Shots Fired

Shots fired.
Not the kind you think.
Lacking in words, and the two finger - thumb combination of a hand gun.
Reality is, it was probably a hand gun.



You say turn it down, I turn it up - maybe you will actually listen this time.
After one glance you make your judgment calls, or should I say it was the way you were brought up?
Still figuring out what sort of jargon to use that describes your offensive opinion - without being on
defense. See what I did there?



Probably not - you're too Great of an American for this to be your sport.
Yet when I step up to meet you at your plate - being on the offensive is considered biased. Huh.
Guess that's why I never loved Baseball - you shouldn't stand on a mound of your own
knowledge and yet unable to make a connection this simple.



I've come to the conclusion that my passions will always draw funny looks.
That your idea of a bad part of town or sketchy neighborhood is what I call home.
I think it's sketchy that your so called neighborhood doesn't have art work on its buildings or
sidewalks that tell a story - but that's just me.



Is it safer to be 'safe' or to walk along a bridge overtop some hard truths in order to reach something
simple and beautiful?
I will never push anyone to live like I do - or accept the things I accept - I do however, refuse to
allow you to tell me what is "right" or "better" just because that's what you chose.
I will laugh and continue on my God created path.



Scrapping up any sort of reason to be present other than when my kids are around.
Struggling to care about what is said in class while this world crumbles before my eyes.
I cringe every time I hear men hunting in the woods down the road and a shot is fired.
I hate knowing that there are children in this world that have known nothing else.



My heart belongs to a world you will never understand, one you will go lengths to avoid, and hand me words of distaste. And that is okay. Because unlike the echoes of the bullets sound through those
mountains, your words, rude stares, and exhaustingly loud silence, will not shake me.

                                                                                                                                                       


The Lord did not gift me with teaching a traditional classroom - He tore down the walls and removed
the desks and said "Be a lesson. Always."

So this is me - changing with the weather - ironically dealing with broken picture frames holding quotes like "Embrace the glorious mess that you are." Getting lost in conversations about powerfully simple things. Organic things.

Some brave individuals have done their best to describe myself back to me. Most are as hesitant to label or define me as much as I am. I refuse to check boxes unless its a shopping list full of essential items like takis, new ink pens, or a pair of Nikes.

And when an unknowing group of students looks to me on how to handle trash pick up in a section 8 apartment complex - I take a deep breath knowing this is my classroom on a field trip - and sometimes the trash on one playground unfortunately doesn't look like the trash at another just a few miles away.

I thanked Jesus more today on our little field trip thank I have the entire month. Was it just the location change? The people? A mix of things? Yes. And when that sweet, white, middle class, East Tennessee woman says "I didn't know anything coming here... I was scared to death, but 7 years later a good friend and mentor of mine has found Jesus and is a new believer. And that tells me something. It tells me if I show up long enough, you get their trust, you help their kids, then the mommas come around... before you know it they show up to bible study on Wednesday."


And that is what I needed to hear. Give it time. Don't give up. And I certainly don't or wont know everything when my time comes to game plan. Noah got some crazy stares too - and look where it got him.

Routine

The clothes are hung (thank goodness) 

The bed in never made. 

Coffee, almonds and neutella have taken over the "food shelf." 

Textbooks, movies, full journals, and picture frames line the walls. 

Lamps and Christmas lights. Anything but those horrible fluorescents. 

The mountains line the background of my everyday walks to class - I find rhythm in the paved sidewalks down in the city. 

My broken window is terribly ironic. 

Sunday | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday Thursday | Friday | Saturday 

The routine is coming. So is the cold. 

                                                              -

Missing the ability to play in that dark and dusty old gym without my knee or my heart giving me grief. Needing some sort of outward expression to free me. The sweat and the joy of a challenge. 

Missing my kids. Goodness to I miss those kids. Thankful for my kids here, and how they remind me it wasn't luck, but a calling. 

Seeing ministry come full circle. A seed becoming what it was meant to be and flourishing, repeating the cycle. Praise be to the ones who toiled with us and didn't give up. We won't give up either. And that's something special. 

Too many people forget how beautiful their normal is. I've enlisted myself to show them otherwise. Who knows. Maybe somehow along the way I'll see how extraordinary my messy hair, unmade bed, and loud, colorful life is, even on the hard days. 

