kids up.

When I was younger and we would travel to camp where kids were sleeping in bunk beds for the first time. No sirens. No gun shots. No loud music. Just crickets and the leader below them snoring… I remember several girls all climbing into the same small bunk because it was more familiar this way. I remember boys lining up at the doors, teeth brushed and ready for a hug. I remember tapping their shoulders early in the morning and seeing their sleepy eyes and hearing the groggy voices. The late night cuddles and the early morning attitudes are some of my all time favorites with these kids. Well. Maybe not the attitudes! 

This year has been nothing short of unfamiliar and distant to what we usually know as a family. But I have been given the gift… yes, gift, of waking some of our kiddos up each day. Tapping them on the shoulder quietly… although pulling blankets off and opening curtains has happened a few times too! Getting them ready for school. Looking for socks and shoes. Helping mom get all the supplies ready. Watching sleepy eyes open and running all around to find the right jacket or chromebook.

The text said, “la puerta está abierta puedes entra” and although my Spanish is god awful, I’ve heard this enough to know what it means. And that statement alone has its own significance. It was dark and quiet but the oldest was already starting to move around in fear I would target him first. Up next were the two middles. Hiding under covers saying something like, “it can’t be Monday… it’s TOO EARLY!” So I tapped shoulders and poked sides but no luck. Next. The baby. It’s amazing how heavy kids become when they don’t want to wake up! His giggle gave him away and I knew if we could get the oldest and the youngest moving, the middle two wouldn’t be far behind. Next thing I know I'm looking at a bunch of boys in matching pajamas! My heart couldn't handle to cuteness I almost forgot we needed to get out the door! They each had a few moments to get a hug and wipe the sleep out their eyes while waiting for the bathroom. I guess you could consider this our morning routine now.

I am a sucker for the small moments that add up into something big. I love adventure, don’t get me wrong. But there is something sacred or spiritual about the first moments our eyes open, or the softness of our breathing as we drift off to sleep. 

And even on days where it takes extra time to sit and talk about life… or look around for shoes... or brush teeth... or read yet another story… it’s time I won’t ever take for granted.

Mosaics Are Made From Broken Glass

I learned a long time ago that mosaics were made out of broken glass. 

Different colors, shapes, textures, but when you piece them together, paying attention to their details, they create some of the most beautiful works of art. 

Discarded. Forgotten. Broken.

Repurposed. Intentional. Beautiful.

Recently I have felt broken, useless at times. 

Forgetting who my creator was. 

Capable of.

What I was made for. 

More often than not, I have seen broken pieces made into something awe inspiring in the light.

So why now? Because I stepped back into the shadows? Because clouds covered my source of light? And in that fleeting moment I lost sight of my purpose? 

Who really knows...

What I can say is, in the midst of my fight, my untangling, my discovery... 

I remembered the time she told me about the ashes. The time we used someones trash to create a masterpiece. 

Spiraling is never a good look on anyone and I tend to do my worst acting in these moments, assuming no one else can tell, or maybe no one cares...

None of this is a fully formed thought...

I am better than I was.

I'll never be whole like some say.

I am a masterpiece, yes.

A work of art created by the pieces of broken glass created to form me.

The silence isn't deafaning anymore.

The chaos in my mind doesn't feel so violent. 

There are signs of balance.

Emotions are finding their way to the surface, 

some are more managed than others. 

Not all days will end with a sunset full of our colors.

Not all mornings will feel stoic. 

My path has been formed, 

no matter how many times I leave it or wish it were different, easier maybe.

Only certain moments... etched in this broken glass, 

will collect the light "just so" to where my purpose, my masterpiece, is fully on display

and I can recognize it as such.

And it will feel like waking up for the first time.

 

                                                                                    "He talked about you all the time." 

Class of 2020

Class of 2020.

Thank you.

Thank you for the

best memories.
late night talks in the van.
the grey hair.
the life lessons none of us really
wanted to learn at the time.
long summer days.
cold winter nights.
arguing with me for 20 minutes
about how you didn't want to read
for 20 minutes.
swapping shoes so you can play football or basketball,
without creasing your own.
belly laughing till you cry.
blasting music in the car and singing as loud as we can.
all the hugs and high fives.
shared plates.
holding me accountable.
crying because some days you just have too.
trying new things.
letting me go on my own journey,
accepting me back with open arms.
telling it like it is.
for being the best "siblings" to the rest of us.
allowing me into your homes,
classrooms, families, and heart.
showing me who Jesus really is.
for being leaders.
for all your love, tough and tender.
but especially, growing up with me.

