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.

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.