 

I'm tired of people coming along with their metaphorical umbrellas. I'm exhausted with wordy songs sung too loud. I just need someone to understand what it means to take off their shoes and run. Or listen to a song with lyrics that take you a long time to understand and even longer to replicate in your own life. 

                                                             -

My routine looks like endless laughs, and constantly - prayerfully asking God to hold my dang hand even when I want to walk alone. I have to dare myself everyday. Not everyone needs to know the origin of those dares. But the product of those dares are what's seen through my actions and words. Hopefully. I'm still working on some things. Add in some tangles, naps for the long nights, text messages about the wind and perspective. That's me. That's the struggling routine. 

I may never fully mold into this scheduled life, but I'm okay with that. 

Abridged Thoughts - Scattered - Uncut

I do believe the worst feeling is that of having so much to say, and being unable to actually say anything. Not because you fear of offending (I certainly don't ever take that into consideration as much as I should), or that maybe you do not have the time to squeeze all of the words out into a conversation, or lengthy blog post. No, it is truly having one hundred and one things going on in your head and your heart, but the second, and I do mean the second, you sit down, those multiple thoughts, feelings, and opinions, are lost. Unable to find a home on paper or logically form sentences on the keys you were attempting to type them from.

That being said - they accumulate - in their own scribbling's and drafts never titled. Until now. Where copy and paste, and some extra time in the afternoon, provided by no more books laying around. I will say I think about things a lot, but no one thing is thought on long. Anyway, welcome to the mind of a 19 year old girl living in a world that almost makes as much sense as she does.