Your class may not be walking across a stage, or ending the school year "traditionally" but I'm not sure if there really ever was anything "traditional" about your class. Looking back over the last several years, there is no Ms. Chloe without y'all. Whether we've been together 9 years or 2, we grew up together in every sense of the way, and for that, I am grateful. There are so many things I could say about how this is the end of a season, and start of a new one... I could tell you how proud I am of you all. How much I miss a lot of you. But really... when I think about it, we've had moments similar to this for a long time. Overcoming obstacles. Fighting against disappointment, worry, or comparison. We have celebrated on the court, we have danced in the park, we have hugged it out on the street. This feels familiar and new all at the same time. I dedicated my life to make sure young people like you all, all over this world, were loved, celebrated, seen, heard, and given the opportunity to succeed at anything you set your mind to. Some of you will begin to have your own families, look for a job, go to college, continue to play the sport that you love, move away, or serve your community wherever you go. Class of 2020 you are beautiful, messy, loud, kind, easily inspired, hard working, hilarious, outspoken, courageous, humble, and sometimes very annoying.... congratulations! I love you to the moon and back.

He Was The Best Of Us

I've tried writing something down. I've tried to close my eyes tight enough to where this isn't real anymore. I've cried myself to sleep. I've hugged the young people I love dearly, without any words attached. I've scrolled through endless posts with a new hashtag. I've gone through multiple stages of grief in a few days time... shock, denial, pain, anger... but it always ends in sadness. 

Sadness is the scariest one of all. Because it doesn’t ask for permission to enter your heart. It doesn’t apologize for creeping in and settling down for who knows how long. This time… it will be forever. 

When I read the text that Ladonya had died... the air left my lungs. I didn't cuss. I didn't yell at God. I just wanted to go back to school and have him follow me to group because he saw donuts. I wanted him to laugh with his friends again. I wanted him to put the underdogs on his pick up team one more time... I wanted to get the image of his blood covered body out of my head. 

The text came after the call... I didn’t ask questions… but I knew.

I half walked, half ran down the sidewalk between Osage and the little park. 

Shit shit… God come on keep him alive. They are okay. Shit. 

It was all a blur. screaming. crying. cops. our boys. caution tape. 

Then I saw him.

Blood everywhere. His eyes... 

Ladonya. 

My gut reaction was to reach out and grab him. I just kept telling him we were with him and that it was gonna be okay. I wish that wouldn’t feel like a lie. That chill will never leave me. 

Cops started asking questions. They kept talking to me... That is when I lost it. But a friend reminded me that I had kids watching me and I needed to pull it together. I blinked a few times and looked around. She was right. There were kids walking through the cut, kids looking over their fences, kids on the sidewalk, kids at the park... I knew most, if not all of them. And they know Ladonya. 

Flash forward and the nightmare doesn't end. The devil doesn't just accept one loss... he wants them all. He wants to rip our community, our families... our kids, apart. The lives of his closest friends have been forever altered... and for what? No one has been able to answer that yet... He should still be alive. They should all be safe at home. Mothers should be able to hug their sons. 

Today I watched our neighborhood come together to honor Ladonya's life. In the middle of a pandemic. Even the police stood back to let everyone give their respect. The streets were lined with cars and the entire little park was filled. All for him. Young men and women I have watched grow up, in tears. After almost 2 months of not seeing some of my babies and grown up babies... we were reunited under the worst of circumstances. But it proved to me one thing.

He was the best of us.

The Sun Will Come Out Again

2.6.20

I walked through the door and was finally allowed to let go. Cry. Scream. Feel. I found out through a private message, in a gym full of kids playing basketball. It didn’t feel real. I told myself it couldn’t be. 

“Dale died in a car accident tonight.” 

This couldn’t be our, Dale. 

Nothing or no one to blame. It was just an accident. 

He was always there. Always around. Smiling. He was just. Dale. 

