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.