                                                  Abridged Thoughts - Scattered - Uncut

Death of a young boy - who just happened to be black. (Yes, of course another young black kid dead at the hands of a cop pisses me off like no other... but he was a kid, not just black). He was a son, grandson, just a year younger than me, getting ready for college. We don't know his story... and I am tired of people thinking they know his, and all the other dead kids story too. All they know is he is dead. And he was black. Now they riot. Stereotype. Accuse. Beg for answers. Mourn. Judge. Claim. I used to want to be a cop - I used to want to be a lot of things. A cop is not one of them now. Not because a boy is dead, but because I've seen both sides of the uniform very closely. Some cops don't even want to be "cops". They just want to be human too. Humans with a heart, that protect and serve the community. Nah I don't want to be a cop - I just want people to see them differently. I need a few cops to see themselves differently too. More human.
                                                                             -
Playing the background is something I thought I was good at, until I was underappreciated and seen as a nobody - stand in - for someone who usually does the background gig. Only though he has more of a name there than I do for sure, only because the boat gets rocked with him. I was told to provide less of a stigma. (Insert some words I know better than to say) Sitting there I couldn't help but be thankful I didn't choose that career. Sure I'll be associated with them till the day I die, almost positive. I just don't have to run by their rules 24/7. Praise Him. I dislike rules a little too much. It's a work in progress. Just like being in the background is too. A pat on the back is still welcomed in my book. These are my flaws.
                                                                               -
Conversations that go from expressive art to political trash are never highlights in my opinion. I could never be sure how body image can be easily transformed into what's going on in the Middle East. I do believe we were talking about tattoos? Anyway... I hear you, I just can't agree. Ever. Old men yelling never seems to solve anything - doing - now there's a concept. Hating. Judgment. Boxed up ridicule waiting to be unleashed on the closest disagreeing thing that breathes. I refuse to scream the "It's my body" or "I'll do what I want - you can't stop me" crap. That won't make it any easier. I will however say that your stubborn headed ways flow through my open mind. And I still curse that.
                                                                                -
A dead actor who taught everyone who ever 'knew' him how to see joy, laugh, and love the silly things. Or to cling to imagination. That is someone who shouldn't be forgotten, but also I encourage us to replicate. He didn't preach Jesus or attend a certain church each Sunday - but then again - what Christians do anymore? He was a lot like Jesus (well... as much as Williams or any human could have been.) I say that because he never promoted negative things - he lived - worked - and loved - as innocently and peacefully as any other actor I can think of. This world and his industry was stricken with evil and a dark lonely silence. He fought to hear and see the joy again. I could say that unfortunately he lost that fight to a addiction and to darkness, and that he listened to a voice he shouldn't have... but once again (what Christians haven't) He has left a much better legacy than half of us ever will, that is the unfortunate thing here. We interact with people on a daily basis and yet a man we never knew left a bigger impact on us. I think one of the best lost boys found his way home. And our God is telling him now how proud of him He is. How he made mistakes and chose the wrong answers more than He would have liked - but at the end of the day his life made people choose joy more than darkness. And that was good.
                                                                                 -
A road lined with 6 police cars - and one ratchet looking Jeep - caught my attention. 2 guys hand cuffed on the side of the road surrounded by suited men - another one searching the jeep. This was much too close for comfort. Then again, it being further away wouldn't have made much of a difference. A bust is a bust. In sight or across the country. Cops aren't all the same. Some are human. I talked with one at the park. He was good. He was bald and took off the sunglasses he wore and answered kids questions about how cool it would be to chase bad guys.
                                                                                  -
When a basketball rolled into the middle of the street I slammed on the brakes - not because of the ball - but because of the kid I knew would follow it. A movie scene followed after - across the street a slat from the fence moved away from its home and 4 little heads all belonging to some of my favorite boys appeared. Sticking right out of the fence they searched for their ball. Putting the car into park, I unbuckled, and made my way in the middle of the busy street to retrieve their ball, by then they had seen me all yelling "toss it here!" or "Hey Miss Chloe!" And my personal favorite was "Don't call my momma thick!" Thanks to Jo'Quan the guys walking by me had a good laugh and I just waved them off saying I would see them on the other side of the fence and they needed to hush. Pulling up Mousas Way is almost always an adventure. Those boys thanked and hugged me for saving their deflated and raggedy basketball. Providing me with class schedules with "women teachers" we did not know - or really cared to know in late July. 'Nephew' as he is universally known, jumped into my lap asking for dinner, and the older boys repeating his requests. Sigh. I wished I was driving a food truck in that moment. 'Picky' isn't in their vocabulary of food orders. When the big boys arrive not even the little ones could keep me protected like they wish they could, or like I wish they could. Jokes of beating each other up and a few cuss words later I was on my way to the big sisters house. There at least the messiness of our life finds some sanity. Just enough to keep us alive though.
                                                                                     -
Books about cancer suck. I mean they are really good, but they suck. I've known too many people who have suffered and won and suffered and lost. (Then again one person would be too many too.) Books about living radically kind of suck too. Because they are right. And I've been doing it wrong for way too long. And then the second I choose the cross instead of the flag people look at you funny. My July 4th didn't look like yours on purpose. And don't tell me you want to live like the men who wrote the constitution because that's the way America was founded. That document still tells my kids they aren't a whole person. "Well" ..."But.." "Now they" Your argument is invalid. Please sit down. Books about a place where people have to grow up and be just like their parents, and if they choose something else they will be excommunicated are addicting, but they suck too. "What if we lived like that?" She asked. "Then I would be in a pretty jank spot right? Actually it would be rough at first... but then I would just find comfort in the fact I did what I knew I needed to. I was the person I was meant to be. I followed my heart and in my case His will - even if it meant putting my hand over the fire instead of the water figuratively." "Oh... yeah. That's true." Some people won't see the path you are on as a good thing - that is ok. It's not their path.
                                                                                 -
I am restored by the Sun. Given peace from the rain. Find comfort in the wind. Become a child in the leaves. And challenged by the cold, cold snow. If you live this way, changing with the consistency of the weather, you will be able to find joy in a much simpler way. No need to hug trees - although the tree wont mind it - but understanding why they matter to you - that is the trick.
                                                                                 -
I am ready to be back in my second home city. I am also reluctant and slow to pack those bags. I couldn't say it any other way. It is difficult to be so many people in one body. There is something to say about growing up, letting go, moving on, and learning lessons. I'd just rather live those things out.
                                                                                  -
A summer full of losses could easily feel like failure. But I've challenged that feeling into hidden wins, unexpected celebrations, and small victories. Michael Jordan lost games after playing, and winning, for years. We are not the exception.
                                                                                  -
Soon I'll be back in a place that has a hard time with people like me, and I have a hard time with that place. I kind of demand a different way of life, and it's extremely difficult to do that when their are rules and a "Christian" way of doing something. I refuse to fall into a category, box, denomination, religion, political view point, ex girlfriend, best friend, or even student. Gross. Even the thought makes me cringe. The style of music I listen to, the clothes I wear, and the food I eat. My name is Chloe - get to know me. ME.
                                                                                   -
How. How. HOW. Can we say "Keep the disease in Africa till we find a cure!" Or that "Those people deserved to die in Iraq." WE are NOT the Judge of those peoples lives. And I am ashamed to say I am often silent on these matters, not because of the looks or rejection I would receive, but because  fear it's no use. And that is another flaw.