This is how every message I was sent that night and next morning went. “Dude we were just together!” Or “remember when we used to sing so loud to make you laugh?” Yeah. I remember. I remember a young teenage boy, everyone’s friend, no one's enemy. I wish I had some amazing story to tell you about Dale. One that would make you understand why he was so loved… but there isn’t one that’s flashy or loud. Why? Because he was the foundation of who we were then. The glue even. He wasn’t the first one picked for 5 on 5 but he was no ones 6th man. The girls thought he was just their goof ball brother from another mother and he would be there if another boy got too close. Even the little ones looked up to him. His quiet peace and big smile could light up any room. And it always did. His picture still hangs in the community center I once spent every day in. Watching over all the new babies that come in. They won’t know who it is personally, but they will feel welcomed each time they see his face. 

My heart knows he’s with Jesus. I’ve never been more sure of something before. Jesus would be silly not to let him in. Telling jokes, spitting beats, and smiling all the time. Everyone needs a friend like Dale. I know I did, even if I didn’t know it then, I am thankful and honored to have watched him grow into a you f man, for the time I did.

So much of this world is dark, cold, evil, and unfair. But Dale was our little corner of home away from home while he was here on earth. I didn’t get to know him like I wish I did, partially cause so many of his “siblings” were much louder, much more present in the chaos of our family dynamics. Part of me wants to regret that, the other part of me is thankful he was able to be the stable glue for them, while I helped others remove the weight on their shoulders in the forefront. It takes a village and tonight, our village feels both far away, and so very close. 

I always worry if I ruined those beautiful kids. If I set them up to fail. But on nights like tonight, when we all come back together, in person or on the phone, I remember why it was a good thing. It still is a good thing we are a family. I’m thankful for an opportunity to be a small part of the story. To cheer them on. To cry with them. To hold them accountable. To be silly. To be their sister. I didn’t know how to be one before them. In fact, I’m still learning. But they gave me the gift of practice, and I’ll never take that for granted. 

I won’t forget the moments when my phone rings and it’s my mini me and he asks if I can show up, tonight, in his city. That he’s a senior now and without saying it, he tells me that I am part of this story. With basketball. With graduation and growing up. With suffering. With victory. I know how hard it is to pick up a phone and tell someone you want or need… insert whatever. And to be so young. I couldn’t have moved quicker out the door. 

My heart couldn’t have been more full watching him do his thing. To be surrounded by people that chose me. That keep choosing me. People that trusted me when I was so young, to help their child do well. I’ll never understand it. Looking back now, I had no idea what the hell was gonna happen beyond those first days together. Day in and day out. We fought. We disagreed. We doubted. But for some reason we kept showing up. And kept encouraging. Kept praying. Kept hugging. Till now. Where time and space feel like forever and far. But somehow the love never left. 

So we honor, Dale. With our smiles. And our jokes. And our willingness to be part of the team. No matter if we’re chosen first, last or in between. And as a family.

R.I.P Dale. 

2.16.20

I searched for a newly dug grave today. Wandering among spirits that had been there long before his. I even saw someone being lowered into the ground and I wondered how they had died. The emotions didn’t hit me till the man digging the grave drove up and said, “was he around 20 something? Buried yesterday?” And then nodded in the direction of raised sod and quickly moved away to give me my space. Almost immediately my eyes watered, because the suddenness of this loss was heavy, and knowing what my own city and ministry family has gone through this past week... losing Antwan to a bullet that wasn’t even meant for him. I let go of the tears I had kept inside longer than they are meant to. I spoke out loud to a young man I knew as my kids best friend... I told him they missed him, that I missed him. I asked him to hug Zae for everyone... and that he was loved. I touched the muddy grass that still has no marker for identification. Grief is a weird thing. I think it’s especially hard when its for someone young, something unexpected, an act of violence or an accident... I’ve tried to suppress the anger or fear or sadness... overcompensating for everyone else’s sake. Peoples “hugs or prayers” feel like a pile of mail that goes unattended at an abandoned house. I can’t imagine what the mommas feel. The sun came out for a few seconds and it meant everything to me. No life passes through this earth without purpose. I think the young men that just left this earth have a much greater purpose than they ever knew while alive. It was their light. Their smiles. Their willingness to be a little silly. Those moments provided us with a gift of joy. Seeing the very place where I grew to love young people, in a new capacity, today was what my soul needed to keep going. A reminder that the hard days will be many, but so worth it, because the sun will come out again.