The Signifigance in Goodnight

Before I get started, you need some background as to why this post is talking about the significance of goodnight. So I am going to tell you a story from my childhood. 

When I was little going to bed was the worst thing ever. It meant darkness, having to be quiet and still, monsters, and not having anyway to protect myself is something went wrong. But eventually hugging my mom after she got back from work late and having my dad tuck me in was ok. I looked forward to hearing the door open knowing mom was home, and my dad always tucked me in and even said some corny little sayings to make me laugh and not be sad. If you've ever seen Finding Nemo, the father/child relationships are a huge theme. So I could relate when "Noggin and Dude" were said between two turtles. And that's what we did each night. My dad even texted me my first night of college that simply said "Noggin" and of course I cried. Because even though he hadn't tucked me into bed in years we still have this sense of peace and comfort knowing at the end of the day the other knows they are loved and special. 

Now. Goodnight for my kids looks completely different. And I won't go into detail why or how, I just want to share with you one of my favorite parts at camp - which is bed time. And not because they are finally going to be quiet and asleep! That's almost never the case anyway. After the camp fire the boys and girls split into their respective cabins with their leaders and get ready for bed. I have made it sort of tradition that I go to each cabin, including my own, and give every kid a hug or kiss, or for most of the girls in my cabin, we pray and I tuck them in. Most of the kids are way too old for this, and think I'm silly for doing it since it's not their normal. But now I know why my dad did it every night for so long. I just want them to fall asleep knowing someone loves them. 

It may look like camp fire smoke cuddles, or a race to the boys cabin ending in a dog pile... And I'm on the bottom. Or it looks like giggles and tickle fights followed up with frustrated "girls go to bed" and sometimes it's even being hugged by 15 little boys straight up in just underwear. 

Whatever it looks like. I don't take goodnights with my kids lightly. And I hope one day they can look back at goodnights like I do. 

Doing What I'm Called For Daily: Whatever That Is

Leaning over I told my sister "When I'm a pastor, this is what my church will look like." 

Checking out at target last week the cashier complimented my wallet. I told her it was from India, and my roommate had given it to me. We talked about how leather was a new fashion trend now. I told her she should see my back pack from Bolivia. She freaked out - "it's so hipster!" She exclaimed. "Yeah... I guess being a missionary means you rock things our fellow main landers don't." Was my response. 

"This is Chloe, she's an Urban Youth Worker, we've watched her grow up and she's doing big things." Well that's new. 

In the van my kids always talk about my school, how I live in Tennessee now, and "she's going to be Mr. Marcus" is all they really understand what my job will look like. They still wish I went to UK, and I do too most days. But like Noah had to block out his families requests and even his own, he built the ark. I moved to Johnson's campus and continue to be what feels like my own minority sometimes in Urban Studies. 

The older man watching us from the table beside us - smiling and chuckling over the comical statements our three little boys made. After their meal and ice cream had been easily smashed, I told them to use the restroom before we left. That old man patted me on the shoulder as he got up to leave himself. No words, just a universal gesture that I will take as a sort of tip of the hat.

The conversation had with a big brother over at the drug dealers house made me feel more welcomed. He knows why I come around and who I'm looking for, so he does what I ask him to and we move on. Yesterday there was a little more respect coming from both ends. 

This past week I've talked to little ones about a home improvement store set on fire, got calls about school bombs, had to co-parent with a mom on punishment methods and remind two boys they don't need certain titles at 10 and 13. 

I never dreamed I would grow up with the possibility of being a pastor - an urban one at that - but if God told me to, I would. And I can garuntee that my "church" wouldn't look like the ones you know. 

I continually tell people I couldn't be a missionary - but I am. It's written in my veins. 

I have no idea what my title is or will be, everyone seems to have their own for me already: daughter, sister, mom, intern, friend, student, volunteer, urban youth worker, Christian, etc. 

All I know is whatever God wants me to be - I will be. It will be hard - cause it already is! Getting calls that he is in trouble again hurts and makes me mad and I have so many questions. Watching the news acuse a culture and not the guilty disappoints me. 

And I am reminded again and again why I love this life so much. Why when I get random messages from kids who are grown now tell me they are proud of me! Or that I am their role model. I never asked for that, it just happened. Because I chose to do life with them years ago. And never gave up. They haven't given up on me after all my faults and failures - so why should I give up on them? 

I was recently asked what my highlight of the summer was. And I couldn't pin point one because the whole summer has been an amazing journey and full of lessons and laughs. One that keeps coming to mind though is driving to the baseball game with a full van - windows down cause the AC is jank - blasting Ariana and Iggy - dancing and signing so loud everyone at the stop light caught a glimpse at my daily life of crazy - the business suit clad man getting off of work joined right in - sang and danced right there at the stop light. Add it to the list of Martin girl stop light parties. It's our specialty. That is joy. That is my family. Despite all the journeys through hell this summer and their lives in general - we still know how to love each other and have fun in spite of the crap this world has dished out. 

The summer is coming to a fast close, but unlike many internships, or mission trips, my job doesn't really end. Being a sister doesn't end. Love doesn't stop in August. Or at the end of the semester. Or after graduation. The relationships I have with these kids, their families, and those neighborhoods, continue to grow and teach me things. 

I'm so freaking thankful. And I continue to look forward to the days still to be had. 

Heavy Love

This is the part of the city that sleeps in till noon - and stays up with the street lights.

Where the boy on the corner dreams of hearing his name called in the first round of the draft - not being a corner boy.

But what made him want that dream? He is good at telling stories and putting them on paper - but taking care of his siblings cause his moms is working late makes it hard to turn in homework. So his grades reflect a bad student - below average - lack of sleep makes him a trouble maker - so a corporate job is out of the question, college is out of the question. The neighbors goal is the only resource he has to get out - and he will get out.

I walked down the street with a friends dog - because some times the simple tasks are the hardest to get done and when I can help I will. Stopped a dozen times by kids on bikes - receiving hugs and ignoring the older boys calls.

When I told them I picked her up from summer school they gave me a look full of judgment - like why is she in summer school? What they don't know is why they had to move - or that her sister isn't there anymore. I was just excited to see her.

In a place where we see "them" and become defensive - witnessing a cop hug my brother is considered a victory.

Certain topics of conversation are almost never off limits - this is family - and family listens and provides council. Whether it's the new girlfriend or a misunderstanding with the teacher. Maybe it's talking out how you don't "hate" a certain neighborhood, you just don't agree or get along with some of the people that live there because they want to shoot you. And they would if they had the opportunity. We go to those neighborhoods, and have family there too - but sometimes you have to be careful what streets you're on. No need to make more drama for ourselves.

This is the place where you show respect. Yes Sir and No Ma'am is required. Body language speaks louder than the words - and you better not forget your role even if you get comfortable.

This is the place where your job means you have to know who to call or what to do when abuse is detected. You are not the super hero. And even when they call me mom or sister people will never see it that way.

These are the days you wake up from nightmares hoping it never comes true.

"Doing life with a community of people" will never quite come across the way you want to - people will be confused - until they see it - then they will cry and wonder why it hasn't been obvious to them before now.

Vans full of Nike shorts and J clad feet - filling my ears with music - and my heart with joy.

The drug dealer across the street asked me a question - then I wasn't scared anymore. We understood each other. Respect is earned. We both believe in a similar end goal - except one of us is less excepted in the neighborhood. One of us has to show up a little more and gain approval. To prove I am not going anywhere.

This is the place where kids answer the door but know not to let you in. They just peek around the screen and glass and tell you what you need to know so they can slip back into the dimly lit room with cartoons on awaiting for mom to come home.

The van I drive is easy to pick out on the street - and now walking down the sidewalk I gain on average about 4 little bodies asking questions, wanting to be carried, and tell me they are fearless  "except jumping spiders - that crap is scary man."

Relationships. That is what happens when you show up. That is what needs to happen before you even try to make a sliver of an impact on the neighborhood - the moms - the daddies - the streets - relationships.

I am not blood. I am not an expert. I know what I know and continue to learn. I love the sweaty days spent talking about how I missed a birthday - obviously I wish I could have been there (wasn't actually invited) but the fact that he wanted me there. Me. Small victories.

Or when he... she asks for me and allows me into his... her little brothers life.

After last year she knows what I expect of her as a mother - it is not easy - but I go by randomly to make sure he is ok and they haven't burned the house down. Hand-me-down jerseys and folding laundry. We just talk about basketball and his future - because I will die making sure he has one. I learned that treating her this way was better. Not looking down and not pushing too hard - expectations that are doable - that you have to work at - because it will not happen again.

This is the place people lock their car doors while they drive through to get their second coffee for the day. Where fancy suits walk next to baggy shorts. And those other buildings are foreign to us.

I walk up to porches crammed with people - some not as happy to see me as others.
I join them on the porch, sit in the living room, or wait out on the sidewalk. That's what different stages of trust looks like.

This is breaking cycles. This is the struggle.
This is what hard -  easy - and heavy love looks like.

  

 

 

 

 

Saturday Thoughts & Finding The Rhythm

She told me they probably didn't live there anymore. We hadn't seen them since Halloween and even longer before that. But I was determined. He told me to find kids that wanted to play ball on Saturday. That's easy. I could hit up one street and fill the van in seconds. But I knew before I went anywhere else. I would see if my baby and the twins were home. 

 

The wreath on the door screamed they didn't live there anymore. Usually there was always a piece of notebook paper taped up with a sign that said something like "no smoking" or "don't ring the doorbell cause the boys are asleep." But still I got out of the UI van and walked to the door. Size 3 football cleats met me there. I couldn't have smiled bigger. 

 

When asked who it was I said my name and the door flew open. Squinted eyes and  a smile to match mine appeared. Another head peeked around the door. Thank goodness they aren't too old for hugs yet. My heart was refilled and overflowing before I even made it into the living room. My whole heart was stolen from him years ago. And I'll never get it back.  

 

It took me a long time to forgive momma. There aren't a whole lot of things that make me so angry to the point of hate. But I hated that time in our lives when they weren't here. And I would do anything to make sure that doesn't happen again. 

 

Not many people find joy in simple conversations of 2K and Lebrons cramps the night before. Or in getting bad grades and being honest with people about it. That's something I share with my kids. Yes, I did terrible on this exam, or I had to ask for help in my geometry class. There is no point in telling them to do their best and then me not do the same. They keep me accountable. And they keep their Ms. Chloe in check you better believe it.

 

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

 

I like Saturdays like today... 

 

What I mean is, I like Saturdays when I am met with sleepy baby faces who woke up 5 minutes before I got there. Or the ones who climb in the van and lean forward to give you a quick hug around the neck. The ones where neighbors ask your name and say you're a good person even though they hardly know you, and you don't deserve it. When mommas can trust you and some of those little boys are taller than you. (I got a 5'11 13 year old body guard if anyone tries to mess with me!) 

 

Saturday mornings where you forget the coffee but the singing in the background  and giggling rejuvenates any tired muscle you once had. Jokes like "that's your girlfriend!" pointing to an older woman next to us and "did you see that Lamborghini?!" As they all claim it like it's theirs. Too many questions about my love life and college classes (they still wish I was at UK) dreaming and planning who will play for Coach Cal and the Miami Heat one day. 

 

Getting to watch them have fun and be silly. Of course there are the complaints, and bad attitudes every now and then but it's nothing compared to those bright white smiles. 

Adventures like breaking into a window or seeing who can rap each verse correctly. Oh and I love making fun of them about girls they like. I just got to be careful cause they are old enough now to get me back just as good.

 

Monday I will be reunited with even more of my kids. Brothers and sisters too. Some I've known for years, other I'll meet for the first time and welcome to the family. They will all have grown another foot, added or taken off braces, moved away etc. But I know once we see each other it will be hard to split us up again like it always is. They get on my last nerve but still many of us are joined at the hip haha.

 

They are my protectors, and where I see Jesus the most. Nothing could ever change that. 

So here's to family reunions, Saturdays, summer camps, and a heart that's finding it's way back to where it beats like a drum and the rhythm makes sense.